“We’ve never seen it like this
before.”
That “safe” stronghold, the one place in this alien
and threatening land that they could call home, held them at last,
had sheltered them now for several days. But conditions, Nick was
quick to discover, were far from what the English had earlier
faced. In the pile of thumbled rocks that masked the entrance to
their hideout they had a sentry post. He now shared it with
Crocker.
“We can’t hunt or fish—not now,” the pilot
continued.
For the land was no longer seemingly deserted as the refugees
had led Nick to believe was generally the case. It was rather as if
a sweep was coming from the north, bringing past their place of
concealment a tide of drifters.
Though they expected to see the drifters harassed by the
saucers, there had been no sighting of those. Just the bands, which
moved with unslacking determination as if they fled from fear. And
the sight of them made the watchers uneasy. Yet they were not ready
to desert their own stronghold.
The foundation of their refuge was a natural cave but it had
been enlarged, embellished by the hand of man or some other
intelligence. Walls had been smoothed. On their surfaces were
incised lines, some filled in with ancient paint to make the
designs fully visible.
There was light, too. A kind that puzzled Nick more than the
rock paintings, for such as those were to be found in his own
world. But these rods, based in the native stone, yet bearing on
their tips flares of blue light, were of a civilization far more
advanced technically than one that would have used caves for
dwellings.
These lights were oddly controlled also. There was no apparent
switch—one thought them alight! You need only face one of
the slender rods, wish for a light, and the flames, like those of
giant candles, flared aloft.
The patterns on the walls and the lights were the mysteries of
this world. The rest was what the refugees had brought—beds of
dried grass and leaves, a fireplace of small rocks, wooden bowls
and spoons Stroud had carved, having the knowledge a hobby
supplied. They were cave dwellers surrounded by the remnants of a
vastly more advanced civilization. But so easily defended was the
way into their stronghold, so safe its atmosphere, they clung to
it.
If the land continued so occupied, Nick could understand
Crocker’s concern. Food supplies were dwindling, even though
they had stocked up well in the days when this land had been their
own. One could not hunt or fish and be constantly alert for
attack.
They had been pent-up for two days now, unable to venture out
because of the drifters. Those did not appear even to rest at
night. Twice in the one just past they had witnessed flickerings of
lights out there. Nick was impatient. They ought to do
something—find out what was going on.
He had depended upon the English for guidance. Only an utterly
stupid person would plunge ahead without learning what he might
have to face. But, within the past few hours, he was sure they were
just as baffled as he, that this mass migration was new.
Ill assorted, the drifters were. It was, Nick thought, like
watching the flow of history stirred into a weird mixture. He had
seen Indians once. And later three men with long-barreled rifles
and the fringed hunting shirts of the early colonial frontier. But
there were others—a party of bowmen with steel helmets accompanying
two armored knights. And another band, this one with women (who
were always rare), also in armor but of a far earlier period, the
helmets topped with brushes of red-dyed bristles, bronze-embossed
shields on their arms.
Stroud had slithered out that morning, using rocks and brush as
cover. The Warden was, Nick gathered, the only one who appeared to
have the ability to scout, limited as that might be. It was his
intention to reach the river to the east and judge the traffic
around it.
Though the cave had been their headquarters ever since they had
first chanced upon it and they had other refuges, such as the camp
by the lake and the farmhouse, they had never intended to make any
of these a permanent base.
Their plans had been to reach the sea and, if possible (which
sounded hardly probable), find transportation back to their own
land. In pursuit of this general plan they had begun work some time
ago on a raft at the river, but had been forced to hide the results
of their labor when there had been sudden saucer activity near that
point.
Now Stroud was to discover if that section were still patrolled,
or if they could hope that the movement of drifters had drawn the
flyers after them. If so, and they could not wait out the
migration, then the raft on the river might mean escape. It seemed
a very slender hope to Nick, but he knew that they held to it.
The city continued to haunt his own thoughts. If one could just
learn the secret of getting in—
“I’m going to the back post and relieve Jean,”
Crocker said. “Lady Diana will be here shortly.”
The pilot was gone, Nick was alone. He was glad of that. Crocker
was all right, but Nick knew that the pilot did not warm toward
him, any more than Nick himself would have sought out Crocker back
home. It was plain that the Englishman had problems, which kept him
in a sullen, brooding state, and he did not welcome strange
company.
Now the Vicar—Nick could warm to him. And he understood Stroud.
The Warden reminded him vividly of several men he had known, the
last being Coach Heffner at high school. Mrs. Clapp—he smiled—and
Jean—but he was sure Jean had an eye only for Crocker. He wished
her well in that direction but success seemed dubious.
Lady Diana was manager whether they welcomed it or not. She was
one you would have to reckon with if you crossed her.
Linda—he thought about Linda. Before they met the English, they
had drawn together. Afterward, she had become more quickly absorbed
in the other group than he had. And, following their adventure in
the wood, she had avoided him. He had made no attempt to close the
gap she had opened. Linda was all right, but he certainly was not
going to make any effort to know her better. Just because they were
fellow victims did not mean they were thereby joined in a
relationship.
