The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

by Randall Garrett

  “I await your pleasure,” the young man said with impatience he strove to conceal.

  “Very well,” John Pride said, his eyes growing vague with a far-away look.

  CHAPTER IV

  John Pride’s Story

  “I am a member,” John Pride began, “of a firm called Pride, Conroy, and Wilson. We are a very old firm of private bankers with offices in Wall Street. Both Conroy and Wilson died before I was born, leaving no issue, so the company has been controlled by a Pride for many years.

  “This affair in which we are interested had its inception one hundred years ago. At that time, a man came to see my great grandfather in his office. He was a most remarkable man and gained my grandfather’s respect and confidence from the very first. He never stated from whence he came, being more interested in the future than in the past. He put up at a New York City hotel and my great grandfather knew there were three in his party; the man himself, another man and a woman both somewhat older than he.

  “At one time when my great grandfather visited them in their hotel suite, he saw the woman fleetingly as she was leaving the room. She was carrying something that he thought could have been an infant snuggled in a blanket. He could not be sure however and he did not ask questions.

  “The man was interested in obtaining a place of abode, a place that had to possess certain definite qualifications. First, it had to be built upon solid rock and set in the most secluded location possible.

  “Second, it had to be so completely free of legal involvements that when he secured title, no possible claim of another could ever be taken seriously enough to even cause the property to be visited. In short, the strange man said, details relevant to the property must integrate to a point where no one would visit it for one hundred years.”

  At this place in his narrative, John Pride stopped a moment to rest his voice. After a pause, the young man in the purple robe inquired, “Why do you smile?”

  “At the recollection. My great grandfather had just a white elephant—”

  “A white elephant?”

  “Merely a descriptive term. A place that had been built before the Revolution but which even at that early time had been bypassed by the trend of progress until it was completely isolated. No one wanted it. No one would ever want it so far as my great grandfather could judge.”

  “Except this strange man you speak of.”

  “Precisely. He was delighted with the place and when my great grandfather pointed out that even with the location and the high surrounding wall there was no guarantee that wandering adventurers might not move in and take possession at some distant date, the man smiled cryptically and said he would see to it that that did not occur.”

  The young man was scowling. “I know that man. He is somewhere back in my mind, but he will not come forward.”

  John Pride regarded his listener for a moment and then went on. “The man seemed in ample funds and paid for the property with a giant ruby the like of which my great grandfather had never before set eyes on.

  “But the affair was far from ended. The man moved his ménage into the mansion saying he would call upon my great grandfather later.

  “All the legal formalities had been of course taken care of—an indisputable deed, guaranteed by the strongest trust company in the land. But that was not enough.

  “After a few weeks, during which time the man had inquired of my great grandfather where certain materials could be obtained, he returned to the old gentleman’s office with the most startling request of all.

  “He said that he had set in motion a procedure that would terminate in exactly one hundred years from a given moment and that he wished to retain grandfather’s firm as trust agents in relation to that procedure. The duties of the firm would be negligible during the hundred-year period. My great grandfather and his issue were merely to remain completely away from the property which was certainly a simple thing to do.

  “But knowledge of what had taken place must be passed down to his son and in case the latter did not survive the one hundred years, to his son’s son.

  “At this point my great grandfather interposed reality in the form of a question: ‘I have a son but suppose he is so inconsiderate as to not duplicate with a male heir?’

  “The man smiled and said he was sure that would not be the case. He was right, but whether it was a gamble on his part or whether he spoke from a knowledge beyond us, we never knew.

  “But regardless—at the end of one hundred years the surviving issue was, by sacred trust, to be present in this mansion. The door of a vault beneath it would open and the trustee was to enter and deliver therein a written account of the series of events leading up to that moment.

  “In payment for this service, the man insisted upon presenting my great grandfather with jewels the value of which on a yearly basis transcended all our other income combined. My great grandfather demurred but the man said nothing brightens memory so much as material gain and he did not want the agreement to be forgotten.”

  “What happened to the man?” the young listener asked.

  John Pride shook his head sadly. “We never knew. When all the arrangements were made, he came again to the office, thanked my great sire for his services, and was never seen again.”

  “He must have given you his name.”

  John Pride frowned. “He used a name of course but there was the impression of its not being his true one. The book mentions this. The name he used was C. D. Bram.”

  “Portox!” the young man cried suddenly.

  “What did you say?”

  “Portox. The name is back in my mind. I used it as I awoke.”

  “A strange name.”

  “And stranger still is the fact that I know nothing of it—wait!” The young man’s handsome features strained as he concentrated with all his power. Sweat stood out on his forehead. But then a look of disappointment came into his face and his broad shoulders sagged. “No. The knowledge is somewhere back in my mind but I cannot capture it.”

  John Pride was about to speak but the young man stayed him with a sudden intense look. “One thing however is very clear to me.”

  “And that is—?”

  “The face of my mother.”

