The Greatest SF Classics of Stanley G. Weinbaum. Stanley G. Weinbaum

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

       Table of Contents

      Tom Connor glanced a silent question at the doctor. At his nod, Connor seized the empty tumbler and looked frantically for water. He found it beyond a door, where a silent stream gushed from the mouth of a grotesque face into a broad basin.

      Evanie drank eagerly, thirstily, when he brought it to her. She stared bewilderedly about the luxurious room, and turned questioning eyes on Connor.

      "Where—" she began.

      "In Urbs. In the Palace."

      Comprehension dawned.

      "The Messengers! Oh, my God!" She shivered in fright. "How long—have I—"

      "Just two days, Evanie. I carried you here."

      "What is to—to be done with us?"

      "I don't know, dear. But you're safe."

      She frowned a moment in the effort to compose her still dazed and bewildered mind.

      "Well," she murmured finally, "nothing can be done about it. I'm ashamed to have been so weak. Was he—very angry?"

      "He didn't seem so." The memory of the Master's impassive face rose in his mind, and with it the vision of the exquisite features of the Princess.

      "I suppose the girl who sits on his right is the Princess, isn't she?" he asked. "Who is she?"

      Evanie nodded. "Every one knows that. On his left sits Martin Sair, the Giver of Life, and on his right— Why do you ask that?" She glanced up troubled, suspicious.

      "Because she saved my life. She intervened for me."

      "Tom!" Evanie's voice was horror–filled. "Tom, that was Margaret of Urbs, the Black Flame!" Her eyes were terrified. "Tom, she's dangerous—poisonous—deadly! You mustn't even look at her. She's driven men—I don't know how many—to suicide. She's killed men—she's tortured them. Don't ever go near, her, Tom! If she saved you, it wasn't out of mercy, because she's merciless—ruthless—utterly pitiless!"

      Scarcely conscious as yet, the girl was on the verge of hysteria. Her voice grew shrill, and Connor glanced apprehensively at the young doctor's face.

      Evanie turned ashen pale.

      "I—feel—dizzy," she choked. "I'm going—to

      The doctor sprang forward. "You mustn't!" he snapped. "We can't let her sleep again. We must walk her! Quickly!"

      Between them they dragged the collapsing girl from the bed, walking her up and down the chamber. A measure of strength returned, and she walked weakly between them, back. and forth. Then, abruptly, they paused at the sound of a sharp rap on the chamber door.

      The doctor called out a summons. Two Urban guards in glittering metal strode through the entrance, and stood like images on either side of it. One of them intoned slowly, deep as an anthem:

       "Margarita, Urbis Regina, Sororque Domini!"

      The Princess! Connor and the doctor stood frozen, and even Evanie raised weary eyes as the Princess entered, striding imperiously into the room with the scaly gold of her kirtle glittering crimson in the last rays of the sun. She swept her cold eyes over the startled group, and suddenly her exquisite features flashed into a flame of anger. The glorious lips parted.

      "You fool!" she spat. "You utter fool!"

      Connor flushed in sudden anger, then realized that the Princess addressed, not him, but the doctor at Evanie's left, who was fear–stricken and pallid.

      "You fool!" repeated Margaret of Urbs. "Walking an electroleptic! Put her to bed—instantly. Let her sleep. Do you want to risk brain fever?"

      The frightened physician moved to obey, but Connor interposed.

      "Wait a moment." He shot an accusing glance at the Princess. "Do you know anything about this? Are you a doctor?"

      He received a cool glance from her narrowed green eyes.

      "Do you think," she drawled, "that I've learned nothing in seven hundred years?" And he alone caught the full implication of her words. She was subtly reminding him of how once before she had given him evidence of how vast was her knowledge. She turned imperiously. "Obey!" she snapped.

      Connor stood aside as the doctor complied in panic. "Where's Kringar?" the Princess demanded.

      "Your Highness," babbled the medico, "he gave the girl a stimulant and left. He said—"

      "All right. Get out." She nodded at the impassive guards. "You, too."

      The door closed behind them. Margaret of Urbs bent over Evanie, now fully conscious, but pale as death. She placed a dainty hand on the girl's forehead.

      "Sleep," she said softly.

      "Leave me here alone, please," Evanie begged, trembling. "I'm afraid of you. I don't trust you, and I won't sleep. I'm afraid to sleep again."

      Connor stood miserably irresolute. While he hesitated, the Princess fixed her eyes on Evanie's; they glowed emerald in the evening dusk as she repeated, "Sleep!"

      He saw the fear vanish from Evanie's face, leaving her features as blank as those of an image. Then she was sleeping.

      The Princess faced Tom Connor across the bed. She took a black cigarette from a box on the ebony table. Itglowed magically as she removed it, and she blew a plume of perfumed smoke at him.

      "Worried, aren't you?" she asked mockingly.

      "You know I am."

      "Well, rest your mind. I mean no harm to Evanie."

      "But do you know what you're doing?"

      She laughed, low laughter soft as rain in a pool.

      "See here," she said, still with a taunt in her eyes, "I conceived the vitergons. Martin Sair created them, but I conceived them. I know what harm they can do, and I know the cure for that harm. Do you trust me?"

      "Not entirely."

      "Well, you have small choice." She exhaled another cloud of scented smoke. "Your little Weed is safe." She moved toward the adjoining room. "There's a bath in here," she said. "Use it, and then put on some Urban clothes. I'm inclined to dine with you this evening."

      He was startled. He stared back at the mocking perfection of her face, but the green eyes carried no readable expression, as she came closer so that only Connor could hear what she said.

      "Why?" he asked.

      "Perhaps to recall a more pleasant meeting," she said gently. "Oh, I have not forgotten you—if that is what you are thinking. I recall every word of that day in the woods, but it may be better if you forget it, publicly. Margaret of Urbs does not care to have her private business broadcast to the city. Nor is it the affair of anyone here—or any business of yours—that СКАЧАТЬ