Nick tensed—movement out there, a shaking of bush not caused by
any wind. During his sentry tours Nick had seen animals on the move
also, disturbed by drifters.
And the animals had sometimes been grotesque. There were the
light-colored deer, and twice wolves, giant ones as large as a
small pony. Rabbits of a very ordinary type had come and a flock of
wild turkeys. But there had been a pair of nightmare forms as weird
as the two he had seen with the Green Man. Each had four limbs and
a body not unlike that of a giant cat, though the fur was more like
deerskin, and a long neck ending in the head of a beaked bird, an
eagle, scaled instead of furred or feathered. From the shoulders
had sprouted membranous wings like those of a bat, plainly too
small and weak to support the bulk of the body. In the open the
creatures stretched their wings with a clapping sound.
He described these two to Hadlett, and the Vicar nodded as if he
recognized such an impossible mixture of bird and beast.
“An opinicus—”
“A what?”
“A fabulous beast used in heraldry. Just as the two you
met in the forest were a yale and an enfield.”
“But—” Nick was completely bewildered. He had an
idea that heraldry had something to do with shields, coats-of-arms,
the designs used in the Middle Ages to identify knights in battle,
and used nowadays as a form of snobbery to make wall plaques, mugs,
designs on stationery. But living animals—
“Yes,” The Vicar continued. “Imagined beasts
do not roam the countryside. But here they do! They are allied to
the People and show no interest in us, unless they are directed to
do so. Fortunately that seldom happens.”
Now as Nick watched the movement down slope he speculated as to
what might appear, a normal animal he could name, or one of the
weird companions of the People. But what flowed out, with the
sinuous grace of his species, was Jeremiah. The cat was
experiencing some difficulty, having to keep his head at an angle
unnatural for him, for he had mouthed and was drawing along a large
bird. Twice on his way up the slope he had to pause to take a fresh
hold. But his determination to bring in his catch never
faltered.
He finally reached Nick and dropped his burden. His eyes fixed
upon the man, he gave a warning growl. The limp bundle of now dusty
feathers was vividly colored. Some of the long tail pinions were
bent and broken. It seemed about the size of a chicken, but its
plumage was far removed from the barnyard fowls Nick had known.
“Good catch,” Nick observed. “You’re a
better hunter, Jeremiah, than we’ve been lately.”
The cat lay down on his side, his forepaws outstretched. Now he
dropped his head on these and gave a visible sigh. It was plain his
endurance had been taxed by the effort of bringing home the fruits
of his hunting. Nick put out a hand toward the bird, watching
Jeremiah for any sign of resentment. But the cat merely watched
him, did not again assert ownership.
He had killed the bird cleanly, there was not even any outward
sign of a wound. Nick smoothed out the bedraggled plumage in
wonder. The colors were as brilliant as those of a parrot, yet
blended into one another in a subtle fashion. He was reminded of
the glory of the Herald’s tabard.
The Herald—holding the bird Nick no longer saw it. He was rather
remembering that long moment in the farmhouse when he was sure the
Herald had known he stood behind the window. And his thoughts moved
to his own—well, you could not call it a plan—idea of somehow
getting the Herald to use as a key to the city.
But the trouble was he would have to know so much more about the
Herald himself. And Nick was well aware that such discussion was
taboo as far as the English were concerned. Only Hadlett had given
him bits and pieces, never as much as he needed to know, always
changing the subject when he tried to find out more about the
enigmatic master of the city. Was he master there, or a
servant messenger? The status of the Herald could have a distinct
bearing on what Nick wanted to do. If he only knew—
Hadlett had warned him that he and Linda would be the target for
an offer. But so far that had not happened. And holed up here as
they were now, how could it? If Nick could meet the Herald, perhaps
he could learn for himself—But if a saucer attack could not
trouble that alien, what could he do?
The need for action continued to gnaw at him. He did not believe
they could indefinitely hide out here in the present state of the
country. And what if whatever was driving the drifters south did
arrive? The very flimsy hope of escaping via the raft was no hope
at all, he was sure, rather a delusion that might prove fatal. No,
the city was safe—
Nick was so certain of that that his very surety was a surprise.
He had played with the idea ever since he had seen those glittering
towers, but this was absolute conviction.
A soft rub against his hand. Jeremiah must want his trophy. But
when Nick looked down at the cat, the animal had not reached for
the bird at all. Rather he rubbed his head back and forth against
Nick’s hand and arm, and he was purring.
“Good boy!” Nick scratched behind the gray ears,
rubbed along the furred jaw line. “You agree with me,
don’t you?”
The question had been asked in jest, but at that moment he knew
he spoke the truth. Once more Jeremiah had reached into his
thoughts, and the cat was agreeing in the way he could best express
himself.