  “The woman who held you in her arms in the hotel suite?”

  “No, I do not think so. But I see a face clearly in my mind. A sad and beautiful face. There is a marked resemblance between it and what I see in that mirror. She is the most beautiful woman who ever lived and I yearn to find her and take her in my arms.”

  “I hope you succeed.”

  A tragic light appeared in the young man’s eyes. “But where is she? How can I find her? Why did she leave me in this place?”

  “I do not have the answers to those questions. But I have a theory concerning you and the elapsed years.”

  “Tell me!”

  John Pride spoke firmly but with obvious awe. “I think you were brought here as an infant for some reason known only to the one who called himself C. D. Bram.”

  “Or Portox.”

  “Perhaps. I think you were placed in that bed and left there for one hundred years.”

  “But—”

  “Consider. That door has never been opened. There is certainly no other exit to this cavern.”

  “And I have no recollection of ever having lived before,” the young man said slowly.

  “Yet you can converse with me. You obviously have been given an education.”

  “But how?”

  “It is known that knowledge can be injected into the subconscious while the receiver sleeps. I’m sure the man you insist upon calling Portox was aware of this—this and perhaps other scientific miracles. Who are we to say that you were not nourished by some means beyond our knowledge?”

  But that investigation was never to be made because as John Pride extended his hand to touch the box it suddenly burst into a glow and he withdrew his fingers quickly.

  Before the younger man could answer a
glowing point of light sprang into being and brightened and a wave of searing heat erupted from the walls of the room, searing the eyes of John Pride and leaving him to grope helplessly as in the heart of a furnace. The younger man was beyond his reach. Blinding pain caused him to reel.

  CHAPTER V

  Question Upon Question

  John Pride opened his eyes as a moan escaped his lips. The haze cleared and he found himself lying upon a cool stone floor looking up into the concerned face of the younger man. “What happened?” John Pride asked feebly. He tried to refocus.

  “I don’t know except that the heat of that fire was upon us with such swiftness that we were almost incapacitated. I picked you up and started walking. Fortunately I moved in the direction of the door. Otherwise we would have been doomed.”

  “I am in your debt.”

  “No more so than I in yours.”

  “Did you extinguish the fire?”

  “It burned out of its own accord. But only after the cave was completely gutted. There is nothing left in there but the bare rock walls.”

  John Pride sat up with quick concern. “The book!”

  “It is gone.” The young man looked ruefully down at his own naked body. “Gone—together with my precious robe.”

  “That can easily be replaced along with other raiment but the book—I was supposed to deliver it—”

  “—to the cavern. You did that, my friend. It was not through you that the fire consumed it. You have dispatched your obligation. Let your mind be at ease.”

  John Pride got to his feet. He shook his head in the negative. “No. A portion of my obligation still exists. Fortunately I did not bring forth the second and last item I was to place in the cavern.”

  “The second item?”

  “Yes, and I believe the most important.”

  With that, Pride took from his pocket a small box wrapped in heavy material and sealed and resealed with a sort of rubberized wax.

  “This,” he said. “I know not what is in the box nor I think, did my father, my grandfather, nor my great grandfather before me. We have been given to understand that its delivery to the cavern was the most important single duty of the trust. So I now place it in your hands, praying that this act fulfills the long-standing obligation of my family.”

  The younger man had salvaged a portion of his robe, a length of material that went over his shoulders and draped skimpily down the sides of his body. This did nothing whatever in the way of covering his nudity but rather accentuated and added to it.

  He took the box and was scanning it with great interest when the excitement and strenuous action of the preceding few minutes again took grip upon John Pride’s comparatively less rugged physique.

  His eyes closed and he began sinking again to the floor whereupon the younger man slipped the box hastily in the pocket that had not burned away from his robe and caught John Pride in his arms.

  He lifted the elder man and carried him up from the mansion caverns and into the great hall that swept forward to the main entrance. As he walked, bearing the heavy burden as though it were but a mere feather, he was of two minds.

  One mind entertained concern for his new-found friend and the other was occupied with interest in these new and strange surroundings.

  Dawn had broken over the forest and in a brooding light within the great hall, he saw the withered body of the dead man on the floor. He paused for a moment and then went out across the flagstone porch and into the open air.

  He marveled at the green expanse of forest that reared in majesty about him. He drew in deep gusts of the cool air and found it good. He smiled.

  Then John Pride stirred in his arms and showed signs of returning consciousness. The young man laid the financier on the soft grass and watched until his eyes opened.

  “Are you feeling better? Is there anything I can do?”

  John Pride smiled feebly as he raised himself with the younger man’s aid. “I’m afraid this has been more strenuous than I bargained for. If I’d known what would transpire I would have kept myself in better condition.”

  “But you feel better now?”

  “Yes. If you will be so good as to help me to my car, I’ll be all right.”

  “Certainly. Your car—?”

