On the steps of the building that housed the tube, half a dozen idlers moved hastily within, and he glimpsed the panicstricken nondescript who had released him from the freight cylinder.
Connor strode wearily to the steps and deposited Evanie. He glared at the pale faces beyond the door.
"I want food," he snapped. "And wine. Do you hear? Wine!"
Someone slipped timidly past him. In a moment he was back with coarse brown bread and cold meat, and a bottle of tart wild grape wine of the region. Connor ate silently, realizing that eyes peered at him from every window. When he had finished, he poured wine between Evanie's lips. It was the only nourishment he could give her.
"You in there!" he called. "Can any of you release us from these things?"
Evidently, that was a mistake. There was a terrified rustling within and a hurried exodus from some other door. The Messenger took up its refrain with maddening promptness. Abandoning hope of aid, once again he picked up Evanie and tramped into the darkness.
The demon on his shoulder finally let him sleep. It was just dawn when he awoke, and scarcely had he opened his eyes on this second morning of his torturous trek when the clicking voice resumed its chant. He made no attempt to resist it, but rose and struggled on with his burden. Now he followed a clay road on which he could avoid tearing thorns and branches.
No more than a mile from the village he topped a rise to view a wide black highway, perhaps the same over which he and Jan Orm and Evanie had sped to Urbsjust two days ago! He found the rubbery surface somewhat less tiring and managed a little more distance between rests. But the journey was painfully slow. Yet the Messenger never hurried him. He was permitted ample rest.
Now and again vehicles hummed past, mostly giant trucks. Occasionally a speeding machine slowed as if to stop, but one glimpse of the mistiness on his shoulder sent the driver whizzing on. No one, apparently, dared association with the bearer of that dread badge of the Master's enmity. It was with amazement, therefore, that Connor saw a truck actually stopping, and heard a cheerful invitation to "Come on in!"
He clambered laboriously into the cab, placing Evanie on the seat beside him, holding her against him. He thanked the driver, a pleasantfeatured youth, and relaxed, silent.
"Weed trouble, eh?" the driver asked. He stared at Connor's shoulder.
"Say, you must be a pretty important Weed to rate a Messenger." He glanced sideward at Connor and suddenly grinned. "I know you now! You're the fellow that carried the beam when hell popped Sunday. Lord! Stood right up to the beam!" In his tone was deep admiration.
Connor said nothing.
"Well, you're in for it, all right," the youth resumed cheerfully. "You blew down some of the Master's men, and that's bad!"
"What did he do with the others?" Connor asked gloomily. "They couldn't all get away."
"He only picked up the leaders. Nine of 'em. Vision didn't say what he did. Papers say he released some of 'em. Girl who thinks she looks like the Princess."
Maris, thought Connor. And Evanie was the tenth of the decemvirate. He himself was tossed in for good measure. Well, perhaps he might bargain for Evanie's release. After all, he had something to trade.
It was midafternoon before they looked down on Kaatskill, and Connor realized in astonishment the distance over which they must have flashed in the freight tube. Then he forgot all else as Urbs Minor appeared with its thousands of towers and, far across the valley, the misty peaks that were the colossus, Greater Urbs.
The truck kept to the ground level. The mighty buildings, shielded by the upper streets from sight, were less spectacular here, but their vast bases seemed to press upon the ground like a range of mountains, until Connor wondered why the solid earth did not sink beneath their weight. Millions upon millions of tons of metal and masonryand all of it as if it rested on his own brain, so despondent did he feel.
Presently they were on Palace Avenue. Even the ground level of that mighty street was crowded.
Connor already knew its almost legendary reputation. What the Via Appia was to Rome, or Broadway to America of yore, Palace Avenue now was to the world. Main street of the planet; highway of sixno, the sevencontinents. For Antarctica was an inhabited continent now.
When the unbelievably magnificent Twin Towers came into clean view the truck came to a halt.
Connor climbed out and turned to pick up Evanie.
"Thanks," he said. "You made the road to hell a lot easier."
The youth grinned.
