The Great Fetish

12

The following morning, the eleventh of Perikles, Muphrid rose behind a thin cover of clouds. Marko Prokopiu stood with Boert Halran, Ulf Toskano, and other philosophers watching the inflation of the bag in the courtyard. This time, the balloon was not loaded with much fuel or ballast, because it was meant to be used as a captive balloon only.

Marko’s throat hurt from talking most of the night. The philosophers would have argued forever, or until the Prem’s executioner came for them, if Mensenrat had not taken Marko’s side and bullied the rest into acquiescence. At that, many seemed convinced that if only they did nothing, the danger would go away of its own accord.

An imperial soldier rode up to the guarded gate in front of the building, dismounted, and came in. He clanked up to Toskano, drew his sword, banged his spurs together, saluted, sheathed his sword, and drew a folded paper from the cuff of his gauntlet.

“His ineffable Serenity, the Prem of Eropia, sends you greetings,” said the soldier, “and begs that you will have the inexpressible goodness to read this note and return your answer forthwith.”

Toskano read the note and said to the philosophers around him: “He’s coming. Second hour. Will you be ready, Boert?”

“Easily,” said Halran.

Toskano spoke to the soldier: “Have the generous kindness, esteemed sir, to inform your master, the mighty Prem of Eropia, that we shall be overcome with gratitude at his serenity’s gracious condescension in visiting our convention and witnessing some of our trivial experiments. All will be ready.”

“I cordially thank Your Excellency,” said the soldier, and clanked off.

Marko turned back to the balloon, but then came another interruption. Domingo Bivar rushed out of the hall with his long hair flying, waving a fistful of paper. He had bags under his bloodshot eyes.

“Dr. Toskano!” he shouted. “Dr. Toskano! Come quick! All is solved! We win! I must tell you. … It is a thing most amazing… .”

Toskano asked Halran: “How soon will your balloon be inflated?”

“Not for another hour,” said Halran.

Toskano followed Bivar; Marko and a few others followed Toskano. Bivar led them back to the room containing the Chimei microscope. One of the brothers (Marko could not be sure which) was still on guard. The cards were stacked on the table.

Bivar sat down, dropped his notes on the floor, picked them up, reshuffled them, and began: “Gentlemen: what we have here is a record, made by some process long since lost, of the literature of the men of Earth before the Descent.”

He waited until the buzz occasioned by this announcement had subsided, then went on :x “These little gray spots on the cards are pictures, made by some process chemical, of pages printed. If Dr. Chimei can with a few bits of glass make the small appear large, why cannot the large be made small? But to continue. One of the boxes contained an encyclopedia complete. The other contained a collection of biographies of men of Earth. There were thousands of lives of Earthmen, some as long as whole books in themselves. Why only these two collections should have been preserved, or why the Ancient Ones should have recorded their knowledge in that form—”

Marko said: “Excuse me, Dr. Bivar, but those are not all.”

“Not all? You mean there are more?” “Yes. There were forty or fifty boxes on Mnaenn, but I brought away only those two.”

“What? You idiot Fool! jTonto! /Loco! Saphead! Ass! Are you mad, that you did not fetch the rest? You should be—”

Toskano broke into the harangue, and Marko explained why he had not brought more of the boxes. “Oh,” said Bivar. “Pardon, pardon. I did not know. I am overturned, shaken up, and I have not slept since yesterday. Exculpate me, pray! I need that you forgive, sir. But if we escape from the Prem, our greatest duty is to recover the cards remaining, by whatever means necessary.

“To continue. I could not read all these records in one night, naturally, especially as they are in a dead language and are very difficult. Old Anglonian, or English as those who spoke it called it, had a system of spelling very peculiar, in which almost any letter could mean any sound and conversely. There are many words that I do not know, though some I could guess from context.

“To go through all this material is the task of years. All I could do was to skim and skip about. Nor do the records deal with the actual Descent, as they were compiled before that event. They do tell us that Evolution is a correct hypothesis—but on Earth, not on Kforri as far as we are concerned.