  “A means of conveyance that will take me back to the city. It stands but a few yards down the road beyond the gate.”

  A short time later, the two men stood at the place that was to be the parting of their ways. Both sensed this and Pride held out his hand. The younger man grasped it firmly.

  “Godspeed to you, my friend,” John Pride said. “I fear I can help you no further but if there is ever a time when my services are needed, I will be waiting for your command.”

  “Thank you. Whatever befalls me I will always remember you as the first friend I ever set eyes upon in this world.”

  With that, John Pride turned his car and drove off down the winding road. As he left, the younger man realized the older man had said nothing of the dead ancient in the great hall but realized it was because of the strain Pride had suffered. The man was still somewhat dazed from the shock of the fire.

  He turned and walked slowly back toward the mansion until he stood again in the great front yard. There he stopped and stood looking up at the sun as it topped the hill east of the mansion.

  “Who am I?” he asked himself. “Why was I given knowledge but not all the knowledge necessary to intelligently pursue my destiny? In my heart there is a certainty that I am an educated man. I am aware of the fact that there are different groups of people who speak different languages and I know I will be able to converse with any I meet.

  “I know that there are planets and stars and moons and I know what is to be known of the universe. But where is the exact personal knowledge that would help me in my dealings with the future? Why was I left here carefully tended and provided for these hundred years only to be hurled suddenly upon my own?”

  He walked slowly into the great hall and knelt beside the still figure on the floor. A feeling of compassion stirred him but there was no warmth of recognition, no personal sorrow as a result of the ancient’s death.

  “Have I ever seen you before?” he asked softly. “Were you—Portox?”

  The dead one did not answer and the young man lifted him and took him from the hall and buried him. He could find no tools to dig the soil but located a hole that had once been a shallow well. He dropped the body therein and followed it with stones until the hole was filled. He did this with no sense of callousness but rather with an impersonal reverence he instinctively felt but could not analyze.

  Returning slowly to the front yard, he pondered the dimension of time. How, he wondered, could John Pride’s line have gone through three sires to John Pride, the last of the males, while he himself lay for one hundred years to emerge in his obvious prime? Or perhaps even on the near side of his prime.

  * * * *

  He pondered this and other points until his mind grew weary from unanswered questions and turned to things of the moment.

  “I know not what my destiny is but at least I am able to have a name. What shall it be?”

  He remembered the one Portox had used—C. D. Bram. “Bram,” he said. “That I like.” But the C. D. meant nothing to him and Bram seemed somehow incomplete.

  “John Price had a name of two parts,” he said, “so why should I not have the same?”

  He looked about him and a breeze in the green branches above seemed to whisper the answer. He heard and considered, then smiled to himself, raised his voice.

  “I christen myself Bram Forest, to be known from this moment on by that name.”

  Suddenly his smile deepened, then laughter welled from his great chest; a laughter arising from the sheer joy of this new thing called living into which he had stepped.

  Now he stretched his arms over his head, palms upward as though supplicating to some far-off deity. He leaped high in the air testing his muscles and finding them good.
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  Then he was running, naked and golden off across the open hill. He ran until his huge chest pounded with delicious pain as his lungs labored for air. Finally he dropped to the ground and lay spread-eagled looking up at the sky.

  He laughed long and joyously.

  He lay for a long time thus, then suddenly remembered the box John Pride had given him. But the scanty garment had dropped from his shoulders so he sprang to his feet and ran back until he discovered it.

  The box was still there. He examined it curiously turning it over and over in his hands. The seal was stubborn but it finally gave and he peeled off the heavy wrapping. A small white box came to light.

  This he opened to stand frowning at what it contained. An odd instrument of some sort—a flat disc about two inches in diameter and possibly a quarter of an inch thick. Both faces were of shining, crystalline metal reflecting back anything that was imaged upon them.

  Two short metal straps appended from opposite sides of the queer instrument, one of which held a buckle at its end. He held the shining disc to his ear but there was no sound that he could detect.

  Frustrated he looked again into the box. It appeared to be empty. But no. As he was about to fling it away, he noted that what appeared to be its inner bottom was in reality a second flat package that fitted perfectly into the receptacle. He shook it free and found it to be merely a flat rectangle wrapped tightly in white paper.

  He was about to rip the paper with his thumbnail when his attention switched suddenly to the shining disc. He had envisioned a use for it; or at least a place for which it seemed constructed.

  He tested his theory and found the straps fit snugly and perfectly around his wrist. He pondered which wrist to place it on and decided the right one would be appropriate. Quickly, he snapped the buckle into its hasp and then held forth his arm to admire the brightness of the queer device.

  If he had expected anything to happen, he was disappointed and he stood there wondering what use was to be found from such a seemingly useless device.

  After a while he unbuckled the disc and moved it to his left wrist. Perhaps it would look better there. Again he raised his arm to admire it and had stood thus for some moments when he became conscious of an odd sickness in the pit of his stomach.