The White Mountains

1

Capping Day

Apart from the one in the church tower, there were five clocks in the village that kept reasonable time and my father owned one of them. It stood on the mantelpiece in the parlor, and every night before he went to bed he took the key from a vase and wound it up. Once a year the clockman came from Winchester, on an old jogging packhorse, to clean and oil it and put it light. Afterward he would drink camomile tea with my mother and tell her the news of the city and what he had heard in the villages through which he had passed. My father, if he was not busy milling, would stalk out at this time with some contemptuous remark about gossip; but later, in the evening, I would hear my mother passing the stories on to him. He did not show much enthusiasm, but he listened to them.

My father's great treasure, though, was not the clock, but the Watch. This, a miniature clock with a dial less than an inch across and a circlet permitting it to be worn on the wrist, was kept in a locked drawer of his desk and only brought out to be worn on ceremonial occasions, such as Harvest Festival or a Capping. The clockman was allowed to see to it only every third year, and at such times my father stood by, watching him as he worked. There was no other Watch in the village, nor in any of the villages round about The clockman said there were a number in Winchester, but none as fine as this. I wondered if he said it to please my father, who certainly showed pleasure in the hearing, but I believe it truly was of very good workmanship. The body of the Watch was of a steel much superior to anything they could make at the forge in Alton, and the works inside were a wonder of intricacy and skill. On the front were printed "Anti-magnetique" and "Incabloc," which we supposed to have been the name of the craftsman who made it in olden times.

The clockman had visited us the week before, and I had been permitted to look on for a time while he cleaned and oiled the Watch. The sight fascinated me, and after he had gone I found my thoughts running continually on this treasure. now locked away again in its drawer. I was, of course, forbidden to touch my father's desk, and the notion of opening a locked drawer in it should have been unthinkable. Nonetheless, the idea persisted. And after a day or two I admitted to myself that it was only the fear of being caught that prevented me.

On Saturday morning I found myself alone in the house. My father was in the mill room, grinding, and the servants - even Molly, who normally did not leave the house during the day - had been brought in to help. My mother was out visiting old Mrs. Ash, who was sick, and would be gone an hour at least I had finished my homework and there was nothing to stop my going out into the bright May morning and finding Jack. But what completely filled my mind was the thought that I had this opportunity to look at the Watch with small chance of detection.

The key, I had observed, was kept with the other keys in a small box beside my father's bed. There were four, and the third one opened the drawer. I took out the Watch, and gazed at it. It was not going, but I knew one wound it and set the hands by means of the small knob at one side. If I were to wind it only a couple of turns, it would run down quite soon-just in case my father decided to look at it later in the day. I did this, and listened to its quiet rhythmic ticking. Then I set the hands by the clock. After that it only remained for me to slip it on my wrist Even notched to the first hole, the leather strap was loose; but I was wearing the Watch,

Having achieved what I had thought was an ultimate ambition, I found, as I think is often the case, that there remained something more. To wear it was a triumph, but to be seen wearing it ... I had told my cousin. Jack Leeper, that I would meet him that morning in the old ruins at the end of the village. Jack, who was nearly a year older than myself and due to be presented at the next Capping, was the person, next to my parents, whom I most admired. To take the Watch out of the house was to add enormity to disobedience, but having already gone so far. it was easier to contemplate it My mind made up, I was determined to waste none of the precious time I had. I opened the front door, stuck the hand with the Watch deep into my trouser pocket, and ran off down the street

The village lay at a crossroads, with the road in which our house stood running alongside the river (this giving power for the mill, of course) and the second road crossing it at the ford. Beside the ford stood a small wooden bridge for foot travelers, and I pelted across, noticing that the river was higher than usual from the spring rains. My Aunt Lucy was approaching the bridge as I left it at the far end. She called a greeting to me, and I called back, having first taken care to veer to the other side of the road. The baker's shop was there, with trays of buns and cakes set out, and it was reasonable that I should be heading that way: I had a couple of pennies in my pocket. But I ran on past it, and did not slacken to a walk until I had reached the point where the houses thinned out and at last ended.

The ruins were a hundred yards farther on. On one side of the road lay Spillers' meadow, with cows grazing, but on my side there was a thorn hedge, and a potato field beyond. I passed a gap in the hedge, not looking in my concentration on what I was going to show Jack, and was startled a moment later by a shout from behind me. I recognized the voice as Henry Parker's.

Henry, like Jack, was a cousin of mine-my name is Will Parker-but. unlike Jack, no friend. (I had several cousins in the village; people did not usually travel far to marry.) He was a month younger than I, but taller and heavier, and we had hated each other as long as I could remember. When it came to fighting, as it very often did, I was outmatched physically and had to rely on agility and quickness if I were not going to be beaten over and over again. From Jack I had learned some skill in wrestling which, in the past year, had enabled me to hold my own more, and in our last encounter I had thrown him heavily enough to wind him and leave him gasping for breath. But for wrestling one needed the use of both hands. I thrust my left hand deeper into the pocket and. not answering his call. ran on toward the ruins.

He was closer than I had thought, though, and he pounded after me. yelling threats. I put a spurt on, looked back to see how much of a lead I had, and found myself slipping on a patch of mud. (Cobbles were laid inside the village, but out here the road was in its usual poor condition. aggravated by the rains.) I fought desperately to keep my footing, but would not, until it was too late, bring out my other hand to help balance myself. As a result, I went slithering and sprawling and finally fell. Before I could recover, Henry was kneeling across me. holding the back of my head with his hand and pushing my face down into the mud.

This activity would normally have kept him happy for some time. but he found something of greater interest I had instinctively used both hands to protect myself as I fell. and he saw the Watch on my wrist. In a moment he had wrenched it off, and stood up to examine it I scrambled to my feet and made a grab, but he held it easily above his head and out of my reach.

I said. panting, "Give that back!" "It's not yours," he said. "It's your father's." I was in agony in case the Watch had been damaged, broken maybe, in my fall, but even so I attempted to get my leg between his to drop him. He parried and. stepping back, said. "Keep your distanced-he braced himself, as though preparing to throw a stone-"or I'll see how far X can fling it"

"If you do," I said, "you'll get a whipping for it."

There was a grin on his fleshy face. "So will you. And your father lays on heavier than mine does. I'll tell you what: I'll borrow it for a while. Maybe I'll let you have it back this afternoon. Or tomorrow."

"Someone will see you with it"

He grinned again. "Ill risk that"

I made a grab at him; I had decided that he was bluffing about throwing it away. I almost got him off balance, but not quite. We swayed and struggled, and then crashed together and rolled down into the ditch by the side of tile road. There was some water in it, but we went on fighting, even after a voice challenged us from above. Jack-for it was he who had called to us to get up-had to come down and pull us apart by force. This was not difficult for him. He was as big as Henry and tremendously strong also. He dragged us back up to the road, got to the root of the matter, took the Watch from Henry, and dismissed him with a dip across the back of the neck.

I said fearfully. "is it all right?"

"I think so." He examined it and handed it to me. "But you were a fool to bring it out"

"I wanted to show it to you."

"Not worth it," he said briefly. "Anyway, we'd better see about getting it back. I'll lend a hand."

Jack had always been around to lend a hand as long as I could remember. It was strange. I thought, as we walked toward the village, that in just over a week's time I would be on my own. The Capping would have taken place, and Jack would be a boy no longer.

Jack stood guard while I put the Watch back and returned the drawer key to the place where I had found it I changed my wet and dirty trousers and shirt, and we retraced our steps to the ruins. No one knew what these buildings had once been, and I think one of the things that attracted us was a sign, printed on a chipped and rusted metal plate:

DANGER

6,600 VOLTS

We had no idea what Volts had been, but the notion of danger, however far away and long ago, was exciting. There was more lettering, but for the most part the rust had destroyed it:

LECT    CITY

We wondered if that was the city it had come from.

Farther along was the den Jack had made. One approached it through a crumbling arch; inside it was dry, and there was a place to build a fire. Jack had made one before coming out to look for me, and had skinned, cleaned, and skewered a rabbit ready for us to grill. There would be food in plenty at home-the midday meal on a Saturday was always lavish-but tins did not prevent my looking forward greedily to roast rabbit with potatoes baked in the embers of the fire. Nor would it stop me doing justice to the steak pie my mother had in the oven. Although on the small side, I had a good appetite.

We watched and smelled the rabbit cooking in companionable silence. We could get along very well together without much conversation, though normally I had a ready tongue. Too ready, perhaps-I knew that a lot of the trouble with Henry arose because I could not avoid trying to get a rise out of him whenever possible.

Jack was not much of a talker under any circumstances, but, to my surprise, after a time he broke the silence. His talk was inconsequential at first, chatter about events that had taken place in the village, but I had the feeling that he was trying to get around to something else, something more Important Then he stopped, stared in silence for a second or two at the crisping carcass, and said, "This place will be yours after the Capping."

It was difficult to know what to say. I suppose if I had thought about it at all, I would have expected that he would pass the den on to me, but I had not thought about it One did not think much about things connected with the Cappings, and certainly did not talk about them. For Jack, of all people, to do so was surprising but what he said next was more surprising still.

"In a way," he said, "I almost hope it doesn't work. I'm not sure I wouldn't rather be a Vagrant"

I should say something about the Vagrants. Every village generally had a few-at that time there were four in ours, as far as I knew-but the number was constantly changing as some moved off and others took their place. They occasionally did a little work, but whether they did or not, the village supported them. They lived in the Vagrant House, which in our case stood on the comer where the two roads crossed and was larger than all but a handful of houses (my father's being one). It could easily have accommodated a dozen Vagrants, and there had been times when there had been almost that many there. Food was supplied to them-it was not luxurious, but adequate-and a servant looked after the place. Other servants were sent to lend a hand when the House filled up.

What was known, though not discussed, was that the Vagrants were people for whom the Capping had proved a failure. They had Caps, as normal people did, but they were not working properly. If this were going to happen, it usually showed itself in the first day or two following a Capping: the person who had been Capped showed distress, which increased as the days went by, turning at last into a fever of the brain. In this state they were clearly in much pain. Fortunately the crisis did not last long;

fortunately also, it happened only rarely. The great majority of Cappings were entirely successful. I suppose only about one in twenty produced a Vagrant.

When he was well again, the Vagrant would start his wanderings-he, or she, because it happened occasionally with girls, although much more rarely. Whether it was because Vagrants saw themselves as being outside the community of normal people, or because the fever had left a permanent restlessness in them, I did not know. But off they would go and wander through the land, stopping a day here, as long as a month there, but always moving on. Their minds, certainly, had been affected. None of them could settle to a train of thought for long. and many had visions and did strange things.

They were taken for granted and looked after, but like the Cappings, not much talked about Children generally viewed them with suspicion and avoided them. They. for their part, mostly seemed melancholy and did not talk much even to each other. It was a great shock to hear Jack say he half wished to be a Vagrant, and I did not know how to answer him. But he did not seem to need a response.

He said, "The Watch ... do you ever think what it must have been like in the days when things like that were made?"

I had. from time to time, but it was another subject on which speculation was not encouraged, and Jack had never talked in this way before. I said. "Before the Tripods?"

"Yes."

"Well, we know it was the Black Age. There were too many people and not enough food, so that people starved and fought each other, and there were all kinds of sicknesses, and ..."

"And things like the Watch were made-by men, not the Tripods."

"We don't know that"

"Do you remember," he asked, "four years ago, when I went to stay with my Aunt Matilda?"

I remembered. She was his aunt. not mine, even though we were cousins: she had married a foreigner, Jack said. "She lives at Bishopstoke, on the other side of Winchester. I went out one day. walking, and I came to the sea. There were the ruins of a city that must have been twenty times as big as Winchester."

I knew of the ruined great-cities of the ancients. of course. But these too were little talked of, and then with disapproval and a shade of dread. No one would dream of going near them. It was disquieting even to think of looking at one, as Jack had done.

I said. Those were the cities where all the murdering and sickness was."

"So we are told. But I saw something there, It was the hulk of a ship. rusting away so that in places you could see right through it And it was bigger than the village. Much bigger."

I fell silent I was trying to imagine it. to see it in my mind as he had seen it in reality. But my mind could not accept it

Jack said, "And that was built by men. Before the Tripods came."

Again I was at a loss for words. In the end I said lamely, "People are happy now."

Jack turned the rabbit on the spit After a while he said. "Yes. I suppose you're right"

The weather stayed fine until Capping Day. From morning till night people worked in the fields, cutting the grass for hay. There had been so much rain earlier that it stood high and luxuriant, a promise of good winter fodder. The Day itself, of course, was a holiday. After breakfast we went to church, and the parson preached on the rights and duties of manhood, into which Jack was to enter. Not of womanhood, because there was no girl to be Capped. Jack. in fact, stood alone, dressed in the white tunic which was prescribed. I looked at him, wondering how he was feeling, but whatever his emotions were, he did not show them.

Not even when, the service over. we stood out in the street in front of the church, waiting for the Tripod. The bells were ringing the Capping Peal, but apart from that all was quiet No one talked or whispered or smiled. It was, we knew, a great experience for everyone who had been Capped; even the Vagrants came and stood in the same rapt silence. But for us children the time lagged desperately. And for Jack, apart from everyone, in the middle of the street? I felt for the first time a shiver of fear in the realization that at the next Capping I would be standing there. I would not be alone, of course. because Henry was to be presented with me. There was not much consolation in that thought

At last we heard, above the clang or bells, the deep staccato booming in the distance, and there was a land of sigh from everyone. The booming came nearer and then, suddenly, we could see it over the roofs of the houses to the south: the great hemisphere of gleaming metal rocking through the air above the three articulate legs, several times as high as the church. Its shadow came before it and fell on us when it halted, two of its less astride the river and the mill We waited, and I was shivering in earnest now. unable to halt the tremors that ran through my body.

Sir Geoffrey, the Lord of our Manor, stepped forward and made a small stiff bow in the direction of the Tripod; he was an old man and could not bend much nor easily. And so one of the enormous burnished tentacles came down, gently and precisely, and its tip curled about Jack's waist, and it lifted him up, up, to where a hole opened like a mouth in the hemisphere, and swallowed him.

In the afternoon there were games, and people moved about the village, visiting, laughing, and talking, and the young men and women who were unmarried strolled together in the fields. Then, in the evening, there was the Feast, with tables set up in the street since the weather held fair. and the smell of roast beef mixing with the smells of beer and cider and lemonade, and all kinds of cakes and puddings. Lamps were hung outside the houses; in the dusk they would be lit and glow like yellow blossoms along the street But before the Feast started. Jack was brought back to us.

There was the distant booming first, and the quietness and waiting, and the tread of the gigantic feet. shaking the earth. The Tripod halted as before, and the mouth opened in the side of the hemisphere, and then the tentacle swept down and carefully set Jack by the place which had been left for him at Sir Geoffrey's right hand, I was a long way away, with the children at the far end, but I could see him clearly. He looked pale, but otherwise his face did not seem any different The difference was in his white shaved head, on which the darker metal tracery of the Cap stood out like a spider's web. His hair would soon grow again, over and around the metal, and, with thick black hair such as he had, in a few months the Cap would be almost unnoticeable. But it would be there all the same, a part of him now till the day ho died.

This, though, was the moment of rejoicing and making merry. He was a man, and tomorrow would do a man's work and get a man's pay. They cut the choicest fillet of beef and brought it to him. with a frothing tankard of ale, and Sir Geoffrey toasted his health and fortune. I forgot my earlier fears and envied him. and thought how next year I would be there, a man myself.

I did not see Jack the next day, but the day after that we met when. having finished my homework, I was on my way to the den. He was with four or five other men. coming back from the fields. I called to him. and he smiled and, after a moment's hesitation, let the others go on. We stood facing each other, only a few yards from the place where little more than a week earlier .he had separated Henry and me. But things were very different

I said. "How are you?"

It was not just a polite question. By now, if the Capping were going to fail, he would be feeling the pains and discomfort which would lead. In due course, to his becoming a Vagrant He said, I'm fine, Will"

I hesitated, and blurted out, "What was it like?"

He shook his head. "You know it's not permitted to talk about that. But I can promise you that you won't be hurt."

I said, "But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why should the Tripods take people away and Cap them? What right have they?"

"They do it for our good,"

"But I don't see why it has to happen. I'd sooner stay as I am."

He smiled. "You can't understand now. but you will understand when it happens. It's . . ." He shook his head. "I can't describe it"

"Jack," I said, "I've been thinking." He waited, without much interest. "Of what you said-about the wonderful things that men made, before the Tripods."

"That was nonsense." he said, and turned and walked on to the village. I watched him for a time and then, feeling very much alone, made my way to the den.

2

"My Name is Ozymandias"

It was not until after his Capping that I understood how much I had depended on Jack for companionship in the past Our alliance had isolated me from other boys of roughly my age in and around the village. I suppose it would have been possible to overcome this-Joe Beith, the carpenter's son, made overtures of friendship, for one-but in the mood I was in I preferred to be alone. I used to go down to the den and sit there for hours, thinking about it all. Henry came once and made some jeering remarks, and we fought My anger was so great that I beat him decisively, and he kept out of my way after that

From time to time I met Jack, and we exchanged words that meant nothing. His manner to me was amiable and distant: it carried the hint of a friendship suspended, a suggestion that he was waiting on the tar side of a gulf which in due course I would cross, and that then everything would be as it had been before. This did not comfort me, though, for the person I missed was the old Jack, and he was gone forever. As I would be? The thought frightened me, and I tried to dismiss it, but it continually returned.

Somehow, in this doubt and fear and brooding, I found myself becoming interested in the Vagrants. I remembered Jack's remark and wondered what he would have been like if the Capping had not worked. By now he would probably have left the village. I looked at the Vagrants who were staying with us and thought of them as once being like Jack and myself, in their own villages, sane and happy and with plans for their future. I was my father's only son and would be expected to take over the mill from him one day. But if the Capping were not a success...

There were now three of them, two recently arrived and a third who had been with us several weeks. He was a man of my father's age, but his beard was unkempt, his hair gray and sparse, with the lines of the Cap showing through it He spent his time collecting stones from the fields near the village, and with them he-was building a cairn outside the Vagrant House. Ho collected perhaps twenty stones a day, each about the size of a half brick. It was impossible to understand why he chose one stone rather than another, or what the purpose of the cairn was. He spoke very little, using words as a child learning to talk does.

The other two were much younger, one of them probably no more than a year from his Capping. He talked a lot, and what he said seemed almost to make sense, but never quite did. The third, a few years older, could talk in a way that one understood, but did not often do so. He seemed sunk in a great sadness and would lie in the road beside the House all day, staring up at the sly.

He remained when the others moved on, tin young one in the morning and the cairn builder in the afternoon of the same day. The pile of stones stayed there, unfinished and without meaning. I looked at them that evening and wondered what I would be doing twenty-five years from now. Grinding corn at the mill? Perhaps, Or perhaps wandering the countryside. living on charity and doing useless things. Somehow the alternatives were not so black and white as I would have expected. I did not know why, but I thought I had a glimmer of understanding of what Jack had meant that morning in the den.

The new Vagrant arrived the next day, and being on my way to the den, I saw him come, along the road from the west. He was in his thirties, I judged, a powerfully built man, with red hair and a beard. He carried an ash stick and the usual small pack on his back, and he was singing a song, quite tunefully, as he strode along. He saw me, and stopped singing.

"Boy." he said. "what is the name of this place?"

"It's called Wherton," I told him.

"Wherton," he repeated. "Ah, loveliest village of the plain; here is no anguish, here no pain. Do you know me, boy?"

I shook my head. "No."

"I am the king of this land. My wife was the queen of a rainy country, but I left her weeping. My name is Ozymandias. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair."

He talked nonsense, but at least he talked, and file words themselves could be understood. They sounded a bit like poetry, and I remembered the name Ozymandias from a poem which I had found in a book, one of the dozen or so on the shelf in the parlor.

As he went on toward the village, I followed him. Glancing back. he said, "Dost follow me, boy? Wouldst be my page? Alas, alas. The fox has his hole, and the bird shelters in the great leafy oak, but the son of man has not where to lay his head. Have you no business of your own, then?"

"Nothing important"

"Nothing is important, true. but how does a man find Nothing? Where shall he seek for it? I tell you, could I find Nothing. I would be not king but emperor. Who dwells in the House, this day and hour?"

I assumed he was talking about the Vagrant House.

"Only one," I said. "I don't know his name."

"His name shall be Star. And yours?"

"Will Parker."

"Will is a good name. What trade does your father follow. Will, for you wear too fine a cloth to be a laborer's son?"

"He keeps the mill."

"And this the burden of his song forever seems to be: I care for nobody, no, not I, and nobody cares for me. Have you many friends. Will?"

"No. Not many."

"A good answer. For he that proclaims many friends declares that he has none."

I said, on an impulse which surprised me when I reflected on it, "In fact, I don't have any. I had one, but he was Capped a month ago."

He stopped in the road, and I did so too. We were on the outskirts of the village, opposite the Widow Ingold's cottage. The Vagrant looked at me keenly.

"No business, of importance anyway, and no friend. One who talks and walks with Vagrants. How old are you. Will?"

“Thirteen."

"You are small for it So you will take the Cap next summer?"

"Yes"

Widow Ingold, I saw, was watching us through the curtains. The Vagrant also flicked a glance in that direction, and suddenly started dancing a weird little jig in the road. He sang, in a cracked voice:

Under the greenwood tree. Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat?

All the rest of the way to the Vagrant House he talked nonsense, and I was glad to part from him there.

My preoccupation with the Vagrants had been noticed, and that evening my father took me to task for it He was sometimes stem but more often kindly-just according to his lights, but he saw the world in simple shades of black and white, and found it hard to be patient with things that struck him as foolishness. There was no sense that he could see in a boy hanging about the Vagrant House: one was sorry for them and it was a human duty to give them food and shelter, but there it should end. I had been seen that day with the most recent arrival, who appeared to be even madder than most It was silly, and it gave tongues cause to wag. He hoped he would hear no more such reports, and I was not to go into the Vagrant House on any pretext Did I understand?

I indicated that I did. There was more to it, I realized, than concern over people talking about me. He might be willing to listen, at a remove, to news from other villages and from the city, but for gossip and ill-natured talk he truly had nothing but contempt

I wondered if his tear was of something quite different, and much worse. As a boy he had had an elder brother who had turned Vagrant; this had never been spoken of in our house, but Jack had told me of it long ago. There were some who said that this kind of weakness ran In families, and he might think that my interest in Vagrants was a bad omen for the Capping next year. This was not logical, but I knew that a man impatient of foolishness in others may yet have fallibilities of his own.

What with this, and my own embarrassment at the way in which the new Vagrant had behaved in the presence of others, I made a land of resolve to do as I had been bid, and for a couple of days kept well dear of the Vagrants. Twice I saw the man who had called himself Ozymandias downing and talking to himself in the street, and shied off. But on the third day I went to school not by the back way, the path along the river bank, but out of our front door, past the church. And past the Vagrant House. There was no sign of anyone, but when I came back in the middle of the day, I saw Ozymandias coming from the opposite direction. I quickened my step, and we met at the crossroads.

He said, "Welcome, Will I have not seen thee, these many days. Hast aught ailed thee, boy? A murrain? Or happly the common cold?"

There had been something about him that had interested, even fascinated me. and it was that which had brought me here in the hope of encountering him again. I admitted that but, in the moment of admission, was once more conscious of the things that had kept me away. There was no one in our immediate vicinity, but other children, coming from school, were not far behind me. and there were people who knew me on the far side of the crossroads.

I said, "I've been busy with things," and prepared to move on.

He put a hand on my arm. "Wilt tarry. Will? He that has no friend can travel at his own pace, and pause, when he chooses, for a few minutes' converse."

"I've got to get back," I said. "My dinner will be waiting."

I had looked away from him. After only a slight pause, he dropped his hand.

"Then do not let me keep you. Will. for though man does not live on bread alone, it is bread he must have first."

His tone was cheerful, but I thought I detected something eke. Disappointment? I started to walk on. but after a few steps checked and looked back. His eyes were still on me.

I said. in a low voice, stumbling over the words. "Do you go out into the fields at all?"

"When the sun shines."

"Farther along the road on which I met you there's an old ruin, on the right-I have a den there, on the far side where the copse comes dose. It has a broken arch for an entrance and an old red stone outside, like a seat"

He said softly. "I hear, Will. Do you spend much time there?"

"I go there after school, usually."

He nodded. "Do so."

Abruptly his gaze went from me to the sky. and he held his arms out above his head and shouted, "And in that year came Jim, the Prophet of Serendipity, and with him a host of angels, riding their white geldings across the sky, raising a dust of clouds and striking sparks from their hooves that burned the wheat in the fields, and the evil in men's hearts. So spake Ozymandias. Selah! Selah!"

The others were coming up the road from the school I left him and hurried on toward home. I could hear him shouting until I passed the church.

I went to the den after school with mingled feelings of anticipation and unease. My father had said he hoped he would hear no more reports of my mixing with Vagrants, and had placed a direct prohibition on my going into Vagrant House. I had obeyed the second part and was taking steps to avoid the first, but I was under no illusion that he would regard this as anything but willful disobedience. And to what end? The opportunity of talking to a man whose conversation was a hodgepodge of sense and nonsense, with the latter very much predominating. It was not worth it

And yet, remembering the keen blue eyes under the mass of red hair, I could not help feeling that there was something about this man that made the risk, and the disobedience, worth while. I kept a sharp lookout on my way to the ruins, and called out as I approached the den. But there was no one there; nor for a good time after that I began to think he was not coming that his wits were so addled that he had faded to take my meaning, or forgotten it altogether when I heard a twig snap and, peering out, saw Ozymandias. He was less than ten yards from the entrance. He was not singing or talking, but moving quietly, almost stealthily.

A new fear struck me then. There were tales that a Vagrant once, years ago, had murdered children in a dozen villages, before he was caught and hanged. Could they be true, and could this be such another? I had invited him here. telling no one, and a-cry for help would not be heard as far from the village as this. I froze against the wall of the den, tensing myself for a rush that might carry me past him to the comparative safety of the open.

But a single glance at him as he looked in reassured me. Whether mad or not, I was sure this was a man to be trusted. The lines in his face were the lines of good humor.

He said, "So I have found you. Will." He glanced about him in approval. "You have a snug place here."

"My cousin Jack did most of it He is better with his hands than I am."

"The one that was Capped this summer?"

"Yes."

"You watched the Capping?" I nodded. "How is he since then?"

"Well" I said. "but different"

"Having become a man."

"Not only that"

"Tell me."

I hesitated a moment, but in voice and gesture as well as face he inspired confidence. He was also, I realised, talking naturally and sensibly, with none of the strange words and archaic phrases he had used previously. I began to talk, disjointedly at first and then with more case, of what Jack had said, and of my own later perplexity. He listened, nodding at times but not interrupting.

When I had finished, he said. Tell me. Will -what do you think of the Tripods?"

I said truthfully. "I don't know. I used to take them for granted-and I was frightened of them, I suppose-but now .. . There are questions in my mind."

"Have you put them to your elders?"

"What good would it do? No one talks about the Tripods. One learns that as a child."

"Shall I answer them for you?" he asked. "Such as I can answer."

There was one thing I was sure of, and I blurted it out "You are not a Vagrant."

He smiled. "It depends what meaning you give that word. I go from place to place, as you see. And I behave strangely."

"But to deceive people, not because you cannot help it. Your mind has not been changed."

"No. Not as the minds of the Vagrants are. Nor as your cousin Jack's was, either."

"But you have been Capped!"

He touched the mesh of metal under his thatch of red hair.

"Agreed. But not by the Tripods. By men - free men."

Bewildered, I said, "I don't understand."

"How could you? But listen, and I will tell you. The Tripods, first. Do you know what they are?" I shook my head, and he went on. "Nor do we, as a certainty. There are two stories about them. One is that they were machines. made by men, which revolted against men and enslaved them."

"In the old days? The days of the giant ship, of the great-cities?"

"Yes. It is a story I find hard to believe, because I do not see how men could give intelligence to machines. The other story is that they do not come originally from this world, but another."

"Another world?"

I was lost again. He said, "They teach you nothing about the stars in school, do they? That is something that perhaps makes the second story more likely to be the true one. You are not told that the stars at night-all the hundreds of thousands of them-are suns like our own sun, and that some may have planets circling them as our earth circles this sun."

I was confused, my head spinning with the idea. I said. "Is this true?"

"Quite true. And it may be that the Tripods came. in the first place, from one of those worlds. It may be that the Tripods themselves are only vehicles for creatures who travel inside them. We have never seen the inside of a Tripod, so we do not know."

"And the Caps?"

"Are the means by which they keep men docile and obedient to them."

At first thought it was incredible. Later it seemed incredible that I had not seen this before. But all my life Capping had been something I had taken for granted. All my elders were Capped, and contented to be so. It was the mark of the adult, the ceremony itself solemn and linked in one's mind with the holiday and the feast. Despite the few who suffered pain and became Vagrants, it was a day to which every child looked forward. Only lately, as one could begin to count the months remaining had there been any doubts in my mind; and the doubts had been ill-formed and difficult to sustain against the weight of adult assurance. Jack had had doubts too, and then, with the Capping they had gone.

I said. They make men think the things the Tripods want them to think?"

They control the brain. How. or to what extent. we are not sure. As you know, the metal is joined to the flesh, so that it cannot be removed. It seems that certain general orders are given when the Cap is put on. Later, specific orders can be given to specific people, but as far as the majority are concerned, they do not seem to bother."

"How do the Vagrants happen?"

"That again is something at which we can only guess. It may be that some minds are weak to start with and crumble under the strain. Or perhaps the reverse: too strong, so that they fight against domination until they break."

I thought of that and shuddered. A voice inside one's head, inescapable and irresistible. Anger burned in me, not only for the Vagrants but for all the others-my parents and elders, Jack.

"You spoke of free men," I said, "Then the Tripods do not rule an the earth."

"Near enough all. There are no lands without them, if that's what you mean. Listen, when the Tripods first came-or when they revolted -there were terrible happenings. Cities were destroyed like anthills, and millions on millions were killed or starved to death."

Millions ... I tried to envisage it, but could not Our village, which was reckoned no small place, numbered about four hundred souls. There were some thirty thousand living in and around the city of Winchester. I shook my head.

He went on. "Those that were left the Tripods Capped, and once Capped they served the Tripods and helped to kill or capture other men. So within a generation things were much as they are now. But in one place, at least, a few men escaped. Far to the south, across the sea, there are high mountains, so high that snow lies on them all the year round. The Tripods keep to low ground-perhaps because they travel over it more easily, or because they do not like the thin air higher up-and these are places which men who are alert and free can defend against the Capped who live in the surrounding valleys. In fact, we raid their farms for our food,"

"We?" So you come from there?" He nodded. "And the Cap you wear?"

Taken from a dead man. I shaved my head, and it was moulded to fit my skull Once my hair had grown again, it was hard to tell it from a true Cap. But it gives no commands."

"So you can travel as a Vagrant," I said, "and no one suspects you. But why? With what purpose?"

Tartly to see things and report what I see. But there is something more important I came for you."

I was startled. "For me?"  "You, and others like you. Those who are not yet Capped, but who are old enough to ask questions and understand answers. And to make a long, difficult, perhaps dangerous journey."

To the south?"

To the south. To the White Mountains. With a hard life at the Journey's end. But a free one. Well?"

"You will take me there?"

"No. I am not ready to go back yet And it would be more dangerous. A boy traveling on his own could be an ordinary runaway, but one traveling with a Vagrant . . . You must go on your own. If you decide to go."

The sea," I said, "how do I cross that?"

He stared at me, and smiled. "The easiest part. And I can give you some help for the rest, too." He brought something from his pocket and showed it to me. "Do you know what this is?"

I nodded. "I have seen one. A compass. The needle points always to the north."

"And this."

He put his hand inside his tunic. There was a hole in the stitching, and he put his fingers down, grasped something, and drew it out It was a long cylinder of parchment, which he unrolled and spread out on the floor, putting a stone on one end and holding the other. I saw a drawing on it, but it made no sense.

"This is called a map," he said. The Capped do not need them, so you have not seen one before. It tells you how to reach the White Mountains. Look. there. That signifies the sea. And here, at the bottom, the mountains."

He explained all the things on the map, describing the landmarks I should look for and telling me how to use the compass to find my way. And for the last part of the journey, beyond the Great Lake, he gave me instructions which I had to memorize. This in case the map was discovered. He said, "But guard it well, in any case. Can you make a hole in the lining of your tunic, as I have done?"

"Yes. I'll keep it safe."

"That leaves only the sea crossing. Go to this town. Rumney." He pointed to it. "You will find fishing boats in the harbor. The Orion is owned by one of us. A tall man, very swarthy, with a long nose and thin lips. His name is Curtis, Captain Curtis. Go to him. He will get you across the sea. That is where the hard part begins. They speak a different language there. You must keep from being seen or spoken to, and learn to steal your food as you go."

"I can do that. Do you speak their language?"

It and others. Such as your own. It was for that reason I was given this mission." He smiled. "I can be a madman in four tongues."

I said, "I came to you. If I had not..."

I would have found you. I have some skill in discovering the right kind of boy. But you can help me now. Is there any other in these parts that you think might be worth the tackling?"

I shook my head. "No. No one,"

He stood up, stretching his legs and rubbing his knee.

Then tomorrow I will move on. Give me a week before you leave, so that no one suspects a link between us."

''Before you go..."

"Yes?"

"Why did they not destroy men altogether instead of Capping them?"

He shrugged. "We can't read their minds. There are many possible reasons. Part of the food you grow here goes to men who work underground, mining metals for the Tripods. And in some places there are hunts."

"Hunts?"

"The Tripods hunt men, as men hunt foxes." I shivered. "And they take men and women into their cities, for reasons at which we can only guess."

They have cities, then?"

"Not on this side of the sea, I have not seen one. but I know those who have. Towers and spires of metal, it is said, behind a great encircling wall Gleaming ugly places."

I said. "Do you know how long it has been?"

That the Tripods have ruled? More than a hundred years. But to the Capped it is the same as ten thousand." He gave me his band. "Do your best, Will."

"Yes," I said. His grasp was firm.

"I will hope to meet you again, in the White Mountains."

The next day, as he had said, he was gone. I set about making my preparations. There was a loose stone in the back wall of the den with a hiding place behind it. Only Jack knew of it, and Jack would not come here again. I put things there-food, a spare shirt, a pair of shoes ready for my journey. I took the food a little at a time, choosing what would keep best-salt beef and ham. a whole small cheese, oats and such. I think my mother noticed some of the things missing and was puzzled by it

I was sorry at the thought of leaving her and my father, and of their unhappiness when they found me gone. The Caps offered no remedy for human grief. But I could not stay. any more than a sheep could walk through a slaughterhouse door once it knew what lay beyond. And I knew that I would rather die than wear a Cap.

3

The Road to the Sea

Two things made me wait longer than a week before I set out The first was that the moon was new, no more than a sliver of light, and I was reckoning to travel by night. I needed a half moon at least for that The other was something I had not expected: Henry's mother died.

She and my mother were sisters. She had been ill for a long time, but her actual death was sudden. My mother took charge of things, and the first thing she did was to bring Henry over to our house and put up a bed for him in my room. This was not welcome, from any point of view, but naturally I could not object to it My sympathy was coldly offered, and coldly received, and after that we kept to ourselves, as far as was possible for two boys sharing a not very large room.

It was a nuisance, I decided, but not really important The nights were not yet light enough for me to travel, and I presumed that he would be going back home after the funeral. But when, on the morning of the funeral, I said something of this to my mother, I found to my horror that I was wrong.

She said, "Henry's staying with us."

"For how long?"

"For good. Until you have both been Capped, anyway. Your Uncle Ralph has too much to do on the farm to be able to look after a boy, and he doesn't want to leave him in the care of servants all day."

I did not say anything, but my expression must have been revealing. She said, with unusual sternness, "And I will not have you sulking about it. He has lost his mother, and you should have the decency to show some compassion."

I said, "Can't I have my own room at least? There's the apple room spare."

"I would have given you your room back but for the way you've behaved. In less than a year you will be a man. You must learn to act like a man, not a sullen child."

"But . . ."

"I will not discuss it with you," she said angrily. "If you say another word, I shall speak to your father."

With which she left the room, her skirt sweeping imperiously around the door. Thinking about it, I decided that it made small difference. It I hid my clothes in the mill room, I could sneak out after he was asleep and change there. I was determined to leave, as planned, on the half moon.

There was heavy rain during the next two days, but after that it cleared, and a blazing hot afternoon dried up most of the mud. Everything went well. Before going to bed, I had hidden my clothes and pack and a couple of big loaves with them. After that it was only a matter of staying awake, and keyed up as I was, it did not prove difficult Eventually Henry's breathing, on the far side of the room. became deep and even in sleep. I lay and thought about the journey: the sea, the strange lands beyond, the Great Lake, and the mountains on which snow lay all summer through. Even without what I had learned of the Tripods and the Caps, the idea was exciting.

The moon rose above the level of my window, and I slipped out of bed. Carefully I opened the bedroom door, and carefully closed it after me. The house was very quiet The stairs creaked a little under my feet, but no one would pay attention even if they heard it. It was an old wooden house, and creakings at night were not unusual. I went through the big door to the mill room, found my clothes, and dressed quickly. Then out through the door by the river. The wheel was motionless and the water gurgled and splashed, black streaked with silver, all around it

Once across the bridge, I felt much safer. In a few minutes I would be dear of the village. A cat tiptoed delicately across the cobbles, and another, on a doorstep, licked its moon-bright fur. A dog barked, hearing me, perhaps, and suspicious, but not near enough to be alarming. With the Widow Ingold's cottage behind me, I broke into a run. I arrived at the den panting and out of breath, but pleased with myself for having got away undetected.

With flint and steel and an oil-soaked rag, I lit a candle, and set about filling my pack. I had overestimated the amount of space at my disposal; after several reshufflings I still could not get one loaf in. Well, I could carry it for now, and I proposed to stop and eat at dawn;

there would be room after that I had a last look around the den, making sure I had left nothing I would need, doused the candle and slipped it in my pocket, and went out

It was a good night to be going. The sky bright with stars-all suns, like our own?-and the half moon rising, the air gentle. I picked up my pack to put it on. As I did, a voice spoke from the shadows, a few feet away. Henry's voice.

He said, I heard you go out, and I followed you."

I could not see his face, but I thought there was a mocking tone In his voice. I may have been wrong-it may have been no more than nervousness-but just then I thought he was crowing over having tracked me down. I felt blind anger at this and, dropping my pack, rushed at him. I had been the victor in two of our last three encounters, and I was confident that I could beat him again,

Overconfident, as it proved, and blind anger was no help. He knocked me down, and I got up, and he knocked me down again. In a short time I was on the ground, and he was sitting on me, pinioning my wrists with his hands. I struggled and sweated and heaved, but it was no good. He had me quite firmly.

"Listen." he said, "I want to tell you something. I know you're running away. You must be, with that pack. What I'm saying is, I want to come with you."

For answer I made a quick-Jerk and twist, but his body rolled with mine and kept me fastened. He said, panting a little. "I want to come with you. There's nothing for me here, now."

His mother, my Aunt Ada, had been a quick, lively, warm-hearted woman, even during the long months of illness. My Uncle Ralph, on the other hand, was a gloomy and taciturn man. who had been willing-perhaps relieved-to let his son go to another's home. I saw what Henry meant

There was something else, too, of more practical importance. If I had beaten him in the fight-what then? Leave him here, with the risk of his raising the alarm? There was nothing else I could have done. Whereas if he were to come with me ... I could give him the slip before we reached the port and Captain Curtis. I had no intention of taking him there with me. I still disliked him, and even if I had not, I would have been reluctant to share the secrets I had had from Ozymandias,

I had stopped struggling. I said, "Let me up."

"Can I come with you?"

"Yes."

He allowed me to get up. I dusted myself, and we stared at each other in the moonlight. I said. "You haven't brought any food, of course. Well have to share what I've got"

A couple of days would see us within reach of the port, and I had enough for two for that time.

"Come on," I said. "We'd better get started."

We made good progress through bright moonlight and. when dawn came, were well clear of familiar country. I called a brief halt, and we rested, and ate half of one of the loaves with cheese and drank water from a stream. Then we continued, more and more tired as the day wore on and the sun scorched its way up through a dry blue sky.

It was about midday and we were hot and sweating, when, reaching the crest of a rise, we looked down into a saucer-shaped valley. The land was well cultivated. There was a village. and other dwellings dotted about, with the antlike figures of men working in the fields. The road ran through the valley and the village. Henry clutched my arm, pointing.

"Look!"

Four men on horseback were making for the village. It could have been any errand. On the other hand, it could have been a search party looking for us.

I came to a decision. We had been skirting a wood. I said, "We'll stay in the wood till evening. We can get some sleep and be fresh for the night"

"Do you think traveling by night is the best way?" Henry asked. "I know we're less likely to be seen, but we can't see as well ourselves. We could work around the top of the ridge-there's no one up here."

I said, "You do as you like. I'm lying up."

He shrugged. "Well stay here if you say so."

His ready acquiescence did not soothe me. I had the uneasy feeling that what he had said was not unreasonable. I made my way in silence into the wood, and Henry followed. We found a place, deep in the brush, where we were not likely to be noticed even by someone passing quite close, and stretched out I must have fallen asleep almost at once.

When I awoke, it was nearly dark. I saw Henry asleep beside me. If I were to get up quietly, I might be able to sneak away without waking him. The idea was tempting. It seemed unfair, though, to leave him here, in a wood, with night coming on. I put my hand out to shake him and noticed something as I did so: he had looped the strap of my pack round his arm, so that I could not have taken it without disturbing him. The possibility had occurred to him, too!

He woke at my touch. We had the rest of the loaf and a shank of ham before moving off. The trees were dense, and we did not see much of the sky until we came out. I realized then that the gloom was not simply due to the near approach of night, it had clouded over while we slept, and I felt an occasional heavy drop of rain on my bare arms and face. The half moon was not going to be much help behind that cover.

In fading light we made our way down into the valley and up the slope beyond. Lamps were lit in the windows of houses, enabling us to give them a wide berth. There was a flurry of rain, but the evening was warm and it dried on us as we walked. At the top we looked down at the clustering lights of the village and then went on to southeast. Darkness fell rapidly after that. We were on rolling upland, mainly of close-cropped grass. At one point we came across a ramshackle hut, plainly deserted, and Henry suggested staying there till the light improved, but I would not have it, and he plodded on behind me.

It was some time before either of us spoke. Then Henry said, "'Listen."

In some annoyance. I said, ''What is it now?"

"I think someone's coming after us."

I heard it myself: the sound of feet on the grass behind us. And more than one pair of feet. We could have been seen by people in the village, warned to watch out for us by the four horsemen. And they could have come up the hill after us, and could now be quietly dosing in. I whispered. "Run for it."

Without waiting for him, I started pelting through the night's blackness. I could hear Henry running nearby, and I thought I could also hear our pursuers. I put on a fresh spurt As I did, a stone turned under my right foot There was a jolt of pain and I fell, gasping as the air was forced from my lungs.

Henry had heard my fall. He checked and said, "Where are you? Are you all right ?"

The moment I tried to put weight on my right ankle, I felt sick with pain. Henry tried to lift me, and I groaned in protest

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"My ankle, I think its broken. You'd better go on. They'll be here any moment"

He said, in an odd voice. I think they're here now."

"What. . . ?"

There was warm breath on my cheek. I put my hand out and touched something woolly, which immediately backed away.

"Sheep!"

Henry said, "I suppose they were curious. They do that sort of thing sometimes."

"You stupid fool" I said, "You've had us running from a flock of sheep, and now look what's happened."

He did not say anything, but knelt beside me and started feeling my ankle. I winced and bit my lip to avoid crying out

I don't think it's a break," he said. "Probably a sprain, or something. But you'll have to rest up a day or two."

I said savagely, "That sounds fine."

^We'd better get you back to the hut. I'll give you a fireman's lift."

I had felt odd spots of rain again. Now it started coming down heavily-enough to dampen my inclination to reply angrily and refuse his help. He heaved me up on his back. It was a nightmarish journey. He had difficulty getting a proper hold. and I think I was heavier than he had bargained for. He had to keep putting me down and resting. It was pitch black, and the rain was sluicing out of the heavens. Every time he put me down, the pain stabbed my foot As time went on I began to think that he had taken the wrong direction and missed the hut in the dark; it would have been easy enough to do so.

But at last it loomed up out of the night, and the door opened when he lifted the latch. There was a scampering, probably of rats, and he carried me the last few feet and set me down with a sigh of exhaustion. Stumbling about, he found a pile of straw in a comer, and I crawled over to it My foot was throbbing, and I was soaked and miserable. Moreover, we had slept several hours earlier that day. It took me a long time to get to sleep.

When I awoke it was daylight, and the rain had stopped. The deep blue sky of early morning was framed by a glassless window. The hut was furnished only with a bench and a trestle table, with an old saucepan and kettle and a couple of china mugs hanging on hooks against one wall. There was a fireplace with a stack of wood. and the heap of straw that we were lying on. We? Henry was not there: the straw was empty where he had been lying. I called, and after a moment called again. There was no answer. I dragged myself up. wincing with pain, and edged to the door, bopping and hanging on to the wall.

There was no sign of Henry. Then I saw that the pack was not on the floor, where I had dropped it the night before.

I hobbled out and sat against the stone wall of the hut The first horizontal rays of the sun wanned me while I thought about my situation.

Henry, it seemed dear, had abandoned me and taken the rest of the food with him. After wishing himself on me, he had left me here. helpless and-the more so as I thought about it-hungry. It was no good trying to think clearly. Anger was irresistible, and I found myself wallowing in it At least it helped me forget my throbbing foot and the empty void of my stomach.

Even when I was calm enough to start working things out, it did not improve matters much. I was a couple of miles at least from the nearest dwelling. I supposed I could crawl that distance, though it was not likely to be enjoyable. Or perhaps someone-a shepherd, maybe-would come up and within hailing distance during the day. Either way it meant being carted back to Wherton in disgrace. Altogether a miserable and humiliating end to the adventure. I started to feel sorry for myself.

I was at a low point when I heard someone on the far side of the hut and. a moment later Henry's voice: "Where are you. Will?"

I answered, and he came around. I said, 1 thought you'd pushed off. You took the pack."

"Well, I needed it to carry things."

"What things?"

"It will be a couple of days before you can move, I thought it best to get hold of stuff while I could."

He opened the pack and showed me a loaf, a hunk of cold roast beef, and a pork pie.

"I got it from a farmhouse down the hill," he said. "The larder window was open. Not a very big one-I thought I'd got stuck at one stage."

I felt immensely relieved, but at the same time resentful. He looked at me, grinning, waiting to be praised for his resourcefulness. I said sharply. "What about the food that was in the pack already?"

Henry stared at me. "I stuck it on the shelf. Didn't you see?"

I hadn't, of course, because I hadn't looked.

It was three days before my ankle was strong enough to travel. We stayed in the hut. and twice more Henry went down into the valley and foraged for food. I had time on my hands: time to think. Henry, it was true. had raised the false alarm over the sheep, but only because he had keener hearing; I had been as much deceived. And it was I who had insisted on traveling by night, with no moon, while he had wanted to lie up. And now I was dependent on him. Misgivings remained-one does not overcome as long-standing a hostility as ours in a few days, especially when under an obligation but I did not see how I could carry out my plan of losing him before I reached Rumney. In the end, I told him it all-where I was heading, what I had learned from Ozymandias.

He said, "It was because of the Capping that I really wanted to get away. I didn't have any place in mind, of course, but I thought I might be able to hide, for a time, at any rate."

I remembered Ozymandias asking me if there was anyone else who might be willing to go south, and my reply. I put my fingers down inside the lining of my jacket

"This is the map," I said.

4

Beanpole

We came into Rumney in the early evening of a day that had been alternately bright and stormy;  we were wet and tired, and my ankle was aching. No one paid us any attention. For one thing, of course, it was a town. and people in a town did not expect to be able to identify everyone as local or a foreigner, as they would in a village. And this was a port, also-a place of comings and goings, quite unlike the easy familiar round of the country. There was an exciting bustle of activity, the glimpse of sea at the end of a long street, men in blue jerseys sucking on pipes, a few tardy sea gulls grabbing out of the air for food. And all the smells: tobacco, tar, spices, the smell of the sea itself.

Dusk was thickening by the time we reached the harbor. There were dozens of boats of all sizes tied up, and others standing out in the harbor, sails close reefed on their masts. We wandered along the quay, reading their names. The Maybelle, the Black Swan, Venturer, the Gay Gordon . . . but no. Orion.

"She might be at sea," I said.

''What do you think we should do?"

"Well have to find somewhere to sleep."

Henry said, "I wouldn't mind finding some food as well."

We had finished our provisions that morning. The windows of the taverns along the waterfront were brightly lit in the twilight, and we could hear singing from some of them. From some, also, issued rich cooking smells that made my belly groan in protest against its emptiness. In a nearby window there was a board, and chalked on it: HOT PIES-SIXPENCE. I still had a little money that I had brought with me, which I had not dared spend before. I told Henry to wait for me and slipped in through the door.

It was a low-ceilinged wooden-beamed room, with scrubbed deal tables at which people were eating, swilling the food down with mugs of beer. I did not study them closely, but went to the serving counter, where I handed over my shilling and took the two pies from a dark girl who was talking all the time to a sailor at the nearest table. I made for the door with them, but a hand reached out and took a crushing grip on my arm.

He looked to be a very big man, too, until he stood up. I saw then that he was thickset but, because of the shortness or his legs, only a couple of inches taller than I. He had a yellow beard and yellow hair receding from his forehead, where the wires of his Cap showed up. He said in. a harsh, barking voice, "well, lad, how would you like to be a sailor?"

I shook my head. "No."

He stared at me. "Are you from these parts?"

"Yes."

"Would you say your folks will be seeking you if you don't come back tonight?"

I said boldly, "I only live three streets from here. They'll be looking for me if I'm not back right away."

He was silent for a second and then laughed, deeply and unpleasantly.

"You tell me so, with an accent like that! You're from the country if ever I heard a country lad." I gave a quick twist and tried to break free. "Now then, no trouble. Save your strength for the Black Swan."

He dragged me to the door. No one paid any attention, and I realized the scene could not be an uncommon one. Crying out would do no good, either. If they did not ignore me, they could very well ask questions which I did not want to answer. There might be a chance of breaking clear outside. Not much, though, because I had felt his strength. And the Black Swan was moored no more- than a hundred yards away.

I saw him as we reached the door: a tall man, with a long. thin-lipped face, black-bearded and swarthy. I called out, "Captain Curtis."

He gave me one swift glance and challenged my captor.

"Leave him be, Rowley. That's my boy. I signed him on this afternoon."

The man he had called Rowley looked for a moment as though he were going to argue, but Captain Curtis took a step toward him, and he let go of my arm. He said, "You should keep him on board and not let him go wandering around the town."

"I can look after my own crew," Captain Curtis said. "I want no advice from you."

Ozymandias had said that crossing the sea would be the easiest part. and he was right. The Orion was one of the ships out in the harbor we nearly had missed her, because she was sailing on the midnight tide-and Captain Curtis took us to her in a dinghy. He single-oared us across the harbor, threading his way between lines and buoys, to the ship's dark hulk. She was a trawler of no more than a hundred tons. but she looked enormous as I made my way, swaying and barking my knuckles, up the rope ladder to the deck. Only one of the crew of six was on board, a tall, awkward, gently spoken man with gold rings in his ears. The others were Capped, Captain Curtis said, but he was one of us.

It was essential that we should not be seen by the rest of the crew because of the difficulty of explaining our one-way voyage. We were put in Captain Curtis's own cabin, where there were two bunks. It did not occur to us to ask where he was going to sleep. We were both tired. I fell asleep at once, and was only half wakened sometime later by the pounding of feet overhead and the grinding roar of the anchor chain coming up.

I had heard tales of the motion of the waves making people sick. but though the Orion was rolling a little when I awoke the next morning, it was not enough to trouble me. The captain brought us breakfast: bacon, fried eggs, a hillock of fried potatoes, and mugs full of a hot brown liquid that gave off a strange but glorious smell. Henry sniffed at his.

"What is it?"

"Coffee. It comes from a long way off and costs a lot to landsmen. Are you all right?" We nodded. "No one will come in here. They know my door is always locked. But keep quiet, all the same. It's only for today. With this wind we shall be in harbor before sundown."

The cabin had a porthole, through which we could stare out at blue waves, topped here and there with white. It was a strange sight for two who had never seen a stretch of water bigger than the lake up at the Manor House, and at first we were fascinated, but soon grew used to it, and at last bored. During the day only one thing happened to break the monotony, though that was startling enough.

In the middle of the afternoon, above the creak of ropes and stays and the slap of the waves, we heard a new sound, a high-pitched wailing, far off, that seemed to rise up from the sea itself. Henry was at the porthole.

"Come and look. Will," he said.

There was urgency in his voice. I put down the piece of wood I had been trying to whittle into the shape of a boat and went to join him. The sea was blue-green and empty, marked only by the silver bar of sunlight that shimmered out to the horizon. But something moved in the silver, a flicker in the bright haze. Until, crossing from the sun path into the blue, it took on shape. A Tripod, followed by a second and a third. Six of them, all told.

I said, in wonder, "Can they walk on water?"

They're coming this way."

They were moving fast. I saw that their legs did not move, as they did in crossing land, but remained fixed and triangulated, and that each foot raised a bow wave which, supposing they were of the usual size, must be twenty feet high. They were traveling much faster than a horse gallops. They kept their course toward us, their speed seeming to increase as the bow waves rose higher above the line of the horizon. Each foot, I saw, ended in a kind of float And they were on a collision course with the Orion. If one of them hit her and capsized her ... what chance would we have, below decks, locked in a cabin?

At about twenty-five yards distance, the leading Tripod veered sharply left to cut across our stem. The rest followed. There was a bowling like a dozen different winds, running up and down the scale. Then the first of the waves hit the ship, and she tossed like a cork. We both fell as the cabin heaved under us, and I banged myself painfully against the stanchion of the bunk. I started to get up. and was flung toward the open porthole as the Orion rolled. The sea came up to meet me. A wave splashed in, drenching both of us. And the howling was increasing again as the Tripods came around in another circuit of the ship.

They made three or four-1 was not in a mood for keeping strict count-before continuing on their way. Captain Curtis told us later that this sort of encounter was not uncommon; the Orion had had half a dozen previously. No one knew why they did it-as a joke. perhaps. It was a joke that could have a grim ending; quite a few boats had foundered as a result. We were merely soaked and shaken. I think I was more shaken by their appearance than their actions.

They dominated sea as well as land. If I had thought about it, I suppose I would have assumed that But I had not, and the reality depressed me.

Henry said to the captain. They didn't sound like Tripods."

"Sound? I suppose you've only heard the Capping Call. North of the Channel they see to the Cappings. and that's about all. In the south you will see more of them, and hear them. They have all kinds of calls."

That was another thing. I had thought of them in connection with the Cappings, and only that What Ozymandias had said-about hunting men as men hunted foxes-had not really affected me; my mind had rejected the idea as fantasy. It did so no longer. I was depressed. I was also quite a bit scared.

Captain Curtis took us off the Orion in much the same manner as he had brought us on board. He gave us food before we left. filling my pack and providing Henry with another. He also gave us last-minute advice.

"Keep under cover, avoid all contact with the people. They speak a different language, remember. You won't understand them, and they won't understand you. If they pick you up, they will hand you over for Capping."

He looked at us. lamplight catching deep rusty gold among the blackness of his whiskers. His was a hard face, until one got to know it

"It's happened before. With lads like yourselves, heading for the mountains, or with lads who have run away from someone like Rowley. They've been taken by foreigners and Capped in a foreign land. They all became Vagrants, and bad ones at that Perhaps it's because the machines are set for thoughts in that language. and not being able to understand them cripples you. Or perhaps they just go on until either they get a response or break you-and you don't know how to respond the way they want Anyway, keep clear of people. Get out of this town fast, and stay away from towns and villages after that"

He brought the dinghy up to a careening hard. Two or three boats lay on their sides on the sloping roadway, but there was no sign of life. One could hear distant noises-someone hammering, voices faintly singing-but dose at hand there were only the hulks of boats, hard edged in moonlight, the low line of the harbor wall, and the roofs of the town beyond. A strange town, in a strange land, whose people we could not. and must not, speak to. The dinghy's keel grated on pebbles.

"Off you go," Captain Curtis whispered. "Good luck!"

The pebbles under our feet made a crunching sound that was loud in the quiet night, and we stood for a moment, listening. Nothing moved. I looked back and saw the dinghy disappear behind a larger boat. moored dose in. We were on our own. I gestured to Henry, and set off up the hard. One came out on the front. Captain Curtis had said. turned left, walked a hundred yards, and there was a road to the right Following it would take us out of town. A quarter of an hour, and we could relax our vigilance, if only slightly.

What we had, though, was something like a quarter of a minute.

A road ran alongside the harbor wall and on the far side of it there was a row of houses. taller and seemingly narrower than those in Rumney. As Henry and I moved across the entrance to the hard, a door opened across the way. and a man came out Apparently seeing us. he yelled. We ran, and be ran after us, and others spilled out from the open door. I made perhaps fifty yards along the front before I was caught and held. The one who had grabbed me, a big, wild-looking man whose breath smelled unpleasant, shook me and demanded something: at least. I could tell that he was asking a question. I looked for Henry and saw that they had caught him too. I wondered if Captain Curtis had heard anything of the disturbance. Probably not. and if he had there was nothing he could do. He had plainly told us that

They dragged us across the road. The house was a tavern, but not much like the taverns in Rumney. We were in a small room full of tobacco smoke and smelling of liquor, but both the tobacco and the liquor smelled differently. There was a bar counter, and half a dozen marble-topped tables, with high-backed chairs. The men stood around us, talking incomprehensibly and making a lot of gestures with their hands. I had a feeling they were disappointed about something. At the back of the room there was a staircase which turned on itself, leading both upstairs and down. Someone was watching us from the upper stairs, gazing over the heads that surrounded us.

Although he was tad and had a face that seemed old enough, he had not been Capped. But the striking thing about him was what he wore on his face. Pieces of thin metal ran from behind his ears to hold a frame with a couple of round pieces of glass, one in front of each eye. One of them was somewhat larger than the other, giving him a peculiar cockeyed look. Even in our present predicament I thought him funny. He looked odd enough, in fact, to be a Vagrant, though that was impossible since he was not yet Capped. It dawned on me that the apparent oldness of his face was the result of this contraption he wore. His features behind it were thin. He was a lot taller than I, but he could well be younger.

But I did not have much opportunity for speculation. After some minutes of badgering us in their strange language, the men plainly reached a conclusion. Three was shrugging and a waggling of hands, and we were shoved toward the stairs. They took us down and pushed us through a door at the bottom. I fell sprawling from a blow, and heard a key turn in the lock behind us.

For half an hour or so we heard sounds of people moving about over our heads and a low grumble of voices. Then there were noises of departure, and through the small, vertically barred window, high in one wall, we saw legs outlined against the moonlight as those who had been drinking went home. No one came down to us. We heard bolts slammed, the stamping of a last pair of feet-that would be the landlord and after that nothing but a distant scratching that was probably a rat

The most likely thing was that we were being held for a Capping. I was scared again, realizing how close this might be-it could be tomorrow, even-and for the first time, it seemed, envisaging the lonely, mad life ahead. There would not even be Henry, because Vagrants wandered apart, each cloaked in his own wild dreams and fancies.

Henry said, "I wonder . . ."

Hearing his voice was a small relief. I said. "What?"

"The window. If I gave you a leg up . . ."

I did not believe they would have imprisoned us in a place we could break out of so easily, but it was something to do. Henry knelt by the wall, and I stood on his shoulders in my stocking feet. There was a twinge of pain in my ankle, but I disregarded it. He raised up slowly, while I kept my hands against the wall and reached for the window bars. I got hold at last, first of one and then another. I heaved and pushed, but they were firmly bedded in stone, top and bottom.

Henry shifted under me, and I called down, "It's no good."

"Try again. If you . . ."

He broke off, and I heard what he had heard: the scrape of a key against the sides of the lock. I jumped down and stood watching the darker rectangle of the door. Slowly it creaked open. There was light beyond, a lamp held up, and tile light gleamed on small circles of glass. It was the boy who had watched us from the stairs.

Then he spoke and, to my great astonishment, in English.

"Do not make a noise." he said. "I will help you."

Silently we followed him up the stairs, the old timbers creaking under us, and across the barroom. He drew the bolts very carefully, but they sounded hideously loud. At last the door was open.

I whispered. Thank you. We . . . " He thrust his head forward, the contraption on his nose looking even more ludicrous, and said, "You wish to go to the boat? I can still help"

"Not to a boat. South."

"South? From the town, into land? Not to the sea?"

"Yes," I said, "inland "

"I can help there also." He blew out the lamp and set it down inside the door. "I will show you."

The moonlight was still bright on the waterfront and the gently bobbing masts of the boats in the harbor, but in places the stars were hidden by cloud, and a breeze was getting up from tile sea. He started along the way Captain Curtis had said, but before long led us into an alley. We went up steps, and the alley twisted and turned. It was so narrow that moonlight did not penetrate; there was barely enough light to see our way.

Later there was a road, then another alley, and a road again. The road widened, houses thinned on either side, and at last we reached a place where there was a bright meadow, dotted with the dark shapes of cows. He stopped beside a grassy bank.

This goes south," be said.

I said, "Will you get into trouble? Will they blow it was you that let us out?"

He shrugged, his head bobbing. "It does not matter." He said it like "mat-air." "Will you tell me why you wish to go into land?" He corrected himself: "Inland?"

I hesitated only for a moment. "We have heard of a place, in the south, where there are no Cappings and no Tripods."

"Cappings?" he repeated. Tripods?" He touched his head and said a word in his own language. "The great ones, with three legs they are Tripods? A place without them? Is it possible? Everyone puts on-the Cap?-and the Tripods go everywhere."

"Perhaps not in the mountains."

He nodded. "And there are mountains in the south. Where one could hide, if no more. Is that where you go? Is it possible that I can come?"

I looked at Henry, but it scarcely needed confirmation. Someone whom we already knew to be resourceful, who knew the country and the language. It was almost too good to be true.

"Can you come as you are?" I asked him. "Going back would be risky."

"I am ready now." He put a hand out, first to me and then to Henry. "My name-I am Zhanpole"

He looked odd and solemn standing there, tall and thin, with that strange metal-and-glass thing on his face. Henry laughed.

"More like Beanpole!"

He stared at Henry inquiringly for a moment. Then he laughed too.

5

The City of the Ancients

We tramped through the night, covering ten or twelve miles before, with the summer dawn edging over the horizon, we broke off to rest and eat. While we rested. Beanpole told us the reason for the men rushing out from the tavern to catch us the previous night: some of the local boys had been damaging the boats on the shore, and the sailors thought we were the culprits. A stroke of bad luck. although it had turned out well. He told us something about himself, also. His parents had died when he was a baby, and his uncle and aunt owned the tavern. They seemed to have looked after him all right, but in a distant way, with not much affection or, at any rate, not much shown. I got the impression that they may even have been a little scared of him. This is not as silly as it sounds, because there was one thing that stood out about him: he had quite a tremendous brain.

His speaking English, for instance: he had found an old book giving instructions in the language and taught himself. And the contraption on his face. His eyesight was poor, and he had worked it out that since mariners' telescopes helped sailors to see at a distance, a glass in front of each eye might enable him to see more clearly. He had messed about with lenses until he found some that did. There were other things he had tried, with less success, but you could see how they might have worked. He had noticed that hot air rises, and had filled a pigs bladder with steam from a kettle and seen it go up to the ceiling. So he had tried making what he called a balloon out of oilskin and fixed it to a platform with a brazier under the opening, hoping it would rise into the sky; but nothing happened. Another idea that had not worked out had been for putting springs on the ends of stilts-he had broken a leg the previous year trying that one out

Lately he had been more and more uneasy about the prospect of being Capped, rightly guessing that it would put an end to his inventing things. I realized that it was not just Jack, and myself, and Henry, who had doubts about Capping. Probably all, or almost all, boys did. but they did not talk about them because Capping was a subject not to be discussed. Beanpole said his balloon idea had come from this: he had seen himself drifting through the sly to strange lands, perhaps somewhere finding one where there were no Tripods. He had been interested in us because he had guessed we came from north of the sea, and there were stories that the Tripods were fewer there.

We came to a crossroads not long after restarting our journey, and I was once more made aware of our luck in finding him. I would have taken the road south, but he chose west

"Because of the . . ."-what he said sounded like Shmand-Fair-"! do not know your name of if

"What Is it?" Henry asked.

"It is too hard to explain. I think. You will see."

The Shmand-Fair started inside a town, but we skirted it and reached a small hill, topped with ruins, on the southern edge. Looking down, we could see a track made of two parallel straight lines, gleaming in the sunshine, which ran from the town and disappeared in the far distance. The town end had an open space. where half a dozen objects looking like great boxes on wheels were linked together. As we watched, a dozen horses were harnessed in pairs and yoked to the nearest of the boxes. A man was mounted on the lead pair, and another on the second pair from the box. At a signal, the horses strained forward and the boxes began to move, slowly and then faster. When they were going quite fast, the eight horses in front broke tree and galloped obliquely away. The remaining four continued pulling the boxes on and past our vantage point. There were five boxes altogether. The two in front had openings in their sides, and we could see people sitting in them; the rest were closed.

Beanpole explained that twelve horses were needed to start the wheels rolling along the lines, but once they were moving four were enough. The Shmand-Fair took goods and people south for a long way-more than a hundred miles, it was said. It would save us a lot of walking. I agreed, but asked how we were going to get aboard, since the horses had been going at full tilt when it passed us. He had an answer for that. too. Although the ground on which the lines were laid looked level, there were parts with slopes up or down. On the down slopes the horseman could brake the wheels o( the boxes. In the case of up gradients, the horses had to pull against the drag, which sometimes reduced them almost to walking pace before they reached the top.

We followed the now empty lines away from the town. They were of iron, their tops polished to brightness by the wheels, and were fastened on massive planks, whose surface showed in places through a covering of earth. It was a clever means of travel, but Beanpole was not satisfied with it

"Steam," he said, musing. "It rises. Also it pushes. You have seen the lid pushed up from the saucepan? If one made a lot of steam-like a very big kettle-and pushed the carriages from behind? But, no, That is impossible!"

We laughed, agreeing. Henry said, "It would be like lifting yourself by pulling on the laces of your shoes."

Beanpole shook his head. There is a way, I am sure."

Finding the best place for getting on the Shmand-Fair proved easier than I had expected. The gradient was scarcely noticeable, but the crest of the rise was marked by a wooden post with arms on either side pointing down. There were bushes nearby, which provided cover. We had a wait of half an hour before the next one came in sight, but that was going the wrong way. (I wondered about there being only the one set of tracks, and found later that there were places where the tracks were doubled so that two could pass.) Eventually the right one appeared; we saw the horses drop from gallop to canter, and at last to a straining, heaving walk. When the carriages with people had passed, we darted out and swung aboard that one at the end. Beanpole led the way, clambering up the side and onto the flat top. No sooner had Henry and X followed suit than the Shmand-Fair ground to a halt.

I thought perhaps our extra weight had stopped it, but Beanpole shook his head. He whispered back. They have reached the top. The horses rest and are given water. Then they go on."

And after a five-minute break, they did. quickly gathering speed. There was a bar along the top to hold, and the motion was not unpleasant-better than traveling in a carriage on an ordinary road where one hit boulders and potholes all the time. Henry and I looked out at the landscape as it flashed past Beanpole stared at the sky. I suspected he was still pondering his idea of using steam instead of horses. It was a pity, I thought, that with so many ideas in his head he could not learn to tell the difference between sensible and ridiculous ones.

From time to time there were halts in villages, and people got on and off and goods were loaded and unloaded. We lay flat and kept silent, hoping no one would come up on top. Once a large millstone was unloaded, with a lot of panting and cursing, from directly beneath us, and I recalled what difficulty my father had found in getting a new millstone up to Wherton. There was a raised bank, not far from the village, which ran straight for miles, and it occurred to me that Shmand-Fair could be built along that Or perhaps had been built, long ago, before the Tripods? The thought, like so many others recently, was startling.

Twice we saw Tripods in the distance. It struck me that. being more numerous in this country, they must do a great deal of damage to crops. Not only crops. Beanpole said. Animals were often killed by the great metal feet; and people, too, if they were not quick enough to get out of the way. This, like everything else, was taken for granted. But no longer by us;

having started asking questions, we found that each doubt set loose a score of others.

Toward evening, during a halt to refresh the horses, we saw a town in the distance. It looked bigger than the town from-which the Shmand-Fair had started, and Beanpole thought it might be the place where it ended. It seemed a good opportunity to take our leave, and we did so when the horses began to move again to the cries of the horseman. We slipped off as the Shmand-Fair gathered speed, and watched the carriages roll away. We had been traveling almost continuously southeast for a distance of anything from fifty to a hundred miles. Less than a hundred, though, or we ought to have seen what was shown as a landmark on the map: the ruins of one of the great-cities of the ancients.

The thing to do, we agreed, was head south.

We traveled on while the light held. It was warm still, but clouds had come up. We looked for shelter before darkness halted us, but could find nothing, and settled at last for a dry ditch. Fortunately it did not rain during the night In the morning clouds still threatened, but no more than that, and we had a snack of bread and cheese and continued on our way. We went up a rise, beside a wood, which would offer cover if there were a risk of being seen. Henry reached the top first and stood there, stock-still and staring ahead. I quickened my step, anxious to see what he was gazing at When I reached him, I too stopped in wonder.

It was the ruins of the great-city which lay ahead of us, a mile or two distant I had never seen anything remotely like it before. It stretched for miles, rising in hills and valleys. The forest had invaded it-there was the tossing green of trees everywhere-but everywhere also were the gray and white and yellow bones of buildings. The trees followed lines among them, like veins in some monstrous creature.

We stood in silence until Beanpole murmured, "My people built that"

Henry said, "How many lived there, do you think? Thousands? Hundreds? Hundreds or thousands? More, even?"

I said. "We shall have to go a long way around. I can see no end."

"Around?" Beanpole asked. "But why? Why not through?"

I remembered Jack and his story of the huge ship in the harbor of the great-city south of Winchester. It had not occurred to either of us that he might have done more than gaze from a distance; no one ever approached the great cities. But that was the way of thinking that came from Tripods, and the Caps. Beanpole's suggestion was frightening, and then exciting.

Henry said in a low voice, "Do you think we could get through?"

"We can try," Beanpole said. "If it is too difficult, we can return."

The nature of the veins became dear as we approached. The trees followed the old streets, sprouting out of the black stone of which they had been built, and thrusting their tops up above the canyons formed by the buildings on either side. We walked in their dark cool shade, at first in silence. I did not know about the others. but I needed all the courage I could summon up.

Birds sang above our heads, emphasizing the quietness and gloom of the depths through which we made our way. Only gradually did we start taking an interest in our surroundings, and talking-at the beginning in whispers and then more naturally.

There were strange things to be seen. Signs of death, of course-the white gleam of bone that had once borne flesh. We had expected that. But one of the first skeletons we saw was slumped inside a rusted oblong, humped in the middle, which rested on metal wheels rimmed with a hard black substance. There were other similar contraptions, and Beanpole stooped by one and peered inside. He said, "Places for men to sit. And wheels. So, a carriage of some nature."

Henry said, "It can't be. There's nowhere to harness the horse. Unless the shafts have rusted away."

"No." Beanpole said. They are all the same. Look."

I said. "Perhaps they were huts, for people to rest in when they were tired of walking."

"With wheels?" Beanpole asked. "No. They were carriages without horses. I am sure."

"Pushed by one of your big kettles, maybe!" Henry said.

Beanpole stared at it. He said, quite seriously, "Perhaps you are right"

Some of the buildings had fallen down. from age and weathering, and in places many-whole rows sometimes-had been flattened, crushed, it seemed, by a hammer from the sky. But a great number were more or less intact, and eventually we ventured inside one. It had been a shop, plainly, but of enormous size. There were metal cans everywhere, some still piled on shelves, but most of them scattered on the floor. I picked one up. It had paper around it, with a faded picture of plums. Other cans had pictures, too-fruit, vegetables, bowls of soup. They had held food. It was reasonable enough: with so many people living together, and no land-to till, food would have to be brought to them in containers, just as my mother bottled things in summer for winter use. The cans had rusted, in some places right through, showing a dried-up indistinguishable mess inside.

There were thousands of shops, and we looked in many of them. Their contents amazed us. Great bolts of mildewed cloth, still showing weird colors and patterns . . . row on row of crumbling cardboard boxes, full of rotting leather shoes . . . musical instruments, a few familiar but most incredibly weird ... figures of women, made from a strange hard substance, clothed in the tattered remnants of dresses . . . . And a place full of bottles, which Beanpole told us was wine. He broke the top off one, and we tasted it but pulled faces at the sourness; it had gone bad long ago. We picked up some things and took them with us: a knife; a small ax with an edge that was rusted but could be sharpened; a kind of flask made of a translucent blue material. very light in weight, which would carry water better than the flasks Henry and I had got from Captain Curtis; candles-things like that.

But the shop that filled me with awe was quite small. It was tucked away between two much bigger ones. and as well as the usual broken glass it had a barrier of warped and rusted metal in front of it When I looked in, it was like Aladdin's cave. There were gold rings, set with diamonds and other stones, brooches, necklaces, bangles. And perhaps a score of Watches!

I picked one out. It was gold, too, and had a heavy gold bracelet which expanded when I put my fingers inside and spread them; in this way it could be made large enough to go over your hand and would then lie snugly on your wrist. Or, on a wrist thicker than mine. It was loose when I put it on, so I pushed it higher up my arm. It would not go, of course, but it was a Watch. The other two were exploring on the other side of the street. I thought of calling them and then decided against it

It was not just that I did not want them to have a Watch like mine. though that was part of it There was also the memory of my struggle with Henry over my father's Watch, when Jack had helped me to get it from him. And this, I think, was sparked by something less definite, a feeling of discontent. My dislike for Henry had been thrust into the background by the difficulties and dangers which we encountered together and shared. When Beanpole joined us. I had talked to him more. and he had responded;

Henry, to some extent, had been left out of things. I had realized this and, I am afraid, been complacent about it

Today, though, particularly since we had come into the great-city, I had become aware of a change. It was nothing clear-cut; just that Henry talked more to Beanpole, that Beanpole directed more of his own remarks to Henry-that there bad been a shift, in fact, from its being a matter of Beanpole and myself, with Henry a little bit out of things, to a situation in which I was, to some extent, the excluded one. So it had happened that I had found this shop. with the jewels and the Watches, having left them discussing a strange machine they had found which had tour rows of small white disks with letters on. at the front I looked at the Watch again. No, I was not going to call them.

Eventually we more or less gave up looking in the shops. In part, this was because our curiosity was sated, but more because we had been several hours in the city with no sign of approaching the other side. The reverse, in fact At one point, where devastation had left a great mound of rubble, we climbed up through the bushes and grass that covered it and found ourselves looking down on the waving green and crumbling stone. It stretched about us, seemingly endless, like a sea ribbed with reefs of rock. Without the compass we would have been lost, for the day had clouded and there was no sun to give us direction. As it was, we knew we were still heading south, and the day was less than half run, but we felt the need to push on faster than we had been doing so far.

We came to wider streets, flanked by huger buildings, that ran broad and straight for immense distances. We stopped to eat where several of these met; there was a place where the trees had not found a purchase, and we sat chewing our meat and the hard biscuits Captain Curtis had given us - our bread was all gone - on mossy stone. Afterward we rested, but Beanpole got up after a while and wandered off. Henry followed him. I lay flat, looking up at the gray sky, and did not answer at first when they called me. But Beanpole called again and sounded excited. They seemed to have found something interesting.

It was a great hole, surrounded on three sides by rusted rails, with steps leading down into the darkness. At the top, opposite the entrance, there was a metal plate which said METRO.

Beanpole said. "The steps-they are so wide that ten people can go side by side. Where do they lead?"

I said, "Does it matter? If we aren't resting we'd better be getting on."

"If I could see ..." Beanpole said. "Why was such a thing built, so great a tunnel?"

"Who cares?" I shrugged. "You wouldn't see anything down there."

"We've got candles." Henry said.

I said angrily, "We haven't got time. We don't want to have to spend a night here."

They ignored me. Henry said to Beanpole, "We could go a bit of the way down and see what there is." Beanpole nodded,

I said. "It's stupid!"

Henry said, "You don't need to come if you don't want to. You can stay here and rest"

He said it indifferently, already rummaging in his pack for the candles. They would have to be lit, and I was the only one with a tinderbox. But they were determined, I realized, and I might as well give in with as good a grace as I could manage.

I said, "I'll come with you. I still think it's pointless, though."

The stairs descended first into a cavern, which we explored as well as the meager light of the candles permitted. Being less subject to the elements, things had deteriorated less here than in the world above: there were queer machines, showing patches of rust but otherwise undamaged, and a kind of box with glass in the windows, intact

And there were tunnels leading off the cavern; some, like the one by which we had entered, with stairs going up, others leading still farther down. Beanpole was all for exploring one of these and got his way for want of opposition. The steps went a very long way, and at the bottom there was another small tunnel going to the right Whatever slight interest I had had was gone by now-all I wanted was to get back up into the daylight. But I was not going to suggest this. I had an idea, from the increasing lack of enthusiasm in his replies to Beanpole's comments, that Henry was no more keen than I was on going farther-perhaps less. I derived a little satisfaction from that, as least

Beanpole led the way along the small tunnel, which twisted and ended in a gate of heavy iron bars. It creaked as he pushed it open. We followed him through and stared at what we could now see.

It was yet another tunnel, but far bigger than the others. We stood on level stone, and the tunnel curved up over our heads and went on, beyond the limits of our light What amazed us. though, was the thing that stood there. I thought at first it was a house, a long low narrow house of glass and metal, and wondered who would have chosen to live here. deep in the earth. Then I saw that it stood in a wide ditch running alongside our level, that there were wheels under It. and that the wheels rested on long metal bars. It was a kind of Shmand-Fair.

But to travel where? Could this tunnel run for a hundred miles, as the track of the Shmand-Fair had done-but underground? To a buried city, perhaps, whose wonders were even greater than those of the city above us. And how? We walked along, and found that long carnage was joined to long carriage-four, five, six, we counted-and a little way past the last carriage was the mouth of a smaller tunnel, and the empty lines ran into it and were lost

The last carriage ended with windows looking ahead. Inside, there was a seat, levers, instruments. I said, "No place to attach the horses. And who would have horses pulling underground?"

Henry said, "They must have used your steam kettle."

Beanpole was staring in greedily at the strange instruments.

"Or a thing much more wonderful," he said.

On the way back we looked inside the carriages; parts of their sides were open. so that one could step into them. There were seats, but a clutter of other things as well including heaps of food cans, such as we had found in the shops, but unrusted-the air down here was cool and dry, as it must be all the time. Other things we could not understand-a rack full of wooden things ending in iron cylinders, for instance. They had small half-hoops of iron on one side with a little iron finger inside which moved when you pressed it; but nothing happened.

"So they carried goods." Beanpole said. "And people, since there are seats."

Henry said, "What are these?"

It was a wooden box, full of what looked like large metal eggs-as big as goose eggs. He picked one out and showed it to Beanpole. It was made of iron. its surface grooved into squares, and there was a ring at one end-Henry pulled it. and it came away.

Beanpole said. "Can I look?"

Henry handed the egg to him, but clumsily. It fell before Beanpole could grasp it, dropped to the floor, and rolled. It went over the edge of the floor and dropped into the ditch beneath. Henry was going after it. but Beanpole caught his arm.

"Leave it. There are others."

He was bending down toward the box when it happened. There was a tremendous bang under our feet, and the great steel carriage shuddered with the violence of it I had to clutch an upright pillar to prevent myself being thrown to the ground. Echoes of the bang reverberated along the tunnel, like diminishing hammer blows.

Henry said shakily. "What was that?" But he did not really need to be told.

Beanpole had dropped his candle, and it had gone out. He put it to Henry's to relight it. I said, "If it had not rolled down below the carriage ..."

There was no need to fill in details. Beanpole said, "Like fireworks, but more powerful. What would the ancients use such things for?"  He picked up another egg. Henry said, I wouldn't mess around with them."

I agreed, though I said nothing. Beanpole handed Henry his candle so that he could look at the egg more carefully.

Henry said, "If it goes off..."

They did not go off before." Beanpole said. They were brought here. I do not think touching will do anything. The ring ..." He put his finger into it. "You pulled it out, and it tell, and then. a little later . . ."'

Before I properly understood what he was doing, he wrenched the ring from the egg. We both cried out, but he ignored us, walked to the opening, and threw the egg under the carriage.

This time, together with the explosion, there was a shattering of glass, and a gust of air blew out my candle. I said angrily. That was a stupid thing to do!"

The floor protects us." Beanpole said. "It is not much risk, I think."

"We could have been cut by flying glass."

"I do not think so."

The point was, as I ought to have realized earlier. Beanpole was only sensible as long as his curiosity was not deeply roused; when something interested him he had no thought for hazards.

Henry said, I wouldn't do it again, all the same."

He obviously shared my feelings about the experiment

Beanpole said, "It is not necessary. We know how it works. I counted seven after the ring came out"

It was nice to feel I was part of the majority again, even though the other part was Henry. I said. "All right-so you know how it works. What good does that do?"

Beanpole did not reply. He had found himself a pack in one of the shops-the leather was green and moldy but cleaned up fairly well and he was now taking eggs from the box and putting them inside.

I said. "You're not taking those with you, are you?"

He nodded. "They will be useful, perhaps."

"For what?"

"I do not know. But something."

I said flatly, "You can't. It's not safe for us, either."

There is no danger unless the ring is pulled."

He had put four in his pack. I looked toward Henry, to back me up. But he said, "I suppose they might come in handy." He picked one up and hefted it in his hand. They're heavy. I think I'll take a couple, though."

I did not know whether he was saying this because he really meant it or to spite me. It did not make much difference, I thought bitterly. I was back in the minority again.

We made our way up through the tunnels, and I was very glad to see the sky, even though it was a still darker gray, with clouds lower and more menacing. Not long afterward our way was barred by a river, running clear and swift between high banks. There had been many great bridges spanning it, but those we could see had been partly or altogether destroyed; the one directly before us was marked only by half a dozen piles of rubble with the water boiling round them. With nothing to choose between the alternatives, we followed the river to the east

Four bridges proved hopeless, and then the river forked. It seemed to me this meant that it we continued toward the east, we should have to find bridges intact over both branches, doubling the difficulty, and that our best course was to go back and try in the opposite direction. But Henry was opposed to turning back, and Beanpole supported him. There was nothing I could do but tag along resentfully.

My resentment was not diminished by the fact that the very next bridge was intact enough to cross, though the parapet had completely gone at one side, and in the middle the bridge itself had a hole bitten out of the edge which we had to skirt warily. On the far side there were relatively few trees, and the buildings were massive. Then we came to an open space and saw at the end of it a building which, even in ruins, had a magnificence that compelled the eye.

There had been twin towers in front, but one of these had been sliced down the side. On them, and on the whole facade, were carvings in stone. and from roofs and angles stone figures of monstrous animals probed the quiet air. It was a cathedral, I guessed, and it looked bigger even than the great cathedral in Winchester, which I had always believed was the biggest building in the world. The huge wooden door stood open, tilted on its hinges and rotting. Part of the roof of the nave had fallen in. and one could see up past the pillars and buttresses to the sly. We did not go inside; I think none of us wanted to disturb its crumbling silence.

The next thing we discovered was that we had not. in fact, crossed to the opposite bank of the river, but were on an island: the waters which had divided to the west came together again in the east We had to trail back across the bridge. I was not sorry to see Henry discomfited, but I was too tired to think it worth the extra effort.

It was at this time that Beanpole said to me, "What is it on your arm?"

The Watch had slipped down, without my noticing it, to my wrist I had to show it to them. Henry looked at it with envy, though he said nothing. Beanpole showed a more dispassionate interest He said, "I have seen clocks, of course, but not one of these. How is it made to go?”

"You turn the button on the side, I said. "But I did not bother to do that, since it must be so old"

"But it is going."

Disbelievingly I looked myself. Above the hour and minute hands a third, more slender pointer was going around, sweeping the dial I held the Watch to my ear: it was ticking. I noticed a word on the face: "Automatique." It seemed like magic, but could not be. It was another wonder of the ancients.

We all stared at it. Beanpole said. These trees-some are a hundred years old, I think. And yet this device works. What craftsmen they were."

We got across the river at last, half a mile farther up. There was no sign of the city coming to an end; its vastness which had first awed, and then aroused wonder and curiosity, was now exhausting. We passed many shops, including one larger than the cathedral-a side had fallen In and one could see that it was a shop, or a series of shops, right up to the roof-but none of us felt like bothering to investigate them. We saw other tunnels, too. with METRO on them. Beanpole decided they were most likely places where people had got on and off the underground Shmand-Fair. and I imagine he was right

We slogged on. The day was declining, and we were all weary. By the time we had our evening meal-a limited one. because food was beginning to run short and there was no way here of getting more-it was plain that we would have to spend the night in the city. I do not think any of us was keen on going into one of the buildings to sleep, but a distant howling changed our minds for us. If there were a pack of wild dogs near. it would be safer to get off the streets. They did not usually attack people unless they were hungry; but we had no means of knowing the state of their stomachs.

We picked a substantial-looking edifice and went up to the first floor, stamping warily on the stairs to see if they were likely to collapse. Nothing happened, except that dust rose, choking us. We found a room with glass still in its windows. The curtains and the upholstery of the furniture were faded and eaten in holes by moths, but it was still comfortable. I found a big earthenware jar with a heavy lid and roses painted on it When I took the lid off it was full of withered rose petals, their perfume a ghost or summers long ago. There was a piano, larger and differently shaped from any I had seen, and a frame on it with a picture, in black and white, of a lady. I wondered if it was she who had lived here. She was very beautiful, though her hair was different from the way women wear their hair today, with wide dark eyes, and a gently smiling mouth. In the night I awoke, and there was the scent still in the air, and moonlight from the window fell across the top of the piano. I almost thought that I could .glimpse her there, her slender white fingers moving across the keys -that I could hear phantom music.

It was nonsense, of course, and when I fell asleep again I did not dream of her but of being back in the village, in the den with Jack, in the time when I had not learned to worry over Caps and the Tripods, and when I had thought never to travel farther from Wherton than Winchester -and that no more than once a year.

The moonlight was misleading; in the morning, not only were the clouds back, chasing each other in an endless pursuit of monotonous gray, but a dreary deluge of rain was sheeting down out of the sly. Even though we were anxious to get clear of the city, we did not feel like tackling these conditions. All that was left by way of food was a hunk of cheese, a piece of dried beef, and some of the ship's biscuits. We divided the cheese. That left one more meal; after that we would have to go hungry.

Henry found a chess set, and he played a couple of games with Beanpole, who won easily. I then challenged him, and was also beaten. Finally I played against Henry. I expected to beat him, because I thought I had done better against Beanpole, but I lost in about twenty moves. I felt irritated, by this and the weather and being still hungry, and refused his offer to play again. I went and stood by one of the windows and was glad to note that the sly was clearing, the gray turning in patches into a luminous yellow. Within a quarter of an hour the rain had stopped and we could go on.

The avenues through which we traveled were gloomy at first, the surface puddled with water or, where trees had split it, of sodden earth, the general wetness continually augmented by drips from the branches above. It was like walking through rain in slow motion, and just as wetting;

it was not long before we were all thoroughly soaked. Later, brightness filtered down as the clouds lifted, and the birds seemed to make a second wakening and filled the air with their chatter and song. Drops still fell. but more rarely, and in bare patches where the trees had got a footing, the sun laid strokes of heat across. Beanpole and Henry talked more, and more cheerfully. My own spirits did not revive as thoroughly. I felt tired and a bit shivery, and my mind seemed thick and dull. I hoped I was not getting a cold.

We ate the last of the food in a place where the trees were thick in front .of us. unbroken by buildings. The reason lay in the slabs of stone, some upright but more leaning or fallen, which stretched away into the darkness of the wood. The words carved on the nearest one were:

CI-GIT

MARIANNE LOUISE

VAUDRICOURT

13 ANS

DECEDEE 15 FEVRIER 1966

The first two words. Beanpole explained, meant "here lies," ans was "years" and decedee was "died." She had died at my own age, and been buried here at a time when the city was still throbbing with life. One day in the middle of winter. So many people. The wood stretched out, laced with the stones of the dead, across an area in which my village could have been set down several times over.

It was late afternoon when we came at last to the southern edge of the city. The transformation was sudden. We pushed for about a hundred yards through a stretch where the trees were thick, the buildings few and completely in ruins, and emerged into a wheat field, waving green spears in the slanting sunlight It was a relief to be in the open again and in civilized land. With that came awareness that we needed to resume habits of caution: there was a horse plowing several fields away, and In the distance two Tripods stalked the horizon.

Clouds came up again as we traveled south. We found a field of early potatoes, but could find no wood dry enough to start a fire to cook them. Henry and Beanpole ate them raw, but I could not I had little appetite, anyway, and my head was aching. At night we slept in a ruin well away from any other houses. The root had fallen at one end. but was still supported at the other; it was wavy and made of a gray material that looked like stone but was much lighter. I spent the night in a series of heavy sleeps, from which I was awakened by nightmarish dreams, and in the morning I felt more tired than I had been the night before, I suppose I must have looked funny, because Henry asked me if I was feeling ill. I snapped something back at him, and he shrugged and turned his attention to other things. Beanpole said nothing, I think because he noticed nothing. He was much less interested in people than in ideas.

It was a weary day for me. I felt worse as the hours went by. I was determined not to show this. though. At the beginning I had not wanted sympathy from the others because I resented the fact that they appeared to be getting on with each other better than I was with either. After I had rebuffed Henry my resentment was because neither he nor Beanpole took the matter any further. I am afraid I got some satisfaction out of feeling ill and carrying on without admitting it. It was a childish way to behave.

