I said, “Do you wish the oil now, Master, or shall I put it with the others?”
He did not answer. I waited a moment or two, and prepared to go away. It might be one of his times of being withdrawn and uncommunicative. Having done my duty, I could put the oil in the cupboard, and go to my refuge until he called me. But as I turned, one of his tentacles snaked out, caught and lifted me. More fondling, I thought, but it was not that. The tentacle held me up, the unwinking eyes surveyed me.
“I knew you were a strange one,” said the Master. “But I did not know how strange.”
I made no reply. I was uncomfortable but, having grown used to the license he granted me and, to some extent, to the strangeness of his moods, not apprehensive.
He went on, “I wished to help you, boy, because you are my friend. I thought it might be possible to make more comfort for you in your refuge. In one of the storybooks of your people, it tells of a man making for a friend what is called a surprise. This I wished to do. So I sent you away, and put on a mask and went into the refuge. I discovered a curious thing.”
It had been held behind him by another tentacle and he produced it and showed it to me: the book in which I had written the notes of what I had learned. I was anxious now, all right. Desperately I racked my mind to think of something to say, some explanation, but nothing came.
“A strange one,” he repeated. “One who listens, and writes down in a book. For what purpose? The human who wears a Cap knows that the things concerning the Masters are wonders and mysteries, which it is not good for men to learn. I have talked of them, and you have listened. You were my friend, were you not? Though even so it was odd that you showed little fear of being told that which was forbidden. A strange one, as I said. But to record afterward, in secret, in your refuge . . . The Cap should forbid that absolutely. Let us examine your Cap, boy.”
Now he did what I had feared might happen on the day he beat me, when later he called me back and told me I was to be his friend. While a tentacle held me in mid-air, a second one moved to the lower part of the mask, where the material was soft, and its hard tip probed upwards. I wondered if it would break through the material, so that I choked in the poisonous air, but it did not. I felt the tip, narrowing to needle point but hard and precise, run over the edge of the false Cap I was wearing, probe and pluck.
“Strange, indeed,” said the Master. “The Cap is not married to the flesh. Something is wrong here, very wrong. It will be necessary to investigate. You must be examined, boy, by the . . .”
The word he said meant nothing: I suppose he was talking about a special group of Masters who had to do with the Cappings. What was clear was that my situation was desperate. I did not know whether they could read my mind under examination or not, but at least they would know of the existence of the false Caps, and be alerted against our enterprise. They would obviously check all other slaves in the City. In which case, Fritz, too, was lost.
It would be useless to fight against him. Even fully fit, at normal weight, a man was no match for the strength of the Masters. The tentacle had me round the waist, so that my arms were free. But what was the good of that? Unless . . . The central eye, above the creature’s nose and mouth, stared at me. He knew something was wrong, but he still did not think of me as a danger. He did not remember what he had told me once, when I was rubbing him and my arm slipped.
I said, “Master, I can show you. Bring me closer.”
The tentacle moved me in toward him. I was no more than two feet away. I canted my head to the right, as though to show something concerned with the Cap. The movement hid the start of my next one, until it was too late for him to parry or push me away. Bunching my muscles, I put every ounce of strength I possessed into an upward swinging right hook. It caught him where the implement had brushed him, between nose and mouth, but this time with the full force of my body behind it.
He gave a single howl, which broke off in mid-cry, and at the same time the tentacle holding me hurled me away from him. I hit the floor hard, some yards away, and slid to the very edge of the garden pool. I was barely conscious as I staggered to my feet, and almost fell into the steaming waters.
But the Master had keeled over as he threw me. He lay there, prone and silent.
Ten
Under the Golden Wall
I stood by the pool for a moment, trying to think of what to do. I was dazed from being dashed to the ground, and dazed also by what I had achieved. With much the same blow that had dispatched my opponent in the final at the Games, I had knocked out one of the Masters. Now that I had done it, it seemed incredible. I stared at the great fallen figure with wildly conflicting feelings. Astonishment and pride were mixed with fear; even without being Capped, it was impossible not to feel awe for the power these creatures had, for their size and strength. How had I, a mere human, dared to strike at such a one, even in self-defense?
These feelings faded, though, into a more acute and practical apprehension. What I had done had been unpremeditated, forced on me by the predicament in which I found myself. My situation now was only to a degree less urgent. By striking a Master I had irretrievably shown my hand. I had to decide what action to take next, and decide quickly. He was unconscious, but for how long? And when he recovered . . .
My instinct was to flee, to put myself as far from this place as possible, as quickly as possible. But to do that, I realized, was merely to exchange a small trap for a larger one. I would be tracked down, and easily enough in a place where I could not long survive without going into a refuge or a communal place—where the other slaves, once alerted, would be watching for the fiend who had dared raise a hand against the demi-gods.