“Earth is a planet material, circling a small star near the star Mira. It is a little smaller than Kforri, but more of its surface is covered by water. It is also a little warmer on the average, but the climate is much more extreme, hotter than we are at the equator and colder at the poles. ‘Kforri,’ I learn, is a corruption of the name for this planet in Old Anglonian: ‘K-40.’ Earth has a variety of animals, both tame and wild, and five of its six continents are inhabited by men of several different races, differing among themselves much as we do.

“At the time when these records were reproduced in this form, the men of Earth had attained travel from their planet through empty space to other planets of their system or even to planets of other stars.”

“How did they fly through space, where there is no air to breathe?” asked Toskano.

“They went in a vehicle tubular that squirts itself through space by blowing a great flame out its rear, and the ship of space is sealed and carries its own air.”

Toskano persisted: “How can that work when there’s nothing for the flame to push against?”

“I do not know, but let me get on. The other planets of their own system are either too hot or too cold, or do not have the right sort of air, to be comfortable places of dwelling. So they have gone to other stars to settle on their planets. I gather that one of these interstellar trips is a business formidable. It takes years and costs a lot tremendous, so they plan them with the utmost care.

“They send a small ship of space out first, which does not even land on the planet but; circles around it, determines its temperature and kind of air, and so forth. Then they send a main expedition of two or three large ships of space with Earthly plants and animals so that they can set up a settlement permanent. Then one of the two or three ships of space will take all the peat, or whatever fuel they use, and fly back to Earth. If all goes well, they may send more ships of space, as they are much crowded for room on Earth.

“Something of the sort must have been done in our case. But for some reason the records were lost, or at least they were taken to Mnaenn and everybody else forgot about them. There must have been some sort of device to read these records, which was lost or broken. Perhaps there was a quarrel among the settlers. I infer that these settlers came from all over the Earth, and in settling here they broke into several groups or tribes, speaking languages different. From these tribes are descended the major nations of today.

“There is much more in here; I have taken notes as you see. The names of our countries and cities are mostly the names of places on Earth, more or less corrupted. Lann is London, Vien is Vienna, Niok is New York, and Mnaenn is named for the Terran isle of Manhattan, which seems to have been another name for New York. The very gods proclaimed by the churches are famous men of Earth. The animals native of Kforri are named after similar animals that live, or have lived, on Earth. Thus ‘tersor’ and ‘transor’ are derived from ‘pterosaurus’ and ‘tyrannosaurus,’ two extinct Earthly beasts. The jumping lizard that we call a ‘rabbit’ is named for a hopping animal of similar size and habits on Earth, although the animal terrestrial is a mammal with warm blood like us. The ...—”

A philosopher put his head in the door and said: “Dr. Toskano, the Prem is arriving.”

Toskano jumped up and rushed out, Marko after him.

Alzander Mirabo, Prem of Eropia, was just getting down from his huge, paxor-drawn, gilded coach when Marko reached the site of the inflation. The balloon was now almost” fully inflated, swaying against the sky. The courtyard was full of kneeling philosophers. Toskano and Marko knelt, too, until they heard the Prem’s vibrant voice: “Rise, gentlemen!”

Alzander Mirabo was a small man with a pale, nondescript face, unremarkable save for a certain sharpness of nose, hollowness of cheeks, and pouchiness under the eyes. He wore a plain black uniform with a blued-steel cuirass and helmet, contrasting with the gorgeousness of his aides. He came forward smartly, his heels clicking on the cobblestones, until he reached the balloon.

“Dr. Toskano?” said the tyrant. He recognized the chairman of the convention and stepped forward to give him a brisk handshake. “This is magnificent, Doctor. Where is the inventor? Dr. Halran? I congratulate you. I can already see military applications of this device. It must obviously be socialized. In fact, I consider it so important to the welfare of the masses that I shall order that, even though the philosophers lose this afternoon’s debate, you shall be spared. Be so good as to explain how the device works, if you please.”

Halran did, stumbling for words. The Prem asked a few questions which surprised Marko by their cogency.

“Are we ready for this flight?” said Mirabo. “I played truant from the work of the Empire for an hour, but already I can see the papers piling up on my desk.”

“All ready, sir,” said Halran. “You shall ascend with my assistant, Master Marko Prokopiu.”