At any rate, my lack of appetite did not make much impression because we were all on short rations. I was not bothering anyway, but Henry and Beanpole found nothing. We had reached the wide river, flowing southeast, which the map told us we should follow, and Henry spent half an hour at one place trying, without success, to tickle trout up from under the bank. While he did so, I lay gazing, stupefied, up at the cloudy sky, grateful for the rest

Toward evening, after endless fields of young wheat and rye, we came in sight of an orchard. There were rows of cherry, plum, and apple. The apples would be small and unripe still, but even from a distance we could see golden and purple plums and cherries black or red - and  white against the green of leaves. The trouble was that the farmhouse was right by the orchard and would have a good view of anyone moving among the long straight ranks of trees. Later, of course, with the onset of darkness, it would be different

Henry and Beanpole disagreed as to what we should do. Henry wanted to stay, where there was an assurance of some kind of food at least, and wait for the chance to get at it; Beanpole was for pressing on, hoping to find something else, or something better, in the couple of hours' light that remained. I got no pleasure, this time, out of their opposition - I was feeling too heavy and ill to bother. I supported Henry, but only because I was desperate for the rest. Beanpole gave in. as always with a good grace, and we settled down to let the time pass.

When they tried to rouse me to go with them. I paid no heed, being too sunk in lethargy and general wretchedness, and eventually they left me and went off on their own. I had no idea how much later it was that they came back, but I was aware of them trying to rouse me again, offering me fruit and also cheese, which Beanpole had managed to steal from the dairy which abutted on the farmhouse. I could not eat anything-could not be bothered to try-and for the first time they appreciated that I was ill and not merely sulking. They whispered together, and then they half lifted, half dragged me to my feet and hauled me away. supporting me between them.

I learned later that there was an old shed at the far end of the orchard which did not seem to be in use. and they thought it best to get me there: rain was threatening again and it did rain during the night I was aware only of stumbling and being pulled along, and at last being allowed to collapse on an earth floor.

There were sweating sleeps after that, and more dreams, from one of which I emerged shouting.

The next thing I realized with any clarity was that a dog was growling nearby. Shortly afterward the door of the shed was flung open, and a shaft of hot sunlight fell on my face, and I saw the dark outline of a gaitered man against the light It was followed by more confusion, by loud voices in a strange tongue. I tried to struggle to my feet, but fell back.

And the next thing after that, I was lying in cool sheets, in a soft bed, and a grave, dark-eyed girl, in a blue turbanlike cap, was bending over me. I looked past her, in wonder, at my surroundings: a high white ceiling, worked in arabesques, walls of dark paneled wood, hangings of thick crimson velvet around the bed. I had never known such luxury.

6

The Castle of the Red Tower

Henry and Beanpole had realized, the morning after my collapse, that I was not well enough to travel. They could, of course, have left me and gone on themselves. Failing that, they had a choice either of dragging me farther away from the farmhouse or of staying in the hut and hoping not to be observed. As far as the first was concerned, there was no other shelter in sight, and although the rain had stopped, the weather was not promising. And the hut did not look as though it was used much. Anyway, they decided to stay where they were. In the early morning they crept out and got more plums and cherries, and returned to the hut to eat them.

The men with the dog came an hour or two later. They were never sure whether this was by accident, whether they had been seen earlier and their return to the hut marked, or whether Beanpole had left signs of his entry into the dairy and. with the cheese missing, the men were making a routine check of the outbuildings. What mattered was that the men were at the door, and a dog with them-an ugly brute, standing as high as a small donkey, its teeth bared in a snarl. There was nothing they could do but surrender.

Beanpole had previously worked out an emergency plan for a situation such as this, to get over the difficulty that neither I nor Henry spoke his language. We were to be cousins of his and both deaf-mutes-we were to say nothing, and pretend we could hear nothing. This is what happened-simply enough as far as I was concerned since I was unconscious. It had been Beanpole's idea that this would allay suspicion so that, even if they kept us prisoner, they would not put too strong a guard on us. giving us a better chance of escaping when opportunity offered. I do not know if it would have worked certainly I was in no state to make an escape from anything-but as it was, things took a very different turn from anything we had envisioned. It just so happened that, on that particular morning, the Comtesse de la Tour Rouge was making a progress through the district and called with her retinue at the farm.

Care of the sick and the distribution of largesse were customary with ladies of the nobility and gentry. When Sir Geoffrey's wife, Lady May, was alive, she used to do this around Wherton; one of my earliest memories was of receiving from her a big red apple and a sugar pig, and touching my cap in reply. With the Comtesse. though, as I grew to know, generosity and care of others was not a matter of duty but sprang from her own nature. She was a gentle and kind person in herself, and suffering in another creature-human or animal-was a pain to her. The farmer's wife had scalded her legs months before and was now quite recovered, but the Comtesse needed to reassure herself of that At the farm she was told of the three boys who had been caught hiding-two of them deaf-mutes and one of those in a fever. She took charge of us all right away.

It was a sizable company. Nine or ten of her ladies were with her, and three knights had ridden out with them. There were also esquires and grooms. Beanpole and Henry were put up in front of grooms, but I was set on the saddlebow of one of the knights, with his belt tied around to keep me from slipping off. I remember nothing of the journey, which is perhaps as well. It was more than ten miles back to the castle, a good deal of it over rough country.

The face bending over me when I awoke was that of the Comtesse's daughter, Eloise.

The Chateau de la Tour Rouge stands on high ground, overlooking a confluence of two rivers. It is very ancient, but has had old parts rebuilt and others added from time to time. The tower itself is new, I fancy, because it is of a strange red stone quite unlike the stones used elsewhere in the building. In it are the state rooms and the rooms of the family, where I was put to bed.

The tower Is free-standing on the side that looks down to the river and the plain, but other buildings adjoin at the rear and on either side. there are kitchens, stores, servants' Quarters, kennels, stables, forge-all the workaday places. And the knights' quarters, which are well-kept and decorated houses, though at this time only three unmarried knights were living in them, the rest having their own houses within easy reach of the castle.

Part of the knights' quarters were given up to the esquires. These were boys, the sons of knights mostly, who were being trained to knighthood, and Henry and Beanpole, by the orders of the Comtesse, were put among them. They quickly realized that there was no immediate danger of being taken for Capping, and decided to wait and see what happened.

For me, meanwhile, there was the confusion of sickness and delirium. They told me later that I was in a fever for four days. I was aware of strange faces, particularly of the dark-eyed face beneath the blue turban, which gradually became familiar. My sleeps, by degrees, became more restful, the world into which I awakened less incoherent and distorted. Until I awoke, reeling myself again, though weak, and the Comtesse was sitting beside my bed. with Eloise standing a little farther off.

The Comtesse smiled and said, "Are you better now?"

A resolution I must keep... Of course. I must not talk. I was a deaf-mute. Like Henry. Where was Henry? My eyes searched the room- At the high window, curtains moved in a breeze. I could hear voices from outside and the clang of iron.

'Will," the Comtesse said. "you have been very ill, but you are better now. You need only to grow strong."

I must not talk . . . And yet-she had called me by my name! And was speaking to me in English.

She smiled again. "We know the secret. Your friends are all right Henry, and Zhan-pole. Beanpole, as you call him."

There was no point in going on pretending. I said, "They told you?"

"In a fever it is not possible to control one's tongue. You were determined not to talk, and said so, aloud. In the English speech."

I turned my head away in shame. The Comtesse said. "It does not matter. Will, look at me."

Her voice, soft but strong, compelled me to turn my head, and I saw her properly for the first time. Her face was too long for her ever to have been beautiful, but it had a gentleness which was lovely, and her smile glowed. Her hair curled round her shoulders, deep black but touched with white, the silvery lines of the Cap showing above the high forehead. She had large gray, honest eyes.

I asked, "Can I see them?"

"Of course you can. Eloise will tell them to come."

They left the three of us alone. I said, "I gave it away. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

Henry said: "You couldn't help it Are you all right now?"

"Not bad. What are they going to do with us?"

"Nothing, as far as I can see." He nodded at Beanpole. "He knows more than I do."

Beanpole said, "They are not like the villagers or townsmen. The villagers,. finding us, might have called the Tripods, but these not. They think it good for boys to leave their homes. Their own sons go tar away."

I suppose I was a little confused still. I said, 'Then they might help us!"

Beanpole shook his head, sunlight flashing from the lenses in front of his eyes.

"No. After all, they are Capped. They have different customs, but they obey the Tripods. They are still slaves. They treat us kindly, but they must not know our plans."

I said, with a new alarm, "If I talked . . . I might have said something about the White Mountains."

Beanpole shrugged. "If so, they have thought it was a fever dream. They suspect nothing, believing only that we are wanderers, you two from the land beyond the sea. Henry took the map from the jacket We have it safe."

I had been thinking hard. I said. Then you'd better make a break for it, while you can."

"No., It will be weeks before you are fit to travel"

"But you two can get away. I'll follow when I am able. I remember the map well enough."

Henry said to Beanpole, It might be a good idea."

I felt a pang at that For me to suggest it was noble self-sacrifice; having the proposal accepted without demur was less pleasant

Beanpole said. That is not good. If two go, leaving the other, perhaps they will start to wonder. They may come hunting for us. They have horses and enjoy to hunt. A change from deer or foxes, no?"

'What do you suggest, then?" Henry asked. I could see he was not persuaded. "If we stay, they'll Cap us eventually."

That is why staying is better for now," Beanpole said. "I have been talking with some of the boys. In a few weeks there is the tournament"

The tournament?" I asked.

"It is held twice a year." Beanpole said, "in spring and summer. They have feasts, games, contests, and jousting between the knights. It lasts five days, and at the end is their Capping Day"

"And if we are still here then..." Henry said.

"We are offered for Capping. True. But we will not be here. You will be strong by then, Will. And during the time of the tournament there is always much confusion. We can get away and not be missed for a day. perhaps two or three. Also, having more exciting things to do here at the castle, I think they will not trouble to hunt us anyway."

Henry said. "You mean, do nothing till then?"

This is sensible."

I saw that it was. It also relieved me from the thought, more terrifying the more I contemplated it, of being abandoned. I said, trying to make my voice sound indifferent, "You two must decide."

Henry said reluctantly, "I suppose it is the best thing."

The boys came up to me from time to time, but I saw more of the Comtesse and Eloise. Occasionally the Comte looked in. He was a big ugly man, who had, I learned, a great reputation for bravery in tournaments and at the hunt (Once, unhorsed, he had met a huge wild boar face to face and killed it with his dagger.) With me he was awkward but amiable, given to poor jokes at which he laughed a lot He spoke a little English, too, but badly, so that often I could not understand him; mastery of other tongues was regarded as an accomplishment better suited to the ladies.

I had known very little about the nobility before this. At Wherton the people from the Manor House kept to themselves not mixing much with those from the village. Now I saw them at close quarters and, lying in bed. had time to think about them, and particularly about their attitude toward the Tripods. As Beanpole had suggested, it was not. in essence, different from that of humbler people. Take, for instance, their tolerance of boys running away from home. This would not have been the case with villagers, either here or at Wherton, but that was because their lives were of another pattern; whereas the sea captains at Rumney took to the notion well enough. To the nobility it was right that ladies should be gracious and accomplished in certain things, and that men should be brave. There were no wars, as there had once been, but there were a number of ways in which courage could be shown. And a boy who ran away from his humdrum life, even though not noble, in their view displayed spirit

The bitter thing was that all the spirit, all the gallantry, was wasted. For, even more than their inferiors, they accepted and looked forward to being Capped. It was a part of becoming a knight, or of turning from girl to lady. Thinking of this, I saw how good things could be meaningless in isolation. What value did courage have without a free and challenging mind to direct it?

Eloise taught me how to speak their language. It was easier than I expected; we bad plenty of time at our disposal, and she was a patient teacher. Pronouncing the words gave me the most difficulty-1 had to learn to make sounds in my nose and sometimes despaired of getting them right Beanpole's real name, I learned, was not Zhan-pole, but Jean-Paul, and even those simple syllables took some mastering.

I was allowed up after a few days. My old clothes had disappeared and I was given new ones. These consisted of sandals, undergarments, a pair of shorts, and a shirt, but were of much finer material than I had been used to and were more colorful; the shorts were a creamy color and the shirt, on that first day, was dark red. I found to my surprise that they were taken away each night for laundering and replaced by fresh clothing.

Eloise and I wandered about the rooms and grounds of the castle contentedly. At home I had not mixed much with girls, and had been ill at ease when I could not avoid their company, but with her I felt no strain or awkwardness. Her English, like her mother's, was very good, but soon she insisted on speaking to me in her own tongue. By this means I picked up things quickly. She would point to the window, and I would say "la fenetre," or beyond, and I would say "le ciel."

I was still supposed not to be well enough to join the other boys. If I had made a fuss, I imagine I might have been permitted to do so, but I accepted the situation readily enough. To be docile at the moment improved our chance of escaping later. And it seemed ungenerous to rebuff Eloise's kindness. She was the only child of the Comte and Comtesse remaining in the castle, her two brothers being esquires at the house of a great duke in the south, and she did not seem to have friends among the other girls. I gathered she had been lonely.

There was another reason, too. It still rankled that Henry should have displaced me with Beanpole, and when I ran into them I had an impression of a companionship, a complicity. which I did not share. Their life, of course, was quite different from mine. It is even possible they were a little jealous of the cosseting I was getting. What was certain was that we had little to talk about as far as our present existences were concerned and could not, for safety, discuss the more important enterprise which we did have in common.

So I willingly turned from them to Eloise. She had, like her mother, a soothing gentleness. Like her, she had a deep feeling for all living creatures, from the people about her to the hens that scratched in the dust outside the servants' quarters. Her smile was her mother's, but that was the only real physical likeness. For Eloise was pretty, not only when she smiled but in the stillness of repose. She had a small oval face, with an ivory skin that could flush a strange delicate color, and deep brown eyes.

I wondered about the color of her hair. She always wore the same turbanlike cap, covering her head completely. One day I asked her about it. I put the question in my halting French, and either she did not understand me or affected not to; so I asked her bluntly, in English. She said something then, but in her own language and too fast for me to grasp the meaning.

We were standing in the small triangular garden, formed by the castle's prow where it jutted out toward the river. There was no one else in sight, no sound except from the birds and some of the esquires shouting as they rode across the tilt yard behind us. I was irritated by her evasiveness, and I made a grab, half playful, half annoyed at the turban. It came away at my touch. And Eloise stood before me, her head covered by a short dark fuzz of hair, and by the silver mesh of the Cap.

It was a possibility that had not occurred to me. Being fairly small of stature, I had the habit of assuming that anyone older than myself must be taller, and she was an inch or two shorter than I. Her features, too, were small and delicate. I stared at her, dumfounded, blushing, as she was. but fiery red rather than the faint flush of rose.

I realized from her reaction that I had done something outrageous, but I did not know how outrageous. For girls, as I have said. Capping was a part of the process of becoming a lady. When she had recovered herself, and wound the turban back on, Eloise explained something of this, speaking in English so that I would be sure to understand her fully. Here girls wore turbans for the ceremony, and were returned by the Tripods still wearing them. For six months after that no one, not even the Comtesse. was supposed to see Eloise's naked head. At the end of that time, a special ball would be held in her honor, and there, for the first time since the Capping, she would show herself. And I had torn the turban from her, as I would have pulled off a boy's cap, fooling about in school.

She spoke not in anger or reproach, but patiently. She felt a great shame that I had seen her head, but her real concern was for what might have happened to me if the incident had been seen by others. A severe flogging would have been the first, but probably not the last, of my punishments. It was said that a man had been killed once for such an offense.

My feelings, as I listened, were mixed. There was some gratitude for her wanting to protect me; but resentment, too, at being judged, even gently, by a code of conduct which meant nothing to me. At Wherton the girls, like all boys, had come back bareheaded from Capping. My feelings about Eloise herself were also jumbled and uncertain. I had traveled a long road since leaving the village, not only in hard reality but in my attitude toward people. More and more I had come to see the Capped as lacking what seemed to me the essence of humanity, the vital spark of defiance against the rulers of the world. And I had despised them for it despised even, for all their kindness to me and their goodness, the Comte and Comtesse.

But not Eloise. I had thought her free, like myself. I might even have come to the idea-its beginnings, I think, were in my mind already that when we set off once more for the White Mountains, there might not be three of us, but four. All this was rendered futile by the sight of her bare head. I had come to think of her as my friend, perhaps more. But now I knew that she belonged, irretrievably, body and soul, to the Enemy.

The episode disturbed us both a great deal. For Eloise there had been two blows-to her modesty, and to her Idea of me. My snatching at her turban had shocked her. Even though she knew it was done in ignorance, it was the mark. in her eyes. of a barbarian; and a barbarian is likely to be barbarous in all things. She was uncertain of me.

With me, what had emerged was not uncertainty but the reverse. Nothing could come of my friendship with her: a hard black line had been scored across it The only thing to do was forget about it and concentrate on the important thing, which was getting to the White Mountains. I saw Henry and Beanpole later that day and suggested we should make a break at once:

I was sure I was strong enough to travel. But Beanpole was insistent on waiting for the tournament, and this time Henry backed him up wholeheartedly. I was angry and disappointed. I had expected him to support me. It was the alliance again, and again I was excluded. I left them abruptly.

On the stairs I met the Comte, who grinned at me. slapped me heavily on the back, and said that I looked better but still needed fattening. I must eat plenty of venison. There was nothing like venison for building up the skinny ones. I went on up to the parlor and found Eloise there, her face golden in the lamplight She smiled at me in welcome. Uncertainty could not affect her constancy and loyalty; they were deeply engrained in her nature.  So we continued our companionship, though there was a new wariness between us. Now that I was stronger, we could range farther afield. Horses were saddled for us, and we rode out of ' the castle gates and down the hill into meadows thick with summer flowers. I knew how to ride. after a fashion, and I soon became proficient, as I was rapidly becoming in the language of this country.

There were some days of cloud and rain, but more of sunshine, in which we rode through a warm scented land. or, dismounting, sat and watched the river where the trout leaped, silver out of silver. We visited houses of the knights, and were given fruit drinks and little creamy cakes by their ladies. In the evenings we would sit in the Comtesse's parlor, talking to her or listening to her while she sang to the accompaniment of a round long-necked instrument whose strings she plucked. Often, while we were there, the Comte would come in and stay with us, for once quiet.

The Comte and Comtesse made it plain that they liked me. I think it was partly because of their sons having gone away. This was the custom, and it would not have occurred to them to challenge it, but they grieved for their absence. There were other boys in the castle of noble stock, but they lived in the knights' quarters, joining the family only for supper, which was served in the hall at a table where thirty or forty dined at once. I. because I had been ill and brought into the tower, had become a part of the family as they had never been.

But although I knew they were fond of me, a conversation I had with the Comtesse one day startled me. We were alone together, since Eloise was having a dress fitted. The Comtesse was embroidering a piece of cloth, and I was watching in fascination the way her fingers moved, deftly and swiftly, making the tiny stitches. She talked as she worked, her voice low and warm. with a slight huskiness that Eloise also had. She asked about my health-I told her I was very well - and if I were happy at the castle. I assured her that I was.

"I am glad of that." she said. "Perhaps if you are happy, you will not want to leave us."

It had been taken for granted that the three of us would be presented at the Capping Day following the tournament. The assumption had been that after that, the restlessness of our boyhood having departed, we would return to our homes to take up the life that was expected of us as adults. It puzzled me to hear the Comtesse speak of my not wanting to leave.

She went on: "Your friends. I think, would. wish to go. Room could be found for them as servants, but I fell they would be happier in their own villages. For you, though, it is different"

I looked from her hands to her face.

"How. my lady?"

"You are not noble, but nobility can be granted. It lies in the gift of the king. and the long is my cousin." She smiled. "You did not know that? He owes me a debt for a whipping I saved him when he was an un-Capped boy, like you. There will be no difficulty about this, Guillaume."

Guillaume was their way of saying my name. She had told me that. but she had never used it. to address me before. My head spinning a little. Even though I had grown used to the castle and the life that was lived here, it still did not seem entirely real to me. And this talk of kings . . . There was a king in England, too. who lived somewhere in the north. I had never seen him, nor ever expected to.

She was telling me that I could stay-that she wanted me to stay-not as a servant but as a knight I could have servants of my own, and horses, and armor made for me so that I could ride in the tournaments, and a place in the family of the Comte de la Tour Rouge. I looked at her and knew that she was quite in earnest I did not know what to say.

The Comtesse smiled and said. "We can talk of this again, Guillaume. There is no hurry."

It is not easy to write about what followed. My first reaction to what the Comtesse had said was of being flattered but not impressed. Was I to abandon my hope of freedom, surrender the mastery of my mind, for the sake of wearing Jeweled leather and having other men touch their caps to me? The notion was absurd. Whatever privileges I was given, I would still be a sheep among sheep. In the morning, though, waking early, I thought of it again. I rejected it again, too. firmly but less quickly, and with a reeling of being virtuous in doing so. To accept would be to let down the others-Henry and Beanpole, the vagrant Ozymandias, Captain Curtis, all the free men in the White Mountains.

I would not do that, nothing would tempt me to it.

The insidious thing was that temptation should have entered into it at all. From the moment the idea ceased to be unthinkable. I could not let it alone. Of course I was not going to do it, but if . . . My mind ran on the possibilities. despite myself. I had already learned enough of the language to be able to talk, though in an accent they smiled at, with others in the castle. There was, it seemed, so much to look forward to. After the tournament there would be the Harvest Feast, and then the hunting. They spoke of riding out on sharp mornings in fall. with frost making the grass crackle round the horses' legs, of the hounds baying along the hillside, the chase and the kill, and jogging home to blazing fires and meat carved from the spit turning in the great hearth of the dining hall. And later, the Christmas Feast, lasting twelve days. when the jugglers and singers and strolling players came. Then the spring, and hawking: loosing the falcon to wheel up into the empty blue and plunge down out of it like a bolt on her prey. And so summer, and the tournaments again, filling out the year.

During this time, too, my attitude toward the people around me was changing. In Wherton the division between boy and man was drawn more sharply than here. All adults there, even my parents, had been strangers. I had respected them, admired or feared them, even loved them, but I had not known them as I was coming to know those at the castle. And the better I knew them. the harder it was to make a sweeping condemnation. They were Capped, they accepted the Tripods and all they stood for. but that did not prevent them from being, as I had seen in the Comte and Comtesse and Eloise and now saw in others, warm-hearted, generous, and brave. And happy.

For that, it increasingly seemed to me, was the crux of it. Before Capping there might be doubts and uncertainties and revulsion; perhaps these people had known them too. When the Cap was put on, the doubts vanished. How great a loss was that? Was it a loss at all? The Tripods. apart from the act of Capping itself, did not seem to interfere much with men. There had been the incident at sea, when they had threatened to swamp the Orion. Ships had been sunk by them. Captain Curtis had said-but bow many more bad been sunk by tempests or through striking rocks? Ozymandias had spoken of men working in mines underground to get metals for the Tripods, of the Tripods hunting men, of human beings serving them in their cities. But even if those things were true, they must happen far away. None of it touched this secure and pleasant life.

Again and again I returned to the most important consideration: loyalty to Henry and Beanpole and the others. But even that, as the days went by, proved less convincing. In an attempt to reassure myself, I began to seek the other two out I broached again the idea of our escaping at once, but they turned it down flatly. I had the impression that they did not much want to talk to me and were impatient for me to leave them, I would go away, resenting their coolness but perhaps also a little glad of it. If one is seeking reasons for disloyalty, it is useful to find something one can resent.

And there was Eloise. We walked and rode and talked together, and gradually the wariness and constraint that had come between us after the incident in the garden was overlaid and buried by the daily commerce of our friendship: we were at ease again, contented with each other's company. One day I took a boat, and rowed upriver to an island we had seen, and we picnicked there. It was a hot day, but cool in the long grass under the shade of the trees, and dragonflies and red and yellow butterflies danced in the air above the tumbling water. I had not spoken to her of what the Comtesse had said, but she herself mentioned it. She took it for granted that I would stay. and I felt a strange shock of pleasure at that A future here. in this rich lovely country, in the castle, with Eloise ., â€¢

Providing the Capping was a success, I reminded myself. But why should it not be? Captain Curtis's warning belonged to the time when this language had been meaningless gibberish to me. Now. even though I was still far from speaking it perfectly, I understood it Nor was I likely to become a Vagrant through resisting, when there was so much to gain by acquiescence.

I reminded myself of something else-of what I had thought as I lay in bed recovering from the fever. That nothing mattered, nothing was of value, without a mind that challenged and inquired. The mood seemed far away, unreal. The Tripods had conquered men when they were at the height of their power and magnificence, capable of building the great-cities, ships as big as a village, perhaps vaster wonders still. If our ancestors, with all their strength, had failed. how pitiful was the defiance of a handful of men clinging to the slopes of barren mountains. And, if there were no hope of defeating them, what were the true alternatives? To live wretchedly, like a hunted animal, suffering hardship and despair - or this life, with its fullness and security and happiness?

Rowing back, I found the Watch slipping down to my wrist, hampering my efforts. I had thought at first that the Comtesse and others might be curious about it and want to know how a boy had come by such a possession; but they had shown no interest at all in it They kept no relics of the skill of the ancients and time meant nothing to them. There was a sundial in the courtyard, and that was enough. Now, resting my oars. I took the Watch off, pulling it over my hand. and, asking her to look after it for me, tossed it to Eloise. But she was no better at catching than any other girl, and it fell over the side. I had one glimpse of it before it vanished in the green depths. Eloise was distressed, and I comforted her, telling her not to worry: it was no loss. Nor, at that moment, was it.

The time of the tournament was fast approaching. There was an air of excitement and bustle. Great tents were set up in the meadows below for those who could not be housed in the castle itself. From morning till night the air rang with the sound of armorers, the tilt yard with cries as the mock jousts went on. I took a hand myself, and I found I could hit the ring tolerably well, riding with my knees.

My mind still worried at the subject The point of loyalty, for instance. Loyalty to whom? The men in the White Mountains did not even know of my existence-to Ozymandias and Captain Curtis I had been Just another boy to be sent south, one of dozens. And Henry and Beanpole? Did they want me with them. anyway? They did not give the impression of doing so. Would they not rather be on their own?

The first morning it rained, but the sly cleared for the afternoon and the preliminary jousts took place. I saw Henry and Beanpole afterward on the trampled field where servants were picking up and clearing away the litter. The castle walls and the hard finger of the tower stood out against the setting sun.

Beanpole explained: early next morning was the time to make a break, at dawn, before the kitchen servants were awake. They had put food aside in their packs. Mine had disappeared, along with my old clothes, but it did not matter, Beanpole said, if I could not find it or anything similar: they had enough for me as well. I was to meet them below the castle gate at the appointed time.

I shook my head. "I'm not coming."

Beanpole asked. "Why, Will?"

Henry said nothing, but stood with a smile on his broad face, that I felt I hated at this moment even more than I had at home in Wherton. His thoughts, and contempt, were very plain.

I said, "If you two go, there is a chance you will not be missed, things being confused as they are. But I will be. They will notice that I am not at breakfast and look for me."

Henry said. "True enough. Beanpole. The Comte Is bound to miss his adopted son."

I had not realized that that suggestion had leaked out, though I suppose it was inevitable that it should. Beanpole stared at me, his eyes showing nothing behind the lenses.

I said, "I'll give you a day to get clear, two perhaps. I'll follow. I'll try to catch up with you, but don't wait for me."

Henry laughed. "We won't do that!"

I was telling myself that I had still not come to a decision. It was true that it would be easier for the others to get dear without me, and true that I could follow on after-I knew the map by heart. But true also that tomorrow, on the second day, the Queen of the Tournament was chosen by the assembled knights. And I was sure the choice would fall on Eloise, not because she was the Comte's only daughter, but because, without doubt, she was the most beautiful who would be there.

Beanpole said slowly, ''Very well. Perhaps it Is best"

I said, "Good luck."

"And you." His head shook slightly. "Good luck, Will"

I turned and walked up the hill to the castle. I heard Henry say something which I did not catch, but I did not look back.

7

The Tripod

I awoke in the early dawn, and realized there was still time to slip away and join the others, but I did not move from my bed. The window of my room looked south, and I could see that the sky was a deep dark blue-one bright star stood out. I was glad that they would have good weather for traveling, but glad also that it looked as though it would be fine for the second day of the tournament and the choosing of the Queen. I lay and stared at the sly until I drifted back into sleep, to be wakened a second time by the servant girl tapping on my door. The blue of sly was pale now and brushed with gold.

There was no mention of Beanpole and Henry -no one seemed to have missed them. It was not surprising that this should be so: today the tournament was in full swing, everyone was full of excitement and high spirits, and after breakfast we made our way down to the field and the pavilions. Not Eloise. I had not seen her that morning at all. She would come down with the other ladies who offered themselves for the knights' choosing. We took our places in the pavilion, and while we waited a singer entertained us with ballads. Then came the hush as the ladies entered the ring.

There were eleven of them, and ten were dressed in great finery, with dresses that had much silver and gold thread and needed to be held up behind by serving girls so that they would not trail in the dust Their heads were bare, their hair piled high and secured with combs that flashed and dazzled in the sunlight The eleventh was Eloise. She wore. of course, the turban on her head, and her dress was simple-dark blue, trimmed with delicate white lace. As youngest, she came last of them all, with no servant accompanying her. To a low beat of drums the ladies walked across the field to where the knights stood assembled in front of the Comte's pavilion and, as the fanfare of trumpets sounded, remained there, their heads bowed.

One by one they stepped forward. It was the custom that as each did so, the knights who chose her unsheathed their swords and raised them. After the first two or three, there was no doubt what the result would be. Out of the thirty or forty knights, a couple saluted each lady so that she would not be ashamed. This happened with all the gorgeously appareled tea. And so Eloise stepped forward, in her simple dress, and the swords swept up like a forest of gold and silver in the sun, and first the knights and then those watching shouted their acclamation, and I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

She came forward, the other ladies following and stood there, grave and brave in her dignity, while her father, the Comte. carefully fitted the crown over the turban on her head. And her subjects filed past to kiss her hand, myself among them.

I did not see her to speak to for the rest of that day. but I did not mind this. She had her duty. to preside, to give prizes to the victors, and for me there was excitement enough in the tournament itself, in cheering on those I had come to know. and in the whole atmosphere of feasting and merrymaking.

There was only one chilling moment. As the second session of the day began, there was a strange sound far away. which became louder. It was a constant repetition on five notes, a metallic clanging, and although I had not heard this particular call, I knew it could only be a Tripod. I looked in the direction from which it was coming, but the castle stood in the way and I could see nothing. I looked also at the people around me and saw that none showed more than a mild interest: the contest going on in the ring. with four knights on each side. continued to hold their attention. Even when the hemisphere rocked round the outline of the castle, and the Tripod came and stood towering over the field, its feet planted in the river, there was no sign in others of the fear and uneasiness which shivered along my spine.

It was plain that this was not an unusual event, that a Tripod always attended the tournament and that the people found no cause for alarm in it. Of course they were more accustomed to the sight of the Tripods than we had been at Wherton, where we only saw one on Capping Day. Almost every day one saw them here singly or in groups, striding across the valley. I had grown used to the sight, too-at that distance. Being right under its shadow was different. I looked up at it fearfully. I noticed that around the sides of the hemisphere and in the base were circles of what looked like green-tinted glass. Did it see through those? I supposed so. I had not noticed them before, because at Wherton I had never dared look at a Tripod closely. Nor did I for long now. One of the circles had me directly in its view. I dropped my eyes. to watch the tournament, but my mind was not on it.

And yet, as time passed, my disquiet subsided. The Tripod had made no sound since it took up its position by the castle, and it did not move at all. It was just there, presiding or watching or merely standing up against the sky, and one became inured to its presence, disregardful of it After an hour I was cheering on a favorite of mine, the Chevalier de Trouillon, with no thought beyond the hope that. after two falls on each side, he would win the final tilt He did, and his opponent rolled in the beaten and withered grass, and like everyone else I cheered him to the echo.

There was a feast that evening, as there would be every night of the tournament; and since the weather was fine, it was held in the courtyard. The household of the Comte. and those knights who had their ladies with them, were seated, and food was brought to them; the rest served themselves from the tables at the side, which were laden with different kinds of fish and meat, vegetables and fruit and sweet puddings, and where tall jugs of wine stood. (Not a great deal was drunk while we were there, but the knights stayed on after the ladies had gone in to the tower, and torches were lit and there was singing and some shouting, until very late.) I could not count the number of dishes. It was not merely the different kinds of meat and fowl and fish, but the different ways each kind might be prepared and sauced. They counted eating a fine art in a way that I do not think even Sir Geoffrey would have understood, and certainly no one in Wherton itself.

I went in with the ladies, very full and happy. The Tripod was still where it had been all afternoon, but one saw it only as a dark shape against the stars, something remote and almost unimportant From the window of my room I could not see it at all. There was the bright shawl of the Milky Way, and the torches down In the courtyard-nothing else. I heard a tap on my door. and called "Entrez!" I turned to see it open, and Eloise slip in.

She was still wearing the blue gown trimmed with lace, though she had put the crown aside. Before I could speak, she said. "Will. I cannot stay long. I managed to slip away, but they will be looking for me."

I understood that. As Queen of the Tournament, her position was special. While it lasted there could be no pleasant talks, no wandering away. I said. They chose well. I am glad, Eloise."

She said, "I wanted to say good-bye. Will."

"It will not be for long. A few days. Then, when I am Capped ..."

She shook her head. I shall not see you again. Did you not know?"

"But I am to stay here. Your father told me so. only this morning."

"You will stay, but not I. Did no one tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"When the tournament is over, the Queen goes to serve the Tripods. It is always done."

I said stupidly. "Serve them where?"

"In their city."

"But for how long?"

"I have told you. Forever."

Her words shocked me, but the look on her face was more shocking still. It was a kind of rapt devotion, the expression of someone who hugs in secret her heart's desire.

Dazed, I asked her, "Your parents know this?"

"Of course."

They had, as I knew. grieved over their sons, sent away for a few years only to learn knighthood in another household. And this was their daughter, whom they loved perhaps more dearly still, and she was to go to the Tripods and never return . . . and all day long I had seen them happy and rejoicing. It was monstrous.

I burst out. "You must not! I won't let it happen." She smiled at me and gave a small shake of the head, like an adult listening to a child's wild talk. "Come away with me," I said. "We'll go where there are no Tripods. Come away now!"

She said. "When you are Capped, you will understand."

"I will not be Capped!"

"You will understand." She drew a gasp of breath. "I am so happy." She came forward, took my hands and, leaning forward, kissed me, a peck of a kiss on the cheek. "So happy!" she repeated. She went back to the door, while I stood there. "I must go now. Good-bye, Will. Remember me. I will remember you."

And was gone. out of the door, her feet pattering away down the corridor, before I could come out of my trance. I went to the door then. but the corridor was empty. I called, but there was only my voice echoing back to me from stone walls. I even took a few steps to follow her, before I stopped. It was no good. Not only because there would be other people there: because of Eloise herself. "I will remember you." She had forgotten me already, in any sense that truly mattered. All her mind was concentrated on the Tripods. Her masters had called, and she was going to them gladly.

I went back into my room and undressed, and tried to sleep. There were too many kinds of horror. Horror at what had happened to Eloise. Horror of the creatures who could do this sort of thing to others. Horror, above all, at how closely I had come to falling-no, to throwing myself-into something beside which suicide was clean and good. What had happened was not Eloise's fault. She had accepted Capping as the countless others had done, not understanding and knowing no alternative. But I had understood, and had known better. I thought of the blankness in Beanpole's face, the contempt in Henry's, the last time I had seen them. and was ashamed.

The noise of revelry in the courtyard had long died away. I lay. tossing and turning, and saw a softer, wider light than starlight coloring the frame of the window. I halted my thoughts in their futile round of self accusation and began to make plans.

It was dark inside the house as I went quietly down the stairs, but outside it was light enough to see my way. There was no one about, nor would there be for a couple of hours at least Even the servants slept later during the days of tournament. I made my way to the kitchens and found one of them snoring under a table;

presumably he had been too drunk to go to his bed. There was little danger of his waking up. I had brought a pillowslip from my bed, and I piled remnants from the previous night's feast into it: a couple of roast chickens, half a turkey, loaves of bread, cheese, and cold sausage. Then I went to the stables.

There was more danger here. The grooms slept on the other side of the horses' stalls, and while they, too, would have drunk their fill, a disturbance among the horses was likely to wake them. The horse I wanted was the one I had been accustomed to riding with Eloise, a chest- nut gelding, only about fourteen hands high, called Aristide. He was a somewhat nervous beast, but he and I had grown to know each other, and I relied on that He stood still, only snorting a couple of times, while I freed him, and came with me like a lamb. Fortunately there was straw on the floor, muffling his hoofs. I lifted his saddle from its place by the door, and then we were clear.

I led him down and out of the gate of the castle before saddling him. He whinnied, but I fudged we were far enough away for it not to matter. I tucked the top of the pillowslip under his girth before tightening it, and prepared to mount Before I did so, I looked about me. Behind me lay the castle, dark and sleeping; before me the tournament field, the flaps of the pavilions moving a little in a breeze of morning. On my left . . . I had forgotten about the Tripod, or perhaps assumed that it would have moved away during the night. But it was there, as far as I could see in exactly the same spot. Dark like the castle; and, like the castle, sleeping? It looked as if it were, but I felt a tremor of unease. Instead of mounting and riding down the broad and easy slope. I led him along the steeper and more difficult path which wound down the side of the rock on which the castle was built, and came out between the meadows and the river. There a line of trees partly shielded it from the view either of the castle or the metal giant who stood sentinel among the rushing waters of the river's other branch. Nothing had happened. There was no sound but a water bird that croaked nearby. I mounted Aristide at last, pressed my heels into his flanks, and we were off.

It was true that, as I had said to Henry and Beanpole, although they might get away and their absence not be noticed for a day or two, I would be missed much sooner. Even with the tournament in progress, it was likely that a search party would come after me. Because of this, I had taken the horse. It meant I could put as great a distance as possible between me and any pursuit If they did not find me within twenty miles of the castle, I felt that I was safe.

The horse also gave me a chance of catching up with Henry and Beanpole. I knew roughly the route they must take; they had a day's start on me, but they were on foot. I was less likely now, I thought, to be troubled by their being better friends with each other than either was with me. I was very conscious, in the gray light of dawn, of being on my own.

The path led by the riverside for nearly a mile to the ford, where I must cross to the other bank. I had covered about halt of this when I heard the sound. The dull clump of a great weight striking the earth, and another, and another. Automatically, even as I glanced back. I was urging Aristide into a gallop. The sight was plain, and horrible. The Tripod had uprooted itself from its post by the castle. It was traveling, steadily and relentlessly, in my wake.

I remember almost nothing about the next few minutes; partly because I was in such an extremity of fear that I could not think straight and partly, perhaps, because of what happened after. The only thing that comes back clearly is the most terrifying of all-the moment when I felt a band of metal, cold but incredibly flexible, curl round my waist and lift me from Aristide's back. There is a confused impression of rising through the air, feebly struggling, afraid both of what was to happen and, if I did free myself, of falling to the ground already dizzily tar below me, looking up at the burnished carapace, seeing the blackness of the open hole which would swallow me. knowing fear as I had never known it before, and screaming, screaming ... and then blackness.

The sun pressed against my eyelids, warming, turning darkness to a swimming pink. I opened my eyes and had to shade them at once from its glare. I was lying on my back, on the grass, and the sun, I saw. was standing well above the horizon. That would make it about six o'clock. And it had not been four when ...

The jolt of fear shook me as I remembered. I did not want to search the sky, but knew I must I saw blue emptiness, fringed by the waving green of trees. Nothing else. I scrambled to my feet and stared into the distance. There was the castle, and beside it, where it had stood yesterday, where I had seen it as I led Aristide out of the gate, the Tripod. It was motionless, seeming, like the castle itself, rooted in rock.

Fifty yards from me Aristide cropped the dewy grass, with the placid contentment of a horse in good pasture. I walked toward him, trying to rum the jumble of my thoughts into some kind of sense. Had it been imaginary, a nightmare, dreamed as a result of a tall from the horse? But the memory of being plucked up through the air came back, sending a shudder through me. I could not doubt that recollection: it had happened-the fear and despair had been real.

Then what? The Tripod had picked me up. Could it be ... I put my hand up to my head and felt hair and the hardness of my skull, with no mesh of metal. I had not been Capped. With my relief at that came a quick wave of nausea that made me pause and draw breath. I was only a few yards from Aristide, and he looked up with a whinny of recognition. First things first. The castle would be stirring, at least as far as servants were concerned. It would be an hour or more before I was missed from my room. but there was no time to waste in getting away-I was still within sight from the ramparts. I took the horse's rein. twisted the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. Not far ahead the river boiled across the shallows of the ford. I urged him forward, and he responded willingly. Crossing the ford. I looked back again. Nothing had changed, the Tripod had not moved. This time relief was not disabling but enlivening. Water splashed against Aristide's fetlocks. The breeze was stronger than it had been, carrying a scent that tantalized me before I remembered it. A bush with that scent had grown on the island in the river where Eloise and I had picnicked, where we had been happy and at ease and she had talked of the future, I reached the far side of the river. A track led through fields of rye, flat and straight for a long way. I pressed Aristide into a canter.

I rode for several hours before I thought it safe to stop. The land was empty at the beginning, but later I passed men making for the fields or already working there. The first I came on suddenly, cantering round a bend masked by a small copse, and I was confused and apprehensive. But they saluted me as I rode past, and I realized they were saluting the saddle, and the fine clothes I wore; to them I was one of the gentry, a boy taking a ride before breakfast. All the same, I avoided meeting people as far as I could, and was glad when I came out of cultivated land into rough rolling uplands, where I saw nothing but sheep.

There had been time to think about the Tripod-about the amazing fact that I had been caught and then set free, unbanned, un-Capped, but I came no nearer to a solution. I had to abandon it as one of the incalculabilities that happened with them-a whim, perhaps like the whim that had caused those others to spin around the Orion, howling in rage or glee or some other quite different and unfathomable emotion, and then rocket off across the water, away and out of sight. These creatures were nonhuman, and one should not try to give them human motives. All that really mattered was that I was free, that my mind was still my own and master, as far as circumstances allowed, of my destiny.

I ate, and drank water from a stream, and mounted and rode again. I thought of those I had left behind at the castle, of the Comte and Comtesse, the knights and esquires I had come to know, of Eloise. I was fairly confident they would not find me now-Aristide's hoofs would leave no trace on the short grass and sunbaked earth, and they could not spare long from the tournament for a pursuit. They seemed very far away, not just in terms of distance but as people. I remembered their kindness-the graciousness and sympathy of the Comtesse. the Comte's laughter and his heavy hand on my shoulder, but there was something not quite real about the memories. Except of Eloise. I saw her clearly, and heard her voice, as I had seen and heard her so many times during the past weeks. But the last image was the one that came most sharply and cruelly to mind: the look on her face when she told me she was going to serve the Tripods, and said. "I am so happy-so happy." I kicked Aristide, and he gave a snort of protest, but moved into a gallop across the green sunlit hillside.

The hills rose higher and higher ahead. There was a pass marked on the map, and if I had traveled right by the sun, t should soon be in sight of it. I drew rein on the crest of a ridge and looked down the slope beyond. I thought I saw a gap at about the right place in the line of green and brown, but everything trembled in a haze of heat, making identification difficult. But there was something nearer which drew me.

Perhaps half a mile ahead something moved. A figure-two, toiling up from the fold of ground. I could not identify them yet, but who else could it be in this deserted spot? I set Aristide to the gallop again.

They turned before I got close, alarmed by the sound of hoofs, but long before that I had made sure of them. I came to a halt beside them and leaped off the horse's back, even now, I am afraid, proud of the horsemanship I had acquired.

Henry stared at me. puzzled, and at a loss for words. Beanpole said, "So you have come, Will."

"Of course," I said. "Why, didn't you think I would?"

8

Flight and a Follower

I told them nothing of Eloise and what had changed my mind. This was not just because I was ashamed to admit that I had seriously thought of staying behind, of allowing myself to be Capped for the sake of the rewards that would follow; though I was bitterly ashamed. It was also because I did not want to talk about Eloise to anyone. Subsequently Henry made one Or two sly remarks which obviously referred to her, but I ignored him. At this time, though, he was still too shaken by my appearance to say much.

It sounded sensible and well planned, the way I told it-that I had thought it best to give them twenty-four hours' start, and then steal a horse and follow them: this gave us all the greatest chance of getting away. I did tell them of my experience with the Tripod. I thought they might be able to cast some light on it, that Beanpole. at least, would be able to work out a theory to account for it, but they were as much at a loss as I was. Beanpole was anxious that I should try to remember if I had actually been taken inside the Tripod and what it had been like, but of course I could not

It was Beanpole who said that Aristide must go. I had not thought about this, except in a hazy way of imagining that, if I found the other two again, I could generously let them have turns in riding him, myself remaining his proprietor. But it was true, as Beanpole pointed out, that three boys and a horse, unlike three boys on foot or a single boy on a horse, presented a picture that posed questions in the mind of any who saw them.

Reluctantly I accepted the fact that I could not keep him. We took off his saddle, because it had the arms of the Tour Rouge stamped on it, and hid it behind a ridge of rock, kicking dirt and piling stones over it to conceal it to some extent. It would be found eventually, but not as soon as Aristide was likely to be. He was a fine horse, and whoever came across him, running free and without harness, might not search too far for an owner. I freed him from his bridle, and he tossed his bead, at liberty. Then I gave him a sharp slap on the haunch. He reared, trotted a few yards, and halted, looking back at me. I thought he was unwilling to leave me and tried to think of some excuse for keeping him a while longer, but he whinnied, tossed his head again, and trotted away to the north. 1 turned away, not wanting to see him go.

So we set off, once more on our way, the three of us once more together. I was very glad of their company and held my tongue even when Henry, by now recovered, made a few slighting remarks about how hard this must be after the life of luxury I had enjoyed at the castle. In fact. Beanpole intervened, stopping him. Beanpole, it seemed to me, was taking it for granted, that, insofar as there was a leader in our little group, it was he. I did not feel like challenging that, either, at least not at the moment

I did find the walking tiring-the muscles one used were quite different from those used in riding, and there was no doubt that I was out of condition as a result of my illness and the protracted indolent convalescence that had followed it. I gritted my teeth,' though, and kept up with the others, trying not to show my fatigue. But I was glad when Beanpole called a halt for a meal and a rest

That night, too, when we slept out under the stars, with the hard earth under me instead of the down-filled mattress to which I had grown accustomed, I could not help feeling a little sorry for myself. But I was so tired, having had no sleep the night before, that I did not stay awake long. In the morning, though, every individual limb felt sore, as though someone had been kicking me all night long. The day was bright again and still, without the breeze that had cooled us yesterday. This would be the fourth, the next to last day of the tournament There would be the melee and riding at the ring.

Eloise would still be wearing her crown, awarding prizes to the victors. And after tomorrow ...

We reached the pass marked on the map, not long after we set off. We followed a river which came down out of the hills, its course interrupted at times by splashing falls, some of them quite large. Higher up, the map showed, was a place where another river came close to this one. for a while running almost alongside it, and we came to this before evening.

This second river, except in a few places where it had broken its banks, was oddly straight-sided and uniform in width. Moreover, it ran on different levels, the divisions between them marked by devices plainly made by the ancients. with rotting timbers and rusting iron wheels and such. Beanpole, of course, worked it all out to his satisfaction. Men had made the second river, digging out its bed and perhaps feeding water into it from the main river. He showed us that beneath the grass and other vegetation covering the banks, there were bricks, carefully laid and mortared. As for the devices, these were a means of permitting boats to pass from one level of the river to another, a method of filling and draining the short stretch between the two sections that were at different heights. The way he explained it made it sound reasonable, but he was good at making fantastic things seem plausible.

He grew quite enthusiastic about the idea as we traveled alongside the river. This could be - had been, he was sure - an aquatic Shmand-Fair, with boats pulling carriages along the level waters, and people getting on and off at the places where the wheels and things were.

"With your steam kettle pushing them?" Henry said.

"Why not!"

"Plenty of water, anyway."

I said, "Some of the stops seem to have been very close together, and others miles apart And there are no signs of villages having been there. Only the ruins of a cottage, sometimes not even that"

He said impatiently, "One cannot understand all the things the ancients did. But they built this river, it is certain, and must therefore have used it. It could be fixed to work again."

Where the straight-river turned sharply back on itself, toward the north, we left it The country that followed was much rougher, with even fewer signs of cultivation or human habitation. Food was beginning to be a problem again. We had gone through that which we had brought from the castle, and the pickings here were small. At our hungriest we came on a wild chicken's nest. She had been sitting on a clutch of fourteen eggs, and ten of them we found we could manage to eat. with the aid of the sharp spice of hunger; the rest were bad. We would have eaten her still more willingly if we had been able to catch her.

At last we looked down from the hills into a broad green valley, through which a great river flowed. Far in the distance other hills rose. Beyond them again, according to the map, were the mountains which were our journey's end. We had come a long way and still had far to go. But the valley was patchworked with fields, and one saw houses and farms and villages. There was food down there.

Foraging, though, proved less easy than we had expected. Our first three attempts at raiding were frustrated, twice by furiously barking dogs. the third time by the farmer himself, who awoke and came after us, shouting, as we scattered through his yard. We found potato fields and managed to stave off the worst of our hunger, but raw potato was a poor diet for traveling and living rough on. I thought unhappily of all the food that went to waste at the castle-this. I calculated, would have been Capping Day. when the feasting was on an even more magnificent scale than during the tournament But, thinking of that, I thought of Eloise, who would not be at this feast. There were worse things than hunger, worse ills than physical discomfort.

The next morning our luck changed. We had come more than halfway across the valley (having swum the river and afterward let the sun dry us as we lay exhausted on its banks) and were moving into higher country again. There was a village, to which we gave a wide berth, but even from a distance we could see activity down there-flags and banners were out for some local celebration. I thought of Capping but Beanpole said it was more likely to be one of the many church feasts they had during the year-these were more common in his land than in England.

We watched for a time, and while we were doing so witnessed an exodus from a farmhouse, a few hundred yards from the copse where we lay. Two traps were brought around to the front door, the horses decorated with ribbons, and people piled into them, dressed in their Sunday clothes. They looked prosperous and, more important, well fed.

I said hungrily, "Do you think they've all gone?"

We waited until the traps were out of sight before we made our reconnaissance. Beanpole approached the house, while Henry and I waited nearby. If there were someone in, he would make an excuse and get away. If not...

There was not even a dog-perhaps they had taken it with them to the celebration-and we did not have to break in- A window had been left far enough open for me to wriggle through and slip the door bolts for the others. We wasted no time, but headed for the larder. We polished off a half-carved goose and some cold roast pork, and spread cheese on crusty bread. When we had eaten as much as we could, we filled our packs and went, replete and somewhat sluggishly, on our way.

And guiltily? It was the biggest act of piracy, or theft if you like, that we had committed so far. The bells still rang out in the valley, and a procession was moving along the main street of the village: children in white, followed by their elders. Presumably including the farmer and his wife, who would come back to find their larder stripped. I could imagine my mother's distress, my father's angry contempt In Wherton a stranger was not sent away hungry, but the rules of mine and thine were sacrosanct.

The difference was that we were not strangers -we were outlaws. In our pitifully puny way, we were at war. Essentially with the Tripods, but indirectly with all those who. for whatever reason, supported them. Including-I forced myself to stare it in the face-all those I had known and been fond of at the Chateau de la Tour Rouge. Every man's hand was against us in the enemy country through which we marched. We must live by our wits and resources: none of the old rules applied.

Later we saw a Tripod coming along the valley, the first we had seen for some days. I thought Beanpole had been wrong, that it was heading for the village and a Capping, but instead of going there it stopped, well clear of habitation, a mile or so from us. It stayed there. as motionless and seemingly inanimate as the one at the castle had been. We went on a little faster than before and kept in cover as much as we could. Though there seemed little point in It: there was no reason to assume that it was concerned with us or could even see us. It gave no indication of wanting to follow us. In an hour or so we lost sight of it

We saw the same Tripod, or a similar one. the next morning, and once again it halted some way from us and stayed there. Again we moved on and lost it. There was more cloud in the sky than there had been, and there was a blustery wind. We had finished the food we had taken from the farmhouse-Beanpole had wanted to ration it out, but for once Henry and I had overridden him-and did not find any more as the day wore on. We were hungry again, probably the more so because we had eaten well the day before.

Toward evening we climbed up through fields closely set with plants, supported by sticks, on which were clusters of small green grapes. These would be picked when they were fully grown and ripe, and their juice squeezed out of them to make wine. There had been a few fields of them in the neighborhood of the castle, but I was amazed by how many of them there were here, and how the fields-or terraces, rather-were laid out to catch the rain and sun. I was hungry enough to try one or two of the larger fruits, but they were hard and sour, and I had to spit them out

We had been sleeping in the open, but we realized that, with the possibility of the weather breaking, it might be a good idea to find some shelter for the night In fact, we discovered a hut, a rough-and-ready affair set at the junction of three of the fields. Remembering our last experience, we were wary of going in. but Beanpole assured us that it was a place that would only be used at the time of picking the fruit, and certainly there was no dwelling in sight-only the long ranks of sticks and plants stretching away in the dusk. It was very bare, with not even a chair or table, but the roof, although it showed the sly in places, would keep most of the rain off us.

It was a relief to have found shelter and, poking around, we also discovered food, although it was barely edible. It consisted of strings of onions, such as the blue-jerseyed men from across the sea sometimes brought to Wherton. but these were withered and dry, in some cases rotten. They might have been brought here by the workers at the last picking, though it was hard to see why they should have been abandoned. At any rate. they stayed the protests of our bellies to some extent. We sat in the doorway of the hut. chewing on them, and watched the light fade behind the line of hills. It was peaceful, and even with a supper of stale and wilted onions and the prospect of a night on a crumbling floor. I felt more contented than I had been since leaving the castle. I thought less about things that disturbed me-they were fading behind me. And we were doing well. In a few more days we should be within reach of the mountains.

Then Henry went around to the other side of the hut and a moment later called to us to come, too. He did not need to draw our attention to it The Tripod stood anchored to the hillside, not much more than half a mile away.

Henry said, "Do you think it's the same one?"

I said, "It wasn't in sight when we came up to the hut I looked over that way."

Henry said uneasily, "Of course they all look alike"

"We must go on," said Beanpole. "It may be accident, but it is better not to take chances."

We abandoned the hut and toiled on up the hill. We lay in a ditch that night, and I did not sleep well, though fortunately the rain held off.

But I doubt if I should have slept at all in the hut, aware of the monstrous sentinel on guard outside.

The Tripod was not in sight when we set out in the morning, but not long after we stopped at midday it, or another, heaved across the brow of the hill behind us and halted at much the same distance. I felt my legs trembling

Beanpole said, "We must lose it"

"Yes," Henry said. "but how?"

"Perhaps we help it," Beanpole said, "by staying in the open.'

Ahead of us lay fields, some with vines, others with different crops. To the left, a little off our course, there were trees-the edge, it appeared, of a forest which seemed to extend over the folds of land beyond.

"We will see." Beanpole said, "if it can watch us through leaves and branches."

We found a field planted with turnips before we entered the forest, and filled our packs with these, realizing there might be small chance of provender ahead. But it was an immense relief to be concealed; the green ceiling was thick over our heads. We saw only occasional fragments of the sky, the sun not at all.

Traveling was more difficult, of course, and more exhausting. In places the trees were very thick, and there were others where the undergrowth was so tangled that we were obliged to find a way around rather than force a path through. At first we half expected to hear the Tripod crashing through the forest behind us. but as the hours went by with nothing but ordinary woodland noises-birds, the chatter of a squirrel, a distant grunting that was most likely wild pig-we grew confident that, whether or not we had been right in thinking we were being pursued, we had put the idea out of question now.

We stayed in the forest that night, ending our day a little early because we came across a woodman's hut. There was kindling, and I made a fire while Henry took a couple of wire snares that were hanging on the wall and set them at the entrances to some rabbit holes nearby. He caught one, when it came out for its night run, and we skinned it and roasted it over the burning logs. We ate the rabbit by itself. There were still some turnips left, but by this time we were heartily sick of them.

The next morning we headed for open country again, and reached it in a little over an hour. There was no sign of a Tripod, and we set off in good spirits over land which was more wild than cultivated, having a few meadows with grazing cows and goats, and occasional patches of potatoes and the like, but mostly moorland - scrub grass and bushes, including one that bore great quantities of a blue berry with a sweet and delicate taste. We gorged ourselves on these and filled our packs with little potatoes.

Steadily the land rose and equally steadily grew barer. The forest had fallen away to the east. but there were clumps of pine which thickened to form a wood. We walked through its soft silence, where even bird song was hushed and far away, and came toward evening to the crest of a ridge, below which, for a hundred yards or more, the pines had been felled not long since: the ax-scarred stumps gleamed white, and many of the trees were still lying where they had fallen, waiting to be dragged away.

It was a vantage point. We could see down the fall of land, over the dark green tops of the standing trees, to other higher hills. And beyond them ... so remote, so tiny seeming, and yet majestic-their tops white, flushed with pink by the westering sun, pressed against the deep blue of the sky ... I marveled to think that that was snow. At last we were in sight of the White Mountains.

Henry said, sounding dazed, They must be miles high."

"I suppose so."

I felt better, looking at them. In themselves they seemed to challenge the metal monsters who strode, unchecked and omnipotent, over the lower lands. I could believe now. fully believe. that men might shelter beneath them and remain free. I was thinking about this when Beanpole moved suddenly beside me.

"Listen!"

I heard it and turned. It was behind us. and a long way off, but I knew what it was: the crash and splinter of wood under the massive impact of metal-the great feet stamping their way up through the pine wood. Then they stopped. We could glimpse it through a small gap in the trees, etched against the sly.

Beanpole said, "We have not been in sight all the afternoon. We are not in sight now. And yet it knows we are here."

I said, with a sick heart, "It could be coincidence."

"Twice, yes. A third time, even. But not when the same thing happens again and again. It is following us, and it does not need to see us. As a dog will follow a scent"

Henry said, "That's impossible!"

"Where nothing else can explain, the impossible is true."

"But why follow? Why not come and pick us up?"

"How can one tell what is in their minds?" Beanpole asked. "It may be that it is interested in what we do-where we go."

All the elation of a minute earlier had faded. The White Mountains existed. They might provide us with refuge. But they were still a journey of many days away, the Tripod no more than a few giant's strides.

Henry asked, "What are we going to do?"

"We must think," Beanpole said. "So far it is content with following us. That gives us time. But perhaps not much time."

We set off down the slope. The Tripod did not move from its position, but we were no longer under any illusion about that We slogged on in a dispirited silence. I tried to think of some way of shaking it off, but the harder I concentrated the more hopeless it seemed. I hoped the other two were having better success. Beanpole, at any rate. Surely he could work something out.

But he had not thought of anything by the time we stopped for the night. We slept beneath the pines. It stayed dry and, even at this height. was fairly warm, and the bed of needles, inches thick it seemed from the long years of shedding, was softer than anything I had slept on since the castle. But there was not much consolation in any of these things.

9

We Fight a Battle

The morning was gloomy, matching our mood; the pines were enshrouded in a thin gray cold mist, which brought us to shivering wakefulness while there was still barely enough light to see our way. We stumbled through the trees, trying to warm-ourselves by our activity, and gnawing on raw potatoes as we went We had not been able to see much of the valley the night before and could see nothing now. It grew lighter, but visibility was limited by the mist. There was a circle of a few yards, and after that the trunks of trees melted into the surrounding mono chrome.

Of course we saw nothing of the Tripod. Nor did we hear anything: the only sound was the sound of our own progress and that, over the carpet of pine needles, was so quiet that it could not have carried much beyond the field of view. if as far. A day earlier this would have been heartening, but we could not pretend that ft made any difference that. for the present, our pursuer was out of sight and hearing. It had been so for well over twenty-four hours, and then had come, through the trackless forest of pines, to stand over us.

We came out of the pines into wet grass which soaked our feet and the lower part of our legs. It was very cold. We had been setting a faster pace than usual, but the exercise had not warmed us. I was shivering, my teeth chattering a little. We did not talk much. and what we said was bare and unhopeful. There was no point in asking Beanpole if he had thought of a way out. One only had to look at his long miserable face, pinched by the cold, to see that he had not.

The valley bottomed out, and we bore to the west The map had showed us that if we followed it for some miles we would find an easier ascent We were continuing to go by the map automatically for want of anything better. We heard the lonely gurgle and splash and chatter of water, and found a river and followed it We had been traveling for some hours, and I was as chilled and wretched as at the start, and a good deal more hungry. There was no sign of food or life here.

Then, gradually, the mist lifted. The dirty gray turned whiter, became translucent, gleamed with silver, here and there admitted a shaft of brightness that dazzled briefly on the tumbling surface of the water before snuffing out. Our spirits lifted with it to some extent, and when the sun appeared, first as a thin silver disk and at last as an orb of burning gold, we felt almost cheerful by comparison. I told myself that perhaps we had been wrong in thinking the Tripod had some magical way of tracking us. Perhaps its means of following us had been through senses-sight, hearing-which were only in degree better than our own. And if that were so, might not the long trek through the mist have lost us? It was not a rational optimism, but it made me fed better. The last of the mists trailed away into the distance, and we were traversing a broad sunlit valley, with the high ground on either side draped in white clouds. Birds were singing. Apart from them, we were entirely alone.

Until I heard a distant crackling far up on the hillside, and looked there and saw it, half veiled In cloud but hideously real.

In the afternoon we found a dump of horseradish, and pulled the roots up and ate them. The taste was bitter and fiery, but it was food. We had left the valley, starting a climb up long but fairly moderate slopes of rough scrubland. and the Tripod was out of view again. But not out of mind. The feeling of hopelessness, of being caught in a trap which in due course must close, continually strengthened. I had followed fox hunts on foot back at Wherton, but I would have no stomach for them after this. Even the sun. which beat down more warmly than ever out of a clear sly, could not cheer me. When, with its rays slanting low from the west. Beanpole called a halt, I dropped onto the grass, empty and exhausted. The other two, after resting a while, stirred themselves and began foraging, but I did not move. I lay on my back, eyes closed against the light, hands clasped under the back of my neck I still did not move when they came back arguing about whether one could eat snakes. Henry had seen one but railed to kill it-and whether, anyway, they were hungry enough to eat it raw since there was no kindling for a fire. I kept my eyes shut when Henry, in quite a different, sharper voice, said "What's that?"

It would not, I was sure, be anything that mattered. Beanpole said something, in a lower voice, which I did not catch. They were whispering together. I kept my closed eyes on the sun, which would soon be gone behind the hills. They whispered again. Then Beanpole said, ''Will."

"Yes"

"Your shirt is torn, under the arm."

I said. "I know. I ripped it on a thorn bush coming up from the river."

"Look at me. Will." I opened my eyes. and saw him standing over me, looking down. There was a strange look on his face. "What is it you have, under your arm?"

I got into a sitting position. "Under my arm? What are you talking about?"

"You do not know?" I had put my right hand under my left arm. "No, the other one."

I used my left arm this time, feeling into my armpit I touched something whose texture was not the texture of flesh, but smoother and harder -something like a small metal button, on whose surface my finger tips traced faint corrugations. a kind of mesh. I craned my head, trying to look at it, but could not It seemed to melt into my skin. with no clear division between them. I looked up and saw the other two watching me.

"What is it?"

"It is the metal of the Caps," Beanpole said.

"It grows into the skin, as the Caps do."

The Tripod ..." I said. "When it caught me. outside the castle, do you think . . ."

I did not need to finish the sentence. Their faces showed me what they thought I said wildly, "You don't think I've been guiding it - that I'm under its control?"

Henry said, ""It's been following since a few days after you caught up with us. We can't throw it off. can we? Have you got a better way of accounting for it?"

I stared at him. The mystery of the Tripod's ability to find us, time after time. and the mystery of the small metal button, somehow welded to my body-they could not be separated, they must belong together. And yet my mind was my own; I was no traitor. I had the same certainty of that as I had of my very existence. But how could I prove it? There was no way that I could see.

Henry turned to Beanpole. "What are we going to do with him?"

Beanpole said. "We must think carefully before we do anything."

"We haven't got time for that. We know he's one of them. He's been sending messages to it with his mind. He's probably sent one saying he's been found out It may be coming after us right now."

"Will told us of the Tripod," Beanpole said. That it caught him and released him again - that he was unconscious and could remember nothing. If his mind had been a servant of the Tripods, would he have said those things? And would he not have taken care, when his shirt was torn, rather than lie so that we could see it? Moreover, it is very small, not like the Caps and not near the brain."

"But it is tracking us through him!"

"Yes, I believe so. The compass-it points to the north, because there must be much iron there. If you bring other iron near, it will point to that. One cannot see or feel the thing that makes it do this. The Tripod caught him going away from the castle, when everyone there was asleep. He was un-Capped. but it did not Cap him. Maybe it was curious about what he would do, where he was going. And put this thing on him which it could follow, like a needle on a compass.

It made sense; I was sure what he said was true. I could feel the button under my arm with every small movement I made-not hurting, but I knew it was there. Why had I not felt it before? The same thought must have occurred to Henry.

"But he must have known about it." he said. "A thing like that."

"Perhaps not. Do you have in your country . . . people who amuse, with animals, those who swing through the air from bars, strong men, and such?"

"The circus," Henry said. "I saw one once."

There was one came to my town, with a man who did strange things. He told people to go to sleep, and to obey his commands, and they did as he ordered, even doing things which made them look foolish. Sometimes the commands lasted for a time after. A sailor with a crippled hip walked with no limp for a week after that, the pain and the limp returned."

"I can feel it now," I said.

"We have shown it to you." Beanpole said. "It may be that this breaks the command."

Henry said impatiently, "None of this alters the facts. The Tripod can trace him through that thing and can pick us up along with him."

I saw his point I said, "There's only one thing to do."

"What is that?" Beanpole asked.

"If we separate, and I go a different way from you-it can follow me still, but you will be all right"

"A different way to the White Mountains? But you will still lead it there. Most likely that is what it wishes.

I shook my head. "I won't go there. I'll double back."

"And be caught again. And Capped?"

I remembered the moment of being plucked from Aristide's back. the ground shrinking beneath me. I hoped I was not going white with the fear I felt I said, "It will have to catch me first

"It will catch you," Beanpole said. "You have no chance of getting away."

I said, trying not to think of what it entailed, I can head it away, at least"

There was a silence. It was, as I had said, the only thing to do, and they were bound to agree with it There was no need, really, for them to say anything. I got to my feet. turning away from their faces.

Beanpole said. "Wait"

"What for?"

"I said that we must think. I have been thinking. This thing under your arm-it is small, and though it is fastened to the skin I do not think it goes much beneath it"

He paused. Henry said, "Well?"

Beanpole looked at me, 'It is clear of the big vein. But it will hurt it we cut it out"

I had not seen what he was driving at, and hope, when I did, made me dizzy

"Do you think you can?"

"We can try"

I began stripping 'off my shirt. "Let's not waste any time on it!

Beanpole was not to be hurried. He made me lie down with my arm held up, and explored the button and the skin around It with his fingers. I wanted him to get on with it, but I was in his hands and realized there was no point in showing my impatience.

At last he said, "Yes, it will hurt I will do it as quickly as I can, but you will need something to bite on. And, Henry-you must hold his arm out so that he cannot draw it back."

He gave me the leather strap of his pack to hold between my teeth; I felt the sour, harsh taste of it on my tongue. The knife was one he had picked up in the great-city. It bad a good edge then, having been protected by a kind of grease, and he had spent some time sharpening it since. It could not be too sharp for my liking. At a word from Beanpole, Henry took my arm and stretched it out and back behind me. I was lying on my left hip, my face toward the ground. An ant scurried along and disappeared between blades of grass. Then there was the weight of Beanpole squatting over me, his left hand feeling again at the flesh under my arm, outlining the shape of the button. I was making a trial bite at the leather when he made the first cut, and my whole body jerked and I very nearly pulled my hand free from Henry's grasp. The pain was excruciating.

It was followed by another stab, and another. I tried to concentrate on the leather strap, through which my teeth seemed to be almost meeting. I was sweating so much that I felt drops of it rolling down the side of my face. and I saw one splash in the dust I wanted to cry to him to stop, and let me have at any rate a rest from the pain, and was on the point of spitting the strap out to be able to speak when a new jab made me bite it again, and the side of my tongue with it There was the hot salty taste of blood in my mouth, and tears in my eyes. Then, from a great distance, I heard him say. "You can let go now." and my hand and arm were free. The pain was furious still, but mild compared with what it had been a little earlier. Beanpole got up from me. and I started to drag myself to my feet I had to move my arm to do so, and felt sick from what it did to me.

"As I thought," Beanpole said, "it is on the surface only. Observe."

I got rid of the gag and looked at what he was holding in his hand. It was silvery gray, about half an inch in diameter, thicker in the center and tapering toward the edge. It was solid, but gave the impression of hundreds of tiny wires just below the surface. Attached to it were the bloody scraps of my flesh which Beanpole had cut away.

Beanpole poked the button with his finger.

It is curious," he said. I would like to study this. It is a pity we must leave it."

His gaze was one of dispassionate interest Henry, who was also looking, had a greenish tinge to his face. Staring at the gobbets of flesh adhering, nausea rose in me again, and this time I had to turn away to be sick. When I recovered, Beanpole was still looking at the button.

Gasping, I said. "Throw it away. And we'd better get going. The farther we get away from here, the better."

He nodded reluctantly and dropped It in the grass. He said to me. Tour arm-does it hurt much?"

"I wouldn't care to bowl fast for the next hour or two."

"Bowl fast?"

"In cricket. It's a game we play in our country. Oh, never mind. Let's get a move on. It will take my mind off it."

"There is a herb which heals wounds. I will look for it on the way."

A good deal of blood had flowed and was still flowing down my side. I had been mopping it up with my shirt, and I now rolled the shirt up Into a ball, wadded ft under my aim, and walked with it in that position. My hopeful suggestion that traveling would take my mind off the pain did not work out very well. It went on hurting just as much, it not more. But I was rid of the Tripod's button, and each jolting step left it farther behind.

We were continuing to climb over rough but mostly open country. The sun was setting on our right; on the other side our long shadows were almost abreast of us. We were not talking, in. my case because I was too occupied with gritting my teeth. It was, if one were in the mood for appreciating it, a lovely and peaceful evening. Calm and still. No sound, except...

We stopped and listened. My heart seemed to contract, and for a moment the pain was blotted out by the greater power of fear. It came from behind, faint but seeming to grow louder every Instant: the hideous warbling ululation which we had heard in the cabin of the Orion-the hunting call of the Tripods.

Seconds later ft was in sight, coming around the base of the hill and unmistakably climbing toward us. It was some miles away. but coming on fast-much faster, I thought, than its usual rate of progress.

Henry said, "The bushes ..."

He did not need to say more; we were all three running. What he had indicated offered one of the few bits of cover on the hillside, the only one within reasonable reach. It was a small thicket of bushes, growing to about shoulder height. We flung ourselves in among them, burrowed into the center, and crouched down there.

I said, "It can't still be after me. Can it?"

"The button." Beanpole said. "It must be that cutting it out gave an alarm. So it has come after you, and this time hunting."

"Did it see us. do you think?" Henry asked.

"I do not know. It was far away, and the light Is poor."

In fact. the sun had gone down; the sly above our hiding place was drained of gold. a darker blue. But still terrifyingly clear-much lighter than it had been the morning I had left the castle. I tried to console myself with the thought that I had been much nearer to it also. The bowling was louder and closer. It must have reached and passed the place where Beanpole had conducted the operation on me. Which meant...

I felt the ground shiver under me, and again and again with still greater force. Then one of the Tripod's legs plunged across the blue. and I saw the hemisphere, black against the arc of sky. and tried to dig myself down into the earth. At that moment the howling stopped. In the silence I heard a different, whistling sound of something whipping terribly fast through the air and glancing up tearfully, saw two or three bushes uprooted and tossed away.

Beside me. Beanpole said, "It has us. It knows we are here. It can pull the bushes out till we are plainly seen."

"Or kill us. pulling them out," Henry said. "If that thing hit you . . ."

I said. "If I showed myself . . ."  "No use. It knows there are three."

"We could run different ways," Henry said. "One of us might get away."

I saw more bushes sail through the air, like confetti. You do not get used to fear, I thought; it grips you as firmly every time.

Beanpole said, "We can fight it"

He said it with a lunatic calm, which made me want to groan.

"What with?" Henry said. "Our fists?"

"The metal eggs." Beanpole had his pack open already and was rummaging in it The Tripod's tentacle whistled down again. It was ripping the bushes up systematically. A few more passes -half a dozen at most-would bring it to us.

"Perhaps these were what our ancestors used to fight the Tripods. Perhaps that is why they were in the underground Shmand-Fair - they went out from there to fight them."

I said, "And they lost! How do you think . . ."

He had got the eggs out He said, "What else Is there?"

Henry said. "I threw mine away. They were too much trouble to carry."

The tentacle sliced into the bushes, and this time we were scattered with earth as it pulled them up. Beanpole said, "There are four." He handed one each to Henry and me. "I will take the others. When we pull out the rings, count three, then stand up and throw. At the leg that is nearest. The hemisphere is too high."

This time I saw the tentacle through the bushes as it scooped up more. Beanpole said, "Now!"

He pulled the rings from his eggs, and Henry did the same. I had taken mine in my left hand, and I needed to transfer it to the right. As I did so, pain ripped my armpit again, and I dropped it. I was fumbling on the ground to pick it up when Beanpole said, "Now!" again. They scrambled to their feet, and I grabbed my egg, ignoring the pain of the movement, and got up with them. I ripped out the ring just as they threw.

The nearest foot of the Tripod was planted on the slope, thirty yards or so above us. Beanpole's first throw was wild-he did not get within ten yards of his target But his second throw and Henry's were close to the mark. One of them hit metal, with a clang that we could hear. Almost at once they exploded. There were three nearly simultaneous bangs, and fountains of earth and dust spouted into the air.

But they did not obscure one plain fact: the eggs had done no damage to the Tripod. It stood as firmly as before, and the tentacle was swishing down, this time directly toward us. We started to run, or rather, in my case. prepared to. Because before I could move, it had me around the waist

I plucked at It with my left hand, but it was like trying to bend a rock. It held me with amazing precision, tight but not crushing, and lifted me as I might lift a mouse. Except that a mouse could bite. and I could do nothing against the hard gleaming surface that held me. I was lifted up, up. The ground shrank below me. and with it the figures of Beanpole and Henry. I saw them darting away like ants. I was steeple high, higher. I looked up, and saw the hole in the side of the hemisphere. And remembered the iron egg still clutched in my right hand.

How long was it since I had pulled the ring out? I had forgotten to count in my fear and confusion. Several seconds-it could not be long before it exploded. The tentacle was swinging me inward now. The hole was forty feet away, thirty-five, thirty. I braced myself back, straining against the encircling band. Pain leaped in my arm again, but I ignored it I hurled the egg with all my strength and what accuracy I could muster. I thought at first that I had missed, but the egg hit the edge of the opening and ricocheted inside. The tentacle continued to carry me forward. Twenty feet. fifteen, ten ...

Although I was nearer, the explosion was not as loud as the others had been, probably because it happened inside the hemisphere. There was just a dull, rather hollow bang. Despair came back: that was my last chance gone. But at that instant I felt the metal holding me relax and fall away.

I was three times the height of a tall pine; my bones would smash against the ground when I landed. I clutched desperately at the thing against which, a few seconds earlier. I had been Struggling. My hands gripped the metal, but I was falling, falling. I looked at the ground and closed my eyes as it rushed up to meet me. And then there was a jerk which almost tore me from my hold, and the falling stopped. My feet shivered, a few inches from the ground. All I bad to do was let go and step down.

The others came to me. We stared up in awe at the Tripod. It stood there, seemingly unharmed. But we knew it was finished, destroyed, lifeless.

10

The White Mountains

Beanpole said, "I do not know if it could tell others before it died, but I think we had better not stay here."  Henry and I heartily agreed. For my part, even though I knew it was dead, I still, irrationally, feared it. I had a vision of it toppling crushing us beneath its stupendous weight I desperately wanted to get away from this place.

"If others come," Beanpole said, "they will search the surrounding part. The more distant we are before that happens, the better for us."

We set off up the hill, running. We ran until we were straining for breath, hearts pounding deliriously, leg muscles tortured with fatigue, and still staggered on. My arm was hurting a lot. but after a time I felt it less than I felt the other aches and pains. Once I fell, and it was an exquisite pleasure just to lie there, panting but not moving, my face pressed against grass and powdery earth. The others helped me up. and I was partly angry as well as grateful.

It took us about halt an hour to get to the top. Beanpole stopped then, and we stopped with him-I do not think I could have gone more than a few more yards, anyway, before falling again. And this time no help would have got me to my feet I gulped in air, which hurt me but which I had to have. Gradually the tightness in my chest eased, and I could breathe without pain.

I looked down the long slope up which we had come. Darkness was falling, but I could still see the Tripod there. Was it really possible that I had killed it? I could begin to appreciate the enormity of what I had done, not so much with pride as with wonder. The unchallenged, impregnable masters of the earth-and my right hand had smashed it into death. I thought I knew how David had felt when he saw Goliath topple in the dust of the valley of Elah.

Beanpole said, "Look."

His voice did not generally tell one much, but there was alarm in it I said, 'Where?"

"To the west."

He pointed. In the far distance something moved. The familiar hateful shape heaved itself over the skyline, followed by a second and a third. They were a long way off yet, but the Tripods were coming.

We ran again, down the other side of the ridge. We lost sight of them at once. but that was small consolation, knowing they were in the next valley, and realizing the puniness of the best speed we could manage in comparison with theirs. I hoped they would stay with the dead Tripod for some time, but doubted if they would. Seeking revenge against its killer was more likely to be their immediate concern. I put my foot on uneven ground, stumbled, and came near falling. At least it was dark and getting darker. Unless they had cat's eyes, it made our chances Just a little bit better.

And we needed all the help we could get.

There appeared to be no more cover in this valley than the last-less, because I could not see a single bush. let alone a clump. It was all rough grass, with outcroppings of stone. We rested against one of these when exhaustion finally halted us again. Stars were out. but there was no moon: it would not rise for some hours. I was very glad of that

No moon but. above the ridge, a light in the sly, a light that moved, changing shape. A number of lights? I drew Beanpole's attention to it He said, "Yes. I have seen that"

The Tripods?"

"What else?"

The light became beams, thrusting forward along the sky like arms. They shortened, and one of them swung in a stabbing arc across the sky, so that it pointed down instead of up. I could not see what lay behind the beam, but it was easy enough to imagine. The Tripods had come over the crest The beams of light came from the hemispheres and enabled them to see their way.

They were spaced out, a hundred yards or so apart, and the beams of light swept the ground before and between them. They were traveling more slowly than I had seen a tripod travel, but even so day were going faster than we could run. And were, as far as we knew, tireless. They made no sound, save for the dull thumping of their feet, and somehow this was more frightening than the howling of the other Tripod had been.

We ran, and rested, and ran again. Rather than endure the extra effort of scaling the far side, we followed the valley to the west. In the darkness we stumbled and fell over the uneven ground, bruising ourselves. Behind us the light followed, relentlessly weaving to and fro. During one pause we saw that the Tripods had split up, one going up the other side of the valley and another marching to the east. But the third was coming our way and gaining on us.

We heard a stream and, on Beanpole's suggestion, made for it. Since the three of them were apparently searching in different directions, it did not seem likely that they were following a scent as a hound does, but there was a chance that they might be, or might follow our tracks through grass and where the earth was soft. We got into the stream and splashed our way along. It was only a few feet wide, luckily quite shallow and with an even bed for the most part. The wonderful leather boots that had been made for me by the cobbler at the castle would not be improved by the soaking, but I had more pressing things to think about

We paused again. The stream splashed against our legs, just above our ankles. I said. "We can't go on like this. It will have reached us in another quarter of an hour."

Henry said, "What else can we do?"

"There's only one Tripod now. Its light covers just about the whole of the valley floor, and perhaps a little of the sides. If we make a break for it, up the slope ... it might miss us and go on past."

"Or it might trace our tracks out of the stream, and follow us."

''We should take the risk. We have no chance at all this way." He did not say anything. "What do you think. Beanpole?"

I?" he said. "I think it is too late already. Look ahead."

Along the valley there was a light, which brightened and, as I watched, became a beam. We gazed at it in silence and despair. Then another light, appearing above the ridge which I had suggested we climb, twisted in the air and arced down. And there were other lights, less distinct, above the opposite slope. It was no longer a question of one Tripod remorselessly gaining on us from behind. They were here in force and all around us.

"Should we scatter?" Henry suggested. "I suppose we might have a bit more chance separated than all together."

I said, "No. The same chance. None at all, that is."

"I think I'm going to," Henry said. The way it is, once they spot one, they've got us all"

Beanpole said, "'Wait."

"For what? A few more minutes and it will be too late."

"That rock, there."

Visibility was better because of the light diffused from the Tripods' beams. We could see each other, as though in dim moonlight, and a little of our surroundings. Beanpole pointed down the stream. Some twenty yards ahead there was a shadowy ridge of rock, more than head high.

"It may give some cover," Beanpole said.

I doubted that. We might flatten ourselves against it, but the beams would still catch us. But I had nothing better to offer. Beanpole splashed off along the stream, and we splashed after him. The course of the stream ran right beside the rock, which I saw now had diverted its course to some extent. The reef was about thirty feet long. Its upper part was smooth and flat with a gentle backward slope, providing no protection at all. But the lower part...

Some time in the past the stream had been stronger and more turbulent than it was now, and its fierceness had worn away a band of stone at the base. We bent down, exploring it with our hands. At its maximum it was not more than two feet high, and about as deep; but it seemed to run the entire length of the rock. Two more beams of light appeared on the northern escarpment of the valley, and one of them was flickering far ahead, making spots of light that darted perilously near to where we stood. There was no room for delay. We snuggled ourselves into the crevice, in line, head to toe-Beanpole, then Henry, and myself at the end. My right arm was against rock, but my left side felt terribly exposed. I tried to force myself farther in, even though it hurt my arm to do so. If I lifted my head just a fraction, my forehead touched the stone overhang. The sound of my breathing seemed to echo in this confinement

Beanpole whispered, "No talking. We must stay here quietly. For an hour, perhaps."

I watched the scene outside brighten as the Tripods came nearer, and heard the thump, heavier and heavier, of their feet. Eventually I could see light reflected from the surface of the stream farther up. Then, directly in front of my face, night became day, and I could see small stones, blades of grass, a beetle frozen into immobility, all with tremendous clarity. And the ground shook as the foot of a Tripod slammed down only a few yards from us. I pressed myself tightly against the rock. It was going to be a long hour.

A long hour, indeed. All night the beams of light played across the hills, advancing and retreating, crossing and recrossing the ground. Dawn broke at last, but the hunt did not stop. The Tripods came and went in a constant traffic; allowing for the same ones passing over us time after time, there must still have been dozens of them.

But they had not seen us, and as the hours wore slowly on we became more and more confident that they would not. Even in daylight our cleft must be invisible from the height of the hemispheres. But by the same token, we dared not leave its shelter. We lay there in increasing discomfort and boredom and hunger, seasoned in my case with pain. My arm began to hurt very badly, and there were times when I thought I would make my lip bleed with biting on it, and I felt tears come to my eyes and run down my cheeks.

By midday the intensity of the search had begun to slacken. There were periods of as long as five or ten minutes in which we dared to creep out and stretch our legs, but always they ended with the sight of another Tripod, and every now and then a troop of them would come stamping through the valley. We could not go far from the crevice; there was no other cover of any kind within reach.

Day drifted into dusk. and dusk into night, and there were the beams of light again. There were not so many as before, but there was never a time that one could not see them, either in the valley or lighting the sky beyond the heights. Occasionally I dozed off into sleep, but never for long. The awareness of rock directly above my face was smothering-I was cold and aching and my arm was burning and throbbing. Once I woke up, moaning with the pain of it. Surely they would go with daybreak? I watched the sky, greedy for the first inkling of natural light It came at last, a gray cloudy dawn, and we emerged, shivering, and looked about us. There had been no beams of light for half an hour or more, and there were none now. But five minutes later we scurried back into hiding as another Tripod lurched up the valley.

Beanpole said. "Look."

So it went on, all that morning and long into the afternoon. I was too miserable, dazed with hunger and pain, to pay attention to anything but the business of enduring from one moment to the next, and I do not think the others were in much better shape. When, toward evening, a lengthening period with no Tripods made it seem that the search might at last be off, we found it difficult to take it in. We came out of the cleft, but for a couple of hours at least sat huddled by the stream, watching for signs of their return.

Darkness was falling by the time we made up our minds to go on. and it was an indication of our wretchedness and confusion that we should have done so. We were weak from hunger and utterly weary. A mile or two farther on, we collapsed and lay all night in the open, with no hope of concealment if the Tripods had come back. But they did not, and dawn showed us an empty valley, flanked by silent hills.

The days that followed were hard. For me, particularly, because my arm had festered. In the end. Beanpole cut it again, and I am afraid I was less stoical this time. and shrieked with pain. Afterward Beanpole put some of the healing herbs, which he had found, on the wound, binding them in place with a bandage made from the tail of my shirt, and Henry said he knew it must have been pretty agonizing: he would have shrieked a good deal more. I was more glad of his kindness than I would have expected.

We found a few roots and berries, but we were hungry all the time. and we shivered in our thin clothes, especially during the nights. The weather had changed. There was a lot of cloud and a cold breeze from the south. We reached high ground, from where it should have been possible to see the White Mountains, but there was no sign of them-only an empty gray horizon. There were moments when I felt that what we had seen before was a mirage rather than reality.

Then we came down into a plain, and there was a stretch of water so immense that one could not see its end: The Great Lake of the map. The country was rich and fertile. We were able to get more and better food, and with the satisfaction of hunger, our spirits began to pick up. Beanpole's herbs, I found, had worked; my arm was healing cleanly now.

One morning after a good night's sleep among hay in a barn, we awoke to find the sky once more blue and all things bright and light. There were the hills which fringed the plain to the south, and beyond them, splendid and looking so dose that one almost felt one could reach out and touch them, the snowy peaks of the White Mountains.

Of course, they were not nearly so close as they seemed. There were still miles of plain and then the foothills. But at least we could see them, and we set out in good heart. We had been traveling for an hour, and Henry and I were making jokes about Beanpole's gigantic steam kettle, when he stopped us. I thought the jokes had annoyed him, but then felt, as he had already done, the earth quiver beneath our feet They were coming from the northeast, from our left and behind-two Tripods, moving fast and heading directly for us. I looked round desperately. but knew what I would sec. The land was green and fiat, without a tree or rock, a hedge or ditch, and the nearest farmhouse a half a mile away.

Henry said, "Shall we run for it?"

"Run where?" Beanpole asked. "It is no good."

His voice was flat If he recognized it was hopeless. I thought, then it was hopeless indeed. In a minute or two they would be on us. I looked away from them to the gleaming battlements of white. To have come so far, endured, so much, and to lose with our goal in sight-it was unfair.

The earth shook more violently. They were a hundred yards away, fifty . . . They marched side by side, I saw, and their tentacles were doing strange things, probing and retreating from each other, describing elaborate patterns in the air. And something moved between and above them, a golden something that flashed with brightness, tossed to and fro against the blue of sky.

They were on us. I waited for a tentacle to reach down and seize me, conscious less of fear than of a futile anger. A great foot slammed down a few yards from us. And then they were past, and going away, and my legs felt as though they were buckling,

Beanpole said in wonder. "They did not see us. Because they were too concerned with each other? A ritual of mating, perhaps? But they are machines. What, then? It is a puzzle to which I would like the answer."

He was welcome, I thought, both to the puzzle and to its answer. All I could feel then was the weakness of relief.

A long. difficult, and dangerous journey, Ozymandias had told me. So it proved. And with a hard life at the journey's end. He was right in that, too. We have nothing in the way of luxury, and would not want it if we could; minds and bodies must be kept trim for the tasks that lie ahead.

But there are wonders, of which our new home itself is the greatest We live not only among the White Mountains, but inside one of them. For the ancients built a Shmand-Fair here, too-six miles, long, rising a mile high through a tunnel hewed out of solid rock. Why they did it, for what great purpose, we cannot tell; but now, with new tunnels carried still farther into the mountain's heart, it provides us with a stronghold. Even when we arrived, in summer, there was snow and ice around the opening to the main tunnel, and it emerges at a place that looks over a river of ice, inching its way down between frozen peaks to be lost in the distance. But inside the mountain the air is no more than cool, protected as we are by the thick layers of rock.

There are viewing points where one can look out from the side of the mountain. Sometimes I go to one of these and stare down into the green sunlit valley far below. There are villages, tiny fields, roads, the pinhead specks of cattle. Life looks warm there, and easy, compared with the harshness of rock and ice by which we are surrounded. But I do not envy the valley people their ease.

For it is not quite true to say that we have no luxuries. We have two: freedom and hope. We live among men whose minds are their own, who do not accept the dominion of the Tripods, and who, having endured in patience for long enough, are even now preparing to carry the war to the enemy.

Our leaders keep their counsel, and we are only newcomers and boys-we could not expect to know what the projects are, or what our part in them may be. But we shall have a part, that is certain. And another thing is certain, too: in the end we shall destroy the Tripods, and free men will enjoy the goodness of the earth.

The City of Gold and Lead

1

Three Are Chosen

One day Julius called a conference of the instructors, and all training was canceled. The three of us-Henry, Beanpole, and I-decided to use the free time to explore the upper reaches of the tunnel. So we got picnic rations from the kitchen and half a dozen big, slow-burning tallow candles, and set off up the long winding slope from the caves in which we lived.

At first we chattered as we went, hearing our voices echo from the confining walls of rock, but as our progress became more slogging and arduous we talked less, conserving our strength. The ancients had made the tunnel to house a Shmand-Fair-a railway as it had once been called in my own language-and the metal tracks went up and up, interminably it seemed. The candles gave only a small and flickering light, but a sure one; there was no wind, not even a breeze, that might blow them out. We were climbing a mountain, but from the inside.

I puzzled over this, as I had done before. It was one of countless riddles left by our forefathers, but more baffling than most and, of course, nearer at hand. Even with the wonderful machines we knew they had possessed, it must have taken a tremendous time-years-to hew such a channel through the heart of this stony giant. For what purpose? A railway leading to a mountain top, perpetually covered with snow and ice? It made no sense that I could see.

They had been a strange and marvelous people. I had seen the ruins of one of the great-cities in which they lived . . , with broad avenues that ran for miles, crumbling buildings still soaring up against the sky, huge shops into which all the houses of my native village could have been packed, with room left over. They had moved in ease and splendor about the earth, splendor beyond measuring, almost beyond understanding. And despite all this, the Tripods had conquered and enslaved them. How had it happened? We did not know. We only knew that, except for the handful of us who lived here in the White Mountains, men did the Tripods' bidding, and did it gladly.