Nick’s hand slipped gently under the jaw, urged
Jeremiah’s head up, so he could meet those wide eyes
straightly. “How much do you
know—understand—Jeremiah?”
The cat’s reaction was swift and sharp. A paw flashed up,
claws raked across Nick’s wrist. He jerked back. Plainly he
had taken an unallowable liberty. There was a warning growl and
Jeremiah once more mouthed the bird, pushed around Nick, and
vanished into the cave. Again Nick was left unable to judge what
was the truth, what imagination. He must ask Linda about Lung—did
the Peke also give her the impression that here he was able to
communicate if he wished?
He was still staring after Jeremiah when Lady Diana scrambled
up.
“Anything to report?” she asked directly.
“Nothing except Jeremiah coming back with a big
bird.”
“That cat! Maude is right under his paw, which is where
every cat wants you. Though I will admit he seems able to sniff out
any of the People—”
“The Herald, too?” Nick asked.
She studied him. “What about the Herald?” There was
a hostile note in her voice.
“Does Jeremiah know when he is around?”
“Now that”—his question appeared to be a
surprise—“I don’t know. He can point out one of the
People whether we see them at first or not. But the Herald—Why are
you so interested?”
“It would seem he’s such good security, I just
wondered.”
“Ask Maude, she knows everything knowable about that
animal. Your food is waiting, you had better get to it before
it’s cold.”
“Yes, m’lady!” Nick sketched a half-salute,
giving her the address Stroud used, and scrambled down into the
cave entrance so well masked by the jumble of rocks.
He found Linda on K.P. duty. Mrs. Clapp was some distance away,
Jeremiah’s trophy laid across one knee, stroking the
cat’s head and telling him what a brave, smart boy he was.
Jeremiah accepted this praise complacently, with a feline’s
estimate of his own worth.
Nick picked up a bowl and went to where Linda was stirring a pot
sitting on a pier of stones over the fire. Lung was beside her, his
head cocked a little to one side, apparently intent on watching the
flames.
“Linda, have you noticed anything different about
Lung?”
“Lung?” She had taken Nick’s bowl to fill it
from the pot. But she turned her head quickly to look down at the
small dog. “What’s the matter? Lung?”
At his name he sat up on his haunches, waving both small
forepaws in the air, and gave a soft bark.
“Has—” Now that Nick was prepared to ask his
question it sounded improbable. He could have imagined
Jeremiah’s response. No, he had not! Gathering courage from
that, he continued. “Has Lung given you the impression that
he understands—well, what you are thinking?”
“What I am thinking?” she echoed. Now she turned her
attention from the Peke to Nick. “No,” she said as if
to herself. “You really mean that, don’t you? I told
you—Pekes have a very high intelligence. He could always make me
understand things—”
“That’s not what I meant—” began Nick when she
interrupted.
“I know. You mean—like telepathy, don’t you? Why do
you ask? Has Lung been reading your mind?” She might have
asked that derisively, but he thought her tone was rather one of
deep interest.
“No. But I think that Jeremiah has.”
“Jeremiah!” Linda gazed beyond the fire at the cat
curled up now at Mrs. Clapp’s feet, and her expression was
not altogether approving. “They keep telling me, Jean and
Mrs. Clapp, about how wonderful that cat is, how he can let them
know when there’s any of the People around, or a bad
influence, or something like that. You’d think he was a
marvel. Now you come and tell me that he can read minds! I think
you’re all crazy!”
“But,” Nick persisted, “have you tried finding
out if there is any change in Lung?”
“You mean there might be something in this place that does
produce mind reading and all that? But why not us, then, instead of
the animals?”
“I don’t know.” He had to answer with the
truth.
“Lung.” Linda shoved the filled bowl into
Nick’s hands. Her attention was on the Peke.
“Lung—”
The dog gave another soft bark, put his front paws on her knee
as she sat down cross-legged and held out her hands to him.
Gathering him up, she held him as Nick had seen her do before, with
those bulbous dark eyes on a level with her own. “Lung, can
you read my mind?”
Nick watched them. Was she serious with that question, or was it
a jeer aimed at him?
Linda was silent, staring intently into the Peke’s eyes.
The dog made a dart with his head, his tongue went out to lick her
chin. The girl gave a muffled exclamation, pulled him tightly
against her until he woofed in protest.
“You—you are right. Lung knows.”
“How can you tell?” Nick demanded. Now all his own
objections to such a belief came to life again. He did not want
confirmation, he realized, he wanted denial.
“I know.” She did not enlarge on that.
“Nick—we have to get away—back home!”
She sounded so afraid Nick was once more startled. It was as if
during that long moment of confrontation with Lung she had learned
something that made her whole world unsafe.
“We can’t very well leave now,” he pointed
out. “You know as well as I do what we’d run into out
there.”
“They—” Linda’s voice became a whisper.