Marko’s hand was wrung too. The little man had a steely grip.

“And one of my bodyguards, of course,” said Mirabo, indicating a stalwart in chain mail close behind him.

“Oh, but Your Serenity!” said Halran. “I am not certain the balloon will hoist so much weight.”

“Well, I’m smaller than average, so that should not much matter. We shall all climb in, at any rate, and if it won’t rise, it won’t rise.”

Halran shot an apprehensive look at Marko, who gave a tiny nod. He thought that he could take care of the bodyguard. The Prem briskly climbed into the basket. The bodyguard followed, and Marko followed the bodyguard. “Cast off!” said Marko.

The appendix was pulled free, the ropes were slacked off, and the balloon rose. Below, a crew of the burliest philosophers clung to the drag rope.

Up they went, swaying gently and rotating a little. The Prem exclaimed with delight as they ascended above the roofs, and Vien appeared spread out beneath them. Marko saw the loop of the Dunau River on three sides.

“What a view!” cried Mirabo, smiting his fist against his armored chest. “I soar like a tersor! Magnificent!” When they reached the greatest height allowed by the drag rope, the Prem exclaimed: “What a substitute for light cavalry! Now I shall need no more Arabi mercenaries for scouting. Praise be to Napoin! Master Prokopiu, turn around!”

Marko found that the Prem had produced a medal from his trousers pocket. Mirabo pinned this medal to Marko’s chest. “You have merited well of me, Marko. Let this be a small token.”

“I earnestly thank Your Serenity,” said Marko. “Now just a minute …”

His heart pounding with excitement, he stopped, grasped the ankle of the bodyguard, and straightened up, hurling the guard over the edge of the basket

“Hey!” shouted the Prem, reaching for his sword.

The guard’s shriek came up with diminishing amplitude as the man fell. There was a loud slam as the armored body struck the cobblestones two hundred feet below.

Marko snatched up his ax from the floor just as the Prem whipped out his sword and thrust. Marko struck the darting blade aside with the head of his ax and, before Mirabo could execute a remise, whacked him over the helmet with the fiat of the ax.

The Prem slumped down hi the basket. Marko snatched the sword out of his limp hand, leaned over the side, and threw the weapon away.

The bodyguard lay in a widening pool of blood. The rest of the Prem’s entourage were closing in on the philosophers with bared weapons, but Toskano shouted:

“If you kill us, the balloon will fly away!”

The guards hesitated. Marko called down at the faces that looked up at him like a swarm of pink dots:

“Do as I say or I’ll throw the Prem over too!”

“What?” shouted an officer.

Marko repeated in full bellow.

“Do what?” said the officer.

“Just a minute,” roared Marko. He turned and examined the Prem. The man was still alive, for which Marko was thankful. He had feared that, not knowing his own strength, he might have slain him.

Marko unbuckled the cuirass and the helmet, baring the Prem’s nude scalp, and dropped them over, too, tossing them so that they landed on bare cobbles. With a length of rope, he bound the Prem’s wrists and ankles. Alzander Mirabo began to come to during this process and had to be quieted by a punch in the jaw.

Marko leaned over again and shouted: “Your Prem is safe while you obey our orders. Dr. Toskano will tell you what to do.”

After that, Marko had only to sit in the basket and smoke his pipe while he watched the proceedings. Sometimes he climbed up to stuff a briquette of peat into the auxiliary stove.

Under Toskano’s directions, the balloon was towed outside the gate and the drag rope was belayed to the harness of the Prem’s paxor. This process caused the paxor to fidget and bellow. Once the rope was fastened, however, the beast, no longer able to see the balloon, forgot about it.

Officers were sent out to round up other vehicles. Those philosophers who lived in Vien scurried away to gather up their families and possessions.

Marko heard the Prem move and looked around to see him sitting on the floor of the basket, glaring up at Marko with bared teeth. His face held all the concentrated malevolence that one human face can. The instant his eye caught Marko’s, the scowl was wiped away by a cheerful smile.

“Well, my good man,” said Alzander Mirabo, “perhaps you can tell me what this is all about?”

“We philosophers, Your Serenity, were forced by your threat to take this drastic method of getting out of Eropia.”