The way in which they kept their domination, on the other hand, was plain enough. It was done through the Caps, meshes of silvery metal, fitting closely round the skull and woven into the very flesh of their wearers. Capping took place in one's fourteenth year, marking the change from child to adult. A Tripod took you away, and a Tripod brought you back. Those who returned, apart from the few who cracked under the ordeal and became Vagrants and thereafter wandered aimlessly from place to place, had had their minds changed and were free no longer.

We went on, higher and higher, through the tunnel. Occasionally we rested, easing the ache in our legs, sometimes at places where there were openings through which one could see out of the mountain side to a vista of more mountains and cold, deserted snowfields lying in their shadow. If we had realized how long and arduous the journey would be, I doubt if we should have embarked on it, but having come so far we pressed on. We found small things-a button, a carton that said camels and had a picture of a beast like a humpbacked horse on it, and a scrap of newspaper, printed in the German language which we were learning, that spoke of incomprehensible things. All these were more than a hundred years old, we knew, relics from the world before the Tripods.

At last we reached the cavern where the railway ended. There were stone steps, leading to a room in what seemed like a palace. Higher still, in a vast wooden hall, we stared through gigantic windows at a scene of wonder. There were peaks all round, guarding a valley through which a river ran far into the distance. But the peaks glistened white, dazzling in sunlight that hurt the eyes, and the river was a river of ice that yet seemed to flow. Had a king perhaps lived here-a king who ruled the world, and chose to live on the world's roof?

But would the hall of a king's palace be filled with small tables, and have kitchens adjoining it? We explored farther, and found a sign: HOTEL JUNGFAUJOCH. I knew what a hotel was: a large inn that accommodated travelers. But here, on a mountain top? The idea was as mysterious as the idea of a royal palace, and more stupendous. It had not been a king and his courtiers who had walked through these echoing rooms and looked at the river of ice among the eternal snows; but ordinary men and women. A strange and marvelous people, indeed. In those days, I thought, they were all kings and queens.

I gazed out. Nothing changed there, nor had changed in a century. For me, so much had changed.

Six months earlier I had been an ordinary schoolboy living, as I had always done, in the village of Wherton, a day's journey by packhorse from Winchester. My cousin Jack, the companion of my childhood, had already been Capped; and I was to be Capped the next year, along with Henry, another cousin, but an old enemy rather than an old friend. After that I would be a man, working as a man, in due course taking over my father's mill, living in Wherton and at last dying there, to be buried in the churchyard beside the square-towered church. It was a pattern of life that everyone took for granted.

Then, one day, Ozymandias came to the village, a Vagrant seemingly, a big, red-haired, red-bearded man, who sang songs and spoke lines of poetry, and mixed sense and nonsense when he talked. He sounded me out, and finally revealed himself and his purpose. He was not a Vagrant, but merely posing as such so that he could travel without hindrance or suspicion. The Cap he wore was a false one. He told me the truth about the Tripods, and told me also of the handful of free un-Capped men who lived far to the south. He asked me if I would be willing to make a difficult and dangerous journey to join them.

So, with the map and compass he had given me, I left my village. Henry surprised me while I was making my escape, and I was forced to take him with me. We crossed the sea together, and in the land called France found a third Jean-Paul, whom we named Beanpole because he was so tall and thin. Together, we went south. It was as difficult and dangerous as Ozymandias had promised. Near the end we fought a battle with a Tripod, and with the help of a weapon of the ancients that we found in the ruins of one of the great-cities, destroyed it. And thus came to the White Mountains.

There were eleven of us in the training cadre being prepared for the first move in the counterattack against our enemies. It was a hard schooling, in body and mind alike, but we knew a little of the task before us, and how heavy the odds against success were. The discipline and hardship we had to endure might not shorten those odds by much, but every bit counted.

For we-or some of us-were to conduct a reconnaissance. We knew almost nothing of the Tripods, not even whether they were intelligent machines or vehicles for other creatures. We had to know more before we could hope to fight them successfully and there was only one way to get that knowledge. Some of us, one at least; must penetrate into the City of the Tripods, study them, and bring back information.

The plan was this: the City lay to the north, in the country of the Germans. Each year some of the newly Capped were brought there to serve the Tripods. They were chosen in different ways. I had witnessed one such way at the Chateau de la Tour Rouge, when Eloise, the daughter of the Comte, had been made Queen of the Tournament. I had been horrified to learn that at the end of her brief reign she would be taken to be a slave of the enemy, and go gladly, thinking it an honour.

Among the Germans, it seemed, there were Games each summer, to which young men came from all over the land. The winners were feasted and made much of, after which they, too, went to serve in the City. At the next Games, it was hoped, one of us might win, and gain admission. What would happen after that was unknown. Anyone who succeeded would have to rely on his wits, both in spying on the Tripods and in passing on what he had learned. The last part was likely to be the hardest. Because although scores, perhaps hundreds, went yearly into the City, not one had ever been known to come out.

One day the snow was melting at the foot of the tunnel where we exercised, and a week later it lay only in isolated patches, and there was the green of grass, dotted with purple crocuses. The sky was blue, and sunlight flamed from the white peaks all round, burning our skins through the thin, pure air. During a break we lay on the grass and looked down. Figures moved cautiously half a mile below, visible to us but taking cover from those who might look up from the valley. This was the first raiding party of the season on its way to plunder the fat lands of the Capped.

I sat with Henry and Beanpole, a little apart from the rest. The lives of all those who lived in the mountain were closely knit, but this strand was a more tightly woven one. In the things we had endured, jealousies and enmities had worn away and been replaced by true comradeship. The boys in the cadre were our friends, but the bond between us three was special.

Beanpole said gloomily, "I failed at one meter seventy today." He spoke in German. We had learned the language but needed to practice it.

I said, "One goes off form. You'll improve again."

"I'm getting worse every day."

Henry said, "Rodrigo's gone off. I beat him comfortably."

"It's all right for you."

Henry had been chosen as a long-distance runner, and Rodrigo was his chief rival. Beanpole was training for long and high jumping. I was one of two boxers. There were four sports in all-the other was sprint running-and they had been arranged to produce a maximum of competitiveness. Henry had done well in his event from the start. I myself was fairly confident, at any rate as far as my opponent here was concerned. This was Tonio, a dark-skinned boy from the south, taller than I and with a longer reach, but not as quick. Beanpole, though, had grown increasingly pessimistic about his chances.

Henry reassured him, telling him he had heard the instructors saying he was coming on well. I wondered if it were true or said for encouragement: the former, I hoped.

I said, "I asked Johann if it had been decided yet how many were to go."

Johann, one of the instructors, was squat and powerful, yellow-haired, with the look of a bad tempered bull but amiable at heart.

Henry asked, "What did he say?"

"He wasn't sure, but he thought four-the best from each group."

"So it could be us three, plus an extra," Henry said.

Beanpole shook his head. "I'll never do it."

"You will."

I said, "And the fourth?"

"It might be Fritz."

He did seem to be the best of the sprint runners, as far as we could tell. He was German, and came from a place on the edge of a forest to the northeast. His chief rival was a French boy, Etienne, whom I preferred. Etienne was cheerful and talkative; Fritz, tall, heavy, taciturn.

I said, "As long as we all get through."

"You two will," Beanpole said.

Henry leaped to his feet. "There's the whistle. Come on, Beanpole. Time to get back to work."

The seniors had their own tasks. Some were our instructors; others formed the raiding parties to keep us supplied with food. There were still others who studied the few books that had survived from olden days and tried to relearn the skills and mysteries of our ancestors. Beanpole, whenever he had a chance, would be with them, listening to their talk and even putting up suggestions of his own. Not long after we met he had spoken-wildly, I thought-about using a sort of gigantic kettle to push carriages without the need for horses. Something like this had been discovered, or rediscovered, here, though it would not yet work properly. And there were plans for more remarkable things: making light and heat through something that had been called electricity was one.

And at the head of all the groups there was one man, whose hands held all the threads, whose decisions were unquestioned. This was Julius.

He was close to sixty years old, a small man, and a cripple. When he was a boy he had fallen into an ice crevasse and broken his thigh. It had been set badly and he walked with a limp. In those days things had been very different in the White Mountains. Those who lived there had no purpose but survival, and their numbers were dwindling. It was Julius who thought of winning recruits from the world outside, from those not yet Capped, and who believed-and made others believe-that someday men would fight back against the Tripods and destroy them.

It was Julius, too, who had worked out the enterprise for which we were being trained. And it was Julius who would make the final decision on which of us were chosen.

He came out one day to watch us. He was white-haired and red-cheeked, like most of those who had lived all their lives in this sharp, clear air, and he leaned on a stick. I saw him, and concentrated hard on the bout in which I was engaged. Tonio feinted with his left and followed up with a right cross. I made him miss, hammered a sharp right to his ribs, and, when he came in again, landed a left to the jaw, which sent him sprawling.

Julius beckoned, and I ran to where he stood. He said, "You are improving, Will."

"Thank you, sir."

"I suppose you are getting impatient to know which of you will be going to the Games."

I nodded. "A little, sir."

He studied me. "When the Tripod had you in its grasp-do you remember how you felt? Were you afraid?"

I remembered. I said, "Yes, sir."

"And the thought of being in their hands, in their City-does that frighten you?" I hesitated, and he went on. "There are two sides to the choice, you know. We old ones may be able to judge your quickness and skill of mind and body, but we cannot read your hearts."

"Yes," I admitted, "it frightens me."

"You do not have to go. You can be useful here." His pale blue eyes looked into mine. "No one need know if you prefer to stay."

I said, "I want to go. I can bear the thought of being in their hands more easily than the thought of being left behind."

"Good." He smiled. "And you, after all, have killed a Tripod-something that I doubt any other human being can claim. It is an asset to have that knowledge that they are not all-powerful."

"Do you mean, sir . . . ?"

"I mean what I said. There are other considerations. You must go on working hard, and preparing, in case you are chosen."

Later I saw him talking to Henry. I thought it was probably much the same conversation as mine had been. I did not ask him, though, and he did not volunteer anything about it.

During the winter our diet, although adequate, had been very dull, the staple item dried and salted meat that, whatever was done with it, remained stodgy and unappetizing. In the middle of April, though, a raiding party brought back half a dozen black-and-white cows, and Julius decreed that one should be killed and roasted. After the feast, he spoke to us. When he had been talking a few minutes, I realized, the excitement almost suffocating me, that this, almost certainly, was the moment for announcing the names of those who were to make the attempt at reconnoitring the City of the Tripods.

He had a quiet voice, and I was with the other boys at the far end of the cave, but his, words were clear. Everyone was listening attentively and in silence. I glanced at Henry, on my right. In the flickering light, I thought he looked very confident. My own confidence was ebbing rapidly. It would be bitter if he went and I were left.

First, Julius talked about the plan in general. For months those in the training cadre had been training for their task. They would have some advantage over competitors from the lower lands, because it was known that men in higher altitudes developed stronger lungs and muscles than those who lived in the thicker air. But it had to be remembered that there would be hundreds of competitors drawn from the best athletes all over the country. It might be that, for all their preparation, not one of our small band would wear a champion's belt. In that case, they must find their way back to the White Mountains. We would try again, next year. Patience was as necessary as determination.

Contestants in the Games must be Capped, of course. That presented no great difficulty. We had Caps, taken from those killed in forays into the valleys, which could be moulded to fit the skulls of the ones chosen. They would look like true Caps, but they would not control the mind.

Now to the details: the City of the Tripods lay hundreds of miles to the north. There was a great river that covered most of that distance. Barges plied up and down it in trade, and one of these was in the hands of our men. It would sail to a spot within easy reach of the place where the Games were held.

Julius paused before going on. It had been decided that three should be selected from the training cadre. Many things had to be taken into account: individual skill and strength, the likely level of competition in the event, the temperament of the person, and his probable usefulness once he had penetrated the Tripods' stronghold. It had not been easy, but the choices had been made. Raising his voice slightly, he called, "Stand up, Will Parker."

For all my hopes, the shock of hearing my own name unnerved me. My legs trembled as I got to my feet.

Julius said, "You have shown ability as a boxer, Will, and you have the advantage of being small and light in weight. Your training has been with Tonio, who would be in a heavier class at the Games, and this should help you.

"The doubt we had was about you yourself, You are impatient, often thoughtless, likely to rush into things without giving careful enough consideration to what may happen next. From that point of view, Tonio would have been better. But he is less likely to succeed at the Games, which is our first concern. A heavy responsibility may rest on you. Can we rely on you to do your utmost to guard against your own recklessness?" I promised, "Yes, sir."

"Sit down, then, Will. Stand up, Jean-Paul Deliet."

I think I felt gladder about Beanpole than when my own name was called, perhaps because I was less confused and had been less optimistic. I had picked up his own gloom about his chances. So there would be three-the three of us who had journeyed together before, who had fought the Tripod on the hillside.

Julius said, "There were difficulties in your case, too, Jean-Paul. You are the best of our jumpers, but it is not sure that you are up to the standard that will be necessary to win at the Games. And there is the question of your eyesight. The contraption of lenses you invented or rediscovered, because they were common among the ancients-is something that passed as an eccentricity in a boy, but the Capped do not have such eccentricities. Not being allowed to wear the lenses, you must blunder through a world in which you will see less, clearly than your fellows. If you get inside the City, you will not perceive things with the clarity that Will, for instance, would.

"But what you see, you may understand better. Your intelligence is an asset that outweighs the weakness of your eyes. You could be the most useful in bringing back to us what we have to know. Do you accept the task?" Beanpole said, "Yes, sir."

"And so we come to the third choice, which was the easiest." I saw Henry looking pleased with himself, and was childish enough to feel a little resentment. "He is the most likely to succeed in his event, and the best equipped for what may follow."

"Fritz Eger-do you accept?"

I tried to speak to Henry, but he made it plain that he wanted to be left alone. I saw him again later on, but he was morose and uncommunicative. Then, the following morning, I happened to go to the lookout gallery, and found him there.

It was the lowest of the places where openings in the mountain side gave a view of the outside world. One looked out and down to a rich green valley, thousands of feet below, in which there were roads like black thread, tiny houses, pinpoint cattle in miniature meadows. Henry was leaning against the low wall of rock and turned as I approached. I said awkwardly, "If you want me to go . . ."

"No." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"I'm . . . very sorry."

He managed a grin. "Not as sorry as I am."

"If we went to see Julius . . . I don't see why there shouldn't be four instead of three."

"I've already seen him."

"And there's no hope?"

"None. I'm the best of my lot, but they don't t think I stand much chance in the Games. Perhaps next year, if I keep at it."

"I don't see why you shouldn't try this year."

"I said that, too. He says even three is really too large a party to send out. So much more chance of being spotted, and more difficult with the barge."

One did not argue with Julius. I said, "Well, you will have a chance next year."

"If there is a next year."

There would only be a second expedition if this one failed. I thought of what failure could mean, to me personally. The diminutive valley of fields and houses and ribboned rivers, on which I had so often looked with longing, was as sunny as before, but suddenly less attractive. I was staring at it from a dark hole, but one in which I had come to feel safe.

Yet even in the brush of fear, I felt sorry for Henry. I could have been the one left behind. I did not think I would have borne it as well, if so.

2

Prisoner in the Pit

We set out in late afternoon, made our way secretly through the nearer valleys during dusk, and travelled on by moonlight. We did not rest until the sun was high, and by then we were halfway along the shore of the westerly of the twin lakes that lay below our stronghold. We hid ourselves on the hillside; behind and far above us was the glistening white peak from which we had started our journey. We were tired. We ate, and then slept, exhausted, through the long hot day.

It was a hundred miles to the point on the river at which we were to join the Erlkonig. We had a guide-one of the men who knew the country from raiding parties-who would go with us as far as the barge. We went mostly by night, resting during the daylight hours.

This was some weeks after the feast, and Julius's announcement. During that time we had been given further instruction and preparation, starting with having our hair cropped short and the false Cap moulded to fit close to our skulls. It had been strange and desperately uncomfortable at first, but gradually I had grown used to this hard helmet of metal. My hair was already growing through and around the mesh, and we were assured that before the Games began we should look no different from other boys who had been Capped, in the first weeks of summer, as they were here. At night we wore bonnets of wool, because otherwise the cold would strike through the metal, painfully waking us.

Henry had not been among those who watched us leave the tunnel. I understood that. I would not have wanted to be there if our situations had been reversed. My impulse was to resent Fritz, who had taken his place, but I remembered what Julius had said about needing to curb my rashness. I remembered also that I had resented what I thought was the greater friendship between Beanpole and Henry on our journey south, and how I had allowed it to influence me during our stay at the Chateau de la Tour Rouge.

I was determined not to let anything of that kind happen now, and with this in mind made a special effort to overcome my animosity and be nice to Fritz. But there was a poor response to my overtures; he remained taciturn and withdrawn. I was prepared to resent that, in turn and with more justification, as I saw it. But I succeeded in bottling up my annoyance. It was a great help that Beanpole was with us. He and I did most of the talking, when we were in circumstances where talking did not involve risk. Our guide, Primo, a dark, burly man, looking clumsy but in fact wonderfully sure-footed, said little beyond what was necessary in warning and instruction.

A week had been allowed for us to reach the barge, but we covered the distance in four days. We followed a high ridge, skirting the ruins of one of the great-cities. These encompassed a bend in the river, which was to be our thoroughfare. The river came from the east, with the early morning sun glinting along its length, but here turned and flowed northward. The higher stretch was empty, as was the part that ran between the sullen humps that had once been towering buildings, but above that there was traffic - two barges nosing downriver, perhaps a dozen tied up by the bank at the wharves of a small town.

Primo pointed down. "One of those will be the Erlkonig. You can find your way down there on your own?"

We assured him that we could.

"Then I'll be getting back." He nodded briefly. "Good luck to you."

The Erlkonig was one of the smaller barges, some fifty feet in length. There was nothing special about her; she was just a long, low structure rising a few feet above the surface of the water, with a partly covered wheel-house aft, giving the steersman some protection against the elements. She had a crew of two, both false Capped. The senior of them was called Ulf, a squat, barrel-chested man in his forties, with a brusque manner and a habit of punctuating his speech by spitting. I did not like him, the more so after he made a disparaging remark about my slightness of build. His companion, Moritz, was about ten years younger and, I thought, ten times pleasanter. He had fair hair, a thin face, and a warm and ready smile. But there could be no doubt as to which of them was master: Moritz deferred to Ulf automatically. And it was Ulf, spitting and grunting at regular intervals, who gave us our instructions for the voyage. "We're a two-man barge," he told us. "An extra boy is fair enough-you start 'prentices that way. But any more would draw notice, and I'm not having it. So you'll take it in turns to work on deck-and when I say work, boy, I mean it -and the other two will lie below decks and won't come up even if she's foundering. You've been told the need for discipline, I take it, so I don't need to go into that. All I want to say is this: I shall give short shrift to anyone who causes trouble, for whatever reason.

"I know the job you've got to do, and I hope you're up to it. But if you can't behave sensibly and obey orders on this trip, you're not likely to be any good later on. So I won't think twice about dropping somebody off who's out of line. And since I wouldn't want him to float into the wrong harbour and start people asking questions, I've got a weight of iron to tie his legs to before I do drop him off.

He cleared his throat, spat, and growled. The last remark, I thought, was possibly meant to be a joke. But I was not sure of that. He looked quite capable of carrying out the threat.

He continued. "You've arrived early, which is better than arriving late. We have a cargo to load yet, and in any case it's known that we're not due off for another three days. We can leave a day early, but no more. So the first couple below have got a two-day stint before they see the sky again. Do you want to draw lots for it?"

I glanced at Beanpole. Two days on deck were vastly preferable to spending the time below. But there was the possibility of two days confined with the silent Fritz. Beanpole, his mind presumably working along the same lines, said, "Will and I will volunteer to stay below."

Ulf looked at me, and I nodded. He said, "Just as you like. Show them where they can bunk, Moritz."

A problem that had engaged Beanpole as we came down from the hill to the river bank had been the way in which the barges were propelled. They had no sails, and these, in any case, would have been of limited value in the confines of a river. They could go down, of course, easily enough with the current, but how had they come up to this point against it? As we got nearer, we saw that they had paddle wheels in their sides. Beanpole was excited by the thought that there might be some machine, surviving from the days of the ancients, that moved them.

The truth was disappointing. Each wheel had a treadmill inside, and the treadmill, on journeys upriver, was worked by donkeys. Trained for the task when young, they strained steadily forward and their efforts pulled the barge through the water. It seemed a hard and dreary life, and I was sorry for them, but they were well looked after by Moritz, who was plainly fond of the beasts. They were worked very little on the downriver trips, and were pastured whenever there was an opportunity. They were in a field not far from the river bank now, and would stay there till it was time for the Erlkonig to move on. Until they came aboard, Beanpole and I stayed in their small stables, with the smell of donkey and fodder mixing with the smells of old cargoes.

The cargo this time was wooden clocks and carvings. The people who lived in the great forest east of the river made these, and they were shipped downriver to be sold. They had to be loaded with care because of their fragility, and men came aboard the barge to see to this. Beanpole and I hid behind the bales of hay that were kept for the donkeys, and did our best to stay quiet. Once, I could not stop myself from sneezing, but luckily they were talking and laughing loudly enough not to hear it.

But it was a relief when the two days were up and, in the early morning, the barge cast off and moved out into the river. The donkeys worked their treadmill-two at a time, with one resting -and Beanpole and I drew straws for who took Fritz's place on deck. I won, and went up to a dark, blowy day, with a wind from the north that carried occasional gusts of rain. Yet the air was light and fresh, after my confinement below, and there were many things to be seen on the river and around it. Westward there was a great fertile plain with people working in the fields. To the east the hills stood up, with the black clouds pressing down over their wooded crests. I did not have much time, though, to admire the scenery. Ulf called me and made me get a bucket of water, a brush, and a handful of yellow, soft soap. The decks, he observed truthfully enough, had not been scrubbed for some weeks. I could make myself useful by remedying that.

The progress of the Erlkonig was steady, but not fast. In the evening, before it was dark, we tied up on a long island where another barge was already moored. This was one of a number of staging posts that apparently ran the five-hundred-mile length of the river. Moritz explained to me that they were set a distance apart, which was calculated as a minimum day's haul upriver. Going down with the current, one usually covered two stages easily in a day, but to achieve a third meant risking darkness falling before one got there. The barges did not sail by night.

We had seen no sign of Tripods during our journey from the White Mountains through the valleys to the river. During this day on deck, I saw two. Both were distant, striding along the western skyline, three or four miles away at least. But the sight of them gave me a shiver of fear, which took some subduing. For quite long periods it was possible to forget the exact nature of the mission on which we had embarked. Being reminded of it was a nasty jolt.

I tried to console myself with the thought that there had been no hitches so far, that everything was going well. It did not help much, but by the following evening even that small consolation had gone.

The Erlkonig stopped at the halfway stage, in a small town, a trading post. Moritz explained that Ulf had some business to conduct there. It would only take him an hour or so, but he had decided, since we were in advance of schedule, to stay over until the following morning. The afternoon lengthened, though, and there was no sign of Ulf returning. Moritz became more and more visibly nervous.

In the end he voiced his apprehensions. Ulf, it seemed, was a man who drank heavily on occasion. Moritz had thought he would not do so on this trip, in view of everything that hung on it, but if the business on which he was engaged had gone wrong and he had become irritated by that, he might have stopped at a tavern, intending to have a drink to soothe his temper, and one thing might have led to another. . . . In a bad bout he might be away from the barge several days.

This was a discouraging thought. The sun dropped down in the west, and there was no Ulf. Moritz began to talk of leaving us on the barge and going in search of him.

The difficulty was that the Erlkonig, and Ulf and Moritz, were well known in this town. Already a couple of men had stopped by to offer greetings and chat for a while. If Moritz left, Beanpole would have to handle them ( it was his day on deck), and Moritz was unhappy about that. Suspicions might be aroused. They were likely to quiz him in his role as a new apprentice-people on the river were curious about strangers, knowing each other so well-and he might be led into saying something that they would recognize as false.

It was Beanpole who suggested another way. We boys could go and look for Ulf. Choosing moments when no eye was watching, we could slip away in turn, and hunt round the taverns till we found him; then either persuade him to return or, at least, tell Moritz where he was. If we were questioned, we could pass as travelers from far parts: after all, the town was a trading post. It was not the same as having to answer questions about what we were doing on board the Erlkonig.

Moritz was dubious, but admitted there was some point in this. Gradually he allowed himself to be persuaded. It was out of the question for all three of us to go searching for Ulf, but one might-Beanpole, since it had been his idea. So Beanpole went, and I at once started working on Moritz to let me go also.

I was helped by the fact that my importunity was matched, on Fritz's part, by indifference. He made no comment and clearly was prepared to wait until things sorted themselves out without assistance from him. So, having allowed one to go, there was only one other for Moritz to consider. I wore him down, as I had known I would; he was more amiable than Ulf, much more amiable, but also less sure of himself. He insisted that I should be back within the hour, whether or not I found Ulf, and I agreed to that. I was tingling with the excitement of exploring a strange town in a strange country. I checked that no one was watching the barge, then jumped quickly onto the quay, and made my way along the waterfront.

It was a bigger place than I had thought, looking at it from the deck of the barge. Fronting the river was a row of warehouses and granaries, many of them with three floors above ground. The buildings were partly of stone but more of wood, and the wood was carved and painted with figures of men and animals. There were a couple of taverns in this stretch, and I looked in briefly, though Beanpole, I guessed, would have covered these before me. One of them was empty, except for two old men, sitting with large mugs of beer ( they were called steins, I knew) and smoking pipes. The other had perhaps a dozen men in it, but I could tell in a quick survey that none of them was Ulf.

I came to a road, which ran at right angles to the river, and followed it. There were shops here, and a fair amount of horse traffic, with pony traps and larger carriages and men on horseback. There were, I thought, a lot of people about. I understood why on coming to the first intersection. The crossing road, in either direction, was blocked by stalls that sold food and cloth and all kinds of goods. This was the town's market day.

It was exhilarating, after the long winter of exercise and study in the darkness of the tunnel or on the bare vastness of the mountain side, to be once more among people going about their daily lives. And particularly exhilarating for me, who before fleeing to the White Mountains had known only the quietness of a country village.

A few times I had been taken to Winchester for the market there, and had marvelled at it. This town seemed to be as big as Winchester-perhaps even bigger.

I made my way past the stalls. The first was piled high with vegetables: carrots and little potatoes, fat green-and-white spears of asparagus, peas, and huge cabbages, both green and red. At the next there was meat-not simple cuts such as the butcher brought to my village in England, but joints and chops and rolls most delicately decorated with dabs of white lard. I wandered along, gazing and sniffing. One stall was completely given over to cheeses of a score of different colours, shapes, and sizes. I had not realized there could be so many. And a fish stall had dried and smoked fish hanging from hooks and fish fresh caught from the river laid out along a stone slab, their scales still wet. Now, with dusk gathering, some of the stalls were preparing to close down, but most were busy yet, and the press of people, threading their way between and past them, was thick enough.

Between two stalls, one selling leather and the other bolts of cloth, I saw the opening to a tavern, and guiltily remembered what I was supposed to be doing. I went inside and looked about me. It was darker than the taverns on the waterfront, full of tobacco smoke and crowded with dim figures, some sitting at tables and others standing by the bar counter. As I went up to look more closely, I was addressed from the other side of the bar. The speaker was a very big, very fat man, wearing a leather jacket with sleeves of green cloth. In a rough voice, with an accent that I could barely understand, he said, "What is it, then, lad?"

Moritz had given me some coins of the money used in these parts. I did what seemed the safest thing, and ordered a stein of Dunkles, which I knew to be the name of the dark ale that was commonly drunk. The stein was larger than I had expected. He brought it to me, with ale foaming over the side, and I gave him a coin. I drank and had to wipe foam from my lips. It had a bitter sweet taste, which was not unpleasant. I looked round for Ulf, peering into the many dark recesses, whose panelled walls carried the mounted heads of deer and wild boar. I thought for a moment I saw him, but the man moved into the light of an oil lamp, and was a stranger.

I felt nervous. Having a Cap, I was regarded as a man, so that there was no reason why I should not be here. But I lacked the assurance of someone who had been truly Capped, and I was aware, of course, of my difference from all these others. Having established that Ulf was not one of the figures sprawling at the tables, I was eager to be away. As inconspicuously as possible, I put the stein down and began to move toward the street. Before I had gone a couple of paces, the man in the leather jacket roared at me, and I turned back.

"Here!" He pushed over some smaller coins. "You're forgetting your change."

I thanked him, and once more prepared to go. By this time, though, he had seen the stein and that it was two-thirds full.

"You've not drunk your ale, either. Have you got any complaint about it?"

I hastily said no, that it was just that I was not feeling well. To my dismay, I realized that others were taking an interest in me. The man behind the bar seemed partly mollified, but said, "You're not a Wurttemberger, by the way you talk. Where are you from, then?"

This was a challenge for which I had been prepared. We were to hail from outlying places, in my case a land to the south called Tirol. I told him this.

As far as allaying suspicion was concerned, it worked. From another point of view, though, it was an unfortunate choice. I learned later that there was strong feeling in the town against the Tirol. The previous year at the Games a local champion had been defeated by a Tiroler and, it was claimed, through trickery. One of the others standing by now asked if I were going to the Games, and I incautiously said yes. What followed was a stream of insults. Tirolers were cheats and braggarts, and they spurned good Wurttemberg ale. They ought to be run out of town, dipped in the river to clean them up a bit...

The thing to do was get out, and fast. I stomached the insults and turned to go. Once outside I could lose myself in the crowd. I was thinking of that and did not look closely enough in front of me. A leg was stretched out from one of the tables and, to the accompaniment of a roar of laughter, I went sprawling in the sawdust that covered the floor.

Even that I was prepared to endure, though I had banged one knee painfully as I landed. I began to get to my feet. As I did so, fingers gripped the hair that grew up through my Cap, shook my head violently to and fro, and thrust me down once more to the ground.

I should have been thankful that this assault had not dislodged the false Cap and exposed me. I should also have been concentrating on what really mattered-getting away from here and safely and unnoticed back to the barge. But I am afraid that I could think of nothing but the pain and humiliation. I got up again, saw a face grinning behind me, and swung at him in fury. He was probably a year or so older than I was, and bigger and heavier. He fended me off contemptuously. My mind did not cool down enough for me to realize how stupidly I was behaving, but enough for the skills I had acquired during my long training to take over. I feinted toward him and, as he swung a still casual arm in my direction, slipped inside and belted him hard over the heart. Now it was his turn to go sprawling, and there was a roar from the men crowding round us. He got up slowly, his face angry. The others moved back, forming a ring, clearing the tables to do so. I realized I had to go through with it. I was not afraid of that, but I could appreciate my own folly. I had been warned about my rashness by Julius, and now, within a week of starting out on an enterprise of such desperate importance, it had already betrayed me.

He rushed at me, and I had to concern myself again with what was present and immediate. I side-stepped and hit him as he went past. Although he was bigger than I was, he was lacking in skill. I could have danced round him for as long as I liked, cutting him to pieces. But that would not do at all. What was needed was one disabling blow. From every point of view, the sooner this was over the better. So the next time he attacked I rode his punch with my left shoulder, sank my right fist into the vulnerable area just under his ribs, and, stepping back, caught him with as powerful a left hook as I could manage as, gulping air, his head involuntarily came forward. I got a lot of strength into it. He went backward even faster and hit the floor. The men watching were silent. I looked at my fallen opponent and, seeing that he showed no signs of getting up, moved in the direction of the door, expecting that the ring would open to let me through.

But that did not happen. They stared at me sullenly without budging. One of them knelt beside the prone figure.

He said, "He hit his head. He may be hurt badly."

Someone else said, "You ought to get the police."

A few hours later I stared up at the stars, bright in a clear black sky. I was cold and hungry, miserable and disgusted with myself. I was a prisoner in the Pit.

I had met very rough justice at the hands of the magistrate who had examined me. The fellow I had knocked out was a nephew of his, a son of a leading merchant in the town. The evidence was that I had provoked him in the tavern by saying things derogatory of the Wurttembergers, and that I had then hit him when he was not looking. It bore no resemblance at all to what had happened, but there were a number of witnesses who agreed on the story. My opponent, to give him possible credit, was not one of these, the reason being that he had suffered a concussion when his head hit the floor. He was in no state to say anything to anybody. I was warned that if he failed to recover I would assuredly be hanged. Meanwhile I was to be consigned to the Pit, during the magistrate's pleasure.

This was their preferred way of dealing with malefactors. The Pit was round, some fifteen feet across and about as many feet deep. The floor was of rough flagstones, and the walls were also lined with stones. They were smooth enough to discourage attempts at climbing up, and there were iron spikes near the top, projecting inward, which further discouraged thoughts of escape. I had been dropped over these like a sack of potatoes, and left. I had been given no food, and had nothing to cover me in a night that looked as though it was going to be cold. I had banged my elbow and grazed my arm in the fall.

But the real fun, as I had been told with satisfaction by some of my captors, would take place the following day. The Pit was designed partly for punishment, partly for the amusement of the local people. It was their custom to stand at the top and pelt the unfortunate prisoner with whatever came to hand or mind. Filth of all kinds - rotting vegetables, slops, that sort of thing, were what they chiefly preferred, but if they were really annoyed they might use stones, billets of wood, or broken bottles. In the past prisoners had sometimes been severely injured, even killed. They appeared to get a lot of pleasure out of the prospect, and out of telling me about it.

I supposed it was something that the skies had cleared. There was no protection here from the elements. By the wall was a trough with water in it. Although I was thirsty, I was not yet thirsty enough to drink it; there had been enough light, when I was first thrown down, to see that it was covered by" a greenish scum. No food was provided to those in the Pit. When they got sufficiently hungry they would eat the rotting refuse, bones, and stale bread that were hurled at them. That, too, was supposed to be amusing.

What a fool I had been. I shivered, and cursed my idiocy, and shivered again. Gradually the night wore through. A couple of times I lay down, curled myself up, and tried to sleep. But it was growing colder, and I had to get up again and walk about to restore my circulation. I longed for the day and dreaded it at the same time. I wondered what had happened to the others-whether Ulf had got back yet. I knew there was no hope of him intervening on my behalf. He was quite well known in this town, but he dared not take the risk of associating with me. Tomorrow they would go downriver, leaving me here. There was nothing else they could do.

The wide circle of sky above me brightened, and I could tell which side faced east by the softer light there. For a change, I sat with my back to the stone wall. Tiredness, despite the cold, crept over me. My head nodded to my chest. Then a sound overhead jerked me into wakefulness. I saw a face peering down. It was a small silhouette against the paling dawn. An early riser, I thought drearily, impatient to get at the victim. It would not be long before the throwing started.

Then a voice called quietly down. "Will-are you all right?" Beanpole's voice.

the

He had brought a length of rope from barge. He stretched down and tied it to one of the iron spikes, then tossed the other end to me. I grabbed it, and hauled myself up. The spikes took some negotiating, but Beanpole was able to get a hand over them to help me. In a matter of seconds, I was heaving myself and being hauled over the edge of the Pit.

We wasted no time in discussing our situation. The Pit was on the outskirts of the town, which, sleeping still but outlined now in the clear light of dawn, stood between us and the place where the Erlkonig was moored. I had only a hazy recollection of being brought here the previous evening, but Beanpole ran confidently and I followed him. It took us perhaps ten minutes to come within sight of the river, and we had seen only one man, in the distance, who shouted something but did not attempt to follow our fleeing figures. Beanpole, I realized, had timed things perfectly. We passed the street where the market had been. In another fifty yards we should be on the quay.

We reached it and turned left. About as far again along, just past the tavern, next to the barge called Siegfried, I stared and stopped, and Beanpole did the same. The Siegfried was there, all right, but the berth next to her was empty.

Beanpole, after a moment, plucked my sleeve. I looked where he indicated, in the opposite direction, to the north. The Erlkonig was out in midstream, beating downriver, a quarter of a mile off, a toy boat rapidly diminishing in the distance.

3

A Raft on the River

Our first concern was to get away before my escape from the Pit became known. We went north along the waterfront, through a few mean streets with ramshackle buildings quite unlike the painted, carved, and well-cared-for houses in the centre of the town, and found a road - little better than a track - that followed the general line of the river. The sun rose on our right, behind the wooded hills. There were clouds there, too, forming with ominous speed. Within half an hour they had darkened the sky and blanked out the sun; in three quarters, a gray belt of rain was sweeping down the slope toward us. Five minutes later, already soaking wet, we found shelter in a ruined building lying back from the road. We had time then to think over what had happened, and what we should do about it.

On the way, Beanpole had told me his side of events. He had not found Ulf, but when he returned to the barge Ulf was there. He had been drinking, and it had not improved his temper. He was furious with Beanpole and me for having gone into the town, and with Moritz for having allowed us. We two, he had decided, would spend the remainder of the trip downriver below decks. Fritz, obviously, was the only one who could be relied on, the only one with any sense.

As time passed without my return, his anger increased. After dark, one of the men he knew, coming to see him, spoke of the young Tiroler who had started a fracas in a tavern, and who in consequence had been condemned to the Pit. When this man had gone, Ulf spoke in a more coldly angry and implacable fashion. My folly had jeopardized everything. I was clearly a liability to the enterprise, rather than an asset. There was to be no more waiting, and certainly no attempt to set me free: In the morning the Erlkonig would resume its voyage. It would take two participants to the Games instead of three. As far as I was concerned, I had got myself into the Pit and I could stay there and rot.

Although he did not talk about it, I know that Beanpole found himself cruelly in a quandary over this. We were under Ulf's authority, and ought to obey him in all things. Moreover, what he said was entirely reasonable. Above all, it was the project itself that mattered, not individuals. His job was to do his best to win at the Games, to gain entry into the City of the Tripods, and to bring out of it information that might help to destroy them. That was what was really important.

But Beanpole talked to Moritz, asking him questions particularly about the Pit: what it was like, where it was situated. I do not know whether Moritz was too stupid to see where the questions might be tending, or whether he understood and approved. He was, I thought, really too amiable a man for work that, of its nature, required a streak of ruthlessness. Anyway, Beanpole found out what he wanted to know and, at first light, took a length of rope and left the Erlkonig in search of me. Presumably Ulf heard or saw something of his departure and either in rage or out of cold logic decided there was nothing to do but salvage the one reliable member of the trio and get the Erlkonig under way before there could be any question of suspicion falling on the boat or its crew.

So here we were, stranded, hundreds of miles short of our objective.

The rain stopped as abruptly as it had started, and gave way to hot sunlight in which our wet clothes steamed as we walked. We were drenched again less than an hour later-this time there was no shelter at all and the torrential downpour soaked us to our skins-and the day proved to be one of sunburst and cloudburst. Most of the time we were sodden and miserable; all the time we were conscious of the mess we-and I in particular-had made of things.

We were also hungry. I had eaten nothing since the previous midday, and as soon as the immediate excitement of escape and flight had died down, I was aware of ravenous hunger. We had what was left of the money we had got from Moritz, but there was nowhere to spend it out in the open country, and we had not fancied waiting in the town until the shops opened. The land through which we were travelling was either waste or pasture, with groups of black and white cows chewing their cuds. I proposed milking one, and with Beanpole's assistance cornered her in an angle of a field. But it was a fiasco. I got out no more than a few drops. She objected strongly to my rough and inexperienced handling and forced her way clear. It did not seem worthwhile trying again.

Several hours after we started, we came on a turnip field. There was a cottage within sight of it, but we risked taking some. They were small and bitter, but it was something to chew on. The rain came down again as we continued, and this time lasted without ceasing for an hour or more.

We found a patch of ruins in which to spend the night. We had discovered no other source of food, and chewed grass and the green shoots of the hedgerow in an attempt to stay our hunger. It was ineffective, and gave us stomach pains. Also, of course, our clothes were wet. We tried to sleep but with poor success. We were awake as night greyed into morning, and set off, tired and wretched, on our way.

It did not actually rain, but the day was cloudy and chilling. The river rolled beside us, broad and turbulent, and we watched a barge go downstream and thought we detected, in its wake, the fragrance of bacon frying on the galley stove. Not far on, we found a cluster of houses, a farming hamlet. Beanpole had the idea of presenting himself as a Vagrant, hoping to be given food. I offered to do it instead, but he said it was his idea, and I must keep out of sight: Vagrants never travelled in company. So I hid in a hedge, and watched.

In my village at home there had been the Vagrant House, provided for the use of these poor wandering madmen. There they were given food and drink, and there were servants to clean and cook. Beanpole had told me that in his' country nothing of this sort was provided. Vagrants slept rough and where they could-in barns if they were lucky, or in ruins. They begged their food from door to door, and it was given them with varying generosity.

We had assumed that something of the sort might apply here. There were half a dozen houses, and I saw Beanpole go up to the first of them and knock at the door. It did not open; later he told me that a voice from inside shouted at him to go away, adding curses. At the second door there was no response at all. At the third, a window opened and a bucket of dirty water was thrown over him, to the accompaniment of laughter. As he went away, wetter than before, the door opened. He half turned, prepared to put up with insults if there was a chance of food, and then fled. They had loosed a savage looking brindle dog on him. It chased him halfway to where I was lying and then stood barking its hostility after him.

Half a mile farther on we found and raided a potato field. They were small, and would have been more palatable cooked. But we had no prospect of making a fire in this cold, gray sullen land. We slogged on and, as darkness fell, saw ahead of us downriver a barge moored by the bank. I think the same thought struck us both: that it might be the Erlkonig, that for some reason Ulf might have been held up and that we might rejoin them. It was an absurd hope, but it was bitter, all the same, to have it dashed. The barge was bigger than the Erlkonig, and was making upstream, not down. We went away from the river to circle past it.

Later we came back to the river bank, to sit shivering in a broken-down hut. An unhappy silence had fallen. I wondered if Beanpole was thinking that he might but for me have been safe and warm and well-fed on the barge. I thought about that myself, though it did no good.

Then he said, "Will."

"Yes."

"Where the barge was moored, there was a wharf, and a couple of houses. That would be one of the stages."

"I suppose so."

"The first we have passed since the town." I thought about that. "Yes. Yes, it is."

"Ulf was reckoning to cover two stages a day, taking things easily. So in two days . . ."

In two days we had covered a distance the barge would have sailed in a morning, though we had walked from first light till it was too dark to see where we were going. It was reasonable enough, but discouraging. I made no comment.

Beanpole went on, "It was planned that we should get there three days before the opening of the Games. It was to take five days. At this rate, we shall take twenty. The Games will be over before we arrive."

"Yes." I tried to rouse myself from torpor. "Do you think we ought to go back instead?"

"To the tunnel? I don't like to think what we should say to Julius in that case."

Nor did I, but I did not see what else we could do.

Beanpole said, "We must get on faster. There is the river."

"We dare not approach one of the other barges. You know what was said about that. They're suspicious of strangers and never allow them on board."

"If we had a boat of our own . . ."

"It would be a fine thing," I said, with a touch, I fear, of sarcasm. "Or if we found a Shmand-Fair travelling along the river bank and could climb aboard it."

Beanpole said patiently, "A boat-or a raft? The side of this hut, maybe? It is falling apart, as it is. If we could detach it, and get it into the water . . , the current would carry us twice as fast as we could walk at least, and much more directly."

I took his point, and felt a sudden unexpected lift of hope, which for a moment allowed me to forget my cold shivering limbs and groaning empty stomach. It just might be possible. Long ago as a boy I had helped to make a raft under the supervision of my cousin Jack, and we had floated it on a nearby duck pond. It had collapsed and precipitated us into pea-soup water and stinking mud. But we had been children then. This was a different proposition.

I said, "Do you think we can . . . ?"

"In the morning," Beanpole said. "We will try in the morning."

The day, as though to encourage us, started bright. We tackled the job at first light. It was encouragingly easy, and then discouragingly difficult. The wall Beanpole had spoken of was about six feet square, and already largely split away from the roof. We completed the separation and freed the sides. After that it was simple enough to press it outward and down. It collapsed with a satisfying clatter-and in several sections, as the individual planks fell apart.

The thing to do, Beanpole said, was to secure them with cross pieces. Planks taken from the other walls would do. As for the means of securing them, we would have to take nails out and drive them in again where needed. He spoke with a fine practical-sounding confidence.

The trouble was that most of the existing nails were both twisted and rusted, in some cases to the point where they broke under simple finger pressure. We had to hunt for reasonably sound ones, to lever them out carefully, avoiding any further distortion, and then straighten them and drive them through the crossed planks. We had nothing like a hammer, of course. We had to use chunks of stone with fairly flat surfaces. Beanpole found quite a good one and surrendered it to me because, as he said, I could use it better. This was true. I have always been fairly skilled with my hands-more so, I am afraid, than with my head.

It was hard work and took time. We were sweating by the time we finished, and the sun stood clear above the hills. That left us with the task of getting our raft into the water, and this was not easy, either. The but was some fifty feet from the river bank, and the ground between was uneven and marshy. The raft was much too heavy to lift so we had to drag and pull and manoeuvre it, a little at a time and resting between efforts. Once, when it got entangled in some viciously prickly thorn bushes, I almost felt like giving up, and kicked the planks in angry despair. It was Beanpole who tugged it free. Not long after that we got it to the bank, and only had to force it down a short slope to the dark rushing waters of the great river. And it was here that, again through Beanpole, we had a stroke of luck: he found the rough nest of a water bird, with four large speckled eggs in it. We ate them raw, licking the inside of the shell with our tongues, and threw ourselves into the final struggle. Beanpole plunged into the river and dragged; I thrust from the other side. The raft creaked ominously, and I saw a nail spring, but she went in and floated. We clambered aboard and pushed off from the bank.

It was not exactly a triumphant voyage. A current took us out and propelled us, spinning around in sluggish circles, downstream. She floated, but only just. Under our combined weight all but one corner was under water. Through some freak of balance this rode some inches above the level of the river. We took it in turns for one to crouch there while the other sat or sprawled in the slopping wet. The water was cold, too, as well it might be at this time of the year in a river whose early course was fed by the melting snows of the southern mountains.

But at least we were getting on faster than we had done by land. The bank flowed past us at a steady rate. And the weather was holding fine. The sun blazed hot in a sky whose blue was reflected, more deeply, in the smooth thoroughfare along which we travelled. Beanpole called to me and pointed. To the west there was a Tripod, giant-striding through the fields. I felt a kind of satisfaction at the sight. Ridiculously puny by comparison though we were, it was something that we were still in the fight.

The next time I saw a Tripod I was a good deal less happy about it.

An hour after we set out we passed a barge. It was heading upstream, and the encounter was therefore a brief one. A man on deck stared at us curiously, and threw out some comment or question that we did not grasp. We must have presented an odd sight, floating along on this waterlogged contraption.

Hunger had been scarcely abated by the four raw eggs and became more and more insistent. We saw fields that looked as though they held crops that might be worth raiding, but here a particular deficiency of our ramshackle craft was brought home to us-our inability to steer it. We had a couple of plank splinters, but they were only of value in pushing the raft off obstacles, and not much then. I realized that we must go where the river took us, and that, apart from the chance of running aground, we could only make a landfall by abandoning the raft and swimming for it. We were well out now, and the current was strong; it would have taken quite a swim to make shore. Meanwhile, the fields slid by and gave way, after a time, to terraces planted with the regular ranks of vines. There was no provender there. The tiny grapes would be barely set at this early season.

A large fish, possibly a salmon, leaped tantalizingly near us. We had no means of cooking it, but if we had been able to catch it we would have had a shot at eating it raw. Visions of food passed before me, as I clung to the rough wood. Beef roasting on a spit . . . tender leg of lamb, with the sauce my mother made from garden mint . . . or just bread and cheese, bread crusty outside and soft within, cheese yellow and crumbling to the touch. I tasted my own spit, salt and unsatisfying.

The hours passed. The sun arched high behind us and then curved down to the west. I was both hot and cold. I tried drinking great quantities of water, scooping it up in my hands, to fill the aching void in my belly, but it only made me feel bloated without being any less hungry. In the end I told Beanpole that we must get food somehow. We had passed two villages, one on either bank of the river. There would be food there, something edible at least-in the gardens if we could not manage anything better. If we worked hard to paddle ourselves in toward shore with the bits of wood we had . . . and then did our best to beach the raft at the next sign of human habitation . . .

He said, "It would be better if we could hold out till evening. There will be more opportunity to forage."

"We may not see a village then."

We argued, and at last, reluctantly, he agreed. We had moved, by degrees, nearer the west bank, and we tried paddling toward that. The result was ludicrous. The raft spun round, but our position relative to the shore did not alter. We abandoned the attempt, realizing we were getting nowhere.

Beanpole said, "It's no good."

I said, "Then we'll have to swim for it."

"That means abandoning the raft."

Of course it did! I was angry. "We can't go on without food! It was a mad idea to do this, anyway, without any means of controlling it."

Beanpole was silent. Still irritated, I said, "And what about tonight? We can't sleep here. If we tried to, we would roll off and drown. We shall have to abandon it before dark, anyway."

"Yes," he said, "I agree. But let us wait longer. There are no houses now."

That was true. The river rolled between green banks equally free of any signs of life. I said sullenly, "I suppose so. Isn't it time we changed over again?"

Later there was a deserted jumble of ruins, and north of that we met another barge. There was a temptation to shout to them to pick us up. I resisted it, but with difficulty. We had passed a staging post soon after noon. It had been empty, the small wharf white and silent in the harsh sunlight. The second post had two barges tied up, and a mile farther on a third barge was nosing its way up. I had not said anything else about leaving the raft and swimming for shore. Beanpole knew as well as I that this was what we would have to do. I took a small perverse satisfaction in leaving it to him now to initiate things.

As the day waned we saw ruins again, but still nothing of habitation. The river was wider, and we had eddied out into the centre of it. The swim would not be easy under any circumstances, still less to two people who were hungry and exhausted, cold and wet. The resentment I felt against Beanpole faded in the prospect of what lay ahead.

Quite suddenly, though, everything changed. It came from the north, striding along the west bank. It was going to pass no more than a hundred yards from us, closer to us than any Tripod had been on this trip. There was no satisfaction this time, but a great relief when it had gone past. Until I saw it swing around and turn toward us, and heard the ululation that I had twice heard before and had cause to dread. Water fountained up as the great metal feet splashed into the river. There could no longer be any doubt that we were a target. Had they captured the Erlkonig, I wondered? Were they somehow, fantastically, informed of our objective, and looking for us? I stared at Beanpole, and he stared back. I said, "Better dive for it."

It was already too late. At that instant the metal tentacle snaked down from the hemisphere. It crashed between us, splintering the frail planks. The next moment we were struggling in the water.

4

The Hermit of the Island

I had been expecting to be snatched up by the tentacle. The Tripod's action of smashing the raft, instead, astonished as well as alarmed me. I went deep under and took a mouthful of river water before I fully realized what was happening. When I surfaced I first looked up and saw that the Tripod, silent again, was rocking away on its previous course to the south. It seemed that what it had done had been aimless, on a par with the waltzing around the Orion when we were crossing the Channel from England. Like a vicious boy it had noticed something, swotted it out of pointless malice, and gone its way.

But survival was a more pressing concern than speculation on the motives of the Tripods. The raft had disintegrated into its component planks, one of which bobbed in the water near me. A couple of strokes took me to it, and I hung on and looked for Beanpole. I could see nothing but the river, greying with the approach of evening, and wondered if the tip of the tentacle might have struck him as it came down. Then I heard his voice and, turning my head to look back, saw him swimming in my direction. He took the other end of the plank and we trod water, gasping.

I said, "Shall we strike out for the shore?"

He had a fit of coughing, then said, "Not yet, I think. Look ahead. The river bends. If we hang on we may be taken nearer in."

The plank was a support that, in any case, I was not eager to relinquish. The current seemed faster, and certainly more turbulent. There were hills on either side, the river forcing itself between them. We were coming to the angle where it turned, fairly sharply, to the west. As we did so I saw the green bank on our right divide, showing more water.

"The river . . ." I said. "It must fork there."

"Yes," Beanpole said. "Will, I think we must swim for it now."

I had learned to swim in the rivers around my village of Wherton, and once or twice, illicitly, in the lake up at the estate. It was better than nothing, but Beanpole had grown up in a seaside town. He pulled away from me with powerful strokes, realized I was falling behind, and called out, "Are you all right?"

I called back doggedly, "All right," and concentrated on swimming. The current was very strong. The shore at which I was aiming slid past and behind. Only gradually did I make an impression on the distance. Then I saw something that dismayed me. Ahead the shore became a spit, with a wider reach of water beyond it. This was not a place where the river forked, but an island. If I missed it, there was the wider passage ahead. Already tired, I would find myself in midstream with a much longer haul to come. I altered course and swam almost directly against the current. I heard Beanpole call again, but could not spare the energy to look for him or to reply. I struggled on, my arms becoming more and more leaden, the water colder and fiercer and more implacable. I no longer looked where I was heading, concerned only with forcing my arms into and out of the water. Then something hit my head and I went under, dazed. I remembered nothing after that until I was aware of someone dragging me, and of firm ground under my feet.

It was Beanpole who pulled me up onto a grassy bank. When I had recovered enough to take in my surroundings, I saw by how small a margin we had made it. We were within a few yards of the northernmost limit of the island. It lay in the centre of the river's bend, and just ahead the river broadened considerably. My head was hurting, and I put my hand up to my forehead.

"A plank hit you," Beanpole said. "From the raft, I think. How do you feel, Will?"

"A bit dizzy," I said. Something else returned. "And hungry. Across there-isn't it . . . ?"

"Yes," he said, "a village."

Despite the deepening dusk, it was possible to see houses on the east bank. Some had lights in their windows. By this time I would have been prepared to take a chance on having dirty water thrown over me or being chased by large dogs-even on being questioned as to what I was doing here-but not on trusting myself to the river again. I could think more clearly, but physically I was as weak as though I had spent a month in bed.

"We will get across there in the morning," Beanpole said.

"Yes," I nodded wearily, "in the morning."

"The trees are thicker farther back. More shelter, if it rains."

I nodded again, and moved my leaden legs forward for a few steps only, and then stopped. Someone was standing by the edge of the trees, watching us. When he realized we had seen him, he came toward us. In the dim light I could see that he was a man in his middle years, tall and lean, dressed in rough-looking dark trousers and shirt, his hair long and his face bearded. I saw something else, too. Although his hair hung down behind his neck, it receded at the forehead. It was dark hair, beginning to turn gray. And where the silver band of the Cap should have been there was only flesh, toughened and browned by long years of exposure.

He spoke in German, in a harsh dialect. He had been looking out and had seen us struggling in the water, and had watched Beanpole haul me in to shore. His manner was odd, I thought part grudging and part welcoming. I had the feeling that he would have been quite happy to see us drift on past, and would not have spared more than a moment's thought for our chances of escaping drowning. But now that we were here...

He said, "You'll want to dry yourselves out. You'd better come with me."

All sorts of questions were in my mind, apart from the really crucial one of why he was not one of the Capped. But it seemed best to do as he said and let enlightenment wait. I looked at Beanpole and he nodded. The man led the way to what I saw was a well-trodden path. It wound between the trees for several minutes before coming out into a clearing. In front of us there was a wooden hut, with an oil lamp burning in the window and smoke blowing from its chimney. He unlatched the door and went inside, we following.

A log fire was burning in a stone fireplace. There was a large woollen rug in front of it-red with weirdly shaped black and yellow animals-and sitting on the rug were three cats. Two of them were tabbies, marked with white patches, the third an oddly patterned black and white with a white face and a funny black moustache under the nose. The man moved them with his foot, not roughly, but merely forcing them to yield their place. He went to a cupboard and produced two lengths of coarse towelling.

"Get your wet things off," he said. "Warm yourselves in front of the fire. I've got a couple of shirts and trousers you can put on while your own are drying." He stared at us fiercely. "Are you hungry?"

We looked at each other. Beanpole said, "Very hungry, sir. If you . . ."

"Don't call me sir. I'm Hans. Bread and cold ham. I don't usually cook at night."

"Just bread will do," I said.

"Aye," he said. "You look starved. Get yourselves dry, then."

The trousers and shirt were too big, of course, particularly in my case. I had to roll the bottoms up and he gave me a belt to put round the middle. I was lost inside the shirt. While we were changing, he had been putting things on a scrubbed wooden table under the window: a couple of knives, plates, a dish of yellow butter, a large flat loaf of brown bread, and a ham, partly cut, that showed firm pink meat surrounded by clear white fat, baked brown on the outside. I sliced into it, while Beanpole cut bread. I saw Hans watching me, and was a little ashamed of the thickness of the slices I was cutting. But he nodded, approvingly. He brought over a couple of mugs, plonked them by our plates, and returned with a big earthenware jar from which he poured us dark draughts of beer. We set to. I warned myself to eat slowly, but to no avail. The ham was sweet and good, the bread nutty and coarse-textured, the butter of a finer quality than I had tasted since leaving home. The beer with which I washed it down was strong and sweet. My jaws ached with chewing, but my belly still clamoured for nourishment.

Hans said, "You were hungry, all right." I looked guiltily at my plate. "Never mind. Eat on. I like to see someone enjoying his victuals."

I ground to a halt at last; Beanpole had finished much earlier. I was feeling full, in fact overfull, and happy. The room was snug, with the glow of lamplight and the flicker of firelight and the three cats, back in their original positions, purring away in the hearth. I presumed that now we would be asked questions: where we had come from, the reason for our being in the river. But this did not happen. Our host sat in a wooden rocking chair that looked as though he might have made it himself, and smoked a pipe. He did not seem to find silence awkward or constraining. In the end, it was Beanpole who said, "Could you tell us how it is that you are not Capped?"

Hans took his pipe from his mouth. "I've never bothered."

"Not bothered!"

It came out slowly, through prodding from both of us. His father had brought him to this island as a young boy after his mother died. The pair of them had lived together here, growing their own vegetables, keeping chickens and a few pigs, making things to sell in the village across the river. Then his father had died, in turn, and he had stayed on. No one from the village troubled about him; he was not counted as part of their life. This happened in the spring of the year in which he would have been Capped, and during that summer he had not moved from the island, concerned only with doing on his own all the things in which previously he had assisted his father. (He had buried his father, he told us, not far from the hut, and over slow months that winter carved a stone with his name to put over his grave. ) Since then he had gone across to the village perhaps twice a year. He had a boat in which he rowed there and back.

At first I was incredulous, thinking of the trouble we who had fled to the White Mountains had taken to avoid being Capped, while this man had just stayed where he was, not worrying. Surely there could not be flaws like this in the Tripods' mastery of the earth? But the more I thought about it, the less surprising it seemed. He was one man, living like a hermit. The domination of the Tripods depended on the serfdom of men as such, and to that end it was enough that Capping should be accepted as a natural and inevitable thing where a handful of men, two or three even, were gathered together. One man did not matter, as long as he stayed quiet and caused no trouble. And the moment he did cause trouble, of course, he would be dealt with, either by the Tripods or their human servants. There would be no difficulty in that.

Beanpole, once he had established all this, quizzed him about the Tripods. Did he see much of them? What did he feel about them? I saw where the line of questioning was heading, and was content to leave it to him. He did not seem surprised at or suspicious of the conversation, and this in itself showed how small his contact with the wider world must have been. Local customs varied in different countries, but in every one the subject of Tripods and Caps was covered by a taboo. No one, Capped as we appeared to be, would have spoken like this.

But if unsuspicious, he was also indifferent. He saw the Tripods from time to time, yes. He believed they damaged crops on the mainland; it was hard to see how they could avoid it, great massive things that they were. But none of them, he was glad to say, had ever planted its heavy foot on this island. As for Caps, well, people wore them, and they didn't seem to do a lot of harm and didn't seem to do any particular good. He believed it was something to do with the Tripods, since the boys who went for Capping were taken up by the Tripods. Did they prevent people wanting to fight against the Tripods, Beanpole asked daringly.

Hans looked at him over his pipe. He said shrewdly, "Well, you'd know more about that than I do, would you not? But it wouldn't make a lot of sense wanting to fight against the Tripods, would it? You would have to be pretty strong in the arm to throw a stone high enough to hit that part at the top, and what good would it do you if you did? For that matter, what's the point in it? It's not as though they do any harm. A bit of damage now and then to crops and cattle-to men, maybe, if they don't get out of the way fast enough. But lightning can kill you with even less chance of dodging, and hailstones can ruin crops."

Beanpole said, "We were on a raft farther up the river. The raft was smashed by a Tripod. That's how we came to be washed up here."

Hans nodded. "Bad luck comes to everyone. Some sickness got among my hens two years back. Wiped out all but three of them."

"We're very grateful to you," Beanpole said, "for giving us food and shelter."

Hans stared from his face to the fire, and back. "As to that, I get along without seeing people well enough, but now you're here. . . . There's some wood that needs cutting, up at the top end. I've had rheumatics in my shoulder, and it's not got done. You can get on with that tomorrow, and it will pay for the food you eat, and your lodging. Later, maybe, I'll row you across to the village."

Beanpole started to say something then stopped and merely nodded. There was silence again, Hans staring into the fire. I said, part exasperated, part in hope, "But if you found people who were fighting against the Tripods wouldn't you help them? After all, you are a free man."

He looked at me for replying. "That's strange have a lot to do with strange talk to me. You parts, lad."

It was part accusation, part question. I said, "But if there were men who were not slaves of the Tripods, surely you would want to do what you could . . ."

I found my voice trailing off under the steady regard of the bearded man.

"Strange talk," he repeated. "I mind my own business. I always have, and I always will. Are you one of those they call Vagrants, maybe? But they travel around by themselves, not in couples. I don't have trouble with anyone, because I keep out of it. You seem to want to start trouble. If that's the way you think . . ."

Beanpole cut in on him. He said, with a quick look of warning at me beforehand, "You mustn't pay any attention to him, Hans. He's feeling queer. When he was in the water he was hit on the head by one of the planks from the raft. You can see the bruise on his forehead."

Hans got up from his feet, and came toward me. He peered at my head for a long time. Then he said. "Aye. He's maybe addled his wits a bit. It won't hinder him from swinging an axe in the morning. But you'll both benefit from a good night's sleep. I rise early, so I don't stay up late."

He brought blankets from the hut's other room, in which he slept. Then, with a gruff goodnight, he left us, taking the lamp with him. Beanpole and I settled ourselves down on the floor, on either side of the fire. I was feeling vaguely uncomfortable from the supper, which, following the previous two days privation, was not proving easy to digest. I expected to have a restless night. But tiredness was stronger than queasiness. I looked at the glow of the fire and the three cats still sentinel in front of it. My next sight was of sunlight on cold ashes, the cats gone, and Hans, whose heavy tread had wakened me, calling to us to get up.

The breakfast he prepared for us was enormous. Great slices of grilled gammon with as many eggs as we wanted ( I ate three ), and hot, golden-brown potato cakes. With it we drank more of the beer he had given us the previous night.

"Eat well," Hans said. "The more you eat, the better you'll work."

He took us with him to the north of the island. There was a field of about an acre, under potatoes, arid he explained that he wanted to extend it by cutting down and rooting out the trees in the adjoining copse. He had started this task, but the rheumatism in his shoulder had first hindered and then entirely prevented him. He provided us with an axe, spade, and mattock, watched us while we set to, and left us.

It was hard work. The sap was rising in the trees and the roots of those already cut down were tangled and hard to dig out. Beanpole suggested that, if we worked hard, he might regard a morning's work as sufficient return for hospitality and take us across the river in the afternoon. But although we sweated at the job, the going proved slow. When Hans came for us, toward midday, he looked critically at our results.

"I thought you would have done better than that. Still, you've made a start. You'd better come now for your dinner."

He had roasted a couple of chickens, and he served these with a heap of buttered potatoes and a sour-tasting cabbage. He gave us wine with it because drinking beer in the middle of the day, he said, was likely to make us sluggish. Afterward there were sweet blueberries doused with cream. Then he said, "You can rest now for half an hour, and digest your food, while I get things cleared up. Then you get back to the field. Leave that big oak till tomorrow. I want to make sure she falls the right way."

He left us lying in the sun. I said to Beanpole, "Tomorrow? So much for him offering to take us across the river this afternoon."

Beanpole said slowly, "Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. He is determined to keep us here until the wood is cleared."

"But that would take a week, at least, probably two!"

Beanpole said, "Yes. And we have little time if we are to compete in the Games."

"We shall not manage that, anyway, on foot. We should have to find the material for another raft, and build it. And even then I doubt if we could do it. We need a boat."

I stopped as an idea struck me, surprised that it had not occurred to me before. We had seen Hans's boat on our way up to the field. It was tied in a small inlet on the east of the island, a sturdy-looking six-footer, with a pair of oars.

Beanpole, from the look he gave me, thinking along the same lines.

I said, "If we managed to slip away this evening . . . I suppose it would be a pretty rotten trick, but . . ."

"The boat must mean a great deal to him," Beanpole said. "He depends on it to get to and from the village. I think probably he built it himself, or his father did, and it would take him a long time to build another, particularly with the pain in his shoulder. But we know from what he said last night that he would never help us, although he is not Capped. He would keep us here, working for him, even if he knew what our mission was. I think getting into the City is more important, Will, than this lonely old man and his boat."

"So, this evening . . ."

"This evening loses us half a day, and there may not be another time when we know ourselves to be unwatched." He rose to his feet. "I think now is better."

We walked in as innocent a manner as possible toward the shelter of the trees. As we approached them, I glanced back and saw the open door of the hut, but no sign of Hans. We went more quickly after that, running in the direction of the inlet and the boat. It rocked as Beanpole climbed aboard and unshipped the oars, while I saw to the rope that tied it to the branch of a tree. It was tied in a complicated knot, over which I struggled with, at first, little effect.

Beanpole said, "Hurry, Will."

"If I had a knife . . ."

"I think I hear someone."

I heard it, too-running feet and now a voice, calling harshly. I wrenched desperately at the knot, and it came free. Then I scrambled into the boat, which tilted dangerously under us. As Beanpole pushed off from the bank, the figure of Hans burst through from the trees, shouting curses. We were ten feet clear by the time he reached the water's edge. He did not stop but plunged in after us. The fast-flowing water came up to his knees, then his thighs, but he waded on, still cursing. Where it reached his waist, he succeeded in grasping at the blade of one of the oars, but Beanpole pulled it from him. The current took us, and we moved out toward midstream.

Hans fell silent then, and his expression changed. I had borne his earlier raving and anger easily enough, but this was different. I still feel sick when I remember the terrible despair in his face.

We went downriver swiftly enough after that. We took turns at the oars, started early, and rowed until late each day. Food was a problem, but we managed, although after the first day we were hungry all the time. We passed barges, travelling upstream and down, and kept clear of them, which was increasingly easy as the great river broadened on its course to the sea. The river itself was a source of great interest, rolling through varied scenery, woods, pasture, vineyards, and wheatfields, and the silent, sombre heaps, mounded up on either side, of the ruined cities of the ancients. We saw Tripods many times, and once heard the wild warbling of their hunting call, but that was far in the distance. None approached us closely. There were rivers that ran in to join the mother river, castles of great antiquity lifted high on spurs of cliff, and in one place a huge tawny mass of tree-decked rock, taller than a Tripod, set in midstream.

Finally we came to where the Games were held. There were many barges tied up there, the Erlkonig among them.

5

The Games

It was a land of flower-starred meadows, heavy, rich-yielding earth, small prosperous villages, and windmills everywhere, their sails turning slowly in warm gusts of wind. The season was perhaps not so far advanced as in the south, but the weather seemed to have set in fair. This was true Games weather, people said, though I thought the fact that so many of them remarked on it might indicate that true Games weather was more a rarity than a reasonable expectation.

The town lay west of the river, behind meadows that, as we made our way through them, were hot and slumberous in the afternoon sun. Many people were travelling that way, not only competitors but spectators to see the Games. The town and nearby villages seemed to bulge with them, and thousands more set up tents in the fields. There was an air of festival much eating and drinking of beer and last year's wine, everyone, it seemed, happy, and dressed in their best. We had got there the day before the opening. That night we had to sleep where best we could-in the open, as it proved, under willow trees beside a rushing stream-but tomorrow, providing we passed the early trials and were accepted, we would be competitors and be housed in the long, low wooden huts built near the Field.

To reach that place one passed through the town, with its great twin-towered church and its newly painted houses, and skirted the hill that looked down on it. ( Wandering there once, we found a vast semicircular pit, descending in levels faced with stone to a central stone platform. We could not guess its purpose, but the stones were cracked and worn and distorted by what must have been not years but centuries. And all those centuries, I thought, before the coming of the Tripods-generation on generation. ) Beyond was a village and nearby, the Field. It was huge, and the local people told a story of it. In the days of the ancients, they said, there had been many great battles, in which though it was scarcely to be believed-men had slaughtered each other because of their wickedness. This was the field of the last, most immense and savage battle of all, though where some said it had happened, others believed it was still to take place. Hearing this, I hoped it was an omen for our success. One battle needed to be fought, and we, here, were the outriders of our army.

We had seen Moritz at the barge, but not Ulf, who was off drinking. Moritz was pleased to see us, but urged us not to stay because Ulf's anger was still strong and not likely to be much appeased by our having got here in time after all. Fritz, he told us, had gone up to the Field that morning.

There were flags and banners in all the towns and villages, and they surrounded the Field like the fluttering petals of a thousand huge and gaudy flowers. Behind and above were the tiers of wood on which people sat and watched, with peddlers moving among them selling trinkets and ribbons, sweetmeats, wine, and hot sausages. Projecting from one side was the judges pavilion, with a dais in front to which the winners would come to claim their champions belts. To which, we fervently hope, we would go.

On the first day, as I have said, those who were obviously unsuitable were weeded out. We had not felt any doubt that we should qualify, and we did so easily. I was set to box with a boy of roughly my own age and weight, and in less than a minute the judge broke off the bout and sent me to be weighed and entered. I met Fritz again in the tent, which had been set aside for these procedures. He showed neither surprise at my appearance nor curiosity as to how I had got here. I told him Beanpole was here, too, and he nodded. Three chances were better than one. I had the notion, though, that all along he had believed that it was he who would succeed in getting into the City-that we were not to be relied on. I almost hoped that he would lose in his first race, but checked myself in my stupid resentment. What mattered was that one of us should succeed, and as he said, better three than one.

Later I found Beanpole again. He, also, had qualified without difficulty, clearing the required distance in both jumps by an easy margin. We went together to the dining tent for our midday meal; we were given our food, as well as a bed. I asked him how he felt about his chances now that the challenge was on us. He said seriously,

"All right, I think. I did not have to try hard. And you, Will?"

"The one I beat has qualified, too. I saw him in the hut"

"That sounds good. Do you think we ought to look for Fritz?"

"There'll be time, later. Let's eat first."

Next morning was the opening ceremony. People came in procession from the town, carrying the banners of the Games, and the Games Captain, an old white-haired man who was the leader of the officials, made a speech of welcome to the contestants assembled on the Field, full of phrases about sportsmanship and honour. I might have been impressed if it were not for those others who were also present. During the tournament at the Chateau de la Tour Rouge, one Tripod had stood above the castle, in silent scrutiny of events. Here there were six. They had marched in early in the morning and were already present, lined up round the Field, when we awoke. Words like sportsmanship and honour had a hollow sound when one remembered that the purpose of these sports was to provide slaves for these metal monsters. Slaves, or sacrifices. After all, though hundreds of men and women each year entered the City, none had yet been known to come out. Thinking of that, I shivered despite the warmth of the sun.

There was no boxing on that day, and I was able to watch the preliminaries in the other events. Fritz was entered for the hundred- and two-hundred-meters races. These were popular events: for the first there were to be twelve heats, ten entrants in each, with the first and second runners going through to three further races in which the first three qualified. Fritz came in second in the fourth heat. This could have been misleading, of course, but it looked to me as though he were straining hard. The first part of the long jump was held in the afternoon, and Beanpole won easily, half a meter ahead of his nearest rival.

My own first trial came the following morning. My opponent was a tall, skinny lad, who moved quickly but was almost entirely defensive. I chased him round the ring, missing occasionally but landing punches more often, and had no doubt about the result. Later in the day I fought again, and again won easily. Beanpole had been watching. Afterward I put on the track suit they had given me, and we went to watch the field events. The two-hundred-meters heats were being run. Beanpole strained his eyes toward the announcement board, but had to ask me which race had been reached. I told him seven.

"Then Fritz has already run," he said. "His heat was six. Are the results up?" .

"They're going up now."

The results board was to one side of the judges pavilion. It had an elaborate system of trapdoors and ladders and ledges behind it through which a troop of boys put up the numbers of the winners. The numbers of the two qualifiers in heat six appeared on the board while I watched.

Beanpole said, "Well?" I shook my head. "No."

Beanpole made no comment, nor did I. Fritz's elimination from one of his two events was our first defeat, forcing us to the realization that there might be others. It would be sickening if we were all forced back, defeated, from this first obstacle, but the possibility had to be reckoned with.

For me, personally, the possibility became very real the next time I fought. This opponent, like the first, was fast, but he was more skilled and much more aggressive. In the initial round he landed several good punches, and made me miss when I counterattacked, once leaving me tangled with the ropes. I had no doubt in my mind that I had lost the round, and was in a fair way to losing the contest. When we came out again I concentrated on getting in close and punching to the body. I did better, but I had a feeling I was still behind on points. I went into the last round in a desperate mood. I attacked in a fury that rattled my opponent. He opened up his guard and I caught him with a right to the side of the head, which floored him. He got up at once, but he was nervous after that and tried to keep his distance. He was also plainly tiring, probably from the body blows in the previous round.

I was confident, by the time the final bell went, that I had made up lost ground, but I could not be sure how much. I saw the three judges conferring together. They were taking longer than usual about it, and my uncertainty and apprehension curdled into physical sickness. I was trembling when we went back to the centre of the ring, and could scarcely believe it when the referee lifted my arm in the sign of victory.

Fritz and Beanpole had both been watching. Beanpole said, "I thought you were going to lose that one."

I was still feeling shaky, but with relief now. I said, "So did I."

"You left it late," Fritz said.

"Not as late as you did in the two-hundred meters."

It was a cheap and silly riposte, but Fritz did not rise to it. He said simply, "That is true. So I must concentrate on the other race."

His imperturbability, I supposed, was a good quality, but I found it irritating.

Two things happened in the afternoon: Fritz qualified for the finals of the hundred-meters, and Beanpole was eliminated from the high jump. Fritz again came in second, but the winner was yards ahead of him at the tape, and I did not think much of his eventual chances. Beanpole was very depressed by his defeat. Up to the last raising he had been jumping well and confidently, and seemed certain of going through, but at that point his coordination failed him, and in his first jump he went off at half-cock and ludicrously hit the bar waist high. His second jump was a good deal better, but still an obvious failure. On the third, I thought he had cleared it but he must have just caught the bar with his foot.

"Bad luck," I said.

His face, as he pulled on the track suit, was white with anger against himself. "How could I jump so badly?" he said. "I've cleared a lot higher than that dozens of times. And now, when it matters . . . "

"There's still the long jump."

"I just couldn't get the lift . . ."

"Forget about it. There's no point in brooding."

"It's easy to say that."

"Remember what Fritz said.  Concentrate on the other one."

"Yes. I suppose it's good advice." He did not look convinced.

So we came to the day of the finals. In the evening there would be a procession to the town, where the Feast of the Games was held, with all the competitors honoured, especially the victors in their scarlet belts. And the morning after they would parade on the Field, on show for the last time before the Tripods picked them up to take them to their City.

It had been very hot during the night, and the sky was no longer blue but livid with clouds, which looked as though they might open at any moment to pour down torrential rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance. If it did rain, the events were to be postponed to the following day. I stared at the sky from the door of the hut, and prayed that it would hold off. I felt I was tensed to the limit already. I tried to force myself to eat some breakfast, but the food would not go down.

Beanpole's event was scheduled first, mine second, and Fritz's third. Concentrating on watching him jump was a torment, but at least took my mind off my own prospects. He jumped well, and it was clear that there were only two others who might possibly match him. They were before him in order, and on the first jump there was a matter of inches between their marks, with the rest out of the running. On the second jump their results were much the same, but this time Beanpole outdistanced them to take the lead. I saw him walk back from the pit, brushing sand from his leg, and thought: he has it now.

One of the others fell badly short on the final jump. But the second, a gangling, freckle-faced boy whose hair sprouted in bright ginger tufts through the silver mesh of the Cap, did much better, and his jump put him in the lead. The difference was nine centimetres-about four inches by our English measurement-which was not much in itself but terribly disheartening at this stage. I watched Beanpole tense himself, run down the grassy track, and hurl his body through the humid air. A cry went up. It was clearly the best jump of the day. But the cry turned to a groan of disappointment as the judges flag was lifted. The jump had been disqualified, and the ginger-headed boy had won. Beanpole went off by himself. I followed him, and said, "It couldn't be helped. You did your best."

He looked at me with a blank expression. "I stepped on the board. I haven't done that since the early days of training."

"You were putting too much effort into it. It could happen to anybody."

"Was I?"

"Of course you were."

Beanpole said, "I wanted to win. And also I was frightened about what came next. I thought I was trying."

"We could all see you were."

"In the high jump," he said, "I went to pieces at the crucial moment. And this time I got myself disqualified quite stupidly and unnecessarily. I thought I was trying, but was I?"

"What you're saying is stupid. You were just trying too hard."

The blankness had turned to misery. "Leave me alone, Will," he said. "I don't want to talk at the moment."

The boxing finals were early in the afternoon, and my section provided the second contest. The boy I was fighting was a north German, a fisherman's son. He was smaller even than I was, but compact and well muscled. I had seen him box and knew that he was good, a fast mover and a hard hitter.

For the first minute we circled each other warily. Then he came in at me with a quick left and right, which I parried. I counterattacked, forcing him to the ropes and getting in a right cross to the ribs, which made him grunt as breath was forced from his lungs. But he got away before I could do any further damage. We fought at a distance again, but in the last thirty seconds I carried the fight to him and scored a few times. It was my round, I thought.

I went out confidently for the second. He backed away, and I followed. He was almost on the ropes. I threw a left hook at his jaw. It did not miss by much, but it missed. The next thing I remember was lying on the canvas, with the referee standing over me, counting. ", , , Drei, vier, funf . . ."

It was an uppercut, Beanpole told me later, which did not travel far and caught me under the chin, lifting me and dumping me. All I knew then was that I was at the same time floating in a haze of pain and rooted to the hard boards beneath me. I supposed I ought to get up, but I did not see how I was going to set about it. Nor did there seem much urgency. There appeared to be long intervals between the words that were being chanted, at once close above me and from an echoing distance.

". . . Sechs, sieben . . ."

I had lost, of course, but I had done my best, at any rate. Like Beanpole. I saw his set, bitter face through the haze. "I thought I was trying, but was I?" And what about me? I had been hit because I had dropped my guard. Had something at the back of my mind wanted to do that? Was there even now the beginning of the feeling: you did your best and lost, so no one can blame you? You can go back to the White Mountains, instead of the City of the Tripods. And with it the beginning of a doubt that would not easily be dismissed.

"Acht!"

Somehow I got to my feet. I could not see straight, and I was staggering. The boy from the north came after me. I managed to dodge some blows and ride others, but I have little idea how. For the remainder of the round he chased me, and once caught me in a corner and gave me a hammering. I did not go down again, but I knew as I sat on my stool and the cool sponge was rubbed over my flesh that I was desperately far behind on points. I would have to knock him out to win.

He realized this, too. After his first probing had established that I was no longer dazed, he did not try to take the fight to me, but boxed me from a distance. I went after him, but he stood me off. I was gaining a few points, probably, but nothing like the number I had lost.

And the seconds were ticking away on the big wooden clock that stood on the judges table and was started at the beginning of each round and stopped three minutes later.

In the end I grew desperate. I abandoned my own defence, deliberately this time, and went in hitting as fast and as often as I could. Most of my blows failed to land, whereas he got in a couple to the body that rocked me. But I kept on, fighting not boxing, forcing in the hope that somehow something would give. And it did. He measured me for a punch that would have finished the job the uppercut had started, and missed. And I did not miss with my own hook to the jaw. His knees buckled and he went down, and I was sure he was not going to get up by a count of ten, for that matter, fifty. The only doubt I had was whether the bell would go before the count was completed. I had an idea we were in the final seconds. But my mind had been playing me tricks. I learned, to my astonishment, that less than a minute had elapsed of this last round.

Beanpole and I watched the final of the hundred-meters race in silence, each concealing his different feelings. But our silence was shattered when it became apparent that Fritz was keeping up with the runner who had outclassed him in the previous heat. We were both shouting as the two of them crossed the tape. Beanpole thought Fritz had won; I, that he had just lost. It was some time before the announcement came, and it proved us both wrong. There had been no clear winner. The race would be rerun, with these two competitors only.

And this time Fritz made no mistake. He went into the lead right away and held it to win, if not comfortably, very obviously. I cheered with the others, and fervently. I would far rather it had been Beanpole, but I was glad that, at any rate, I would have one ally when I went into the City.

That evening, during the Feast, the heavens opened, thunder rolled almost continuously, and through the high windows I saw lightning playing across the roofs of the town. We ate wonderful food in enormous quantities, and drank a wine that bubbled in the glass and tingled in one's throat. And I sat at the High Table, wearing my scarlet belt with the rest.

In the morning, as we paraded, a light drizzle was still falling. The Field itself was waterlogged, and our shoes were clogged with mud. I said good-by to Beanpole, and told him that I hoped I would meet him again, and soon, in the White Mountains.

But the hope was a faint and feeble one. The six Tripods stood fixed, as they had been throughout the Games, while the ceremony of farewell was carried out. I looked at the faces of my companions, all happy and exalted at the thought of serving the Tripods, and did my best to put the same expression on my own. My legs trembled. I made an effort and controlled them, but moments later they were trembling again.

There were more than thirty of us, in six groups. I saw the group with Fritz in it go first, marching to the Tripod immediately ahead. The tentacle snaked down as they came close to the great metal foot. It lifted them, in turn, to the hole that opened in the hemisphere, the hole into which, nearly a year before, I had thrown the exploding metal egg of the ancients. I had no defence now, and could have none. I watched the next group go, and the third and fourth, Then it was our turn, and, splashing through puddles, I walked woodenly forward with the rest.

6

The City of Gold and Lead

What chiefly worried me was that my true feelings would show when the tentacle gripped me-that I would not be able to avoid straining against it and marking myself out as different from the others. I even wondered if the tentacle could somehow read my thoughts. I remembered the feel of it-hard metal but weirdly resilient, pulsing with what seemed like life. When it was my turn to be lifted, I did my best to blank out what was happening. I thought instead of my home, of lazy afternoons wandering through the fields, of swimming in the river with my cousin Jack. Then the breath gasped from my body as I was plucked up and lifted through the rain-seeping air. Above me the door in the hemisphere was open-a mouth growing larger as I was brought toward it.

I was expecting the lapse into unconsciousness, which had occurred in my first encounter with a Tripod, outside the Chateau de la Tour Rouge, but it did not happen. Later I understood why. The Tripods had a means of doing this, but they used it only on the un-Capped, who might panic and struggle. There was no need for such restraint with those who had learned to worship them.

The tentacle put me inside and released me, and I could take in my surroundings. The hemispheres were some fifty feet across the base, but the part we were in was much smaller, an irregularly shaped cell about seven feet high. The outer wall with the door was curved and had portholes on either side, covered with what seemed to be very thick glass. The remaining walls were straight, but the side ones sloped inward, so that the interior wall was shorter than the external. There was another door there, I saw, but it was closed.

There were no furnishings of any kind. I ran my fingernails over the metal and found it hard but satiny in texture. There were six in my group, and I had been the fifth to be taken. The last one was brought in, and the door closed, a raised round flap coming down to make a tight seal. I looked at the faces of my companions. They showed some confusion, but excitement and exaltation as well, which I did my best to copy. No one spoke, which was a help. I would not have known what to say, or how to say it.

Silence for endless minutes, then, abruptly, the floor tilted. The embarkation must have been completed. Our journey to the City had begun.

The motion was extremely odd. The three legs of the Tripod were attached to a circumferential ring beneath the hemispheres. At their points of attachment and where the legs jointed were segments that could lengthen and shorten as the legs shifted relative to each other. There was also an arrangement of springs between the ring and the hemisphere that compensated for much of the jolting. What was left, after the tilt when the Tripod started to march, was a mild rocking movement. It was a little nauseating at first, but one rapidly grew accustomed to it.

The Tripods could travel as easily in one direction as another by reason of their three legged symmetry, but at present the section we were in represented the front. We crowded to the portholes, and looked out.

Ahead, a little to our right, was the hill with the ancient semicircle of stone steps; behind it, the town where, the night before, we had feasted. Beyond that again was the dark ribbon of the great river. We were going slightly north of east, heading toward it. The countryside beneath us was blurred and wet, but the rain had stopped and there was a patch of brightness in the cloud where the sun might be. Everything was small and far away. The fields and houses and cattle seen in the valley below from the tunnel had been tinier, but that panorama had been fixed, unchanging. Here, change was continual. It was like being in the belly of a huge low-flying bird, flapping its way across the landscape.

Remembering the Tripods whose feet had served as boats, I wondered if these might do so, too, on reaching the river, but they did not. The forward leg sent up a fount of spray as it broke the surface, and the others followed. The Tripod crossed the river bed as a horseman would have forded the stream below my father's mill at Wherton. On the other side, it changed direction, turning south. There was open country, and then desolation.

Beanpole and I had seen something of this brooding ruin of one of the great-cities on our way north. The river had flowed for miles between its black, unpromising shores. But from this high vantage point, one saw so much more. It stretched eastward from the river, a dark and ugly mass of destroyed buildings and broken roads. Trees had grown among them, but to a lesser extent than in the great-city we had crossed on our journey south to the White Mountains. This place seemed to be vaster, and uglier. I saw no remains of broad avenues and concourses, no sense, here, that our ancestors, before the Tripods came, had lived lives of order and beauty. But there was an awareness of might and power, and I wondered again how they could have been defeated-how we, a handful of shattered remnants, could hope to succeed where they had failed.

One of the others saw it first and cried out, and we jostled each other to look. It rose beyond the edge of the ruins, a ring of dull gold standing against the gray of the horizon, surmounted and roofed in by an enormous bubble of green tinged crystal. The Wall was more than three times as high as the Tripods, smooth and unbroken. The whole place, although resting solidly on the earth, seemed strangely unconnected with it. Some distance from the point for which we were making, a river bubbled up from under the shield of gold, and flowed away toward the mother river behind us. The eye, following its course, could almost imagine that the City was not there at all-that if one looked hard enough the illusion would vanish, and there would be just the river running through ordinary fields. But it did not vanish. The Wall rose higher as we approached, becoming more awful and forbidding.

The sky grew lighter. From one instant to the next, the sun broke through the mask of clouds. Sunlight glistened on the ramparts, reflected from the crystal roof. We saw a great band of gleaming gold, on which flashed a titanic emerald. And I saw a narrow slit of darkness, which widened. A door opened in the seamless Wall. The first of the Tripods marched through.

What happened as our Tripod entered the City was something for which I was completely unprepared. I felt as though I had been struck a savage blow, but a blow that contrived to hit me in every part of my body at the same time, a blow from the front, from behind, most of all from above, smashing me down. I staggered and fell, and saw my companions do the same. The floor of the compartment pulled us as though it were a magnet and we were flakes of iron. I struggled to rise, and I realized it was not a blow, but something different. All my limbs had turned to lead. It was an effort to raise my arm, even to twitch a finger. I strained, and stood up. I was carrying a tremendous burden on my back. Nor on my back alone-on every square inch of bone and muscle in my body.

The others followed suit. They looked puzzled and frightened, but they still did not look unhappy. After all, what the Tripods wished on them was good; it must be. There was dim green light. It was as though one were very far down in a thick forest or in a cave under the sea. I tried to make sense of it all, but could not. The weight on my body bowed my shoulders. I straightened myself up, but felt them sag again.

Time passed, and we waited. There was silence and heaviness and greenness. I tried to concentrate on what must be the most important thing-that we had achieved our first objective and were inside the Tripods City. One must have patience. It was not, as Julius had pointed out, my most outstanding quality, but I had to cultivate it now. Waiting would have been easier without the dimness and the crushing weight. It would have been a relief to say something, anything, but I dared not. I shifted my feet, seeking a stance of greater ease, but not finding one.

I had been looking at the door on the inner wall, but it was the other that opened, swinging back and up with a faint whirring noise. There was still nothing to be seen outside, just a high dim green. A tentacle came in, and lifted one of my companions out. I realized that it must be able to see, independently of the hemisphere. Might it still be that the Tripods themselves were alive-that we were the captives of living and intelligent machines? The tentacle returned. This time it took me.

It was like a hall, long and narrow but of enormous size, probably eighty feet high and two or three times that in length. I saw that it was a kind of stable for Tripods. Against one wall a long row of them stretched away into the green dusk, faintly illumined by hanging globes that gave a dim green light. Their hemispheres rested close against the wall, far above us. Those in which we had travelled were unloading their human cargo. I saw Fritz, but did not speak to him. We had agreed that no contact should be attempted until the first stage, whatever that proved to be, was safely over. One by one the others joined us. At last the tentacle hung limp and inactive. A voice spoke.

This, too, sounded as though it might have been the voice of a machine. It was deep and toneless, echoing and booming in the vast space.

The words were in the German language that we knew.

"Humans, you have the privilege, the high honour, to have been chosen as servants of the Masters. Go where the blue light shines. In the place to which it leads you, you will find fellow slaves who will instruct you in what you are to do. Follow the blue light."

It had come on while the voice was speaking, a light that glowed deep blue in the base of the wall by which the Tripods were standing. We walked toward it, or staggered, rather, against the drag of this leaden weight that pulled us down. And the air was hotter, I thought, than it had been inside the Tripod, and clammy, like the moment before summer thunder. The light was above an open door, which admitted us to a small room, much the same size as that in the Tripod, but a regular cube. The door closed when we were all in. There was a click and another whirr, and suddenly the weight was even greater, seeming to drag my stomach down with it in a swoop of nausea. This lasted several seconds, and was followed by a brief sensation of lightness. The whirring stopped, the door opened, and we walked out into another room.

This also was large, although modest in comparison with the Hall of the Tripods, but of more conventional proportions. There was the same green glow from lamps that studded the walls. ( Their light, I saw, did not flicker the way our lamps did.) I had a confused impression of rows of tables, or benches rather. And of half-naked, old men."