“Their plan for hiding out here—Nick—that can’t go on
much longer. The food is very low. And as for going down river on a
raft—” The note in her voice underlined her honest opinion of
that. “Nick, whatever, whoever is chasing all the drifters
we’ve seen, it’s got to be something everyone has good
reason to fear. If we just stay on here—Nick, we
can’t!”
Those were his own thoughts put into words. But would she accept
his only other suggestion—the city?
“Nick, if we went back—right back to where we were when it
all began, do you think we could get back to our own
world?”
He shook his head. “There was a history of disappearances
in our world for a long time—and no returns. It could not be for
want of trying, I’m sure of that.”
She leaned forward so her cheek was against the Peke’s
soft fur. Her hair was tied back with the red yarn still, but a
piece of it was loose enough to fall over her eyes like a half
veil.
“Nick, I’m scared! I’m scared the worst
I’ve ever been in my life.”
“I think we all are. I know I am.” He matched her
frankness. “But we’ve got to hold on. I think
here, if you lose your grip, you’re really
lost.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m the most afraid of now,
Nick. They—Jean—Mrs. Clapp, Lady Diana—they all seem to be just
able to take it and it doesn’t matter. Mrs. Clapp—she’s old and thinks that this is like a test of her belief
that being good will help a person. She’s talked to me about
it. And Lady Diana, all her life she’s been fighting for
things—Mrs. Clapp told me about her, too. She’s done a lot
for the village where she lived. She sort of bullies people into
doing what they should. I can’t imagine her being afraid. And
Jean—you know, Nick, she’s in love with Barry. As long as
she’s near him and all’s right as far as he is
concerned, then she doesn’t care about anything else. All
that hurts her is that he still wants Rita—
“But not one of them is afraid the way I am. And, Nick,
I’m so afraid I am going to break wide open, and then all of
them will despise me.” Her head sank lower and the lock of
hair now hid most of her features.
“Not one of them will!” Nick tried to find the right
words. “You’re wrong, Linda. If you could read
minds, I’d swear to it you’d find every one of them has
a limit of control. Maybe they haven’t reached it yet—but
it’s there. You’re hinting we ought to go by ourselves?
But we have a better chance of sticking it out here, at least for
now.”
“I suppose so,” she agreed dully. “But I wish—No, I can’t let myself wish, can I? I have to accept
what’s here and now and go on from there. But, Nick, we
can’t possibly stay here and starve. What can we do?”
Before he could control his tongue he answered:
“There’s the city—”
“The city? What do you mean?”
“That’s really safe—at least from the saucers. We
saw that proven.” Now he was driven to get her reaction to
his half-plan. “Suppose we could get into the
city—”
“We can, easily enough. Accept the Herald’s bargain,
as Rita did. But, Nick, the way they talk about that—there must be
something terrible happens when you do.”
“Not the bargain, Linda. But suppose we were able to
follow the Herald in somehow. Or get out of him how to do
it.” Nick’s plan was still only a suggestion to which
his thoughts continued to turn.
“I don’t believe you could.” Linda replied so
flatly he was momentarily deflated. Then he reacted to the
deflation as swiftly, with the determination that he would at least
try. But he would not give her the satisfaction of a protest.
Instead he started eating.
“Are you going to try something like that?” His
silence appeared to irritate her.
Nick shrugged. “How can I? At the present time I
don’t see any chance.”
“Of course not! And there never was!” With that
parting shot she arose and walked over to join Mrs. Clapp who was
plucking the feathers from Jeremiah’s addition to their
larder.
Nick finished the stew, washed his bowl in the dribble of water
that came out of the wall in one of the small alcoves cut in the
cave, a dribble that found its way out again along a trough
chiseled in the floor. But he set the bowl down there and did not
return to the center portion of the cave. Instead he edged along
through a narrow slit Crocker had earlier pointed out, one indeed
too narrow for Stroud to negotiate, which led to another cave and a
passage, and finally a very narrow opening on the world.
Just now Nick wanted no company, rather a chance to think
without interruption. He had a puzzle. Perhaps it could not be
solved, perhaps it could. But it must be faced and struggled
with.
Nick worked his way up to that slit opening on the world. But,
as he placed his hand on the side of the opening to steady himself,
earth and a stone gave way under his weight. He snapped on the
flash from his belt and under its bright light he could see where
other stones had been rammed in to close an opening once much
larger. Those stones were no longer so well bedded, they could be
worked out with a little effort.
He began to pick and pull, laying the flashlight on a projection
of the wall to give him light. The barrier needed only a little
loosening. He would crawl out to prove that and then wall it up
more securely.
Nick thrust with his shoulders, kicked and wriggled. Then he was
out. It was only in that moment when he had achieved his purpose
that he became aware of more than the action that had absorbed him.
Crouched, his hands on the ground, his back hunched, he looked down
the slope.
A cloud shielded the brilliance of the sun. But it could not dim
the splash of color there. As he slowly rose to his feet, Nick saw
he had his perhaps dangerous wish. It was the Herald.