" 'S nothing. Good chances, Weed. You'll need 'em!"
Connor turned for the long ascent to the Palace. He trudged up the interminable flight of steps, passing crowds of Urbans who stared and gave him wide passageway. He moved close under the great, brooding, diorite statue of Holland, into the north doorway of the Palace, where a guard stepped hastily aside to admit him.
Through a door to his right came the clatter and rustle of voices and machines, engaged in the business of administering a world government. To his left was a closed door, and ahead the hall debouched into a room so colossal that at first it seemed an illusion.
He strode in. Along the far wall, a thousand feet away, was a row of seatsthrones, rathereach on a dais or platform perhaps ten feet above the floor, and each apparently occupied. Perhaps fifty of them. Before the central one stood a group of people, and a few guards flanked it. Then, as he approached, he realized that all but the central throne were occupied only by images, by cleverly worked statues of bronze. Notwo central thrones held living forms.
He pushed his way roughly through the knot of people, carefully deposited Evanie on the steps ascending to the seat, and glared defiantly at the Master.
For a moment, so intent was his gaze at the man he had come bitterly to hate, through all the torture of his forced trip, that he did not shift his eyes to the figure who sat beside the Master. The Princess of whom he had heard, he supposedthe beautiful cruel Margaret of Urbs who, with her brother, ruled with an iron hand.
But he was not interested in her now. Her immortal brother claimed all his attention, all his defiance.
Just for a breath, though, Connor's eyes did flicker in her directionand instantly he stood stockstill, frozen, wondering if at last he had lost his mind. For here, before his staring eyes, was the most incredible thing he had come upon in all this incredible new world! And what held him spellbound was not so much the utter, unbelievable, fantastic beauty of the womanor girlwho sat upon the throne of Urbs, as was the fact that he knew her! Gazing at her, frozen in utter surprise and fascination, Tom Connor knew in that moment that the cruel Margaret of Urbs and the inkyhaired, whiterobed girl with whom he had spent those unforgettable moments in the wildwood outside the village of Ormon were one and the same!
There could be no possible doubt of that, though in her emerald green eyes now was no friendly light as she looked down at him haughtily. In that same manner she might show her distaste for some crawling thing that had annoyed her. But not even her changed expression, not even her rich garb that had replaced her white robe of sylvan simplicity, could alter the fact that here before Tom Connor was his woman of the woods, his girl of mystery, the girl who had unfolded to him the history of this more and more astonishing age into which Fate had drawn him.
Not by the slightest flicker of a long, black, curling eyelash did she show that she had even seen Connor before. But even in his own quick resentment that swiftly followed his frozen moment of surprise, the man from another age uncomfortably realized that her fascination for him, the sway of her bewildering beauty, was as great as it had been the first moment he had gazed upon her.
His own predicamentEvanieeverythingwas forgotten as if he were hypnotized.
Instead of a gauzy, white robe that was in itself revealing, but with a touch of poetry and mysticism, she now wore the typical revealing costume of Urbsrose bodice, and short kirtle of golden scales. And that hair of hersnever would Connor forget itso black that it glinted blue in the light. Nor would he e
ver forget her skin, so transparently clear, with its tint like the patina over ancient silverbronze.
Looking at her now, Connor could see how Maris might claim a resemblance, but it was no more than the resemblance of a candle to the sun. Evanie was beautiful, too, but her loveliness was that of a human being, while the beauty of this girl who sat upon a throne was unearthly, unbelievable, immortal.
She sat with her slim legs thrust carelessly before her, her elbow on the arm of her chair, her chin in her cupped hand, and gazed indifferently from strange seagreen eyes into the vastness of the giant chamber. Never once did she glance at Connor after her first swift distasteful survey.
Her exquisite features were expressionless, or expressive only of complete boredom. Though there did seem to Connor that there was the faintest trace of that unforgettable mockery in the set of her perfect lips. Before he could tear his gaze away from her she moved slightly. With the movement something flamed on her breasta great flower of seven petals that flashed and glistened in a dozen colors, as if made of jewels.