They were the ones who, the voice said, were to instruct us. They wore only shorts, reminding me of men who worked in the harvest fields, but there was no other resemblance. The green light tricked the eyes, but even so I could see that their skins were pallid and unhealthy. But were they as old as they seemed? They walked like old men and their skin fell into the folds of age, but in other ways . . . They came to us, one to each, and I followed my guide to one of the benches. A little pile of articles was laid out there.

Most of them were self-explanatory. There were two pairs of shorts, like the ones our instructors were wearing, two pairs of socks, two pairs of shoes. No, one pair of shoes and one of sandals, the latter, I was told, for indoor wear. But there was also a device that baffled me. He explained it in a tired voice, a south German accent.

"You must put this on before you go through the air lock, and wear it always while you breathe the Masters air. In the house of your own Master you will have a room, in which to eat and sleep, where you will not need it, but otherwise it must never be removed. The air of the Masters is too powerful for such as we. If you go into it without protection, you will die."

It was like glass in that one could. see through it, but was different to the touch. Even the thicker part, which fitted over the head and rested on the shoulders, would yield a little when one pressed it, and it tapered to a thin stuff that moulded itself to the body. There was a belt that went round the chest, high under the arms, and could be tightened to hold the helmet on firmly. On either side of the neck were pouches holding a dark green sponge-like material. These had a network of fine holes, on both outside and inside, admitting air. The sponges, it seemed, could filter out the part of the Masters air that was too strong for their slaves to breathe. My instructor pointed to it.

"This must be changed every day. Your Master will supply you with new ones."

"Who is my Master?" I asked.

It was a foolish question. He stared at me blankly. "Your Master will choose you."

I reminded myself that my policy must be to lie low and say nothing, observing not questioning. But there was one thing I could not avoid asking. "How long have you been in the City?"

"Two years."

"But you're not . . ."

The remnants of pride broke through the heavy dullness of his voice. He said, "I won the thousand-meters race at the Games, less than a month after I was Capped. No one had ever done that before in my province."

I stared at him, at the slumped tired body, the worn, sick-looking flesh, with horror. He was no more than two years older than I was, perhaps less.

"Change into these clothes." His voice was once more blank and expressionless. "Throw your old ones on that pile."

I took off my scarlet champion's belt. "What about this?"

"Put it with the rest," he said. "You do not need it in the City."

We dressed in our new clothes, putting the articles we did not require immediately into a small bag we were given, and fastened on our masks. Then we were marshalled and led away and through a door into another smaller room. The door closed behind us, and I saw there was an identical one on the opposite side. There was a hissing sound and I could feel a breeze over my feet. I realized that air was being drawn into a grille that ran along the base of the wall. But air was also coming in from another grille just above head level. I could feel it, and after a time I thought I could see it-thicker, greener in the green light. In some strange way the air was being changed in this room, the ordinary kind being replaced by that which the Masters breathed. It continued for several minutes. Then the hissing stopped, the door in front opened, and we were told to walk out.

It was the heat that struck me first. I had thought it was hot enough inside the Tripod and in the outer rooms of the City, but that was mild in comparison with the furnace blast that I now encountered. And yet not a furnace blast, because the air was damp as well as hot. Sweat started to pour out all over my body, but particularly on my head, encased in its hard, transparent cover. It trickled down my face and neck to the place, high on my chest, where the belt trapped it against my skin. I drew in gulping breaths of hot, stifling air. I felt weak, and the weight dragged me down. My knees started to buckle. One of my companions fell, and then a second and a third. Two of them struggled back to their feet in a moment or two; the third lay still. I thought of helping him, but remembered my resolution not to take a lead in anything. I was glad of the excuse to do nothing. Keeping myself from falling or fainting was difficult enough.

Gradually I became a little more accustomed to things, and could look at what lay in front of us. We had come out on a kind of ledge, and the main thoroughfares of the City lay below us. It was an eye-wrenching confusion. None of the roads was straight, and few of them were level; they dipped and rose and curved between the buildings, and were lost in the dim green distance. The City seemed even vaster inside than it had seemed from the porthole of the Tripod, but I had an idea that was because of the thicker, greener air. One could not really see very far with any clarity. The crystal dome that covered everything was invisible from here; the green dusk seemed to stretch endlessly.

The buildings astonished me, too. They were in different shapes and sizes but of one general form: the pyramid. Immediately below our ledge I saw a number of squat, broad-based pyramids; farther off there were thinner, more tapering constructions that rose to differing heights, the smallest seeming almost as high as the ledge, but others much taller. There were what looked like windows in them, triangular in shape, but dotted about the walls in no kind of pattern that I could understand. It made my eyes tired to look at them.

Strange carriages moved along the ramps. These, too, broadly speaking, were pyramids, but resting on one side rather than on the base. which in this case formed the rear. The top parts were of a transparent material like our helmets, and I could see figures in them, but only very indistinctly. Other figures moved on the spaces between the buildings and the ledges, which jutted from them at irregular intervals. They were of two kinds, one much smaller than the other. Although, at this distance, one could not make out particular features, it was obvious that one kind was the Masters, the other their human slaves, because the smaller creatures moved slowly, as though dragging heavy weights, while the larger ones moved lightly and quickly.

One of our instructors said, "Behold. These are the dwellings of the Masters."

His voice, though muffled, was reverential. ( Beneath the pouches with the sponges were small metal devices. These, I found, carried sounds through the mask. The sounds were distorted, but to this, as to other things, one grew accustomed in time. ) He raised a pointing hand in the direction of one of the nearer pyramids.

"And there is the Choosing Place. Let us go down."

We made our slow and staggering way down a spiral ramp, whose steepness threw an extra aching strain on the muscles of our legs, causing falls now and then. ( The boy who had fainted up on the ledge had revived and was with us, He was the one who had beaten Beanpole in the long jump, the gingery freckle-faced lad who had managed to put that extra effort into his final jump. He would not jump far here. ) The heat, too, continued to drain our strength away, and the sweat, running down, formed an unpleasant puddle at the base of the mask. I wanted desperately to wipe it away, but, of course, that was impossible. To do so I would have had to take the mask off and, as I had been warned, this meant death in the air that the Masters breathed.

I still had not seen one of the Masters close enough for them to be anything but a blur. But, at least, one problem was solved. The Tripods were not the Masters, as some had thought, but merely cunningly devised machines that carried them through the world outside. I did not see how this would help Julius and the others much, but it was information. Presumably I would learn more, a lot more. After that, all Fritz and I needed to discover was a way of making our escape. All! I could have laughed at the thought, but lacked the energy. And I had to remember of course, my role, as one of the Capped, a chosen but willing slave.

The ramp led into one of the squat pyramids, about halfway up from the base. Inside there was light from dozens of green globes that hung at varying heights from the ceiling. If anything, the light was brighter than the dusk outside. We were taken along a curving corridor to a long room with a pointed ceiling. Along one side was a row of open-fronted cubicles, their sides made of the hard glass-like substance. Each of us, we were told, was to go into one of these. After that we were to wait. The Masters would come in due course.

We waited a long time. For the others, I imagine, it was easier. Being filled with the desire to serve the Masters, above all things, would give them patience. Fritz and I had no such comfort. He was in a cubicle some ten away from mine, and I could not see him. I could see those on either side of me and, dimly, the two or three after that. I was filled increasingly with tension and apprehension, but knew I must not show it. There was discomfort also. Most of us were sitting or lying on the floor to help relieve the drag on our limbs. Lying was best, except for the sweat that had pooled inside the mask and, uncomfortable anyway, was intolerable if head and shoulders were not upright. By now, also, I was dreadfully thirsty, but there was nothing to drink and no means of drinking, in any case. I wondered if they could have forgotten us-if we were to be left here until we died of thirst and exhaustion. Presumably we were of some value to them, but it would not be much. We could be replaced very easily.

I sensed rather than heard it at first, but it grew into a ripple of sound, spreading along the cubicles to my right-a sound of awe and wonder, maybe of worship. I knew then that the moment had come, and craned my neck to see. They had entered the room from the far end, and were approaching the cubicles. The Masters.

For all the discomfort and fatigue, and my fears as to what might happen, my first impulse was to laugh. They were so grotesque! They stood much taller than a man, nearly twice as tall, and were thick in proportion. Their bodies were wider at the bottom than the top, four or five feet around I thought, but tapered upward to something like a foot in circumference at the head . . . if it was the head, for there was no break in the continuity, no sign of a neck. The next thing I noticed was that their bodies were supported not on two legs but three, these being thick but short. Matching them were three arms, or rather tentacles, issuing from a point about halfway up their bodies. And their eyes-I saw that there were three of those, too, set in a flattened triangle, one above and between the other two, a foot or so below the crown. The creatures were green, though I saw that the shades differed, some being dark, the green tinged with brown, and others quite pallid. That, and the fact that their heights varied to some extent appeared to be the only means of telling one from another: I felt it was a poor one.

Later I was to discover that, as one grew accustomed to them, identification was easier than I had expected. The orifices, which were their mouths, noses, and ears, varied too, in size, in shape a little, and in their relationship to each other. They were connected by a pattern of wrinkles and creases that one learned to know and recognize. At first impact, though, they were faceless, almost completely uniform. It sent a shiver of quite a different fear down my spine when one of them, stopping before me, spoke.

"Boy," he said, "stand up."

I thought the words issued from the mouth - which I judged the lower of the two central orifices to be-until I saw that it was the upper one that was quivering and open while the other remained closed and still. With the Masters, I was to discover, the organs of breathing and eating were not connected, as men's are: they spoke as well as breathed through one, and ate and drank through only the lower, larger opening.

I stood up, as I was bid. A tentacle came toward me, touched me lightly, and then more firmly on the arm. It ran along my flesh, like a snake, with the dry smooth texture of a snake, and I repressed a shudder.

"Move about," he said. The voice was cold, flat, not loud but penetrating. "Walk boy."

I began to walk round the narrow confines of the cubicle. I thought of a horse sale I had seen once at Winchester-men feeling the muscles of the beasts, watching them parade around the ring. We did not need to be paraded; we could parade ourselves. The Master stood in front of me critically while I made several circuits of the cell. Then, with no other word or comment, he moved on. I stopped walking, and let myself slump back into a sitting position.

They travelled fast on those stumpy legs, bouncing off the ground with an up-and-down rhythmic motion. They were clearly vastly stronger than we were to make so light of this leaden City. They could also, when they really wanted to get somewhere fast, spin along like tops, the three legs whirling them round and round and at the same time forward, with yards between each foot touching the ground. I suppose it was their version of running.

The Choosing went on. Another Master came to inspect me, and another. The boy in the next stall was taken; a Master ordered him to follow and he obeyed. They disappeared in the throng. Some Masters examined me more closely than others, but all moved on. I wondered if they were suspicious-if something in my behaviour were not quite right. I also wondered what would happen if I were not chosen at all. It was known that no one returned from the City. In that case . . .

This particular worry was unnecessary. Those who were not chosen as personal servants went into a general pool, I discovered. But I did not know that at the time, and was aware of the stalls emptying around me. I saw Fritz go past, following a Master. We looked at each other, but gave no sign. A Master came up to my cubicle, stared at me for a moment, and went on, without speaking.

Their numbers had thinned, as well as ours. I sat on the floor miserably. I was tired and thirsty, my legs were aching, and the skin of my chest and shoulders was beginning to sting from the salt of my sweat. I leaned my back against the transparent wall, and closed my eyes. So I did not see the new Master who came, only heard his voice, commanding me.

"Get up, boy."

I thought it was a pleasanter voice than the others had been, with an undertone in it that might almost be warmth. I struggled to my feet, and looked at him curiously.

Physically, he seemed to be shorter than average, and he was also darker in colour. The tinge of brown in the dark green was quite marked. He stared down at me, the skin wrinkling between his eyes, and ordered me to show my paces. I summoned my strength and moved as briskly as I could; perhaps I had been too lethargic for the others.

I was told to stop, and did so. The Master said, "Come nearer."

As I moved toward him a tentacle snaked out and wrapped round my left arm. I gritted my teeth. A second tentacle stroked appraisingly along my body, assessing my legs, reaching up to wind more closely round my chest in a grip that forced breath from my lungs, then withdrawing. The voice said, "You are a strange one, boy."

The words, summing up my chief fears, petrified me. I stared ahead at the featureless column of the monster. There was almost certainly something I should be doing, showing. Excitement? Happiness at the prospect of being allowed to serve one of these absurd and disgusting creatures? I tried to act out that mood. But the Master was speaking again.

"How did you become a champion at the Games-in which of your human sports?" "Boxing . . ." I hesitated. "Master."

"You are small," he said. "But strong, I think, for your size. Which part of the land do you come from?"

"From the south, Master. Tirol."

"A mountain land. They are hardy ones, who come from the high parts."

He fell silent then. The tentacle that still held my left arm released it and dropped back. The three eyes stared at me. Then the voice said, "Follow me, boy."

I had found my Master.

7

My Master's Cat

I was fortunate in my Master.

He led me to his carriage, which was in a line of others outside the building, showed me into it, and drove us away. The driving would be one of my duties, he explained. ( It was not difficult. It was moved by an invisible power that came from below the ground. There was little to do in the way of steering, and collisions were impossible. ) I saw that some of the Masters with newly acquired slaves were already forcing them to learn this skill, but mine did not because he saw that I was tired and distressed. The carriage ran on very many small wheels, set beneath one face of a pyramid, and the driver had a seat in the pointed front part for controlling it. My Master drove it to the place where he lived, in toward the centre of the City.

On the way I examined my surroundings. It was hard to make sense of the place; buildings and streets and ramps were at the same time very much like each other and confusingly different, their construction either unplanned or following a plan I could not begin to understand. Here and there I saw small areas that I supposed were meant for gardens. They were mostly triangular in shape, and filled with water, out of which grew strange plants of various colours. I saw red, brown, green, blue-but all.

sombre. They all had the same general shape, too: a squatness at the base that tapered with height. Many of the garden pools had mists rising from them, and in some I saw Masters moving slowly about or standing, like trees themselves, rooted in the water.

My own Master lived in a tall pyramid overlooking a large garden pool. It was five-sided but looked more like one of the triangles of which the Masters seemed to be so fond, since three of the sides were shorter than the others and formed almost a straight line. We left the carriage outside the door-I looked back and saw the ground open under it and take it in and went into the building. At the centre we entered a moving room, like the one that had taken us from the Hall of the Tripods. My stomach lurched as it whirred, but this time I understood what was happening-that the room was moving upward and we with it. We came out in a corridor and I trudged along in the Master's wake to the door that was the entrance to his home.

There was much that I understood only later, of course. The pyramid was divided into homes for the Masters. Inside was a smaller pyramid, completely enclosed by the outer one, which was used for store rooms, the place where the carriages were kept, the communal place for slaves, and so on. The homes were in the outer section, and one could tell a Master's importance in the City from the position of his home. Most important was the one right at the top-the pyramid on top of the pyramid. Next came the two triangular homes immediately below, and after that the homes at the corners of the pyramid, in descending order. My Master was only moderately important. His home was on a corner, but nearer the base than the apex.

At first sight of the City, with all its towering peaks, I had thought the number of Masters must be fantastically great. At closer quarters I realized that the impression had been to some extent misleading. Everything was on a far bigger scale than the human one to which I was accustomed. The homes, in particular, were spacious, the rooms being large and very high, twenty feet or more.

From the corridor one came into a passage with several doors. ( The doors were circular, and worked on the same principle as the one in the Tripod: a section swung inward and upward when a thing like a button was touched. There were no locks or bolts. ) In one direction, the passage turned through a right angle at the end, and eventually issued into the most important part of the home: the triangular room that looked out from the building. Here the Master ate and relaxed. In the centre of the floor was a small, circular garden pool, its surface steaming from extra heat provided beneath it. It was his favourite spot.

But I was not shown this right away. The Master took me along the passage in the opposite direction. It ended in a blank wall, but there was a door on the right a little before that. The Master said, "This is your refuge, boy. There is an airlock inside-that is a place where air is changed-and beyond that you can breathe without the mask. You will sleep and eat there, and you may stay there or in the communal place at times when I do not require your service. You may rest for a while now. In due course, a bell will ring. Then you must fix your mask on again, go back through the airlock, and come to me. You will find me in the window room, which is at the end of the passage."

He turned and glided away, light on his stumpy feet, along the broad high passage. I understood that I had been dismissed, and pressed the button on the door in front of me. It opened and I stepped through, and automatically the door closed behind me. There was a hissing, and I felt the pull of the air current on my ankles as the Masters air was drawn out and replaced by human air. It did not take long, but it seemed an age before the door on the opposite side opened and I could step through. My fingers were tearing at the fastener of the belt that secured the mask as I did so.

I did not think that I could have supported the stifling confinement, with my own sweat pooling on my chest, for much longer, but later I found that I had been lucky. Fritz had been kept for several hours, being instructed in his duties, before he was allowed to find relief. My Master's consideration was apparent in other ways. The room set aside for the servant was small in floor area, but had the same towering height as the rest of the home. In this case the Master had had an intermediate floor constructed, with a ladder leading up to it. My bedroom was up there, whereas in other cases the bed had to be fitted into the limited living space.

Other than that there was a chair, a table ( both of the simplest kind ), a chest with two drawers, a cupboard for storing food, and a small toilet section. It was bare, and ugly. There was none of the extra heat, which the Masters rooms had, but no way of cooling, either, or of freshening. One sweltered, the only alleviation being in the toilet section, where there was a device for spraying water on one's body. The water was lukewarm, both for that and for drinking, but cooler at least than the surrounding air. I let it play over me for a long time, and washed and changed my clothes. The air made the clean ones damp before I had put them on. No clothes were ever dry inside the City.

In the cupboard I found food, in packets. It was of two kinds: a sort of biscuit to be eaten dry and some crumbling stuff to be mixed with the warm water from the tap. Neither had much taste, and they never varied. They were made by machines somewhere in the City. I tried a little of the biscuit, but I found I was not hungry enough yet to eat it. Instead I hauled myself wearily up the ladder, a straining effort in this City of Lead, and dropped onto the bare, hard bed that awaited me. There were no windows, of course, to my quarters, but a globe of green light in each, turned on and o$ by a button. I pressed the button, fell into darkness and oblivion, and dreamed I was back in the White Mountains, telling Julius that the Tripods were made of paper, not metal, and that one could chop their legs off with an axe. But, in the middle of telling him, there was a savage clangour in my ears. I awoke with a start, and realized where I was, and that I was being summoned.

Knowing nothing of conditions in the City, Fritz and I had not been able to make any specific plans for finding each other, though naturally we were anxious to do so as soon as possible. When I contemplated the size and complexity of the place, despondency overcame me; I did not see how we could ever hope to make contact. There were, plainly, thousands of Masters in the City, even allowing for the amount of space each took up. If every one of these had a servant . . .

In one way it was less difficult than I had thought; in others, more. To start with, each Master did not have a servant. It was a privilege reserved for those of a certain rank, probably less than a thousand in all, and not all availed themselves of the right. There was a movement in opposition to the presence of humans in the City. It was based on a fear, not that the slaves might revolt, because no one doubted their docility, but that the Masters, in accepting the personal service of other creatures, were somehow weakened and degraded. The total number of humans, drawn from the Games and from other selection procedures in other places, was probably no more than five or six hundred.

But between this five or six hundred means of communication were extremely limited. There was, apart from the individual refuges for sleeping, eating, and so on, a communal place for slaves in each pyramid where they were kept. In a larger, but still windowless, room it was possible to meet and talk, with a number flashing in a box on the wall to tell you when your Master required your return. One could not go to a communal place in other buildings without running the risk of being absent when the call came. And the risk was never taken, not through fear of punishment, but because, to the Capped, it was unthinkable that they should fail the Master in any way.

We might meet on the street or be sent on errands by our Masters, but the odds were against that. It soon seemed obvious that the only real chance of discovering each other lay in both our Masters attending the same function, at which (as was true of most) there was a restroom for slaves.

There were a number of such functions, I discovered. The one of which my Master was fondest was one in which they rooted themselves in a pool inside a pyramid, while in the centre a group of them used their tentacles to agitate devices that rippled the water and shook the air and at the same time sent out wild sounds, which my Master found pleasurable but which to me seemed hideous. At another, the Masters spoke to each other in their own language, full of whistling and grunting sounds; in a third, Masters on a raised stage hopped and whirled about in what I supposed was meant to be a dance.

To all these, at different times, I accompanied my Master, and went eagerly to the restroom to shower and dry myself, and perhaps eat a piece of the monotonous biscuit or, at least, lick one of the salt sticks with which we were provided. And to hunt among the other slaves for Fritz. But again and again I drew a blank, and I began to think it was hopeless. I knew that not all the Masters enjoyed these things, just as there were events to which my Master did not choose to go.

It was beginning to seem that we had had the bad luck to be chosen by Masters whose interests were very different.

In fact, this was true. My Master was fondest of things that stemmed from the mind and imagination; Fritz's of those that exercised and demonstrated the body. Fortunately, though, there was one event that had an almost universal appeal. They called it the Sphere Chase.

It took place, at regular intervals, in the Sphere Arena. This was a great open space in the shape, naturally, of a triangle, near the centre of the City. It was covered with some reddish substance and there were seven posts, perhaps thirty feet high, each with a basket-like contraption at the top. Three of these were set at the points of the triangle, three midway between the points, and the seventh in the centre.

That is as much, really, as I can describe that makes sense. I think that what happened in the arena was a kind of game, but if so it was not like any game that men play. Small Tripods, standing not much more than twenty feet high, issued out from a place below ground behind one point of the triangle, performed a complicated marching about for a time, and then started chasing each other. After a while, in the course of this chase, one or more golden spheres would appear in the air between the probing points of the Tripods tentacles. This was generally greeted by a full booming noise from the Masters, who were watching from all round in terraced seats. The booming would increase as the chase and pursuit continued with the golden ball flashing and tossing between them. At some stage the sphere would be flung over or around one of the baskets on top of the poles, and eventually would light in the basket, when there would be a great coruscating flash, a noise like a clap of thunder, and the booming from the spectators would be punctuated with wails and howls. This was much intensified when it happened to be the centre pole's basket that was hit, both as to flash and thunder and (I imagine) applause. Then the chase began all over again, and a new ball was created.

The small Tripods, I found, were occupied by one or, at the most, two Masters. It seemed that much skill was involved in the Sphere Chase, and those best at it were greatly honoured. On that last bit of the trek that Henry and Beanpole and I had made to the White Mountains when the two Tripods came across us out in the open but took no notice-then, too, there had been the golden ball flashing against the blue sky. I realized that the Masters driving those Tripods must have been Sphere Chasers, practicing for the next Chase and too engrossed to concern themselves with anything else. It represented a weakness in the Masters, trivial, perhaps, but any sign of fallibility was something to rejoice at.

The other good thing was that the Sphere Chase was the means of my finding Fritz, after weeks of fruitless searching. I accompanied my Master to his seat in that side of the triangle reserved for the superior ones, and hurried which meant a lumbering rather than a dragging walk-down to the restroom beneath. It was larger than any other communal room I had seen, but crowded for all that; there must have been a couple of hundred slaves in it. I pulled off my mask, placed it in one of the lockers along the wall near the entrance, and went looking for him. He was at the far end, in the queue for the salt sticks, which we sucked to replace the salt we lost through our continual sweating. He saw me and nodded, and brought two salt sticks over to where I stood, as far removed from the others as possible.

I was shocked by the sight of him. This was a life, I knew, that would drag anyone down, if only by reason of the relentless clammy heat and the constant drag on bone and muscle. Many of the humans I had met were in a pitiful state, old and enfeebled long before their time. I was conscious in myself that, although I was learning to live with the heat and weight, and to husband my energy, gradually my strength was ebbing. But the change in Fritz was far beyond expectation.

We had all lost weight, but he, who had been tall and well built, seemed, in proportion, to have lost much more than I. His ribs showed painfully through the flesh of his chest, and his face was gaunt. He had the stooped posture that one saw in those who had been a year or more in the City. I saw something else, too, with horror: a pattern of angry marks across his back. I knew that some of the Masters beat their human servants for carelessness or stupidity, using a thing like a fly whisk, which burned the flesh where it touched. But Fritz was not stupid and would not be careless.

Giving me the salt stick, he said, in a low voice, "The most important thing is to make arrangements for future meetings. I am at 71 Pyramid 43. It would be better to meet there, if you have an easy Master."

I said, "Where is that? I still can't find my way about."

"Near the . . . No. Tell me where you are."

"19 Pyramid 15."

"I can find that. Listen. My Master goes to a garden pool almost every day, regularly at two seven. He stays for a period. I think there's time enough to get to your place. If you can manage to get down to your communal place . . ."

"I'll do that, easily."

"I'll be the slave of a visiting Master."

I nodded. We used Masters time in the City, not human time. The day was divided into nine periods, and each period was divided into ninths. It was made difficult by the fact that the day started with sunrise, and so changed continually. Two seven was approximately noon. My Master, too, often went to a garden pool around then. Even if he did not, I could keep some small errand until that time.

"Your Master," I said, "is he very bad?"

Fritz shrugged. "Bad enough, I think. I have nothing to compare with."

"Your back . . ."

"He enjoys that."

"Enjoys!"

"Yes. At first I thought it was because I was doing things wrong, but it is not so. He finds reasons. I howl and shriek a lot, which pleases him. I have learned to howl louder, and it does not go on so long. What about your Master? I see that your back is unmarked."

"I think he is a good one."

I told Fritz something of my life, of the small signs of consideration I was given. He listened, and nodded. "A very good one, I would say."

He related a few other things about his own life, from which it was plain that the whippings were far from being the only respect in which he suffered worse than I. In every way possible, his Master humiliated, persecuted, and heaped impossible burdens on him. I was almost ashamed to have been so Lucky. He did not dwell on this, though, but said, "Anyway, all that is not important. It is what we find out about the City that matters. We must exchange information with each other, so that what one learns the other knows. You tell me first what you have discovered."

"Very little so far. Practically nothing." I searched my brain for snippets, and retailed them to him. They were a meagre collection. "That's all, I think."

Fritz had listened gravely. He said, "It all helps. I have found where the great machine is from which they get heat and light, and the means for making the carriages go. For making the City so heavy as well, probably. Ramp g14 leads off Street 11 It goes through a place with garden pools on either side, and then dips down into the earth. The machine is down there somewhere. I have not been able to go down yet-I am not sure if humans can go there-but I will try further.

"Also, I have found the place where water comes into the City. It is in Wall Sector 23. A river comes in below ground and passes through another machine that makes the water suitable for the Masters. I have been there, and will go again. It is a huge place and I cannot understand much about it yet. Then there is the Place of Happy Release."

"Of Happy Release?"

I had heard this phrase spoken once or twice by other slaves, but had no clue as to its meaning. Fritz said, "That is not far from here, along Street 4. It is the place where the slaves go when they know they are no longer strong enough to serve the Masters. I followed one, and saw it happen. There is a place where the slave stands, beneath a dome of metal. There is a flashing light, and he drops to the floor, dead. Then the floor on which his body is lying moves. It goes along, and a door opens, and there is a white-hot furnace inside, which burns the body away to nothing."

He went on to tell me what he had discovered about the human slaves in the City. They did not only come from the Games; in other countries they were selected in different ways, but always for youth and strength. The life in the City, even where the Masters, like mine, were tolerant, possibly kind, was one that killed them, slowly but surely. Some crumpled up and died almost at once; others lasted a year, two years. Fritz had met a slave who had been more than five years in the City, but he was exceptional. When the slave knew that death was on him, he went of his own volition to the Place of Happy Release, and died in the glad assurance that he had served the Masters to the utmost of his ability and the last atom of energy.

I listened carefully to all this. Now I was really ashamed. I had been thinking my life was hard, and had been treating this as an excuse for not doing anything much. In effect, I had been marking time, hoping to get in touch with Fritz and then think of what to do. He, with so much worse to suffer, had nevertheless been getting on with the task that we shared, and on which man's future might depend.

I asked him, "How did you manage to find all these things, if you can only get away during the two hours he spends at the garden pool? You could not get to them all in that time, surely."

"There is another Master with whom he has twice spent a day. He is one of those who disapprove of slaves, and my Master leaves me behind. So I got out and explored."

"If he had returned unexpectedly, or called you..."

There was a means in each home by which a Master could call his slave to come to him. Fritz said, "I had thought of an excuse. He would beat me, of course, but I am used to it."

There had been an occasion when I had been left behind. I had spent the day resting, talking in the communal centre. Once I had gone out, but the confusion of streets and ramps and pyramids had depressed me, and I had come back. I felt myself flushing.

We had been talking apart from the others, but more and more had been arriving from the arena above us, and the room was beginning to be crowded. Fritz said, "Enough now. 19 Pyramid 15. The communal place at about two nine. Good-by, Will."

"Good-by, Fritz."

Watching him lose himself in the throng of slowly moving slaves, I made a resolve: to play my part more keenly, and with less self-pity.

The duties I had to perform for my Master were not in themselves particularly onerous. I had to tidy the home, prepare and serve his food, see to his bath, make his bed-that sort of thing. As far as food was concerned, preparation was easy enough, for it consisted of mixtures of differing texture and colour ( and flavour, too, I imagine), which came in transparent bubble bags. Some needed to be mixed with water, but many of them were eaten just as they were. Serving was a different matter. Portions of the foods were put on a triangular dish and eaten in a certain order. The placing and the ways in which they were laid out were important. I became good at this quite quickly, and was commended for it. It was a little more difficult than it seems, because there were dozens of patterns that had to be learned.

He had a bath several times a day, in addition to visits to one of the garden pools and wallowings in the smaller pool in the window room: all the Masters soaked themselves in water as often as they could. His private bath was next to the room in which he slept. Steps led up to it, and the bath itself was a hole in which he could put his body to be wholly submerged. The water was specially hot for this; it welled up from the bottom, boiling. I had to put in powders and oils that coloured and scented the water, and lay out a number of strange brush-like devices with which he scrubbed himself.

The bed was upright, too, and of much the same shape as the bath, but instead of the approach being by steps, it was up a spiral ramp, a fairly steep one, which it made me pant to climb. Inside was placed a sort of damp moss, and each day I had to remove the old and replace it with fresh from the bed cupboard. Although the moss looked light, it was heavy. I suppose this was the hardest of my tasks, as far as labour was concerned.

But apart from these and other similar duties, there was another function I fulfilled: that of companionship. Except for the occasions on which they joined together to watch the Sphere Chase or other forms of entertainment, the Masters led strangely solitary lives. They visited one another, but not often, and spent a good deal of their time in their homes alone. ( Even in the garden pools, I noticed, they did not talk to each other much. ) To some, though, this isolation came less easily than to others-to my own Master, I suspected. A human slave to him was not merely something to do various menial chores around the home, not merely a sign that he was of the rank that qualified him to own such a one, but someone who could listen to him talk. In my village at home, old Mrs. Ash had six cats and spent most of her day talking to one or the other of them. I was my Master's cat.

With the advantage of being a cat who could talk back. He not only spoke to me of the things that happened to him ( I could rarely make any sense out of them, and I never began to understand what work he did), but he asked questions as well. He was curious about me, and about my life before winning at the Games and coming to the City. At first I was suspicious of his interest, but I quickly realized that it was innocent. So I told him all about the way I had lived as the son of a small dairy farmer in the Tirol, how I had driven the cows up to pasture in the high meadows at the beginning of the day and stayed with them until it was time to bring them back for milking in the evening. I invented brothers and sisters, cousins and uncles and aunts, a whole pattern of life that he accepted and seemed to take an interest in. When I was off duty, I used to lie on my bed in my refuge and think of more lies to tell him; it was a way of passing the time.

Or it had been until I realized how little I had been doing compared with Fritz. But when I said something about it to Fritz the following day when we met again in the communal place of my pyramid, he took a different view. He said, "You have been very lucky with that one. I had no idea any of the Masters spoke to us slaves, except to give orders. Mine does not, certainly. He beat me again this morning, but he did it in silence. I was the one who made a noise. Perhaps you can learn more from this than from exploring the City."

"If I asked questions, he would certainly be suspicious. The Capped do not pry into the wonders of the Masters."

"Not questions, as such. But perhaps you can lead him on. You say he talks about his own life, as well as asking you about life outside?"

"Sometimes. But it makes no sense. He has to use their words when he talks about his work because there are no human words for the things he is telling me about. A few days ago he was saying that he was feeling unhappy because during the zootleboot a tsutsutsu went into spiwis, and therefore it was not possible to izdool the shuchutu. At least, it sounded something like that. I saw no point in even trying to understand what it meant."

"If you keep on listening, it may make sense in time."

"I don't see how it can.

"It may, though. You must persevere, Will. Encourage him to talk. Does he use the gas bubbles?"

These were small rubbery spheres that could be stuck to the Master's skin, below the nose opening. When they were pressed by one of the Master's tentacles, a reddish brown mist came out and rose slowly upward, encircling the Master's head.

I said, "He has one a day, sometimes two, when he is in the pool in the window room."

"I think it does to them what strong drink does to men. Mine beats me harder after he has sniffed a gas bubble. Maybe yours will talk more. Take him another while he is in the pool."

I said, "I doubt if it will work."

"Try, anyway."

Fritz looked ill and exhausted. The weals on his back were bleeding slightly. I said, "I'll try tomorrow."

And I did, but the Master waved me away. He asked me how many calves cows bore, and then mentioned that the pooshlu had stroolglooped. I did not seem to be getting very far.

8

The Pyramid of Beauty

When I had just about abandoned hope of getting any useful information out of the Master he solved the problem for me himself. His work, whatever it was, took place in a squat pyramid about half a mile from the one in which he lived. I had to drive him there in the carriage and stay in the communal place with the other slaves until he was ready to return. This would be after two periods ( just over five human hours ), and I used the time, as the other slaves did, to rest and, if possible, sleep. One learned early in one's life in the City the overwhelming importance of conserving energy to the maximum degree possible. There were couches provided in this communal place. They were hard, and there were not enough to go round, but it was a luxury far from being universal, and I was grateful for it.

On this occasion I had been lucky enough to get a couch, and was lying on it, drifting into sleep, when my arm was shaken. I asked hazily what was the matter, and was told that my number was flashing on the call box, indicating that I was wanted. My first thought was that it was a trick to get me off the couch, which the other slave probably wanted for himself, and I said as much. But he insisted that it was true. At last I roused myself to look, and saw that it was.

As I got my mask and prepared to put it on, I said, "I don't see how the Master can want me. It's only been three ninths, There must be a mistake."

The other had taken my place on the couch, and was lying there prone. He said, "It may be the Sickness."

"What sickness?"

"It is something that happens with the Masters from time to time. They stay at home for two or three days, or even longer. It is more likely with those like your Master, who have brown in their skins."

I remembered that I had thought, that morning, that his skin was darker than usual. When I went to him in the outer room and made the customary deep bow of respect, I noticed that it was very much darker, the brown more pronounced and that his tentacles, even though at rest, were quivering slightly. He told me to drive him home, and I obeyed.

I thought, remembering human sickness, that he might want to go to bed, and realized that I had not yet changed his moss. He did not do that, though, but instead went into the pool in the window room and squatted there, motionless and silent. I asked him if there was anything he needed, and he did not answer. So I went to the bedroom and got on with my work. I had just finished, and was putting the old moss into the cupboard in which it would be destroyed, when the bell rang for me.

He was still in the pool. He said, "Boy, bring me a gas bubble."

I did as I was told, and watched him place it between his mouth and nose and press on it with a tentacle. The reddish brown mist oozed out, almost like a liquid, and rose up. The Master breathed in deeply. This went on, with him taking breaths of it at intervals, until the bubble was empty. He tossed it away for me to pick up, and called for another. This was unusual. He used it and had me bring him a third. He started talking not long afterward.

It did not make sense at first. I gathered he was talking about the Sickness. He spoke of the Curse of the Skloodzi, which seemed to be the name of his family or his race, or perhaps it was the name the Masters gave themselves. There was a lot about wickedness-I was not sure whether he meant his own or that of the Masters in general-but although he bemoaned it, I could not help feeling that he did so with a certain amount of satisfaction. The Sickness was a punishment for wickedness and therefore had to be endured with stoicism. He flicked away the third empty gas bubble with his central tentacle, and told me to get a fourth, and to move faster this time.

The gas bubbles were in the room where the food was kept. I went to bring one, but when I returned to the window room he was out of the pool. He said, his voice even more distorted than usual, "I ordered you to move faster, boy."

Two of the tentacles gripped me and held me in midair as easily as I might hold a kitten. He had not touched me since that first meeting in the Choosing Place, and I was more shocked than anything else. But shock was rapidly replaced by pain. The third tentacle whipped through the air and lashed my back. It was like being hit by a heavy length of rope. I jerked against the tentacles that held me, but it did no good. The lash came down again and again. Now it felt more like a sapling than a rope that was striking me. I thought it would break my ribs, even perhaps my spine. Fritz had said that he cried out because he realized his Master wanted him to. I supposed I ought to do the same, but I would not. I gritted my teeth, crushing a fold of skin between them and sending hot salty blood flowing inside my mouth. The beating went on. I had given up counting the blows; there were too many of them. And then there was a roaring in my ears, and oblivion.

I recovered to find myself lying on the floor. I moved slightly, and there was pain again. My body seemed to be one long bruise. I forced myself to get up. As far as I could tell, no bones were broken. I looked for the Master, and saw him squatting, silent and motionless, in the pool.

I was humiliated and angry, and aching all over. I limped from the room and took the passage round to my refuge. Once inside, I stripped off my mask, dried the sweat from my neck and shoulders, and hauled myself up the ladder to my bed. I realized as I did so that I had omitted the customary bow of reverence to the Master when I left the window room. I had certainly not felt reverential toward him, but that was not the point. The essential thing was in every way to imitate the behaviour of the truly Capped. It had been a slip, and could be a dangerous one. As I was thinking of this, the ringing of the bell hammered my nerve endings. My Master wanted me again.

Wearily I descended, put on my mask, and left the refuge. My mind was confused and I did not know what to expect. The thought of another beating was uppermost, and I did not know how I was to endure it; it hurt even to walk. I was entirely unprepared for what did happen when I returned to the window room. The Master was no longer in the pool, but standing near the entrance. A tentacle seized me and lifted me. But instead of the lash for which I was trying to prepare myself, there came, from the second tentacle, a gentle stroking gesture, a snake's soft writhing along my battered ribs. I was a kitten being cuddled after it had been chastised.

The Master said, "You are a strange one, boy." I said nothing. I was being held awkwardly, with my head slightly lower than my body. The Master went on, "You did not make loud noises as the others have done. There is a difference in you. I saw it that first day in the Choosing Room."

What he said petrified me. I had not realized, though I suppose I should have, that the natural reaction of the Capped to being beaten would be to howl like children. Fritz had sensed this and behaved accordingly, but I had stupidly resisted through pride. And then had failed to make the bow of reverence afterward. I was terrified that the Master's next move would be to probe the Cap with the tip of his tentacle, through the softer part of the mask. If he did, he would soon realize the difference between mine and the true Caps, which knit in with the living flesh. And then . . .

But, instead, he put me down. Belatedly I made the bow of reverence and, because of my soreness and stiffness, nearly overbalanced while doing it. The Master steadied me, and said, "What is friendship, boy?"

"Friendship, Master?"

"There is an archive in the City where those things your people call books are kept. I have studied some of them, being interested in your race. Some of the books are lies, but lies that seem like truth. Friendship is one of the things of which they tell. A closeness between two entities . . . that is a strange business to us Masters. Tell me, boy-in your life before you were chosen to serve, did you have such a thing? A friend?"

I hesitated, and said, "Yes, Master."

"Speak of him."

I talked of my cousin Jack, who had been my closest friend until he was taken to be Capped. I changed the details to the life I was supposed to have led, in the mountainous Tirol, but I described the way we had done things together, and the den we had made outside the village. The Master listened, with apparent attentiveness. He said finally, "There was a link between you and this other human-a link that was voluntary, not forced by circumstances . . . so that you desired to be together, to talk with each other. Is this right?"

"Yes, Master."

"And it happens much with your people?"

"Yes, Master. It is a common thing."

He fell into a silence. It lasted a long time, and in the end I wondered whether he had forgotten about me, as sometimes happened, and whether I should take my leave . . . being careful to remember to bow. But as I was contemplating this, the Master spoke again.

"A dog. That is a small animal that lives with men?"

"Some do, Master. Some are wild."

"It has been stated in one of the books that I saw, `His only friend was his dog.' Can this be true, or is it one of the lies?"

"It can be true, Master."

"Yes," he said, "that is what I have thought." His tentacles described a small movement in the air that I had come to recognize as expressing satisfaction. Then one of them wrapped itself, but not roughly, round my waist.

"Boy," said the Master, "you will be my friend."

I was almost too astonished to think. I had got it wrong, I saw. I was not a kitten, after all, in the Master's eyes. I was his puppy!

When I saw Fritz, and was able to tell him of what had happened, I expected him to find it funny, but he did not. He said seriously, "This is a wonderful thing, Will."

"What's wonderful about it?"

"The Masters seemed all alike at first, as I suppose men would to them also. In fact, they differ a great deal. Mine is strange in one way, yours in another. But the strangeness of yours may help us to learn things about them, while with mine"-he forced a grin - `it is merely painful."

"I still dare not ask him things that the Capped would not ask."

"I am not so sure. You should have howled when he thrashed you, but it was because you didn't that he became interested in you. He said you were strange before he told you that you were to be his friend. They are not used to seeing free men, remember, and it would never occur to them that a human could be dangerous. I think you can ask him things, as long as the questions are general, and you keep making the bow of reverence at the right time."

"Perhaps you're right."

"It would be useful to find the archive where the books are. They had the Capped destroy all the books that held the knowledge of the ancients, but I suppose they would not have destroyed them here."

"I will try to find out."

"But go carefully," he warned. He looked at me. "Your task is not an easy one."

He was thinking, I felt, that he could have carried it out a good deal better than I; and I was inclined to agree with him. Where I had stubbornness and pride, he had a watchful endurance. He was looking ill, and had been badly beaten again that morning. The whip his Master used left marks that faded in about forty-eight hours, and these weals were fresh. He had once or twice been beaten with a tentacle, as I had been, and said that, although one ached for longer afterward, the beating itself was not so bad as with the whisk thing. I hated to think of what that must be like.

Fritz went on to tell me of his own latest discoveries. The most useful of these was that he had found a place where there were walls with pictures of stars at night, and the Masters could make these pictures move. In the same pyramid there was a globe, almost as high as he was, turning on a spindle, and the globe was covered with maps. He had not wanted to seem too curious, but there was a part he had recognized as a map of the places we knew: it showed the narrow sea across which Henry and I had come, the White Mountains far to the south, and the great river down which the Erlkonig had sailed. And on the map, at a point that he calculated as being roughly our present location, was a golden button, which could only be the City.

As far as he could see, there were two other golden buttons on the globe, both well to the south of this one and situated far apart, one on the edge of a great continent to the east, the other on an isthmus between two continents to the west. They must also represent Cities of the Masters, which meant there were three in all from which the world was ruled. A Master had come into the room at that stage, and Fritz had been forced to move on, acting as though he were on an errand of some kind. But he planned to go back and get the details of the positions more firmly in his head.

I still had nothing that seemed worthwhile to report. Except that I was to be my Master's puppy. He had said my task was not easy. In one sense, I saw, he was right. But in every other respect his was incomparably the harder. And he was the only one who seemed to be getting anywhere.

My Master's Sickness lasted for several days. He did not go to his place of work and spent a lot of time squatting in the pool in the window room. He breathed the gas bubbles a good deal, but did not beat me again. Occasionally he came out of the pool and picked me up and fondled me, and he also talked to me. Some of it was as incomprehensible as when he had talked about his work, but not all. I found out one day, when the green dusk outside was fading as the sun, behind the dome, slanted out of sight in the west, that he was talking about the Masters' conquest of the earth.

They had come in a vast ship that could move through the emptiness between the worlds and the greater emptiness between the stars that warmed the worlds circling round them. This ship had been propelled at an unimaginable, speed, almost as fast, he told me, as a sunbeam travels, but even so the journey had lasted many long years of time. ( The Masters, I now realized, lived immensely longer than we did, for this one-and, I think, all the Masters in the City --had made that journey and lived here ever since. ) Theirs had been an expedition sent out with the purpose of finding worlds that their people could conquer and colonize, an expedition that had many setbacks and disappointments. Not all stars had planets near them, and where they did these planets were usually unsuitable, for various reasons.

The world from which the Masters came was much larger than the earth, and hotter. Being larger, things on its surface weighed more. The Masters had found some worlds too small and others too big for their purpose, some too cold being far removed from the central sun-and others too hot. Of the ten worlds circling our sun, ours was the only one that would do, but it had an atmosphere poisonous to them and a gravity too light. All the same, it was thought to be worth conquering.

So the great ship was made to go in a circle round the earth, as the moon does, and the Masters studied the world they were to seize. It seems that the ancients had marvelous machines by which they could speak and show pictures at a distance, and the Masters were able to listen and watch without needing to come close enough for their ship to be seen. They stayed like this for many years, occasionally sending smaller ships in close to examine things that were not shown on the distance-pictures, or not in sufficient detail. Some of the ancients, my Master said, reported seeing these ships, but others did not believe them. This could not have happened with the Masters, but men had this strange thing called lying, in which they told of things that had not occurred, and therefore they did not trust each other.

They recognized that in man they had an enemy who might be formidable. There were all these marvels, like the distance-pictures, the great-cities at the height of their glory and power, and other things, too. Men had already begun to build ships that would take them across the emptiness. They had nothing like the ships of the Masters, but they had started, and they were learning fast. And they had weapons. One of these, I gathered, was of the nature of the iron eggs Beanpole had found in the tunnel below the great-city, but as much more powerful as a bull compared to an ant. With one of these giant eggs, the Master told me, many square miles of land could be scorched and blasted-one of the great-cities itself completely obliterated.

If they had brought their ship down to the earth, and made a bridgehead, that bridgehead would have been destroyed. They had to find a different method. The one they chose lay in a field of knowledge in which they were even more advanced than in star travelling-the understanding and control of the mind.

When, on the journey to the White Mountains, they had put the button under my arm by which the Tripods afterward tracked us, and Henry had said that I must have known it was there, Beanpole had spoken of the man in the circus who could make people go to sleep and then obey his commands. I had once seen such a man with a travelling fair that came to Wherton. This sort of thing, and much much more, was known to the Masters. They could, quite easily, put men to sleep and make them, even without the Caps, obey commands-for a time, at least. But the problem still remained of getting men into a position where their power could be used. It is no good being able to make a rabbit pie unless you can first catch your rabbit.

And they caught their rabbits with the ancients own marvel: the distance-pictures. These pictures were sent out on invisible rays through the air, and turned back into pictures in millions on millions of homes all over the world. The Masters found a means of suppressing those rays at their source, and sending out in their place rays that made the pictures they wanted. There went with them other rays that made men's minds receptive. So they watched the pictures, and the pictures told them to go to sleep. When they had gone to sleep, the pictures gave them their orders.

This control, as I have said, would wear off in time, but it lasted for days, and the Masters made good use of the time. A hundred small ships landed, and men flocked to them as they had been told. The Caps were put on their heads-by Masters at first, but later by men who had already been Capped. It was a process that grew as it went on. All that was needed was that there should be enough Caps, and there were. The plans had been well laid.

By the time those who had not watched the pictures realized something of what was happening, it was almost too late to do anything about it. They were separate, isolated, while the others were working under the orders of the Masters, united in one purpose. And by the time the effect of the commands given by the distance-pictures wore off, enough men had been Capped to ensure that the Masters would have only scattered and ineffective opposition to face. One of the first things the Capped had done was to take control of the mighty weapons of the ancients. So it was possible for the parent ship to come down to earth and the first occupation base to be set up.

That was not quite the end, my Master told me. Some resistance continued. There were great ships on the sea, and ships that travelled under the sea. Some of these remained free for a time and had weapons with which they could strike from half a world away. The Masters had to track them down to destroy them. One of the undersea ships survived for more than a year, and at the end of that time somehow located the main base. It sent one of the great-eggs through the air, to miss its target only by a narrow margin. In the attack, though, it revealed its own position, so that the Masters could use a similar weapon of their own, and sink it.

On land there was sporadic fighting for years, though diminishing all the time because the number of the Capped grew while the number of the free diminished. The Tripods stalked the earth, guiding and helping their followers against bands of men whose weapons were puny, or nonexistent. In the end, there was peace.

I said, "So now all men are happy, having the Masters to rule and help them, and there are no more wars and wickedness." It was an expected comment, and I tried to put as much enthusiasm as possible into it.

The Master said, "Not quite all. Last year a Tripod was attacked and the Masters in it killed when the poisonous air broke in on them."

I said, shocked, "Who could do that?"

One of his tentacles splashed water over him from the pool. He said, "Before you were Capped, boy, did you love the Masters as you do now?"

"Of course, Master." I hesitated. "Perhaps not quite as much. The Cap helps."

He moved a tentacle in a gesture that I knew to be a sign of agreement. He said, "The Caps are put on when the skull is near the end of its growing. There are some Masters who think now that it should be done earlier, because some humans, in the year or two before they are Capped, become rebellious and act against the Masters. This was known, but not thought important, because the Cap makes them good again. But it was boys like these who found old weapons that still had power, and by chance used them in such a way that four of the Masters were killed."

Making a note of the fact that four was presumably a standard crew for a Tripod, I feigned a great shudder of horror, and said passionately, "Then, of course, boys must be Capped earlier!"

"Yes," the Master said. "I think that will happen. It means that the Capped will die sooner, and have pains in their heads because the Caps grip their skulls more tightly, but it is unwise to take risks, even small risks."

I said, "The Masters must not be endangered."

"On the other hand, there are some who think it does not matter because at last we are in sight of the Plan being achieved. When that happens, there will be no more need for Caps at all."

I waited, but he stayed silent. Greatly daring, I said, "The Plan, Master?"

He still did not reply, and I dared not press the question further. After perhaps half a minute, he said, "I have a night feeling sometimes when I think of it. It is probably the Sickness, the Curse of the Skloodzi. What is goodness, boy, and what is wickedness?"

"Goodness lies in obeying the Masters."

"Yes." He slumped farther down in the streaming water of the pool, and wrapped his tentacles round him. I did not know what that gesture meant. "In a way, boy, you are lucky to wear the Cap."

I said fervently, "I know I am very lucky, Master."

"Yes." A tentacle unrolled and beckoned. "Come nearer, boy."

I went to the edge of the pool. The tentacle, slimy from the water, caressed me, and I did my best to disguise the repulsion I felt. He said, "I am glad of this friendship, boy. It helps with the Sickness, particularly. In this book of which I spoke, the human got things for his dog that his dog liked to have. Is there anything you wish, boy?"

I hesitated a moment, and said, "I like seeing the wonders of the City, Master. I would be happy to see more of them."

"That may be done." The tentacle, with a final pat, withdrew, and he began rising out of the pool. “Now I desire to eat. Prepare my table."

The following day the Sickness had abated, and the Master returned to his work. He gave me a thing to wear on my wrist, and explained that anywhere in the City this would make a sound like many bees when he wanted me. I was to come to him then, but otherwise I could wander about: it was not necessary, for instance, that I stay in the communal room of the work place.

I was surprised that he had remembered my request and had done this, but more was to follow. He actually took me out on sightseeing expeditions. Some of what I saw was uninteresting, and some incomprehensible. There was one small pyramid with nothing in it but coloured bubbles that moved in a slow dance up to the apex and down the sloping sides. What the Master said about it made no sense to me at all. And there were several trips to water gardens, larger versions of the garden pools, which meant a lot of standing and sitting about while he waded through the seething waters. He invited me to admire their beauty, and I dutifully did so. They were quite hideous.

But he also took me to the place Fritz had spoken of, with the turning globe that had maps all over it, and the walls of bright stars that moved against deep blackness when the Master spoke words, in his own tongue, into a machine. These were star maps, and in one of them he showed me the star from one of whose planets the Masters had set out, long long ago. I tried as well as I could to memorize its position, though it eras hard to see what good that would do.

And one day he took me to the Pyramid of Beauty.

A thing that had puzzled me since first coming into the City was that all the slaves were boys. Eloise, the daughter of the Comte de la Tour Rouge, had been chosen Queen of the Tournament and afterward had gladly gone, as she told me, to serve the Tripods in their City. I had thought I might meet her here; it was something I wanted and did not want at the same time. It would have been terrible to see her worn down like all the other slaves, her beauty crushed under the weight and clammy heat of this place. But I found no girls, and Fritz, when I asked him, said he had seen nothing of them either. But on this afternoon, dragging myself along beside my Master, the sweat pooling beneath my chin, I saw them.

It was not one pyramid, but a series of pyramids that joined together near their bases - half a dozen smaller peaks clustered about a central one. It lay a long way, two ninths (more than half an hour, that is) from the part in which my Master lived, by carriage. I saw many Masters strolling about, a few with attendant slaves. We went into the first pyramid, and I almost cried out at what lay before me: a garden of earthly flowers, with that brightness of reds and blues, yellows and pinks and whites that I had almost forgotten, surrounded by a perpetual green twilight, and seeing only the drab, ugly plants of the garden pools.

I realized that I could not touch them: they were protected by the glass-like material from the atmosphere of the City. But it took me longer to realize something else: that despite the appearance of life, there was only death here. I saw this first when I noticed, on the crimson velvet of a rose, the golden bead of a bee. It did not move. Looking further, I saw other bees, butterflies, all kinds of pretty insects, but all still. And the flowers themselves were stiff and lifeless.

It was a pageant, a show by which the Masters could see the real life of the world they had conquered. There was even white light, not green, inside, which made the colours shine with a dazzling intensity. Further on was a forest glade, with squirrels on the branches, birds somehow suspended in space, a rippling stream, and on its bank an otter with a fish between its jaws. But all frozen, dead. It was nothing like the world I had known, once the shock of false recognition had worn off, because the world I had known had been a living, moving, pulsating one.

There were dozens of different tableaux, some of them unfamiliar to me. One showed a dark dripping swamp, not unlike some of the Masters garden pools, with a couple of strange creatures floating in it that might have been queerly shaped logs but for their gaping jaws, gleaming with vicious white teeth. Some were being rearranged by Masters with face masks somewhat similar to the ones we slaves wore, and my Master told me that they were all changed in turn. But they were only exchanging one dead scene for another.

The Master had a special objective in view, however. We passed all these on our way to the central pyramid. There, a ramp moved up in a narrowing spiral, with egress to different floors.

I toiled up after him. I was, as always, tired after a quarter of an hour's walking, and the ramp was quite steep. We did not go out at the first egress. At the second, he led me through a triangular opening, and said, "Look, boy."

I looked, and the salt sweat on my face was mixed with the saltier flow of tears-tears not just of grief, but of anger, more anger, I think, than I had ever felt before.

The vicar at Wherton had a room he called his study, and in it had a cabinet of polished wood, with many thin drawers. I was sent to him once, on an errand, and he pulled the drawers out and showed me what they held. Under glass there were rows and rows of butterflies, pinned down, their gay wings outstretched. I thought of that as I stared at what was exhibited here. For there were rows of caskets, all transparent, and in each casket lay a girl, dressed in her finery.

The Master said, "These are the female humans who are brought to the City. Your people choose them for their beauty, and they are winnowed out again by those Masters who make this place. There are discards from time to time, but the really beautiful ones will be preserved here forever, to be admired by the Masters. Long after the Plan."

I was too full of hate and bitterness to pay attention to the cryptic remark about the Plan. If only I had one of those iron eggs we had found in the great-city . . .

He repeated, "To be admired by the Masters forever. Is it not a fine thing, boy?"

Choking, I said, "Yes, Master. A fine thing."

"It is some time since I looked at them," the Master said. "This way, boy. There are some fine specimens in this row. At times I doubt the destiny of our race, to spread far out across the galaxy and rule it. But at least we appreciate beauty. We preserve the best of the worlds that we find and colonize."

I said, "Yes, Master."

I have said that I both wanted and did not want to find Eloise in the City. Now, in this hideous place, the wanting and the not wanting were increased a thousandfold. My eyes searched hungrily for something from which they could only turn away, in sickness and revulsion.

"Here they all have red hair," the Master said. "Uncommon in your race. The shades of red are different. Observe that they are arranged from light red to deep. I see that there are two new intermediate shades here since my last visit."

It was not red hair my eyes sought, but black - dark hair that I had seen once only, a fuzz growing through the silvery mesh of the Cap, when I had playfully snatched her turban from her in the little garden between the castle and the river.

"Do you wish to go on, boy, or have you seen enough?"

"I would like to go on, Master."

The Master made a small humming noise, which was a sign that he was pleased. I suppose he was glad to think he was making his slave friend happy. He led the way, and I followed, and at last I saw her.

She was dressed in the simple dark-blue gown, trimmed with white lace, that she had worn at the tournament, when the forest of swords flashed silver in the sun, and all the knights acclaimed her as Queen. Her brown eyes were closed, but the ivory of her small oval face was delicately flushed with rose. But for the casket, very much like a coffin, and the hundreds of others around her, I could have thought she was sleeping."

But her head was bare of both crown and turban. Her hair had grown in the weeks that followed that time in the garden. I looked at her close-cropped curls. They covered, but did not quite conceal, the one thing she did wear on her head: the Cap that had brought her, gladly, to this monstrous resting place.

"Also a fine specimen," said the Master. "Have you seen enough yet, boy?"

"Yes, Master," I told him. "I have seen enough."

9

I Strike a Desperate Blow

The days and the weeks went by. There was always the green dusk, but sometimes the twilight was less dim, and then one knew that outside it was a fine summer day, the sun scorching in a high blue heaven. What one saw inside the City was a pale disk, only visible when it was near the zenith, a small circle of lighter green. But the heat did not vary, nor the crushing weight of one's body. And day by day the heaviness and the hotness drained strength away. Each night I lay down with greater thankfulness on my hard bed; each morning it was more of an effort to rise.

Matters were not helped by the fact that the Master became more and more obviously attached to me. His fondling of me, occasional at first, became a daily ritual, and I was pressed into doing something of the sort in return. There was a place on his back, above the rear tentacle, that he liked to have rubbed and scratched. He would urge me to do this more vigorously, and direct me to spots a little higher or lower. I wore my fingernails down against his tough abrasive hide, and he still called for more. Finally I found an implement-a thing vaguely like a brush but curiously shaped-that produced the same, or a similar effect. This saved my fingernails, but not the muscles of my right arm, as he continued to prod me to further exertion.

One afternoon while doing this I slipped and, his body turning round at the same time, the implement brushed lightly against the other side of him, between his nose and mouth. The result was startling. He gave forth a wild howling noise, and a moment later I was flat on my back, smashed to the ground by a reflex action of two of his tentacles. I lay there half stunned. The tentacles reached for me again, and I was sure that now I was in for another beating. But he lifted me to my feet instead.

His action, it appeared, had been instinctive, and defensive. That spot between the two openings was, he explained, a most sensitive one in the Masters. I must be careful not to touch it. A Master could be badly hurt by being struck in that place. He hesitated a moment, and then went on: a Master might even be killed by such a blow.

I looked as chastened and penitent as a devoted slave ought to do under such circumstances. I went on with the rubbing and scratching on the original site, and he was soon soothed. The leathery tentacles wound themselves round me, like a loathsomely affectionate octopus. Half an hour later, I was excused to my refuge. I hurried there and, tired as I was, before lying down made a note of this important new fact in the journal I was keeping.

I had been doing this for some time. As I learned new things, however trivial, I jotted them down. It was better than relying on memory. I still had no idea how I was to get either the journal or myself out of the City, but it was important to go on collecting information. I was proud of my ingenuity with the journal. One of my Master's favours had been to introduce me to the place where books were kept, and to allow me to bring some of the story books back to read during my rest periods. I had found that a blackish liquid, which was used in preparing certain of the Master's foods, could serve as ink, and I had made myself a primitive pen to write with. Writing was not easy, but I was able to scratch notes on the margins of the pages of the book in perfect freedom from discovery, since my Master could not come into the refuge, being unable to breathe human air.

Apart from the journal, I also, of course, continued to tell Fritz of these things when we met, and he passed any information he picked up on to me. The City was taking a heavy toll of him -the City, and his Master in particular. Once I did not see him for several days. I went twice to his Master's pyramid, and questioned other slaves in the communal place. The first time, I drew a blank, but on the second I was told that he had been admitted to the slaves' hospital. I asked where that was, and they told me. It was a long way-too far for me to go just then. I had to wait until my Master's next work time.

The hospital was in a section of a pyramid otherwise devoted to stores. It was larger than any of the communal places I had seen, and had beds in it, but there was little sign of luxury. It had been set up at some time in the past by a Master more benevolent than the rest. Its purpose was to deal with those slaves who, while they had collapsed from overwork or similar strains, were not yet so worn out that they needed to go to the Place of Happy Release. A slave had been put in charge of it, and had eventually been allowed to choose an assistant, who became his successor. It had carried on since then, unsupervised and for the most part disregarded by the Masters. When a slave collapsed he was taken to the hospital if he did not quickly recover on his own account. He stayed there, resting, until either he was better or decided that his Happy Release was due.

There was no need for supervision, of course, since the thing the slaves most desired was to serve their Masters or, if they were no longer capable of serving, to end their lives. I found Fritz in a bed a little way off from the. others who were patients at the time, and asked him what had happened. He had been sent on an errand after a beating, with no chance to freshen up in his refuge, and had collapsed on the way. I asked him how he was now, and he said better. He did not look much better. He said, "I am going back to the Master tomorrow. If he has taken another slave, then I go to the Choosing Place to see if another Master wants me. But I do not think any will. There is a new batch due shortly, from Games they hold in the east. They will not want one as feeble as I am."

I said, "Then you will go into the general pool? It may be better."

"No." He shook his head. "Only the new ones who are unclaimed do that."

"Then . . ."

"The Place of Happy Release." I said, horrified, "They can't make you do that!"

"It would seem strange if I did not want to do it, and we must do nothing that seems strange." He managed a poor sort of smile. "I don't think it will happen. The new ones have not yet arrived, so my Master will wait also. He will take me back for a while at least, I think. But I must not stay here longer than is necessary.

I said, "We must do more about finding a way out of the City. Then, if something like that did happen to one of us, he could escape."

Fritz nodded. "I have thought of that. But it is not easy."

"If we could get into the Hall of the Tripods, and steal one. We might be able to find out how to work the mechanism that drives it."

"I do not think there would be much chance. They are twice as tall as we, remember, and all the things they use in the City-except those like the carriages, which are designed for us to work-are out of our reach. And I do not see how we could get into the Hall of the Tripods. We would have to go through the Entering Place, and we would have no excuse for being there."

"There must be some way of escaping." Fritz said, "Yes. We have learned many things that Julius would like to know. One of us must get back to the White Mountains."

On my way back from the hospital, and later, I thought about Fritz. If his Master had taken another slave, after all, and refused to have him back. . . . Even if not, he was so weak, and growing weaker. It was not just the beatings: his Master deliberately gave him tasks that were beyond his strength. I tried to remember the time, not so long before, when I had resented him for usurping, as it seemed, Henry's place on our expedition. Now, although we saw each other only at intervals and for brief periods, I felt closer to him than I had ever felt to Henry or Beanpole-as though we were brothers.

One enjoys friendship most when dines are good, when the sun shines and the world is kind. But it is the sharing of adversity that knits men together. We were both slaves of these monsters, and, of all the slaves in the City, only we two understood what was being done to us: that they were monsters we were forced to serve, not gods whom it was a joy to wait on. The misery of this was a bond uniting us. I lay awake a long time that night, worrying about him and trying to plan some way of escape from the City. It was he, plainly, who would need this first. All sorts of crazy notions flitted through my head-such as scaling the inside of the golden wall and cutting a hole through the glass-like stuff that formed the dome. I lay and sweated and despaired.

The next day I saw Fritz again. He had left the hospital and his Master had taken him back. He had beaten him again already. The urgency of discovering a way out had retreated, but not far.

I had wondered at one time why the Masters had taken the trouble to learn our languages rather than make the slaves learn theirs, but it was obvious really. The Masters lived far, far longer than normal men, and the slaves in the City were mayflies by comparison. A slave would be worn out by the time he could understand enough to be useful. There were other factors, too, I imagine. By this means, the Masters retained a privacy of expression among themselves. It was also true that they had a way of learning which men did not: they did not need books but somehow passed knowledge from mind to mind, and so it was easier for them to acquire skills of this kind. My Master spoke German to me, but he could speak to other slaves from other lands in their language. This amused him: the division of men into different races that could not understand each other. The Masters had always been of one race, it seemed, solitary in themselves yet part of a unity that men, even before the Masters came, had shown small signs of achieving.

Like other human things, apart from amusing it also in a way attracted him. He had studied mankind more closely than most of the other Masters had-he read the old books, and he still plied me with questions-and his attitude toward us was a strange one. It combined contempt and disgust, fascination and regret. This last came to the fore when he was in one of his melancholy moods-minor phases of the Sickness-and stayed for long periods in the garden pool, inhaling gas bubbles. It was during one of these phases that he told me something more about the Plan.

I had taken him a third gas bubble, and been forced to submit to the usual caressing from tentacles slimy from the pool, when he started bemoaning the fact that this wonderful friendship we had could only last so short a time, since I, his dog, destined anyway for a brief human life, must have it curtailed still further by the conditions under which I lived in the City. ( It did not occur to him that the curtailing might be prevented by having me released to a normal life outside, and I could not, of course, suggest it without letting it appear that I preferred such a thing to a year or two of glorious misery as his slave. ) This was not a new topic. He had dwelt on it before, and I had done my best to look puzzled and adoring and ineffably contented with my lot.

On this occasion, though, the professed unhappiness about my approaching death turned into a form of speculation, and even doubt. It began on a personal level. He had asked me again about my life before I came to the City, and I painted for him the picture, a combination of truth and falsehood, that I had outlined before. ( I am sure that sometimes there were inconsistencies, but he did not appear to notice them. ) I talked of children's games we had played, and then of the Christmas Feast, which I knew was roughly the same in the south as it had been at Wherton, except that, in the mountains, there was more likelihood of snow. I told him of the exchanging of gifts, the service in the church and the feast after-the roast turkey stuffed with chestnuts and surrounded by glistening brown sausages and golden potatoes, the flaming plum pudding. I described it with some poignancy, because my mouth, despite the heat and my growing weakness, watered at the thought, contrasted with the dreadful food that kept us alive here.

The Master said, "One cannot share another creature's pleasure, even a lower creature's, but I can tell that this was a joy to you. And if you had not won at the Games, you would have gone on having such joys through many years. Do you ever think of this, boy?"

I said, "But by winning at the Games, I was permitted to come to the City, where I can be with you, Master, and serve you."

He was silent. The brownish mist had finished rising from the gas bubble and, without being bidden, I rose and brought him another. He accepted it, still silent, put it in place, and pressed it. As the mist rose he said, "So many of you, year after year-it is a sad thing, boy. But nothing compared with the night feeling that comes when I think of the Plan. And yet it has to be. This is the purpose of things, after all."

He paused, and I remained quiet and eventually he began to talk again. He talked about the Plan.

There were, as I have said, several differences between the world from which the Masters came and the earth. Their world was bigger, so that objects on it weighed much more, and also were hotter and wetter. These were things that did not greatly matter. In the City were machines that made the heaviness that I knew only too well, but the Masters could have lived without them. The present heaviness was less than had existed on the home planet, and they or their successors could learn to live naturally on a world like this. As for the heat, there were parts of the earth, it seemed, that were hot enough-in the far south where the other two Cities were.

But there was, of course, another difference to which they could not adapt themselves: the fact that our atmosphere was as poisonous to them as theirs to us. This meant that outside the enclaves of the Cities they could go only masked, and not just head-masked as we slaves went here, but with their whole bodies covered by a clinging greenish envelope, because the brightness of the sun's light hurt their skins also. In fact, except on extremely rare occasions, they never left the shelter of the Tripods-in this cold part of the earth, never at all.

All this, though, could be changed, and would be. The success of the expedition, the conquest of this world, had been reported back to the home planet. Samples had been taken of air, water, and other natural constituents. Their wise men had studied them, and in due course the message had been sent: the earth's atmosphere could be altered to enable the Masters to live naturally in it. The colonization would in due course be a complete one.

It would take time. Mighty engines had to be created, and while some parts of them could be made here, others had to be shipped across the gulfs of space. Once they were set up, at a thousand different places on the earth, they would take in our air and breathe out an air suited to the Masters. It would be thick and green, like the air inside the City's dome, and as it spread the sun's light would dim and the living things that now flourished-flowers and trees, animals and birds and men-would choke and die. Within ten years of the setting up of the engines, it was calculated, the planet would be fit for the Masters' habitation. Long before that the human race would have perished.

I was appalled by what I was told, by the revelation that man's subjugation was not, as we had thought, a final evil, but the precursor of annihilation. I managed to make some inane remark, to the usual effect that whatever the Masters desired was good.

My Master said, "You do not understand, boy. But there are some of us who are saddened by the thought that the things and creatures now living on this world must be blotted out. It is a heavy burden to the mind."

I pricked my ears up. Was it possible that the Masters were divided among themselves, for all that they professed not to understand man's divisions? Was there a possibility of disunity, and could we exploit it?

He continued, "Those of us who feel like this believe that places should be made where some of the creatures could go on living. The Cities, for instance. Things could be arranged so that some men and animals and plants were able to shelter in them. And the Masters could visit them, masked or in sealed carriages, and view these creatures-not dead as they are in the Pyramid of Beauty, but alive. Would this not be a good thing, boy?"

I thought how much I loathed him, loathed all of them, but smiled, and said, "Yes, Master."

"There are some who say this is unnecessary, a waste of resources, but I think they are wrong. After all, we appreciate beauty, we Masters. We preserve the best of the worlds we colonize."

Places where a handful of men and animals could live, under glass, to satisfy the curiosity and vanity of the Masters . . . "We appreciate beauty . . ." There was a silence, in which we thought our different thoughts. It continued, but the need to know the answer to the vital question pressed in on me. I had to take the risk of asking him. I said, "When, Master?"

A tentacle moved, in a gesture of interrogation. "When . . . ?" he repeated.

"When will the Plan start, Master?"

He did not reply for a moment, and I thought he might be surprised by my query-suspicious, even. I could read some of his more obvious reactions by this time, but there was a great deal hidden. He said, "The great ship is well advanced on its journey back to us, with the things that are needed. In four years, it will be here."

Four short years before the engines began to belch out poison. Julius, I knew, had been assuming that we had time enough-that the next generation, or the one after that might carry the campaign we had started to a final success. Suddenly time was an enemy, as implacable as the Masters themselves. If we failed and an attempt had to be made next year, we should have lost a quarter of the cruelly short interval in which it was possible to act.

The Master said, "It is a splendid sight when the great ship glides through the night like a shooting star. I hope you will see it, boy."

He meant that he hoped I would live that long; four years represented a very good span of life for a slave in the City. I said fervently, "I hope so, Master. It will be a glorious and happy moment."

"Yes, boy."

"Can I bring another gas bubble, Master?"

"No, boy. I think I will eat. You may prepare my table."

Fritz said, "Then one of us must get away."

I nodded. We were in the communal place at Fritz's pyramid. There were half a dozen other slaves present, two of them playing a game of cards, the remainder lying flat and not even talking. It would be the beginning of autumn in the world outside; the air this morning would have a nip in it, perhaps, after an early night frost. In the City the sweltering heat did not change. We sat apart, and talked in low voices.

I said, "You haven't found anything, I suppose?"

"Only that the Hall of the Tripods is impossible. The slaves who work in the Entering Place have nothing to do with those inside the City. They are ones who were not chosen by Masters, and they envy those whom they pass through into the City. They would not let anyone through in the opposite direction."

"If we could trick our way in-attack them

"There are too many of them, I think. And there is another thing."

"What?"

"Your Master told you about the Tripod being destroyed. They know there is some danger, but they think it is only from un-Capped boys. If they find out we have managed to get into the City, wearing false Caps . . , they ought not to have that warning."

"But if one of us escapes," I argued, "won't that be enough to warn them, anyway? None of the truly Capped would want to leave the City."

"Except through the place of Happy Release. There are no checks on who goes there. It must seem as though that is what has happened, and therefore the escape must be secret."

"Any kind of escape is better than none. We have to get this news to Julius and the rest." Fritz nodded, and I was conscious again of his thinness, his head, although gaunt, large against the frail stalk of his neck. It must be he who escaped, if only one could do so. With a Master kind by their standards, I could hold out for a year or more. He had said he hoped I would see the great ship returning in its glory. But Fritz would not live through this winter unless he got away: that was certain.

Fritz said, "I have thought of one thing."

"What is it?"

He hesitated, and said, "Yes, it is better that you should know, even if it is only an idea. The river."

"The river?"

"It comes into the City, and is purified and made right for the Masters. But it flows out, also. Do you remember that we saw, from the Tripods, the outflow beyond the walls? If we could find the place inside the City . . . there might be a possibility."

"Of course." I thought about it. "It will probably be on the opposite side of the City from where the river flows in."

"Probably, though it need not be. But that is the part where the Masters who do not have slaves live. One cannot search there as easily, for fear of drawing attention to oneself."

"It is worth trying. Anything is worth trying." Fritz said, "As soon as we find a way out, one must go."

I nodded. There was no doubt of that, nor of whom the one should be. I thought of the loneliness of staying behind, with no friend in this hideous place, no one to talk to. Except, of course, my Master. That only added a further shudder to the prospect. I thought of the autumn world outside, the early snows already falling and lying on the White Mountains, covering the entrance to the tunnel for another half a year. I looked at the clock on the wall, marked in periods and ninths-Masters' time. In a few minutes I would have to put on my mask and return to take my Master home from his work.

It happened four days later.

I had been sent on an errand by the Master. One of their habits was to rub various oils and ointments into their bodies, and he told me to go to a certain place and get a particular oil. It was something like a shop, with a narrowing spiral ramp in the centre and items laid out at different heights. I say a shop though no one was in charge, as far as I could see, and it seemed that no money was paid. This pyramid to which I was sent was much farther away than the ones I customarily went to. I presumed the oil he wanted-he gave me an empty container to identify it-was not available nearer at hand. I slogged my way across the City, taking well over an hour to get there and back, and returned exhausted and soaked with sweat. I wanted desperately to go to my refuge-to take off the mask and wash and rub myself-but it was unthinkable that a slave should do that without first reporting to his Master. So I went the other way, to the window room, expecting to find him in the pool. He was not there, but in a far corner of the room. I went to him, and made the bow of reverence.

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 story books 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 in to the refuge. I discovered a curious thing."

It had been held behind him by another tentacle, and now 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, the day he called me back and told me I was to be his friend. While a tentacle held me in midair, a second one moved to the lower part of the mask, where the material was soft, and its hard tip probed upward. I wondered if it would break through the material, so that I would choke 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. It probed and plucked.

"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, with 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. That 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.

10

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 despatched 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-defence?

These feelings faded, though, in 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 could be tracked down so easily 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 demigods.

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 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 than 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 Fritz's pyramid. I had sneaked into his Master's home, attracted his attention without the Master seeing me, and whispered urgently that we must meet 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 really 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 defying the Masters, of striking and killing one."

"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, though not through being attacked. 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 that 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.

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 footsteps approaching.

He, too, was awed by the sight, but recovered quickly. He said, "I think I have a plan. You told me he used the gas bubbles?"

"Yes."

"I have noticed that my Master 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 your . . ."

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 against 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 rubber-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 it 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 the Master. 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 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 to find another Master here and the death discovered. So I roused myself and made 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 that 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 and the others 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 weals. 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

Under the Golden Wall / 197 of it. We were alone in the communal place. I swallowed the food he gave me, crumbled a salt stick and ate it, and 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 green luminescence; I thought they looked like gigantic glow-worms. The heat had not abated, of course. It never did. Almost at once sweat began to form 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 travelling 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 isolation, and was hard put to keep him in sight while staying the distance apart he had suggested. We moved from one pool of light to the next and there was a stage between them where one walked through near blackness, with the next lamp no more than a dim green glow, ahead. It was a strain on eye and mind alike, particularly in the follow-my-leader role that I had to adopt.

One could detect 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. Now 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 fearful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.

I had not turned round, 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. I had a dreadful conviction that he had slowed his progress deliberately, that he was examining me and would accost me. I went on, expecting every moment that the Master's voice would boom out from behind, a tentacle, possibly, grasp me and swing me off the ground. I could see Fritz's figure dimly, fading into the darkness past the next light. The light itself was approaching. I wanted to strain my muscles into a lumbering run, but somehow kept to my resolution. The slapping footsteps were right behind me, much louder, it seemed, than I had ever heard them before. And then past, and I felt like collapsing in the weakness of relief.

But more was to come. Fritz had already vanished into the next patch of darkness, and the Master disappeared in turn. I made my way after them. Light faded, leaving nothing but the distant glow. This brightened again. I could see the globe of the lamp, lifted on its long angular arm. And just beyond it . . .

The Master was there, and so was Fritz. They stood together, the Master's tall shape towering over Fritz. I heard the distant sound of speech.

I wanted to stop, to turn back into the shadows, but that might attract his attention. I had to go forward, whatever happened. And retreat would mean abandoning Fritz. I marched on. If he were in trouble . . . I did not think much of my chances of landing another punch like the one that had killed my own Master. I found myself trembling, with fear and resolution. Then, with a second surge of relief, I saw the Master move on and Fritz, more slowly, follow.

He waited for me in the next shadows. I said, "What was it? What did he want to know?" Fritz shook his head. "Nothing. He thought he recognized me as the slave of someone he knew. I think he had a message to give. But I was not the one he wanted, so he went on."

I drew a deep breath into the mask. "I thought we were sunk."

"So did I."

I could not see him in the darkness, but .I could hear a tremor in his voice. I said, "Do you want to rest?"

"No. We'll go on."

An hour later we did rest. There was an open place with a large triangular garden pool, to one side of which trees something like weeping willows, only on a massive scale, drooped their branches down to the ground beside the pool, screening us, once we were inside their shelter, from the view of anyone who passed. Though in fact we had seen no one on the streets or ramps for some time now, and there was no sign of a Master in or near the pool. We stretched out under the ropy fronds that, although there was no wind or breeze in the City, from time to time brushed lightly against us. The ground pulled us down still, but it was bliss not to fight it, to lie flat and motionless. I would have liked to clear the inside of my mask of sweat, but even that discomfort was no more than a minor irritant.

I said, "Have you been in this part of the City before, Fritz?"

"Once only. We are not far from the edge."

"And opposite where the river comes in?"

"Roughly opposite."

"So when we find the Wall, we can start looking for the outflow."

"Yes. We shall have to be more careful from now on, of course. It is late to be on a night errand, and we are reaching the part where the Masters who have no slaves live. We must go more warily."

"They don't seem to travel about at night, either."

"No. That's lucky. But we can't be absolutely sure of it. Do you feel thirsty?"

"A bit. Not much."

"I do. It does no good to think about it, though. Since there are no slaves in this part of the City, there will be no communal places." He rose slowly to his feet. "I think we had better get on, Will."

We saw strange things in our search. One of these was a vast pit, a triangle a hundred yards along each side, where, far down, green light gleamed on a seething viscous liquid in which, at intervals, bubbles slowly rose and popped. In another place there was a complicated structure of metal rods and catwalks looming up into the dark night, pointing, it seemed, to lights that flashed high above our heads. Once, turning a corner ahead of me, Fritz stopped, but beckoned me to come up with him. I did so quietly, and together we stared at the scene. It was a small garden pool, with only a few low-lying plants. In it were two Masters, the first we had seen since coming into this sector. They were locked together in what looked like deadly combat, tentacles interlaced, heaving against each other, the water turbulent with their struggling and rolling. We watched for a moment or two and then, making nothing of it, turned silently and went another way.

In due course we reached the Wall. We came down a ramp between two small pyramids, and it was there. It stretched away on either side, golden even in the dim green light of the lamps, curving inward slightly as it was lost in the distance. The surface was smooth and hard and unbroken, offering not even a toe-hold, and upward as well as to the sides it showed no change as far as the eye could see. It was discouraging to look at it.

I said, "Do you think we are near where the river ought to be?"

I saw Fritz's thin ribs rise and fall in the lamp light. I was exhausted, but he much more so. He said, "We should be. But the river would be below ground."

"Will there be a way of getting down to it?"

"We must hope there is."

I looked at the featureless Wall. "Which way do we go?"

"It doesn't matter. Left. Do you hear anything?"

"What?"

"The sound of water."

I listened intently. "No."

"Nor do I." He shook his head, as though to rouse himself. "Left will do."

Thirst began to attack me soon after. I tried to dismiss the thought, but it came back insistently. We were searching for water, after all. I thought of it, cold, crystal clear, like the streams that ran down below the White Mountains. The picture was a torment, but I could not put it out of my head.

We investigated wherever there was a ramp leading down. We found ourselves in weird labyrinths, some piled high with crates, drums, metal spheres, and others packed with machinery that whined and hummed and sometimes sparked. Most of it was untended, but in one or two places there were two or three Masters doing things at boards covered with little holes and pimples. We were treading warily and softly, and they did not see us. In one great cavern gas bubbles were being made. They rolled out of the jaws of a machine down a sloping V-shaped channel and dropped into boxes, which, as they were full, closed themselves and were automatically moved away. In another place, even bigger, food was being manufactured. I recognized it, by the colour and shape of the bubble bag, as being a kind of which my Master was especially fond. Had been fond, I corrected myself. The thought gave me a twinge of panic. Had the body been found yet? Were they already looking for his missing slave?

Going back up a ramp to the surface, Fritz said, "I think left was wrong, perhaps. We have come a long way. We must turn back, and try in the other direction."

"Rest first."

"For a few minutes." He sounded discouraged. "We have not much time."

So we plodded back along the way we had come, stopping every now and then to listen for the rushing sound of distant water, but hearing only the noise of the machines. We reached the point at which we had come to the Wall, and toiled on. I became aware of a difference, and looking up, saw the blackness of the night tinged behind us with faint green. The night was coming to an end. Dawn was breaking, and we were no nearer to finding a way out, no nearer to the elusive river.

The day brightened. Thirst overrode hunger, but physical weakness seemed greater than either. The green globes winked out. We saw a Master in the distance, out in the street, and hid behind the edge of a garden pool until he had gone. A quarter of an hour later, we had to dodge two more. I said, "The streets may be swarming with them soon. We will have to give it up for tonight, Fritz, and get back to a place where we can take our masks off and eat and drink."

"In a few hours they will find him."

"I know. But what else can we do?" He shook his head, "I must rest."

He lay down, and I lowered myself to lie beside him. I felt giddy with weakness, and thirst tore at my throat like a furious animal. Fritz seemed to be in a worse case still. At any rate, we could not stay here. I told him we ought to get up, but he did not answer. I got to my knees and pulled his arm. Then he said, his voice suddenly kindled with excitement, "I think . . . listen."

I listened, and heard nothing. I told him so. He said, "Lie down and put your ear to the ground. Sound travels better that way. Listen!"

I did and, after a moment, heard it: a thin rushing sound that might be the whisper of distant tumultuous waters. I pressed my ear closer to the surface of the road, hurting my face against the hardness of the mask. It was there, all right, a torrent underground. Thirst was sharpened even more by the tantalizing sound of it, but I felt I could ignore that, too. At last we had found the river. That is to say, we knew approximately where it was. The actual finding might take quite a bit longer.

We tried systematically all the downward ramps in the area, testing them by listening to the ground. Sometimes the noise was louder, sometimes fainter. Once we lost it altogether, and had to cast back on our trail. There were avenues that were deceptively promising but that led to dead ends. More and more often we had to dodge Masters, or lie low till they had passed. One promising ramp led to a huge hall in which a score or more of them did things in front of benches: the river might well be somewhere at the far end, but we dared not go through. And time was passing; above ground we were in full day. Then, quite unexpectedly, we came on it.

A very steep ramp, on which we found ourselves slipping and in danger of falling, led across a level space and dipped again, curving round on itself. Fritz clutched my arm and pointed. Ahead lay a cavern with a pointed roof, in which there were stacks of crates the height of a man. At the far end, only dimly visible in the light of the green globes that hung at intervals from the ceiling, water gushed from a huge hole and formed a pool, some fifty feet across.

"Do you see?" Fritz asked. "The Wall."

It was true. At the end of the cavern, beyond the pool, was the dull gleam of gold, unmistakably the inner surface of the barrier that ringed the City, and on which the great dome rested. The pool frothed against it. The water gushing in was that which had circulated through the City, the waste and overflow of hundreds of garden pools. Steam rose up from it. It filled the pool, and from the pool . . . It must go out, under the Wall: there could be no other explanation.

Cautiously we made our way along the cavern, between the stacked crates, to the edge of the pool. There were things like vertical nets in the water, and we saw also that the water steamed only at its entry point. Nearer to the Wall, Fritz reached down and put a hand in it.

"It is quite cool here. The nets must take the heat out, so it is not lost to the City." He stared down into the churning depths, green from the lamps hanging over them. "Will, let the current take you. Before you go, I will put sealer on the air vents of your mask. There is enough air inside a mask to give you five minutes breathing. I have tried this out."

What he called "sealer" was a substance the Masters used for closing containers that had been opened. It came out of a tube liquid, but dried and hardened almost right away.

I said, "I'll do yours first."

"But I am not coming."

I stared at him. "Don't be silly. You must."

"No. They must not suspect anything."

"But they'll do that when they find I've gone."

"I do not think so. Your Master died from a fall, an accident. What would a slave do, then? I think he might go to the Place of Happy Release, because there is no point in him going on living."

I saw the force of the argument, but said dubiously, "They might think that, but we can't be sure."

"We can help them to think it. I know some of the slaves in your pyramid. If I tell one that I saw you, and you said that was where you were going . . ."

I saw that, too. Fritz had worked things out very well. I said, "If you escaped, and I went back..."

He said patiently, "It would not help, would it? It is your Master that is dead, not mine-you who should go to the Place of Happy Release. If you go back, they will question you. It would be fatal."

"I don't like it," I said.

"It doesn't matter what you like, or I like. One of us must get away to take the news of what we have learned back to Julius and the others. It is safer if it is you." He squeezed my arm.

"I will get out. It is easy now that I know where the river is. In three days, I will tell the other slaves in my pyramid that I am too sick to work, and therefore have chosen the Happy Release. I will hide out of the way, and come down here at night."

I said, "I will wait for you outside."

"Wait three days, no longer. You must get back to the White Mountains before winter sets in. And now you must hurry." He forced a smile. "The sooner you dive, the sooner I can get back, and have a drink of water."

He spread the sealer on the air vents of my mask, after first telling me to take a deep breath. In a few seconds he nodded, indicating the seal was hard. He pressed my arm again and said,

"Good luck." The sound was fainter, more muffled than usual.

I dared delay no longer. The surface of the pool was about six feet below the top of the low containing wall. I climbed up on this and dived down, deep down, into the swirling waters.

11

Two Go Home

Down, down, into darkness. The current tugged me, and I went with it, pulling myself through the water in a crude and feeble attempt at swimming. I swam forward as well as down. My hand touched something and, as my shoulder banged painfully against it, I knew I was at the Wall. But still unbroken, with no sign of an opening, and the current still dragging down.

Possibilities and fears crowded in on me. The water might flow out through gratings, which I would be unable to remove. Or there might be more nets, and I would tangle myself in them. The whole enterprise seemed hopeless. There was a pressure of air in my lungs, the beginning of a roaring in my head. I breathed out a little, and drew a small breath of air in. Five minutes, Fritz had said. How long had I been under already? I realized that I had no idea; it might be ten seconds, or ten times that. Panic, the fear of drowning, clutched me, and I wanted to turn and swim back up, against the pull of water, up to the surface where I had left Fritz.

I swam on and down, trying to blank my mind to everything but the need to hold on. If I abandoned things now we .were lost, anyway. And we must not lose. One of us had to get through. Far above me there was a dim green radiance, but darkness was all round and below me, and I was diving deeper into it. I took another shallow breath, to ease my aching lungs. I wondered if I were already past the point of no return. Then there was turbulence, the current breaking up and changing direction. I reached forward, but there was still an impassable solidity. Down, down . . . An edge, an opening. The tide carried me into it and I realized that now, finally, I was committed. The current was stronger, more closely channelled. I had to go on because there was no hope of getting back. So I swam and was carried along, in utter blackness. I took shallow breaths when I felt I must. Time, as it passed, became more and more immeasurable. There was a sense of having been hours down here, not minutes. Occasionally I bumped my head against the hard surface above me; if I swam down a few feet I could touch the bottom of the conduit. Once my outstretched hand brushed against a side wall, but I was too concerned with getting through to want to establish how wide it might be.

The shallow breaths were no longer enough: I had to breathe more deeply. And this did not help, either. I was breathing in my own exhaled breath. I felt a hammering inside my head. A blackness was growing there, to match the blackness of the water. It was all hopeless, a trap with no way out. I was finished, and so was Fritz, and those we had left behind in the White Mountains-all mankind. I might as well give up, stop struggling. And yet . . .

It was the faintest of glimmers at first, something that only inextinguishable optimism could read as light. But I flailed on with my weary arms, and it grew. Brightness filtering through -white light, not green. It must be the end of the tunnel. The pain in my chest was savage, but I found I could almost ignore it. Nearer, brighter, but still out of reach. Another stroke, I told myself, and another, and another. The brightness was right over me, and I kicked and fought my way up to it. Brighter and brighter, and a bursting through to the eye-piercing brilliance of the earthly sky.

The sky, but not the air for which my tortured lungs were crying out. The sealed mask held me. I tried to release the buckle of the belt, but my fingers were too feeble. I was being carried downriver, the mask buoying me up. Buoying, and also suffocating. I tried again, and failed again. What a terrible irony, I thought, that I should have come so far, only to choke to death in freedom. I clawed at the mask, ineffectually. I was filled with a sense of failure and shame, and then the blackness, for so long barely held at bay, swooped down and swallowed me.

My name was being spoken, but from a long way off.

"Will..."

There was something wrong about that, I thought drowsily. It was my name, but . . . pronounced in the English fashion, not with the initial "V" to which I had grown accustomed since we had been speaking German. Was I dead, I wondered? In Heaven, perhaps?

"Are you all right, Will?"

Did they speak English in Heaven? But it was English with an accent-a voice I remembered. Beanpole! Was Beanpole in Heaven, too?

I opened my eyes, and saw him kneeling above me, on the river's muddy bank. He said, with relief, "You are all right."

"Yes." I gathered my scattered senses. A bright autumn morning-the river flowing beside us, the sun, from which my eyes still automatically turned away-and, farther off . . , the great rampart of gold, topped by the vast green crystal bubble. I really was outside the City. I stared at him.