“We’ve never seen it like this
before.”
That “safe” stronghold, the one place in this alien
and threatening land that they could call home, held them at last,
had sheltered them now for several days. But conditions, Nick was
quick to discover, were far from what the English had earlier
faced. In the pile of thumbled rocks that masked the entrance to
their hideout they had a sentry post. He now shared it with
Crocker.
“We can’t hunt or fish—not now,” the pilot
continued.
For the land was no longer seemingly deserted as the refugees
had led Nick to believe was generally the case. It was rather as if
a sweep was coming from the north, bringing past their place of
concealment a tide of drifters.
Though they expected to see the drifters harassed by the
saucers, there had been no sighting of those. Just the bands, which
moved with unslacking determination as if they fled from fear. And
the sight of them made the watchers uneasy. Yet they were not ready
to desert their own stronghold.
The foundation of their refuge was a natural cave but it had
been enlarged, embellished by the hand of man or some other
intelligence. Walls had been smoothed. On their surfaces were
incised lines, some filled in with ancient paint to make the
designs fully visible.
There was light, too. A kind that puzzled Nick more than the
rock paintings, for such as those were to be found in his own
world. But these rods, based in the native stone, yet bearing on
their tips flares of blue light, were of a civilization far more
advanced technically than one that would have used caves for
dwellings.
These lights were oddly controlled also. There was no apparent
switch—one thought them alight! You need only face one of
the slender rods, wish for a light, and the flames, like those of
giant candles, flared aloft.
The patterns on the walls and the lights were the mysteries of
this world. The rest was what the refugees had brought—beds of
dried grass and leaves, a fireplace of small rocks, wooden bowls
and spoons Stroud had carved, having the knowledge a hobby
supplied. They were cave dwellers surrounded by the remnants of a
vastly more advanced civilization. But so easily defended was the
way into their stronghold, so safe its atmosphere, they clung to
it.
If the land continued so occupied, Nick could understand
Crocker’s concern. Food supplies were dwindling, even though
they had stocked up well in the days when this land had been their
own. One could not hunt or fish and be constantly alert for
attack.
They had been pent-up for two days now, unable to venture out
because of the drifters. Those did not appear even to rest at
night. Twice in the one just past they had witnessed flickerings of
lights out there. Nick was impatient. They ought to do
something—find out what was going on.
He had depended upon the English for guidance. Only an utterly
stupid person would plunge ahead without learning what he might
have to face. But, within the past few hours, he was sure they were
just as baffled as he, that this mass migration was new.
Ill assorted, the drifters were. It was, Nick thought, like
watching the flow of history stirred into a weird mixture. He had
seen Indians once. And later three men with long-barreled rifles
and the fringed hunting shirts of the early colonial frontier. But
there were others—a party of bowmen with steel helmets accompanying
two armored knights. And another band, this one with women (who
were always rare), also in armor but of a far earlier period, the
helmets topped with brushes of red-dyed bristles, bronze-embossed
shields on their arms.
Stroud had slithered out that morning, using rocks and brush as
cover. The Warden was, Nick gathered, the only one who appeared to
have the ability to scout, limited as that might be. It was his
intention to reach the river to the east and judge the traffic
around it.
Though the cave had been their headquarters ever since they had
first chanced upon it and they had other refuges, such as the camp
by the lake and the farmhouse, they had never intended to make any
of these a permanent base.
Their plans had been to reach the sea and, if possible (which
sounded hardly probable), find transportation back to their own
land. In pursuit of this general plan they had begun work some time
ago on a raft at the river, but had been forced to hide the results
of their labor when there had been sudden saucer activity near that
point.
Now Stroud was to discover if that section were still patrolled,
or if they could hope that the movement of drifters had drawn the
flyers after them. If so, and they could not wait out the
migration, then the raft on the river might mean escape. It seemed
a very slender hope to Nick, but he knew that they held to it.
The city continued to haunt his own thoughts. If one could just
learn the secret of getting in—
“I’m going to the back post and relieve Jean,”
Crocker said. “Lady Diana will be here shortly.”
The pilot was gone, Nick was alone. He was glad of that. Crocker
was all right, but Nick knew that the pilot did not warm toward
him, any more than Nick himself would have sought out Crocker back
home. It was plain that the Englishman had problems, which kept him
in a sullen, brooding state, and he did not welcome strange
company.
Now the Vicar—Nick could warm to him. And he understood Stroud.
The Warden reminded him vividly of several men he had known, the
last being Coach Heffner at high school. Mrs. Clapp—he smiled—and
Jean—but he was sure Jean had an eye only for Crocker. He wished
her well in that direction but success seemed dubious.
Lady Diana was manager whether they welcomed it or not. She was
one you would have to reckon with if you crossed her.
Linda—he thought about Linda. Before they met the English, they
had drawn together. Afterward, she had become more quickly absorbed
in the other group than he had. And, following their adventure in
the wood, she had avoided him. He had made no attempt to close the
gap she had opened. Linda was all right, but he certainly was not
going to make any effort to know her better. Just because they were
fellow victims did not mean they were thereby joined in a
relationship.