I looked across the room. All was still, except for the sparks rising, one by one, in the small transparent pyramid by which the Masters measured time. He had not moved. I remembered again what he had said: a Master could be hurt by being struck in that spot. A Master might even be killed. Was it possible? Surely not. But he had not moved; his tentacles stretched out limp against the floor.
I had to know the truth, which meant examining him. There were places, as with men, where veins ran close to the surface, where, despite the abrasive toughness of their skin, one could feel the slow heavy beat of their blood. I must check for that. But at the thought of approaching him, fear came back, redoubled. Once again I wanted to run for it, to get out of the pyramid at least while the going was good. My legs were trembling. For a moment, I could not move at all. Then I forced myself forward, reluctantly, to where my Master lay.
The tip of one of the tentacles lay nearest to me. I reached down, fearfully, touched it with a shudder, drew back, and then, making a great effort, lifted it. It was slack and fell limply when I dropped it again. I went closer, knelt by the body, and felt for the vein which ran to the base of the tentacle, between it and the central eye. There was nothing, I pressed again and again, overcoming my repulsion. No throb at all.
I stood up and away from him. The incredible was more incredible still. I had killed one of the Masters.
• • •
Fritz said, “Are you quite sure of it?”
I nodded. “Positive.”
“When they sleep, they look as though they’re dead.”
“But the pulse still beats. I’ve noticed it, when he fell asleep once in the garden pool. He’s dead, all right.”
We were in the communal place at his pyramid. I had sneaked into his Master’s home, attracted his attention without the Master seeing me, and whispered that we must meet urgently, and talk. He had come down a ninth later. He had guessed something important had happened, because neither of us had approached the other in this way before. But the truth stunned him, as it had earlier stunned me. Following my assurance that the Master was dead, he was silent.
I said, “I’ll have to try to get out somehow. I thought I would try for the Hall of the Tripods, even though the chances are against it. But I thought I’d better tell you first.”
“
Yes.” He braced himself. “The Hall of the Tripods is no good. The best chance is the river.”
“But we don’t know where the outflow is.”
“We can look for it. But we shall need time. When is he likely to be missed?”
“Not until his next duty.”
“When is that?”
“Tomorrow. Second period.”
It was late afternoon. Fritz said, “That gives us the night. It is the best time for searching, anyway, in a place where slaves are not expected to be. But there is something that must be done first.”
“What?”
“They must not discover that someone wearing a Cap is capable of attacking a Master.”
“It’s a bit late, now that I’ve done it. I don’t see how we could get rid of the body, and even if we did, he’s going to be missed.”
“It might be possible to make it seem an accident.”
“Do you think so?”
“We must try. He told you that being struck in that place might kill, so it has probably happened in the past, perhaps accidentally. I think we must go there at once and see what we can do. There is an errand I have been saving up, which will be my excuse. But better not together. You go, and I will follow in a few minutes.”
I nodded. “All right.”
I hurried back across the City, but found my steps faltering as I reached the familiar pyramid, and stood outside in the corridor for several seconds, trying to make up my mind to press the button that opened the door. Perhaps I had been wrong. Perhaps there had been a faint pulse which I had not detected and by now he had recovered. Or perhaps he had been found by another of the Masters. It was true their lives were solitary, but they did sometimes visit each other. It could have happened, by ill luck, today. The impulse to run away was strong. I think it was only the realization that Fritz was coming after me that nerved me to the point of going in.
And nothing had changed. He lay there, motionless, silent, dead. I stared at him, once more bemused by the awareness that it had really happened. I was still staring when I heard Fritz’s approaching footsteps.
He, too, was awed by the sight, but quickly recovered. He said, “I have an idea which might work. You told me he used the gas bubbles?”
“Yes.”
“I have noticed with my Master that he is confused when he has taken many—in his movements as well as his mind. Once he slipped and fell in the garden pool. If it could seem that this had happened with yours . . .”
I said, “He’s a long way from the pool.”
“We must drag him over there.”
I said doubtfully, “Can we? He’ll be a tremendous weight.”
“We can try.”
We dragged him by his tentacles. The touch was hateful, but I forgot that in the effort to move him. At first he seemed rooted to the floor, and I thought we should have to abandon the idea. But Fritz, these days so much weaker than I, was straining his gaunt body to take the load, and it shamed me into pulling harder. He moved a little, then more. Slowly, panting and sweating even more profusely than usual, we dragged him, with many rests, across the room to the pool.
We had to get into the pool ourselves to complete the job. It was very hot, only just bearable, and an unpleasant ooze squelched beneath our feet at the bottom. The water came up to the belt that secured our masks. We waded out, brushing our way through rubbery-like plants, some of which clung to us. We really had to heave now on the tentacles, concerting our pulls and moving the body over the side in sharp jerks. Then suddenly the point of balance was reached, and he half toppled, half slid after us, rolling into the water like a heavy log.