"But how did you get here?"

The explanation was simple. When Fritz and I had gone, taken by the Tripods, he had intended to go back to the White Mountains and tell Julius what had happened. But he had not been eager for it, and had stayed in the town a few days, listening for anything that was said that might be useful. One thing he learned was the approximate site of the City, and he thought he might as well go and take a look at it. It lay, he was told, across a tributary of the great river down which we had come together. He took the hermit's boat and paddled south and east.

Having found it, he decided to survey it. He dared not risk approaching the Wall by day, but on nights when there was moonlight-some, but not too much-he made his investigations. The result was not encouraging. There was no break in the Wall, and no hope of scaling it. One night he dug down several feet, but the Wall continued still farther, and he had to fill in the hole and leave as dawn broke. None of the Capped approached the City, so he was safe from their attentions. There were farms within reach, and he lived on what food he could pick up or steal.

Once he had been right round the City, there seemed little point in staying on. But it was then that the thought occurred to him, too, that if anyone were going to escape, the river provided what was probably the only feasible route. Its waters, plainly, were waste from the City: nothing grew on the banks for a mile downstream; there were no fish, though there were plenty in the part of the river above the City; and he found strange items of debris from time to time. He showed me some-various empty containers, including a couple of empty gas bubbles, which ought to have gone into one of the waste cupboards but had found their way into the river instead. One afternoon he saw something quite large floating in midstream. It was too far for him to see clearly, particularly since his eyes, without his lenses, were weak, but he took the boat out and salvaged it. It was of metal, hollow so that it floated, measuring some six feet by two, and a foot thick. If that could come out of the City, he argued, a man could. In fact it was hard to see any other way in which an escape was possible. Because of that, he resolved to take up a position where he could watch the outflow-watch, and wait.

And so he had stayed here, while the days and the weeks went by. As time passed, his hopes that one of us might get away dwindled. He had no notion of what things were like inside the City: we might have been discovered on the first day as falsely Capped, and killed. He stayed on, more, he said, because leaving would mean abandoning the last shred of hope than because hope had anything to feed on. Now, with the autumn, he realized that he could not delay much longer if he were to get back to the White Mountains before the heavy snows. He had decided to give it another week, and on the morning of the fifth day had seen something else floating downriver. He had taken the boat out again, found me, and with a knife had ripped open the soft part of the mask, to let me breathe. He said, "And Fritz?"

I told him, briefly. He was silent, and then said, "What do you think the chances are?"

I said, "Not good, I'm afraid. Even if he finds his way back to the river, he's much weaker than I am."

"He said he would try in three days?"

"Yes, three days."

"We'll keep a close watch. And your eyes are better than mine."

We gave him three days, and three times three days, and three days beyond that, each time finding a less convincing argument for our vigil. Nothing came out of the City, that we could see, but ordinary debris. On the twelfth day there was a snowstorm, and we huddled, shivering, cold, and hungry, under the upturned boat. The next morning, without discussion, we set out under a watery sun peering through gray clouds, toward the great river and the south.

Once I looked back. The snow was melting, but the land still stretched bare and white on either side of the river. The river was a gray arrow in the alabaster desert, pointing to the circle of gold and the dome of green crystal. I lifted my arm. It was still a positive joy to be free of the leaden weight that had crushed me for so long. Then I thought of Fritz, and the joy turned to sadness, and a deep and bitter hatred against the Masters.

We were going home, but only to arm ourselves and others. We would come back.

The Pool of Fire

1

A Plan of Action

Everywhere there was the sound of water. In places it was no more than a faint whisper, heard only because of the great stillness all around; in others, an eerie distant rumbling, like the voice of a giant talking to himself in tile bowels of the earth. But there were places also where its rushing was clear and loud, and the actual torrent was visible, in the light of oil lamps, flinging itself down dark rocky watercourses or spilling in a fall over a sheer edge of stone. And places where the water lay calm in long black reaches, its sound muted to a monotonous drip...drip which had continued for centuries and would continue for as many more.

I was relieved from guard to go to the conference, and so went through the dimly lit tunnels late and alone. The work of nature here mingled with the work of man. The earth's convulsions and the action of long-dead rivers had hollowed out these caverns and channels in the limestone hills, but there were marks of the ancients, too. Men had been here in the past, smoothing uneven floors, widening narrow gaps, sinking handrails into an artificial stone to aid and guide the traveller. There were also long ropelike cables, which had once carried the power called electricity to light bulbs of glass along the way. Our wise men, Beanpole had told me, had learned the means of doing this again, but needed resources that were not available to them here-nor would be, perhaps, while men were forced to skulk like rats in the dark corners of a world governed by the Tripods, those huge metal monsters who strode on three giant legs across the face of the earth.

I have told already how I left my native village, at the urging of a strange man who called himself Ozymandias. This happened during the summer which was to have been my last before I was presented for the Capping ceremony. In that, boys and girls in their fourteenth year were taken up into one of the Tripods and returned later wearing Caps-a metal mesh that fitted close to the skull and made the wearer utterly obedient to our alien rulers. There were always a few whose minds broke under the strain of Capping, and these became Vagrants, men who could not think properly and who wandered aimlessly from place to place. Ozymandias had posed as one of them. In fact, his mission was to recruit people who would fight against the Tripods.

So I went, with my cousin Henry, who also lived in my village, and later with Beanpole, a long journey to the south. (His real name was jean-Paul, but we nicknamed him Beanpole because he was so tall and thin.) We arrived at last at the White Mountains, where we found the colony of free men Ozymandias had spoken of. From there, the following year, three of us were sent as a spearhead to penetrate into the City from which the Tripods came and learn what we could of them. Not quite the same three, however. Henry was left behind, and in his place we had Fritz, a native of the land of the Germans in which the City stood. He and I had got into the City, served as slaves of the Masters - monstrous three-legged, three-eyed reptilian creatures who came from a distant star - and learned something of their nature and their plans. But only I had escaped, plunging through the drain of the City into a river, and there being rescued by Beanpole. We had waited, hoping Fritz might do the same, until, with snow falling and winter coming on, we had been forced to return, heavy-hearted, to the White Mountains.

We had reached them to find that the colony had moved. This had been the result of a prudent decision by Julius, our leader. He had foreseen the possibility of our being unmasked by the enemy, and of our minds being ransacked once we were helpless in their grasp. So, without telling us of it, he had formed a plan to evacuate the tunnel in the White Mountains, leaving only a few scouts to await our hoped-for return. The scouts had discovered Beanpole and myself as we stared miserably around the deserted fortress, and had led us to the new headquarters.

This lay a long way to the east, in hilly rather than mountainous country. It was a land of narrow valleys, flanked by barren, mostly pine-wooded hills. The Capped kept to the valley floors, we to the ridges. We lived in a series of caves that ran, tortuously, for miles through the heights. Fortunately, there were several entrances. We had guards on them all, and a plan for evacuation in case of attack. But so far all had been quiet. We raided the Capped for food, but were careful to have our raiding parties travel a long way from home before they pounced.

Now Julius had called a conference and I, as the only person who had seen the inside of the City-seen a Master face to face-was summoned from guard duty to attend it.

In the cave where the conference was held, the roof arched up into a darkness that our weak lamps could not penetrate: we sat beneath a cone of night in which no star would ever shine. Lamps flickered from the walls, and there were more on the table, behind which Julius sat with his advisers on roughly carved wooden stools. He rose to greet me as I approached, although any physical action caused him discomfort, if not pain. He had been crippled in a fall as a child, and was an old man now, white-haired but red-cheeked from the long years he had spent in the thin bright air of the White Mountains.

"Come and sit by me, Will," he said. "We are just starting."

It was a month since Beanpole and I had come here. At the outset I had told all I knew to Julius and others of the Council and handed over the things-samples of the Masters' poisonous green air, and water from the City-which I had managed touring with me. I had expected some kind of swift action, though I did not know what. Swift, I thought, it had to be. One thing I had been able to tell them was that a great ship was on its way, across space, from the home world of the Masters, carrying machines that would turn our earth's atmosphere into air which they could breathe naturally, so that they would not have to stay inside the protective domes of the Cities. Men, and all other creatures native to the planet, would perish as the choking green fog thickened. In four years, my own Master had said, it would arrive, and the machines would be set up. There was so little time.

Julius might have been speaking to me, answering my doubts. He said, "Many of you are impatient, I know. It is right that you should be. We all know how tremendous a task we face, and its urgency. There can be no excuse for action unnecessarily delayed, time wasted. Every day, hour, minute counts.

"But something else counts as much or more; and that is forethought. It is because events press so hard on us that we must think and thinly again before we act. We cannot afford many false moves-perhaps we cannot afford any. Therefore your Council has deliberated long and anxiously before coming to you with its plans. I will give you them in broad detail now, but each one of you has an individual part to play, and that will be told you later."

He stopped, and I saw that someone in the semicircle in front of the table had risen to his feet. Julius said, "Do you wish to speak, Pierre? There will be opportunity later, you know:"

Pierre had been on the Council when we first came to the White Mountains. He was a dark, difficult man. Few men opposed Julius, but he had done so. He had, I had learned, been against the expedition to the City of Gold and Lead, and against the decision to move from the White Mountains. In the end, he had left the Council, or been expelled from it; it was difficult to be sure which. He came from the south of France, from the mountains which border on Spanish land. He said, "What I have to say, Julius, is better said first than last."

Julius nodded. "Say it, then."

"You talk of the Council coming to us with its plans. You talk of parts to play, of men being told what they must do. I would remind you, Julius, it is not Capped men you are talking to, but free. You should rather come to us asking than ordering. It is not only you and your Councillors who can plan how to defeat the Tripods. There are others who are not lacking in wisdom. All free men are equal, and must be given the rights of equality. Common sense as well as justice demands this."

He stopped speaking, but remained on his feet, among the more than a hundred men who squatted on the bare rock. Outside it was winter, with even these hills mantled with snow, but, as in the tunnel, we were protected by our thick blanket of rock. The temperature never changed here, from one day or season to another. Nothing changed here.

Julius paused for a moment, before he said, "Free men may govern themselves in different ways. Living and working together, they must surrender some part of their freedom. The difference between us and the Capped is that we surrender it voluntarily, gladly, to the common cause, while their minds are enslaved to alien creatures who treat them as cattle. There is another difference, also. It is that, with free men, what is yielded is yielded for a time only. It is done by consent, not by force or trickery. And consent is something that can always be withdrawn."

Pierre said, "You talk of consent, Julius, but where does your authority lie? In the Council. And who appoints the Council? The Council itself does, under your control. Where is the freedom there?"

"There will be a time," Julius said, "for us to discuss among ourselves how we shall be governed. That day will come when we have destroyed those who now govern humanity all over the world. Until then, we have no room for squabbling or dispute:"

Pierre began to say something, but Julius raised a hand and silenced him.

"Nor do we have room for dissension, or the suspicion of dissension. Perhaps what you have said was worth saying, whatever the motive with which you said it. Consent, among free men, is given and can be withdrawn. It can also be affirmed. So I ask: will any man who wishes to challenge the authority of the Council, and its right to speak for this community, rise to his feet?"

He stopped. There was silence in the cave, apart from the shuffle of a foot and the unending distant roar of water. We waited and watched for a second man to get to his feet. None did. When time enough had gone by, Julius said, "You lack support, Pierre:"

"Today. But perhaps not tomorrow."

Julius nodded. "You do well to remind me. So I will ask for something else. I ask you now to approve this Council as your government until such a time as those who call themselves the Masters are utterly defeated." He paused. "Will those in favour stand up?"

This time, all stood. Another man, an Italian called Marco, said, "I vote the expulsion of Pierre, for opposing the will of the community."

Julius shook his head. "No. No expulsions. We need every man we have, every man we can get. Pierre will do his part loyally-I know that. Listen. I will tell you what we plan. But first I would like Will here to talk to you of what it is like inside the City of our enemies. Speak, Will."

When I had told my story to the Council, I had been asked by them to keep silent to others for the time being. Normally this would not have been easy. I am talkative by nature, and my head was full of the wonders I had seen inside the City-the wonders, and the horrors. My mood, though, had not been normal. On the way back, with Beanpole, my energies had been taken up by the arduousness and uncertainty of the journey: there had been little time in which to brood. But after we had come to the caves it had been different. In this world of perpetual lamp-lit night, of echoing silences, I could think and remember, and feel remorse. I found I had no wish to talk to others of what I had seen, and what had happened.

Now, under Julius's instruction to speak, I found myself in confusion. I spoke awkwardly, with many stops and repetitions, at times almost incoherently. But gradually, as I continued with my story, I became aware of how closely they were all listening to it. As I went on, also, I was carried away by my recollection of that terrible time-of what it had been like to struggle under the intolerable burden of the Masters' heavier gravity, sweating in the unvarying heat and humidity, watching fellow slaves weaken and collapse under the strain, and knowing this would almost certainly be my own fate. As it had been Fritz's. I spoke, Beanpole told me later, with passion and with a fluency that was not normally mine. When I had finished and sat down, there was a silence in my audience that told how deeply the story had affected them.

Then Julius spoke again.

"I wanted you to listen to Will for several reasons. One is that what he says is the report of someone who has actually witnessed the things of which he tells. You have heard him, and you know what I mean: what he has described to you he has seen. Another reason is to hearten you. The Masters are possessed of tremendous power and strength. They have travelled the unimaginable distances that lie between the stars. Their lives are so long that ours, by comparison, seem like the dancing of mayflies for a brief day over a tumbling river. And yet . . ."

He paused, and looked at me with a little smile.

"And yet Will, and ordinary boy, no brighter than most, a trifle on the small side-Will has struck at one of these monsters and seen it collapse and die. He was lucky, of course. There is a place where they are vulnerable to a blow, and he was fortunate enough to discover it and to strike there. The fact remains that he killed one of them. They are not all-powerful. We can take heart from that. What Will managed by luck, we can achieve by planning and resolution.

"This leads me to my third point, my third reason for wanting you to hear Will's story. It is that essentially it is a story of failure." He was looking at me, and I felt myself flushing. He went on, calmly and unhurriedly: "The Master was made suspicious by finding in Will's room the notes be had made about the City and its dwellers. Will did not think the Master would go into his room, where he would have to wear a mask to be able to breathe; but this was shallow thinking. After all, he knew his Master was one who took more care of his slaves than most, and knew that he had, before his own time, arranged for small extra comforts to be installed in the refuge room. It was reasonable that he might do so again, and find the book with notes in it."

His tone was level, considering rather than critical, but the more damming for that. My shame and embarrassment grew as I listened to him.

"Will was able, with Fritz's help, to salvage a great deal from the situation. He escaped from the City, and returned with information whose value to us is beyond computing. But still more could have been gained." His eyes were on me again. "And with time to plan things better, Fritz might have come back, too. He passed on to Will as much as he could of what he had learned, but it would have been better if he had been able to testify himself. Because every tiny item counts in the struggle."

Julius spoke then of the short time we had, of the ship already on its way toward us through the far deeps of space, and of the final death for all earthly things which it would bring with it. And he told us what had been decided by the Council.

The most important thing was to speed up - tenfold, a hundredfold, eventually a thousandfold - our efforts to win the young, those still not Capped, to our side. To do this, as many as possible must go out, winning over and teaching young people, all over the world. Cells of resistance must be set up, and must create other cells. The Council had maps, and would give instructions where to go. Particularly, we must aim at establishing opposition groups in the neighbourhood of the other two Cities of the Masters-one thousands of miles across land to the east, the other on the far side of the great ocean to the west. There were problems of language which would have to be overcome. There were other problems-of survival, of organization-which might seem, at first sight, insuperable. They were not insuperable, because they must not be. There could be no weakening, no despair, nothing but a determination to give every last ounce of energy and strength to the cause.

This course, obviously, involved a risk of alerting the Masters to the opposition that was developing. It was possible that they would not bother much about it, since their plan for extermination was so far advanced. But we had to be prepared for countermeasures. We must not have one headquarters, but a dozen, a hundred, each capable of carrying on by itself. The Council would split up, its members travelling from place to place, only meeting occasionally and with due precaution.

So much for the first part of the Plan-the urgent need to mobilize all available forces for the struggle, and to reconnoitre and set up colonies within reach of all three enemy Cities. There was another part, perhaps even more important. Means had to be devised for destroying them, and this would involve much hard work and experimentation. A separate base was to be set up, but only those allotted to it would know where it was. That was where our ultimate hope lay. We dared not risk its discovery by the Masters.

"Now," Julius said, "I have told you what I can. Later, you will be given your individual instructions, and the things, such as maps, which you may need to carry them out. I will ask now: are there any questions, or suggestions?"

No one spoke, not even Pierre. Julius said, "Then we can go our ways." He paused. "This is the last time we shall meet together, in such an assembly, until our task is completed. The only final thing I would say is what I have said already. That which we have to do is a tremendous and frightening thing, but we must not let it frighten us. It can be done. Yet it can only be done by each one giving his all. Go now, and God go with you."

It was Julius himself who gave me my instructions.

I was to travel to the south and east, posing as a trader, with a packhorse, winning recruits and seeding resistance, and reporting back to this centre.

Julius asked, "Is it clear to you, Will?"

"Yes, sir."

"Look at me, Will."

I raised my eyes. He said, "I think you are still smarting, lad, from some of the things I said, after you had told your tale to the assembly."

"I realize that what you said was true, sir:"

"But that does not make it easier to bear, when one has told a story of courage and skill and high endeavour, and finds it afterward painted a somewhat different colour:"

I did not answer.

"Listen, Will. What I did, I did for a purpose. The standards we set ourselves must be high, to a point of near impossibility. So I used your story to point a moral: that carelessness, in one man, can destroy us-that enough is never enough-that there can be no complacency, however much is achieved, because there is always more to achieve. But I can tell you now that what you did, you and Fritz, was of tremendous value to us all."

I said, "Fritz did more. And Fritz did not come back."

Julius nodded. "It's is a thing you have to suffer. But what matters is that one of you came back-that we did not lose a year out of the brief time we have. We all have to learn to live with our losses, and to use our regrets to spur us on in the future." He put a hand on my shoulder. "It is because I know you that I can say you did well. You will remember it, but you will remember my criticism more clearly and for longer. Isn't that true, Will?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "I think it is true."

The three of us-Henry, Beanpole, and I-met at a place we had found where there was a fissure high up in the rock, through which a little weak daylight filtered-just about enough for us to make out each other's faces without the need of lamps. It was some distance from those parts of the caves which were in general use, but we liked going there because of the reminder that the world outside-normally only glimpsed during guard duty at one of the entrances-really did exist: that somewhere there was light and wind and weather, in place of this static blackness and the rumble and whisper and drip of underground water. One day, when there must have been a violent storm blowing outside, a fine mist of rain was driven through the crack and filtered down into our cave. We turned our faces up to it, relishing the cool dampness, and imagining we could smell trees and grass in it.

Henry said, "I'm to go across the western ocean. Captain Curtis is taking us, in the Orion. He will pay off his crew in England except for the one who is false-Capped like himself, and those two will sail her down to a port in the west of France, where we shall join them. Six of us. The land we are going to is called America, and the people there speak the English tongue. What about you, Will?"

I told them briefly. Henry nodded, clearly thinking his own the better and more interesting mission. I agreed with him in that; but I did not care much, either.

Henry said, "And you, Beanpole?"

"I don't know where."

"But they've allocated you, surely?"

He nodded. "To the research base:"

It was what one should have expected. Beanpole, obviously, was the sort they would need to work things out for the attack against the Masters. The original trio, I thought, really would be split up this time. It did not seem to matter a great deal. My mind was on Fritz. Julius had been quite right: it was what he had said in criticism that I remembered and, remembering, was shamed by. With another week or so to prepare, we might both have escaped. It was my carelessness that had precipitated matters and so led to Fritz being trapped. It was a bitter thought, but inescapable.

The other two were talking, and I was content to let them. They noticed this in time. Henry said, "You're very quiet, Will. Anything wrong?"

"No."

He persisted. "You've been altogether quiet lately."

Beanpole said, "I read a book once about those Americans, to whose land you will be going, Henry. It seems that they have red skins, and go about dressed in feathers, and they carry things like hatchets, and play on drums when they go to war and smoke pipes when they want to be peaceful."

Beanpole was usually too much interested in objects-in the way they worked or could be made to work-to pay any great attention to people. But I realized that he had noticed my unhappiness and guessed the cause of it-after all, he had shared with me the vain wait outside the City, and the journey home-and was doing what he could to distract Henry from questioning and me from brooding. I was grateful for that, and for the nonsense he was talking.

There were many things to do before I could set off. I was instructed in the ways of a packman, taught something of the languages in the countries I would visit, advised on how to set up resistance cells and what to tell them when I moved on. All this I took in conscientiously, and with a determination to make no mistakes this time. But the melancholy I felt did not lift.

Henry left before I did. He went in high spirits, in a party that included Tonio, who had been my sparring partner and rival before we went north to the Games. They were all very cheerful. It seemed that everyone in the caves was, apart from me. Beanpole tried to cheer me up, but without success. Then Julius called me to see him. He gave me a lecture on the futility of self-recrimination, the importance of realizing that the only good lesson to be learned from the past was how to avoid similar errors in the future. I listened, and agreed politely, but the black mood did not lift. He said then, "Will, you are taking this the wrong way. You are someone who does not easily bear criticism, and perhaps least of all from yourself. But to settle into such a mood is something that makes you less capable of doing what the Council requires of you."

"The job will be done, sir," I said. "And properly this time. I promise that:"

He shook his head. "I am not sure that such a promise will serve. It would be different if you were of Fritz's temper. Yes, I will speak of him, even though it hurts you. Fritz was melancholic by nature, and could tolerate his own gloom. I do not think this is so with you, who are sanguine and impatient. In your case, remorse and despondency could be crippling."

"I shall do the best I can."

"I know. But will your best be enough?" He looked at me, in slow scrutiny. "You were to have started your journey in three days' time. I think we must delay it"

"But, sir . . :"

"No buts, Will. It is my decision."

I said, "I am ready now, sir. And we do not have the time to waste:"

Julius smiled. "There was something of defiance there, so all is not lost. But you are already forgetting what I said at the last assembly. We cannot afford false moves, or plans or people who are not fully prepared. You will stay here a while longer, lad."

I think I hated Julius in that moment. Even when I had got over that, I was bitterly resentful. I watched others leave, and chafed at my own inactivity. The dark sunless days dragged by. I knew that I must change my attitude, but could not. I tried, attempting to put on a false cheerfulness but knowing no one, Julius least of all, was deceived. At last, though, Julius called me back.

He said, "I have been thinking about you, Will. I believe I have found an answer."

"May I go, sir?"

"Wait, wait! As you know, some packmen travel in pairs, for company and so as to protect their goods better from thieves. It might be a good idea for you to have such a companion."

He was smiling. Angry again, I said, "I am well enough by myself, sir."

"But if it is a question of going with another, or staying here-which will you choose?"

It was galling to think that he regarded me as unfit to be sent out on my own. But there was only one answer that it was possible to give. I said, not without sulkiness, "Whatever you decide, sir."

"That's good, Will. The one who is to go with you . . .would you like to meet him now?"

I could see his smile in the lamplight. I said stiffly, "I suppose so, sir."

"In that case . . ."His eyes went to the dark shadows at the edge of the cave, where a row of limestone pillars made a curtain of stone. He called, "You can come forward."

A figure approached. I stared, thinking that the dimness of the light must be deceiving me.

It was easier to disbelieve my eyes than to accept that someone had come back from the dead.

For it was Fritz.

He told me later all that had happened. When he had seen me plunge into the river that led out of the City, under the golden Wall, he had returned and covered my traces as he had said he would, spreading the story that I had found my Master floating in his pool and had gone straightway to the Place of Happy Release, not wishing to live once my Master was dead. It was accepted, and he was ready to make the attempt to follow me out. But the hardships he had suffered, together with the extra exertions of the night we had spent searching for the river, had taken their toll. He collapsed a second time, and a second time was taken to the slaves' hospital.

It had been agreed that, if I got out, I should wait three days for him to follow. More time than that had passed before he was fit even to rise from his bed, and he thought therefore that I would have gone on. ( In fact, Beanpole and I waited twelve days before despair and the coming of the snow drove us away, but Fritz could not know that.) Believing this, he began, as was typical of him, to think the whole thing through again, slowly and logically. He guessed that the underwater plunge through the City's outlet vents must be difficult-it would have killed me if Beanpole had not been on hand to fish me from the river-and knew the weakness of his own condition. He needed to build up strength, and the hospital offered the best chance of doing that. While he was there, he could avoid his Master's beatings and the heavy tasks that normally were laid on him. He must, of course, be careful not to arouse suspicion that he thought differently from the other slaves, which meant that he had to calculate with care the length of time he could stay. He made it last a fortnight, shamming, for the others, a weakness which increased rather than diminished as the days went by; and then, sorrowfully, declared that he realized he could no longer serve his Master as a Master should be served, and so must die. He left the hospital late in the day, heading toward the Place of Happy Release, found somewhere to hide till night fell, and then made for the Wall and freedom.

At first, all went well. He came out into the river on a dark night, swam wearily to the bank, and went south, following the route we had taken. But he was a couple of days behind us, and fell farther behind when a feverish chill forced him to lie for several days, sweating and starving, in a farmer's barn. He was still desperately weak when he started again, and not long after was halted by a more serious illness. This time, fortunately, he was found and looked after, for he had pneumonia and would have died without care. A lady took him in. Her son, some years before, had turned Vagrant after his Capping. She cherished Fritz because of that.

At last, when he was well and strong, he slipped away and continued his journey. He found the White Mountains swept by blizzards, and was forced to hide out near the valley villages for some time before he could make his way painfully up through deep snow. At the tunnel, he was challenged by the single guard that Julius had left there, just in case. The guard had led him, that morning, to the caves.

All this I learned from him later. At the moment of our meeting, I merely stared, incredulous.

Julius said, "I hope you and your companion will get on together. What do you think, Will?"

Suddenly I realized I was grinning like an idiot.

2

The Hunt

We headed southeast, away from the winter that had closed in over the land. There was a stiff climb, encumbered by drifts of snow, through the mountain pass that took us to the country of the Italians, but after that the going was easier. We travelled across a rich plain, and came to a sea that beat, dark but tideless, against rocky shores and little fishing harbours. So southward, with hills and distant mountains on our left hand, until it was time to break through the heights to the west again.

As peddlers, we were welcomed almost everywhere, not only for the things we brought with us but as new faces in small communities where people, whether liking or disliking them, knew their neighbours all too well. Our wares, to start with, were bolts of cloth, and carvings and small wooden clocks from the Black Forest: our men had captured a couple of barges, trafficking along the great river, and made off with their cargoes. We sold these as we went, and bought other things to sell at a farther stage of our journey. Trade was good; for the most part, these were rich farming lands, the women and children anxious for novelties. The surplus, apart from what we needed to buy food, accumulated in gold and silver coins. And in most places we were given board and lodging. In return for the hospitality we were shown, we stole their boys from thorn.

This was a thing that I could never properly resolve in my mind. To Fritz, it was simple: and obvious: we had our duty, and must do it. Even apart from that, we were helping to save these people from the destruction which the Masters planned. I accepted the logic, and envied him his single-mindedness but it still troubled me. Part of the difficulty, I think, was that it fell to me more than to him to make friends with them. Fritz, as I now knew well enough, was amiable at heart, but taciturn and withdrawn in appearance. His command of languages was better than my own, but I did more of the talking, and a lot more of the laughing. I quickly got onto good terms with each new community we visited, and moved on, in many cases, with real regret.

Because, as I had learned during my stay in the Chateau de la Tour Rouge, the fact that a man or a woman wore a Cap, and thought of the Tripods as great metal demigods, did not prevent him or her from being, in all other respects, a likable, even lovable, human being. It was my job to beguile them into accepting us and taking part in our bartering. I did it as well as I could, but I was not able to remain, at the same time, entirely detached. I have always thrown myself into things, unable to hold back, and it was so with this. It was not easy to like them, to recognize their kindness to us, and at the same time to keep to our objective: which was, as they would have seen it, to gain their trust only to betray them. I was often ashamed of what we did.

For our concern was with the young, the boys who would be Capped in the next year or so. We gained their interest in the first case by bribery, giving them small presents of knives, whistles, leather belts, things like that. They flocked around us, and we talked to them, artfully making remarks and putting queries designed to discover which of them had begun to question the right of the Tripods to rule mankind, and to what extent. We rapidly grew skilled at this, developing a good eye for the rebellious, or potentially rebellious.

And there were far more of these than one would have guessed. At the beginning I had been surprised to find that Henry, whom I had known and fought with since we were both able to walk, was as eager as I to break loose from the chafing confinement of life as we knew it-as apprehensive of what our elders told us was the wonderful bliss of being Capped. I had not known, because one did not talk about these things. To voice doubts was unthinkable, but that did not mean that doubts did not exist. It became clear to us that doubts of some kind were in the minds of all those who found the Capping ceremony looming up in their lives. There was an intoxicating sense of release to them in being in the presence of two who seemed to be Capped, yet did not, as their parents did, treat the subject as a mystery that must never be spoken of, but instead encouraged them to talk and listened to what they said.

Of course, we had to be careful in this. It was a matter, at the outset, of veiled hints, inquiries -seemingly innocent-whose effect depended on the look that went with them. Our procedure was to discover the one or two who, in each village, best combined independence of mind and reliability. Then, shortly before we moved on, these were taken to one side, and separately briefed and counselled.

We told them the truth, about the Tripods and the world, and of the part they must play in organizing resistance. It was not a matter now of sending them back to one of our headquarters. Instead, they were to form a resistance group among the other boys in the village or town, and plan an escape before the Spring Cappings. ( This would be long enough after our visit for there to be no suspicion that we were concerned in it.) They must find places to live, well apart from the Capped but from where they could raid their lands for food and their youth for new recruits. And where they could wait for new instructions.

There could be little definitely laid down: success must depend on individual skill in improvisation and action. Some small help we could offer, by way of communications. We carried pigeons with us, caged in pairs, and at intervals we left a pair with one of our recruits. These were birds that could return, over vast distances, to the nest from which they had come, and carry messages, written very small on thin paper, tied to their legs. They were to be bred, and their descendants used to keep the various centres in touch with each other and eventually with the headquarters group responsible for them.

We gave them signs of identification, too: a ribbon tied in a horse's mane, hats of a certain kind worn at a certain angle, a way of waving, the simulated cries of certain birds. And places, nearby, where messages could be left, to guide us again, or our successors, to whatever hiding place they had found. Beyond that, we could do no more than leave it in the hand of Providence; and go our way, farther and farther, on the path Julius had prescribed for us.

At the beginning, we had seen Tripods fairly frequently. As we went on, though, this happened less and less. It was not a matter of the winter making them inactive, we found, but a real effect of distance from the City. In the land called Hellas, we were told that they appeared only a few times in the year, and in the eastern parts of that country the villagers told us that the Tripods came only for the Capping ceremonies, and then not to every small place, as they did in England: children were brought great distances by their parents to be Capped.

This was reasonable, of course. The Tripods could travel fast-many times the speed of a galloping horse-and without stopping, but distance must take its toll even of them. It was inevitable that they should police those regions close to the City more thoroughly than far-off places: each mile represented a widening of the circle of which it was the centre. For our part, it was a relief to find ourselves in territories where we could be well nigh certain-at this time of year-that no metal hemisphere on its three jointed legs would break the skyline. And it raised a thought. There were two Cities of the Masters, at either edge, more or less, of this vast continent. If control grew more tenuous the farther one travelled from a City, might there not be a part, midway between them, where control did not exist at all-where men were un-Capped and free?

(In fact, as we learned later, the arcs of control overlapped each other, and the area falling outside them was mostly ocean in the south and wastes of frozen land in the north. Those lands, farther to the south, which they did not control, they had laid waste.)

Our task did not, as one might have thought, become easier where the Tripods were less familiar. If anything they seemed, perhaps through their rarity, to inspire a more complete devotion.

We reached a land at last, beyond an isthmus between two seas, near which stood the ruins of a great-city ( it was relatively little overgrown with vegetation, but looked far more ancient than any other we had seen), in which there were great hemispheres of wood, set on three stilts and approached by steps, in which the people worshiped. Long, involved services were conducted there, with much chanting and wailing. Above each hemisphere stood a model of a Tripod, gold not with paint but with the beaten leaf of the metal itself.

But we persisted, and found converts there, also. We were becoming more skilled at our job by this time.

There were tribulations, of course. Although we had moved south, into sunnier, warmer lands, there were times of bitter cold, particularly in the higher regions, when we had to huddle close to the horses at night to keep the blood from freezing in our veins. And long arid days, in near-desert regions, when we had to look anxiously for a sign of water, not so much for ourselves as for the horses. We depended on them absolutely, and it was a staggering blow when Fritz's horse sickened and, a couple of days later, died. I was selfish enough to be glad that it was not my own horse, Crest, of whom I was very fond - if Fritz felt anything of that sort he kept it firmly to himself-but even more concerned with the difficulties that faced us.

We were in bad country, too, on the edge of a great desert and a long way from habitation. We transferred as much of our baggage as possible to Crest, and plodded off, walking now of course, in the direction of the nearest village. As we went, we saw large ugly birds drop from the lazy circles they had been making in the sky to rip the flesh from the poor beast's bones. They would be picked clean within an hour.

This was in the morning. We travelled all that day and half of the next before we reached a few stone huts clustering about an oasis. There was no hope of replacing our lost animal there and we had to trek on, another three days, to what was described as a town, though no bigger in fact than the village of Wherton, where I was born. Here there were animals, and we had the gold we had collected with which to pay for one. The difficulty was that horses, in these parts, were never used as beasts of burden, but only as gaudily caparisoned steeds for persons of high rank. We could not have afforded to buy one, and would have bitterly offended local custom if we had done so and then put packs on it.

What they did have here was a creature whose picture I had once seen, on the side of a carton which I had found in the tunnel that led up through the White Mountains; and gazed at curiously, as an inexplicable relic of the ancients. Now I saw it in the life. It was covered in coarse light brown hair and stood higher than a horse, and had a huge hump on its back which we were told contained a store of water on which it could live for days, a week even, if necessary. Instead of hoofs it had great splayed feet with toes. The head, at the end of a long neck, was hideously ugly, with loose lips and big yellow teeth and, I may say, foul breath. The animal looked awkward and ungainly, but could move surprisingly fast and carry huge loads.

Fritz and I had a disagreement in regard to this. I wanted us to purchase one of these beasts, and he opposed it. I suffered the usual frustration that took place when we were at odds over something. My passionate statement of my own argument was met by stolid unyielding resistance on his part. This made me indignant-my indignation made him more sullenly obstinate -which increased my indignation further . . . and so on. My enumeration of the animal's advantages was answered by the simple counter that we had almost reached the point at which we should turn and start our return swing toward the caves. However useful it might be in these parts, it would look bizarre in places where it was not familiar, and the one thing we must not do was attract undue attention. It was also likely, Fritz pointed out, that, being accustomed to this particular climate, it might well sicken and die in more northerly lands.

He was, of course, quite right, but we spent two days wrangling before I could bring myself to admit it. And to admit, to myself at least, that it was the very bizarreness which had in part, attracted me. I had been envisaging myself (poor Crest forgotten for the moment) riding through the streets of strange towns on the creature's swaying back, and people flocking around to stare at it.

With same amount of money we were able to buy two donkeys-small, but hardy and willing beasts-and loaded our goods on them. We also had enough to purchase the wares of this country: dates, various spices, silks, and finely woven carpets, which we sold very profitably later on. But we made few converts. The language defeated us both utterly. We could buy and sell and barter in sign language, but one required words to talk of liberty and the need to win it from those who enslaved us. Also, the cult of the Tripods was far stronger here. The hemispheres were everywhere, the larger ones having a platform under the Tripod figure at the top, from which a priest called the faithful to prayer three times a day, at dawn and noon and sunset. We bowed our heads and muttered with the rest.

So we reached the river indicated on our map, a broad warm waterway which moved in sluggish serpentine coils through a green valley. And turned back toward home.

The return journey was different. We took a pass through a range of mountains and came out near the eastern shore of that sea we had glimpsed from the ruined great-city that stood on the isthmus. We followed it around, to the north and west, making good time and once more winning great numbers to our cause. The people spoke the Russian tongue, and we had been given some instruction in this, and notes to study. We travelled north, but summer was outstripping us: the land was bright with flowers and I recall one time when we rode all day long in the intoxicating scent of young oranges, ripening on the branches of huge groves of trees. Our schedule called for us to be back at the caves before winter, and we had to press on fast to keep it.

We were moving back toward the City of the Masters as well, of course. From time to time, we saw Tripods, striding across the horizon. We saw none close at hand, though, and were grateful for that. None, that is, until the Day of the Hunt.

The Masters, as we had learned, treated the Capped differently in different places. I do not know whether the spectacle of human variety amused them-they themselves, of course, had always been of one race and the notions of national differences, of many individual languages, of war, which had been the curse of mankind before their conquest, were utterly strange to them. In any case, although they prohibited war they encouraged other forms of diversity and separateness, and cooperated to some extent in human customs. Thus, in the Capping ceremony, they followed a ritual, as their slaves did, appearing at a certain time, sounding a particular dull booming call, fulfilling prescribed motions. At the tournaments in France, and at the Games, they attended patiently throughout, though their only direct interest was in the slaves they would acquire at the end. Perhaps, as I say, this sort of thing amused them. Or perhaps they felt that it fulfilled their role as gods. At any rate, we came to a strange and horrible demonstration of it, when we were only a few hundred miles from our journey's end.

For many days we had been following a vast river, on which, as in the case of the river that had led us north to the Games, much traffic plied. Where the ruins of a great-city lay in our path, we detoured onto higher ground. The land was well cultivated, to a large extent with vines which had been recently stripped of grapes for the harvest. It was well populated, and we stayed the night at a town that looked down toward the ruins and the river and the broad plain beyond, through which it ran into an autumn sunset.

The town, we found, was seething with excitement, crowded with visitors from as much as fifty miles around, on account of what was to take place the following day. We asked questions, as ignorant wandering peddlers, and were answered readily enough. What we learned was horrifying.

The day was called by different names-some spoke of the Hunt, others of Execution Day.

In my native England, murderers were hanged, a brutal and disgusting thing but one which was thought necessary to protect the innocent, and which was carried out expeditiously and as humanely as such a practice could be. Here, instead, they were kept in prison until one day in the autumn, when the grapes were in and pressed and the first new wine ready. Then a Tripod came, and one by one the condemned were turned loose, and the Tripod hunted them while the townspeople watched and drank wine and cheered the sight. Tomorrow there were four to be hunted and killed, a greater number than there had been for several years. On that account the excitement was the greater. The new wine would not be served until the morrow, but there was old wine enough and a good deal of drunkenness as they slaked their thirsts and soothed their fevered anticipations.

I turned from the sight, sickened, and said to Fritz, "At least we can leave at daybreak. We do not have to stay and watch what happens:"

He looked at me calmly. "But we must, Will."

"Watch a man, whatever his crime, sent out for a Tripod to course him like a bare? While his fellow men make wagers on the time he will last?" I was angry and showed it. "I do not call that an entertainment."

"Nor do I. But anything which concerns the Tripods is important. It is as it was when we were in the City together. Nothing must be overlooked."

"You do it, then. I will go on to the next halt, and wait for you there."

"No." He spoke tolerantly but firmly. "We were instructed to work together. Besides, between here and the next village, Max might put his foot in a hole and throw me and I might break my neck in the fall."

Max and Moritz were the names he had given the two donkeys, after characters in certain stories that German boys were told in their childhood. We both smiled at the thought of the sure-footed Max putting a foot wrong. But I realized that there was a lot in what Fritz said: witnessing the scene was part of our job and not to be shirked on account of its unpleasantness.

"All right," I said. "But we move on the moment it's over. I don't want to stay in this town any longer than I have to:"

He looked around the cafe in which we were sitting. Men sang drunkenly and banged their glasses on the wooden tables, spilling wine. Fritz nodded.

"I, neither."

The Tripod came during the night. In the morning it stood like a huge sentinel in a field just below the town, silent, motionless, as those other Tripods had stood at the tournament of the Tour Rouge and at the Games Field. This was a day of festival. Flags were flown, lines of bunting ran from roof to roof across the narrow streets, and street traders were out early, selling hot sausages, sweetmeats, sandwiches of chopped raw meat and onion, ribbons and trinkets. I looked at a tray one man was carrying. It contained a dozen or more little wooden Tripods, each holding in a tentacle the tiny agonized figure of a man. The trader was a cheerful, redfaced fellow and I saw another as kindly looking, a prosperous gaitered farmer with a bushy white beard, buy two of them for his twin grandchildren, a flaxen-headed boy and pigtailed girl of six or seven.

There was much competition for the good vantage points. I did not feel like pressing for one of these, but Fritz, in any case, had fixed things. Many householders, whose windows looked down from the town, rented space at them, and he had bought places for us. The charge was high, but it included free wine and sausages. It also included the use of magnifying glasses.

I had seen a shop window full of these, and had gathered that this was a centre for their manufacture. I had wondered why at the time, not understanding the connection. I knew now. We looked out over the heads of a crowd, with the sunlight glinting from a great number of lenses. Not far away, where a road ran steeply downhill, a man had set up a telescope on a stand. It was at least six feet long, and he was shouting, "Genuine close-up views! Fifty groschen for ten seconds! Ten schillings for the kill!

As close as if he were on the other side of the street!"

The crowd's frenzy grew with the waiting. Men stood on platforms and took bets-as to how long the Hunt would last, how far the man would get. This seemed absurd to me at first, for I did not see how he could get any distance at all. But one of the others in the room explained things. The man was not sent out on foot, but on horseback. The Tripod could easily outdistance the horse, of course, but a horseman, taking what advantage he could of the terrain, might evade being taken for as long as a quarter of an hour.

I asked if anyone ever escaped entirely. My companion shook his head. It was theoretically possible: there was a rule that beyond the river there was no pursuit. But it had never happened, in all the years that the Hunt had been held.

Suddenly the crowd hushed. I saw that a saddled horse was being led into the field above which the Tripod loomed. Men in gray uniform brought another man there, dressed in white. I stared through the glasses and saw that he was a tall, rawboned man, about thirty, who looked lost and bewildered. He was helped to mount the horse, and sat there, with the uniformed men holding the stirrups on either side. The hush deepened. Into it came the tolling of the bell of the church clock, as it struck the hour of nine. On the last stroke they stood back, slapping the horse's flank. The horse bounded forward, and the crowd's voice rose in a cry of recognition and exultation.

He rode down the slope toward the distant silver gleam of the river. He had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile before the Tripod moved. A huge metal foot uprooted itself, soared through the sky, and was followed by another. It was not hurrying particularly. I thought of the man on horseback, and felt his fear rise as bile in my own mouth. I looked from the scene to the faces around me. Fritz's was impassive, as usual, intent and observing. The others . . . they nauseated me, I think, more than what was taking place outside.

It did not last long. The Tripod got him as he galloped across the bare brown slope of a vineyard. A tentacle came down and picked him from the horse with the neatness and sureness of a girl threading a needle. Another cry rose from those who watched. The tentacle held him, a struggling doll. And then a second tentacle . . .

My stomach heaving, I scrambled to my feet, and ran from the room.

The atmosphere was different when I returned, the feverishness having been replaced by a sort of relaxation. They were drinking wine and talking about the Hunt. He had been a poor specimen, they decided. One, who appeared to be a senior servant from the estate of a count who had a castle nearby, had lost money on him and was indignant about it. My reappearance was greeted with a few mocking remarks and some laughter. They told me I was a weakbellied foreigner, and urged me to have a litre of wine to steady my nerves. Outside, the same relaxation-a sense almost of repletion-could be observed in the crowd. Bets were being paid off, and there was a brisk trade in hot pastries and sweetmeats. The Tripod, I noticed, had gone back to its original position in the field.

Gradually, as the hour ticked by, tension built up once more. At ten o'clock, the ceremony repeated itself, with the same quickening of excitement in those about us, the same roar of joy and approval as the Hunt began. The second victim gave them better sport. He rode fast and well, and for a time avoided the Tripod's tentacle by riding under the cover of trees. When he broke into the open again, I wanted to shout to him to stay where he was. But it would have done no good, as he must have known: the Tripod could have plucked the trees out from around him. He was making for the river, and I saw that there was another copse half a mile farther on. Before he got there, the tentacle swept down.

The first time he dodged it, swerving his horse at just the right moment so that the rope of metal flailed down and hit the ground beside him. He had a chance, I thought, of reaching his objective, and the river was not so very much farther on. But the Tripod's second attempt was better aimed. He was plucked from the saddle and his body pulled apart, as the first man's had been. In a sudden hush, his cries of agony came thinly to us through the bright autumnal air.

I did not come back after that killing. There were limits to what I could stand, even in the cause of duty. Fritz stuck it out, but he looked grim when I saw him later, and was even more taciturn than usual.

A few weeks later, we reached the caves. Their gloomy depths were strangely attractive, a haven from the world through which we had journeyed for almost a year. The walls of rock enfolded us, and the lamps flickered warmly. More important, though, was the release from the strain of mixing with and dealing with the Capped. Here we conversed with free men like ourselves.

For three days we were idle, apart from the ordinary duties which all shared. Then we had our orders from the local commander, a German whose name was Otto. We were to report, in two days' time, at a place specified only as a point on a map. Otto himself did not know why.

3

The Green Man on the Green Horse

It took us two full days, on horseback, riding hard for the most part. Winter was closing in again fast, the days shortening, a long fine spell of St. Luke's summer breaking up into cold unsettled weather coming from the west. For the whole of one morning we rode with sleet and sharp rain driving into our faces. We slept the first night in a small inn, but as the second day drew to its close we were in wild deserted country, with sheep cropping thin grass and not even a sign of a shepherd, or a shepherd's hut.

We were, we knew, near the end of our journey. At the top of a slope we reined in our horses and looked down to the sea, a long line beating against an unpromising rocky coast. All empty, as the land was. Except . . . Away to the north, on the very edge of visibility, something like a squat finger pointing upward. I spoke to Fritz, and he nodded, and we rode for it.

As we got nearer, we could see that it was the ruin of a castle, set on a promontory of rock Nearer still, we could make out that there had been a small harbour on the far side and that there were more ruins there, though on a more modest scale. Fishermen's cottages, most likely It would have been a fishing village once, but was now abandoned. We saw no indication of life, either there or in the castle, which loomed harsh and black against the deepening gray sky. A broken, potholed road led up to a gateway from which, on one side, hung the shattered remnants of a wooden gate barred with iron. Riding through, we found ourselves in a courtyard.

It was as empty and lifeless as everything else, but we dismounted, and tied our horses to an iron ring that had, perhaps, been used for that very purpose a thousand years before. Even if we had got our map reference wrong, we were going to have to leave the search until morning. But I could not believe we had erred. From behind an embrasure, I saw a dim flicker of light, and touched Fritz's arm, pointing. It disappeared, and was visible again farther along the wall. I could just make out that there was a door and that the light was moving in that direction. We went toward it, and reached it as a figure, carrying a lamp, turned a corner in the corridor within. He held the lamp higher, shining it in our faces.

"You're a bit late," he said. "We'd given you up for today."

I went forward with a laugh. I still could not see his face, but I knew well enough whose voice it was!

Beanpole's.

Certain rooms (those facing seaward, for the most part) and a section of the dungeons had been refurbished and made habitable. We were given a good hot supper, of rich stew, followed by home-baked bread and French cheese, wheelshaped, dusted white outside, creamy yellow within, strong-tasting and satisfying. There was hot water to wash ourselves, and beds had been made up in one of the spare rooms, with sheets. We slept well, lulled by the roar and rumble of the sea breaking on the rocks, and awoke refreshed. For breakfast, there were others present, as well as Beanpole. I recognized two or three faces that I had known as belonging to that group which studied the wisdom of the ancients. Someone else who was familiar came in while we were eating. Julius hobbled across the room toward us, smiling.

"Welcome, Fritz. And Will. It's good to see you back with us again."

We had asked questions of Beanpole, and received evasive answers. All would be explained in the morning, he told us. And after breakfast we went, with Julius and Beanpole and half a dozen others, to a huge room on the castle's first floor. There was a great gaping window looking out to sea, across which a frame of wood and glass had been fastened, and an altogether enormous fireplace in which wood crackled and burned. We sat down on benches behind a long, rough-hewn table, in no particular order. Julius spoke to us.

"I shall satisfy the curiosity of Will and Fritz first," he said. "The rest of you must bear .with me." He looked at us. "This is one of several places at which research into ways of defeating the Masters is being carried out. Many ideas have been put forward, many of them ingenious. All have drawbacks, though, and the chief drawback, common to every one, is that we still, despite the reports you two made, know so little about our enemy:"

He paused for a moment. "A second trio was sent north to the Games last summer. Only one qualified to be taken into the City. We have heard nothing more of him. He may yet escape -we hope he will-but we cannot depend on that. In any case, it is doubtful that he could give us the information we want. Because what we really need, it has been decided, is one of the Masters in our hands, alive for preference, so that we can study him."

My face may have shown my scepticism; I have always heard it shows too much. At any rate, Julius said, "Yes, Will, an impossible requirement, one would think. But perhaps not quite impossible. This is why you two have been called in to help us. You have actually seen the inside of a Tripod, when you were being taken to the City. You have, it is true, described it to us already, and fully. But if we are going to capture a Master, we must get him out of that metal stronghold in which he strides about our lands. And for that, the smallest recollection which you may be able to dredge from your memories could be of help."

Fritz said, "You talk of taking one alive, sir. But how can that be done? Once he is out of the Tripod, he will choke, within seconds, in our atmosphere."

"A good point," Julius said, "but we have an answer to it. You brought back samples from the City. We have learned how to reproduce the green air in which they live. A room has already been prepared here in the castle, sealed and with an air lock to enable us to pass in and out."

Fritz said, "But if you manage to bring a Tripod here, and wreck it here . . . the others will come looking for it. They can destroy the castle easily enough."

"We also have a box big enough to hold one of them, and can seal that. If we make the capture farther along the coast, we can bring him here by boat:"

I said, "And the means of capturing, sir? I would not have thought that was easy."

"No," Julius agreed, "not easy. But we have been studying them. They are creatures of routine, and generally follow particular paths. We have mapped and timetabled many of them. There is a place, some fifty miles to the north, where one passes every nine days. It strides across rough commonland at the sea's edge. Between one passing and the next we have nine days to dig a hole and cover it lightly with brush and clods. We will bring our Tripod down, and after that all we have to do is winkle the Master out and get him into his box and onto the boat lying hard by. From what you and Fritz told us-that their breathing is much slower than ours-there should be no danger of his suffocating before we can get a mask on him."

Fritz objected, "They can communicate with each other, and with the City, by invisible rays."

Julius smiled. "We can handle that part, too. Now, talk to us about the Tripods. There is paper in front of you, and pencils. Draw diagrams of them. Drawing will refresh your memories also:"

We were a week at the castle before moving north. During that time I learned a little, from Beanpole and the others, of the great strides that had been taken, during the previous year, in relearning the skills of the ancients. A breakthrough had been made by an expedition into the ruins of one of the great-cities, where a library had been found containing thousands on thousands of books which explained the marvels of the time before the Tripods came. These gave access to an entire world of knowledge. It was possible now, Beanpole told me, to make those bulbs which, by means of the power called electricity, would glow with light far brighter and more constant than the oil lamps and candles to which we were accustomed. It was possible to get heat from an arrangement of wires, to build a carriage which would travel along not pulled by horses but by means of a small engine inside it. I looked at Beanpole, when he said that.

"Then the Shmand-Fair could be made to work again, as it used to work?"

"Very easily. We know how to machine metals, to make the artificial stone which the ancients called concrete. We could put up towering buildings, create great-cities again. We can send messages by the invisible rays that the Masters use -even send pictures through the air! There is so much that we can do, or could learn to do in a short time. But we are concentrating only on those things which are of direct and immediate help in defeating the enemy. For instance, at one of our laboratories we have developed a machine which uses great heat to cut through metal. It will be waiting for us in the north."

Laboratories, I wondered-what were they? My mind was confused by much of what he said. We had both learned a lot during the time we had been separated, but his knowledge was so much greater and more wonderful than mine. He looked a lot older. The ridiculous contraption of lenses, which he had worn when we first set eyes on him, at the other side of the smoky bar in the French fishing town, had been replaced by a neat symmetrical affair which sat on the bridge of his long thin nose and gave him an air of maturity and authority. They were called spectacles, he had told me, and others among the scientists wore them. Spectacles, scientists . . . so many words, describing things outside my ken.

I think he realized how much at a loss I felt. He asked me questions about my own experiences, and I told him what I could. He listened to it all intently, as though my ordinary travels were as interesting and important as the fantastic things he had been learning and doing. My heart warmed to him for that.

We set up camp in caves not far from the intended place of ambush. The boat we were to use, a forty-foot fishing smack, stayed close at hand, her nets out to provide an appearance of innocence. ( In fact, she caught a fair haul of fish, mostly mackerel; some provided rations for us and the rest were thrown back.) On a particular morning, we kept well out of sight while two of our number went farther up, to hide behind rocks and watch the Tripod pass. Those of us who stayed in the cave heard it, anyway: it was making one of the calls whose meaning we did not know, an eerie warbling sound. As it faded in the distance, Julius said, "On time, to the minute. Now we start to work."

We laboured hard at preparing the trap. Nine days was not so long a time, when it involved digging away enough earth to serve as a pitfall for a thing with fifty-foot legs, leaving a pattern of supports on which the camouflage must rest. Beanpole, pausing in his digging, spoke wistfully of something which had been called a bulldozer, and which could move earth and stones by the ton. But that was another thing there had not been time enough to recreate.

At any rate, we got through the task, with a day to spare. The day seemed longer than the previous eight had. We sat in the mouth of the cave, looking out to a gray, calm, cold sea, patched with mist. At least, the sea journey should not offer much difficulty. Once we had trapped our Tripod, and caught our Master, that was.

The weather stayed cold and dry next morning. We took up our places-all of us this time an hour before the Tripod was due to pass. Fritz and I were together, Beanpole with the man working the jammer. This was a machine that could send out invisible rays of its own, to break up the rays coming to and going from the Tripod and isolate it, for the time being, from any contact with the others. I was full of doubts about this, but Beanpole was very confident. He said these rays could be interrupted by natural things like thunderstorms: the Masters would think something like that had happened, until it was too late to do anything about it.

The minutes and seconds crawled by. Gradually my concentration turned into a sort of daze. I was jolted back to reality by Fritz silently touching my shoulder. I looked and saw the Tripod swing around the side of a hill to the south, heading directly for us. Immediately I tensed, in body and mind, for the part I was to play. It was travelling at an average speed. In less than five minutes . . . Then, without warning, the Tripod stopped. It halted with one of its three feet raised, looking absurdly like a dog begging for a bone. For three or four seconds it stayed there. The foot came down. The Tripod continued its progress; but it was no longer heading our way. It had changed course, and would miss us by a couple of miles at least.

In stunned amazement, I watched it travel on and disappear. From behind a clump of trees on the other side of the pitfall, Andre, our leader, came out and waved. We went to join him, along with the others.

It was soon established what had gone wrong. The Tripod's hesitation had coincided with the ray jammer being turned on. It had stopped, and then shied away. The man who had worked the machine said, "I should have waited till it was on top of the trap. I didn't expect it to react like that."

Someone asked, "What do we do now?"

The let-down feeling was apparent in all of us. All the work and waiting for nothing. It made our entire project, of overthrowing the Masters, seem hopeless, childlike almost.

Julius had come hobbling up. He said, "We wait, of course." His calmness was steadying, "We wait till next time, and then we don't use the jammer until the absolutely last moment. Meanwhile, we can extend the trap farther still."

So the working and waiting went on, for nine more days, and zero hour came around again. The Tripod appeared, as it had done previously, marched around the side of the hill, reached the point where it had stopped the time before. This time it did not stop. But it did not come on toward us, either. Without hesitation, it took the identical course it had taken after its earlier check. Seeing it go, well out of our reach, was yore than a double bitterness.

Holding a council of war, we were in low spirits. Even Julius, I thought, was dismayed, though he did his best not to show it. I found it quite impossible to conceal my own despair.

Julius said, "One sees how it works. They follow set courses on these patrols. If the course is varied for some reason, the variation is kept on subsequent trips."

A scientist said, "It probably has something to do with automatic piloting." I wondered what that was. "The course is plotted-and if you override it you set up a new pattern which remains constant unless that is overridden in turn. I see the mechanism of it."

Which was more than I did. Talking about the why and wherefore did not strike me as important. The question was: how to get at the Tripod now?

Someone suggested digging another pitfall, across the new course. The remark fell into silence, which Julius broke.

"We could do that. But it does not pass within two miles of the shore, and the going in between is very bad. No road, not even a track. I think we should have them swarming around us before we had got our prisoner half the distance to the boat:"

The silence was resumed, and lengthened. After some seconds, Andre said, "I suppose we could call this operation off temporarily. We could find another track within reach of the sea, and work on that instead:"

Someone else said, "It took us four months to find this one. Finding another could take us as long, or longer:"

And every day counted: none of us needed telling that. Silence fell again. I tried to think of something, but discovered only a hopeless blank in my mind. There was a sharp wind, and a smell of snow in the air. Land and sea alike were black and desolate, under a lowering sky. It was Beanpole who spoke at last. He said, diffident in the presence of our elders, "It does not seem that the jamming last week made it suspicious. It would hardly have come so close again if so; or would have come closer yet, to investigate. The altered course is-well, more or less an accident:"

Andre nodded. "That seems to be true. Does it help?"

"If we could lure :t back onto the old course

. ."An excellent idea. The only problem is: how? What is there that will lure a Tripod? Do you know? Does anyone?"

Beanpole said, "I am thinking of something Will told me that Fritz and he witnessed."

He told them, briefly, the story I had told him about the Hunt. They listened, but when he had finished, one of the scientists said, "We know of this. It happens in other places, as well. But it's a tradition, and caused as much by the Capped as by the Tripods. Do you suggest we start a tradition during the next nine days?"

Beanpole started to say something, which was interrupted. All our nerves were frayed; tempers likely to be short. Julius, though, cut across the interruption, "Go on, Jean-Paul."

He sometimes stammered a little when he was nervous, and did so now. But the impediment disappeared as he warmed up to what he was saying.

"I was thinking . . . we know they are curious about strange things. When Will and I were floating downriver on a raft . . . one of them veered off course and smashed the raft with its tentacle. If someone could attract this one's attention, and perhaps lead it into the trap . . . I think it might work."

It might, at that. Andre objected. "To attract attention, and then stay out of its clutches long enough to bring it to us . . . it sounds like a tall order."

"On foot," Beanpole said, "it would be impossible. But, in the Hunt that Will and Fritz saw, the men were on horseback. One lasted for quite a long time, covering a distance as great as the one we want or more, before he was caught."

There was a pause again, as we considered what he had said. Julius said thoughtfully, "It might work. But can we be quite sure he will rise to the bait? As you say, they are curious about strange things. A man on horseback . . . They see them every day by the score:"

"If the man were dressed in something bright -and perhaps the horse painted . . ."

"Green," Fritz said. "It is their own colour, after all. A green man on a green horse. I think that would attract attention, all right."

There was a murmur of approval of the idea. Julius said, "I like that. Yes, it could do. All we need now is our horse and rider."

I felt excitement rise in me. They were mostly scientists, unused to such humdrum physical pursuits as horse riding. The two with the obviously best claim were Fritz and I. And Crest and I had grown used to and skilled in understanding one another through a long year's journeying.

I said, catching Julius's eye, "Sir, if I might suggest . . :"

We used a green dye on Crest, which would wash off afterward. He took the indignity well, with only a snort or two of disgust. The colour was bright emerald, and looked startling. I wore a jacket and trousers of the same eye-wrenching hue. I objected when Beanpole approached my face with a rag dipped in the die but, on Julius's confirmation, submitted, Fritz, looking on, burst into laughter. He was not much given to mirthfulness, but then, I suppose, he was not often treated to so comic a spectacle.

During the previous nine days I had rehearsed and re-rehearsed my part in this morning's events. I was to pick up the Tripod as it came around the hill and, as soon as it made a move in my direction, gallop at full speed for the pitfall. We had fixed a narrow causeway over the top, which we hoped would take Crest's weight and mine, and marked it with signs which were meant to be conspicuous enough for me to see and yet unlikely to attract suspicion on the part of the Masters in the Tripod. The latter had seemed the greater risk, so we had erred on the side of caution. It was a tenuous and ill-defined path I had to follow, and three or four times we had found ourselves off course and only saved by a last-minute swerve from plunging into the pit below.

Now, at last, all was ready; with preparations made and only requiring to be translated into action. I checked Crest's girths for the tenth time. The others shook hands with me, and withdrew. I was very lonely as I watched them go. Now there was the waiting again, familiar yet unfamiliar. This time it was more crucial, and this time I was alone.

I felt it first: the earth beneath us vibrating to the distant stamp of the huge metal feet. Another, and another-a steady succession of them, each more audible than the one before. I had Crest's head pointed in the direction of the pitfall, with my own head twisted around to the right, watching for the Tripod. It came, a monstrous leg breaking the line of the hill, followed by the hemisphere. I shivered, and felt Crest shiver, as well. I did my best to pat him back into calm. I was on the alert for any deviation from the course the Tripod had now followed on two occasions. If it did not move toward me, I must move toward it. I hoped I would not have to. It would take me farther away from the pitfall and mean also that I had to turn to lead it there, both procedures which would make the enterprise that much more perilous.

Its course changed. It did not break step, but one of the legs swung around. I wasted no more time, but touched my heels to Crest's sides. He shot off, and the chase was on.

I wanted to look back, to see how my pursuer was closing on me, but dared not; every scrap of energy had to go into the gallop. I could tell, though, by the shortening of the intervals between footfalls, that the Tripod was increasing speed. Landmarks familiar from my practice runs fell away on either side. Ahead there was the coast, the sea dark gray but capped with white from a freshening wind. The wind blew in my face, and I felt an absurd resentment against it for slowing, even by a fraction of a fraction of a second, my flight. I passed a thornbush I knew, a rock shaped like a cottage loaf. No more than a quarter of a mile to go . . . And as I framed the thought, I heard the whistling of steel through the air, the sound of the tentacle swishing down toward me.

I made a guess, and urged Crest to the right. I thought I had got away with it this time-that the tentacle would miss-then felt Crest shudder violently with the shock of being hit by the metal flail. It must have caught him on the hindquarters, just behind the saddle. He swayed and collapsed. I managed to get my feet out of the stirrups and went forward over his head as he fell. I hit the ground rolling, scrambled to my feel, and ran.

At every instant I expected to be plucked up into the air. But the Master controlling the Tripod was more immediately concerned with Crest. I saw him, as I glanced quickly back, lifted, struggling feebly, and brought within closer view of the green ports at the bottom of the hemisphere. I dared not pay any more attention to him, but ran on. A couple of hundred yards only . . . If the Tripod concentrated on Crest long enough, I was there.

I risked glancing back again just in time to see my poor horse dropped, from a height of sixty feet, to land in a broken heap on the ground; and to see the Tripod begin to move again in a new pursuit. I could run no faster than I was running already. The metal feet thudded after me, the edge of the pitfall seemed to get no nearer. For the last fifty yards I thought I was finished, that the tentacle was on the point of reaching for me. I think perhaps the Master was playing with me, like a great steel cat with a scurrying mouse. That was what Beanpole suggested afterward. All I knew then was that my legs were aching, my lungs, it seemed, on the point of bursting. I became aware, as I reached the pitfall, of a new hazard. I had learned the trail across from horseback height and things were different to a running man: the change in perspective was utterly confusing. At the last moment, I recognized a certain stone and made for it. I was on the causeway. But I still had to get across, and the Tripod had to follow me.

I knew that it had done so-that I had succeeded in my task-when, in place of the stamp of a foot on solid ground, I heard a ripping, tearing noise behind me, and at the same time felt the surface beneath my feet change and collapse. I grabbed wildly at a length of branch which had been knitted into the camouflaged surface of the pit. It came away, and I was falling again. I seized another branch, of thorn this time, and it held longer, lacerating my hands as I gripped it. While I was suspended like this the sky darkened above me. The pit's surface had given way beneath the foremost leg of the Tripod, with the second leg in midair. Off balance, it was plunging forward, the hemisphere swinging helplessly across and down. Looking up, I saw it pass me and a moment later heard the shock of its impact with the solid ground on the far side of the pit. I myself was hanging halfway up the pit, at grave risk of falling the rest of the way. No one, I knew, was going to come to my assistance: they all had more important work to do. I set myself to collect my scattered senses and to climb, slowly and gingerly, up the network of reeds and branches on which I was suspended.

By the time I reached the scene, things were well underway. There was no external seal on the compartment which was used to transport human beings, as we had been transported from the Games field to the City, and the circular door had, in fact, fallen open with the shock. Fritz guided the team with the metal-cutting machine into that cabin, and they got to work on the inner door. They wore masks, in protection against the green air which eddied out as they cut their way through. It seemed a long time to those waiting outside, but in reality it was only a matter of minutes before they were in and tackling the dazed Masters. Fritz confirmed that one of them was definitely alive, and they pulled the mask that had been prepared over his head and tightened it around his middle. I watched as they heaved him out. A cart had been drawn up beside the fallen hemisphere, and on it there was the huge crate-made of wood but sealed with a sort of tar which would keep the green air in and our own out -which was to take him. He was pulled and pushed and at last dropped in, a grotesque figure with his three short stumpy legs, long tapering conical body, three eyes and three tentacles, and that repulsive green reptilian skin I remembered with such vivid horror. The top dropped down on the crate and more men went to work at sealing it. A pipe leading from one corner was blocked temporarily; once on the boat it would be utilized to change his stale air for fresh. Then the word was given to the men on the horse teams, and the horses pulled away, dragging the cart and its cargo toward the beach.

The rest of us cleared our traces, as far as possible, from the scene. The Masters, when they came on the broken Tripod, could no longer doubt that they were facing organized opposition-it was not a casual haphazard thing such as our destruction of the Tripod on the way to the White Mountains had been-but even though this amounted to a declaration of war, there was no point in leaving unnecessary clues behind. I should have liked to do something about burying Crest, but there was no time for that. In case the trick might serve a second time, we sponged the green dye off his body and left him there. I walked apart from the others as we came away, not wanting them to see the tears that were in my eyes.

The cart was hauled out through the waves, over a firm sandy bottom, until the water lapped against the chests of the horses. The fishing boat, which had come inshore, was shallow enough in draft to get alongside, and there the crate with our prisoner was winched on board. Seeing the smoothness of the operation I was more than ever amazed and impressed by the planning that had gone into it all. The horses were unharnessed from the cart and led ashore; from there they were scattered north and south in pairs, one ridden, one led. The rest of us heaved our wet shivering bodies over the gunwales. One thing remained to be done. A line had been fastened to the cart and, as the boat stood off, it rolled behind us till the waves closed over it. When that happened the line was cut and the boat, released from this burden, seemed to lift out of the gray waters. On shore, the horses had disappeared. All that was left was the shattered wreck of the Tripod, with a faint green mist blowing away from the mutilated hemisphere. The remaining Masters inside were certainly dead by now. What really mattered was that the jammer had worked. The Tripod lay there, crumpled and alone; there was no sign of any others coming to its help.

Our course was south. With the wind stiff and blowing only from a few points north of west, progress was slow, involving a fair amount of tackling. All available hands bent to this, and gradually the distance from our embarkation point increased. There was a headland which we needed to clear; we rounded it with painful sluggishness, wallowing in the tide, which had just begun to turn.

But now the shore was very distant, the Tripod no more than a dot on the horizon. They brought up mulled ale for us from the galley, to warm our chilled bones.

4

A Little Drink for  Ruki

Julius arranged a general reshuffle once we were back at the castle. Many of those who had taken part in the capture of the Master were detailed for duties elsewhere, and Julius himself left two or three days later. The immediate crisis was over, the examination and study of our captive would take long weeks or months, and there were a dozen other strands, or more, which needed his attention and supervision. I had thought that Fritz and I might be sent away also, but this was not so. We were kept as guards. The prospect of relative inactivity was one I viewed with mixed feelings. On the one hand I could see that it might well prove boring after a time; on the other, I was not sorry to be having a rest. A long and exhausting year lay behind us.

It was also pleasant to be in fairly continuous contact with Beanpole, who was one of the examining group. Fritz and I knew each other very well by now, and got on very well, but I had missed Beanpole's more inventive and curious mind. He did not say so himself, but I knew he was viewed with a good deal of respect by the other scientists, all a great deal older than he was. He never showed the least sign of conceit over this, but he never did over anything. He was too interested in what was going to happen next to bother about himself.

In return for our various losses we had one gain, and a gain that for my part I could have well done without. This was Ulf, the erstwhile skipper of the Erlkonig, the barge that had been intended to take Fritz and Beanpole and me down the great river to the Games. He had been forced to leave the barge because of sickness, and Julius had appointed him as guard commander at the castle. This meant, of course, that Fritz and I were directly under his authority.

He remembered us both very well, and acted on the memories. As far as Fritz was concerned, this was all very fine. On the Erlkonig, as in everything else, he had obeyed orders punctiliously and without question, and been content to leave anything outside the allotted task to his superiors. Beanpole and I had been the offenders, first in persuading his assistant to let us off the barge to look for him and then, in my case, in getting myself into a brawl with the townspeople which landed me in trouble, and in Beanpole's case in disobeying him and coming to rescue me. The barge had sailed without us, and we had been forced to make our way downriver to the Games.

Beanpole did not fall under Ulf's jurisdiction, and I think Ulf was rather in awe of him, as belonging to the wise men, the scientists. My case was quite different. There was no glamour attaching to me, he was my superior officer. The fact that, despite being left behind, we had got to the Games in time, that I had won there and, with Fritz, gone on into the City and in due course come back with information, did not mollify him. If anything, it made things worse. Luck (as he saw it) was no substitute for discipline; indeed, its enemy. My example might encourage others into similar follies. Insubordination was something which needed to be borne down on, and he was the man to do the bearing down.

I recognized the bitterness but did not, at first, take it seriously. He was just, I thought, working out his resentment over my ( admittedly) thoughtless behaviour during our previous contact. I decided to stick it out cheerfully, and give no cause for complaint this time. Only gradually did it penetrate to me that his dislike was really deeply rooted, and that nothing I could do now was likely to change it. It was not until later that I realized how complex a man he was; nor that in attacking me he was fighting a weakness, and instability, which was part of his own nature. All I knew was that the more courteously and promptly and efficiently I obeyed instructions, the more tongue-lashings and extra duties I got. It is small wonder that within weeks I was loathing him almost as much as I had loathed my Master in the City.

His physical appearance and habits did nothing to help. His barrel-chested squatness, his thick lips and squashed nose, the mat of black hair showing through the button holes of his shirt-all these repelled me. He was the noisiest consumer of soups and stews that I had ever encountered. And his trick of continually hawking and spitting was made worse, not better, by the fact that these days he did not spit on the floor but into a red-and-white spotted handkerchief which he carried around in his sleeve. I did not know then that much of the red was his own blood, that he was a dying man. I am not sure that knowing would have made all that much difference, either. He rode me continuously, and my control of my temper wore thinner day by day.

Fritz was a great help, both in calming me down and in taking things on himself where possible. So was Beanpole, with whom I talked a lot during off-duty times. And I had another source of interest, to take my mind off things to some extent. This was our prisoner, the Master: Ruki.

He came through what must have been a harrowing and painful experience very well. The room which had been made ready for him was one of the castle dungeons, and Fritz and I attended him there, entering through an air lock and wearing face masks when we were inside. It was a big room, more then twenty feet square, much of it hewn out of solid rock. On the basis of our reports, the scientists had done everything possible to make him comfortable, even to sinking a circular hole in the floor which could be filled with warm water for him to soak in. I do not think it was, by the time we got it there in buckets, as hot as he would have liked, and it was not renewed often enough to meet the longing all the Masters had for continually soaking their lizardlike skins; but it was better than nothing. Much the same applied to the food, which had been worked out, like the air, on the basis of a few small samples Fritz had managed to bring out of the City.

Ruki was in a mild state of shock for the first couple of days, and then went into what I recognized as the Sickness, the Curse of the Skloodzi, my old Master had called it. Brown patches appeared on the green of his skin, his tentacles quivered all the time, and he himself was apathetic, not responding to stimuli. We had no way of treating him, not even the gas bubbles which the Masters in the City used to alleviate pain or discomfort, and he just had to get over it as best he could. Fortunately, he did so. I went into his cell a week after he had been taken and found him back to a healthy shade of green and showing a distinct interest in food.

Earlier, he had made no response to questions in any of the human languages we tried. He still did not do so, and we began to wonder, despondently, whether we had picked on one of the few Masters without such knowledge.

After a few days of this, though, and since he was plainly back to full health, one of the scientists suspected that the ignorance was feigned, not real. We were told not to bring any hot water for his pool the next morning. He quickly showed evidence of discomfort and even indulged in sign language, going to the empty hole and waving his tentacles at it. We paid no attention to this. As we prepared to leave the room he finally spoke, in the dull booming voice they used. In German, he said, "Bring me water. I need to bathe:"

I looked up at him, a wrinkled misshapen monster twice my own height.

"Say please," I told him.

But "please" was a word the Masters had never learned in any of our languages. He merely repeated, "Bring me water."

"You wait," I said. "I'll see what the scientists say."

Once the barrier was down, he did not attempt to go mute again. Nor, on the other hand, was he particularly forthcoming. He answered some questions that were put to him, and treated others with an obdurate silence. It was not always easy to work out the basis on which he chose to respond or stay silent. There were obvious blanks where questions were pertinent to a possible defence of the City, but it was difficult to see why, for instance, after talking freely on the role of human slaves and the opposition to this by some of the Masters, he should have refused to say anything about the Sphere Chase. This was the sport of which all the Masters seemed to be passionately fond, played on a triangular arena in the centre of the City. I suppose in a remote way it resembled basketball, except that there were seven "baskets," the players were miniature Tripods, and the ball was a flashing golden sphere which seemed to appear out of thin air. Ruki would not answer a single question on that subject.

During my long months of slavery, I had never known the name of my Master, nor if he had a name: he was always "Master," and I was "boy." We could scarcely call our prisoner by such a title. We asked him his name, and he told us it was Ruki. In a very short time I found I was thinking of him as that-as an individual, that is, as well as a representative of the enemy, who held our world in subjection and whom we must destroy. I had known already, of course, that the Masters were not a solid mass of identical monsters. My own Master had been relatively easygoing, Fritz's brutal by comparison. They had different interests, too. But any distinctions I had made between them in the City had been severely practical; one looked for them in order to exploit them. In this altered situation, one saw things from a slightly different point of view.

One day, for instance, I had been delayed in bringing him his evening meal by something which Ulf had given me to do. I came in through the air lock to find him squatting in the centre of the room, and said something about being sorry I was late. He made a slight twirling gesture with one tentacle, and boomed at me, "It is not important, when there are so many interesting things to do and to see."

The blank featureless walls of his prison were all around him, lit by the two small lamps, coloured green for his convenience, which afforded illumination. The only breaks in the monotony were provided by the door and the hole in the floor. ( It served as a bed for him, as well as a bath, with seaweed in place of the mossy stuff that was used in the City.) One could not read expression into these completely alien features -the neckless head with its three eyes and orifices for breathing and eating, connected by a weird pattern of wrinkles-but at this moment he looked, in a peculiar fashion, lugubrious and rueful. I realized something, at any rate: that he was making a joke! Feeble, admittedly, but a joke. It was the first indication I had had that they might have even a rudimentary sense of humour.

I had instructions to enter into conversations with him as much as possible, as Fritz did. The scientists examined him in more formal sessions, but it was thought that we might also pick something up. We reported to one of the examiners every time we left the cell, repeating what had been said word for word as far as we could. I began to find this interesting in itself, and easier. He would not always say much in reply to my promptings, but at times he did.

On the question of the slaves in the City, for instance, he was quite voluble. It emerged that he was one of those who had opposed this. The usual basis of such opposition, as I had discovered, was not through any consideration for the poor wretches whose lives were so brutally shortened by the heat and the leaden weight, and the ill-treatment they were given, but because it was felt that dependence on slaves might weaken the strength of the Masters and eventually, perhaps, their will to survive and go on spreading their conquests through the universe. In Ruki's case, though, there seemed to be some small but genuine feeling of sympathy toward men. He did not accept that the Masters had been wrong in taking over the earth, and using the Caps to keep human beings subservient to them. He believed that men were happier in that state than they had been before the coming of the Masters. There was less disease and starvation now, and men were free of the curse of war. It was true they still resorted occasionally to violence against each other in the course of disputes, and this was horrifying enough from the Masters' point of view, but at least it was kept on that level. An end had been made to that hideous state of affairs in which men could be taken from their homes and sent to far lands, there to kill or be killed by strangers with whom they had no direct or personal quarrel. It seemed a hideous state of affairs to me, too, but I realized that Ruki's disapproval was much stronger -more passionate I would almost say-than my own.

This in itself, in his eyes, justified the conquest and the Capping. The men and women who were Capped enjoyed their lives. Even the vagrants did not appear to be particularly unhappy, and the overwhelming majority led peaceful and fruitful lives, with much ceremony and celebration.

I was reminded of a man who had been in charge of a travelling circus when I was a boy. He had talked of his animals in much the way Ruki did of men. Wild animals, he said, were subject to disease, and spent their days and nights either hunting or hunted, but in either case struggling to get enough food to avoid starvation. The ones in his circus, on the other hand, were sleek and fat. What he had said had seemed sensible then, but was not so compelling now.

Ruki, at any rate, while approving the Masters' control of the planet, and of the undisciplined warlike creatures who had previously ruled it, thought it was wrong to bring them into the City. He was confirmed in his view, of course, by finding that somehow, despite their Caps, one or more of the slaves had given information of those of us who remained in rebellion. ( We had not told him that, nor anything else that could possibly be useful to the Masters, but it was not difficult for him to work out that some leakage must have occurred for us to be able to reproduce their air and food.) You could see that, despite his own captivity, he obtained a kind of satisfaction from having been proved right in his stand.

This was not to say that he had any fears that our attempts to rebel against the Masters might be successful. He seemed to be impressed by our ingenuity in having carried out the attacks against the Tripod in which he had been travelling; but it was much as a man would be impressed by a hound following a scent or a sheep dog bringing its charges back to the pen through many hazards. All this was interesting, and clever, although a nuisance to him personally. It could make no difference to the real state of things. The Masters were not to be overthrown by a handful of impudent pygmies.

He was studied in various physical ways by our scientists, apart from those sessions in which questions were asked. I was present at some. He showed no sign of resistance, or even of displeasure ( though it is doubtful if we would have recognized displeasure any more than other emotions in him), but submitted to the probings and bloodlettings and staring through magnifying glasses as though these were not happening to him at all but to another. The only complaints he did make, in fact, were about the water or the room itself not being hot enough. The scientists had rigged up a form of heating by this thing called electricity, and I found the room stifling, but by his standards it was cold.

His food and drink were also tampered with. The intention was to see what effect certain substances might have on him, but the experiment did not meet with success. He seemed to have some way of sensing the presence of anything which might be harmful, and in those cases simply refused to touch what was put in front of him. On one occasion, after this had happened three times in succession, I spoke to Beanpole about it.

I asked him, "Do we have to do this sort of thing? At least we were given food and water, even as slaves in the City. Ruki has been nearly two days without anything. It seems unnecessarily cruel."

Beanpole said, "It's cruel to keep him here at all, if you care to think of it that way. The cell is too small, and not warm enough, and he does not have the heavy gravity he was used to.

"Those are things that can't be helped. Putting stuff in his food and making him go without when he won't eat it is not quite the same."

"We have to do everything we can to find a weak spot in them. You found one yourself: that place between mouth and nose where a blow will kill them. But it does not help us much, because there is no way of being able to strike them all at that point at the same time. We need to find something else. Something we can use:'

I saw the point, but was not entirely convinced.

"I'm sorry it has to be him. I would rather it were one of them like Fritz's Master, or even mine. Ruki does not seem so bad as most. At least, he was opposed to using men as slaves:"

"So he tells you."

"But they do not lie. They cannot. I learned that, at least, in the City. My Master could never understand the difference between story tales and lies-they were all the same to him:"

"They may not lie," Beanpole said, "but they do not always tell the full truth, either. He said he was opposed to slavery. What about the plan to turn our air into the choking green gas they breathe? Has he said anything about being opposed to that?"

"He's never said anything at all about it:"

"But he knows about it: they all do. He has not spoken of it because he does not know that we know. He may be not quite as bad as some of the others, but he is one of them. They have never had wars. The loyalty they have to their own kind is something which we probably do not understand any more than they can understand the way we fight among ourselves. But if we do not understand it, we must still reckon with it. And we must use every weapon we can against it. If this involves putting him to some discomfort-if it involves killing him-that is not so important. Only one thing is important: winning the struggle."

I said, "You do not need to remind me."

Beanpole smiled. "I know. Anyway, his food will be normal next time. We do not want to kill him if we can help it. There is more chance of his being useful to us if he remains alive:'

"Not much sign of it so far."

"We must keep trying."

We had been sitting out on the ruined seaward battlement of the castle, enjoying an afternoon of still air and pale wintry sunshine; the sun was on orange disk dropping toward a haze-filled western horizon. The peace was interrupted now by a familiar voice, bawling from the courtyard behind us.

"Parker! Where are you, you useless lump of awkwardness? Here! And at once, I tell you."

I sighed, and prepared to stir myself. Beanpole said, "Ulf is not getting too much for you, I hope, Will."

I shrugged. "It would be all the same, if he were: '

He said, "We want you and Fritz as Ruki's attendants because you are both used to them, and so are better at noticing anything strange and reporting it. But I do not think Julius realized how much friction there would be between you and Ulf."

"The friction you get," I said, "between a log of wood and a saw. And I am not the saw."

"If it is too difficult . . . it would be possible for you to be transferred to other duties:"

He said it diffidently, as much as anything else, I think, because he did not wish to emphasize his own higher status-that he could in fact arrange something like this.

I said, "I can put up with him."

"Perhaps if you did not make such a point of doing just that . . :"

"Doing what?"

"Putting up with him. I think it makes him angrier."

I was astonished. I said, with some indignation, "I obey orders, and promptly. What more can he ask?"

Beanpole sighed. "Yes. Well, I'd better be getting back to work myself, anyway."

I had noticed one difference between Ulf of the Erlkonig and the one who now made my life a misery at the castle. The old Ulf had been a drinking man: the whole business of Beanpole and me leaving the barge had started when he did not return on time and his assistant suspected that he had gone drinking in one of the town's taverns. Here he did not drink at all. Some of the older men would take an occasional nip of brandy, against the cold as they said, but not he. He did not even drink the beer, which was a more common drink, or the rough red wine that was served with our dinner. At times I wished that he would. I felt it might help to sweeten his temper a little.

Then one day a messenger from Julius came to the castle. I have no idea what message he brought, but he also carried with him a couple of long brown stone jars. And it seemed that he was an old acquaintance of Ulf's. The jars contained schnapps, a raw colourless spirit which was drunk in Germany and which, it seemed, he and Ulf had often drunk together. Perhaps it was the unexpected sight of an old friend which weakened Ulf's resolution, or perhaps it was just that he preferred schnapps to the drinks that had been available in the castle. At any rate, I noticed the two of them sitting together in the guardroom, a jar between them and a small tumbler in front of each. I was glad to have Ulf distracted by anything, and happily kept out of the way.

In the afternoon, the messenger went on again, but he left the remaining jar with Ulf. Ulf was already showing signs of intoxication-he had not bothered to eat anything at midday-and he broached the second jar and sat drinking on his own. He appeared to have settled into a melancholy mood, not talking to anyone and seemingly not noticing much of what was going on around him. This was, of course, very wrong in a guard commander, though it might be said in his defence that the only conceivable danger to the castle were the Tripods and that things anyway had settled into a routine in which we all knew our duties and carried them out. For my part, I was not concerned either with censuring or finding justification for him, but simply glad of the absence of his raucous voice.

It had been a dark day, and light left the sky early. I prepared Ruki's meal-a porridgelike mess, more liquid than solid, from ingredients supplied by the scientists-and crossed the guardroom with it on my way to the corridor leading to his cell. The natural light in the guardroom came from a couple of windows, high up and now shaded by dusk. I could only just make out the figure of Ulf, behind his table, with the jar in front of him. I ignored him, but he called to me, "Where d'you think you're going?"

His voice was slurred a little. I said, "Taking the prisoner his meal, sir."

"Come here!"

I went and stood in front of the table, holding the tray. Ulf said, "Why haven't you lit the lamp?"

"It's not time yet."

Nor was it. It wanted another quarter hour to the time laid down by Ulf himself. If I had lit it early, on account of the day's early darkening, he would have been as likely to pick on that as a breach of one of his rules.

"Light it," he said. "And don't answer me back, Parker. When I tell you to do something, you do it, and do it fast. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir. But the regulations say . . :"

He stood up, swaying slightly, from his seat, and leaned forward with his hands on the table. I could smell the spirits on his breath.

"You're insub...insubordinate, Parker, and I won't stand for it. You'll take an extra duty tonight. And now you'll put that tray down, and light the lamp. Is that clear?"

I did as I was told, silently. The lamplight gleamed on his heavy face, flushed with drink. I said coldly, "If that is all, sir, I will proceed with my duties."

He stared at me a moment. "Can't wait to get in to that pal of yours, is that it? Chatting with the big lizard is easier than working-that right?"

I moved to pick up the tray. "May I go now, sir?"

"Wait."

I stood there obediently. Ulf laughed, picked up the tumbler, and emptied it into the bowl of food prepared for Ruki. I looked at it without moving.

"Go on," he said. "Take your pal his supper.

Got a little something in it to liven him up now."

I knew perfectly well what I ought to have done. Ulf was indulging in a silly drunken jest. I should have taken the tray out and made up another bowl for Ruki, throwing this one away. Instead, I asked, in the most obedient but contemptuous fashion, "Is that an order, sir?"

His anger was as great as mine, but hot where mine was cold. And his mind was blurred by drink. He said, "Do as you're told, Parker. And jump to it!"

I picked up the tray and left. I had a glimpse of what Beanpole had meant-I could have mollified Ulf with a little effort, and passed the whole thing off. I am afraid that what I was thinking was that this time he had put himself in the wrong. Ruki would refuse the food, as he refused anything which differed even slightly from what he was used to. I would have to report on this, and the incident would then be brought to light. Simply by obeying orders and acting according to regulations, I had my chance to get my own back at my tormentor.

As I reached the air lock, I heard Ulf bellowing something in the distance. I went through into the cell, and put the tray down. I left it there, and went back to see what the yelling was about. Ulf was standing unsteadily on his feet. He said, "Belay that order. Make another supper up for the lizard."

I said, "I've taken the tray in, sir. As instructed."

"Then bring it out again! Wait. I'm coming with you:"

I was annoyed that my scheme had misfired. Ruki would eat the substitute meal, and so there would be nothing that I would be obliged to report. Reporting Ulf simply for being drunk on duty was not a thought that appealed to me even in my present state of resentment. I went with him in silence, bitterly conscious of the fact that he was going to get away with it, after all.

There was barely room for two in the air lock. We were forced to jostle against each other, putting on the face masks which we must wear inside the cell. Ulf opened the inner door, and stepped through first. I heard him give a grunt of surprise and dismay. He moved forward quickly, and I could see what he had seen.

The bowl was empty. And Ruki was stretched out, full length and motionless.

Julius came back to the castle for the conference. He seemed to be limping worse than ever, but was no less cheerful and confident. He sat at the centre of the long table, with the scientists, including Beanpole, clustered around him. Fritz and I sat inconspicuously at the end. Andre, the commander of the castle, addressed the meeting first. He said, "Our best plan always was to sabotage the Cities from within. The question was: how? We can get a certain number inside, but nowhere near enough to fight the Masters, on their own ground especially. We could wreck some of their machines, perhaps, but that would not amount to destroying the City as such. They could almost certainly repair them, and we would be worse off than before because then they would be warned, and ready for any attack we tried to launch. This same applies to any attempt to damage the Wall. Even if we were able to cut through, which is doubtful, we could not do it on a large enough scale-either from outside or within-to prevent the Masters hitting back, and making good the damage.

"What has been needed was a way of hitting at the Masters themselves, all of them and at the same time. One suggestion was to poison their air. It might be possible, but I don't see a chance of our developing anything in the time available. Water offered a better opportunity. They use water a lot, for drinking as well as bathing. Even allowing for the fact that they are twice the height and four times the weight, they have a liquid intake four to six times that of the average man. If we could get something into their water supplies, it might do the trick.

"Unfortunately, as we have established with the prisoner, they are sensitive to adulterants. This one simply refused anything which might harm him. Until, by a lucky chance, some schnapps was poured into his food. He consumed the food without hesitation, and was paralyzed in less than a minute."

Julius asked, "How long did it take him to recover from the paralysis?"

"He began to show signs of consciousness after about six hours. He was fully conscious after twelve, but still lacking in coordination and fairly obviously confused. Within twenty-four hours, recovery was complete:"

"And since then?"

"Apparently normal," Andre said. "Mark you, he's still worried, and alarmed, by what happened. Not quite so confident as he was about the hopelessness of our efforts, I think."

Julius said, "How do you account for it? The paralysis?"

Andre shrugged. "We know that with men alcohol interferes with that part of the mind that controls the working of the body. A drunken man cannot walk straight or use his hands properly. He may even fall over. If he has taken enough, then he becomes paralyzed, as Ruki did. It seems that, in this respect, they are more sensitive and more vulnerable than we are. Equally important, the discrimination against harmful substances doesn't work in this case. The amount of alcohol apparently can be quite small. There were only the dregs of a glass in this case. It gives us a chance, I think."

"Alcohol in their drinking water," Julius said. "Not from outside, presumably. We know that they have a purifying and treatment machine inside the Wall. From inside, then. If we can get a team in. But how about the alcohol? Even though the amount needed is small per individual, it amounts to a very large quantity altogether. You could not get that inside:"

"Our men could produce it there," Andre said. "There are sugars in the City: they use them in making both their own foods and the food of the slaves. All that is needed is to set up distillation equipment. Then, when there is enough, introduce it to the drinking water."

Someone said, in a tone of excitement, "It might work!"

Andres eyes were on Julius. He said, "It would have to be done in all three Cities simultaneously. They know that they have some opposition-our destroying the Tripod and making off with one of their number will have told them that. But the latest reports tell us they are still taking human slaves into the City, which means they still trust those they have Capped. Once they find we can pose as Capped, things will be very different."