Nick tensed—movement out there, a shaking of bush not caused by
any wind. During his sentry tours Nick had seen animals on the move
also, disturbed by drifters.
And the animals had sometimes been grotesque. There were the
light-colored deer, and twice wolves, giant ones as large as a
small pony. Rabbits of a very ordinary type had come and a flock of
wild turkeys. But there had been a pair of nightmare forms as weird
as the two he had seen with the Green Man. Each had four limbs and
a body not unlike that of a giant cat, though the fur was more like
deerskin, and a long neck ending in the head of a beaked bird, an
eagle, scaled instead of furred or feathered. From the shoulders
had sprouted membranous wings like those of a bat, plainly too
small and weak to support the bulk of the body. In the open the
creatures stretched their wings with a clapping sound.
He described these two to Hadlett, and the Vicar nodded as if he
recognized such an impossible mixture of bird and beast.
“An opinicus—”
“A what?”
“A fabulous beast used in heraldry. Just as the two you
met in the forest were a yale and an enfield.”
“But—” Nick was completely bewildered. He had an
idea that heraldry had something to do with shields, coats-of-arms,
the designs used in the Middle Ages to identify knights in battle,
and used nowadays as a form of snobbery to make wall plaques, mugs,
designs on stationery. But living animals—
“Yes,” The Vicar continued. “Imagined beasts
do not roam the countryside. But here they do! They are allied to
the People and show no interest in us, unless they are directed to
do so. Fortunately that seldom happens.”
Now as Nick watched the movement down slope he speculated as to
what might appear, a normal animal he could name, or one of the
weird companions of the People. But what flowed out, with the
sinuous grace of his species, was Jeremiah. The cat was
experiencing some difficulty, having to keep his head at an angle
unnatural for him, for he had mouthed and was drawing along a large
bird. Twice on his way up the slope he had to pause to take a fresh
hold. But his determination to bring in his catch never
faltered.
He finally reached Nick and dropped his burden. His eyes fixed
upon the man, he gave a warning growl. The limp bundle of now dusty
feathers was vividly colored. Some of the long tail pinions were
bent and broken. It seemed about the size of a chicken, but its
plumage was far removed from the barnyard fowls Nick had known.
“Good catch,” Nick observed. “You’re a
better hunter, Jeremiah, than we’ve been lately.”
The cat lay down on his side, his forepaws outstretched. Now he
dropped his head on these and gave a visible sigh. It was plain his
endurance had been taxed by the effort of bringing home the fruits
of his hunting. Nick put out a hand toward the bird, watching
Jeremiah for any sign of resentment. But the cat merely watched
him, did not again assert ownership.
He had killed the bird cleanly, there was not even any outward
sign of a wound. Nick smoothed out the bedraggled plumage in
wonder. The colors were as brilliant as those of a parrot, yet
blended into one another in a subtle fashion. He was reminded of
the glory of the Herald’s tabard.
The Herald—holding the bird Nick no longer saw it. He was rather
remembering that long moment in the farmhouse when he was sure the
Herald had known he stood behind the window. And his thoughts moved
to his own—well, you could not call it a plan—idea of somehow
getting the Herald to use as a key to the city.
But the trouble was he would have to know so much more about the
Herald himself. And Nick was well aware that such discussion was
taboo as far as the English were concerned. Only Hadlett had given
him bits and pieces, never as much as he needed to know, always
changing the subject when he tried to find out more about the
enigmatic master of the city. Was he master there, or a
servant messenger? The status of the Herald could have a distinct
bearing on what Nick wanted to do. If he only knew—
Hadlett had warned him that he and Linda would be the target for
an offer. But so far that had not happened. And holed up here as
they were now, how could it? If Nick could meet the Herald, perhaps
he could learn for himself—But if a saucer attack could not
trouble that alien, what could he do?
The need for action continued to gnaw at him. He did not believe
they could indefinitely hide out here in the present state of the
country. And what if whatever was driving the drifters south did
arrive? The very flimsy hope of escaping via the raft was no hope
at all, he was sure, rather a delusion that might prove fatal. No,
the city was safe—
Nick was so certain of that that his very surety was a surprise.
He had played with the idea ever since he had seen those glittering
towers, but this was absolute conviction.
A soft rub against his hand. Jeremiah must want his trophy. But
when Nick looked down at the cat, the animal had not reached for
the bird at all. Rather he rubbed his head back and forth against
Nick’s hand and arm, and he was purring.
“Good boy!” Nick scratched behind the gray ears,
rubbed along the furred jaw line. “You agree with me,
don’t you?”
The question had been asked in jest, but at that moment he knew
he spoke the truth. Once more Jeremiah had reached into his
thoughts, and the cat was agreeing in the way he could best express
himself.