It took all of Connor's will power to keep his eyes from her, even though in that moment of long silence that had fallen in the throne room with his entry, he was resenting her, loathing her for what she wasinstead of what he had thought her to be.
Deliberately he faced the Master, head up, defiant. Let the Masterlet his Princess sisterdo what they pleased. He was ready for them!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE MASTER
THE MAN AT WHOM Connor stared, the man whose features he had seen before on Evanie's coin, seemed no older than the middle twenties. He was darkeyed, and his black hair fell in a smooth helmet below his ears.
The eyes were strange, piercing, shrewd, as if they alone had aged, as if they were the receptacles of these centuries of experience. The mouth was set in a thin, cold line and yet, strangely enough, there was a faintly humorous quirk to its corners. Or not so strangely, either, decided Connor. A man must have a sense of humor to survive seven centuries.
And then a deep, resonant voice sounded as the Master spoke.
"I see, Thomas Connor," he said ironically, "that you received my Messenger hospitably. And this is little Evanie!" His voice changed. "Good blood," he mused. "The mingling of the blood of Martin Sair with that of Montmerci."
Connor glared belligerently. "Release us from these vicious Messengers of yours, will you?" he demanded angrily. "We're here."
The Master nodded mildly, and spoke briefly into a mouthpiece on a black table beside him. There was a moment's pause, then a tingling shock as the unbound energies of the Messenger grounded through Connor's body. Evanie quivered and moaned as the thing on her shoulder vanished, but she lay as quiet as ever.
Connor shook himself. Free! He flashed an angry frown at the impassive Master, but his eyes kept straying back to the Princess, who still had not even glanced at him after that one first instant.
"Well," said the Master quietly, "your revolution was a trifle abortive, wasn't it?"
"Up to now!" snapped Connor.
His hatred suddenly overwhelmed him. The impulse for revenge shook him bodily. Swiftly stooping, he snatched Evanie's revolver from her belt, and held the trigger while twelve shots spat full at the Master's face in a continuous steaming roar.
The steam moved lazily away. The Master sat without change of expression, uninjured, while from far above a few splinters of glass from a shattered skylight tinkled about him. Of course, Connor reflected bitterly, the man would be protected by an inductive field. Glass had been able to pass through that inductive field, where Connor's bullets could not, but their glass was a dielectric.
He cast the empty gun aside and stared sullenly at the man on the throne. Then, despite his efforts, his gaze was again drawn to the Princess.
She was no longer looking abstractedly into vacancy. At the crash of the shots she had shifted slightly, without raising her chin from her hand, and was watching him. Their glances crossed. It was like the tingle of the Messenger's discharge to him as he met the cool green eyes, inscrutable and expressionless and utterly disinterested. And in them was no slightest hint of recognition! For reasons of her own she did not mean to recognize him. Well, two could play at that game.
"Your impulses take violent form," said the Master coldly. "Why do you, who claim to be a newcomer to this age, hate me so?"
"Hate you?" Connor echoed fiercely. "Why shouldn't I? Didn't you put me through two days and nights of hell with your damned Messenger?"
"But there would have been no torment had you obeyed immediately."
"But Evanie!" Connor snapped. "See what you've done to her!"
"She was interfering. I didn't want her here, particularly, but she might have released you from the Messenger. If you'd left her to herself, I would have freed her within a few hours."
"Kind, aren't you?" sneered Connor. "You're so confident in your own powers that you don't even punish revolt. Well, you're a tyrant, nevertheless, and some day you'll get more than you bargain for. / could have done it myself!"
He glanced again at the Princess. Was there the faintest flicker of interest in her imperious eyes?
"And what would you have done," queried the Master amiably, "if you had been running the revolution?"
"Plenty!" retorted Connor. "In the first place, I'd never have shipped weapons into Urbs through the public tubes. You were bound to discover that, and surprise was our greatest ally. I'd have had 'em made right here, or near here. There must be Weed factories around, and if not, I'd have bought one."