Julius nodded slowly. "We must strike while they are unsuspecting," he said. "It is a good plan. Go ahead with preparations:"

I was called later to see Julius. He was writing in a book, but looked up as I entered the room.

"Ah, Will," he said. "Come and sit down. You know Ulf has gone?"

"I saw him leave this morning, sir."

"With some satisfaction, I gather?" I did not answer. "He is a very sick man, and I have sent him south to the sun. He will serve us there, as he has done all his life, for the short time that remains to him. He is also a very unhappy man. Even though things turned out well, he sees only failure: his failure to conquer an old weakness. Do not despise him, Will."

"No, sir."

"You have your own weaknesses. They are not his, but they lead you into folly. As they did this time. Ulf's folly lay in getting drunk, yours in putting pride before sense. Shall I tell you something? I brought Ulf and you together again partly because I thought it would do you good-teach you to accept discipline and so to think more carefully before you acted. It does not seem to have had the result that I hoped for."

I said, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Well, that's something. So is Ulf. He told me something, before he left. He blamed himself for you and Beanpole going astray at your first encounter. He knew he ought not to have stayed in the town, and thus given you the excuse to go ashore looking for him. If I had known this, I would not have let him come here. Some people are oil and water. It seems that you and he were."

He was silent for a moment or two, but I felt more uncomfortable than ever under the scrutiny of his deep-set blue eyes. He said, "This expedition that is being planned. Do you wish to take part in it?"

I said, quickly and with conviction, "Yes, sir!''

"My rational impulse is to refuse your request. You have done well, but you have not learned to master your rashness. I am not sure that you ever will."

"Things have turned out well, sir. As you said."

"Yes, because you have been lucky. So I am going to be irrational, and send you. And it is also true that you know the City, and will be valuable for that reason. But I think, to be honest, it is your luck that makes the biggest impression on me. You are a kind of mascot to us,

win."

Fervently, I said, "I will do my best, sir."

"Yes, I know. You can go now."

I had reached the door when he called me back.

"One thing, Will."

"Yes, sir?"

"Spare a thought now and then for those who do not have luck on their side. For Ulf, in particular."

5

Six Against the City

It was in spring, not of the next year but the year after, that the expedition was launched.

In between there had been so many things to do and to prepare, plans to be made, equipment to be fashioned, actions to be rehearsed again and again. Contacts had to be made, also, with those who had gone out to form centres of resistance in the region of the other two Cities. Things would have been easier if we had been able to use the means of sending messages through the air on invisible rays, which our forefathers had used and which the Masters used themselves. Our scientists could have built machines for this, but the decision went against it. The Masters must be kept in their state of false security. If we used the thing called radio, they would detect it, and whether or not they tracked down our transmitters, they would know that a large-scale rebellion was afoot.

So we were forced to rely on the primitive means we had. We spread a network of carrier pigeons, and for the rest relied on fast horses and hard riding, using both riders and horses in relays as much as possible. Plans were coordinated far in advance, and men from the distant centres returned for briefings on them.

One of those who returned was Henry. I did not recognize him easily; he had grown, and thinned, and was bronzed with long exposure to the hot sun of the tropics. He was very confident, and pleased with the way things had gone. They had found a resistance movement rather like our own, to the north of the isthmus on which the second City of the Masters stood, and had joined forces with it. The interchange of information had been useful, and he had brought one of the leaders back with him. He was a tall, lank, sunburned man called Walt, who spoke little and in an odd twangy voice when he did so.

We talked through an afternoon-Henry and I and Beanpole-of times past and times to come. In between talking, we watched a demonstration arranged by the scientists. This was late summer, and we looked from the castle wall across a sea calm and blue, barely wrinkled out to the far horizon. It was all very peaceful, a world in which one could imagine there were no such things as Tripods or Masters. (The Tripods never did come near this isolated stretch of coast, in fact. That was one of the reasons the castle had been chosen.) Directly beneath us, a small group clustered around two figures dressed in shorts, such as those I had worn as a slave in the City. The resemblance did not end there, because they also wore, over head and shoulders, a mask similar to the one that had protected me against the poisonous air of the Masters. With one difference: where the pouch with filter had been there was a tube, and the tube ran to a boxlike thing strapped to the back.

A signal was given. The two figures moved across the rocks and waded into the water. It rose to cover their knees, their thighs, their chests. Then, together, they plunged forward and disappeared below the surface. For a second or two one could see them dimly, shadowy figures striking out, away from the castle. After that, they were lost, and we watched and waited for them to reappear.

It was a long wait. Seconds became minutes. Although I had been told what to expect, I grew apprehensive. I was sure that something had gone wrong, that they had drowned in that limitless azure serenity. They had been swimming against the tide, which was coming in from the ocean. There were strange undercurrents in these parts, and submerged reefs. Time passed, slowly but relentlessly.

The object of all this was to help us get into the Cities. We could not use the method we had used previously; something more direct and more certain had to be found. The obvious solution was to reverse the process by which Fritz and I had escaped, and get in from the river, through the discharge vents. All three Cities stood on watercourses, so the method would apply universally. The difficulty was that, even going with the flow of water, the passage had taxed our physical resources to their limit and, in my case, beyond. To swim up against the tide would be quite impossible without aid.

I burst out at last, "It hasn't worked! They can't be still alive down there:"

Beanpole said, "Wait:"

"It must have been over ten minutes . . :'

"Nearer fifteen."

Henry said suddenly, "Over there. Look!"

I looked where he was pointing. Far out on the glassy blue, a dot had appeared, followed by another. Two heads. Henry said, "It worked, but I don't understand how."

Beanpole did his best to explain to us. It was something to do with the air, which I had always thought of as a sort of invisible nothing, being made up of two different nothings, two gases, and the part that was smaller being the part we needed to keep alive. The scientists had learned how to separate the two, and keep the useful part in those containers on the swimmers' backs. Things called valves regulated a supply of it to the masks the men wore. One could stay submerged for a long time. Flippers attached to the feet would enable one to swim strongly against a tide. We had found our means of entering the Cities.

The next morning, Henry left. He took the lean taciturn stranger with him. He also took a supply of the masks, and the tubes and boxes that went with them.

From a dugout by the river bank, I looked at the City of Gold and Lead again, and could not entirely repress the tremor that ran through my body. The ramparts of gold, topped with the emerald bubble of its protective dome, stretched across the river and the land on either side, immense and massive and seemingly impregnable. It was ludicrous to imagine that it could be overthrown by the half dozen of us who had collected here.

None of the Capped would venture so close to the City, having such an awe of it, so we were safe from any interference by them. We saw Tripods in plenty, of course, giant-striding across the sky on journeys to or from the City, but we were not near any of the routes they used. We had been here three days, and this was the last. As daylight faded from a blustery gray sky, it took with it the last few hours before the moment of decision.

It had not been easy to synchronize the attacks on the three Cities. The actual entries had to be made at different times, because the cover of darkness varied throughout the world. The one in which Henry was concerned would follow six hours after ours. That in the east was taking place just about now, in the middle of the night. That City, we all knew, represented the riskiest part of the enterprise. Our base out there was the smallest and weakest of the three, existing in a land where the Capped were entirely alien and spoke an incomprehensible language. Our recruits had been few. Those who were to make the attack had come to the castle the previous autumn; they were slim, yellow-skinned boys who spoke little and smiled less. They had learned a little German, and Fritz and I had briefed them on what they would find inside the City ( we presumed that all three Cities would be much the same), and they had listened and nodded, but we had not been sure how much they understood.

At any rate, there was nothing we could do about that now. We had to concentrate on our job here. Darkness gathered, over the City, the river, the surrounding plain, and the distant hump that was the ruin of a great-city of old. We had our last meal of ordinary human food in the open air. After this, it would be a matter of relying on what we could find in the City eating the slaves' tasteless food in the protection of one of the refuge rooms.

I looked at my companions in the last light. They were dressed as the slaves were, and had the masks ready to put on, and their skins, like my own, had been rendered pale by a winter spent completely under cover from the sun. We wore the false-Caps closely fitted to our skulls, our hair growing through them. But they did not look like slaves, and I wondered how the deception could succeed. Surely the first Master who saw one of us would realize the truth, and raise the alarm?

But the time had passed for doubts and brooding. A star gleamed in the sky, not far above the western horizon. Fritz, the leader of our troop, looked at the watch which he alone carried and which he must keep hidden in the belt of his shorts. It kept perfect time and would work even underwater, and had been made not by our own scientists but by the great craftsmen who lived before the time of the Masters. It reminded me of the one I had found in the ruins of the first great-city, and lost when boating on the river with Eloise, at the Chateau de la Tour Rouge-how far away all that seemed now!

"It is time," Fritz said. "In we go."

Spies before us had traced the underwater configuration of the vents through which we had to swim. They were large, fortunately, and there were four of them, each presumably leading back to a pool like the one into which we had plunged. They came out twenty feet below the surface of the water. One by one, we dived and forced our way against the current, guided by small lights fixed on bands about our foreheads: another wonder of the ancients, but this time re-created by Beanpole and his colleagues. Beanpole had had to stay back at headquarters, despite his pleas to come with us. It was not just that he was too valuable to be spared. There was also the weakness of his eyes. Spectacles would not work underwater, and would also set him unmistakably apart from the other slaves in the City.

The lights moved in front of me, and I saw one wink out. That must be the vent. I swam farther down and saw a curved edge of metal, and the shadowy outline of a tunnel wall. I kicked my flippered legs and went forward.

The tunnel seemed interminable. There was the flicker of the light ahead of me, the dim swath of my own lamp, and always the pressure of water against which I must force my body. There was a time when I wondered if we were getting anywhere at all-was it possible that the current was so strong that our seeming to move against it was an illusion? That we were doing no more than hold our own, and would stay suspended here in this featureless tube of a world until tiredness overcame us and we were pushed back to the outlet in the river? The water seemed to have gotten a little warmer, but that could be another illusion. At that moment, though, the light in front disappeared, and I forced my weary limbs to a greater effort. From time to time, I had touched the roof of the tunnel with my outstretched hand. I tried again, and found nothing solid. And above, far above, there was a glimmer of green.

I swam up, and at last my head broke water. By pre-arrangement, we made for the side, where we would be hidden by the wall around the pool. The one who had been in front of me was there, too, treading water: we nodded in silence. Other heads bobbed up, one by one, and with immense relief I saw Fritz.

The last time, the pool had been deserted by night, but we could take no chances. Fritz cautiously heaved himself up the side, and peered over. He waved to the rest of us, and we climbed out, onto solid ground. And into the crushing leaden weight of the City's gravity. I saw my companions, prewarned but shaken for all that, stagger under the sudden strain. Their shoulders sagged. The spring had gone out of their limbs, as I knew it had gone out of my own. I realized that we might not look so very different from the slaves, after all.

Quickly, we did what was necessary, unclipping the tubes from our masks and unstrapping the oxygen tanks from our backs. This left us with ordinary masks, with sponge filters in the neck pouches which we would renew later in one of the communal places that the slaves used. We punctured the tanks and lashed them and the tubes together. Then one of us climbed back into the pool for a moment, and held them under till they filled. They sank down. The current would take them out into the river. Even if one of the Capped fished them out, tomorrow or the day after, he would make nothing of them. He would take them for another of the mysteries of the Tripods; as we knew, solid debris did emerge from the City from time to time.

We could talk to each other, but were anxious to make no unnecessary noise. Fritz nodded again, and we set off. Past the nets which took heat out of the water, so that beyond the last one the surface steamed and even bubbled in places, past the great cascade that formed the pool, along by stacks of crates reaching up to the pointed roof of the hall, and so to the steep curving ramp which marked the way out. The light around us was a dim green, from the globes which hung from the ceiling. Fritz led the way, advancing warily from cover to cover, and we followed at his signal. Few of the Masters were active at night, but it would not do to be surprised by one; because no slave would be abroad. Moreover, we were carrying certain things we had brought with us, parts of the distillation apparatus which we might not be able to find here.

Slowly and carefully we made our way across the sleeping City. We passed places where there was the hum of busy machinery, and we passed the deserted garden pools in which ugly, somber-coloured plants looked like menacing sentient beings themselves. We made our cautious way along one side of the great arena on which the Sphere Chase was played. Looking at these, and other familiar places, the days, years of the free life I had known seemed to disappear. I could almost think that I was on my way back to that apartment in 19 Pyramid where my Master would be waiting for me. Waiting for me to make his bed, rub his back, prepare his meal-or even just to talk to him, to give him the companionship which, in some strange non-Masterlike way, he wanted.

It was a long journey, made more protracted by our determination to run no risk. By the time we reached the area we sought, the area, on the opposite side of the City, where the river came in, to be purified and treated for the Masters, the darkness overhead was beginning to turn green. In the world outside, a clean dawn would be breaking over the distant hills. We were tired and hot, clammy with our own sweat, thirsty and aching under the never-ending strain of the weight that dragged us down. Many hours must elapse still before we would be able to slip into one of the refuges, remove our masks, and eat and drink. I wondered how the four who were new to all this were taking it. At least Fritz and I had been through it before.

We were crossing an open triangular space, keeping under the cover of gnarled treelike plants that leaned out of the inevitable pool. Fritz went on a stage, stopped, and waved for others to follow. I, as rearguard, would be the last to go. As I prepared, I saw, instead of a beckoning wave, his hand held up in warning. I froze to my spot, and waited. There was a sound in the distance: a series of rhythmic slapping noises. I knew what that was. Three feet coming down in succession on the smooth stone.

A Master. My skin prickled as I saw him, in the dim green twilight, passing along the far side of the plaza. I thought that, having seen so much of Ruki over so long a time, I had grown used to them, but Ruki had been our prisoner, confined to that small featureless room. Looking at this one, at large in the City which was the symbol of their power and dominance, all the old fear returned, and the old hatred.

Fritz and I had found, during our sojourn here, that there were many places in the City which were rarely if ever used. A lot of these were storehouses of some kind, stacked with crates, like the cavern through which we had entered, or empty in preparation for some future use. I imagine that in building the City, they had allowed space for expansion, and that a lot of it had not yet been taken up.

At any rate, this was something of which we could take advantage. The Masters, as exemplified in the unvarying routes so often followed by the Tripods, were creatures of repetitious habit in many ways; and the human slaves would never venture anywhere except on a direct errand. It would have been unthinkable for them to pry into what they regarded as the holy mysteries of the gods.

We headed for a pyramid which Fritz had previously explored, and which was less than a hundred yards from the ramp leading down to the water purification plant. It was obvious that the ground floor was not in use; a brownish fuzz, slowly growing and easily brushed off by contact, covered the exposed surfaces of the crates. (There were a number of such funguslike growths in the City, which the Masters did not seem to bother about.) To make ourselves doubly safe, though, we went down the spiral ramp to the basement, where the crates were stacked even higher. We cleared a space at the far corner, and began at once to set up our apparatus.

We were depending on the resources of the City itself for a good part of our equipment. Glass tubes, for instance, and jars, we knew to be available. What we had brought with us were chiefly small tools, and rubber tubes and sealers. Another item for which we were going to poach on our enemy was the form of heating. There were no open fires here, but there were devices which no longer seemed as magical as they once had. These were pads, of various sizes, which, when a button was pressed, gave off a concentrated radiant heat: the smaller ones were used by the slaves to heat liquids to boiling point for their Masters. The pads had attachments which fitted into sockets in the walls of the buildings, and when heat stopped being produced they were fitted in and left for an hour or so, after which they were as good as new. Beanpole had explained that it must be a form of the same electricity which our scientists had rediscovered.

Day broke, the light paled through different shades of green, and there was even a pale, barely visible disk which was the sun. In two shifts, Fritz guiding one and I the other, we went to one of the communal places, to freshen ourselves, to eat and drink and replace the filters which we used in our masks. This, too, had been carefully chosen. It was the communal place attached to one of the major pyramids, where a large number of Masters, from different parts of the City, met daily to conduct some sort of business. ( Like so many other things, the business itself was quite baffling.) This meant that there was a large and constant turnover of slaves who had accompanied their Masters and whose services had been dispensed with for the time being. Some, Fritz had noted, were there for hours, sleeping on the couches, and the majority of them did not know each other except as vague characterless figures, with whom they jostled for places at the dispensing machines or for vacant couches. All the slaves, of course, were always so exhausted that they had little energy for observation, anyway.

This was to be our principal supply base, not only as far as food and water were concerned, but for the equally pressing needs of recuperation and sleep. We had decided that we must work by night, and snatch what rest we could during the day. This could not be much - a few hours at a time.

During the first day, we foraged for the things we needed. It was astonishing how smoothly it went. Andre had been right in saying that the three attacks had to be made simultaneously, because the whole hope of our success depended on the absolute confidence the Masters had in their control of Capped humans. We could go where we liked and take what we liked, because it was unthinkable that we should be doing anything that was not directed by them. We laboured through the streets with our booty right under the noses of the enemy. Two of us dragged a vat, on a small wheeled trailer, through an open space in which, on either side, a dozen or more Masters disported with solemn lack of grace in steaming water.

The vats were our initial and primary requisition. We got three of them down into our basement and filled them with a mash made of water and the biscuitlike food which was available to slaves in the communal places. The resultant evil-looking concoction was a starchy mess to which we added a little of the dried yeast which we had brought with us. It was not long before it was fermenting-the scientists had said this would happen, even in the different air of the City, but it was a relief to see the bubbles forming, all the same. The first stage was under way.

As soon as we had got it started, we began constructing the distillation unit which would perform the necessary concentrating function. This was not so easy. The normal distillation process involves heating a liquid so that it forms steam. Alcohol, which is what we were hoping to produce, boils at a lower temperature than water, and so the first steam that was given off would have a lot of alcohol in it. The next step should be to cool the steam, so that it condenses back into a liquid. Repeating this process produces progressively more and more concentrated alcohol.

Unfortunately, we faced the problem of the unchanging and all-pervading heat here. We had hoped to overcome it by running longer lengths of tubing, giving the steam more time to cool, but it was soon apparent that this was not going to work. The amount trickling through was pitiful-a slow drip which looked as though it would take months to fill the collecting jar. We had to find another way of handling it.

That night, Fritz and I went out together. We travelled cautiously down the ramp to the cavern which held the water purification plant. The green lights were on, and the machines throbbed with power, but there was no one there. The machines worked automatically, and what need was there to set a guard in a place where the only living things were the Masters and their blindly obedient slaves? ( Not a single door anywhere in the City had a lock on it.) On this side of the machines, a pool of seething hot water, more than twenty feet across, drained into a number of different vents which took it on its multifarious courses-to be pumped up to the top floors of the pyramids, or to form the supply for many garden pools and similar amenities at ground level. But beyond . . .

There was another pool here, feeding into the machines. In turn, it was fed from a wide arched tunnel, set in the dull seamless gold of the Wall. We climbed a retaining wall, and found ourselves standing on a narrow ledge, which ran back into the tunnel. We went along it, into increasing darkness.

Coolness struck up to us from the tumbling surface of the water. This was what we were looking for, what we must have. But we needed more space than the ledge offered if we were to set up a distillation apparatus here. Fritz was ahead of me. I could no longer make him out, and only knew he had stopped when the sound of footfalls ceased. I called softly, "Where are you?"

"Here. Take my hand."

We were right under the Wall by now. The water had a different noise to it, more riotous, and I guessed this must be the point where it bubbled free of its underground confinement. It must come in from the outer world at a depth low enough to make sure that no air came with it. Groping after Fritz, I found myself moving out over the area which earlier had been occupied by the river. There was a kind of platform, stretching across the tunnel, and leading to a smaller tunnel which continued outward, directly above the now hidden and subterranean stream. We found what appeared to be the manhole cover for an inspection chamber, and presumably there were others. I imagine they were there against the possibility of a blockage. They would have had to use the Capped for checking, if so-none of the Masters could have got into so confined a space.

Fritz said, "There is room, Will."

I objected, "It's pitch black."

"We will have to manage. And the eyes become accustomed. I can see a little better already, I think."

I could scarcely see anything. But he was right-we should have to manage. It was the coolant we needed, and here it was, swirling below us in abundance.

I asked, "Can we start tonight?"

"We can get some of the stuff along, at least."

In the nights that followed, we worked frantically to build up supplies. There was a plentiful supply of containers, made of a stuff like glass but yet yielding a little to the touch, and we filled these with the product of our labours. There would not have been room for them on the platform, but we were able to stack them along the narrower tunnel. I prayed that there would be no underground blockage in the river, calling for inspection, during this time. It did not seem likely that there would. The system was obviously designed for an emergency, and had probably never been used since the City was built.

It was an exhausting life. In the tunnel, one had some escape from the heat, but the gravity still pulled one down and there was still the need to wear the irritating face masks. We were badly short of sleep, also. There were only about twelve hours a day during which it was practicable to use the communal rooms, and we had to take our rest there in shifts. It could be frustrating when the place was full of slaves. On one occasion, dog-tired, I got there to find every couch occupied. I dropped and slept on the hard floor until I was awakened by a hand on my shoulder, and realized, with aching eyes and protesting limbs, that I must get up again, put on my mask, and go out into the green mist that was our nearest approach to daylight.

But time passed, and slowly our supplies built up. We were working to a schedule and a program, and met our target with nearly a week to spare. We went on making alcohol. It was better than simply marking time and waiting, and the higher the concentration we managed to get into the Masters' water supply, presumably the more effective it was likely to be. We had already traced which of the conduits leading from the inner pool supplied the drinking water system. We were ready for the day, and the hour, that had been arranged. At last it came.

It offered, as far as we here were concerned, one snag. We had no idea how soon the effects would start showing in the Masters, nor at what stage they would begin to realize that something was wrong. The three Cities, we knew, were in communication with each other, and it would not do for one to alert the others to a possible danger. So the drinking water in each had to be tampered with at roughly the same time.

And there, of course, we faced the problem set by the fact that our world was a globe, revolving around the sun. The water purification plants had a daytime staff of Masters, who looked after the machines on three separate shifts, but were unattended at night. It had been realized that two out of the three attempts could be made in this interval; one just after the day's work ended, the other not long before it began. That left the third City not far from midday when the sabotage attempt must be made.

It had been agreed without question that ours was the expedition which must tackle this problem. We had the advantage of being closer to headquarters and also of having in our number two who knew the inside of the City by experience. It was up to us somehow to complete our task while Masters were actually on duty at the  plant. The alternative was to run the risk of finding our enemies alerted and ready to fight back.

We gave a lot of thought to this. Although we had got away with carting pieces of equipment around, and the four newcomers had grown so used to the presence of the Masters as to be almost contemptuous of them-this did not happen with Fritz or me, whose memories were still bitter-it was extremely unlikely that they would fail to question it if they saw us carrying containers out from the tunnel and emptying them into one of the conduits. This was, after all, their own department, and any humans working there would be under their orders.

One of us suggested posing as a slave who had a message, calling them away to some other part of the City. Since they never mistrusted the slaves, they would not doubt the genuineness of it. Fritz dismissed the idea.

"It would be a strange message, and they might think the slave confused. They would be likely to check with other Masters, perhaps in the place to which they were told to go. Remember that they can talk to each other at long distances. In any case, I am sure that they would not all go. One at least would stay at the machines: "

"Then what?"

"There is only one possibility, really." We looked at him, and I nodded. "We must use force."

The maximum number of Masters on duty at any particular time was four, but one only appeared occasionally; I think he was a supervisor of some kind. Usually there were three of them, but one of these would frequently be absent, taking a dip in a nearby garden pool. Even armed with the knowledge of that vulnerable spot between nose and mouth, and with six of us, we could not hope to deal with more than two. Under equal conditions they would have been so much bigger and stronger than we were; here, under their gravity, the contest would have been quite hopeless. We had no weapons, and no means of making any.

The moment we had chosen was roughly halfway through the middle shift of the day. It was necessary to be ready to act as soon as the third Master came up the ramp and headed for the garden pool, which meant that we had to have cover within easy reach and observation of the entrance to the plant. Fritz solved the problem by getting us to cut branches from trees in the pool during the night and pile them in a heap: this was frequently done by way of pruning, and the branches left until a squad of slaves came to remove them. We could bank on their going unnoticed for a day, at least. So, having been in turn to the communal place, we surreptitiously snuggled into the pile, which had something of the texture of seaweed-a clinging rubbery loathsomeness, seeming almost alive. Fritz was in a position where he could look out, the rest of us deeply buried and running, I thought, some risk of smothering if things were too long delayed.

The delay appeared to be very long indeed. I lay in this unpleasant nest, with nothing to see but the fronds in front of my face, dying to know what was happening outside but not daring even to whisper a question. The stuff was getting sticky, too, probably because it was decaying already, which did not make the wait any more attractive. I found I had a cramp in one leg, but could not move to ease it. The pain got worse, and I did not see how I could bear it much longer. I would have to get up, massage it . . .

"Now," Fritz said.

There was no one about. We raced for the ramp, or, at least, lumbered a little faster than usual. At the bottom, we slowed. One Master was in view, the other out of sight behind one of the machines. As we approached, he said, "What is it? You have some errand here?"

"A message, Master. It is . . ;"

Three of us, simultaneously, grabbed for tentacles. Fritz leaped and the other two braced his legs as high as they could. It was over almost at once. Fritz struck hard at the weak spot and with a single ear-splitting howl, the Master collapsed, throwing us away as he did so.

We had thought the second one would be more of a problem, but in fact he was easier to cope with. He came around from behind the machine, saw us standing by his fallen colleague, and asked, "What happened here?"

We made the ritual bow of reverence. Fritz said, "The Master is hurt, Master. We do not know how."

Once more their absolute confidence in the devotion of their slaves gave us the chance we needed. Without hesitation or suspicion, he came forward and bent down slightly, probing at the other with his tentacles. That brought the openings which were his nose and mouth within reach of Fritz's fist without his having to jump. This one dropped without even crying out.

"Drag them out of sight behind the machine," Fritz ordered. "Then get on with the work."

No urging was necessary. We had about half an hour before the third Master came back. Two worked in the tunnel, bringing the containers out along the narrow ledge; the rest of us carried them, two at a time, from there to the drinking water conduit, and tipped them in. There were about a hundred containers altogether. A dozen trips should do it. The colourless liquid splashed into the water, mixing with it and disappearing.

I ticked off my staggering runs. Nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . .

The tentacle caught me without my even seeing it. The Master must have come to the top of the ramp and for some reason paused to look down, instead of proceeding with the usual slap of feet, which we would have heard. It was the supervisor, we realized later, making one of his periodic visits. He obviously saw the procession of slaves with containers, saw the contents being tipped into the conduit, and was curious. He came down, spinning-which was their equivalent of running and which was almost silent because only the point of one foot made intermittent contact with the ground. His tentacle tightened around my waist.

"Boy," he demanded, "what is this? Where are the Masters?"

Mario, who had been directly behind me, dropped his container and jumped. He was gripped by the second tentacle in midair. The one that held me bit in, squeezing breath from my body. I saw the other two coming up, but could do nothing. I heard myself scream as the squeezing became unbearable. With his third tentacle, the Master flailed at the Dutch boy, Jan, tossing him, as though he were a doll, against the nearest machine. He then picked up Carlos with it. The three of us were as helpless as trussed chickens.

He did not know of the two in the tunnel, but that was small consolation. They would be bound to check the water. We had come so close to success, and now . . .

Jan was getting painfully to his feet. I was upside down, my masked head brushing against the lower part of the Master's body. I saw Jan get a hand on something, a bolt of metal, about six inches long and a couple of inches thick, which was used in some way for adjusting one of the machines. And I remembered-before he was switched to this expedition he had been preparing for a possible entry in the Games . . . as a discus-thrower. But if the Master saw him . . . I reached down with my hands, and wrenched at the nearest stubby leg, trying to dig my nails in.

It had as little effect as a gnat biting a cart horse. He must have been aware of it, though, because the tentacle tightened again. I yelled in pain. The agony increased. I was on the point of blacking out. I saw Jan twist his body, tense it for the throw. Then came oblivion.

I recovered, to find myself propped against one of the machines. Rather than try to revive me, the others had, rightly, got on with the job. I was bruised and when I drew breath it was like inhaling fire. The Master lay not far from me on the floor, oozing a greenish ichor from a gash just below the mouth. I watched, dazed, as the last of the containers was tipped. Fritz came up, and said, "Get all the empty containers back to the tunnel, in case another of them comes." He saw that I was conscious. "How are you feeling, Will?"

"Not so bad. Have we really done it?"

He looked at me, and a rare grin spread over his long solemn face.

"I think we have. I really think we have:"

We crept quietly up the ramp, and away. Out in the open, a Master saw us but paid no attention. Both Jan and I were walking with difficulty, he with a badly bruised leg and myself with this stabbing burning pain that came with every breath and every movement. This was not unusual, though; a number of slaves were crippled in various ways. The third Master had been dragged behind the machines to lie with the other two. It was almost time for the other one to return from the garden pool. He would find them, and perhaps raise an alarm, but the machines would be running as usual, and pure water emerging. The contaminated water was already on its way through the pipes to faucets all over the City.

We put a good distance between ourselves and the purification plant. We went to a communal place, to freshen up. I drank water, but it tasted no different. From tests on Ruki, the scientists had worked out that quite a minute proportion of alcohol had a paralyzing effect on them, but I wondered now if what we had managed to put in was enough. With our masks off, Fritz ran his hands over the upper part of my body. I winced, and almost cried out.

"A fractured rib," he said. "I thought so. We will try to make it more comfortable:"

There were spare masks in the communal place. He ripped one up, and used the material to make two bandages, which he fixed above and below the place where it hurt most. He told me to breathe out as far as possible. Then he tightened and knotted the bandages. It hurt more while he was doing it, but I felt better after that.

We waited half an hour before going out. The Masters were tremendous consumers of water, never going longer than an hour without drinking. We walked about, and watched, but nothing seemed to have changed. They passed us with their usual arrogance, their contemptuous disregard. I began to feel despondent again.

Then, passing a pyramid, we saw one of them come out. Mario gripped my arm, unthinkingly, and I winced. But the pain did not matter. The Master teetered on his three stubby legs, his tentacles moved uncertainly. A moment later, he crashed and lay still.

6

The Pool of  Fire

I do not know what they thought was happening to them, but they plainly failed to work it out. Perhaps they thought it was the Sickness, the Curse of the Skloodzi, operating in a new and more virulent fashion. I suppose the notion of poisoning was something they were incapable of grasping. They had, as we had found with Ruki, an apparently infallible means of sensing anything in their food or drink which could be injurious. Apparently infallible, but not quite. It is hard to be defensive toward a danger which you have never imagined existed.

So they drank, and staggered, and fell; a few at first and then more and more until the streets were littered with their grotesque and monstrous bodies. The slaves moved among them, pitifully at a loss, occasionally trying to rouse them, timid and imploring at the same time. In a plaza where more than a score of Masters were lying, a slave rose from beside one of the fallen, his face streaming tears. He called out, "The Masters are no more. Therefore our lives no longer have a purpose. Brothers, let us go to the Place of Happy Release together."

Others moved toward him gladly. Fritz said, "I think they would do it, too. We must stop them:"

Mario said, "How? Does it matter, anyway?"

Not answering, Fritz jumped onto a small platform of stone, which was sometimes used by one of the Masters for a kind of meditation they did. He cried, "No, brothers! They are not dead. They sleep. Soon they will wake, and need our care:"

They were irresolute. The one who had urged them before said, "How do you know this?"

"Because my Master told me, before it happened."

It was a clincher. Slaves might lie to each other, but never about anything relating to the Masters. The idea was unthinkable. Bewildered, but a little less sorrowful, they dispersed.

As soon as it was apparent that the scheme had succeeded, we turned to the second and equally important part of our task. The paralysis, as we knew, was temporary. It might have been possible, I suppose, to kill each Master individually as he lay helpless, but we probably would not find them all in the time . . . quite apart from the fact that it was most unlikely that the slaves would permit us to do it. As long as the Masters were not dead, but only unconscious, the power of the Caps remained.

The answer was to strike at the heart of the City, and wreck it. We knew-it was one of the first things Fritz had discovered-where the machines were that controlled the City's power: its heat and light and the force that produced this dragging leaden weight under which we laboured. We headed in that direction. It was some way off, and Carlos suggested we should use the horseless carriages which carried the Masters about. Fritz vetoed that. Slaves drove the carriages for their Masters, but did not use them otherwise. The Masters were in no position to notice the infringement, but the slaves would, and we did not know how they would react to it.

So we toiled along to Street ii, and to Ramp 914 The approach was through one of the biggest plazas in the City, lined with many ornate garden pools. The ramp itself was very broad and dipped underground in front of a pyramid that towered above its neighbours. From beneath came a hum of machinery that made the ground under our feet vibrate slightly. I had a sense of awe, going down into the depths. It was a place that the slaves never approached, and so we had not been able to. This was the City's beating heart, and we a handful of pygmies daring to approach it.

The ramp led into a cavern twice or three times as big as any I had seen, made up of three half-circles about a central circle. In each of the hemispheres there were huge banks of machinery, having hundreds of incomprehensible dials along the front. Scattered about the floor were the bodies of the Masters who had tended them. Some, clearly, had dropped at their posts. I saw one whose tentacle was still curled about a lever.

The number of the machines, and their complexity, confused us. I looked for switches by which they might be turned off, but found none. The metal, gleaming a faint bronze, was unyielding and seamless, the dials covered by toughened glass. We went from one to another, looking for a weak spot but finding nothing. Was it possible that, even with the Masters made impotent, their machines, ceaselessly humming, would continue to defy us?

Fritz said, "Perhaps that pyramid in the middle..:'

It occupied the dead centre of the inner circle. The sides were about thirty-five feet at the base and formed equilateral triangles, so that the apex was more than thirty feet high. We had not paid much attention to it before because it did not look like a machine, being featureless, apart from a single triangular doorway, high enough to admit a Master. But there were no fallen bodies anywhere near it.

It was of the same bronze metal as the machines, but we did not hear a hum as we approached. Instead there was a faint hissing noise, rising and falling in volume and also in tone. The doorway showed only more blank metal inside. There was a pyramid within the pyramid, with an empty space between them. We walked along the passage this formed and found the inner pyramid also had a doorway, but in a different face. We went through, and found ourselves facing a third pyramid inside the second!

This, too, had a doorway, but in the side which was blank in the containing pyramids. A glow came from within. We entered, and I stared in awe.

A circular pit took up most of the floor, and the glow was coming from there. It was golden, something like the golden balls produced in the Sphere Chase, but deeper and brighter. It was fire, but a liquid fire, pulsing in a slow rhythm which matched the rise and fall of the hissing sound. One had an impression of power-effortless, unceasing, great enough to provide energy for the whole of this vast City.

Fritz said, "This is it, I think. But how does one stop it?"

Mario said, "On the far side . . . do you see?"

It lay beyond the glow, a single slim column, about the height of a man. Something protruded from the top. A lever? Mario, not waiting for an answer, was going around the glowing pit toward it. I saw him reach up, touch the lever, and die.

He made no sound, and perhaps did not know what was happening to him. Pale fire ran down the arm grasping the lever, divided and multiplied to leap in a dozen different streams along his body. He stayed like that for a brief instant before slumping. I saw the lever come down with his dead weight before his fingers unclasped and he slipped to the ground.

There was a shocked murmur from the others. Carlos moved, as though to go to him. Fritz said, "No. It would do no good, and might kill you, too. But, look! At the pit."

The glow was dying. It went slowly, as though reluctantly, the depths remaining lambent while the surface first silvered and then darkened over. The hissing faded, slowly, slowly, and this time into a whisper that trailed into silence. Deep down the glow reddened to a dull crimson. Spots of blackness appeared, increased in size, and ran together. Until at last we stood there, in silence and in the pitch dark.

In a low voice, Fritz said, "We must get out. Hold on to each other:"

At that moment, the ground shuddered under us, almost as though we were in a minor earthquake. And suddenly we were liberated from the oppressive leaden weight which had dragged at us throughout our time here. My body was light again. It felt as though thousands of little balloons, attached to nerves and muscles, were lifting me up. It is an odd thing. For all the sensation of lightness and airiness, I found myself desperately weary.

We shuffled and groped our way through the maze of pyramids, blind leading the blind. In the great cavern it was just as black, the light having gone out. Black and silent, for there was no hum of machines any longer. Fritz guided us to what he thought was the entrance, but instead we came up against one of the banks of machines. We went along, feeling the metal with our hands. Twice he checked, encountering the body of a Master, and once I myself, at the end of the line, unwittingly put my foot on the end of a tentacle. It rolled nauseatingly under my foot, and I wanted to be sick.

At last we found the entrance and, making our way along the curving ramp, saw the glimmer of green daylight ahead. We went more quickly, and soon could let go of each other. We came out, into the great plaza with the garden pools. I saw a couple of Masters floating in one of them, and wondered if they had drowned. It really did not matter any longer.

Three figures confronted us at the next intersection. Slaves. Fritz said, "I wonder . . :"

They looked dazed, as though knowing themselves to be in a dream-on the point of waking but not capable of bringing themselves into full consciousness. Fritz said, "Greetings, friends:"

One of them answered, "How do we get out of this . . . place? Do you know a way?"

It was an ordinary, simple remark, but it told us everything. No slave would possibly seek a way out of the hellish paradise in which they could serve the Masters. It meant that the control was broken, the Caps they wore over their skulls as powerless as the ones we had put on for a disguise. These were free men. And if this were the case inside the City, it must be equally true in the world beyond. We were a fugitive minority no longer.

"We will find one," Fritz said. "You can help us: '

We talked with them as we made our way toward the Hall of the Tripods, the gateway to the City. They were desperately confused, as was natural. They remembered what happened since they were Capped, but could make no sense of it. Their earlier selves, who had gladly and worshipfully tended the Masters, were strangers to them. The horror of what they had experienced was slow in dawning, but searing when it came. Once they all three stopped, where two Masters had fallen side by side, and I thought they might be going to savage them. But, after a long moment's looking, they turned their heads away, shuddering, and walked on.

We met many of the Capped. Some joined our party; others wandered aimlessly about, or sat staring into vacancy. Two were shouting nonsense, perhaps turned Vagrant by the withdrawal of the Masters' influence as some had been by its imposition. A third, who possibly had gone the same way, was lying at the edge of one of the ramps. He had taken his mask off, and his face wore a hideous grimace of death: he had choked in the poisonous green air.

Our band was some thirty strong when we came to the spiral ramp, at the edge of the City, which rose to the platform that fronted the Entering Place. I remembered coming down, on my first day here, trying to keep upright on knees that buckled under me. We reached the platform, and were on a height above the smaller pyramids. There was the door, through which we had come from the changing room. On the other side of it, air that we could breathe. I was ahead of the others, and pressed the small button which had worked the entrance to the air lock. Nothing happened. I pressed again, and again. Fritz had come up. He said, "We should have realized. The power for all the City came from the pool of fire. For the carriages, and also for opening and closing doors. It will not work now."

We took turns to hammer and bang against the barrier, but utterly without success. Someone found a piece of metal, and tried that; it dented the surface, but the door would not yield. One of the newcomers said, fear very plain in his voice, "Then we are trapped in here!"

Could it be so? The sky was less bright, as the afternoon faded. In a few hours it would be night, and the City dark and lightless. The heat was no longer as powerful, without the machines to maintain it. I wondered if cold would kill the Masters, or if they might recover before it reached that point. And, recovering, relight the pool of fire . . . Surely, we could not be defeated now.

I thought of something else, too. If this airlock would not open, neither would those on the communal places inside the pyramids. We had no means of getting food or water. More important, no means of renewing the filters in our masks. We would choke to death, as that one lying on the ramp had done. I had an idea, from the look on Fritz's face, that the same thought had come to him.

The one who was hammering with the metal said, "I think it will give if we persist long enough. If you others found things to hammer with, as well."

Fritz said: "It would not help much. There is the other door beyond that. Then the Entering Place. The room that goes up and down will not be working, either. We could never get past that. There will be no light in there . . :"

Silence registered agreement with what he had said. The one with the metal stopped hammering. We stood in a motionless dispirited group. Carlos looked up at the vast crystal bubbles, a translucent green dome covering the maze of ramps and pyramids.

"If we could only get up there," he said, "and knock a hole in that . . :"

Jan sat down, to rest his injured leg. He said, "You can stand on my shoulders, if you like."

It was a feeble joke, and no one laughed. No one was in a mood for laughing. I drew a deep breath, and winced at the pain in my bandaged ribs. I was trying to think of something, but all my brain would say was: "Trapped . . . trapped."

Then one of the Capped said, "There is a way up: '

"How can there be?"

"My . . :" He hesitated. "One of-them showed me. He was inspecting the dome, and I had to take things up to him. A way up, and a ledge running around, inside the dome, at the top of the Wall."

I said, "We could never hope to break through the dome. It must be stronger than the glass over the dials on the machines. I doubt if we could even scratch its surface."

"We're going to try, though," Fritz said. "I see no other way out except by the river."

I had forgotten the rived I looked at him happily.

"Of course! Well, why not do that? Escape through the river?"

"I am not sure you would make it, Will, battered as you are. But we can't, anyway. We have to be sure they aren't able to take over again, when they recover consciousness. We must wreck the City while we have the chance."

I nodded, my happiness disappearing as rapidly as it had come. The river was no answer.

We went down the ramp again, this time with our new guide leading the way. At one of the garden pools, we equipped ourselves with metal stakes: they had been used for training a certain creeping plant that ran along the edges of the pools, and we could wrench them out without too much difficulty. Coming away, I thought I saw one of the fallen Masters stir. It was hardly anything, just the quiver of a tentacle, but the sight was ominous. I spoke to Fritz about it, and he nodded, and told the guide to move faster.

The way up, of which he had spoken, was in a part of the City filled with tall tapering pyramids-one to which the slaves had very rarely gone. This was a ramp, too, but one which clung to the Wall; narrow, and vertiginously steep. He had warned us of that, and said that he did not know how he had climbed it on that earlier occasion-that he could not have done it if he had not had a direct order from the Master. The ending of their gravity made it less difficult physically, but as we climbed higher and higher, and an unfenced abyss yawned beside and beneath us, the sensation was a terrifying one. I kept in as close to the gleaming surface of the Wall as I could and, after one horrified glimpse, did my best to avoid looking down.

We reached the ledge at last. It too was unfenced, and no more than four feet wide. The Masters must have had no sensitivity to heights. It ran along inside the Wall as far as the eye could see in either direction. The edge of the crystal bubble came down to within about eight feet of it. For one of the Masters, of course, this would be below eye level, but for us . . .

We had a try. Some made backs for the others, who clambered up and wielded their stakes awkwardly. I could not, because of my ribs, but it was harrowing enough having to watch them. The ledge seemed to shrink, and an incautious movement precipitated the fear of their falling down to the ground, two or three hundred feet below. They slammed at the crystal, and at the point where it joined with the metal of the Wall. But there was no sign of a seam, they said, and no sign of their blows making any impression at all. A second team was formed farther along, and a third, but with no greater success.

Fritz said, "Stop a minute:" To the one who had guided us, he went on, "You met your Master here?"

He shook his head. "No, I did not see him. The command was to bring food and gas bubbles and leave them here. I stayed no longer than was necessary."

"You did not even see him farther along the ledge?"

"No, but he might have been out of sight. One cannot see across to the far side."

"One cannot see through the Wall, either."

"They could not live out there, in ordinary air. And he did not have a mask with him."

Fritz said, "They would need to be able to inspect the outside as well as the inside. It's worth searching for." He looked up at the sweep of crystal, with the pale disk of the sun well down toward the west. "Unless someone has a better idea:"

No one had. We set out to walk along the ledge, in a clockwise direction. On our right was the precipitous fall to the City's streets. Some of the smaller pyramids looked like spikes, ready to impale that body that dropped on them. I felt sick from the height, and my chest was hurting badly again. I supposed I could have dropped out, and gone back; it was not as though I were going to be any use to anyone in my condition. But the thought of turning back, of leaving my companions, was worse still.

We trailed on. The top of the ramp was lost in the haze behind us. There was nothing to find, I was sure. The Master would have simply been out of sight, as we now were. Then, from the front, Fritz said, "There is something!"

The others were obscuring my view, but after a moment I saw what he meant. Just ahead, the ledge ended, or rather was replaced by something which projected out from the Wall to take up its full space and more. A sort of blockhouse-and with a door. But the door did not have a button to operate it. Instead there was a wheel, of the same golden metal as the Wall itself.

We crowded up, ignoring vertigo for the moment, as Fritz tried to turn the wheel. He got nowhere at first, but then, trying it in the reverse direction, it moved. Not much but enough to give us hope. He swung on it again, using all his strength, and it yielded a bit more. After a few minutes, he handed over to another. This continued, with volunteers working in relays. The wheel moved painfully slowly, but it went on moving. And, at last, we saw a crack widen in the side. The door was opening to us.

As soon as the gap was wide enough, Fritz squeezed through, and we followed. I was glad, in view of my bandaged ribs, that I was smaller than the average. There was light, from the partly opened door and also from squares of crystal in the roof. We could see our surroundings quite clearly.

The blockhouse was slotted into the Wall, and existed on either side of it. It was very bare, but held some boxes, which probably contained equipment, and, on a rack, half a dozen of the mask-suits which the Masters could wear if they had to breathe human air.

Fritz pointed to them:

"That was why he did not take a mask. They were kept here:" He looked round the cell-like room. "They would not bring power all the way up here. It would not be worth it. So the doors open mechanically. All the doors:"

There was one facing the one through which he had come, presumably leading out to a continuation of the ledge. At the far side, two similar doors faced each other. They must open onto a similar ledge, but one outside the dome. I said, "But if this is an air lock . . . you would need power for pumping the air."

"I do not think so. Remember, their air is denser, under greater pressure than ours. A simple valve, worked by pressure, would do it. And the amount of air in here, compared with the amount under the dome, is terribly small. It would not matter."

Jan said, "So all we have to do is open one of the doors, on the outside. What are we waiting for?"

Fritz put his hands on the wheel, tensed, and heaved to the right. His powerful muscles bulged with the strength he was applying. He relaxed, and heaved again. Nothing happened. He stood back, wiping his brow.

"Someone else try."

Several others did so.

Carlos said, "This is ridiculous. The door is the same as the other. The wheel is identical:"

Fritz said, "Wait a minute. I think maybe I understand. Close the inner door."

A wheel inside matched the outer one. It turned, though with the same reluctance: these had been made for Masters' strength, not human. At last, it was sealed.

"Now," Fritz said.

He heaved on the outer door's wheel again. This time it moved. Slowly, slowly, but at last there was a crack of light, and the crack widened. There was the whistling noise of air escaping, the breeze of its passing on our bodies. Ten minutes later, we were looking out onto a ledge, the outside of the dome, and the earthly landscape that was spread out below us, a patchwork of fields, and streams, and the distant hump of the ruined great-city. The brightness of daylight made us blink our eyes.

Fritz said, "Even the Masters can make mistakes, so they have a device to prevent that happening here. The doors to the outside will not open unless the doors to the inside are sealed. And the other way around, I should think. Try to open the inner door now."

An attempt was made, and failed. It was obvious that what he said was right.

Carlos said, "Then we can open one door . . . but must smash a way through the other?"

Fritz was examining the open door.

"That will not be easy. Look at it."

The door was about four inches thick, made of the tough gleaming metal that formed the Wall. It had been machined to a satiny smoothness and, obviously, to such a precision that even air would not pass between the opposing surfaces when it was sealed. Fritz picked up the spike he had been carrying and hammered at it. It made no impression that I could see.

We had come to another, perhaps a final check. We could keep the inner door closed and thus, with our own air surrounding us, we could remove the masks. So we would not suffocate. But we had no food here, no water-above all, no means of getting down the sheer shinning cliff of the Wall. In any case, unless we could puncture the City's shell in some way, we faced the possibility of the Masters recovering from their paralysis and restarting the pool of fire.

We were all looking at the door. Carlos said, "There is a difference between the inner doors and the outer ones. The first one opened inward, but this opens out."

Fritz shrugged. "Because of the difference in pressure. It makes it easier for them."

Carlos squatted, fingering the place where door and wall joined.

"The door itself is too strong to be broken. But the hinges . . :"

Hinges ran all the way up the inside, thin and bright and gleaming a little with oil. Renewed, perhaps, by the Master who had unwittingly led us this far.

Fritz said, "I think we could break them. But we can only get at them with the doors open, which means the inner door is sealed. How does that help?"

"Not break them entirely," Carlos said. "But if we were to weaken them - then close the door - then, after opening the inner door . . :"

"Try to hammer it open from inside? It might work! At any rate, we can try."

They got down to it, two at a time hammering at the joints of the hinges. It was still not easy, but a cry of triumph told us that the first had broken. Others followed. They went through them systematically, leaving only a single hinge at the top and one at the bottom untouched. Then the door was wound shut again, and the inner door opened.

"Right," Fritz said. "Now we hammer, top and bottom."

They banged and thumped with the metal stakes. Fritz and Carlos had started; when they were exhausted they passed the task on to others. These, in turn, tired, and were replaced. Minutes dragged by, to the monotonous unchanging clang of metal on metal. The crystal squares in the roof were darkening, dusk beginning to fall. I wondered if the Masters were stirring down in the streets, moving about, in confusion but with a purpose . . . making their way toward the dark pit where the fire had danced, and still might dance . . . I said, "Can I have a go?"

"I'm afraid you would not be much help," Fritz said. "All right, Carlos. You and I once more: '

The hammering went on and on. Then my ear caught something else, a sort of creak. It came again, and again.

"Harder!" Fritz called.

There was a sound of metal tearing. The two hinges must have given way almost simultaneously. The door began to fall, and I glimpsed the open sky, greying now. That was the last thing I noticed clearly for quite a time. Because, as the door collapsed outward, a great wind swept through the blockhouse, from open door to open door, a gale plucking one outward. Someone shouted, "Get down!" I dropped to the floor, and it was a little better there. I felt it tearing at my back, but I stayed where I was. It roared through, and it was like no noise of wind I had ever heard because it stayed on one note, unvarying, a harsh unending bellow. I wondered that I could have thought the hammering monotonous. One could not speak above the din, even if one had not been too dazed to have anything to say. I could see the others scattered on the floor. It was incredible that it could go on for so long, unchanging.

But change came at last. The noise was covered by another, sharper, far louder, more terrifying. It sounded as though the sky itself was splitting and tearing to shreds. And a moment later, the wind died. I was able to get groggily to my feet, only now realizing that my ribs were hurting even more because of my drop to the floor.

Several of us went to the inner doorway. We looked out silently, too awed for comment. The crystal dome had shattered inward. Quite a lot still adhered to the top of the Wall, but a jagged hole extended all across the centre. Huge shards could be seen, where they had fallen on the City; one seemed to be covering the Sphere Arena. I turned to look for Fritz. He was standing alone by the outer door. I said, "That's it. Not one of them could have survived: "

There were tears in his eyes, and one rolled down his cheek. Of joy, I thought at first, but there was no joy in his expression. I asked, "What's the matter, Fritz?"

"Carlos . . .

He gestured toward the open door. I said, in horror, "No!"

"The wind plucked him through. I tried to hold him, but could not."

We looked out together. The Wall was a precipice beneath our feet. Far, far down, a tiny square of gold marked the position of the door. Near it lay a small black speck . . .

We ripped off the masks, and could breathe ordinary air. The green air of the Masters had spread out and been lost in the vastness of the world's ordinary atmosphere. We made our way back along the ledge, and down the steep ramp into the City. I was glad we had not left it any later than this; light was fading rapidly and lack of visibility did nothing to improve my sense of dizziness. But we got down at last.

The communal places were still barred to us, inside the pyramids. We found stores of food, though, in open warehouses, and broke open the crates to eat it. There were drinking fountains in several places, put there to serve the thirst of passing Masters, and we drank from them. The bodies of the Masters themselves lay scattered about in the growing dark. We were joined by more and more of the Capped. They were shaken and bewildered, and some had been injured by fragments of the falling dome; we cared for them as best we could. Then we settled down to endure a cold spring night. It was not pleasant, but at least the stars shone overhead, the diamond-bright stars of earth.

In the morning, shivering, Fritz and I discussed what to do. We still could not get through the Entering Place without a slow and arduous business of breaking down doors, and the door in the Wall, that opened to admit the Tripods, would be a well-nigh impossible proposition. We could escape by way of the river, of course, but that, too, would not be easy-in my case, suicidal. I said, "We could tie things together to make a rope-there are stocks of the material they use to make clothes for the slaves-let ourselves down the blockhouse . . :"

"It would take a long rope," he said. "I think it might be worse than the river. But I've been wondering. . ."

"What?"

"All the Masters are dead. If we were to start the pool of fire again . .

"How? Remember Mario."

I do. The power killed him. But that switch was meant to be used."

"By a tentacle. They are of a different substance to our flesh. Perhaps the power does not run through it. Are we to chop off a tentacle, and use it to push the lever up again?"

"It is an idea," he said, "but not what I had in mind. The fire was on when Mario grasped the lever. It died slowly. If it also starts slowly . . . Do you see what I mean? There might be no danger until the fire is burning."

I said slowly, "You could be right. I'll do it."

"No," Fritz said decisively. "I will."

We went down the ramp into the Hall of the Machines. The darkness was absolute, and we had to guess our way toward the central pyramid. There was a strange smell, rather like rotting leaves, and when I had the misfortune to stumble over the body of one of the Masters I realized where it was coming from. They were beginning to decompose, and I suppose it was worse down here than out in the streets.

We missed the pyramid completely the first time, and came up against the banks of machines in one of the hemispheres beyond. Our second attempt was more successful. I touched smooth metal, and called to Fritz to join me. Together we felt our way around to the side with the entrance, and through the maze of concentric pyramids. It was no darker here, of course, than anywhere else in the Hall, but I was more afraid. The confinement, perhaps, had something to do with it-that, and the fact that we were approaching the pit where the fire had burned.

As we came to the third entrance, Fritz said, "You stay here, Will. Come no farther:'

I said, "Don't be silly. Of course I'm coming."

"No." His voice was flat and final. "It is you that are being silly. If anything goes wrong, you are in charge. A safe way out of the City will still need to be found:"

I was silent, recognizing the truth of what he said. I could hear him edging his way around, avoiding the central pit. It took a long time, because he went cautiously. At last, he said, "I have reached the column. I am feeling for the switch now. I have got it. I have pushed. it up!''

"You are all right? Get away from it, just in case:'

"I have done that. But nothing is happening. There is no sign of the fire:"

Nor was there. I strained my eyes into blackness. Perhaps it had been out for too long. Perhaps there was something else that needed doing, which we could not begin to guess at. His voice showing his disappointment, Fritz said, "I'm on my way back."

I put a hand out, and reached him. He said, "It will have to be the rope, or the river. It is a pity. I had hoped we might control the City."

I thought at first it might be my eyes playing tricks with me, showing spots of brilliance as they sometimes do in darkness. I said, "Wait. . :' And then, "Look!"

He turned with me, and we both stared. Down in what must be the bottom of the pit, a spark flicked into being followed by another and another. They grew, ran together, began glowing brightly. The fire spread and leaped as we watched, and the hissing noise began. Then the whole pit was shimmering with it, as the radiance filled the room.

7

A Summer on the Wind

The Masters were dead, but the City lived again. The leaden weight dragged at us as before, but we did not mind that. In the Hall outside, the green lamps glowed, and the machines hummed with their ceaseless mysterious activity. We went up to the streets and, finding a carriage, climbed in and drove along to where we had left the others. They stood and goggled at us. At the perimeter of the City, a green fog was rising, showing that the machine which produced the Masters' air had also begun working again. But it did not appear to be a danger. It rose up through the shattered dome, and was lost in the sky's blue immensity.

We collected what followers we could, and set out once more for the Entering Place. This time, the door worked at the touch of a button. Inside, we found the Capped whose duty had been to prepare new slaves. They were bewildered, and the air was not good after eighteen hours, but otherwise they were all right. It was they who showed us how to operate the room that moved, and the opening of the Wall.

I said, "Tripods . . . Many of them will have been caught outside. They may be waiting there. If we open up . ."

"Waiting for what?" Fritz said. "They know that the dome is wrecked."

"If the Tripods come in, the Masters in them may have masks. And the machine that makes their air is still working. They could do something-perhaps start to repair things."

Fritz turned to the one who had showed us how the Wall was made to open. He said, "The Hall of Tripods has human air. How did they get into the part where they could breathe?"

"The Masters' door in the hemispheres fitted against ports high up in the inner part of the Hall. They could step through."

"Did the ports open from the outside?"

"No. From here. We pressed a button to open them when the Masters commanded us." He pointed to a grille in the wall. "Their voices came through that, though they themselves were outside in the Tripods."

"You will stay here," Fritz said, "with a few others that you can choose. Later, you will be relieved, but until then your duty will be to see the ports are kept closed. Is that understood?"

He spoke with the authority of someone that expects obedience, and his order was accepted without demur. The four of us left from the six who had invaded the City were treated altogether with deference and respect. Even though the Caps no longer had an effect on their minds, they felt awe at the thought of our having fought against the Masters, and defeated them.

The rest of us went down through the room that moved, and came out into the Hall of the Tripods. The green lamps were on, but their light was lost in the daylight that poured through the open section of the Wall, a gap more than fifty feet wide and more than twice that in height. Ranks of Tripods stretched away along the Hall, but motionless, and presumably untenanted. In their presence we were pygmies again, but triumphant pygmies. We walked through the opening, and Jan clutched my arm. Another Tripod stood there, looking menacingly down at us.

Fritz cried, "Prepare to scatted As widely as you can, if it attacks. It cannot catch us all."

But the tentacles hung flaccidly from the hemisphere. The menace was an illusion. There was no life there. After a few moments we knew this was so, and our tension relaxed. We walked, unconcerned, under its shadow, and some of those who had been Capped climbed up on one of the great metal feet, and shouted and laughed for joy.

Fritz said to me, "I should have thought they would have enough air, and food and water, to last longer than that. In fact, they must have, since they go on journeys that last for days, or even weeks."

"Does it matter?" I said. "They are dead." I was tempted to join those clambering on the Tripod's foot, but knew that it would be childish. "Perhaps they died of broken hearts!" ( And perhaps my silly guess was not so far from the truth. We found later that all the Tripods had stopped working within a few hours of the fire going out in the City. Our scientists examined the bodies of the Masters inside. It was impossible to tell how they had died, but it may have been through despair. Their minds were not like ours. Ruki, however, did not die-not then. Perhaps because, having grown used to captivity, he could better withstand the shock of the City's fall, and live on in hope of eventual rescue.

The day was bright, as though in celebration of our victory. Great fluffy clouds hung white in the heavens, but the areas of blue were larger still and the sun was rarely hidden. The breeze was slight, but warm, and smelled of growing things and of the spring. We made our way around the Wall's circumference, back to the river and the outpost from which we had set out. Figures waved to us as we approached, and I realized again that the days of hiding and subterfuge were over. It seemed that the earth was ours.

Andre was there. He said, "Good work! We thought you might be trapped inside."

Fritz told him about restarting the pool of fire, and he listened intently.

"That's even better. The scientists will go mad with delight over that. It means their secrets are open to us."

I stretched, and then winced as I was reminded of my ribs. I said, "They'll have time enough to study them. We can take things easy now."

"Not easy," Andes said. "We have won here, but there may be counterattacks:"

... From the other Cities?" Fritz asked. "How long will it be before we have news from them?"

"We have it already."

"But the pigeons could not travel so fast.

"The invisible rays are much faster than pigeons. Although we dared not use them to transmit messages, we have been listening to those the Masters sent. They have stopped from two Cities, but are still coming from the third."

"The one in the east?" I suggested. "The little yellow men failed then . . ."

"No, not that," Andre said. "The one in the west."

That was the attack in which Henry would have taken part. I thought of him, and of the two we had lost, and the bright day seemed to cloud over.

But Henry was still alive. Two months later, at the castle, he told the other three of us-Fritz, Beanpole, and me-about it.

From the start, things had gone wrong for them. Two of their six had developed, at the last minute, a sickness which was common among humans in that part; and their places had been taken by two others who were less well trained. One of these had got into difficulties during their attempt to swim up the underground tunnel, forcing them to turn back and try again the following night. Even when they had gained access to the City, there were irritating setbacks and delays. They had difficulty in finding a warehouse with sufficient supplies of starch foods to make the mash for fermentation, and when they did succeed their first efforts were failures, because some of the yeasts would not grow. They had also been unable to find a hideout within close reach of the water purification plant, which meant a lot of exhausting transportation of the liquor by night.

But they had reached their quota by the time appointed, and Henry thought it would be easy from that point. Although our attempt had to be made at midday, they were able to start theirs at dawn, before the first duty shift of Masters came on. Or, at least, they thought they could. The way to the ramp leading down to the water purification plant, however, as in the City which we had tackled, was through an open place with garden pools, and they found that one of them was occupied by two Masters.

They looked as though they were wrestling, pushing and tugging at each other with their tentacles, threshing the water and sending up gouts of spray. Fritz and I had seen a similar thing, during the night when we were searching for the river and a way out of the City. We had made nothing of it-it was one of the many strange habits of the Masters over which the scientists had shaken their heads-and Henry did not, either. All he could do was hope that, whatever it was, they would soon put an end to it and go away. But they did not, and time was passing, whittling away the minutes that remained before the first day shift would arrive.

In the end, deliberately, he took a chance. The two Masters seemed entirely preoccupied and they were in the pool farthest from the ramp. He decided to have his men worm their way along the wall that enclosed the second pool, and then dash for the ramp where the shadows were deepest. Three did so successfully, but the fourth must have been seen. With a surprising swiftness, the Masters heaved themselves out of the pool and came to investigate.

They killed one, and would have killed the other, he thought, if he had stood his ground. But this one had actually seen the incredible happen-Masters attacked by slaves-and went spinning from the scene, howling in his own peculiar language. He would obviously return with others: there was no hope of getting more than half a dozen containers of alcohol in the culvert before he did so, and that would mean the Masters alerted to the danger. Not only there, perhaps, but in the other two Cities as well; for the messages would go to them immediately on the invisible rays.

The enterprise had failed, and they must cut their losses. Avoiding capture, and the baring of their thoughts, must be the objective now-at least long enough for the attacks on the other two Cities to go through. Henry told his men to scatter, and himself set off through the warren of the City's streets and ramps, heading for the river exit.

He got through, and so did two others. He had no idea of what had happened to the remaining three, but thought they must have been captured: they had watched the river for their bodies, but found nothing. ( It was not a true river but a creation of the ancients-a huge canal cut across land to connect the western ocean with the even vaster ocean on the far side of the isthmus.) There had been great activity by patrolling Tripods, but they had lain low in an underground refuge and had escaped detection. Eventually, they had managed to get away, to the ship and so back here.

"A miserable failure altogether," he concluded.

"You had bad luck," I said. "We all needed good luck to succeed, and you didn't have it."

"It was not a failure, even," Fritz said. "Whatever happened to those you lost, they must have dodged capture until it was too late. No warning came to the other Cities."

Beanpole said: "I was with Julius when the news arrived. He said he would have been pleased if we had taken one City. Two was more than anyone could have hoped for."

Henry said, "That doesn't alter the fact that they have the continent of the Americans still.

What do we do now? We wouldn't have much chance of getting in as spies again. They may not know quite what went wrong, but they certainly won't trust any human slaves in future:'

I said, "I can't understand why they have not counter-attacked."

"They may still do so," Fritz said.

"They're leaving it a bit late. If they had been able to set up another transmitter over here before we fixed the Caps, they would have made things much more difficult for us:"

The Caps, which were woven into the very flesh of those who wore them, could not be removed, but our scientists had found how to damage the mesh so that they would no longer serve their old purpose. We, for our part, had been able to take off the false-Caps which we had worn as disguise; it was wonderful not to have metal pressing against one's skull.

Fritz said: "I think maybe they have decided to concentrate on defence. Their Cities here and in the east are destroyed, and they can do nothing about that. In a year and a half, the great ship will come from their home planet. They probably think that they only have to hold out until then. As long as they still have one continent, they can set up the machines to poison our air."

Henry said restlessly, "A year and a half . . .

It's not long. Do you know what's being planned, Beanpole?"

Beanpole nodded. "Some of it"

"But I suppose you can't say?"

He smiled. "You'll know soon enough. I think Julius is going to break it to us at the banquet tomorrow."

The weather holding fine, the banquet was held in the courtyard of the castle. It was meant as a victory celebration, for those who had been concerned in the capture of the City, and we did very well indeed. We had all kinds of fish from the sea, and from the rivers trout and crayfish grilled in butter; followed by a choice of chicken and duck, suckling pig, pigeon pie, and cuts from an ox that had been roasted whole on a spit. There was also the sparkling wine of the north, which we had drunk at the banquet which followed the end of the Games. As impressive as the food and drink was the fact that we no longer had to go through the wearisome tasks of preparing the meal, setting up the tables and so on. We had servants now, and our food was brought to us. These were men who had been Capped. They treated us as heroes-all the Capped did-which was embarrassing but not unpleasant. The fact that the cooking was done by people who had been trained to the art was pure gain.

Julius spoke about the enterprise. His praise was circumspect rather than extravagant, but I found myself flushing as I listened to him. He singled Fritz out for special mention, as was right. It had been Fritz's steadiness and his resourcefulness which had pulled us through.

He went on, "You will have been wondering what comes next. We succeeded in destroying the Cities of the enemy here and in the east. But one City remains untaken, and as long as it stands the knife is at our throat. More than half the short time we had has passed. We must destroy that final citadel before their ship arrives.

"But at least, there is only one. A single assault, if properly organized and carried out, will bring us victory. And I may say that a plan for this is well advanced.

"It is based, as any with a hope of success must be, on the particular vulnerability which stems from the fact that they are alien to this world and must carry their own special environment with them to survive. In our first attacks, we drugged the Masters, and switched off the power which made the Cities work, but destruction only came about when the dome cracked, letting their air out and earthly air in. This is the way we must strike at the remaining City.

"There would be no point in trying to repeat the approach of sabotage from within. The latest news we have is that the Masters in the west have stopped recruiting Capped humans. We do not know what became of those already living as slaves in the City, but it is almost certain that they will have been killed, or commanded to kill themselves. No, we must attack from outside, and the question is: how?

"In the old days, as we have learned, men had means of obliterating stretches of territory as big as the City from halfway around the world. We could develop such things again, but not in the time which is left to us. We could produce a more primitive form of gun for throwing explosives, but it would not serve. Another report from across the ocean tells us that the Masters are laying waste the land for many miles both north and south, making sure that nothing can live there which might menace them. We need something else.

"And I believe we have it. There was one thing our ancestors achieved which the Masters seem never to have equalled. This was the construction of machines which could fly through the air. The Masters came from a planet whose heaviness must have made flight difficult, if not impossible. They went straight from surface travel to travel between worlds. Presumably they could, after conquering the earth, have copied the flying machines which were used here, but they did not do so. Perhaps out of some sort of pride, or because they thought the Tripods were good enough for their purposes . . . or because, through another quirk of their minds, they feared it."

I remembered my own fear and dizziness, climbing the ramp up the Wall and later walking along the narrow ledge high above the City's roofs. The Masters had obviously not felt like that or they would not have built in such a way. But there is not always rationality in fear. It could be that they were all right as long as they had some contact with the ground; terrified otherwise.

Julius said, "We have built flying machines . . ."

He said it plainly, without emphasis, but his words were lost in a spontaneous roar of applause from all of us.

Julius put his hand up for silence, but he was smiling.

"Not the sort of machines that the ancients built-machines which could carry hundreds of people across the western ocean in a few hours. Yes, you may gasp, but it is true. That sort of thing, like the machines for hurling destruction halfway around the world, is beyond our present reach. These are small and simple machines. But they do fly, and a man can ride in them and also carry explosives. They are what we shall use, and hope with that means to crack the enemy's last shell."

He went on to talk more generally. I had been expecting him to say something concerning our part in the new enterprise, but he did not. Later, when we were watching an exhibition by some jugglers, I asked him directly, "How soon do we start training on the flying machines, sir? And do we do it here, or in the land across the ocean?"

He looked at me with laughing eyes. "I should have thought you were too full to talk, Will, after the amount I have just seen you stuffing yourself with, let alone to think of flying through the air! How do you mange to eat so much and stay so small?"

"I don't know, sir. About the machines, though -they really have been built?"

"They have:"

"So we can start learning to drive them soon?"

"We have men learning already. In fact, they have learned. It is a question of practicing now."

"But..:'

"But what about your part in it? Listen, Will, a general does not use the same troops over and over again. You have done well, you and Fritz, and earned a respite:'

"Sir! That was months ago. We've been doing nothing since then except live on the fat of the land. I would much rather start training on the flying machines."

"I am sure you would. But there is another thing a general has to do-he has to organize his men and his time. You do not wait for one operation to be over before starting the next. We dared not launch machines into the air while the City lived, but our men were studying them and studying old books about flying even then. The first machine went up the day after the City's dome exploded."

I argued, "But I could join them, and probably catch up. You've said I'm small. Isn't that a help? I mean, I would be less weight for the machines to carry."

He shook his head. "Weight is not so important. In any case, we have more than enough pilots. You know our rule, Will. Individual preferences do not matter: all that matters is what contributes to efficiency and so to success. The number of machines we have is limited, and therefore so are the facilities for training pilots. Even if I thought you so much more suitable than those we already have-and in fact I don't -I would not approve something which meant that you would have to `catch up' with others more advanced. It would not be an efficient thing to do."

He had spoken more firmly, to some extent in rebuke, and I had no choice but to accept his decision and put on as good a face as I could. Later, though, I told the story to Fritz, resentfully. He listened with his usual stolidness, and commented, "What Julius said is right, of course. You and I were included in the party that was to attack the City because we had lived in the City and had the advantage of knowing it. There is no such advantage in the case of the flying machines."

"So we have to stay here, messing about, doing nothing, while things happen on the other side of the ocean?"

Fritz shrugged. "It seems so. And since there is no choice, we might as well make the best of it."

I am afraid I was not very good at doing this. I still felt that we could have caught up with those who had a start on us in driving the flying machines; and also that what we had done had earned us the right to be included in the final attack. I was hoping that Julius would change his mind, though that was not a thing that often happened. I only abandoned hope on the morning he rode out of the castle, on his way to another of our bases.

As I stood on the broken battlements, watching his horse jog away, Beanpole came to join me. He asked, "Nothing to do, Will?"

"There are plenty of things I could do. Swim, lie in the sun, catch flies . . ."

"Before he left, Julius gave me permission to start a project. You could help with it"

I said listlessly, "What is it?"

"Did I ever tell you about the time, before I met you, when I noticed that steam from a kettle rises, and I tried to make a balloon, which would go up in the air, and perhaps carry me?"

"I remember."

"I thought of floating away to a land where there were no Tripods. It didn't work, of course. For one thing, the air would cool and bring it down again pretty quickly. But when we were working on separating the gases in the air, to make those special masks so that you could swim upstream into the City, we also found how to make gases that are lighter than the air. If you fill a balloon with those, then it should go up and stay up. In fact, the ancients had them before they built flying machines."

I said, without much enthusiasm, "It sounds very interesting. What do you want me to do?"

"I've built a few balloons, and I've persuaded Julius to let me take a few people and see if we can get them working. We shall set up camp on our own and just-well, fly them, I suppose. Do you want to come? I've asked Henry and Fritz, and they're keen on it."

Under other circumstances, the idea would have fascinated me. At the moment, though, I saw it as putting a seal of finality on Julius's refusal to let me take part in the air attack on the third City, and very dull by comparison with that. I said, grudgingly, "I suppose so."

My resentment was childish, and, once I had finally accepted things, I quickly succeeded in pulling myself out of it. I was helped by the fact that ballooning was tremendous fun. We took the balloons on carts to a place inland where the country was wild and almost uninhabited rough hilly land, the foothills of mountains which were less high than the White Mountains, but impressive enough. One of the things Beanpole wanted to learn was the way of manoeuvring in different gusts and currents of air, and the hills provided plenty of these.

The balloon itself was of oilskin, but held in a mesh of silken cord which was attached in turn to the basket in which one travelled. The basket was staked to the ground before the balloon was filled with the light gas, and would bob there, straining against its ropes as though impatient to be up and away. The balloon was quite large, as much as ten feet across, and the basket large enough to carry four people, though two was our more usual crew. It also carried ballast -bags of sand which could be dropped to lighten the load in downdrafts.

Coming down was a relatively simple matter. One pulled a cord which opened the balloon a little and let out some of the light gas. It was not at all difficult, but needed care: if it were pulled fully open, the balloon and basket would sink like a stone . . . not a pleasant prospect when the ground was hundreds of feet below you.

But this did not detract from the pleasure we got from it. I do not think I can recall anything so exhilarating as the first time I went up. I had left the ground before this, of course, plucked into the air by the tentacle of a Tripod, and that had been terrifying. Here, by contrast, everything was calm, and yet tremendously exciting. Beanpole cast off the last rope and we began to rise, quickly but smoothly and steadily. It was a calm afternoon, and we soared almost straight up toward a sky barred high up with white cirrus. Trees, bushes, the faces of those watching from the ground, dwindled and fell away. Every instant widened the vista we could see: the feeling was godlike. I felt that I never wanted to come down to earth again. How nice it would be if one could float through the skies forever, feeding on sunlight and drinking the rain from the clouds!

Gradually we became skilled in the handling of these huge bubbles which lifted us and carried us through the air. It was a more difficult art than one would have thought. Even on apparently calm days there were eddies, and at times the turbulence was wild. Beanpole talked of constructing much vaster balloons, which would have firm containing skins and engines to push them through the air, but that was a remote hope for the future. The craft we had now were entirely at the mercy of wind and weather. We had to learn to sail them like canoes passing down uncharted rivers where a stretch of sluggish calm might be followed, abruptly, around the next bend, by a savage tumble of rapids. We learned to know the sky, to read signs and portents in small things, to anticipate how a current of air would ride up the side of a rock face.

In this fascination I was able to forget, to some extent, that we were out of the struggle which must soon come to its crisis. The worst moment was when we were joined by some others from the castle, who told us that the men who would ride the flying machines had left to cross the ocean. They were travelling in a number of different ships for safety's sake, and each ship carried the parts that would be assembled, over there, to make the flying machines. Henry and I brooded over the news for a while. I discovered that he felt, if anything, worse than I did over being excluded-after all, he had actually been inside the third City and had seen his hopes of destroying it dashed.

But we could concentrate on our own useless and haphazard kind of flying-could rise high over the hills and look from an equal height at the brown summer peaks of the mountains. On the ground, we camped out and lived rough . . . but the roughness included catching our own fish in the rivers that tumbled down through bracken and heather and cooking them right away on hot embers. It included expeditions to trap not only rabbits and hares, but deer and wild pig, and subsequent feasting around a crackling fire in the dusk. After that, we slept soundly on the hard ground, and woke refreshed.

So the days and weeks and months went by. Summer passed, and the days shortened with the approach of autumn. It would soon be time to return to winter quarters at the castle. But a few days before we had expected to move, a messenger arrived there. The message was simple and bald: Julius wanted us back at once. We dismantled our balloons and packed them on the carts, and set off early next day, through a thin drizzle of rain.

I had never seen Julius look so strained and old. His eyes were tired, and I wondered how much he slept at night. I felt guilty about my own carefree days and nights up in the hills.

He said, "It is best to tell you right away. The news is bad. As bad as it can be:"

Beanpole said, "The attack on the third City..:"

"Has failed utterly."

"What went wrong?"

"With the preparations, nothing. We got all the flying machines over safely, and established three bases, two in the north and one in the south. We disguised them, successfully it seemed, painting the machines so that from a distance, from a Tripod's height, they seemed to blend with the ground. It was a trick the ancients had used, in their wars, and it seemed to work. The Tripods did not molest them gave no indication of knowing they were there. So, at the hour appointed, they set off, carrying their explosives toward the City:"

Julius paused a moment. "Not one got within reach. All at once, their engines stopped."

Beanpole asked sharply, "Do we know why - how?"

"A part of the way the engines worked was through electricity. You will know more of that than I do. At the bases, miles farther back, everything electrical stopped at that same moment, but started again later on. A different kind of invisible ray, the scientists think, which kills all electrical things when it is used."

I said, "And the flying machines, sir? What happened to them?"

"Most of them crashed into the ground. A few managed to get down more or less intact. The Tripods came out from the City and destroyed them as they lay there, helpless:"

Henry said, "All of them, sir?"

"Every one. The only flying machine we have left is one that would not start from its base because something was wrong with its engine:"

Only now did the dire significance of what he had told us really sink in. I had been so sure that the attack would succeed, that these wonderful devices of the ancients would destroy the last stronghold of the enemy. Yet not only had the attack failed, the weapon on which our hopes were pinned had been blunted, and shown to be useless.

Beanpole said, "Well, sir?"

Julius nodded. "Yes. We are down to our last throw. Let us hope your balloons will pull us through."

I said to Beanpole, "You mean, you knew all the time that this was possible-that the balloons were something to fall back on if the flying machines failed?"

He looked at me with mild surprise. "But, of course. You do not think Julius would fail to have an alternative plan, right up to the last?"

"You might have told me."

He shrugged. "One leaves it to Julius to tell people what he thinks proper. And the balloons are a good project in themselves. The airships I spoke of-the ancients had something of the sort, but abandoned them for the heavy flying machines. I am not sure they were right to do that."

I said, "Do you know how soon we are to cross the ocean?"

"No. There are preparations to be made:"

"Yes, of course:"

He admonished me sharply, "Will, stop grinning like a fool. This is not designed for your benefit. It would have been better-infinitely better-if the attack by the flying machines had succeeded. As Julius said, this is our last chance."

I said penitently, "Yes, I realize that."

But penitence was not the feeling uppermost in my mind.

8

The Freedom Bubbles

We, too, and our balloons, were split between different ships for the journey across the ocean. Henry and I, though, found ourselves together, on a vessel of four or five hundred tons called La Refine d'Azure. The French sailors asked us, before we left harbour, if we would care to take some concoction of theirs which was designed to prevent seasickness. The sky, they said, promised dirty weather ahead. Henry accepted the offer, but I refused. The liquid looked doubtful, and smelled worse and, as I told them, I had crossed the seas before.

But that was a different sea-the narrow channel between my homeland and France and in different conditions. We put out into choppy white capped waves, with a wind from the east whipping spray along their tops. This was the wind we wanted, and all possible sail was crammed on to take advantage of it. La Refine swept along under a sky that steadily darkened, although it was not much past the middle of the day. A queen, perhaps, but a tipsy one, lurching from side to side, digging her bows into the troughs as the waves increased and deepened, and scattering foam as she came up again.

My own sensation was one of, at first, mild discomfort and I thought it would pass as I grew used to the motion. I stood by the bulwarks with Henry, wrapped up against the wind and wet, and talked cheerfully and cracked jokes. The discomfort, though, instead of passing, grew more insistent. One of the sailors who had offered me the seasickness remedy passed and asked me how I was. I laughed, and told him I was feeling fine-that it reminded me of the carousel that had been set up at the village fairs when I was a boy. The ship dropped, at that moment, from the crest of her upward swing down into horrific depths, and I shut my mouth and swallowed hastily. Fortunately, he had already gone.

From that point, the ship's battle with the waves was matched by another waged by my mind against my stomach. I was determined not to show what I was feeling even to Henry my pride was stupidly engaged-and was relieved when he went below at the word that there was a hot drink waiting in the galley. He asked me if I were coming, and I shook my head, smiling desperately. I said, as was perfectly true, that I did not feel like a drink at that moment. So he left me, and I hung onto the rail, and stared at the sea, willing either it or my churning stomach to lie quiet. Neither did so. Time slowly passed, with nothing happening except that the sky was darker, the waves more extreme, the shuddering plunges and climbs of the Reine d'Azure more precipitous. My head was aching as well; but I hung on, and felt I must be winning.

Someone touched me from behind. Henry said, "You still here, Will? You're a glutton for fresh sea air."

I mumbled something, I don't know what. Henry continued, "I was talking to the captain. He says he thinks there might be some really rough weather ahead of us."

I turned, drawn by my incredulity over this remark. Really rough weather? I opened my mouth to say something and, on second thought, closed it again. Henry said solicitously, "Are you all right, Will? Your face is a funny colour. A sort of olive-green . . :'

I plunged back to the rail, hung over it, and was sick. Not just once, but again and again, my stomach going on heaving long after there could possibly be anything left in it to bring up. My recollection of the rest of the day, that night, and the following day, is hazy; nor would I wish to remember the time more clearly. At some stage, the French sailor came back with his mixture, and Henry held my head while he poured it down my throat. I think I felt a little better afterward, but I could scarcely have felt worse.

Gradually my state improved. On the fourth morning, although I was still queasy, signs of hunger made themselves known. I washed in salt water, tidied myself up, and made my rolling way toward the galley. The cook, a fat smiling man who prided himself on speaking some English, said, "Ah, so you are better, no? You 'ave recover the good appetite, and prepare to break the fast?"

I smiled. "I think I could manage something."

"Good, good! So we 'ave the special break-the-fast for you. I 'ave cook 'im ready."

He passed me a plate, and I took it. It contained slices of bacon. They were thick, the meat was fat, apart from a couple of narrow bars of pink, and they looked as though they had not been fried but boiled in grease, which still adhered to them. I stared at it, while the cook watched me. Then the ship heaved one way, and my stomach heaved another, and I hurriedly put the plate down and staggered for the fresh air of the deck. As I went, I heard the cook's merry laughter echoing along the companionway behind me.

By the next day, though, I felt perfectly well again. After my enforced privations, my appetite was enormous. The food would have tasted delicious anyway, but in fact it was very good. (The greasy fat bacon, I learned, was an old ship's cook trick; and this one was particularly fond of practical jokes.) Moreover, the weather improved. The seas were still high, but for the most part blue, mirroring skies empty apart from a handful of pelting clouds. The wind stayed fresh, but moved around to the southwest and was less sharp. It was not the best quarter from the point of view of making progress, and a good deal of tacking had to be done to get what advantage we could. Henry and I offered our services, but we were turned down, firmly and courteously. Our inexperienced hands and fumbling fingers would, we realized, be more of a hindrance than a help to them.

So we were thrown back on contemplation of the sea and the sky, and on each other's company. I had noticed a change in Henry on his first return from the Americas, and this had been confirmed during our long ballooning summer. It was not just a physical change, though he was much taller and leaner. There had been a change in his character, too, I thought. He was more reserved, and I felt that might be because he had more in reserve, that he was surer of himself and of his aims in life-aims, that is, quite apart from the one we all shared, of overcoming and destroying the Masters. But we had lived a communal life up in the hills, with little opportunity for or inclination toward confidences. It was only now, in the long days of winter sunshine, with the sea stretching emptily to the four horizons, that he gave me some insight into what the aims might be.

On the rare occasions when I turned my mind to look beyond our primary objective, and thought of the world that could be when it was entirely liberated from our oppressors, my vision was hazy and mostly, I am afraid, centred on pleasures. I envisaged a life of hunting, riding, fishing-all the things which I enjoyed, made a hundred times more enjoyable by the knowledge that no Tripod would ever again stride across the skyline, that we were the masters of our own habitation and destiny, and that any cities that were built would be cities for men to dwell in.

Henry's meditations had been very different. He had been much affected by his first journey across the ocean. He and his companions had landed far to the north of the City on the isthmus, in a land where, as I have said, the people spoke English, though with an unfamiliar accent. He was struck by the fact that there, thousands of miles across trackless seas, he could talk and be understood, whereas when he and I crossed a mere twenty miles of water to France we had found ourselves unable to communicate with those who lived there.

From this, he went on to think more deeply about those divisions of men, which had existed before the Masters came and which the Masters, themselves a single race of one language and nation, had never understood, even though they did not fail to take advantage of them. It seemed to him monstrous that such a state should exist, that men should go out to kill other men they did not know, simply because they hued in a foreign land. This, at any rate, was something that had ceased with the coming of the Masters.

"They brought peace," I agreed, "but what a peace it was! The peace of herded cattle."

"Yes," Henry said. "That's true. But does liberty have to mean slaughtering each other?"

"Men do not fight against each other any more. We all fight the common enemy-Frenchmen like Beanpole, Germans like Fritz, Americans like your friend Walt . . :"

"Now they fight together. But afterward, when we have destroyed the Masters-what will happen then?"

"We shall remain united, of course. We have learned our lesson."

"Are you sure?"

"I am certain! It would be unthinkable for men to go to war with each other again:"

He was silent for a few moments. We were leaning against the starboard rail, and far off in the distance I thought I saw something flash, but realized it must be a trick of light. There could be nothing there.

Henry said, "Not unthinkable, Will. I think about it. It must not happen, but we may have to work hard to make sure it does not."

I asked more questions, and he answered them. This, it seemed, was the chief aim he had set himself, of working for the maintenance of peace among the peoples of the free world. I was a little awed by it, but not entirely convinced. There had been war in the past, I knew, but that was because men had never had anything to unite them, as we now had in the struggle against the Masters. Having once gained this unity, it was impossible to imagine that we would ever give it up. Once this war was over...

He was saying something, but I interrupted him, grabbing his arm.

"There is something out there. I saw it before, but was not sure. A small flash. Could it be something to do with the Tripods? They can travel on the sea."

"I should be surprised to find them in mid-ocean," Henry said.

He was watching where I pointed. The wink of light came again. He said, "Low down, too, for a Tripod! Not far above the surface of the water. It will be a flying fish, I should think."

"A flying fish?"

"It doesn't really fly. It leaps out of the water, when the dolphins are pursuing it, and glides over the surface, using its fin as a sail. Sometimes they land on board. I believe they're quite good to eat."

"You've seen them before?"

Henry shook his head. "No, but the sailors have told me of them, and of other things. Whales, which are as big as a house, and blow spouts of water up through the tops of their heads, and giant squids, and, in warmer waters, creatures that look like women and suckle their young at the breast. The seas are full of wonders."

I could imagine him listening to their tales.

He had become a good listener, attentive to what was being said, courteous and interested. That was another way in which he had changed from the brash thoughtless boy I had known. I realized that if there were any need to keep men together after our victory, Henry was the sort of person who could help to do it. As things stood, Beanpole was becoming important among the scientists, Fritz was acknowledged as one of our best commanders, and even I ( chiefly by luck) had had my moments of glory. Henry had been less successful, his one important enterprise a failure, even though through no fault of his own. But it could be that in the world of the future, he would be more valuable than any of us. Even than Beanpole, because what good would it do to rebuild the great-cities of the ancients only to knock them down once more?

Though it was impossible that folly of that sort should happen again.

And, in any case, the Masters were not beaten yet. Not by a long way.

The last stage of our voyage took us through warmer seas. We were heading farther south than on Henry's first voyage, our landfall being close to the secondary base that had been set up in the mountains, some hundred miles east of the City. ( It is an odd thing that, although the two continents of the Americas lie north and south of each other, the narrow isthmus that joins them runs east-west.) The primary base, from which the flying machines had been launched, had been abandoned after the failure of the attack. We had steady winds behind us from the northeast, and I was told that these blew, almost without changing, throughout the year. Once we had come under their influence, they propelled us powerfully.

The sea was full of islands, of all shapes and sizes, some tiny and some so enormous that, if the sailors had not kept me better informed, I would have taken them for the continent itself. We sailed quite close to many, and there were tantalizing glimpses of lush green hills, golden sands, feathery fronds of trees waving in a breeze . . . Only the very big ones, it seemed, were inhabited; the Masters had imposed a taboo on the rest, in the minds of the Capped of these parts. It would be wonderful to land and explore them. Perhaps, when this was all over . . . Henry could do his preaching on his own, I decided. I would not have been much use to him, anyway.

We landed at last, and went ashore to feel the unfamiliar solidity of firm ground under our feet. And to realize that we were back in the shadow of the enemy. This took place at dusk, and we unloaded and carted our gear that night, and the following day lay up, in the cover of a forest. The work was difficult, and not helped by the fact than we had to endure several torrential downpours. It was rain unlike any I had encountered before, almost as though solid water were sheeting down out of the sky. It drenched one to the skin within seconds.

In the morning, though, the sun beat hotly down through the leaves of unfamiliar trees. I ventured out to bask and to dry my clothes in a clearing near by. We had already climbed quite high, and this shelf of land looked a long sway east. I could see the coastline, with minute offshore islands. Something else, also. It was miles away but clear, pinpointed in the bright tropic light.

A Tripod.

It took us several days to get to our base, and another week to complete our preparations. After that, all we had to do was wait.

I had had to wait before, and thought I had learned patience. There had been the long months of training for the Games, the seemingly endless weeks of enforced idleness in the caves, the days by the river preparing for our invasion of the City. All these, I thought, had schooled me; but they had not. For this was waiting of an entirely different kind-waiting with no fixed term and on a permanent alert. We were dependent not on any decisions of men, or even of the Masters, but on the vagaries of a greater force than either, of nature.

Our planning staff, of whom Beanpole was one, had consulted with those, recruited in our earlier expeditions, who had lived here all their lives, and knew the country and its weather. We had to have a wind which would carry our balloons over the City, a wind, that is, from the northeast. This was, in fact, the prevailing wind, which had brought us on the last leg of our voyage, and at this time of year, constant. Unfortunately, it normally died out, over this very strip of land, into the equatorial calm which prevailed to the south and west. We must wait for a moment of greater wind strength if we were not to find ourselves becalmed, and even drifting away from our target.

So we had advance positions set up, as near as possible to the City, whose duty was to report back, by pigeon, when the wind was holding strongly enough in that direction. Until they did, we could do nothing but chafe at the delay.

And chafe most of us did. Ours had been the last but one party to arrive, the rest coming a day later, but although many had waited longer, I found myself one of the least able to accept the situation. My temper worsened, and I began flaring up at the smallest provocation. Finally, when one of the others made a joking remark it was that I was so full of hot air he doubted if I really needed a balloon-I sailed into him, and we fought furiously until we were dragged apart.

That evening, Fritz spoke to me.

We were in a tent but, as was frequently the case, the tent was leaking in several places. The rains of this land were not easily stopped by canvas. It swished down outside as he remonstrated with me. I said I was sorry, but he did not seem much impressed.

"You have been sorry before," he told me, "but you keep on doing things without thinking-flying off the handle. We cannot afford dissension here. We must live together and work together:"

"I know," I said. "I will do better." He stared at me. He was fond of me, I knew, as I of him. We had been together a long time, and shared hardships and dangers. Nevertheless, his expression was grim. He said, "As you know, I am in charge of the attack. Julius and I discussed many things before we left. He told me that if I was not sure of any man I must leave him out of the assault. He spoke of you, Will, in particular."

