"Christopher, John - Tripods 03 - The Pool of Fire 2.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Christopher Barbara)

"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 centers 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 centers 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."