Climbing out, we stared down at him. The Master floated on the steaming water, three quarters submerged, one eye staring sightlessly upward. He took up almost the full width of the pool.
I felt too exhausted to think. I could have dropped to the floor, and lain there. But Fritz said, “The gas bubbles.”
We opened half a dozen, pressed them to release the brown murk, and scattered them about the edge of the pool, as the Master would have thrown them after use. Fritz even thought of climbing back into the pool and attaching one of the bubbles to him. Then together we went to the refuge, stripped off our masks, washed and dried ourselves. I needed a rest, and urged Fritz to do the same, but he said he must get back. It was more important than ever to take no unnecessary chances. Night was almost on us; the lemon-green lamps would be lighting up outside. He would return now. When I was ready, I must follow, and wait for him in the communal place at his pyramid. He would come down when his Master was in bed, and together we would go in search of the river.
When he had gone, I lay down for a while, but I was afraid of falling asleep—of waking, perhaps, to find another Master here and the death discovered. So I roused myself and made my preparations. I tore out those pages of the book on which I had scrawled notes, placed them in an empty container, and disposed of the rest of the book in the cupboard which destroyed waste. I stoppered the container and put it inside the mask before I strapped it on.
A thought struck me, and I took two more small containers and left the refuge. I filled one with water from the pool, allowed the other to fill with the Masters’ air, and sealed them both. Then I returned to the refuge and put these, too, inside the mask where they rested against my collarbone. Julius might find them useful.
That was, of course, providing we got out of the City. I tried not to think of the odds against it.
• • •
I had to wait a long time for Fritz and when he did come I saw that his back and arms were newly marked with welts. He said yes, he had been beaten for being late on the errand. He looked tired and ill. I suggested that he stay behind and rest while I searched for the river on my own, but he would not hear of it. I was hopeless at finding my way in the City and would only wander around in circles. This was quite true: I had only slowly learned to trace a path through the maze, and then just to certain familiar spots.
He said, “Have you eaten lately, Will?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“But you must eat, all the same. I have brought food down. Drink as much as possible, too, and take a salt stick. Change the sponges in your mask before we go out. We do not know how long it will be before we can breathe good air again.”
This was true also, and I had thought of none of it. We were alone in the communal place. I swallowed the food he gave me, crumbled a salt stick and ate it, drank water until I thought I was likely to burst. Then I changed the sponges in the mask and strapped it on. I said, “I suppose there’s no point in wasting time.”
“No.” His voice was muffled by his own mask. “We had better start right away.”
• • •
Outside it was dark, except where the lamps cast small circles of sallow luminescence; I thought they looked like gigantic glow-worms. The heat had not abated, of course. It never did. Almost at once sweat began forming inside my mask. We walked on, with the rolling lurching gait that slaves developed as the best way of coping with the heaviness in their limbs. It was a long way to the sector where Fritz thought the river might make its exit. One of the carriages would have taken us there quite quickly, but it was unthinkable for slaves to travel in a carriage unless a Master were with them. We had to make it on our own plodding feet.
There were few Masters about, and we saw no slaves. On Fritz’s suggestion we split up, with him traveling ahead of me, just within range of visibility. One slave out at night could be explained as being on an errand for a still active Master—two together would seem odd. I saw the point in this, though I regretted the separation, and was hard put to keep him in sight while staying the necessary distance apart. We moved from one circle of light to the next, and there was a stage between where one walked through near blackness, with no more than a dim green glow ahead. It was a strain on eye and mind alike, particularly in the follow-my-leader role.
One detected the approach of a Master some way
off. Their three round splayed feet made a distinctive flat slapping sound on the smooth hardness of the road. I heard this behind me as I passed under a lamp. It grew louder, since they moved faster than we did. I thought it might come abreast of me in the dark patch, and wanted to dodge away. But there was no side turning here, and anyway it might look suspicious. There was the possibility of losing touch with Fritz, as well. I walked on, remembering a few lines of poetry I had found in an old book at home:
Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
I had not turned around, but then I did not need to, knowing very well what it was that followed. We were in a part of the City entirely strange to me, and I suddenly realized that if I were questioned I had no sort of answer to give. I tried to think of one, but my brain had gone blank.
The dark patch came, and the sounds were still behind me. He should have been up with me by now, I thought, and had a dreadful conviction that he had slowed his progress deliberately, that he was examining me and preparing to accost me. I went on, expecting every moment that the Master’s voice would boom out from behind, a tentacle grasp me and swing me off the ground. I could see Fritz’s figure dimly, fading into the darkness past the next light. I felt horribly alone, the more so because of the follower, whose slapping footsteps now were right behind me. I wanted to run, but somehow kept to my resolution. And then the huge grotesque shape shambled past me, and I felt like collapsing in the weakness of relief.