He liked me, but his duty came first, as it always would with Fritz. I pleaded with him for a last chance. In the end, shaking his head, he said he would-but it really was a last chance. If any trouble occurred in which I was concerned, he would not bother to find out who was responsible. Out I would go.

The following morning, in the course of our usual drill on the balloons, the one I had fought with tripped me-perhaps accidentally, perhaps not-and I went sprawling. Not only did my elbow hit a chunk of rock, but I landed in a patch of sticky mud. I closed my eyes, and lay there for at least five seconds before getting up again. With a smile on my face, and my teeth tightly gritted.

Two mornings later, through yet another downpour, a bedraggled pigeon alighted on the perch in front of its box. A little scroll of paper was fastened to its leg.

We had twelve balloons altogether in our force, with one man to each so as to be able to carry the greatest possible weight of explosive. This was in the form of metal containers, something like the grooved metal eggs we had found in the ruins of the great-city, but very much larger. It was not too easy a task to lift them over the edge of the basket. They were fitted with fuses, which would cause them to explode four seconds after the release was pulled.

This meant, Beanpole had explained to us, that we needed to make our drop from a height of just under a hundred and fifty feet. The calculation depended on something which had been discovered by a famous scientist of the ancients called Newton. He tried to explain it but it was beyond our comprehension-beyond mine, anyway. What it meant was that an object falling through the air travelled a distance in feet of sixteen, multiplied twice over by the number of seconds it had been falling. Thus in the first second it would fall sixteen feet ( sixteen multiplied by one multiplied by one), in two seconds sixty-four feet, and in three a hundred and forty-four. The fourth second was the time allowed for getting the bomb, as he called it, into position and ready for the drop.

We had practiced this with dummy bombs over and over again, learning to calculate distances from the ground, to estimate time, and so on. There was also the question of the forward motion of the balloon, which naturally affected the place at which the bomb dropped. We had become quite skilled in the art. Now we had to apply it.

The balloons went up at two-second intervals into a sodden gray sky and a wind dragging in from the ocean behind us. Our order had been allocated by Fritz, who himself went first. I was sixth, and Henry tenth. As I cast off and found myself shooting skyward, I looked down at the faces so quickly dwindling below. I saw Beanpole looking up, his spectacles almost certainly obscured by rain, but peering through them all the same. It was hard luck on Beanpole, I thought, but the thought was fleeting. I was more concerned with having made it myself, with being freed of all the delays and irritations. The lashing rain had already soaked me, but that was unimportant.

We soared higher, in a long line that still preserved some irregularity. The country on which I looked down was a strange one, made up of low-pointed hills, rounded but in all sorts of different shapes, and covered by the dense forest that stretched away almost to reach the gray line that marked the ocean. The rain drove steadily on the driving wind. Valleys unfolded and folded again behind me. Gradually the hills flattened, and the forests gave way to fields of crops. There were occasional small villages of whitewashed houses. A river appeared, and for a time our course followed it.

The line was breaking up, spreading out, affected by small inconsistencies in the wind. Some balloons were making better progress than others. I was chagrined to find that my own was falling behind. We were in two main groups, nine in advance and three of us forming a rearguard. Henry was one of the three. I waved to him, and he waved back, but we were not close enough for me to read anything in his face.

We lost the river but found this or another not long after. If it was the same one, it had widened. Later it flowed into a lake, a long neck of water stretching for at least ten miles on our right. The land beneath us was barren and lifeless, with a scorched blackened look. This would be part of the zone all around the City which the Masters had laid waste as a defensive measure. I looked ahead more keenly but saw nothing but water on one side and burned empty land rising on the other. The leading balloons were increasing their lead over us stragglers. It was infuriating, but there was nothing to be done about it.

In fact, we were all travelling more slowly, because the rain had stopped and the wind was less. Our course had been carefully calculated for this wind, but I wondered if the calculation might not be out, or the wind have changed direction, so that we would drift aimlessly out to sea, beyond reach of our target. Ahead, the lake dog-legged to the right. But at that point . . .

It ran south of west, almost straight, absolutely regular, a ditch that the ancients had made to take their great ships across the isthmus from one ocean to the other. There were no ships in it now but there was something else straddling it, a gigantic green-shelled golden beetle. The calculation had not been wrong. Right ahead of us lay the third City of the Masters.

I did not have time to contemplate it. My attention was taken up by something else which appeared from behind high ground to the left of the City. Presumably the Tripod was returning, in the ordinary way, to its base. But, catching sight of the cluster of bubbles bobbing through the air, it checked and changed course. It got to them when the first balloon was within a hundred yards of the Wall. A flailing tentacle came close, but missed, as the balloonist, jettisoning ballast, sent his craft soaring. The others were approaching the Tripod, too. The tentacles flailed again, and this time struck home. The balloon crumpled, and dropped, with its basket, to the dark wet ground below.

The Tripod was like a man swatting insects. Two more balloons in the advance group went down. The others got past. The first was over the City. Something fell from it. I counted: one, two, three . . . nothing happened. The bomb had failed to explode.

Two other balloons were off target, to the left. But the remaining three would cross over the huge expanse of green crystal. Another bomb dropped. Once more I counted. There was a great thump of sound as it vent off. But the dome, as far as I could see, was still inviolate. I could not watch what was happening ahead after that. The Tripod stood directly in my path.

Everyone so far had dropped ballast to rise and dodge the enemy's blows. I guessed he would be getting used to the manoeuvre. Waiting until the tentacle was moving to its strike, I pulled the release cord and, with a sickening lurch, felt the balloon drop. The tentacle passed overhead. I had no idea by how much, for my attention was on the ground toward which I was falling. Hastily I threw out sandbags, and the balloon shot up. The Tripod was behind me, the City ahead. Glancing back, I saw one of the two last balloons struck down, the other coming on. I hoped that was Henry, but could not look to find out.

I had heard two more explosions, but the City's dome still stood. My balloon was over it and looking down I could dimly see, through its translucent green, the clustered peaks of the pyramids inside. My height was about right, though more by luck than anything else after the evading action I had been forced to take. Reaching down, I pulled out the fuse pin, and heaved the bomb up over the basket's edge, poised it for an instant, and let go.

The balloon lifted with the release of its weight. I counted the seconds. Just before three, it hit, skidded, bounced from the curve of the dome. It went off, and the blast of air rocked me violently. Sick with dismay, I saw that there was no sign of a break in the crystal. That left one single hope, one fragile bubble to crack the mighty carapace of the aliens.

It was Henry. I knew that by the colour of the shirt he was wearing. He was going in dead centre over the City. But not keeping the height that Beanpole and the scientists had prescribed I watched him dropping, dropping . . . The basket scraped the surface of the dome.

Then I understood what he was about. He had seen the failure of those of us in front and understood the reason for it. The scientists had told us that the bombs were powerful enough to shatter the crystal, having experimented on the broken dome of the City we had taken, but of course the bomb had to be touching or very close to the crystal when the explosion took place. Our bombs had ricocheted enough to be outside those limits, and the odds were against his being any more successful. That was as far as dropping the bomb was concerned.

But planting was another matter. My own transit had been toward the edge, with the roof a falling curve beneath me. But Henry had been lucky enough to go in across the centre. So huge was the dome's expanse that a man might walk across it without difficulty.

My mind was full of hope, and horror. The basket scraped again, bounced up, dropped. I saw the small distant figure struggle to lift something. I wanted to shout to him to let it go-that it would probably stay where it fell or at any rate merely slide down the slight curve, staying in contact-but it would have done no good. As I watched, he scrambled over the edge of the basket. The balloon, released, rose sharply into the sullen gray sky. Henry stayed there, crouching, antlike against the gleaming vastness that stretched all around.

Crouching, and cradling something in his arms.

I turned away. Not until some seconds after the explosion did I have the heart to look back. The Masters' air billowed up like green smoke from a ragged hole which, as I looked, crumbled still farther at the edges.

Almost blindly I pulled the cord and let my balloon drop to the waiting earth.

9

The Conference of Man

Once before three of us had gone up through the tunnel that climbed inside the mountain to the fields of eternal snow and ice at the top. We had walked then, resting when we were tired, lighting our way with the big slow-burning tallow candles which were used to illuminate the lower caves in which we lived. Not quite the same three. Fritz took the place that had been Henry's.

And not in the walking we sat at ease in one of the four carriages pulled by the small but powerful diesel-electric train up the togged track. Instead of the dim flicker of candlelight we were in a bright and even radiance, in which one could read a book if one had a mind to. We did not carry rations-tough stringy dried meat and hard tasteless biscuits-because food was to be provided at our journey's end, where a skilled staff of fifty waited, more than eleven thousand feet above the sea, to look after the delegates and those fortunate others who had been invited to attend the Conference of Man.

It was Julius's wish that it should be held here, high up among the peaks of the White Mountains that had sheltered the early seeds of man's resistance to his conquerors. It was by Julius's order that we, along with other survivors of the days of battle, had come. We were not delegates, though probably we could have been had we so desired. I am not boasting in saying that. It was just that those of us who had fought against the Masters and defeated them could claim privileges everywhere . . , and had so wearied of adulation that we preferred to look for quietness and privacy.

The three of us had looked in different directions. Beanpole was immersed in research in the vast laboratories that had been built in France, not far from the castle by the sea. Fritz had same way, either. Instead of turned farmer in his own native land, and spent his days with his crops and beasts. While I, more restless and perhaps less purposeful than they, had sought peace in exploring those parts of the world which the Masters had stripped of their previous human inhabitants. In a ship, with half a dozen others, I crossed the seas, and put in to strange forgotten harbours on unknown coasts. Under sail because, although there were ships now with engines, we preferred it that way.

This had been our first meeting in two years. We had laughed and talked a lot when we met, in the town that lay between two lakes down in the valley, but the talk had dried up during the long journey inside the mountain. We were engaged with our own thoughts. Mine were somewhat melancholy. I was remembering the things we had done together, the times we had had. It would have been pleasant to preserve that comradeship in the days that came after. Pleasant, but alas, impossible. That which had brought us together had gone, and now our paths diverged, according to our natures and our needs. We would meet again, from time to time, but always a little more as strangers; until perhaps at last, as old men with only memories left, we could sit together and try to share them.

Because with victory everything had changed. There had been the months of anxious waiting for the arrival of the great ship of the Masters, but even during that time the world had been picking itself up, relearning forgotten skills, compressing into months what it had taken our forefathers decades, centuries even, to accomplish. Only when, one autumn night, a new star winked in the sky did people pause to draw breath, and stare anxiously out into the heavens.

It was a star that moved, a point of light travelling past the fixed familiar ones. In powerful telescopes it resolved into a shape, a metal cocoon. Scientists made calculations of its size, and the result was breathtaking. More than a mile long, they said, and a quarter of a mile wide at its thickest part. It swung in an orbit round the earth and we waited, tense, to see what it would do, finding no answer come to the radio messages that it was sending to its colonists.

They had won that first time by guile, and the trick would not work twice. The air of our planet was poison to them, and they had no base in which to shelter. Men still wore Caps, but the Caps would give no orders. They could try to set up fresh bases, and they might succeed, but we would harry them continually with weapons that were more and more sophisticated every year. Having beaten them when they were all powerful and we pitifully weak, we knew we could better any effort they made in the future.

Alternatively they could cast down death and destruction from their secure haven in the skies. This was a possibility to which many inclined, and which I myself thought most likely, at the beginning at least. They might hope that after a long enough time of this we would be so weakened, our spirit so shattered, that they could then descend and hope to rule our battered and blackened planet. That would be a longer struggle, and a crueller one, but we would win that, too, in the end.

They did neither. They merely sent down three bombs, and each landed on its target and destroyed it utterly. The targets were the dead Cities of their colonists. We lost the men who were working in them at the time, including many scientists, but it was a loss of a few hundred when it might have been millions. And when the third bomb had exploded, the light in the sky suddenly dwindled, and disappeared. At the instant that it did so, Ruki, the last of the Masters left alive on earth, stirred in his prison cell-a new one, well appointed, with a high ceiling, and a garden pool, and a plate glass front through which men could watch him like a beast in a zoo-howled once, crumpled, and died.

The train chugged through the last of the intermediate stations, and the walls of the tunnel closed in around us again. I said, "Why did they give in so easily? I have never really understood:"

Fritz looked puzzled, but perhaps Beanpole's thoughts had been running in the same channel as my own. He said, "I don't think anyone knows. I read a new book about them recently, by the man who was in charge of studying Ruki during those final months. They know a lot about the way their bodies worked, from the dissections, but their minds are still very largely a mystery. They resigned themselves to fate, somehow, in a way that men do not. Those in the Tripods died when their Cities did. Ruki gave up the ghost when he knew, in some strange way, that the ship had abandoned him and turned back into the deeps of space. I do not think we shall ever know how it happens:"

"Perhaps we shall meet them again," I said. "How are the plans for the rocket to the moon progressing?"

"Well," Beanpole said. "And so is the work on the flame-energy they used. It is a form of atomic power, but much more subtle than that which the ancients developed. We shall be out among the stars within a hundred years, perhaps within fifty."

"Not I," I said cheerfully. "I shall stick to my tropic seas."

Fritz said, "If we do meet them again out there . . . it will be their turn to fear us."

The Conference Hall had huge windows along one side, through which one looked out onto a dozen or more mountain peaks, white with snow, and onto the great river of imperceptibly moving ice which ran for thirty miles among them. The sun stood in a cloudless sky above it all. Everything was sharp and dazzling; so bright that one needed dark glasses to look out for more than a moment or two.

In the Hall, the Council, with Julius presiding, sat at a table at one end, on a dais only slightly raised from the level of the rest of the floor. Most of the rest of the space was taken up by the delegates' seats. At the far end, behind a silken rope barrier, was the place for the rest of us. Those, like ourselves, who had come on the Council's special invitation, certain officials, and representatives of the newspapers and the radio stations. ( In a year or two, we had been promised, there would be something called television, by which men could see, in their own homes, things happening half a world away. It was the device which the Masters had used, as a preliminary stage in their conquest, to hypnotize men and so control their minds-and our scientists were making sure that could not happen again before they brought it back.) The room, although large and high-ceilinged, was very crowded. We had seats at the front of our section, and so looked directly onto the benches of the delegates, which were arranged in concentric circles around a small central space. Each section had the sign of the country from which they came. I saw the name of my own land, England, the names of France, Germany, Italy, Russia, the United States of America, China, Egypt, Turkey

take them all in.

From a door at the other end, the members of the Council began to file in and take their places at the table on the dais. We all rose as they did so. Julius came last, limping heavily on his stick, and applause swelled in a sea of sound around the room. When it died at last, the Secretary of the Council, a man called Umberto, spoke. He was brief. He announced the opening of the Conference of Man, and called on the President of the Council to speak.

There was more applause, which Julius checked with a slight gesture of his hand. It was two years since I had seen him, also. He did not seem to have changed much. A little more bent, perhaps, but there was vigour in his attitude, and his voice was strong.

He wasted no time on talk of the past. What concerned us was the present, and the future. Our scientists and technologists were rapidly reacquiring the knowledge and skills of our ancestors, and even improving on them. The promise of all this was inestimable. But the glorious future which man could and should enjoy depended also on the way in which he governed himself, for man was the measure of all things.

A glorious future . . . It was right, I thought, for Julius to speak in that strain, because there was no doubt that, in doing so, he spoke for the overwhelming majority of the peoples of the world. They had an insatiable appetite for the toys and wonders of the past. Everywhere one went, in so-called civilized lands, one heard radio, and there was great impatience for television. I had visited my parents on my way here, and had heard my father talk about installing electricity at the mill. In Winchester, new buildings had started to soar within a stone's throw of the cathedral.

It was what most people wanted, but I did not. I thought of the world into which I had been born, and in which I had grown up-the world of villages and small towns, of a peaceful ordered life, untroubled, unhurried, taking its pattern from the seasons. I thought, too, of my stay at the Chateau de la Tour Rouge, of the Comte and Comtesse, of the days of riding and sitting idly in the sun, of summer meadows, trout-filled streams, of the squires talking and laughing together, the knights jousting in the tournament . . . And of Eloise. Her face, small and calm and lovely under the blue turban, was as clear as though it were only yesterday that I had awakened from my fever, and seen her looking down at me. No, the fine new wand that was being built held few attractions for me. Fortunately, I was able to turn my back on it, and find my way through empty seas into faraway harbours.

Julius was continuing to talk about government. This was the crucial thing, and all else flowed from it. The Council had been formed in the days when a handful of men hid in caves and plotted the recovery of the world's freedom. That freedom had been achieved, and local governments had arisen, all over the world, each administering its own territory. International affairs, the control of science, and so on, fell into the jurisdiction of the Council.

It was clearly in the interests of everyone that some such system should continue. But it was also essential that it should come under the democratic control of the peoples of the world. For this reason, the Council was prepared to dissolve itself and hand over its authority and functions to a similar, though possibly larger, body which would be properly representative. This would require study and organization, and there

must be a further transitional period for this. The Conference should decide the length of time required. The Conference also should appoint the new provisional Council to take the place of the present one.

"I think that is all I need to say," Julius said. "All that remains is for me to thank you all for your cooperation in the past, and to wish good fortune to the new Council, and the new President."

He sat down to a renewed outbreak of applause. It was loud and enthusiastic but, I could see, surprisingly patchy. There were even some who sat with folded hands. As it died away, someone rose, and the Secretary, who was acting as Speaker, said, "I call on the senior delegate from Italy."

He was a short swarthy man, with hair growing in a scanty halo around the mesh of the Cap. He said, "I propose, before anything else, the reelection of Julius as President of the new Council."

There were cheers, but not from all the delegates.

The senior German delegate said, "I second that motion."

There were cries of "Vote!" but others of denial. In the confusion, someone else rose and was recognized. I recognized him, too, as a man I remembered. It was Pierre, who had spoken against Julius those six long years ago in the caves. He was a delegate of France.

He began to speak calmly, but I thought there was something else not far beneath the calm, something much more violent. He attacked first of all the procedure that was being suggested, of appointing a new President first. This should follow the formation of a new Council, not precede it. He went on to speak against the suggestion that there should be a further transitional period with the Council a provisional body. There was no need for this. The Conference had the power to create a fully effective and permanent Council, and should do so. We had wasted enough time already.

He paused and then, looking directly at Julius, went on, "It is not only a matter of wasting time. Gentlemen, this Conference has been brought here to be used. It was known in advance that certain delegates would propose the reappointment of Julius as President. We are expected, out of sentiment, to vote him back into office. We are asked to confirm a despot in power."

Shouting and uproar followed. Pierre waited until it had quieted, and said, "At times of crisis, it may be necessary to accept the rule of one man, of a dictator. But the crisis is over. The world we create must be a democratic world. And we ourselves cannot give way to sentiment or to any other weakness. We are sent here to represent the people, to serve their interests."

The Italian delegate called, "Julius saved us all."

"No," Pierre said, "that is not true. There were others who worked and fought for freedom - hundreds, thousands of others. We accepted Julius as our leader then, but that is no reason for accepting him now. Look at this Conference. The Council has taken long enough to summon it. The authority they have was given to them until such a time as the Masters were utterly defeated. That happened nearly three years ago, but only now, reluctantly . . ."

There was a new disturbance, out of which the German delegate could be heard saying, "It was not possible before. There has had to be much readjustment . . ."

Pierre cut through his words, "And why here? There are dozens, a hundred places in the world better suited to hold such a Conference as this. We are here on the whim of an aging tyrant. Yes, I insist! Julius wanted the Conference held here, among the peaks of the White Mountains, as yet another means of reminding us of the debt we are supposed to owe him. Many delegates are from low-lying lands and find conditions here oppressive. Several have been ill with mountain sickness and have been forced to go down to the lower levels. This does not bother Julius. He has brought us to the White Mountains, thinking that here we will not dare to vote against him. But if men care for their freedom, he will find he is wrong:"

Shouts and countershouts echoed across the Hall. One of the American delegates made a strong quiet speech in Julius's support. So did a Chinese delegate. But others followed Pierre's line. A delegate from India declared that personalities were unimportant. What mattered was the building of strong and vigorous government, and that required a strong and vigorous leader. And one not enfeebled by age. Julius had done great things and would long be remembered. But his place now should be taken by a younger man.

Fritz, beside me, said, "They will vote him out.

"They can't," I said. "It is unthinkable. A few are yapping, but when it comes to a vote . . :"

The debate dragged on. The vote came at last, on the motion to reappoint Julius as President. They had rigged up an electrical device, by which delegates pressed buttons marked "For" or "Against," and the results were recorded on a screen set in the rear wall. The huge figures lit up.

For: 152

I held my breath. Against . . .

Against: 164.

The storm that followed, made up of cheers and shouts of indignation, was more violent than any of the previous ones. It did not end until it could be seen that Julius was on his feet. He said, "The Conference has made its decision." He looked no different, his expression was composed, but his voice suddenly was very tired. "We must all accept it. I ask only that we remain united under whatever President and Council are appointed. Men do not count. Unity does."

The applause this time was scattered. The senior delegate from the United States said, "We came here in good faith, prepared to work with men of all nations. We have heard petty bickering, abuse of a great man. The history books told us that this was what Europeans were like, that they could never change, but we did not believe them. Well, we believe them now. This delegation hereby withdraws from this farce of a Conference. We have a continent of our own, and can look after ourselves."

They picked up their things and headed for the door. Before they had got there, a Chinese delegate, in his soft lilting voice, said, "We agree with the American delegation. We do not feel our interests will be served by a Council dominated by the passions which have been shown today. Regretfully, we must depart."

One of the German delegates said, "This is the work of the French. They are concerned only with their own interests and ambitions. They wish to dominate Europe as they dominated it in the past. But I would say to them: beware. We Germans have an army which will defend our frontiers, an air force . . :'

His remarks were lost in pandemonium. I saw the English delegates stand up and move, in silent disgust, to follow those who had already left. I looked at Julius. His head was bowed, his hands over his eyes.

From the Conference building you could walk out, over hard-packed snow, up the slope to the Jungfraujoch itself. The Jungfrau glistened on our left, the Monch and Eiger on our right. There was the rounded dome of the observatory, once more in use to study the distant passionless heavens. Below us, snowfields plunged away and one could see down into the green valley. The sun was setting, and it was in shadow.

We had been silent since we came up from the hill. Now Beanpole said, "If Henry had not died..:"

I said, "Would one man have made any difference?"

"One man might. Julius did. And it could have

been more than one. I would have helped him, if he had wanted me to:"

I thought about that. I said, "Perhaps I would

also. But Henry's dead."

Fritz said, "I think perhaps I will give up my farming. There are things more important"

Beanpole said, "I'm with you."

Fritz shook his head. "It is different for you. Your work is important, mine not:'

"Not as important as this," Beanpole said. "What about you, Will? Are you ready for a new fight-a longer, less exciting one, with no great triumphs at the end? Will you leave your seas and islands, and help us try to get men to live together, in peace as well as liberty? An Englishman, a German, and a Frenchman: it would be a good start."

The air was cold but exhilarating. A gust of wind scattered powdery snow from the face of the Jungfrau.

"Yes," I said, "I'll leave my seas and islands."

When the Tripods Came

Chapter ONE

An explosion of noise woke me. It sounded as if a dozen express trains were about to hit the shed. I rolled over in my blanket, trying to get out of the way, and was aware of a blaze of orange, lighting up boxes and bits of old farm equipment and tackle. An ancient rusting tractor looked briefly like an overgrown insect.

"What was that, Laurie?" Andy asked. I could see him sitting up, between me and the window.

"I don't know.”

Both light and sound faded and died. A dog started barking-deep-throated, a Labrador maybe. I got up and walked to the window, banging my shin on something in the dark. It was dark outside, too, moon and stars hidden by cloud. A light came on in the farmhouse, which was a couple of hundred meters away, just below the ridge.

I said, "It's not raining. What was it?”

"Didn't someone at the camp say something about an artillery range on the moor?”

"Nowhere near here, though.”

"Whatever they were firing could have gone astray.”

Rubbing my shin, I said, "It didn't sound like a shell. And a shell wouldn't produce fireworks like that.”

”A rocket, maybe." He yawned loudly. "It's all quiet now, anyway. No sweat. Go to sleep. We've a long trek in the morning.”

I stood by the window for a while. Eventually the light in the house went out: the farmer presumably took the same view as Andy. In the pitch black I felt my way to the pile of straw which served as a bed. This was less fun than it had seemed the previous evening; there was little protection from the hardness of the earth floor, and once awake I knew all about the aches in my muscles.

Andy was already asleep. I blamed him for our being here-for volunteering us into the orienteering expedition in the first place, and then for insisting on a left fork which had taken us miles out of our way. It had looked as though we would have to spend the night on the moor, but we'd come across this isolated farm as dusk was thickening. The rules were not to ask for help, so we'd settled down in the shed.

I thought my aches, and resenting Andy, would keep me awake, but I was dead tired. We had set out early from summer camp, and it had been a long day's slog. Drifting into sleep again, I was half aware of another explosion, but it was a distant one, and I was too weary really to wake up--I couldn't even be sure I wasn't dreaming.

Andy woke me with the gray light of dawn filtering in. He said, "Listen.”

"What?”

"Listen! “

I struggled into wakefulness. The noise was coming from the direction of the farmhouse, but further away, a succession of loud thumpings, heavy and mechanical.

"Farm machinery?" I suggested.

"I don't think so.”

Listening more carefully, I didn't either. The thumps came at intervals of a second or less, and they were getting nearer. There was even a sensation of the ground shaking under me.

"Something heading this way," Andy said. "Something big, by the sound of it.”

We crowded together at the small window of the shed. The sun hadn't risen, but to the east the farmhouse was outlined against a pearly sky. Smoke from a chimney rose almost straight: farmers were early risers. It looked like a good day for the trek back to camp. Then I saw what was coming into view on the other side of the house.

The top appeared first, an enormous gray-green hemispherical capsule, flat side down, which seemed to be floating ponderously in midair. But it wasn't floating: a weird stiltlike leg moved in a vast arc across the sky and planted itself just to the right of the farmhouse. As it crashed down a second leg appeared, passing over the house and landing between it and the shed. I could see a third leg, too, which if I it followed suit would come to ground close to us, if I not on top of us. But at that point, it stopped. The gigantic object, more than twenty meters high, stood I straddling the house.

A band of bright green glassy panels ran horizontally along the side of the capsule. It produced an effect that was a cross between multiple staring eyes and a grinning mouth. It wasn't a pleasant grin.

"Someone's making a film." Andy's voice was unsteady. I turned to him and he looked as scared as I felt. "That must be it. A science-fiction movie.”

"So where are the cameras?" I felt my voice was I coming out wrong, too.

"They probably have to get it into position first." I didn't know whether he believed it. I didn't.

Something was moving beneath the capsule, curling and twisting and stretching out. It was like an elephant's trunk, or a snake, except that it was silvery and metallic. It corkscrewed down towards the roof of the house and brushed lightly against it. Then it moved to the chimney stack and grasped it with a curling tip. Bricks sprayed like confetti, and we heard them crashing onto the slates.

I was shivering. Inside the house a woman screamed. A door at the back burst open, and a man in shirt and trousers came out. He stared up at the machine looming above him and started running. Immediately a second tentacle uncurled, this time fast and purposeful. The tip caught him before he'd gone ten meters, fastened round his waist, and plucked him from the ground. He was screaming, too, now.

The tentacle lifted him up in front of the row of panels, and his screams turned to muffled groaning.

After a few moments the tentacle twisted back on itself. A lenslike opening appeared at the base of the capsule; it carried him towards it and thrust him through. I thought of someone holding a morsel of food on a fork before popping it into his mouth, and felt sick.

His groans ended as the tentacle withdrew, and the opening closed. The woman in the house had also become quiet; but the silence was even more frightening. Resting on its spindly legs, the machine had the look of an insect digesting its prey. I remembered my glimpse of the derelict tractor in the night; this insect was as tall as King Kong.

For what seemed a long time, nothing happened. The thing didn't stir, and there was no sound or movement from the house. All was still; not even a bird chirped. The tentacle hovered in midair, motionless and rigid.

When, after a minute or so, the tentacle did move, it raised itself higher, as though making a salute. For a second or two it hung in the air, before slamming down violently against the roof. Slates scattered, and rafters showed through a gaping hole. The woman started to shriek again.

Methodically the tentacle smashed the house, and as methodically picked over the ruins, like a scavenger going through a garbage can. The shrieking stopped, leaving just the din of demolition. A second tentacle set to work alongside the first, and a third joined them.

They probed deep into the rubble, lifting things up to the level of the panels. Most of what was picked up was dropped or tossed aside-chairs, a sideboard, a double bed, a bathtub dangling the metal pipes from which it had been ripped. A few were taken inside: I noticed an electric kettle and a television set.

At last it was over, and dust settled as the tentacles retracted under the capsule.

"I think we ought to get away from here," Andy said. His voice was so low I could hardly hear him.

"How far do you think it can see?”

”I don't know. But if we dodge out quickly, and get round the back .. . “

I gripped his arm. Something was moving at the base of the rubble that had been the farmhouse: a black dog wriggled free and started running across the farmyard. It covered about ten meters before a tentacle arrowed towards it.

The dog was lifted, howling, in front of the panels, and held there. I thought it was going to be taken inside, as the man had been; instead the tentacle flicked it away. Briefly the dog was a black blur against the dawn light, then a crumpled silent heap.

The sick feeling was back, and one of my legs was trembling. I thought of my first sight of the Eiffel Tower, the summer my mother left and Ilse came to live with us-and my panicky feeling over the way it stretched so far up into the sky. This was as if the Eiffel Tower had moved-had smashed a house to bits and swallowed up a man . . . tossed a dog. to its death the way you might throw away an apple core.

Time passed more draggingly than I ever remembered. I looked at my watch, and the display read 05:56. I looked again after what seemed like half an hour, and it said 05:58. The sky was getting lighter and there was first a point of gold, then a sliver, finally a disk of sun beyond the ruins of the house. I looked at my watch again. It was 06:07.

Andy said, "Look!”

The legs hadn't moved but the capsule was tilting upwards and beginning a slow rotation. The row of panels was moving to the left. Soon we might be out of the field of vision and have a chance of sneaking away. But as the rotation continued, a second row of panels came into view. It could see all round.

When it had traversed a hundred and eighty degrees, the rotation stopped.

After that, nothing happened. The monster just stayed there, fixed, as leaden minutes crawled by.

The first plane came over soon after eight. A fighter made two runs, east to west and then west to east at a lower level. The thing didn't move. A quarter of an hour later a helicopter circled round, taking photographs, probably. It was nearly midday before the armoured brigade arrived. Tanks and other tracked vehicles drew up on open farmland, and, in the bit of the farm lane in view, we could see an important-looking car and some trucks, including a TV van, all keeping a careful distance.

After that, nothing happened for another long time. We learned later this was the period in which our side was attempting to make radio contact, trying different frequencies without result. Andy got impatient, and again suggested making a run for it, towards the tanks.

I said, "The fact it hasn't moved doesn't mean it won't. Remember the dog.”

"I do. It might also decide to smash this hut.”

"And if we run, and it starts something and the army starts something back. . . we're likely to catch it from both sides.”

He reluctantly accepted that. "Why hasn’t the army done something?”

"What do you think they ought to do?”

"Well, not just sit there,”

"I suppose they don't want to rush things. . . .”

I broke off as an engine started up, followed by a rumble of tracks. We ran to the window. A single tank was moving forward. It had. a pole attached to its turret, and a white flag fluttering from the pole.

The tank lurched across the field and stopped almost directly beneath the capsule. The engine switched off, and I heard a sparrow chirruping outside the shed. Then, unexpectedly, there was a burst of classical music.

I asked, "Where's that coming from?”

"From the tank, I think.”

"But why?”

"Maybe they want to demonstrate that we're civilized, not barbarians. It's that bit from a Beethoven symphony, isn't it-the one that's sung as a European anthem?”

"That's crazy," I said.

"I don't know." Andy pointed. "Look.”

The machine was showing signs of movement. Beneath the capsule a tentacle uncurled. It extended down towards the tank and began waving gently.

"What's it doing?" I asked.

"Maybe it's keeping time.”

The weird thing was, he was right; it was moving in rhythm with the music.

A second tentacle emerged, dipped, and brushed against the turret. As though it were getting the hang of things, the first tentacle started moving faster, in a more positive beat. The second felt its way round the tank from front to rear, then made a second approach from the side, moving over it and probing underneath. The tip dug down, rocking the tank slightly, and re-emerged to complete an embrace. The tank rocked more violently as it was lifted, at first just clear of the ground, then sharply upward.

Abruptly the music gave way to the stridence of machine-gun fire. Tracer bullets flamed against the sky. The tank rose in the tentacle's grip until it was level with the panels. It hung there, spitting out sparks.

But pointlessly; at that angle the tracers were scouring empty sky. And they stopped abruptly, as the tentacle tightened its grip; armourplate crumpled like tinfoil. For two or three seconds it squeezed the tank, before uncurling and letting it drop. The tank fell like a stone, landing on its nose and balancing for an instant before toppling over. There was a furrow along the side where it had been compressed to less than half its original width.

Andy said, "That was a Challenger." He sounded shaken, but not as shaken as I felt. I could still see that terrible careless squeeze, the tank dropped like a toffee paper.

When I looked out again, one of the tentacles had retracted, but the other was waving still, and still in the rhythm it had picked up from the music. I wanted to run-somewhere, anywhere, not caring what came next-but I couldn't move a muscle. I wondered if anyone in the tank had survived. I didn't see how they could have.

Then, unexpectedly and shatteringly, there was a roar of aircraft as the fighter-bombers, which had been on standby, whooshed in from the south, launching rockets as they came. Of the six they fired, two scored hits. I saw the long spindly legs shatter, the capsule tilt and sway and crash. It landed between the ruins of the farmhouse and the wrecked tank, with an impact that shook the shed.

I could hardly believe how quickly it was over and how completely. But there was the capsule lying on its side, with broken bits of leg sticking out. As we stared, a second wave of fighter-bombers swooped in, pulverizing the remains.

Chapter TWO

The school term started three weeks later. By then the big excitement-with Andy and me being interviewed on television and local radio and all that-was over, but people at school were still interested. They fired questions at us-mostly me, because Andy was less willing to talk. I talked too much and then regretted it. When Wild Bill brought the subject up in physics class, I no longer wanted to discuss it, least of all with him.

He didn't look wild and his name wasn’t Bill;, he was a small, neat gray-haired map with a clipped voice and a sarcastic manner. His name was Hockey, and he had a habit of swinging round from the board and throwing whatever was in his hand--a piece of chalk usually-at someone he thought might be misbehaving behind his back. On one occasion it was the board eraser, which was wooden and quite heavy, and he hit a boy in the back row on the forehead.

We called him Wild Bill Hockey after Wild Bill Hickock.

"Come on, Cordray," he said, "don't be shy. Now that you're famous you owe something to those of us who aren't." Some of the girls tittered. '''The first person to see a Tripod, as I gather the media has decided we shall call them. . . . You'll be in the history books for that, even if not for the Nobel Prize in Physics. “

There was more tittering. I'd been second from bottom the previous term.

"It throws an interesting light on national psychology," Wild Bill went on, "to consider the various reactions to man's first encounter with creatures from another part of the universe.”

He had a tendency, which most of us encouraged, to launch into discourses on things that interested him, some of them quite remote from physics. I was happier still if it got him off my back.

He said, "As you know, there were three landings; one in the United States, in Montana, one in Kazakhstan in the Soviet Union, and Cordray's little show on the edge of Dartmoor. The landings were roughly simultaneous, ours in the middle of the night, the American late the previous evening and the Russian in time for breakfast.

"The Americans spotted theirs first, after tracking it in on radar, and just surrounded it and waited.

The Russians located the one in their territory fairly quickly too, and promptly liquidated it with a rocket strike. We played Beethoven to ours, sent in a single tank, and then smashed it after it had destroyed the tank. Is that a testimony to British moderation? Cordray?”

" I said unwillingly, "I don't know, sir. After it wrecked the farmhouse, I didn't care how soon they finished it off.”

"No, I don't suppose you did. But presumably you had no more notion than the military of what a pushover it was going to be. And that, of course, is the fascinating part." He ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

"When I was your age there was a war on. We had a physics class similar to this interrupted one afternoon by a V -2 rocket that. landed a quarter of a mile away and killed fifteen people. It was alarming, but I didn't really find it interesting. What interested me more than the war was what I read in the science fiction magazines of those days. Rockets being hurled from Germany to England to kill people struck me as dull, compared with the possibilities of their being used to take us across interplanetary space to discover exotic life forms-or maybe bring them here to us.

"Science-fiction writers have portrayed that second possibility in a variety of ways. We have read of, or more recently watched on screen, alien invaders of every shape and size, colour and texture, from overgrown bloodsucking spiders to cuddly little creatures with long snouts. Their arrival has been shown as bringing both disaster and revelation. What no one anticipated was a Close Encounter of the Absurd.

Kind, a cosmic farce. Why do I. say farce, Cordray?”

"I don't know, sir." .

"Well, you saw it, didn't you? Consider the Tripods themselves, for a start. What sort of goons would dream up something so clumsy and inefficient as a means of getting around?”

Hilda Goossens, a tall, bony redhead who was the class genius and his favourite, said, "But they must have had very advanced technology. We know they couldn't have come from within our solar system, so they must have travelled light-years to get here.”

Wild Bill nodded. "Agreed. But consider further. Although the Americans didn't approach their Tripod, they did try the experiment of driving animals close in. Night had fallen by that time. And the Tripod switched on ordinary white light-searchlight beams, you could say-to find out what was happening beneath its feet. So it looks as though they don't even have infrared!

"And having gone to the considerable trouble of dropping these three machines at various points of the planet, think of what they used them for.

Two out of three just sat around; the third demolished a farmhouse and then sat around. And a single sortie from a single air force squadron was sufficient to reduce it to mechanical garbage. The other two put up no better defence; the: one in America actually self- destructed without being attacked. In fact, altogether the dreaded invasion from outer space proved to be the comic show of the century.”

Some laughed. Although I'd done my bit of crawling to Wild Bill in the past, I didn't join in. I could still see it too clearly-the insectlike shape towering above the ruins of the farmhouse, the snaky tentacles plucking up pathetic bits and pieces and tossing them away. . . . It hadn't been funny then, and it wasn't now.

Pa and I moved in with my grandmother after my mother left us. Grandpa had died not long before, and she was glad to have us take over part of the big house. It was a long, low granite building, and you reached her wing through a connecting door, which was mostly used from her side. She didn't like us going through to her without prior warning. She was very positive altogether about what she liked and didn't like. I had to call her Martha, for instance, not Granny. She was in her seventies, but very active; she took some keeping up with on walks.

After my father married Ilse, I think our being on tap suited her even better. Because Ilse was Swiss, she spoke several languages, which Martha found useful in her business. She had an antiques shop in Exeter and travelled around a lot, on the Continent sometimes, looking for things to buy. Ilse often went with her, and helped out generally.

Grandpa, who had been an army officer, was in poor health for several years before he died, and one of my earliest memories was of being shushed if I made any noise around him. Martha wasn't one of those warm, cosy grannies you read about, and things didn't change after we moved into the house. She wasn't someone to chat with. When I asked her about my mother once, she headed the conversation off briskly, and went on about how lucky I was having Ilse. If she was fond of anyone it was my half sister, Angela, and, in a bossy way, of my father. There was also my Aunt Caroline, but we didn't see much of her. On the whole, I always felt Martha was more at home with antiques than people.

She and Ilse were in the sitting room when Andy and I came in from a bike ride one Saturday afternoon-we'd cut it short when it started raining. They were pricing antiques, with Angela helping. Angela was seven, blonde and pretty and quite bright, I suppose. Pa was dotty about her. She was holding a china dog and saying how beautiful it was, and Martha was smiling at her. She loved people loving china and stuff. I could never work out how much of a creep my half sister was.

I asked, "OK if I turn on the TV?”

Ilse said, "Is it all right, Martha?”

"No," Martha said crisply. "I cannot be distracted while I'm doing this.

What did I give for the warming plate? My memory's going totally.”

Ilse gave me one of her helpless placating looks that always maddened me.

She wasn't going to argue with Martha, but she wanted to put things right with me some other way.

"Lowree, in the kitchen are some chocolate chip cookies I make fresh this morning. If you wish, you find them in the little stone jar. . . .”

I cut across. "No, thanks.”

Actually they were one of the few things she cooked I really liked, but I wasn't in the mood for accepting bribes. I thought how much I hated the way she called me Lowree, and that accent of hers altogether. It really made me cringe when I heard her talking to teachers at school on open days.

Besides, we'd bought Mars bars at the village shop on the way back from the ride. Andy looked as though he still wouldn't mind taking chocolate chip cookies on board, so as a distraction I renewed a wrangle we'd been having earlier. He'd read something about the destruction of Tripods being the greatest crime in history: first contact with another intelligent species, and we'd blown it. I didn't care that much, but didn't feel like agreeing, either.

I reminded him he hadn't felt so friendly towards the Tripod when we were in the hut. He said that didn't mean one couldn't look at it in a balanced way afterwards.

I said, "And don't forget the Tripod did the attacking in the first place.

You saw what happened to the farmhouse.”

”Our people could still have taken time to find out more about it. It was obviously on a scouting expedition.

Destroying the farmhouse could have been just a mistake.”

"The tank carried a white flag.”

"And played classical music," Andy said, sneering. "That's bound to be a big deal for creatures from another solar system.”

I was the one who'd thought it crazy at the time, but it wasn't unusual in arguments with Andy for us to switch sides. I said, "They may have got it wrong, but at least they were trying to be civilized. And the Americans didn't do anything to theirs, but it still blew itself up.”

"I should think two out of three destroyed would be enough to brand this a hostile planet. They called it off, and exploded the last one so as to leave as few clues as possible to their own technology. In case we came after them, I suppose. They knew we had rockets, so we were obviously on the verge of interplanetary flight.”

I was tired of the subject. Maybe we had passed up our one chance of establishing contact with aliens. I hadn't been worrying about it at the time, and it didn't bother me too much now.

I said, "Anyway, it's finished. They won't come again after a battering like that. Feel like a go on the computer? I've got a new Dragons game.”

Andy looked at his watch. "I'd better be getting back. It's nearly five, and I told Miranda I'd be home early. She's going out.”

Miranda was his mother; like Martha, she insisted on Christian names. She went out a lot, which was why Andy came to our place so much. I'd heard Pa and Ilse talking once about his not having a secure home. They were very keen on secure homes. If Andy's was insecure, it didn't-seem to bother him.

Angela must have been listening. "That new show's on at five," she said, and switched on the television. I watched in silence, thinking what Martha would have said if I'd done it. Martha stretched and yawned.

"I think that finishes the pricing. Quite a good batch, really. Which show is that, Angel?”

"The Trippy Show.”

Behind the credits the screen was full of cartoon Tripods whirling round in a crazy dance. The program was supposed to have been inspired by the Tripod invasion. The music was wild, too--blasts of heavy metal and rock mixed up with traditional, including one quite catchy tune.

"I don't think it's going to be quite my kind of thing," Martha said.

Angela, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, paid no attention. Martha didn't say. anything about switching off.

I said to Andy, "I'll cycle over with you. Nothing better to do.”

My father was wiry, not very tall, and wore glasses. He looked like an athletic version of Woody Allen, but didn't talk so fast. He was a real-estate agent and spent a lot of time out, weekends included.

I couldn't recall much of the way things had been between him and my mother, except for the silences, which sometimes lasted days. And I could remember them talking separately to me, as though they were at the end of two different bowling alleys with a single set of pins, me being the pins. There was nothing like that with Ilse. He talked his head off both to her and to Angela. He never seemed to talk much to me, though. I reckoned I got about three percent of his conversation, and even that he had to work at.

One Sunday I found myself alone because he was showing a house to clients and Martha had taken the others to a mobile antiques market. She asked me if I wanted to come, and I said no, I had a load of homework. That was only partly true; I'd done most of it on Friday evening.

When I'd finished the rest, I was at a loose end. I made myself a bacon sandwich, played the Dragons game a bit, skimmed through the comic section of the Sunday paper. It was still only a quarter to eleven. I was wondering about telephoning Andy when I heard Pa's car in the drive.

He said, "Where's everybody? Oh yes, the antiques market. Feel like going along to surprise them, Laurie?”

"We wouldn't find them.”

"It's at Budlake, isn't it? On the Green.”

"There are a couple of other places Martha said they might go on to.”

"We might still catch them there." I didn't say anything. He looked at me with a slightly bothered expression.

"Something else you'd rather do?”

"We haven't been on the boat lately.”

"It's a bit late in the year. And not the best weather.”

There'd been a gale in the night. It was dying down, but the wind was gusting sharply and the sky full of gray clouds chasing each other's tails.

I said, "We could check the mooring.”

He paused. "Sure, Laurie, we could do that.”

We'd had the boat for two years. It was a Moody 30, with seven berths in three cabins. It had bilge keels, a Bukh 20 h.p. diesel engine, Decca navigation and Vigal radar, with a big refrigerator in the galley, and a shower. Pa had bought it, second-hand, on the strength of his firm having a good year through the boom in house prices.

Pa talked a bit on the way to the river. I didn't mind just listening.

Then gradually he dried up, and we were back into the usual silence. I found myself resenting it as usual, too, then decided to do something about it. .

I said, "Did you see the report about the body they found in the Tripod wreck having been dissected? Well, its head, at least. I suppose they kept that part back at first so as not to scare people.”

"You could be right.”

"But there was no sign of anything that could have done the dissecting.”

"Remote-control robot, probably. Part of all that melted-down machinery they found in the capsule.”

I said, "He just happened to run out of the farmhouse. If it had been Andy or me, running out of the shed, it could have been one of us that got dissected. “

Pa was silent.

I said, "You've never said how you felt about it when it was happening.”

"Didn't I?”

I said sharply, "I'd have remembered if you had.”

"I remember that morning," Pa said slowly. "I remember it very well. I woke early, and there was a bit on the six o'clock news about a strange object on Dartmoor. They gave more at six thirty, mentioning how big it was and the three legs, and that there was a report of something similar from America.

Then at seven they dropped it completely, except to say there was a Ministry of Defence order banning traffic from certain roads. I worked out they were sealing off an area of Dartmoor. Remembering what you'd said on the telephone about orienteering, I also worked out you were probably inside it.”

I felt a bit uncomfortable. "It was a big area. There were half a dozen other teams who didn't see anything. “

"The point was, I was pretty sure you were some where around there, and it looked as though some thing nasty was happening. I started making calls-to the police first, then the BBC-in the end to the Ministry of Defence. They were so bland and cagey I knew it must be serious. I lost my temper and shouted. It didn't get me anywhere.”

Normally Pa was easy tempered and anxious to please with people he didn't know. The thought of him losing his temper made me feel better.

He went on, "I was on the point of getting the car out and driving there-seeing if I could force a way in. Then there was the news of the air strike, and that whatever it was had been destroyed. I thought I'd better hang on by the telephone for news of you. It was a long wait.”

I said, "We were all right in the shed." He took a hand off the wheel to squeeze my shoulder.

"You did the sensible thing, lying low. Andy said you argued him out of making a run for it. When I was talking to lIse, she said we could rely on you being sensible.”

I moved away from his hand.

He said, "You know, Laurie, lIse's very fond of you." I didn't say anything. "As fond as she is of Angela. " Which made it silly.

I said, "I hope the boat's all right. It was wild in the night.”

"Our bit of the river's sheltered except from a true southerly. The wind was well west of south.”

We'd used the boat a lot the first season, but much less since. Ilse wasn't keen-maybe because the only boating in Switzerland was on lakes. She usually got sick. She didn't complain, or refuse to come out on the Edelweiss-what a name for a boat!-but trips tailed off.

"We never did make that trip to Guernsey.”

I don't know if I sounded accusing. He was apologetic. He talked about the work tying him up, and his partner being away sick. And Martha had been busy, too, and we needed to fit in with her. Martha had a small property in the Channel Island of Guernsey which we used for holidays. Or had done, previous years. This year Pa and Ilse and Angela had gone to Switzerland to stay with Ilse's parents; her father (we called him the Swigramp) hadn't been well. So I went to summer camp.

"We'll make it next year definitely," Pa said. "Early maybe. Easter. How about Easter?”

"Sounds great," I said.

I was doing my homework when the telephone rang. I picked it up, thinking it might be Andy. I couldn't make out more than a word or two from the other end, but recognized the speaker as the Swigram, Ilse's mother. She had an accent that made Ilse sound like a BBC announcer.

I said, speaking slowly and deliberately, "This is Laurence. I will get her. Please hold the line. Warten Sie, bitte.”

I called Ilse and went to my room. I'd left the radio on and they were playing the Trippy record. I was the theme music from the TV show, with sound-synthesizer vocal added, which had gone to the top of the charts in a week. The words were stupid, the music was jangly and repetitive, and the synthetic voice was irritating, but it was the sort of number that gets under your skin and has you humming and being driven mad by it at the same time. The show had become fantastically popular all round the world, including Russia and China. I still hadn’t watched it, partly because Angela was a total fan, but I could feel the music grabbing me in an insidious sort of way.

When I finished my homework, I went through to the sitting room. Ilse and Pa were there; he'd poured drinks and they were talking.

I arrived to hear Ilse saying, "Any attack is serious. And since a long time, he is not well.”

"I just meant," Pa said, "you could wait and see, for a day or so.”

"Then it is maybe too late.”

"Something wrong with the Swigramp?" I asked.

Pa nodded. "Heart attack." He went on to Ilse, "From what you say she said, it doesn't sound desperate. He's not even in intensive care.”

"But it is desperate for her. .. She looked at Pa, in an exhausted, wounded way. "I do not wish to go. You know that. But. . .”

Her voice drifted off. He went to her and she put her arms round him. I looked out of the window. A mistle thrush and a blackbird were fighting over the orange berries on the creeper that covered the side wall.

Pa said, "I'll get you on the first possible flight. What about Angel?”

"Do you think it best she comes with me?”

Very much best, I thought. At that moment I saw Angela come in to the drive and lean her bicycle against the wall. Ilse saw her, too, and called her in. She explained that Grossvater was ill with a heart attack, that she needed to go to Switzerland to see him and Grossmutti, and that she thought it might be best for Angela to go with her.

"When?" Angela asked.

"As soon as Papa will get flights. Sometime tomorrow.”

"Before the Pony Club gymkhana?”

They'd got a pony for her in early summer, a little Shetland with a nasty temper, called Prince. It had bitten me twice and tried to kick me, but Angela was crazy about it. She'd been weeks practicing for the Pony Club event.

"I forget Pony Club," Ilse said.

"If you want me to come. . .”

"No, you stay. If he is all right, I am maybe not long away.”

Angela hugged her mother. She was good at getting her own way without causing trouble, as I tended to.

I thought about the Swigramp. He was thickset, and red-faced from having lived all his life more than fifteen hundred meters above sea level. He spoke good English because of running a guesthouse, but I'd never talked much with him. It was different where Angela was concerned; I had a feeling he'd even happier to see her than use. It was tough on him that she was more hooked on a pony.

People had different priorities. I was sorry about his heart attack, but not about Ilse leaving. It would have been better if Angela had been going, too, but you can't have everything.

Chapter THREE

About a week after Ilse went to Switzerland, I finally caught a Trippy Show. Pa was out, and Martha had taken Angela to the shop. She'd refused to go at first because she wanted to watch, and rather than have her stick around I'd promised to videotape it for her. I switched on, and started to watch it myself.

It was a mixture of cartoon, live action, stills, and abstract, the abstract using all the old computerized design tricks and a few new ones. The cartoons were very detailed and realistic, animated paintings almost, and even the abstract bits were full of Tripod shapes. The whole thing was backed up by music which seemed chaotic but after a time built into a pattern of sounds and rhythms which weirdly hung together. .

I'd heard it was a comic show, poking fun at the Tripods as stupid giants that lumbered around and got into trouble, getting their legs tied in knots ani falling over-that sort of thing. It was like that to start with, but later the attitude changed. The second part featured a maiden in distress, imprisoned and tied up by a nasty-looking dragon, and a knight trying to rescue her. It was comic-book historical, with him in shining armour and her in a long dress, with one of those hood like things I think they call a wimple on her head.

The knight's rescue attempts kept on going wrong in ludicrous ways. Some of them were funny, and laughed once or twice. But gradually it became less funny than frightening: what you could see of the girl's face had a desperate look, the knight was sweating with fear, and the dragon was more sinister and had doubled in size.

The climax saw the knight pinned down beneath one of the dragon's feet, a claw through his armour and realistic blood dripping into the dust, and the dragon's jaws moving down towards the girl's head The music was jagged and ugly, backed by a drum beat like a death roll. There was a shot of the knight's face, and he looked as dead as I'd ever seen. It gave me the shivers.

That was when the Tripod came over the horizon with dawn behind it and the music changing. It turned into the Trippy theme, but tricked out with extra harmonies and an orchestra which had everything from an organ to hunting horns. It sounded vigorous and hopeful. The silvery tentacles had a gentle gleam, not the hard metal glare I remembered, as they swished out of the sky-one to release the girl, a second to lift up the knight, the third to drive like a spear into the puffed-out chest of the dragon.

It ended with the girl freed, the knight revived, and the pair of them mounted on his horse and riding off into the dawn. The dragon dissolved first into bones, then dust. And the Tripod presided over the scene, with the rising sun throwing a halo round its capsule. There was the Trippy tune and massed voices roaring "Hail the Tripod! Hail the Tripod! Hail the Tripod!" On and on.

I'd watched it right through and it certainly hadn't been boring, but it left me without any desire to see another Trippy Show. But I knew a lot of people were crazy on it, like Angela. Though the craze wasn't confined to kids-a lot of adults were fans.

I ran the tape back, and hit the playback button to check. The beginning of an antiques program Martha had videotaped came up. I thought I must have started recording partway in, but as the man droned on about some worm-eaten writing desk I realized what had happened. It was something I'd done before, pressing RECORD with the set tuned to TV instead of VCR.

When they came back, I was in my room. I heard the car stop and the front door open, and Angela's voice yelling for me. I thought it best to get it over with. I found her in the hall.

"Where is it? The tape. You didn't label it.”

"No, I missed it. I'm sorry.”

"What?”

"I was watching on the TV channel, and forgot to switch to video.”

"It's not funny, Laurie. Where's the tape?”

I shook my head, and she saw I meant it.

"You can't have done." Her voice rose to a howl. "You can't have, you can't! You couldn't be so rotten! "Martha came in to find her sobbing, and asked what was the matter.

I said, "I forgot to record the Trippy Show. At least, I didn't forget. .

.”

Martha said coldly, "You promised her.”

"I know. And I tried to." The sobbing was getting louder and wilder; I had to raise my own voice to be heard. "Anyway, I don't think it's a program kids ought to watch. I don't think you would either, if you'd seen it. You've always gone on about violence on TV, and. . .”

Angela's face was white and tense. Without warning she came at me like a small but savage bull. I grabbed the stairpost to avoid going over, and the bull turned into a cat, clawing wildly. I heard Martha's voice, shocked, saying "Angel," and then was too busy defending myself. It was silly-she was only seven and not particularly big for her age-but I realized I needed to use all my strength to hold her off. In the end I managed to pin her against the stairs. She struggled and screamed for quite a bit; then went limp.

She lay slumped as 1 stood up.

Martha said, "What have you done to her?”

"Nothing. Only tried to stop her killing me.”

I felt a trickle down my cheek and my hand came away smeared with blood.

Martha was stooping beside Angela. She said, "Angel, are you all right?”

Angela didn't answer, but the sobbing started again; no longer violent, just miserable. Martha said we should get her to bed. We practically had to carry her.

Martha discussed it with Pa that evening. Angela was still in her room, and he went up to see her.

When he came down, he said, "She seems all right. “

"I was worried," Martha said. "She was-well, violent. “

Pa said, "Children do have storms for no reason." He smiled at me. "Laurie did, when he was that age. “

I remembered a particular time, when he'd said he would play football with me and hadn't. When he finally came out, I kicked him instead of the ball, and went on kicking him. I'd had a good reason, though. That was before Ilse came to live with us, but I knew about her; and I knew he'd been talking to her on the telephone and had forgotten his promise to me.

Angela seemed normal when she came down, at least as far as the others were concerned; she didn't speak to me. Martha went to fix supper, and she headed for the stack of videotapes, We both saw what she picked out: one of the Trippy Shows.

Pa said, "1 don't think we want that, Angel.”

"There's time. Martha said half an hour.”

"All the same. . ." I expected her to go into one of her wheedling routines, but her face was expressionless as she stared at him, holding the cassette.

Pa said, after a moment, "Well, keep it quiet. I think I'll go to the study phone, and find out what the weather in the Alps is like.”

I went to my room. The Trippy music followed me up the stairs.

We had double physics on Monday morning, which made a depressing start to the week. Wild Bill was late and we gossiped. Talk got round to the Trippy Show, and I noticed the difference in reactions, some saying it was lousy and others raving about it. There didn't seem to be any logical way of working out who was likely to be for, and who against.

Andy just said he thought it a bit silly. I said it wasn't silly, it was zilch, and poked fun at the bit with the knight and the dragon.

Rodney Chambers, in the row in front of me, said, "What do you know?”

I was surprised, not by the remark but by his making it. I couldn't remember him expressing an opinion about anything before. I said, "I know a load of rubbish when I see it., My little sister goes for it, though. I suppose it's her age level.”

Chambers stood up. "Shut up," he said. "Or I'll shut you up!”

He doubled a fist. That was surprising-he never got into fights, either-but it was his expression that hit me. It was exactly like the one on Angela's face before she went into that demented attack. The others were watching. I shrugged and tried to grin it off.

"The Trippy Show is the best thing on television." He leaned forward. "Say it, Cordray!”

The classroom door opened, and Wild Bill came.

"A little preclass discussion, ladies and gentlemen? But not of physics, I suspect." He ran his fingers through his hair as he came to stand in front of us. "Did I catch a reference to the Trippy Show? Oddly enough, I watched it myself the other day, and liked it more than I had anticipated. It has a curious, and curiously strong, appeal." He was silent for a moment or two.

"Yes, curiously strong. But I suppose we'd better consider physics. Chapter Nine, I think.”

Pa didn't tell IIse about Angela's crazy fit, I suppose so as not to worry her. He telephoned her every evening as soon as he got in. It seemed the Swigramp was no worse, but no better. She wanted to come back, but felt she had to stay because another attack might kill him.

It suited me. Martha was tougher than lIse-no bribing treats-but I knew where I was with Martha.

Angela didn't seem to be missing her mother, either, but nowadays all Angela was interested in was the Trippy Show. She didn't even seem to care about her pony, and Martha had to remind her about exercising and mucking out. She had all the shows on tape-she'd got the one I'd missed from somewhere-and hogged the VCR playing them. Martha tried cutting down, but Angela went hysterical on her, and she didn't push it. She'd joined the new Trippy fan club, and got a lot of stuff through the mail.

I overheard Martha telling Pa one night they ought to do something about it.

Pa said, "Kids have these crazes.”

"But not behaving the way she does when one tries to curb her. I'm not sure she doesn't need treatment. ..

"I thought you despised psychiatry?”

"I think Geoffrey should see her, at least.”

Geoffrey Monmouth was our doctor. He and Pa played golf together.

"I don't see the need.”

His voice was resentful, perhaps because he didn't like the idea of admitting there could be anything wrong with his Angel, especially to someone in the golf club.

"You haven't seen her in a mood.”

Pa didn't answer.

"There are other things to be concerned about, you know. apart from when Ilse might be coming back. "I'd been listening from the hall. I turned away and went up to my room.

A couple of days later, the Daily Mail came out against Trippies. We didn't have that paper at home but it was being passed around in the playground when I got to school. There was a banner headline: TRIPPY BRAINWASH?

Underneath they asked, Is THIS SHOW A MENACE TO OUR YOUNG? They went on to quote from a couple of psychologists, saying the Trippy cult could be dangerous because it was developing a fanatical following which showed signs of getting out of hand. They gave examples of children behaving in ways which made Angela's craziness seem dead normal. One boy had tried to burn the house down when his Trippy tapes were taken from him; and a girl of thirteen had almost killed her father with a kitchen knife. They claimed things were even worse in other countries: in the United States and Germany, kids were leaving home in droves to live together in Trippy communes. As fast as they were brought back, they took off again.

One of the Trippy fans at school produced a lighter, and set fire to the newspaper in the playground. The rest watched it flare up; their faces were like some I saw in a movie about people burning witches.

They were still muttering at the beginning of first class, which happened to be physics. The noise didn't stop when Wild Bill came in, and I expected him to erupt. He was tight on classroom discipline. Instead he looked at the Trippy fans in a funny way, fondly almost.

He said, "I saw you burn that evil newspaper. They had one in the common room, and I burned it, too. " The Trippy fans were still cheering him when the school secretary, Mr. Denlum, knocked and entered.

He was a little man and timid, especially where Wild Bill was concerned. He went close and whispered something. Wild Bill smiled contemptuously.

"If the headmaster wishes to see me, I am of course at his disposal”

He told-us to get on with our work and went out, with Denlum creeping after him. At the door he stopped and turned round, still smiling. He cried out, shouted almost, "Hail the Tripod!”

Trippies were the lead in the television news that evening. They showed a mob of them rioting outside the Daily Mail offices, and scuffles when police tried to disperse them. There were Trippies being dragged into police vans, a policeman with blood running down his face. The announcer said that another mob had assembled outside the editor's home. Windows had been smashed and Tripod figures daubed on the walls.

"In the House of Commons this afternoon," he went on, "the prime minister said that the situation is being closely watched. There is particular concern that the practice of Trippy cultists banding together to live communally has now spread to this country. It is reported that there are several groups in London, squatting in empty flats and offices, and that similar communes have been set up in a number of provincial cities, including Birmingham and Exeter.”

Martha said, "I can't think why they've let things get this far. It needs tackling with a firm hand.”

”Easier said than done," Pa said.

"That's the whole trouble. Too much saying, too little doing.”

The news reader started talking about stocks and shares and a financial panic, and Angela, who had been sitting staring at the screen, got up and left the room. Martha and Pa went on talking about the rioting. She was getting angrier, and he was agreeing; he never liked being on the wrong side of her for long. He was saying yes, the Trippy Show should be banned, when I heard the front door open and close.

I said, "That was Angela.”

Pa turned to me. "What?”

''Just then. Going out.”

He asked Martha, "Did she say anything ,to you?”

"No. I suppose she could have gone to Emma's." Emma was a friend of hers in the village.

I said, "There was that bit on the news, about a Trippy commune in Exeter.”

"She couldn't-" Martha began. Pa went for the front door, and I followed him. Emma's house was a couple of hundred yards to the left. Angela was heading right, in the direction of the bus station.

Pa needed my help in bringing her back; she fought for some time before suddenly going slack on us. He carried her to her room, and Martha and I watched her. She lay staring at the ceiling. When Pa came back she didn't answer his questions, didn't look at him or even move. Dr. Monmouth turned up a few minutes later. He lived close by.

He was a small man, shorter than Pa, with a pink and white baby face and wispy hair. He spoke fast, stammering a bit. Pa explained what had happened.

When he'd examined Angela and shone a light in her eyes, he said to Pa, "As you know, I use hypnosis sometimes. As we both know, it's not a line you care for. If you like, I'll sedate her and refer her to a p-paediatrician. But I would like to try hypnosis. It might just give us an idea what's troubling her.

M-may I?”

Pa said reluctantly, "I don't suppose it can do any harm. “

"I'm sure it can't.”

Dr. Monmouth got her to sit up, handling her gently but firmly. From his bag he produced a steel ball on a chain and began to swing it in front of her.

I'd seen something similar on a show, but it was interesting to watch, and listen to his voice, gentle and monotonous: "You are feeling sleepy. . .

sleepy . . . sleepy. . . . Your eyelids are getting heavy. . . .Your eyes are closing. . . closing. . . . You are asleep. . . ." I was getting drowsy myself.

Dr. Monmouth slipped the ball in his pocket. He said, "Angela. Can you hear me?”

In a thick voice she said, "Yes.”

"Is there anything you have to do-you m-must do?”

No reply.

He said, "Tell me. What is it you have to do?”

She said slowly, "Obey the Tripod.”

"What does that m-mean, Angela?”

"The Tripod is good. The Tripod knows best.”

"Best about what?”

"About everything.”

”So what do you do?”

"I do what the Tripod tells me.”

"And who told you this?”

"The Tripod.”

"Did the T-Tripod tell you to run away from home and join the Trippies?”

"Yes. “

Dr. Monmouth held her wrists in his hands. "Listen, Angela. Listen carefully. There is no Tripod.

You have never watched the T-Trippy Show. There is no T-Trippy Show. You don't like watching television. You are your own person, and no one, nothing, can rule your mind. Now, I am going to count to five, and on the count of five you will wake up, not r-remembering the words I've said, but r-remembering what I've told you. One, two, three. . .”

Her eyes opened on five. She said, "What is it?" She looked at us standing round the bed. "I've not been ill or anything?”

He smiled reassuringly. "Just a turn. You're all right now. Fit for anything. Want to watch t-television?”

”No." She shook her head violently.

"No, I don't.”

Angela stayed in her room, rearranging her dolls. She had more than a dozen, and I realized it was weeks since she'd played with them. I went down with the others, and Pa poured them drinks.

"I'm still not sure I know what that was about." He handed a glass to Dr.

Monmouth. "She'd been previously hypnotized by someone else? But who?”

"You heard her: the Tripod.”

Martha said, "That's ridiculous. The Tripods were destroyed. By the television show, do you mean? Is that possible?”

Dr. Monmouth took his drink. "Hypnosis is a state of artificially induced sleep or trance, in which the subject is susceptible to suggestion. There are various m-methods of inducing it. I've never known of it being done through television, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility.”

"But the actual suggestion," Pa said, "how would that work?”

"It could be subliminal: a message flashed onscreen for a microsecond.

Reinforced by the spoken message, 'Hail the T-Tripod.' It's interesting that it affects some people and not others. But so do other things, of course.

Strobe lighting doesn't bother m-most people, but induces epilepsy in a m-minority. It could be the result of a minor cortical irregularity. A difference in alpha rhythm, perhaps, which makes them susceptible.”

"But done by whom," Martha demanded, "the Russians?”

"I suppose that's possible. But the show originated in the United States.”

"Why would the Americans want to do such a thing? It makes no sense.”

''There have been experiments in the past with subliminal suggestion in advertising. M-maybe somebody's preparing the launch of a T-Tripod toy, and the p-project got out of hand. Or maybe it's like the mass hysteria you get with pop stars-hysteria and hypnosis both involve surrender of the will-and by some freak it's got tied in with this particular show.”

Pa asked, "Which do you think?”

"I don't know. There's a third possibility.”

"What?”

"Television signals aren't stopped by the ionosphere. The show originates in America, but the suggestions could be superimposed from somewhere else." He paused. "F-from space.”

Martha shook her head. "Now that really is ridiculous. “

Pa said, "From whatever was behind the Tripods, you mean? It's a bit unlikely, isn't it? The Tripods were a joke.”

"Scientific knowledge doesn't have to follow the pattern we're familiar with. The Incas had a superb road system, but didn't m-manage to invent the wheel. The fact of using something as clumsy as a T-Tripod doesn't mean they might not be a long way ahead of us in studies of the m-mind, and mental processes.”

Pa shook his head. "An advertising gimmick getting out of hand sounds more likely.”

The television news was full of Trippies, demonstrating and chanting about the Tripod and clashing with the police. And not just in England; there were similar scenes from America and Canada, Australia and Europe. There were rumours it was happening behind the Iron Curtain, too, but we weren't shown any of that.

The media had invented the name Trippy, and they called the demonstrations Tripping. The Trippies took it up themselves, and started singing a new song to one of the minor tunes on the Trippy Show.

"Trip, trip, trip with the Tripod. . .”

Then suddenly the Trippies were on the move. It began in London. We watched the report on early evening television, and it was like a mass migration. They had managed to pick up cars and vans from all over the city and were moving out into the country. Others waited by the roadside. The weather was terrible, with rain slashing out of a black sky and a near-gale blowing. They stood patiently in the rain, wet, bedraggled, uncomplaining.

Many of them carried hand-lettered signs and banners: HAIL THE TRIPOD!

THE TRIPOD LIVES! or just a drawing of a Tripod. Cars and vans driven by other Trippies stopped to pick them up, and crawled on, overloaded. The police watched but didn't try to do anything.

I thought about it when I went to bed. I didn't know whether or not to feel sorry for them. It had looked a miserable scene, but they hadn't seemed miserable. I wondered what it was about. Could Dr.

Monmouth be right about hypnosis through signals from space? But what for? Why a mass exodus like that? I remembered that lemmings went in for mass migrations. They wound up in the sea.

Presumably Angela could have been among them if Dr. Monmouth hadn't broken the spell. Some of the Trippies had looked no older than she was. The thought was chilling.

In the morning I woke early. I switched on breakfast television and stared at the screen in disbelief. A Tripod stood centre screen, with sodden, gray-green fields behind it. Small dots swarmed like bees about the gigantic feet.

The newscaster was talking in a breathless, unsteady voice.

"The second Tripod invasion is amazing enough in itself-and there are landings reported in Germany and the States-but this-how would you describe it?-parade of welcome? This really is incredible. . . :' The camera zoomed into close-up. The swarm of dots turned into people. Hundreds. . . thousands of them, waving and cheering and brandishing Trippy signs.

Chapter FOUR

For a time there was a stalemate. The Tripods didn't move and no one moved against them. There was no way of attacking them without killing the Trippies clustered round. The nearest Tripod to us was north of Exeter, and there were three others in England, one in Scotland between Edinburgh and Glasgow, and one in Ireland, south of Dublin. It was the same throughout the industrialized world. Someone worked out there was a Tripod for about every ten million people, mostly planted close to major centres of population. "The Trippy Show was taken off the air, but came back, and the new broadcasts were traced to high orbit satellites. The government tried jamming, but they switched frequency-and went on switching as fast as the jammer could chase them round.

Martha said they should stop television.

Pa said, "They can't.”

"Why not? They did during the war.”

I wanted to ask which war-the Boer or the Crimean? It was amazing how old people could talk about The War, as though that meant something.

Pa said, "It wasn't the major channel of communication then; that was radio. You have to remember that even when I was little, less than one house in a hundred, probably, had a TV set. If they stopped it now, there'd be panic.”

"They'll have to do something. Mrs. Golightly says her maid's Tripped.

Yesterday she was rambling on about the Tripod, and this morning she didn't turn up for work.”

"If nothing worse happens to us than losing the daily help, we'll not be doing badly.”

I'd just come in from school. I said, "I meant to tell you-Andy's mother's gone.”

Martha demanded, "Are you sure?”

"The house was empty when he got home yesterday. He thought she might be visiting, but she didn't come back. And didn't leave a note as she usually does when she goes off.”

Martha looked shocked. "Do you mean he's in the house on his own?”

"I suppose so. He can look after himself.”

She turned to Pa. "Go and get him. He'd better stay with us while this is on.”

"I was going to ring Ilse.”

She looked at him in exasperation. "That can wait. “

I knew Pa was comfortably off, though he spent a lot of time moaning about money and tax bills; and I supposed Martha was fairly rich. But my Uncle Ian was a real tycoon. He ran several companies in London-all sorts of things from coffee to property development-and they had a Rolls, and a Porsche, and one of those fantastic little MR-2 sports cars for the shopping. He and Aunt Caroline (Pa's sister) spent a lot of time jetting around. He was tied in with a company in Tokyo and another in New York, and in between they lived in a real mansion in the Cotswolds, with indoor and outdoor swimming pools, tennis courts, half a dozen stables, and grounds that stretched for miles.

They had two children: Verity, who was seventeen, and Nathanael, a year older than me. (They really did call him Nathanael, even sitting round the swimming pool.) He looked like his father, with a thin, pale face and gingery hair and a weedy, slouching body, though without the potbelly Uncle Ian had got from living rich around the world. Verity was redheaded, too, but pretty.

We didn't see much of them, for a number of reasons. One was they made Ilse feel uncomfortable; another was that Martha disapproved of the way they lived. A third was because of the way they lived. You had to feel like a poor relation because you were. This didn't worry me too much. I envied Nathanael some of the things he took for granted (like the swimming pools), but I wouldn't have wanted them if it meant being like Nathanael, and I managed to convince myself the two went together. I might have liked Verity if she'd ever paid me any attention, but she didn't.

Pa had telephoned Aunt Caroline after what happened with Angela, partly as a warning. From what he said to Martha, I gathered she'd not been very interested; Nathanael and Verity were safe at their expensive boarding schools (Eton in Nathanael's case), and she and Ian didn't watch television. She said the Tripod business was a nuisance, all the same. They'd been planning a trip to Los Angeles-Ian was setting up a company there-but he'd decided it was best to wait till things sorted themselves out.

It was a very different Aunt Caroline who telephoned while Pa was fetching Andy. At first I couldn't make out what she was saying, her voice was so choked. It gradually emerged that though television had been banned at Eton since the second Tripod invasion, someone had been operating a set illicitly.

A master had found it tuned to the Trippy Show and confiscated it, but a dozen boys had run away during the night. Nathanael was one of them.

Ian had set off at once to look for him. The nearest Tripod was on Farnham Common, not far from Eton, and they thought that was where they'd be heading.

She was worried about Ian, too, now.

She was still on the telephone when Pa came back with Andy. He listened to her and made big brother noises. I heard him say, "Ian will be all right, Caro. I'm sure of it. And Nathanael. It's not as if they're in physical danger. It's been a week now, and nothing terrible's happened. It's just a silly business which will blow itself out. Have a drink, and try to relax.

All right, have another drink. There are times when getting drunk's not a bad idea.”

He didn't look so cheerful when he came away from the telephone. "I don't know what's going on," he said. "They called the police as soon as they heard from school, and the police didn't even pretend to help - told Ian they'd given up handling missing persons calls. There were too many of them.”

Andy nodded. "That's what they told me. And some police are Tripping. The policeman at Little Ittery's gone.”

That was a village five miles away. Pa said, "Try not to worry about your mother. As I told my sister, it's not as though anything terrible's happening.

Nobody's been hurt. And hypnotic effects don't last.

They had a doctor on the radio this morning saying he expected people to start trickling back home any time now.”

I asked, "What about Angela?”

"What about her?”

"Dr. Monmouth hypnotized her. Might that not last? “

"That's different. He hypnotized her to dehypnotize her. If we find her glued to the tube again there might be reason to worry, but I've seen no sign of that. “

Nor had I. I'd noticed that if anyone left the TV switched on-as Martha sometimes did when she was going out, to deter burglars-Angela switched it off.

I wasn't all that delighted about Andy staying with us. I liked him well enough, but the thought of having him twenty-four hours a day, sharing a room, didn't make me jump for joy.

That evening he got to bed first and was reading a book. That suited me, but when I got back from the bathroom, he put the book down.

"It's raining," he said. "And blowing up a storm. I wonder where Miranda is.”

Even though I called IIse by her name, it seemed wrong, his saying Miranda. After all, she was his real mother, not his stepmother. I'd never been able to work out how he really felt about her. He could talk about her weird ideas-like painting all the ceilings black-in a faintly amused way, as though she were a character in a play. At the same time, when she wasn't storming at him, he was affectionate in a way I couldn't be to anyone, let alone IIse. He was always hugging her.

I said lamely, "She'll be all right.”

"It's funny." He lay looking at the ceiling. "When she's gone off somewhere before, there've been times I hoped she wouldn't come back.”

He spoke in his usual calm way. This time I didn't know what to say, and didn't try.

After a while he went on, "Of course, she'd gone those times because she wanted to. I didn't have to worry, because she was doing her own thing. I don't feel she is now." He paused. "I've been wondering if 1 ought to go and look for her, like your uncle with Nathanael.”

I said, "You'd never find her, and if you did, what good would it do?

Angela was little enough to be dragged back, and we had Dr. Monmouth round the corner. What could you do against a mob of Trippies?”

He nodded. "Not much, I suppose. But she's part of it at this moment. Ifs happening to her. All the mad things she did. . . And now. . . can she do anything except wave a banner and hail the Tripod?”

"It doesn't mean she's unhappy. Angela wasn't." I wouldn't have called it happy, either, but I didn't say that.

Andy looked at me. "What if it were Ilse?”

I thought about, it and was aware of different feelings which I couldn't sort out. I could imagine how Pa would feel, though.

I shook my head. "I don't know.”

Andy said, "I don't know, either. I just wish I could work out what it's supposed to be for. We know now that it's definitely linked with the Tripods, and that the people who thought up the TV show were among the first Trippies.

Whatever sent the Tripods obviously monitored our television, worked out which was the most effective production centre, and somehow beamed hypnotic directives into it. But what's their motivation?”

"One theory is that they come from a swamp planet," I said, "because the only sensible reason for Tripods would be to cross marshland.”

"So what sort of creature are they-intelligent giant frogs, or newts?

Pigs, maybe; the pig's a swamp animal. No one knows. Maybe no one ever will.

And no one has the faintest idea how their minds work. We saw what the first Tripod did to the farmhouse. This second lot seem to be doing nothing except hypnotizing people into liking them. Could that be it? They just want to be liked?”

"They're not winning as far as I'm concerned. Anyway, Pa's right. Hypnosis doesn't last. They'll start drifting back soon.”

I punched my pillow and settled down. Andy was silent, and I wondered if he was still brooding about Miranda. I started thinking about Ilse and his question about how I'd feel if it had been her. But I didn't like the thoughts that came into my head, so I shut them out.

Next day was Saturday. Pa was off selling another house. People had to live somewhere, he said, Tripods or no Tripods. Martha had driven in to the shop and taken Angela. And Andy had cycled home to pick up clothes he'd forgotten the previous day.

I wandered down the garden, which had fruit trees at the bottom. Most of the apples had been picked, but there was one old tree which still had a few.

Sitting on a branch and eating an apple, I thought about Ilse again. Pa had been on the telephone to her before breakfast, urging her to come back.

Afterwards he said the Swiss couldn't believe what was happening in the rest of the world. Apparently there were no Tripods in their country, and almost no Tripping.

He and Andy got into an argument about national characteristics. It wasn't the sort of thing that interested me, and I didn't pay too much attention.

What I did notice was the way Pa talked to him-naturally, not going into silences and then talking too fast to make up for it. I'd left them talking. I wondered how it was he seemed able to talk easily to everyone but me.

As I tossed the apple core away, I heard a car draw up outside the house.

My first thought was Pa, but the engine note was too deep for the Renault. Not Martha's Jaguar, either. I dropped out of the tree and headed back. Uncle Ian's Rolls was in the drive, and he and Nathanael beside it. Uncle Ian was wearing casual-expensive gear, blue slacks and silk rollneck shirt, soft Gucci shoes, and a big hat. I didn't think they went with the black executive briefcase he was carrying. Nathanael had a hat, too, a woolly thing. Uncle Ian waved at me, smiling.

"I was beginning to think everyone was out.”

I led the way in, explaining about the others. Surreptitiously I glanced at Nathanael. He seemed all right. Knowing Uncle Ian, he would have called someone in from Harley Street to dehypnotize him.

But how had he got him back? Probably by hiring a bunch of heavies. Martha said he mixed with some funny people.

What was more puzzling was their being here, a hundred miles south of Ardaker Manor. I would have expected them to go home first. I took them into the sitting room and told Uncle Ian to pour himself a drink, as Pa would have done, and asked politely what had brought them.

He was still smiling. "There was someone I had to see, in Taunton. It's not much of a detour, so I thought I'd drop in on you.”

"What about Aunt Caroline?”

He looked surprised. "What about her?”

"She was-well, worried." I glanced at my cousin, who was smiling, too--unusual for him. And neither had taken his hat off. "About Nathanael.”

"Oh, that. I rang her. She knows everything's all right. “

I was still puzzled. Although the whiskey decanter was staring him in the face, he hadn't even looked at it. He was a pretty heavy drinker and I would have expected him to pour himself a big one, after a long drive. He walked over and put a hand on my arm.

"What you have to realize, Laurie, is that everything really is all right, in the biggest possible way.

I'm glad we found you on your own. It makes explanations easier.”

Alarm bells started to go off when he touched me. In the past I wasn't sure he'd even noticed I was there. His manner, I realized, was altogether too affable, almost ingratiating. Nothing like the way the Ardakers normally treated their poor relations.

I said, "Probably better to wait till Pa gets back. You can explain it to him, too.”

He paid no attention. "A new world is dawning, you know. A world of peace and happiness.”

It was all wrong. The only kind of peace and happiness he'd ever been interested in was the peace and happiness of making another fortune. I had a quick look in the direction of the door and saw, with a sinking feeling, that Nathanael was standing between it and me.

Uncle Ian went on, "It's something you have to experience to understand, but once you have, everything else is like a bad dream. For thousands of years men have fought one another, killing and torturing and enslaving. That's all gone. The Tripods are bringing peace and freedom.”

"Hail the Tripod," Nathanael said.

I said, "That's very interesting.”

I was wondering where the real threat lay. It was clear that far from Nathanael having been dehypnotized, his father had Tripped, too. But if all that meant was a lecture on the goodness of the Tripods, I could put up with it. I had a feeling, though, that something more serious was in view: They were looking for converts. The question was how they proposed to go about the converting. I doubted if it would just be talk. By sitting me down in front of a TV screen and forcing me to watch a Trippy Show? But I'd watched it before and hadn't Tripped. Or by hypnotizing me some other way? Dr. Monmouth had said no one could be hypnotized against their will. If I was determined to resist, I could. Couldn't I?

"It's easy to enter the way of peace," Uncle Ian said.

His briefcase was on the carpet beside him. He clicked it open, and produced something: a floppy helmetlike thing, black, but threaded with silver.

"The lucky ones," Uncle Ian said, "are those who opened their hearts voluntarily to the Tripods' message. But the Tripods want everyone to know the joy of belonging to the new brotherhood of man. So they've given us these Caps, which will banish all doubts and uncertainties." He held it out to me, and with his other hand pulled off his hat. He was wearing a helmet underneath.

He said earnestly, "Put it on, Laurie. Then you will know the secret of happiness, as we do.”

I looked from one to the other. Neither showed --hostility. Nathanael's thin features had lost their familiar sneering look and radiated goodwill. It was a chilling sight. The helmet looked harmless, just a piece of rubber with metal threads. But I felt my heart pounding.

"Sounds great," I said. "Only-can it wait a couple of minutes? I lit the gas to make coffee just before you arrived. I'd better switch off before it sets fire to the kitchen.”

For a moment no one spoke. I started to walk towards the door, as naturally as I could.

In a calm voice, Uncle Ian said, "The human mind is full of trickery and deceit, until it has been brought into the harmony of the Tripods. Hold him, Nathanael. ..

I tried to push past, and, when he grabbed at me, reversed and pulled back. I ran instead for the window, which was partly open. As I did I heard a car, and saw the Jaguar stopping. I tried to clamber out, but Nathanael had my leg. I kicked and yelled for help at the same time.

My kick dislodged Nathanael and overturned the sofa. It was a barrier between them and me, but a poor and temporary one. I heard Martha outside shouting to Angela as Uncle Ian, dangling the helmet from his hand, joined Nathanael. Going for the window meant turning my back on them. I didn't know what to do and, out of panic, did nothing.

Uncle Ian said quietly, "This is silly, Laurie. No one's going to hurt you. We have something to give, and when you have it, too, you'll know it's the most wonderful thing in the world. All you have to do is relax and accept.”

I said, stalling for time, "Tell me more about it, about the Tripods." He shook his head. "Trickery and deceit again. But it will soon be ended.”

I'd left it too late for the window. They'd have the helmet on my head while I was struggling through. On the window ledge was a bronze statuette of a Roman god, one of Martha's antiques. I grabbed it and held it like a club.

Uncle Ian said, "Nathanael. . .”

Nathanael leapt faster than I would have thought possible, his hand grabbing for my wrist. The speed of it and the shock made me let go of the bronze, and his hand had my wrist in a bone-twisting grip. His father was coming up behind. Looking between them I saw the door opening, and Martha.

She said, "Ian! I don't know what this is about, but let him go. At once.”

He looked at her mildly. "We will bring you peace, too, Martha. After Laurie.”

My grandmother was a tough old lady, but no possible match for them. She was carrying her big red crocodile handbag, the one in which she kept her stock money. I wondered if she was thinking of hitting Uncle Ian over the head with it.

I called urgently, "Get away! Get help!”

She dropped the bag with a clatter. She was holding something: black, flat-sided-a small pistol. She said, "I told you: let go of him.”

Uncle Ian's voice was untroubled. "Don't be silly, Martha. We come in peace and bringing peace. No one is going to get hurt.”

"That's where you're wrong." She spoke in her best bossy voice. "Unless you leave him, and get out, someone is. Badly hurt, killed perhaps.”

Uncle Ian stared at her. Tripping, as we'd found with Angela, made people almost indifferent to pain and danger. Would he call her bluff?

He shook his head slowly. "You're making such a mistake, Martha. If you'd only let me-" He broke off as the gun exploded, shatteringly loud.

He sighed, and shrugged, and headed for the door, Nathanael following.

Martha and I stood looking at each other, till we heard the Rolls start. She put out a hand, feeling for the nearest armchair, and dropped into it heavily.

"Pour me a brandy, Laurie," she said. "A stiff one. “

Angela had been hiding in the shrubbery. She was more interested than frightened and wanted to see the gun, but Martha dropped it back in her bag.

I said, "I didn't know you had one.”

"I got it last year, after a dealer got robbed on his way back from an antiques fair. The silly thing is, I never got round to practicing with it.”

She took the glass and gulped down brandy. "I was terrified of hitting something.”

By "something" she meant one of her bits of china; her gaze ranged round the room for reassurance. The only sign of damage was a neat hole in the plaster of the wall. But she saw the bronze on the floor, and got up to examine it. The briefcase was still on the carpet where Uncle Ian had left it.

I looked inside and saw more helmets.

"I wonder why he left this," I said.

Martha ran her fingers over the statuette, and said absently, "No idea'“

"Except maybe he thought if he left them we'd try the helmets on, and. . .

bingo!”

She shivered with repulsion. "As if we would!”

"Who can tell how a Trippy's mind works? He really thinks these things are passports to paradise, so he might think we'd be tempted. He did take the one he was trying to make me wear. Where were they heading, do you suppose?

Home?”

She slammed the statuette down.

"Caroline. . ..' "What?”

She went to the telephone and dialled the number. I heard her telling Aunt Caroline what had happened. Then she said, "Caroline, listen-you must listen.

. . . Leave the house before they get back.

Come here. They aren't the same people, I tell you, they're dangerous. . .

..' She took the telephone from her ear and looked at it for a moment before putting it back on its rest.

I asked, "What did she say?" I'd never seen her look helpless before.

She said, "She won't believe me. All she was concerned about was that they were alive and well. She hung up on me.“

Chapter FIVE

More went missing from school. You couldn't be sure if they were Tripping or just staying away because things were in a mess. Very little work got done, anyway.

In assembly the Head Man gave us a warning about people who might try to Cap us. It seemed Uncle Ian wasn't the only one around carrying rubber helmets. We were to report anyone acting suspiciously.

I was standing next to Hilda Goossens, who sniffed and said, “Silly old twit!”

"Why?”

"As if we need to be told.”

"Someone said they saw Wild Bill hanging about school this morning. If he spots you, he might decide to Cap his pet genius.”

"I don't think so.”

"My uncle nearly managed it, with me.”

She just looked at me pityingly. I wondered what it must be like to be Hilda Goossens and so sure of yourself about everything. The Head Man droned on. He was thin and anxious, white-faced and white-haired (what there was of it), due for retirement at the end of the school year. I wondered about being like him, too-just about able to cope under normal conditions, without things like Tripping to contend with.

What I was suddenly aware of was the importance of their being whatever each of them was-cocky and contemptuous, or bothered and beaten-as long as it was something they'd come to in their own way: the importance of being human, in fact. The peace and harmony Uncle Ian and the others claimed to be handing out in fact was death, because without being yourself, an individual, you weren't really alive.

The first class was meant to be chemistry, but there was no sign of the chemistry teacher. Hilda Goossens and a couple of others got on with their assignments. The rest of us talked. We stopped when the door flew open. It wasn't Mrs. Green, though, but a hairy little Welshman called Wyllie, who taught physical exercise.

He shouted, “Right! School dismissed. Everybody out.”

Andy asked, “Why?”

He said importantly, “Police warning. The Exeter Tripod's on the move. The path they've plotted takes it a couple of miles north, but they want everyone out of the area as a precaution. Get cracking.”

A boy called Marriott said, “I live in Todpole.”

Todpole was six miles north of the school. Wyllie said, “Well, you can't go there. They're evacuating along the route. It will probably be OK in an hour or two, but check with the police.”

In the bike shed I waited while Andy fiddled about. The shed was empty before he straightened up. I said, “Come on-we're last.”

"I've been thinking.”

I said impatiently, “You can bike and think at the same time, can't you?”

"I wouldn't mind having a look at it.”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the Tripod.

"There'll be a roadblock.”

"We can get round it." Can, not could. And we, which meant there was no way of backing out without looking chicken.

I said,” I don't suppose it's any different from the one we saw.”

"No, I don't suppose it is." He wheeled his bike out of the shed. “I’d still like to take a look.”

It was a bright day but the wind, blowing a swirl of leaves from the side of the road, had a wintry edge. There weren't many people about, and they were all going the opposite way. We found the roadblock half a mile out of town. A patrol car was slewed across the road with a policeman standing beside it smoking a cigarette, and another at the wheel. It was fairly obvious which way we'd need to go to get past it. To the left the ground fell away in open fields, but the higher ground on the right was wooded.

I said, “What about the bikes?”

"No sweat. Stick them in the ditch.”

Mine was new from my birthday a month earlier, a racer I'd been wanting a long time. I laid it down carefully by the roadside. We got through a gap in the hedge and made for the trees. Once under cover we stayed close to the edge of the wood. We passed within a hundred yards of the patrol car. The policeman who was smoking glanced our way but gave no sign of seeing us.

If we were invisible to him, the same would presumably apply to the Tripod, which made me feel better. I even began to feel light-hearted. There were bird sounds-a blackbird, the rowdy clatter of a pheasant. Normal country stuff. This was probably a wild goose chase, anyway-a wild Tripod chase. Even if it had moved it might stop again, as the one on the moor had, or change course. The trees ended, and we ducked under a fence into a field where Friesian cows were grazing. Here high ground on our left gradually fell away, giving a view across open country. You could see for miles-fields, copses, farmhouses. In the distance, sunlight dazzled from a river.