“Oh, you mean that silly debate? You took it seriously?” The Prem gave a little laugh. “My dear fellow, I was only fooling. I should not have cut off anybody’s head, no matter who lost. That was just my little joke, to make sure that both sides extended themselves,”

Marko rubbed a hand against his bull neck. “Maybe so, sir, but such a joke somehow doesn’t seem funny to the owner of the head.”

“Now that you mention it, I see your viewpoint. Where is my guard?”

Marko pointed downward.

“I remember now. Dead, I suppose?”

“He looks it.”

“Poor Sezar! A brave, faithful, and honest fellow. Aren’t you sorry you murdered him?”

Marko had not thought about the guard as a human being, but he said: “I suppose I am, but that’s war.”

“Well, let’s call off this whole fantastic escapade, what do you say? Lower me, and as soon as I’m safely on the ground I will order that all the philosophers be allowed to go free.”

Marko looked stonily at his captive.

“There shall be no reprisals, either.”

Marko kept silence.

“You don’t believe me? Well, I probably shouldn’t in your shoes. But see here, this can’t go on. You cannot possibly get away with it. You can’t seize the person of the head of the world’s greatest-nation, the commander of the strongest army, like an Arabi kidnaping a caravaner. Put me down! I, the leader of the masses of Eropia, command you! You cannot resist!”

Marko said nothing. Mirabo tried another tack: “Well, while I cannot say I am pleased by this treatment, I can’t help admiring the audacity and adroitness with which you carried it out. You ought to have gone to work for me. I still might have a place for you. Why join these mumbling, peering old pedants? Anyone can see you are more the physical type. Why not throw in with me? I can always use a man with your strength and dash.”

Marko scowled. The Prem could not know that Marko perversely took no pride in his bulging muscles but was, instead, consumed by the ambition to become a respected scholar. He replied only a curt “No.”

For an hour the Prem kept on trying to persuade Marko to let him down. He tried every approach. He threatened, blustered, bribed, wheedled, and appealed to Marko’s better nature. He even tried to put Marko to sleep by hypnotism. Nothing worked.

Then the bizarre procession got under way, heading for the south gate. First came the Prem’s state coach, an ornate vehicle of glass and gilt as big as a six-horse tally-ho. To the back of the Prem’s draft paxor was attached the drag rope that held Halran’s balloon, swaying and rotating, while the huge coach rumbled behind. Then came a long line of carriages and wagons crowded with philosophers and their gear and dependents.

“You Vizantian savages are a stubborn lot,” said Mirabo with a sigh, after his victim had shrugged off the tenth effort to get the better of him. “Where are we going?”

“To Massey, sir.”

“And then whither?”

“Oh, we thought we might borrow one of your ships.”

“I must say, I never thought philosophers could be men of action as well.. I’ll be more careful whom I play jokes on in the future.”

“Oh, I’m nobody at all, sir,” said Marko. “I’ve merely been lucky.”

They passed out through the south gate. This took a lot of arranging, because the city wall was continuous above the gate. The drag rope therefore had to be untied, carried over the gate, and reattached on the far side. The circuslike procession rumbled over the bridge across the Dunau and plodded out along the road for Massey, the main seaport of Eropia.

When Marko’s supply of peat got low, he replenished it by lowering a small basket by a light rope from the balloon to the ground. When he and his captive got hungry, he hoisted up a meal by the same means.

“You fellows seem to have thought of everything,” said the Prem.

“That, sir, is what brains are for.”

“Don’t I get any coffee?”

“I’m sorry, but I need it all. It won’t hurt you to go to sleep, but if I do I might wake up on my way to the ground.”

Alzander Mirabo laughed. “You are twice my size! I couldn’t toss you around that way without awakening you.”

“You might stab me or something.”

“Not if I’m trussed up like this.”

“Oh, you might wriggle over and rub your bonds against my ax, like that character in the novel by Shaixper.”

The Prem laughed. “Are you a mind reader too?”

Marko grinned. He had merely put himself in the Prem’s place. Thus he had kept himself from weakening when the Prem had tried to beguile him with smiles and tempt him with promises. He knew the Prem’s reputation for coldblooded perfidy.