Nick’s hand slipped gently under the jaw, urged
Jeremiah’s head up, so he could meet those wide eyes
straightly. “How much do you
know—understand—Jeremiah?”
The cat’s reaction was swift and sharp. A paw flashed up,
claws raked across Nick’s wrist. He jerked back. Plainly he
had taken an unallowable liberty. There was a warning growl and
Jeremiah once more mouthed the bird, pushed around Nick, and
vanished into the cave. Again Nick was left unable to judge what
was the truth, what imagination. He must ask Linda about Lung—did
the Peke also give her the impression that here he was able to
communicate if he wished?
He was still staring after Jeremiah when Lady Diana scrambled
up.
“Anything to report?” she asked directly.
“Nothing except Jeremiah coming back with a big
bird.”
“That cat! Maude is right under his paw, which is where
every cat wants you. Though I will admit he seems able to sniff out
any of the People—”
“The Herald, too?” Nick asked.
She studied him. “What about the Herald?” There was
a hostile note in her voice.
“Does Jeremiah know when he is around?”
“Now that”—his question appeared to be a
surprise—“I don’t know. He can point out one of the
People whether we see them at first or not. But the Herald—Why are
you so interested?”
“It would seem he’s such good security, I just
wondered.”
“Ask Maude, she knows everything knowable about that
animal. Your food is waiting, you had better get to it before
it’s cold.”
“Yes, m’lady!” Nick sketched a half-salute,
giving her the address Stroud used, and scrambled down into the
cave entrance so well masked by the jumble of rocks.
He found Linda on K.P. duty. Mrs. Clapp was some distance away,
Jeremiah’s trophy laid across one knee, stroking the
cat’s head and telling him what a brave, smart boy he was.
Jeremiah accepted this praise complacently, with a feline’s
estimate of his own worth.
Nick picked up a bowl and went to where Linda was stirring a pot
sitting on a pier of stones over the fire. Lung was beside her, his
head cocked a little to one side, apparently intent on watching the
flames.
“Linda, have you noticed anything different about
Lung?”
“Lung?” She had taken Nick’s bowl to fill it
from the pot. But she turned her head quickly to look down at the
small dog. “What’s the matter? Lung?”
At his name he sat up on his haunches, waving both small
forepaws in the air, and gave a soft bark.
“Has—” Now that Nick was prepared to ask his
question it sounded improbable. He could have imagined
Jeremiah’s response. No, he had not! Gathering courage from
that, he continued. “Has Lung given you the impression that
he understands—well, what you are thinking?”
“What I am thinking?” she echoed. Now she turned her
attention from the Peke to Nick. “No,” she said as if
to herself. “You really mean that, don’t you? I told
you—Pekes have a very high intelligence. He could always make me
understand things—”
“That’s not what I meant—” began Nick when she
interrupted.
“I know. You mean—like telepathy, don’t you? Why do
you ask? Has Lung been reading your mind?” She might have
asked that derisively, but he thought her tone was rather one of
deep interest.
“No. But I think that Jeremiah has.”
“Jeremiah!” Linda gazed beyond the fire at the cat
curled up now at Mrs. Clapp’s feet, and her expression was
not altogether approving. “They keep telling me, Jean and
Mrs. Clapp, about how wonderful that cat is, how he can let them
know when there’s any of the People around, or a bad
influence, or something like that. You’d think he was a
marvel. Now you come and tell me that he can read minds! I think
you’re all crazy!”
“But,” Nick persisted, “have you tried finding
out if there is any change in Lung?”
“You mean there might be something in this place that does
produce mind reading and all that? But why not us, then, instead of
the animals?”
“I don’t know.” He had to answer with the
truth.
“Lung.” Linda shoved the filled bowl into
Nick’s hands. Her attention was on the Peke.
“Lung—”
The dog gave another soft bark, put his front paws on her knee
as she sat down cross-legged and held out her hands to him.
Gathering him up, she held him as Nick had seen her do before, with
those bulbous dark eyes on a level with her own. “Lung, can
you read my mind?”
Nick watched them. Was she serious with that question, or was it
a jeer aimed at him?
Linda was silent, staring intently into the Peke’s eyes.
The dog made a dart with his head, his tongue went out to lick her
chin. The girl gave a muffled exclamation, pulled him tightly
against her until he woofed in protest.
“You—you are right. Lung knows.”
“How can you tell?” Nick demanded. Now all his own
objections to such a belief came to life again. He did not want
confirmation, he realized, he wanted denial.
“I know.” She did not enlarge on that.
“Nick—we have to get away—back home!”
She sounded so afraid Nick was once more startled. It was as if
during that long moment of confrontation with Lung she had learned
something that made her whole world unsafe.
“We can’t very well leave now,” he pointed
out. “You know as well as I do what we’d run into out
there.”
“They—” Linda’s voice became a whisper.