But there was something else in the distance, too, catching the sun with a colder gleam. And moving our way; I heard the thump of its passage above the noises of birds and cows.

Andy said, “The hedge." We ran thirty meters across open meadow, and dived under. I wondered if it had seen us; it was still far off, but we didn't know its range of vision. I hoped we were hidden now. Andy squirmed forward to a position where he could look out, and after a moment's hesitation I wriggled after him, scratching my wrist on a bramble.

He whispered, “I’d forgotten how comic it looks-like a mechanical clown.”

The three legs, swinging in succession, produced a motion which was a cross between lumbering and mincing. It did look ridiculous. And even though each stride covered ten or more meters, its progress seemed slow and laborious. The thumping rhythm was louder, and I caught the buzz of a helicopter, presumably shadowing it. I thought of the grace and speed of a Harrier fighter plane, and couldn't understand why this ugly thing was being allowed to bestride the land-why no one had ordered a strike the moment it moved away from its Trippies. Then, as it got closer, I could see the small specks clinging to the gigantic feet. It had brought its disciples with it.

And I could hear them, singing and shouting, the words indistinguishable but the voices wild and cheerful.

"How are, they managing to hang on?" Andy asked.

"I don't know." A foot slammed down, another lifted and soared across the sky, and my stomach lurched with vertigo. “I think it'll miss us by quite a bit.”

I was relieved, though, when Andy nodded agreement. “By a hundred meters, I'd say. But keep your head down.”

I didn't need telling. We watched the Tripod hammer its way across the valley between us and Todpole. A foot landed in water which jetted up, sparkling like diamonds. The Trippies burst into what sounded like a hymn.

Then, as the next foot reached its high point, something detached and fell.

The singing didn't, even check as a figure dropped to earth in the next field, like a stone.

We waited till the Tripod was out of sight before going to see. It was a girl about sixteen, wearing jeans, her legs horribly jumbled. I thought she was dead as Andy bent over her. But she wasn't quite.

She whispered "Hail the Tripod." Her lips barely moved, but she was smiling. The smile faded, and she really was dead.

The Tripod furthest from London had moved first, the others setting off in turn in what appeared to be a concerted march on the capital. The one on Farnham Common was the last to go, and that was when the air force was let loose. They didn't show anything on the news, but it was announced that all Tripods in Britain had been destroyed. They added that similar action had now been taken in other countries.

The crisis was over. The world was finally free of Tripods.

I guessed why, although the attack on the first Tripod had been televised, these weren't. It had been a desperate decision to make. Many of the Trippies clinging to them must have been killed, and they wouldn't want to show that. It was awful thinking about it, especially since some of them could have been people I'd known. There had been no news of Andy's mother, for instance. The fact that they probably died happy, like the girl in the field, didn't make it any less terrible.

Over the next few days things were claimed to be returning to normal. It was odd, though, that so little was being said, when one remembered the fuss after the first invasion. I supposed it was to do with censorship. But why was the censorship still necessary?

Wild rumours started. One was that the royal family had Tripped and barricaded themselves inside Windsor Castle, where they were building a landing pad for the third wave of Tripods. Another said the third wave had already arrived and taken over an entire country, France in one version, the United States in another. As Pa said, censorship encouraged people to believe nonsense.

But, apart from the rumours, strange things were happening. People were still disappearing. In Boulder, the nearest market town, more than a hundred went at a single go. Everyone, it turned out, who had been to the Chinese take-out that evening. The following day, the county library van called at our local branch, and left taking two staff members and five people who'd just been in changing their library books. And two days after that, Todpole was declared Tripod territory. There was a big HAIL THE TRIPOD sign on the approach road, and no one was allowed in without a Cap. Caps were handed out at the roadside.

That evening Pa brought out the briefcase Uncle Ian had left. He said, “The Tripods gave them to the Trippies, and the Trippies distributed them. I don't know how many of these things there were originally, but I think there may be a lot more now.”

Andy asked, “How? With all the Tripods knocked out.”

Pa held up a helmet. “Simple moulding and wiring, a few transistors-something that could be made by Trippies in a back room. Maybe in hundreds of back rooms, all over the world.”

"Get rid of it," Martha said with loathing.

He looked at it speculatively. “I don't know.”

Martha said, “I do! I want it out.”

I asked, “How do you think they work?”

Pa shook his head. “No one's ever been sure how ordinary hypnosis works, But since it's a state in which people are controlled by suggestion, this could be something that induces trance-through, radio waves acting directly on the electrical centres of the brain, perhaps-coupled with the command to obey the Tripods. And that command wouldn't just apply to a minority, like the one carried by TV, but to anyone wearing a helmet.”

He turned it over, examining it.

"The wiring looks like a circuit. It could be linked to a control station in a satellite, or the Tripods' mother ship; In which case, breaking the circuit might put it out of action.”

"Just get it out of the house," Martha said.

"But how do you get them off the Trippies' heads to do that? Oh, well.”

He dropped the helmet back in the briefcase. “I’ll shove this in the shed for now.”

I picked up the telephone the next time Ilse rang. She said, "Lowree? It is good to hear your voice.

You have grown, I bet. It seems so long since I see you. How do things go? We have bad reports of England-of these Trippy people, and much trouble fighting and such.”

"It's not so bad," I said. “You want Pa? I'll call him.”

"In one moment. First I talk with you. How is it at school?”

"A bit disorganized.”

"But you are doing your. work for the examinations? It is important not to lose the Rhythmus. . . .”

I didn't see why she had to use a German word instead of the English, rhythm. Her accent, her voice altogether, irritated me as much as ever. And I didn't see what right she had to go on about my schoolwork, anyway. She was only pretending to be interested.

I handed over to Pa and went to my room. Andy was there, using my computer. He asked if I minded and I said no, but I thought he could at least have asked first. I tried to read but the key clicks bothered me, so in the end I went down to the living room again. Martha arrived from the kitchen at the same time, for her evening drink.

Pouring it, Pa said, "Ilse sends her love.”

"She rang? I wish you'd told me. I'd have liked a word about a plate we picked up in Bath last year. I didn't think my memory could get worse, but it does.”

"We were cut off. And that was her fifth try at getting through today.

The lines are in a mess.”

He paused. “She told me some things I didn't know: there's no censorship there. In America there's an order for police and troops to shoot anyone Capped on sight-shoot to kill.”

"It's time we did the same," Martha said.

"The Swiss think we will, any day now. Listen, Martha. . .”

She looked up from a magazine. “What?”

"Ilse thinks we ought to join her, in Switzerland.”

"That's ridiculous. Now the government's finally taking things seriously, this business will be over in no time. It would make more sense for Ilse to come back here. If her father's hung on this long, he's obviously not dying.”

They argued for a time, but Martha won. That didn't surprise me-Martha usually did win that sort of argument. And as far as my father was concerned, I felt it was not so much the Trippies that bothered him as Ilse being away.

If she came back, it would be as good as us going out there. He said he'd try to get back to her. Martha said it might be a good idea to call the airport first and check seat availability.

He got through to the airport reservations desk fairly quickly, and I heard him ask the position on fights from Geneva. It seemed a routine conversation, but he put the telephone down abruptly.

"Well?" Martha asked.

"Flights to and from Switzerland are suspended.”

"It's probably temporary, till things get sorted out.”

I could see from Pa's face there was more to it. "The booking clerk said something else as well. Not in any special way, just as a routine remark at the end. He said, 'Hail the Tripod.'“

One of the things I didn't enjoy about sharing a room with Andy was that he woke so early. He didn't make a big performance about getting up, but, in away, that was worse-half waking and hearing him moving around quietly, carefully closing the door when he went to the bathroom and opening it even more gently when he came back. I'd been awake in the night, thinking about Tripping and the caps, and this morning his pussyfooting irritated me more than usual. I was pondering the chances of getting him moved into Martha's spare room, though without much optimism, when he caIled, "Laur!”

He was by the window.

I said peevishly, “What is it?”

"Planes.”

I heard the faint roar and ran across the room. We had a good view, and I saw two fighters sweeping in over the hills beyond Todpole. I forgot being annoyed in the pleasure of looking at them, so fast and beautiful compared with the lumbering Tripod. And they, or planes like them, had smashed the Tripods. What did it matter if a few people were going around in trances, with power like that on our side?

"Fantastic!" I said.

"More, over there." He pointed south. A squadron of three were flying towards the first two. Joining up with them, I guessed. I went on thinking that until the rockets started to explode; It didn't last long. One of the two burst into a blossom of orange and red, and the other roared off to the west with the three attackers banking to pursue it.

I said in a whisper, “What’s that about?”

But I knew. All five had been Harriers, with air force markings. Which of the sides was Capped and which free I'd no idea, but one thing was certain: military power was divided now, between them and us.

The order came in a radio announcement; television had vanished in a welter of jammed transmissions. All free citizens were to take immediate action to help counter the activities of the Capped. This must involve total cooperation with the armed forces and police, who had authority to restore order by any means at their disposal. The situation was difficult, but could be overcome by free men and women fighting in defence of liberty. Meanwhile, the use of all sea and air routes was confined to government-authorized personnel. As far as possible, people should remain in their homes, avoid using motor transport except for emergencies, and listen for official announcements.

The statement was repeated, and then the frequency our set was tuned to went dead. We found the station again, but it was soon swamped by the grinding buzz of a jammer. The next station we caught was different, with an announcer talking enthusiastically in a Yorkshire accent. Victory for the free people of the world was at hand! All must go forth, prepared to sacrifice everything, their lives if necessary, in the cause. Very soon now we would know the peace and harmony mankind had been vainly seeking since the dawn of history. Hail the Tripod!

Pa and Martha were drinking whiskey. Martha quite often had a drink during the day, but Pa never did, except on holiday. He poured another for them, and said, “It may be grim for a day or two-even a week or two. Food may get difficult." He handed her the drink. “The last word was to stay put. I suppose we have to, but I don't like it.”

"Nor do I. Doing as you're told is what takes sheep to the slaughterhouse.”

"But there's no alternative, is there? We can't get out of the country.

The Trippies have got control of Heathrow, and even if other airports are free, we can't use them now because of the ban on travel. At least we're better off here than in a city.”

Martha said, “I’ve never liked being forced into things.”

He said, exasperated, “Does anyone? But you have to face facts.”

She emptied her glass. “Face them-and count them. Especially the ones that are on your side. No air or sea travel, from airports or docks, they tell us.

If we had a field, and a private plane, no one could stop us leaving the country.”

"Since we haven't. . ." He stopped. "You mean-the Edelweiss? We'd never get to her. There's probably half a dozen roadblocks between here and the river.”

"We'd have to try, to find out.”

"But even if we did, and got her to sea, where do we head for?”

"I can think of one place. It's well away from this mess, and I have a house there,”

He looked at her without speaking.

In the end, it was I who said, “Guernsey.”

Pa said nothing.

Martha asked, “Well? Why not?”

"It's breaking regulations.”

"That's what the dog tells the sheep when it steps out of line.”

He said, “I suppose if things get nastier in the next day or so-or no better-we could think about it.”

"There are times when thinking about something is the worst possible policy." As usual, her voice was firm and decisive. “Let’s do it now.”

He looked at her a long time, before finally nodding acceptance. “In the morning?”

She put down her glass. “I’ll start getting things ready.”

When she'd gone, Pa poured himself another drink. He looked at a silver-framed photograph on the sideboard-one of Ilse, laughing, in a summer frock. He'd given way, I realized, because Martha was the stronger character, not because he agreed with her. And perhaps because he didn't want to admit the real reason for not wanting to leave. I thought I knew that, too. It was because this was Ilse's home. Leaving it meant cutting a link with her, possibly the last one.

Chapter SIX

Martha just told Angela we were going on a holiday to Guernsey; otherwise there would have been trouble about leaving the pony. Andy and I went to the livery stables with her to say good-bye to it. I kept out of the way of its teeth, but it had a go at kicking me which came close. I decided again that I could live comfortably in a world without horses.

All the same, I felt a bit sad watching Angela hugging it. I couldn't take my racing bike, either, but leaving a living thing behind, even a rotten-tempered one like Prince, was different. Though really Prince was going to be all right;. it made no difference to a pony who or what ruled the world, as long as the fodder kept coming. Angela fed him his au revoir present of bran mash, and came away cheerfully talking about Guernsey, and whether it was too late in the year for swimming.

We set out at first light in Martha's Jaguar. We were stopped twice by police. They acted tough-hadn't we heard the instructions to stay at home? but Pa and Martha put on a strong double act. They said she had a sister with a heart condition living by herself at Starcross, who had been panicking on the telephone. The sergeant at the second roadblock asked Pa why he hadn't come alone to pick his aunt up. Pa told him a gang of Capped had been reported close to the village, and he couldn't risk leaving the children or his ailing mother. Martha did her best to look frail; fortunately the light wasn't good.

The sergeant got more friendly after that. He said it was lucky Pa's aunt lived on this side of the river; things were bad on the other bank, and they'd lost contact with Exmouth. There were reports, too, that Capped tanks were on the move from Dartmoor-towards Plymouth probably, but they might swing this way. Pa said we'd get home as soon as possible, and dig in. It couldn't last long, could it?

The sergeant was a tall bony man with a Falklands ribbon.

He said, "My grandfather used to talk about the 1914 War. They told him it would be over by Christmas and he was four years out there." He shook his head. "And at least they could tell who the enemy was.”

The weather had turned wintry, and by the time we reached the mooring, just after nine, sleet was driving in from the west. The tide was high-that had been another reason for an early start-and boats jerked and bobbed on their lines. When we left the car's warmth, the wind bit sharply.

We got the rubber dinghy off the roof and put on the outboard.

Pa said, "Laurie and me first, and then I'll leave him in charge of ferrying while I check things inboard. OK?”

Martha stayed behind until last, organizing gear. Andy gave her a hand on board, though she didn't really need it. She didn't move like a grandmother.

She asked Pa, "Everything all right?”

He nodded. "Good job I filled the tanks last time. We don't know who'll be running the filling station.”

”I don't suppose you got a forecast?”

"As a matter of fact, I did. A normal weather report, and not a single hail for the Tripod. Cold front passing through with more sleet and rain snow on high ground. Winds west to southwest, force, five to seven. “

"Just as well the tanks are full. Sounds stiff for sail. “

They spoke lightly but I realised they weren't relishing the voyage ahead. We would never normally have set out even for a trip along the coast with a prospect of near-gale-force winds.

Martha said, "No point in waiting. I'll get some food going in the galley.”

Nothing else was moving on this stretch, not surprisingly, in view of the weather. Sleet drove hard against the glass of the conning deck. Exmouth came up on the port side, a jumble of wet gray roofs. I saw something else-two figures in coast guard oilskins on the jetty. I nudged Pa.

"I know," he said.

One was signalling to us. The other lifted a bullhorn, and a voice boomed across the choppy water, "Come in, Edelweiss. Come in; Edelweiss.”

Pa throttled the engines and we surged ahead, rocking violently. The voice was still shouting, more faintly as we drove out to sea.

Andy said, "Do you think they'll send a cutter after us?”

"I don't know.”

Pa felt in his pocket for a cigarette, and then a match. I was surprised he was carrying them-he' d given up smoking a year before. He lit up and drew heavily on it.

"I'd like to tell you a story, Andy-Laurie knows it. Not long after Martha got the Jaguar she took us over to Honiton. It was summer and the main roads were packed, so she used minor roads. They were busy, too, and there was a bend every couple of hundred yards. It was pretty frustrating progress, especially in a car like that. Then, beyond Plymtree, there was a bit of open road with just three cars dawdling ahead of us. She put her foot down. We were doing over eighty when she passed the last of the three and realized what had been keeping the other two back: it was a low-slung police car.

"If I'd been driving I'd have braked and waited to be pulled up and given a verbal going-over. Martha put her foot right down. They chased her, but she's a good driver and she had the edge, with that engine.

She lost them long before Cheriton.”

Andy said, "Didn't they do anything about it? They must have got her number.”

"Yes. But if you don't have radar, you've got to catch your chicken before you can chop it. They'd have needed to overtake her and flag her down.

They could have come round to see her afterwards, but they'd have known her age from the registration details and I don't suppose they fancied lecturing a sixty-year-old woman for outdriving them.”

We hit heavier seas, and he eased the throttle.

"The reason I mention it is that I think I'd have been right, then. In a normal law-abiding world it's better to toe the line, and come to heel when the man in uniform calls you. But that world's gone, for the time being at least. From now on it's safer to follow Martha's policy-turn a blind eye and put your foot down.”

I said, "No sign of anything coming after us so far. ..

"Good. Keep your eyes skinned.”

Martha had gone below with Angela, who, like lIse, tended to be seasick even in good weather. I felt my own stomach heaving as we hammered away from the comparative shelter of the shore. I held out for quarter of an hour, and had the satisfaction of seeing Andy dive for the rail before I did. Not long after, Pa handed me the wheel and went to be sick as well. Martha was the only one who seemed unaffected. She brought us mugs of steaming tea, lurching precariously with them across the tilting deck.

Gradually the prospect of pursuit faded; the sea stretched gray and empty all round. Or almost empty-we saw a couple of cargo ships battling their way east and another heading west. Pa observed that trade must drop off when you couldn't guarantee into whose hands a cargo would fall. Time passed slowly, no less slowly for the battering the Edelweiss was taking. Martha eventually produced stew, which I ate hungrily and then regretted.

At last there was the long shadow of Alderney on the port horizon, and not long after, Guernsey started to take shape ahead. It seemed an age before we were in the Russell channel, another before we rolled towards the beckoning arms of the harbour.

I felt weak and tired, but cheerful. We'd made it, in lousy weather, and we could relax. I'd always felt safe in Guernsey. Guernsey was different, a place where people drank the Queen's health not as Queen but as Duke of Normandy, because the islands were part of the dukedom which conquered England back in 1066. The mainland, Trippies, and civil war seemed very far away.

Pa throttled back to the four knots which was the harbour speed limit. A uniformed figure watched from the quay, by the harbour master's office.

Pa shouted up to him, "Edelweiss from Exeter, visiting. OK for a berth?”

"You can take K3. Know your way?”

"I know my way," Pa said.

"Good. Welcome to Guernsey." He called out something else which a gust of wind took away. Pa cupped an ear, and he shouted it more loudly.

"Hail the Tripod!”

No one spoke as we chugged in: The harbour was less busy than in summer but otherwise unchanged.

In the marina, tall masts swayed in long ranks. A lot of yachts wintered here.

Traffic crawled as usual along the front, and the roofs of St. Peter Port rose in tiers behind. Above the crest of the hill the sky was lighter; it looked as though the sun might be breaking through.

When we'd tied up, Pa took us to the forward cabin.

He said, "I had the glasses on people onshore. You can't always tell, obviously, but I'd say at least ten percent are Capped. And the real trouble is the Capped are in charge.”

Andy said, "We only know for certain that they're running the harbour.”

Pa shook his head. "In an island this size it has to be all or nothing.

They've taken over.”

Angela said, "Can we go to the cottage? I'm tired, “

Her face was white, eyes heavy. I didn't feel all that bright myself.

Martha said, "If they've got Guernsey, I suppose they must have Jersey as well. But maybe not the smaller islands. There's Alderney and Sark. . . .”

"We'd be pinning ourselves down in a small community. When they do get there-in a few days, perhaps-we'd be sitting ducks.”

Martha put an arm round Angela, who was sniffling quietly. "We've not come this far just to give in.”

”There's Switzerland.”

She said impatiently, "If they've taken over the island, that includes the airport. The no-travel regulation may not apply here: as far as the Trippies are concerned I suppose, the more travelling the better. But they're bound to insist on passengers being Capped.”

"Yes, I suppose they will.”

Pa went through to the aft cabin. I wasn't surprised he'd brought up Switzerland again. For him, getting back to Ilse was more important than the fight against being Capped. No, that was unfair. But very important.

I was surprised, though, that he'd accepted Martha's argument so easily.

I stared up at feet passing along the quay, and wondered if their owners were free or Capped, and, for the hundredth time, what being Capped must feel like.

I was thinking miserably that I was likely to find out before long when Pa returned, carrying Uncle lan's briefcase. He lifted one of the Caps out.

"Basically, it has to be a radio receiver, or something similar. The wiring runs just beneath the rubber. You could snip it with scissors. The Cap would look no different, but it wouldn't receive. So, no induced trance, no compulsion to obey the Tripod.”

Andy asked, "Are you sure?”

Pa shook his head. "Not quite sure. But we could try it on one of us, and find out.”

I said, "The one who tries it might Trip.”

"It would be one against four. We can take it off again, by force if need be." He paused. "I'd volunteer, except that we really want the physically weakest, in case it did come to that.”

Angela started crying again; I hadn't realized she was listening, let alone understanding.

Martha said, "Not Angela. Me, if you like.”

Andy said, "It's OK. I'll do it.”

Pa wasn't looking in my direction, but he hadn't looked at Angela, either.

I said, "I'm next smallest. Let's get it over.”

No one spoke while Pa dug the blade of his Swiss Army knife into the inner surface of the rubber. It took time, but eventually he handed me the helmet.

"I've severed it in two places. That should put it out of action.”

The thing seemed to writhe in my hands, like a snake. I hadn't looked at it closely before. It was like a flexible skullcap. Even a few days ago I wouldn't have believed that this was something which might take away my freedom of thought and will, but I did now. And now it wasn't easy to believe it could be made harmless so simply. If Pa was wrong and it still worked. . .

I thought of a time when I was about ten, at a pool with a five-meter diving board. Others had dived from it, but when I climbed up the water looked a hundred miles away. I wanted to go back down, but facing the dive was a little less bad than seeing jeering faces. Just a little less. And that had just been physical fear; now I was terrified of losing my mind, my individuality-everything about myself that mattered.

Another thought followed on: what would happen if they did have to pin me down and take the Cap off? Would doing that remove the Tripods' command from my mind? There was no Dr. Monmouth to dehypnotize me. What would they do? Tie and gag me to prevent me raising an alarm? And what if it half worked, leaving me part slave and part free? How long before I went mad?

They were looking at me. If I said any of this, they'd think I was trying to get out of it. They'd be right, too. I thought of the high board, and the heads bobbing in the water. The longer you delayed, the worse it got. I drew breath, and pulled it over my head, dragging it hard down.

Hail the Tripod.

I thought I'd said it, thought in despair that I really had handed myself over to the enemy. I imagined the others had heard it, too, and waited for them to grab me. Nothing happened. Could it just have been a random thought? I framed Hail the Tripod in my mind, testing myself with sick anticipation. Then I thought deliberately, I hate the Tripod-and felt a surge of relief.

"Well?" Pa's voice was anxious.

"It's all right." I realized I was shivering. "It doesn't work.”

Pa fixed a Cap for himself, and he and I went to the airline ticket office. He asked for five seats on the evening flight to Heathrow. The clerk, who had horn-rimmed spectacles tucked over the flaps of his Cap, punched his keyboard and stared at the screen.

"Five's OK, but you'll have to split up between Smoking and Nonsmoking.”

"That's all right." Pa fished a credit card out of his wallet. The clerk shook his head.

"No credit cards.”

"What?”

"Not while the emergency's on.”

"But you'll take a check?”

"If it's on a local account.”

"I don't have a local account. I'm on a boat.”

The clerk gave him a knowing smile. "English? I thought you were. No English checks. Sorry. Hail the Tripod.”

Pa picked up his card. "Hail the Tripod.”

The bank was a few doors away from the airline office. Pa wrote a check and passed it to the teller, who gave it leisurely scrutiny before pushing it back.

"Local accounts only.”

Pa said, keeping a reasonable tone, "I don't have a local account. What do I do for money?”

"You could go back to England." The teller rubbed a hand across his forehead and over the Cap.

He smiled, too, not pleasantly. "We'll manage without you.”

At first, Martha refused to believe it. "This is Guernsey, the friendly isle. I'll get local money. The manager at Barclay's knows me. He's been cashing checks for me for over twenty years.”

Pa said, "You don't understand, Martha. It's all changed. If he's manager still, he must be Capped.

And arguing might make him suspicious about your Cap working properly. It's not just a local rule, but a total change of attitude.”

"But why? Why should being Capped turn people against foreigners?”

"I don't know, but it must be something that suits the Tripods. They could be thinking on the same lines as Julius Caesar with the Gauls: divide and rule. Maybe if they win we'll wind up all living in villages, instead of cities. It would make it easier to keep us under control.”

That was the first time I'd heard anyone suggest we might lose. Angela said, "Can't we go to the cottage?" She sounded frightened, as well as tired.

Martha said sharply, "They're not going to win, whoever or whatever they are. How much money do we need for the tickets?”

"Three hundred would cover it. But . . .”

She produced a leather bag and rummaged, bringing out jewellery-gold bangles, necklaces, rings.

"One thing about the antiques trade is that it teaches you the value of portable capital. I'll get the money.”

Pa said, "I'll come with you.”

She shook her head firmly and reached for one of the Caps. "No, you won't. I haggle best on my own.

Two airlines flew between Guernsey and England. Pa tried the other next, in case the first booking clerk was curious about the way he'd found a means of paying. This one took the pile of local notes without query and booked us on the last flight out.

Before we left the Edelweiss, Pa fixed the remaining Cap for Andy. There wasn't one for Angela, but he assumed they wouldn't bother about young children. I looked back at the boat as we climbed the steps at the end of the pontoon-one more thing to leave behind. Whatever lay ahead, apart from what was left of Martha's jewellery, we were going into it stripped.

The weather had cleared, and the late afternoon was lit by watery sunshine. The taxi took us up the hill leading out of St. Peter Port, and I recognized familiar landmarks. In the past they'd been part of the excitement of coming on holiday, of anticipating the long days of sea and sunshine. On the left in Queen's Road was the entrance to Government House. Something new stood beside the gate-a wooden model of a hemisphere supported on three spindly legs. I couldn't read the lettering underneath, but I knew what it would say.

We checked in early, and Martha took us to the airport restaurant. She told us to order whatever we liked; the money left over after the tickets were bought wasn't going to be any use outside the island.

She and Pa ordered champagne.

While the waitress was opening it, a man at another table said, "Mrs.

Cordray, is it not?”

The back-to-front white collar under the black Cap showed he was a clergyman, and I recognized him as vicar of the parish where Martha's cottage was. He'd visited when we'd been staying there.

Looking at the champagne, he said, "Something to celebrate? “

"My birthday." She smiled convincingly. "Will you have a glass?”

He did, and they chatted. He'd always been a great talker. In the past, though, he'd seemed anxious to please; now he was sharp, almost aggressive. He asked if we were going back to England, and when Martha said yes he was approving, but in an almost contemptuous tone.

"Much better, I'm sure. England for the English, Guernsey for the Guernseyman. Things are going to be better in all sorts of ways. My mother used to talk of life in the island in the war, during the German occupation: no motorcars, no tourists. Thanks to the Tripods, it can be like that again.

In their blessed shade, we shall find peace.”

"Do you think they're going to come back?" Pa asked.

The vicar looked surprised.

"The Tripods, I mean.”

"But they are back! Didn't you hear the news on Radio Guernsey? There have been new landings all over the world. So now they can complete their mission of helping mankind save itself from war and sin. " Martha said, "No, we didn't know. Is there one in the island?”

"Not yet. It is something to wait and hope for. Like the Second Coming.”

His voice was thick and earnest. "Indeed, perhaps it is that.”

The first throw of the dice was when they called the flight. For as long as I could remember, there had been security checks because of terrorists. Pa had said checks would be unnecessary with everyone Capped, and he proved right. We weren't even screened for metal. We walked through to the departure lounge and almost immediately after that across the tarmac to the aircraft. .

.

They were using a Shorts plane, with just pilot and co-pilot and two stewardesses. The aircraft took off normally, heading west, and when he'd gained sufficient height the pilot banked for the north-easterly flight to England.

For us it was the wrong direction; each mile flown would have to be retraced. Moreover, not knowing the fuel load, every gallon or half gallon might be crucial. Pa got up and walked towards the forward toilet. The stewardesses were at the rear, fixing coffee. Andy and I gave him time to reach the door to the flight deck before following.

This was the second part of the gamble: would the door be unlocked? Pa turned the handle and threw it open. As the co-pilot turned to look, Pa pushed through and I went in behind him, blocking the doorway. He pulled Martha's pistol from inside his jacket, and said, "I'm taking over. Do as I say, and everything will be all right.”

I had the fear, for a moment, certainty, that we'd got it wrong. In the old pattern, the hijackers had been nutters and the aircrew sane; this time it was the other way about. Being Capped, the pilot would do not what he thought right, but what he though the Tripods wanted. If the Tripods wanted him to crash the plane, with himself and forty passengers on board, he wouldn't hesitate.

Both men were staring at the pistol. The pilot said, "What do you want me to do?”

"Set a course for Geneva.”

He hesitated for what seemed a long time. The hope was that, seeing us wearing Caps, he'd have no reason to think we were anti-Tripod. Finally, he shrugged.

"OK. Geneva it is.”

Chapter SEVEN

The pilot, Michael Hardy, took being hijacked more easily than I would have expected. He asked Pa why he was doing it, and Pa told him it was because his wife was in Switzerland, and flights there had been suspended. It struck me as a fairly crazy reason, but Hardy accepted it with a nod. I guessed that one of the effects of being Capped could be to make people generally less curious. The stewardesses and the passengers didn't seem bothered about what was happening, either. The Cap probably worked as a tranquilizer as well.

Just how unconcerned the pilot was became clear after he'd fed details of the new flight path into his computer.

He yawned, and said, "Should just about do it. “

Pa asked him, "What do you mean, 'just about'?”

"Fuel. We've enough for Geneva, but there won't be anything over for a diversion. Let's hope we stay lucky with the weather.”

One of the stewardesses brought us all coffee, and he talked as we drank it. Flying had been something he'd always wanted to do. As a schoolboy, living near Gatwick airport, he'd spent most of his spare time plane spotting. Until recently, he'd thought of his present job as a stopgap; his ambition was to fly the big trans-Atlantic planes.

Munching a biscuit, he said, "Funny that, looking back. I mean, why bother?”

Pa said, "You're happy now to stay on the local run?”

Hardy paused before answering. "I've spent years ferrying people around the sky at hundreds of miles an hour. What's the point? They'd be just as happy where they are. Happier. My wife's got a share in a farm, and I think I'd rather help out with that than fly. People don't need airplanes, or cars and trains for that matter. Do you know what I would like? A horse and trap.

I'd really like that.”

He did another computer reading in mid-flight, which showed fuel was lower than predicted.

"Getting towards touch and go," he said casually. "Paris would be easier.”

Pa didn't answer right away. I wondered if he was waiting for Hardy to add something, or reconsidering the situation. Geneva meant Ilse for him, and escape from the Tripods for all of us. It also might mean taking a chance on the lives of everyone on the plane.

"We stick with Geneva," he said at last.

Hardy nodded. "OK, Geneva. Let's hope this head wind gets no worse.”

No more was said. I started remembering all the movies about air crashes I'd seen. One time at Andy's house, his mother had talked about her fear of flying. She wouldn't go anywhere if she had to travel by plane. I'd thought it weird at the time, but I didn't now. We were up here in this metal tube, miles high, and if the fuel ran out, our chances of survival were just about nil. I visualized the petrol tanks emptying, second by second, and began to sweat.

I thought, too, of what Hardy had said of his feelings since being Capped. He seemed happy. And if the Tripods really were bringing peace, surely that was a good thing? Peace was about people liking one another; and perhaps in a way that meant they didn't get hooked on one particular person and forget about others.

Moonlight provided a hazy view of snow-covered mountains, and Hardy started the landing procedure.

That didn't improve matters; if anything it made them worse. As the undercarriage went down, one of the engines coughed, picked up again, then spluttered into silence. I was really terrified-now. I shut my eyes as the landing lights appeared in front, and they were still shut when the wheels bumped down onto the tarmac. I felt suddenly weak with relief.

Hardy taxied the plane to a standstill close to the terminal building, and I found something else to worry about. The airport authorities knew about the hijack, of course, but we had no idea what their reaction to it was going to be. All the communications with flight control had been formal, concerned with getting the plane down. It seemed a long time before the doors were opened, and we were ordered to disembark. I could see Pa chewing his lip.

I'd thought they might separate us from the crew and the rest of the passengers, but after Pa had handed Martha's gun over we were all taken through the arrival area to a smaller lounge, where there were soldiers with automatic rifles.

A senior officer said, "You will please remove the Caps from your heads.”

Captain Hardy said, "No. That's impossible.”

"At once.”

Hardy said, "I ask permission to refuel and take my plane and passengers back to Guernsey.”

”Permission not granted. Take off Caps.”

We four had pulled the helmets off our heads, but none of the others made a move. The officer barked a command in German, and two soldiers advanced on Hardy.

He backed away as they approached, and shouted to the officer, "You have no right to touch us! I insist you give us petrol and clearance to return.”

The officer ignored him, and the soldiers kept coming forward. The vicar who had talked to Martha in Guernsey was standing close by.

He stretched out his arms and said, "We bring you peace. Put down your weapons, and accept this blessing." He made a gesture, of three downward strokes, with his right hand. "In the name of the Tripod." .

As the soldiers grabbed his arms, Hardy went berserk, tearing himself free and punching one of them in the face. The rest of the Capped rushed forward, screaming.

I heard Martha's voice, above the din. "Quickly! This way-".

We made for the door through which we'd entered. Two soldiers raised their automatics. Pa said, "We're not Capped. Look.”

He tossed his on the ground; hut they still kept their weapons trained on us. Behind, the screaming was punctuated by a single shot, and then by a rattle of automatic fire. I looked back to see a couple of the Capped on the floor. Captain Hardy, blood pouring from a wound in his neck, was one.

It was quickly over. Shocked into silence, the rest stared dumbly at the soldiers, two of whom took hold of a man about sixty, and pulled him to one side. He started to cry as one of them tore off his Cap, and went on crying as they moved on to their next target. It was a dreadful noise, .which got worse as others had their Caps forcibly removed. They offered no further resistance, but it was like listening to animals being tortured.

The officer in charge came to us.

You will be escorted to the debriefing room." His voice was cold. "Obey all orders.”

Pa said, "We damaged the Caps so they wouldn't work. We've not been under Tripod influence.”

The clipped voice did not change.

"Obey orders.”

They interviewed us separately, and at length. Eventually we were given food, and taken to a hotel for the night. When Pa asked to be allowed to telephone lIse, he was refused. There was a telephone in the bedroom he shared with Andy and me, but it wasn't connected.

Next morning Pa and Martha were interviewed again, and after that we were taken before a stiff little man with a black beard, who told us we'd been granted permission to stay in the country for seven days. We were free to travel to Fernohr, but must report to the police as soon as we got there. He pushed across a piece of paper which was our authorization.

Pa said, "And after seven days?”

"The position will be reconsidered. You are aliens who have entered this country illegally. You would be returned to England, except there are no flights at present. I must warn you that any failure to obey police instructions will result in immediate deportation for all, to any country which will accept you.”

"Can we keep the Caps we were wearing-the ones that don't work?”

"Why?”

"In case we need them again.”

"There are no Tripods in Switzerland, so you will not need them." He shrugged. "It has been established that they are harmless. Keep. them if you wish. “

Martha sold more gold to get Swiss money, and we took a train to Interlaken. The track ran beside the lake, which stretched as far as the eye could see. The day had started cloudy but now both sky and lake were clear and blue, with just a few clouds over the mountain peaks on the far side. Pa had a relaxed look. There was plenty to relax from-the hijack, fear of the plane crashing, and then the business at the airport. Things were different in real life from television-the gunshots more deafening, the blood brighter red and spurting horribly.

As I was thinking there was also, for him, the prospect of being with Ilse again, he said to Angela, "We'll see Mutti in a few hours. I wonder if she'll recognize us after all this time.”

"Of course she will," Angela said. She was eating an apple. "It's not that long.”

Martha was looking out of the window. Between us and the lake there were houses, with children playing, a frisking dog, smoke rising from a chimney.

She said, "It has a nice safe look. Do you think we'll be given that extension?”

Pa stretched. "I'm sure of it. You get the bureaucrats at airports. Local police are different.”

The train stopped at Lausanne, where the timetable scheduled a thirty-minute wait.

I asked Pa, "Can Andy and I have a look around? We'll be back in plenty of time.”

"Better not, just in case.”

I thought quickly. "I'd like to see if there's something I can get as a present for Ilse. It's her birthday next week." Angela wasn't the only one who could play that sort of game.

He hesitated, but said, "All right. As long as you're back in a quarter of an hour.”

Martha said, "I don't think you'll be able to buy anything with English money.”

"I was wondering if you'd change some for me?”

"And how long before I'm able to use what I change?" She smiled and fished in her wallet. "But I suppose I asked for that. Twenty francs-it'll have to be something small. You'd better have a bit to spend, too, Andy.”

Angela said, "And me.”

I said, "No. You stay here.”

"If you're going, I can." Her eye had a steely look. "It isn't fair if you get a present and I can't.

She's my mother!”

I argued, but didn't expect to win. Martha gave her twenty francs as well, and she tagged after us while we explored the station. We found a little shop, and I wondered whether to get Ilse chocolate, or a doll in peasant dress. While I was deciding, Angela bought one of the dolls, so it had to be chocolate. There were two sizes, at nine francs and nineteen. I asked for the smaller, then changed my mind and picked the other.

I'd been vaguely aware of people gathering near us. The voice immediately behind startled me. "Sales Anglais!" I knew that was French for "dirty English," but if I hadn't, the tone of voice would have given me a good idea..

He was about sixteen, tall and dark-skinned, wearing a red jersey with a big white cross, the Swiss national emblem. There were others with similar jerseys in a mob of a dozen or more, mostly about his age but a couple younger, and one man with a gray beard who looked about fifty. Those that didn't have jerseys wore red headbands with white crosses.

Andy said quietly, "Let's get out of here." He moved towards the platform, but the tall boy blocked his path.

Another, shorter and fair-haired, said, “What are you doing in our land, filthy English?”

Andy said, "Nothing. Going back to the train.”

Someone else said, "Filthy English on clean Swiss train is not good.”

"Look," Andy said. "That's twice we've been called filthy English." He'd raised his voice. "The next one gets hit.”

There was silence for some moments. I thought he'd got away with it, and Andy must have, too. He pushed forward against the tall boy, forcing him to give ground. A gap in their ranks opened, but only for a second. One grabbed his arm and swung him round; another kicked his leg viciously, bringing him down.

As he fell, Angela screamed. I caught her arm and pulled her in the opposite direction. They were concentrating on Andy, and it looked as though I might succeed in getting her away, but Angela yelled again and I saw the man with the beard grabbing her from the other side.

After that there was confusion in which I kicked and punched at shapes around me and got kicked and punched in return. One blow to the neck made me stagger and struggle desperately to keep on my feet. I'd had a glimpse of Andy on the ground, grunting as they kicked him.

I had my arms over my face, trying to protect myself. There was shouting, mixed up with the boom of a loudspeaker announcing trains. I realized the punching had stopped, but flinched as someone seized me roughly. I opened my eyes to see a gray uniformed policeman. Two others were lifting Andy, and the red jerseys were scattering into the crowd.

Angela seemed unharmed. Andy was bleeding from the mouth, and there was a cut over one eye and another on his cheek. When I asked him how he felt, he said, "No sweat. I'll live. I think.”

The police escorted us back to the train. I told Pa what had happened, while Martha cleaned Andy up.

The police demanded details of our journey, and checked passports.

During the scrutinizing, Pa asked, "What are you going to do about them?”

"These children are your responsibility," the senior policeman said. He had a round face ,and small eyes, and spoke English slowly but well. "You have permission to proceed to Fernohr. Report to local police on arriving.”

"I wasn't talking about these children." Pa was chewing his lip again.

"The ones who attacked them-what are you doing about them?”

"We do not know their identities.”

"Did you make any attempt to find out?”

"And we do not know if there was provocation.”

"Provocation! The children were buying presents for their mother-who happens to be Swiss-when they were called filthy English and set upon. I thought this was a civilized country.”

The policeman cocked his head, small eyes staring.

"Listen, Englishman. This is a civilized country. And a country for Swiss people. We do not need foreigners here. Do you wish to make a complaint?”

Martha said, "Forget it, Martin.”

The policeman rocked on his heels. "If you wish to make a complaint, you must leave the train and come with me to police headquarters. You will stay there until my superintendent is free to see you, and discuss this complaint.

I do not know how long that will be, because he is a busy man. Well, Englishman? " Pa said, tight-voiced, "No complaint.”

"Good. Make sure that no one of your party causes more trouble. I wish you a safe and swift journey-back to England.”

As the train started, Pa said, "I don't understand it. “

Martha said, "I never did like the Swiss." She added, "Apart from Ilse, of course.”

Andy said, "I did say I'd hit anyone who called us dirty English again.

That's when they came at us. I'm sorry if it caused the trouble, but I didn't see how I could have just listened and said nothing.”

"No," Pa said. "I know what you mean. But we may have to do just that-listen and say nothing-in future. It's a different kind of xenophobia from the brand we found in Guernsey, but it's still xenophobia." Angela asked, "What's zenner-foe-be-ar?”

"Fear of foreigners. Fear and hatred. It can be valuable, protection for the tribe, and it can also be nasty. It's a funny thing. On the surface what we saw in Guernsey seems better-people just wanting to be left alone to live their own lives-while here it's aggressive: a positive urge to attack foreigners. But this one's healthier. The Swiss have wrapped themselves up in being Swiss and hating anyone who isn't. It's tough on us, but it may be a good protection against the Tripods.”

He and Martha went on talking about it as the train picked up speed. We could see the lake again, fiat, calm and peaceful, with two or three small boats and an old-fashioned paddle steamer making stately progress towards Geneva. I was thinking of my part in the proceedings. I'd tried to get Angela away because she was a girl (and my half sister) and needed protecting. That had also meant leaving Andy to the mob; I hoped he understood why. One eye was nearly closed from the swelling round it. He saw me looking, and winked with the good one.

Pa had telephoned Ilse from Geneva, and when the train stopped at Interlaken she was on the platform. She kissed Martha and hugged Angela, but her eyes over Angela's shoulder were on Pa. Then she and he moved towards one another slowly. She put her hands out, and his hands took them. They stood close together, smiling, for some moments before he kissed her.

It was Ilse who eventually broke away. She was smiling and crying at the same time. She turned from my father to look at me.

"Lowree," she said. "Oh, Lowree, I cannot say how good it is seeing you again:' She came towards me, and I put my hand out.

"Good seeing you, too." It was funny. I'd put my hand out so she wouldn't kiss me, and I hadn't thought I meant it about being glad to see her. But in a way I was.

Chapter EIGHT

Fernohr was a little mountain village, built round a single road with a wooded slope above it on one side and a staggering view down into a valley on the other. The road from lnterlaken ended there, or practically ended. It continued up the hillside as an unpaved track, giving access to half a dozen dwellings, and finally to the Gasthaus Rutzecke.

The first Rutzecke house had been built by lIse's grandfather as a vacation spot for the family, but between the world wars her father rebuilt it on a larger scale, as a guesthouse. It had eight bedrooms and a couple of lounges, and a terrace in front where there was a telescope and a pole flying the Swiss flag.

The Swigram had stopped operating it as a guesthouse when the Swigramp got ill. The only person living there apart from family was a handyman called Yone, even older than the Swigramp. He also looked after the animals-chickens and two cows that ambled round the sloping meadows with bells round their necks-and shot game for the pot. He had an old shotgun he tended lovingly.

The Swigram was white-haired and plump. She spoke little English, and seemed a bit in awe of Pa and more so of Martha, who spoke to her kindly but rather in the way she'd spoken to the daily help back home.

There was snow the second day, but it thawed almost immediately. Ilse said it was warm for the time of year. I looked longingly at the rack of skis in one of the sheds, and meanwhile Andy and I explored around. The terrain was fairly dull above the chalet, cropped grass and boulders, but more interesting below the village, where there were pine woods and some good climbs. The lake was visible down in the valley, and we could watch boats crossing, through the telescope. It was coin-operated, but the box was open; so you just put the same twenty-centime piece through over and over again. .

We also helped Yone with the chickens and cows. The chickens sometimes laid astray, and we had to hunt for the eggs. And the cows had to be found and brought in at night. I tried to talk him into letting me use the shotgun, but he wouldn't. It wasn't a wildly exciting life, but pleasant enough. The Swigram was a better cook than Martha, too.

Her husband, the Swigramp, lay all day in the big double bed in their bedroom, except in really good weather when she and Yone moved him into a daybed on the balcony. I sat with him sometimes but never knew what to say, and he didn't talk either. But he always smiled when Angela came into the room. I didn't know if he had any idea what had brought us here, or if he even knew about the Tripods.

Swiss radio and television were in French and German; Ilse had to tell us what they said was happening in the outside world. It seemed that in most places the Capped were now in charge, but the Swiss weren't worried. For hundreds of years they'd been surrounded by dictatorships and empires and such, and had managed to disregard them. They had the protection of their mountains, and an army in which all male citizens served. The Tripods were a nuisance, but so had Napoleon and Hitler been. They felt all they needed to do was sit tight and go on being Swiss.

They were taking some precautions. They'd rounded up their local Trippies at the beginning and put them into camps under armed guard. The few who had escaped the original sweep and tried to distribute Caps were quickly caught and imprisoned.

Ilse, who had. only seen things from the Swiss viewpoint, was sure the Tripod craze would soon die away. Pa wasn't so optimistic, but hoped the Swiss might be able to cut themselves off from the rest of the world, as an oasis of freedom.

In the village we at first encountered similar antiforeign feelings to those in Geneva and Lausanne. The villagers made a point of ignoring us, and the shopkeepers-there was a combined dairy-bakery, and a general store-were surly and unhelpful. When it came to renewing our permit, the village policeman, a man called Graz, hesitated a long time. In the end he said he would stamp a renewal only because we were related to the Rutzeckes: the Swigramp was well known and respected.

Some of the local boys carried things further, and followed us, chanting insults. One of the leaders was Rudi Graz, the policeman's son. He was only thirteen but well built, and he picked on Andy in particular.

The third time it happened, when we were leaving the village on our way back to the gasthaus, Andy stopped and turned round. The Swiss boys stopped, too, but Rudi said something in the local dialect, and the rest laughed. Andy walked back to him and spoke one of the few German words he knew: Dummkopf, meaning "idiot." The fight lasted about five minutes. Andy was cooler and a better boxer, but Rudi was a hitter and got some nasty punches in. One opened the cut over Andy's eye, and he bled quite a lot. It was Rudi, though, who eventually stood back. They looked at one another, and after a moment Andy put a hand out. The Swiss boy ignored it and turned away, his mates following. It didn't make them any friendlier, but they stopped chanting after that.

Angela sometimes insisted on coming with us to the village, and she sometimes did get a smile, I suppose because she was a little girl and pretty.

She also made friends with an old horse, which had been retired from the Swiss Army and grazed in a field not far from the bakery. One day, after she'd stroked and talked to it, she said, "He's a bit like Prince. Don't you think so, Laurie?”

I said warily, "A bit, I suppose.”

"What's going to happen-about Prince?”

"Nothing. I mean; they'll look after him at the stables until we get back." She swung round to stare at me, her blue eyes scornful.

"But we're not going back, are we? They're only saying that.”

I wasn't sure what would come next-whether we'd have weeps-so I jabbered about not really knowing what was going to happen but everything coming right eventually.

When I'd ground to a halt, she said, "I wake in the night sometimes, dreaming I'm Tripping again.

Though in a way it's worse-I know what's happening, and hate it, but can't do anything to stop it.

When I wake up properly, at first I'm scared, and then. . . I can't really say how it is. Just, well, feeling good. Feeling safe." She pulled a tuft of grass, and the horse nibbled it from her hand.

She said, "I hope Prince is all right.”

I said, "I'm sure he is.”

She looked at me again. But you don't have to pretend. I don't want to go back there-not even for Prince. “

We'd never before talked about anything serious-as I knew this was. And I knew she was being brave, as well as a lot more grown-up than I'd realized. I felt awkward, but wanted to let her know I understood that. We weren't a family that went in I for hugging, but I put an arm round her, even though Andy was with us.

I said, "Come on. The Swigram's waiting for the bread.”

Everything changed suddenly when French and German armies invaded Switzerland without warning. One day the village was in a frenzy of excitement over the news, the next, deserted-looking, with all the men between eighteen and sixty called to the colours.

The attitudes of those that remained changed, too, perhaps because their hatred was now concentrated on the invading armies. They smiled at us and were even prepared to chat. And they were full of confidence.

Frau Stitzenbahr, the baker's wife, whose two sons had gone, said, "It is terrible, this, but not for long, I think. French and Germans are fighting always. Swiss men do not wish fighting, but they are brave and love our land.

They will chase the French and Germans quickly home." Andy and I walked back up to the gasthaus. It was a gray, cold afternoon. Although the snow still held off here, the surrounding peaks were white from fresh falls.

I said, "Lucky Pa's not Swiss or I suppose he'd have had to go, too. What do you think's going to happen?" The path overlooked a drop. Andy threw a stone, and we saw it bounce off scree hundreds of meters below.

He said, "The Swiss think being patriotic makes them a match for anyone.

They don't understand what it's like facing an enemy that's Capped.”

"Those at the airport surrendered as soon as the army began firing.”

"That was different. Why should the Tripods care about a tiny group like that? It didn't matter what happened to them. But now they're sending in armies-armies of men who don't give a toss about being killed.”

I thought about it-fighting and not minding if you got killed. You'd have to be Capped to feel like that. "Anyway," I said, "I shouldn't think the fighting will get as far as Fernohr.”

Nor did it. And Frau Stitzenbahr was right, it was finished quickly. But not in the way she'd thought. Next day there were reports of retreats in the north and west, and by the following morning it was over. Use translated the news on the radio: everlasting peace had come to Switzerland as-it had already to the rest of the world. The next bit even I could understand.

"Heil dem Dreibeiner!”

Two days later, looking through the telescope, I saw the familiar shape of the paddle steamer, furrowing a path across gray waters towards Interlaken.

And something else, scuttling monstrously along the I shore. I called out Pa and Andy.

When Pa had looked, I said, "There's nowhere else to go, is there?”

Pa looked weary, and his chin had a stubble of beard, black with patches of gray. In the past he'd always shaved as soon as he got up. He shook his head, without answering.

We gazed down the fall of land towards the lake. You could see it, though less clearly, with the naked eye, lurching across farmland, not caring where it trod, or on what. Pa's face had an expression of despairing misery. I hadn't realized that misery maybe got worse the older you were.

I said, "We're pretty remote, though, aren't we? They may not come up here.”

He shook his head again, slowly, as if the effort was painful. "Maybe not.”

Martha and Angela came out, too. Martha was watching Pa rather than the Tripod; after a time she said in a more gentle voice than usual, "Ilse's with the Swigramp-he's not so good this morning. Why don't you go and sit with her?”

Over the next few days the men straggled back to Fernohr. There hadn't been many casualties because the fighting had lasted such a short time. And then one morning, on the way to pick up the day's bread, we saw that the villagers were wearing Caps.

I whispered to Andy, "What do we do? Get out fast?”

"It might draw attention. Look, there's Rudi. He's not Capped.”

We'd learned in Guernsey that people weren't Capped under the age of about fourteen, probably because young children weren't regarded as a threat.

It seemed likely the same rule applied here. Rudi was a year younger than we were, so Angela was safe, but Andy and I could be at risk. We walked on, trying to look casual. In the baker's shop, Herr Stitzenbahr was bringing in trays of fresh loaves from the bakery, and Frau Stitzenbahr, behind the counter, offered her usual greeting of "Gruss Gott." It was all normal, but for one thing: the black Caps covering her braided white hair and his bald head.

Frau Stitzenbahr asked about the Swigramp and went on chatting while I ached to get away. At last we had the loaves and our change, and could leave.

We headed up the village street, but within fifty meters met a group of men strolling down. One of them was Rudi's father.

He didn't look like a policeman. He was small and thin, with an unhealthy, sallow complexion. He had a policeman's manner, though. He stood in front of us, blocking our path.

"So, die englischen Kinder. . ." He looked at me closely. "Wie alt?

Vierzehn doch?" He translated it laboriously: "How old, boy? Have you yet fourteen years?”

So fourteen was the Capping age. I said earnestly, "No, sir. Not till next year.”

"You must bring certification of birth." He frowned. "It must come from England. This is unsatisfactory.”

Unsatisfactory for him, maybe. With a lift in spirits, I realized it was something that could be played along, maybe for months. Still frowning, he turned to Andy.

"But you are already fourteen. This is certain.”

"No, sir," Andy said. "Thirteen and a half.”

In fact he was only two months older than I was, but with two inches advantage in height and his grown-up look he could have passed for fifteen.

Rudi's father shook his head.

"I do not believe this. It is necessary you are Capped. Today Caps are finished, but tomorrow the mail van brings more. You will have one.”

Andy nodded. "If you say so, sir. I'll come back in the morning.”

"No. You will stay here. There are some foolish ones who do not wish the Capping. You will stay here, boy, till new Caps are come.”

Andy tugged the hair at the back of his head, something he did when he was making his mind up.

One of the other men, who happened to be the local wrestling champion, moved closer. Andy sighed.

"Whatever you say." He looked at me. "You'll tell them what's keeping me?”

"Yes. I'll tell Pa." I gave him a thumbs-up sign. "No sweat. It's going to be all right.”

Angela and I watched him walk away with Rudi's father in the direction of the policeman's house. I tried to tell myself there was a chance he might escape on his own, but didn't believe it. He'd need help. The first priority was to get back to Pa and tell him.

On the outskirts of the village we met Rudi. To my surprise he stopped, and spoke. "Why is Andy not with you?”

I saw no reason not to tell him, and had a feeling the news wasn't a surprise. His father had probably talked about the English and Capping. But he didn't look as pleased as I would have expected. He resembled his mother rather than his father in being big and blond, and like her he usually had a big empty smile. He wasn't smiling now.

"He must stay, for the Capping?”

I nodded.

"Does he wish this?”

"I don't know." I got cautious. "But it has to happen, doesn't it-to everyone?”

He said slowly, "They say so.”

We found Pa and Martha in the residents' lounge at the front of the gasthaus, drinking coffee. They were talking but stopped as we came in.

Angela burst out with the story, and I let her tell it.

When she'd finished, Martha said. "That's terrible." She paused. "But the Caps won't arrive till tomorrow? I'm sure he'll manage to get away before then.

Andy's resourceful.”

I said, "There's a room at the police house like a cell. Yone told us.

It's got a bolt and double locks, and the only window is ten feet up and barred. It's not a question of being resourceful. He can't get away without help.”

She shook her head. "I wish there was something we could do.”

"We have to.”

"You don't understand." She looked tired and angry, and her face had that stubborn look adults have when they're not going to listen to you. "We can't.”

I said, trying to be patient, "But we must.”

Martha said, 'Yone told us about the Caps while you were gone. He met someone he knew with one. We've been discussing what to do. We can't stay here, so close to the village. It will only be a matter of days before they come to Cap us.”

"As far as Andy's concerned, it's not days, it's tomorrow morning.”

She disregarded that. "Your father and Yone have a plan. You know the rail tunnel up to Jungfraujoch?”

I nodded. It was a trip I'd taken the first time I visited Switzerland.

The track was on the far side of a deep valley separating Fernohr from the lower slopes of the Eiger. The train climbed through a tunnel actually inside the mountain, taking nearly three hours to reach the terminus station, three and a half thousand meters above sea level, where there was a hotel and ski station and an astronomical observatory.

"The hotel and the line are closed, because of the emergency," Martha said. "Yone says we could hide inside the tunnel. We'd have protection from weather, and there may be food in the hotel. It would do for the time being, at least. Better than staying and being Capped.”

"Sounds great," I said. "I'm totally for it. As soon as we get Andy back.”

Her face tightened into still angrier lines, which meant she was feeling guilty.

"We can't. For one thing, we need time. Yone wants to make another reconnoitring trip before we all go. There's something else, too. The Swigramp's dying. He may last a couple of hours, or a couple of days, no more.”

"I don't see what difference that makes. If he's dying, he's dying.”

She said harshly, "Probably you don't. At your age." I suppose putting me down helped. "But it makes a difference to the Swigram, and IIse. We can't take him with us, and they won't go while he's still alive. We need those few days' grace. If we try to rescue Andy, we'd be stirring up a hornet's nest, whichever way it turned out. They'd be swarming here right away.”

She saw my face, and said in a quieter voice, "I'm sorry. I like Andy.”

"What if it were me?" I asked. Martha didn't answer. "Or Angela?”

I turned to my father, who hadn't spoken so far.

"We're not going to let him down, are we? He told me to let you know what had happened. And I said, 'It'll be all right. I'll tell Pa.' “

He didn't look me in the eye. He said, "I'm sorry, too. But Martha's right. We don't have a choice.”

Halfway to the village I stopped. A sense of my own stupidity hit me almost like a solid weight. Stupidity and ingratitude. I thought of all Pa had done to get us away from the Tripods-crossing to Guernsey, the hijack, bringing us here. And now he had this new plan to keep us safe. What made me think I knew better than he did?

Martha was right, too: a rescue attempt that went wrong would put everyone at risk, which also applied to my idea of going it alone. Even if Pa was prepared to abandon me rather than endanger Ilse and the others, I was still likely to draw attention to the people in the gasthaus.

I was aware of thinking it out, of being clearheaded, cool, rational. It was early evening, suddenly cold, with the mountains outlined sharply against a sky that was dark blue above, yellow in the west where -the sun had gone down.

A jay croaked, out of sight, probably looking for a late snack.

And I became aware of something else, behind the thinking out part.

Nothing cool this time, but a feeling of relief so great I wanted to yell it to the silent mountain. I'd known I was scared of going back into the village, but I hadn't realized how scared. Utterly terrified, in fact-even more frightened than I'd been when the plane was trying to get into Geneva.

I stood looking down at the huddled roofs of the village, with smoke rising almost straight from their chimneys. It was a picturesque and ordinary scene, except that the people beneath the roofs had lost what lay at the heart of being human: their individuality, and the power to act as free men and women.

But in their case it had been forcibly taken from them; I was surrendering mine out of cowardice.

And I remembered what Pa had said, about Martha and the police car. There were times when all you could do was put your foot down hard on the accelerator, and take your chance. I knew the answer to the question I'd put to myself on the plane, as to whether it wasn't better being Capped and alive than being dead. I took a deep breath of the frosty mountain air and started off downhill again.

Chapter NINE

It was dark by the time I reached the village; night came fast in the mountains. My first objective was to find out about the conditions in which Andy was being held, and I decided a direct approach was best. I'd told Martha I was going to my room to read, and had taken a couple of books from the lounge as evidence. They were in my hand as I pressed the brass bell-push outside the policeman's house.

Footsteps sounded heavily inside, and I braced my self to confront Rudi's father. But it was his mother who opened the door. She looked at me in surprise.

"Ach, so. Der Englander. . . Was willst du?”

"Something to read." I showed her the books. "For my friend, Andy.”

She said something I didn't catch. I shook my head, and she spoke in English. "You give books me so I give your friend?”

That was no help. I asked, "Can I see him?”

She shook her head doubtfully. I heard Rudi's voice behind her. They had a rapid conversation, and at the end she motioned me to come in.

Rudi said to me, "You cannot see Andy until my father says yes. He is gone to the inn, but back soon.

You will wait?”

At least I was. inside the house, though not too hopeful of getting further. There was no reason really why I shouldn't just leave the books, which was what I was fairly sure Rudi's father was going to tell me to do.

Despite being dubious about letting me in, Frau Graz produced a jug of homemade lemonade and a chocolate cake. She gave Rudi a piece, too. His homework lay open on a table.

I nodded towards it, and said, "Don't let me stop you.”

He shrugged. "It is Naturwissenschaft. Science, you say? And we end this study soon.”

"End? Why?”

"The chief teacher tells us Naturwissenschaft is not needed anymore.

There is no need to learn science now that Tripods rule.”

I could see the reason. Science was a part of independent thinking, and that was over for the human race.

I looked at Rudi. I knew practically nothing about him, but he'd looked worried when we spoke about Andy being Capped. And this was a situation where one had to take chances. His mother was in the kitchen, humming to music from the radio.

I said quietly, "They say the Tripods are our friends-that everything they do is for our good.

What do you think?”

He paused. If I'd got it wrong, he would probably report me to his father, which would fix things properly.

But he said at last, “Andy does not wish the Cap?”

I'd gone too far to draw back.

I said, "No. Nor do I. Do you?”

He took a deep breath. "No, I do not wish it. I hate the Cap!”

There was no problem, Rudi said, about releasing Andy; his father kept duplicate keys in his study. He left the room, and came back with a key which he handed to me.

He said, "To the left, past the back door. I will talk with my mother while you do this.”

It was a kind of shed, but solidly built. I unlocked the door and found a room furnished with only with a metal trundle bed. Andy was on his feet as the door opened.

I said quickly, "No time to talk. Rudi's keeping an eye on his mother.

Let's go.”

He said "Right," unhesitatingly. I felt good as he followed me through the yard. Pa had said there was nothing we could do, but I'd done it. It didn't hurt either that this time Andy was doing the following.

Rudi came from the kitchen, calling something back reassuringly. We went through the hall on tiptoe. There was a stuffed bear, guarding an umbrella stand; though moth-eaten, it looked ready to pounce. 1. pushed a fist into its ribs, and saw dust rise.

Rudi opened the front door a crack, and looked out warily. I was impatient for him to open it fully.

Instead he stood back. He looked at me helplessly.

The door was opened from the other side, and Rudi's father came in. He was wearing his uniform. I thought how much a part of it the Cap seemed.

He took in the scene, and said sharply: "Was heisst das? " Rudi just stood there. I didn't know what to do either.

Andy said, "Run for it. Now!”

He charged Rudi's father, knocking him off balance. As Graz shouted, I got past, but looking back saw that he'd recovered and was holding Rudi. He shouted again, and I saw figures running along the street towards us. Andy was wresting Graz, trying to free Rudi. I went to help, but Graz's reinforcements were on us. In a matter of moments we were bundled back inside the house.

We'd been unlucky, as Rudi explained later. Normally his father went to the inn, had a few steins of beer with his cronies, and came back alone. This time, after he'd talked about the English boy he'd taken into custody, the group had discussed it and come to the conclusion that it was unwise to take chances, especially with a foreigner. The English boy should be Capped right away, and one of those who already had a Cap should surrender it for the purpose. They'd followed Graz back to the house with that in view.

There were five, including Rudi's father. They restarted their discussion, but it was soon clear they had a problem. They were all agreed on the importance of Andy being Capped, but which of them was to give up his Cap?

As they argued, it emerged that no one was willing. Like the people at the airport, they found the thought of being without the Cap intolerable-even temporarily, and even to serve the interests of the Tripods. In the end they reluctantly decided Graz had been right in the first place; and they should wait till the new Caps came in the morning. It was also decided that Rudi and I should be Capped along with Andy.

We were given extra mattresses, and blankets. Frau Graz came in and fussed over Rudi, but didn't seem bothered about his being locked up; I wondered if that was due to the Cap, or to being Swiss and married to a policeman. When she left I prowled around, looking for means of escape.

Andy said, "I've checked. No go,”

"You couldn't reach the window," I said, "but if I stood on your back, I could,”

Rudi shook his head. "This will not, work All windows of the house have electric-how do you say Alarm?”

"Alarm," Andy said. "I don't think we can do anything tonight. Did you say they'll take us to the church to be Capped?”

"Yes. It is Zeremonie. Big show.”

"We might have a chance of making a break then. Meanwhile better grab some sleep. I was here first so I get the bed.”

Andy settled down, and as far as I could tell went to sleep right away. I lay on my mattress, brooding. I didn't know whether Andy had anything particular in mind in talking of making a break, and I didn't see we stood a chance anyway, with the entire village against us.

How could he, or anyone, sleep, faced with the prospect of being Capped? I felt I mustn't waste any of the moments in which my thoughts were still free, and tried to stay awake. But sleep came nevertheless, and in fact I slept heavily. The small square of window was bright when I was wakened by the cell door being unlocked.

The mail van from Interlaken was due to arrive about nine, and we were to be Capped immediately after that. Frau Graz produced a large breakfast, and though I thought I wouldn't be able to eat, the smell of ham and eggs convinced me otherwise. She was quite pleased Rudi was to be Capped in advance of his birthday, and told us how much better for it we would all feel. Her sister, Hedwig, who suffered from depression, had cheered up as soon as she put the Cap on, and her own rheumatism had been much less painful.

She broke off to answer the door. On, the kitchen wall a pendulum clock of dark wood painted with flowers indicated eight thirty. Graz and another man were in the room with us. I was again aware how hopeless our chances were.

Then I recognized the voice speaking to Frau Graz. I stood up quickly as she came back, with Pa following her.

He was wearing one of the Caps we'd used in the hijack.

He looked at me sternly, and said to Graz, "I am sorry to hear my son has behaved badly. I will take him home and punish him.”

Herr Graz shifted comfortably in his seat. "It is not necessary. He will be Capped this morning.

After that he will not do wrong things. “

"He should be punished," Pa said. "It is my right, as his father.”

After a pause, Graz said, "A father has rights, that is true. You can beat him if you wish.”

Pa glanced at Andy. "This other is also in my care. I will punish him, too.”

Graz nodded. "That is permitted.”

"So I'll take them both back to the gasthaus.”

Graz raised his hand. "No. You shall beat them here. Outside in the yard.

I have a strap you can use.”

I wasn't surprised it hadn't worked. Like my effort with the books, it was a bit thin. But I was sure Pa would have something else to fall back on. I sat there almost smugly, waiting for him to produce an argument which would flatten this stupid Swiss policeman. I was shattered when he finally did speak.

"All right. But I will get my own strap.”

He turned away, not looking at me. I couldn't believe he was leaving us.

I called after him, "We're being Capped this morning. Soon.”

He went out without answering, and I heard the front door close. Frau Graz bustled up, offering us rolls and cherry jam and more coffee, while her husband loaded a nasty-smelling pipe. The other man yawned and picked his teeth. I couldn't look at Andy.

If he'd not come at all, it wouldn't have been so bad. I'd let myself in for this and must take the consequences. But he had come, with that feeble excuse about punishing us, and then given in and left when Graz called his bluff. He was going back to the gasthaus, to lIse and Angela. He'd protect them, all right. I felt as I'd done the time he came out to play football, and I kicked his shins. Only worse; this time I knew I hated him.

I went so far as to think of a way of getting even, a better way than kicking. All I had to do was tell Graz about the fake Caps. The Tripods could have him, too, and lIse, and Angela--everyone. I started to say it: "Herr Graz . . ." He looked up' from his pipe.

"What is it, boy?”

I shook my head, feeling sick. "Nothing.”

It seemed a long time before the doorbell rang again, though in fact it was only minutes. Frau Graz went to answer it, sighing with exasperation. When I heard Pa's voice, and even when he came into the kitchen, I felt numb. I wasn't going to start hoping again. I didn't even look at him, until Graz gave a grunt of surprise and dropped his pipe with a clatter on the table.

Frau Graz stood by the kitchen door, looking agitated. Yone was there, too; and Pa was holding Yone's shotgun.

As a good Swiss housewife, Frau Graz kept a pile of clean tea towels in a cupboard beside the sink, and they came in handy as gags. She thought this was a robbery-it made no sense to her that anyone should use force to prevent someone being Capped-and started gabbling about where the family valuables were kept. I gagged her into silence, avoiding her reproachful looks. Pa and Yone had dealt with the men, and Pa approached Rudi.

I said, "No. He helped us. He doesn't want to be Capped, either.”

"We can't take chances. If the alarm's raised-”

"Rudi," I said, "tell him you want to come with us.”

"Yes." He nodded. "Please. I hate the Cap.”

"It's too risky. “

I didn't want to argue. I felt bad about the way I'd felt when he went to get Yone. But I couldn't accept this decision any more than the one over Andy.

I said flatly, "You've got to let him come.”

Pa looked at me. He shrugged, with a little smile.

"All right. You keep an eye on him.”

As we left the house, a passing villager exchanged greetings with Yone. I wondered how long we had before an alarm was raised. Less than half an hour, certainly. If Graz wasn't there to meet the mail van, they would come looking for him.

We squeezed into the Suzuki, and Pa drove off, revving hard. We found Ilse outside the gasthaus, struggling with a bulging backpack, and Martha came out with another. Ilse's face was blotchy as though she'd been crying.

Martha said, "You've got them.”

She tried to make it sound ordinary, but there was a tremor in her voice as she looked at Pa. She'd always bossed him, but he was her son, as I was his. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her dress.

"We're just about ready.”

I remembered the other reason for wanting more time and asked, "What about the Swigramp?”

Pa took the pack from Ilse, and heaved on the strap. Over his shoulder he said, "He died, in the night. " I looked down into the valley. People still died; the Tripods and Capping made no difference to that.

And others had to go on. Far below I could see a section of the road that wound upwards from Interlaken. A yellow spot was crawling there: the mail van was on its way.

The first part of the route led higher up the mountain by way of a rough track, which deteriorated and eventually disappeared. It wasn't easy going, in places very hard. Martha and Ilse tackled it well, but the Swigram was soon gasping and we were forced to slow down. We lost sight of the gasthaus, and for a time our only view was of the steeply climbing rocky slope and an ominous gray sky beyond. The wind was northeast, razor-edged. Yone thought there would be snow before nightfall. .

A halt was called where there was a patch of level ground. The gasthaus was once more in view, and Yone pointed down. There were three cars outside the house, apart from the Suzuki. Pa scanned the scene with field glasses which had belonged to the Swigramp.

When I had a chance to look, I found they were so heavy it wasn't easy to hold them steady, but the magnification was good. I recognized Graz. There were seven or eight men altogether.

Smoke rose from the gasthaus chimney, as it did all the year round-even in summer The big woodburning range was in use, for cooking. But the smoke looked thicker than usual and was coming not only from the chimney but one of the bedroom windows as well. Fire wastes no time in sweeping through a wooden building, and in seconds we could all see it. I heard the Swigram moan as the smoke's blackness was shot with flame.

Holding her mother, Ilse said to Pa, "Why? To destruct a house like that.

. . only because we refuse the Caps?”

"I don't know," Pa said. "To prevent us going back there, perhaps. To discourage anyone else from defying the Tripods. One thing we can be sure of: neither pity nor mercy are going to come into it. They believe what the Tripods tell them, and as far as the Tripods are concerned we are nothing but a nuisance; Like rats.”

Andy said, "I read somewhere that by trying to kill them, men have actually improved the intelligence of rats.”

"Yes," Pa said, "I read that, too. Rats have lived close to man for thousands of years. Every one we managed to kill improved the breeding stock, because the brighter rats survived and reproduced. Maybe we're going to have to take a leaf out of their book. “

Ilse said, "They must have found his body." She was speaking of the Swigramp. "But they did not bring it out, for burial.”

"No." She still had an arm round her mother, and he put his out to embrace them both. "But it doesn't matter, does it? It was his home for nearly sixty years. No one could want a better funeral pyre.”

We resumed our trek. Having led exhaustingly upwards, the route changed to lead down even more steeply. It was wild, jagged country, with no sign of human beings or anything connected with them. We saw a group of chamois, the local deer, leaping from crag to crag, and an eagle soared close to one of the crags above.

The Swigram needed to rest a lot. Pa and Yone, and then Andy and I, took turns helping to support her. She apologized for the trouble, and said we should leave her.

Pa said, "Just take it slowly, Mutti. We have plenty of time. And no one's going to leave you. We can't spare you. We can't spare anyone. There are too few of us.”

At last we reached a more gentle slope and could see the little railway station of Kleine Scheidegg, the last stop for the cogwheel train before it entered the tunnel. As Yone had predicted, it was deserted, Tourism was a thing of the past, along with parliaments and television chat shows, universities and churches, human disorder and human freedom. The station shop, which had sold chocolate and maps and silly souvenirs, was boarded up, and the last train stood unmanned and covered with snow.

At this altitude there was deep-packed snow all round, and the tail of a glacier close to the tunnel mouth. It was late afternoon. The sky was a deepening melancholy gray, the whole landscape barren and wretched. As we toiled up the last few hundred meters it began to snow, in huge relentless flakes. I felt cold and miserable and hopeless.

Chapter TEN

I found the notebooks in which I'm writing this in the hotel; they were order books used by the restaurant manager, some partly filled with lists - 20 kg Blumenkohl, 1 Kiste Kaffee, 45 kg Kartofeln - "cauliflower, coffee and potatoes" - that sort of thing.

That was about a week after coming here. I'd thought the journey through the tunnel by train tedious, but it was much more so on foot. It was nearly five hours before Pa's flashlight lit up the platform sign, JUNGFRAUJOCH.

Minutes later we stepped out into a dazzling landscape of snow and ice, with the frozen river of a glacier stretched into hazy distance, surrounded by high white peaks. All was empty and lifeless: no animals, no birds, not even an insect. But no people, either, except for ourselves. . . and no Tripods. We stood on the cold roof of the world, rulers - for what it was worth - of all we surveyed.

The purpose of this journey through the tunnel was to see if provisions had been left here, and we struck lucky. The hotel had kept good reserve stocks, apparently against the possibility of the rail line being blocked in winter. There were shelves loaded with cans, bags of flour and sugar, beans and dried fruits and rice. There were even deep-freeze cabinets whose contents, because of the below-zero temperature at this altitude, had stayed frozen after the electricity supply was cut off.

Flashlights and batteries were an important find. We only had two from the gasthaus, which we'd had to keep switching on and off to conserve power, and there were enough in the hotel, in vacuum-sealed packs, to last years. We found candles, and oil lamps, too, and drums of fuel.

In a siding at the station there was a diesel coach, with a charged battery, and after Pa had experimented with the controls we loaded it for the return journey. While he and Yone were making final checks, I showed Andy some of the things I'd seen when I was there before, including a room filled with ice statues. He was fascinated by a life-size ice motorcar, and pointed out it must have been carved more than seventy years ago because it was a model of an early Ford. I thought of how much things like motorcars and airplanes had changed in those seventy years. It was as though mankind had been a surfboarder, riding a high wave of invention. Who could tell what wonders might still have lain ahead? But now, thanks to the Tripods, it had all ended.

During the winter we gradually adjusted to our new life. Although the nearest house was more than ten miles away down the mountain, and the tunnel entrance commanded a good view of the approaches, we took care to leave no traces and to avoid creating recognizable paths in going out and returning.

Yone instructed us in this, and kept a close watch to make sure no one slipped up.

He also instructed us in the use of the skis we took from the hotel ski school. Despite having looked forward to it, I found skiing very difficult to begin with -the sense of losing contact with the earth bothered me - and had plenty of falls. I spent ten days immobilized with a strained thigh muscle. Andy took to it much more quickly, and Rudi, of course, was an experienced skier: I watched him skim down the slopes below the tunnel mouth with admiring frustration. But I slowly got the hang of things, and then found it more exhilarating than anything I'd known.

At the outset we ventured out primarily for recreation - confinement in the tunnel was oppressive - but with the coming of spring we launched more purposeful expeditions. With snow and ice surrounding us all year long, water was never going to be a problem, but Pa decided we should aim at conserving food supplies.

I said, "But there's enough in the hotel to last years!”

Martha asked, "How many years?”

I saw her drawn face in the lamplight and realized fully for the first time that this was no temporary resting place - that she at least expected to end her days here. The Swigram did die, before spring came, not from any particular sickness, perhaps just from missing the Swigramp. We wrapped her body in a blanket and lowered it into a crevasse in the glacier, covering it with snow. We could not. mark the grave, but her body would lie there forever unchanged in the perpetual frost.

A different end from the Swigramp, whose body had burned to ash in the flames that destroyed the home they'd shared, but bodies didn't matter, really. They had both died free.

So we started expeditions to get food. We aimed at isolated houses, travelling long distances to find suitable targets. In some cases we were able to raid larders or take hens or eggs while the owners slept.

But there were times when people wakened and had to be intimidated by the sight of Yone's shotgun.

Fortunately so far we've not had to use it.

It's theft, of course - we have no money to leave if we wanted to but the people we steal from are Capped, and we are as much at war with them as their Tripod masters; On the third expedition we found an un-Capped girl in the house, and stole her, too. She was dubious at first, but eventually agreed to come with us. Her name is Hanna. She's a few months younger than I am, and has yellow hair that's beginning to darken. Her eyebrows are dark already, her eyes deep brown. She speaks English in a husky voice and with a German accent, but it doesn't irritate me the way Ilse's once did.

I find myself getting on with Ilse better all the time. It's difficult to remember how much she used to madden me in England. (I was going to write 'at home', but remembered that this is the only home we now have, or are likely to have.) She took over the cooking from the Swigram and although not as good yet, is improving. And of course, the Swigram didn't have to cook with limited supplies on a primitive oil stove stuck in a tunnel.

On one expedition we found a man living alone, and Pa tried the experiment of removing his Cap.

We had to overpower him, and he cried pitifully afterwards. But when we left he followed, and Pa let him join us. His name is Karl, and he's in his middle twenties. Although physically strong, he can only do simple things, under instruction. At times you find him crying, for no apparent reason. We don't know whether his mind has always been slow, or if it happened because we removed the Cap. But it's something we agreed we would not do again. .

And in fact we couldn't if we wanted to. In late summer a Tripod came to the valley, and stationed itself close by a village called Karaman. From a vantage point we watched what followed. All day long a procession of Capped came to stand by the Tripod's foot. A tentacle lifted them one by one into the belly of the machine, and after some minutes deposited them back on the ground. Through field glasses we could see that in place of the black of the helmets, their heads gleamed silver when they were put down.

It was Andy's guess that, this could signify the replacement of the original Caps with something more permanent, and he was proved right when, on our next trip, we found a man and woman, both silverheaded. The horrifying thing was that the silver part was a metal mesh, which seemed welded into the living flesh. From now on, the Cap, once imposed, was there for life and eventually would crown a skeleton.

That was when Pa decided to adopt a deliberate policy of recruiting young people who were likely to be Capped within the year. We take none by force, though that would be justifiable with such an alternative. For our own security we can't afford to harbour doubters. And so far, of five given the chance, only one, a boy called Hans, has chosen to accept. It is obviously not easy to leave parents, and the comforts of home, to join an unknown band of marauders, but it's depressing that so few are willing.

It seems to me that boys are more ready to take the risk than girls. Two of the four who refused were boys, and both seemed to hesitate, whereas the girls were quite definite about it.

I said something of the sort to Angela, and had my head snapped off. She was as willing to take a risk as any boy, she said, and it was unfair. Pa still refused to let her go on the scouting trips. For that matter, what about Hanna, who'd been the first to join us? In fact, she pointed out, the score was equal between boys and girls as far as recruits went.

"Hanna's different," I said.

''Oh yes, isn't she?" she said scornfully. "Because you fancy her. Well, you're not likely to impress her talking that way.”

I ended the conversation by walking off to my private patch of tunnel, thinking there were times when Angela really was insufferable. She was growing up, of course -she'd had her eighth birthday just before we left England, and her ninth was not far off. I had to admit she was bright, though - a bit brighter, if I were honest, than I'd been at her age. And though her pertness sometimes drove me mad, I reflected, as I cooled down, that in general I found her, too, easier to get on with these days. I made up my mind to organize a trip to the hotel to find a birthday present. I remembered seeing a mirror in one of the rooms which she might like.

Autumn brought snow again, and an end to the days of lying out in the sunshine that burned so fiercely through the thin air. Once more we took to skis and darted across the white untrodden slopes.

And one day, above Karaman, we watched a Tripod pass beneath us. This time it did not stop by the village but crawled on, disappearing round high ground to the east. Just over a week later we saw it again, and Pa looked at his watch.

"The same time, within minutes. I wonder if it's a routine patrol?”

Over subsequent weeks, we studied the Tripod. It was a patrol, and one carried out with monotonous regularity. Every fourth day the Tripod passed below our aerie shortly before eleven in the morning, treading a path that varied as little as the time.

On the fifth occasion we saw it, Pa said, "I wonder what the object is? I suppose, just keeping a general watch over things.”

He wiped away tears with the back of his glove; there was a biting northeast wind, and his eyes were inclined to water.

Andy said, "The way it thumps along, it could set off an avalanche.”

That was something Yone had recently warned us about. The mountain slopes were packed with snow, and an incautious movement could trigger off disaster.

He had been a survivor of an avalanche as a young man - he was dug out of a cabin after days of being buried - and he'd described the horror of it: thousands of tons of snow and rock hurtling down with the speed of an express train and the noise of ten.

Pa said, "Pity it doesn't.”

Something occurred to me. "I wonder. . .”

Pa wiped more tears away. "What?”

"We know it arrives here at the same - time, every fourth day." I looked down the slopes immediately beneath us, heavy with new snow. "What would happen if someone fired a shotgun into that, just as the Tripod was passing underneath?”

Yone, who suffered from rheumatism which sometimes crippled him for days, had not been with us that morning. He closed his eyes, listening to what Pa said.

"It is possible. But not easy to say when avalanche is - ripe, is it? And not easy to guess path it takes.”

"But worth trying?”

Yone paused before replying. "We take care no one finds us, make no tracks. But if we try, and it not work, perhaps. they will come look for us.”

It was something to consider. The Tripods themselves, unwieldy as they were, could not invade our mountain fastness, but they had silver-headed slaves at their disposal in virtually endless numbers. If in failing we showed our hand, they could use them to track us down. And once they did, though we might defend the tunnel entrance for a time, our fate was certain.

For days we argued the question. Martha and Ilse were vehemently against the idea, Yone more calmly opposed. Most of the younger ones were for it, with varying enthusiasm. Angela demanded to be one of the party carrying out the attack. For my part, I thought what Yone had said made sense. I could imagine what it would be like being trapped and besieged in the tunnel. Our present life was not too bad, and you could say we were making progress. With the spring we could start recruiting again. The sensible thing was not to take a risk that might destroy us.

But being sensible wasn't enough. The hatred I felt for the Tripods and what they had done to us was too great. Nor could I abide the thought of huddling here forever like moles, while our enemy stomped arrogantly through the valley I wanted to attack!

Next morning Pa called us together in that part of the cave which was our general meeting place. Oil lamps hung from hooks which Yone had screwed into the rocky ceiling, and an oil stove provided smelly warmth.

He had with him a battery-powered radio we'd found at the hotel, powerful and with six shortwave bands. At the beginning it had been possible to pick up occasional faint voices on it, sometimes too faint for the language to be distinguished. But the voices had died, one by one. It was months since anyone had bothered to listen.

He said, "I stayed up last night, searching the air waves. Nothing but Tripod buzz.”

He was referring to the radio sounds we assumed came from the Tripods, an oscillating noise that didn't seem to have any coherent pattern.

"That doesn’t mean there aren't free men out there. There may be groups without transmitters, or afraid to use them for fear of being traced. But we have to act as though we're on our own, now and for the foreseeable future. We must act, that is, as though we're the last hope of the human race.”

He stopped and wiped, his brow; I saw he was sweating, though it was not all that warm. I looked from his face to Martha's, Ilse's, Yone's. Yone was the only one who seemed unchanged, but he'd always looked ancient. All the rest showed new signs of strain and tiredness. It was easier, I realized, for people of my age to adjust to confinement and hardships, and the lack of comforts, than for old people like them.

"What this means," Pa went on, "is that everything we do is critical. Our first aim has to be self-preservation, but self-preservation isn't enough.

Aiming just at that, we could slip into a routine of caution and playing safe which would progressively weaken us, and eventually destroy us as totally as the Tripods have destroyed our cities. So our second aim must be to fight the Tripods - without much hope for the immediate future, but as a means of keeping hope alive.

"That's why we go out to recruit the young - why we've brought in Hanna and Hans and, God willing, will find more." He wiped his face again. "And that's why I think we must attack this Tripod, even if it means risking our own destruction. My personal instinct is to leave well alone, play safe.

Martha and Ilse and Yone feel the same way. But we're old and overcautious.

The young are for attack, and the young are right.”

Ilse said, "No! Martin, you must listen. . . .”

Pa looked at her with a grim face. "I lead this group. I never saw in myself as a leader, but there it is; in a situation like this, someone has to.

And a leader has to command confidence, and consent. I hope I will always get your consent to things I propose, but if ever I don't you will need to choose someone else.”

A silence followed. Everyone knew there was no one who could take his place. Eventually, when he was too old, someone would, but that was a long time in the future. Maybe Andy, I thought, looking at him across the cave. I looked at Hanna, with the lamplight shining on her hair. Or maybe me. A lot of things had changed, not just in the world outside but in me, to make that believable.

"The day after tomorrow," Pa said. "That's when the Tripod's due again.”

The party consisted of Pa, Andy, and myself. Yone had given us a further warning. Our aim was to start an avalanche below us, but there were slopes above which were also overcharged with snow. The shock might start another, higher up, that could overwhelm us. Setting out, Pa said if we didn't come back the others were to take orders from Martha. He kissed Ilse, holding her a long time.

She came to me then, and said, "Take care, Lowree.”

She was looking at me, and there was a tear on her cheek. She made no move towards me, but I went forward, and kissed her, too. "I will.”

We moved into position on a clear morning, with sunlight sparkling from the peaks and the surface of the lake below. Then came the waiting - only for an hour, but seeming much longer. At one point, on a slope to the west of us, a minor shift of snow looked as though it might be the start of a natural avalanche, but as we held our breaths the slide checked, and all was still again.

Pa looked at his watch for the hundredth time. At that moment, following the same path round a spur of rock as it had on previous occasions, the Tripod came in view, three or four hundred meters below us and more than twice that to the west. Now Pa faced the crucial problem of judging the moment to fire Yone's shotgun.

Rising to his feet, he pointed it at the snow slope. The Tripod was coming on in its awkward skittering motion, a metal spider that had lost all but three of its legs. From up here it looked small, unthreatening.

How deceptive that was! Across the valley to the north we looked at a wasteland of white peaks, but beyond them lay what had been great cities. And the simple reality of this metal beast, stalking unchallenged through a remote alpine valley, was the measure of our humiliation. I thought back to the early days, and Wild Bill talking about Close Encounters of the Absurd Kind.

Whatever bizarre creatures had launched the Tripods, no one had taken them seriously until it was too late.

No, not too late. I wouldn't accept that. As long as even a handful of men and women survived free, hope lived. And Pa was right: we must risk everything to fight them, for without fighting, everything was lost.

I saw his finger crook in the trigger guard. It was too early! The Tripod was a hundred meters short of the point the avalanche would hit. I wanted to cry out, tell him to hold fire. . . . Then the shotgun went off, its thunder shattering the still cold air.

. . . And nothing happened. The snow remained even, undisturbed. Below, the Tripod continued on its twisting way. Pa fired the second barrel, and thunder reverberated again. I heard Andy whisper, "Move! For God's sake, move!" Then slowly, very slowly, the surface rippled, and the snow started to slide.

It gathered speed only gradually, moving at a child's walking pace to begin with. That was when I felt sure that, instead of firing too soon, Pa had left it too late. The Tripod came steadily on, varying neither pace nor path.

It would be past by the time the wave of snow arrived. I felt like weeping with anger and despair.

"Go on! Go on!”

That was Pa. I heard myself echoing him - "Go, go!" - as though urging the mountain, the planet which had borne us, to come to our aid. We were all three crying out, shouting for help to the empty sky: And the avalanche was gathering force, spreading, foaming up out of itself, tossing huge boulders into the air as though they were specks of gravel. It looked as though the whole face of the mountain was on the move.

The sound, as Yone had said, was titanic, a thousand giants bellowing wrath.

Faster and faster it drove, then suddenly seemed to leap and charge forward like a living thing . . . and sweep over the Tripod, burying it. When the avalanche finally came to a halt, an unbroken expanse of snow lay beneath us.

At the beginning of summer I sat outside the cave with Andy and Rudi. We are a united company - we have to be, the way we live - but I get on better with them than with Hans, or Dieter, the boy we recruited -just before Christmas. I like Hanna better still, but that's a different story; not really to do with sitting and idly talking.

We were talking about the Tripods and the avalanche. For weeks after, we waited in apprehension, expecting reprisal or at least response. There was none. We kept constant patrols, but nothing happened, and no new Tripod came.

Then, with the melting of the snow, a patrol - unfortunately I was not on it - witnessed a strange sight. Two Tripods crawled along the valley and approached the spot where the hemisphere of the wrecked one was just beginning to be visible. They probed around it with their tentacles for several minutes, then went back the way they had come. As they disappeared, the wreck erupted in a fount of flame.

I had been arguing that the two must have come in response to some kind of radio beacon. Andy shook his head and said, "Doesn't make sense. Why wait all that time? They must have known something was wrong when it didn't return to base.”

"Knowing something's gone wrong isn't the same as knowing where it's gone wrong. Their transmitter was probably blocked through being under snow. Then, when the snow melted - “

"All they had to do was send another Tripod along the same route to look for it. They didn't.”

”How do we know that? We weren't able to keep watch all the time.”

He paused, but when I thought he'd yielded the point; said, "Because the second Tripod would have left thumping great tracks in the snow, wouldn't it?

I should have thought that was obvious.”

Rudi said while I was trying to think of an answer, "I think they are knowing from the beginning." I asked shortly, "Why?”

"Because they do not take time looking at the wreck. All they do is explode it.”

"So why wait all those months?" Andy came in. "Why not do whatever they were going to do right away?”

Rudi shrugged. "I do not know. All we truly know is how little we know of them. What matters is that now they send no Tripods through the valley. It is not much, but it is better.”

His calmness calmed me. What he said was right. We had managed to destroy one Tripod, and in this small corner of the world, none had replaced it. I remembered the speculation about their coming from a swamp world. Perhaps mountains were unfamiliar to them, and perhaps they would decide they were dangerous and keep away from them in future. It was a small victory, but something to build on. No one spoke for several moments. The sun scorched overhead. Around us the green grass was studded with a dozen different colours of summer flowers, and above, against a strong blue sky, a pair of yellow butterflies slowly waltzed. A lazy day - the sort of day for a game of tennis, a bike ride, fishing maybe. . . then back home to a shower, tea, television. . .

Andy said, "I like the idea of this extended patrol Martin was talking about.”

They all called Pa Martin these days, though certainly not from lack of respect. Everyone listened carefully when he spoke. But he talked to me more than the others, and I called him Pa.

Rudi said, "Yes. We will make more recruits if we go further.”

And yet what a lot there was to build! I could see no end in our lifetimes, perhaps not in centuries. At least, though, we'd made a start. I wondered about those who would come after - if maybe one day three like us would lie on this hillside in the sun, watching butterflies as we were doing, but able also to look towards a day which would see humanity free again.

Our job - my job - was to lay the foundations which could make it happen.

Table of Contents

The White Mountains

The City of Gold and Lead

The Pool of Fire

When the Tripods Came