"Go on," said the Master interestedly. "What else?"
"I'd have had a real organizationnot this cumbersome leader upon leader pyramid. I'd have laid real plans, planted spies in the Palace. And finally, your deflectors. I didn't know of them, or we could have won even as things were. Myassociatesforgot, rather carelessly, to mention them."
The Master smiled. "That was an error. If you had known of them, what would you have done?"
"I'd have used wooden bullets instead of metal ones," said Connor boldly. "Your induction field won't stop wood. And your ionic beamswhy the devil couldn't we have used metal screen armor? We could have closed the circuit with that instead of with our bodies!"
He was aware, though he steadfastly refused to look at her, that the Princess was watching him now with undisguised mockery, her lovely lips parted in the ghost of a smile.
"True," said the Master with a curious expression. "You could have." He frowned. "I did not believe the stories I first heard of youthat you were a Sleeper who had awakened after a sleep of a thousand years. They were too fantastic for belief. I thought you were meaning to capitalize on the Sleep in some way known only to yourselfsince I understand you had no bank deposit to draw interest for you and make you a wealthy man. Now I am inclined to believe you have come from another agean age of wisdomand you're a dangerous man, Thomas Connor. You're a brave man to bait me as you do, and a strong one, but dangerous; too dangerous. Yet I'm rather sorry your courage and strength has been bred out of the race."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to kill you," said the Master softly. "I'm sorry. Were it not for Evanie, I might be tempted to ask for your oath of allegiance and release you, but I can't trust a man who loves a Weed woman. It's a chance I dare not take, though I bitterly regret losing your blood and your ancient knowledge. If it consoles you, know that I intend to free Evanie. She's harmless to me. Any trouble she might cause can be easily handled. But youyou're different."
"Thanks," retorted Connor. Like a compass needle his eyes did return to the face of the Princess, then. Even now, condemned to die for the second time in his strange life, he gazed fascinated at her, smiling at her with an echo of her own mockery.
"I don't suppose," said the Master hopefully, "that you'd consent tosay, marry Evanie and perpetuate your blood before you die. I need that ancient strain of yours. Our race has grown weak."
"I would not!" Connor said.
/> "Tell me!" said the other in sudden eagerness. "Is it true, as an Ormon prisoner told us, and which I scorned to believe, having then no faith in this thousandyear Sleep, that you understand the ancient mathematics? Calculus, logarithms, and such lost branches?"
"It's quite true," snapped Connor.
"Who told you?"
"Your Ormon chemist. Would you consent to impart that knowledge? The world needs it."
"For my life, perhaps." The Master hesitated, frowning.
"I'm sorry," he said at last. "Invaluable as the knowledge is, the danger you, personally, present, outweighs it. I could trick you out of your secrets. I could promise you life, get your information, then quietly kill you. I do not stoop to that. If you desire, your knowledge goes to the grave with you."
"Thanks again," retorted Connor. "You might remember that I could have concealed my dangerous character, too. I needn't have pointed out the weakness in your defenses."
"I already knew them. I also know the weaknesses of Weed mentality." He paused. "I'm truly sorry, butthis seems to be the end of our interview." He turned as if to gesture to the guards along the wall.
Margaret of Urbs flashed a strange, inscrutable glance at Connor, and leaned toward the Master.
She spoke in low, inaudible tones, but emphatically, insistently. The Master looked up at Connor.
"I reconsider," he said coolly. "I grant you your life for the present on one conditionthat you make no move against me while you are in the Palace. I do not ask your word not to escape. I only warn you that a Messenger will follow. Do you agree?"
Connor thought only a moment. "I do."
"Then you will remain within the Palace." The Master snapped an order to a guard. "I will send doctors to attend little Evanie. That's all."
The guard, as tall a man as Connor himself, stepped forward and gathered Evanie in his arms.
Connor followed him, but could not resist a backward glance at the Princess, who sat once more staring idly into space. But in his mind was the thought now, exultant in spite of his resentment, that at least she had not forgotten him, or those hours together in the woods.
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