“Their plan for hiding out here—Nick—that can’t go on
much longer. The food is very low. And as for going down river on a
raft—” The note in her voice underlined her honest opinion of
that. “Nick, whatever, whoever is chasing all the drifters
we’ve seen, it’s got to be something everyone has good
reason to fear. If we just stay on here—Nick, we
can’t!”
Those were his own thoughts put into words. But would she accept
his only other suggestion—the city?
“Nick, if we went back—right back to where we were when it
all began, do you think we could get back to our own
world?”
He shook his head. “There was a history of disappearances
in our world for a long time—and no returns. It could not be for
want of trying, I’m sure of that.”
She leaned forward so her cheek was against the Peke’s
soft fur. Her hair was tied back with the red yarn still, but a
piece of it was loose enough to fall over her eyes like a half
veil.
“Nick, I’m scared! I’m scared the worst
I’ve ever been in my life.”
“I think we all are. I know I am.” He matched her
frankness. “But we’ve got to hold on. I think
here, if you lose your grip, you’re really
lost.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m the most afraid of now,
Nick. They—Jean—Mrs. Clapp, Lady Diana—they all seem to be just
able to take it and it doesn’t matter. Mrs. Clapp—she’s old and thinks that this is like a test of her belief
that being good will help a person. She’s talked to me about
it. And Lady Diana, all her life she’s been fighting for
things—Mrs. Clapp told me about her, too. She’s done a lot
for the village where she lived. She sort of bullies people into
doing what they should. I can’t imagine her being afraid. And
Jean—you know, Nick, she’s in love with Barry. As long as
she’s near him and all’s right as far as he is
concerned, then she doesn’t care about anything else. All
that hurts her is that he still wants Rita—
“But not one of them is afraid the way I am. And, Nick,
I’m so afraid I am going to break wide open, and then all of
them will despise me.” Her head sank lower and the lock of
hair now hid most of her features.
“Not one of them will!” Nick tried to find the right
words. “You’re wrong, Linda. If you could read
minds, I’d swear to it you’d find every one of them has
a limit of control. Maybe they haven’t reached it yet—but
it’s there. You’re hinting we ought to go by ourselves?
But we have a better chance of sticking it out here, at least for
now.”
“I suppose so,” she agreed dully. “But I wish—No, I can’t let myself wish, can I? I have to accept
what’s here and now and go on from there. But, Nick, we
can’t possibly stay here and starve. What can we do?”
Before he could control his tongue he answered:
“There’s the city—”
“The city? What do you mean?”
“That’s really safe—at least from the saucers. We
saw that proven.” Now he was driven to get her reaction to
his half-plan. “Suppose we could get into the
city—”
“We can, easily enough. Accept the Herald’s bargain,
as Rita did. But, Nick, the way they talk about that—there must be
something terrible happens when you do.”
“Not the bargain, Linda. But suppose we were able to
follow the Herald in somehow. Or get out of him how to do
it.” Nick’s plan was still only a suggestion to which
his thoughts continued to turn.
“I don’t believe you could.” Linda replied so
flatly he was momentarily deflated. Then he reacted to the
deflation as swiftly, with the determination that he would at least
try. But he would not give her the satisfaction of a protest.
Instead he started eating.
“Are you going to try something like that?” His
silence appeared to irritate her.
Nick shrugged. “How can I? At the present time I
don’t see any chance.”
“Of course not! And there never was!” With that
parting shot she arose and walked over to join Mrs. Clapp who was
plucking the feathers from Jeremiah’s addition to their
larder.
Nick finished the stew, washed his bowl in the dribble of water
that came out of the wall in one of the small alcoves cut in the
cave, a dribble that found its way out again along a trough
chiseled in the floor. But he set the bowl down there and did not
return to the center portion of the cave. Instead he edged along
through a narrow slit Crocker had earlier pointed out, one indeed
too narrow for Stroud to negotiate, which led to another cave and a
passage, and finally a very narrow opening on the world.
Just now Nick wanted no company, rather a chance to think
without interruption. He had a puzzle. Perhaps it could not be
solved, perhaps it could. But it must be faced and struggled
with.
Nick worked his way up to that slit opening on the world. But,
as he placed his hand on the side of the opening to steady himself,
earth and a stone gave way under his weight. He snapped on the
flash from his belt and under its bright light he could see where
other stones had been rammed in to close an opening once much
larger. Those stones were no longer so well bedded, they could be
worked out with a little effort.
He began to pick and pull, laying the flashlight on a projection
of the wall to give him light. The barrier needed only a little
loosening. He would crawl out to prove that and then wall it up
more securely.
Nick thrust with his shoulders, kicked and wriggled. Then he was
out. It was only in that moment when he had achieved his purpose
that he became aware of more than the action that had absorbed him.
Crouched, his hands on the ground, his back hunched, he looked down
the slope.
A cloud shielded the brilliance of the sun. But it could not dim
the splash of color there. As he slowly rose to his feet, Nick saw
he had his perhaps dangerous wish. It was the Herald.