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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ all occasionally, with only the birds and the trees to bear me company. You will do well to bear that in mind, Thomas Connor!"

      Suddenly her voice took on a taunting note, and the mockery in the emerald eyes was plain. "Perhaps," she said, "I have another reason for commanding you to dine with me. I may want to steal your knowledge—then kill you. I might have more than one reason for wanting to do that, but you fired a dozen shots at me on Sunday, Thomas Connor, as I stood on the balcony of the Tower. I do not fail to repay such debts."

      "It will take more than you to steal what I will not give," he growled, and turned into his room, closing the door.

      He stepped instantly to the hall door, opened it and gazed squarely into the impassive eyes of an Urban guard standing quietly opposite. So he was watched!

      He turned back into the chamber, stripped, and entered the water of the pool, reveling in the refreshing coolness. As he bathed he could look out a window; he saw that the colossal Palace was built as a hollow square. Opposite him rose the mountainous spire of the South Tower, and far below were the wide pool and green–bordered walks of the Inner Gardens.

      Drying his glowing body, he glanced distastefully at the sweat–stained pile of Weed clothing on the floor. In a closet he found Urban dress. It gave him a queer, masqueradelike feeling to don the barbaric metal corselet and kirtle, but the garments were cool, and befitted his great frame.

      Ready at last, he flung open the door to Evanie's room.

      Margaret of Urbs sat cross–legged on the bed, beside Evanie, smoking her black cigarette. Her green eyes passed appraisingly over Connor, and the glint of mockery was again in their depths.

      "I always thought the ancient sculptors exaggerated their contemporaries' physiques," she said, smiling. "I was wrong…But you're to kneel when you enter my presence, Thomas Connor. You didn't before."

      "And I don't now. As an enemy, I owe you no such respect."

      "As a gentleman you do, however. But never mind—I'm hungry. Come."

      "Why can't we eat here? I won't leave Evanie."

      "Evanie will be dull company for a dozen hours more. I'll send a maid to undress and bathe her."

      "You're very considerate, aren't you?"

      She laughed maliciously.

      "I have no quarrel with her. But I have with you. Come!"

      The glorious green eyes swept him. Both eyes and voice—a voice that now seemed to glory in malice—were so different from those of the girl of the woods that it was hard for Tom Connor to believe they were the same. But he knew they were. And now that he and she were alone every gesture seemed to admit that.

      She rose without a glance at Evanie's still, white faceand Connor followed her reluctantly past the guard, whose challenge she silenced with a peremptory word, and over to the bank of elevators.

      "Where to?" he asked as the cage dropped, plummetlike.

      "To a room of mine in the South Tower, I think. We'll have to go all the way down and walk across."

      The cage came to a sickening halt. He followed her through the vast emptiness of the room of thrones, noting curiously that both her own throne and that of the Master were now occupied by cleverly executed bronze figures. He paused to examine the effigy of the Princess, wondering how long ago it had been cast.

      "Third century," she said as if in answer to his thought. "Five hundred years ago. I was a child of two hundred and twenty then—and happier." Sardonic amusement was in her face and manner. "There was no Black Flame in those days. I was the madcap Princess Peggy then, reckless and daring, but sweet and noble. Or so they thought."

      "I'm sure you deserved the reputation," Connor observed acidly. He meant to follow her lead in whatever she said or did. She would have no complaint that he was the first to mention their previous meeting. If she said no more about it, then it would not be mentioned at all.

      She flashed her green eyes on him, eyes as icy as the green cap over Antarctica.

      "I'm sure I deserve it no longer," she said in tones so cold that they startled. "Come on."

      There was something fascinating, almost hypnotic, about this weirdly beautiful being.

      "I'd rather dine with your image there," he remarked drily.

      Immortality

       Table of Contents

      Margaret of Urbs laughed and led Connor through a door behind the line of thrones.

      "Martin Sail's laboratory," she explained, gesturing at the chaotic confusion of glassware and microscopes. "And this"—passing into a chamber beyond—"is mine."

      The place seemed more like a luxurious, sumptuously furnished library than a laboratory. There were shelves upon shelves of books, hundreds of them obviously ancient, a great vision screen, a delicately inlaid desk, and here and there bits of statuary.

      "Laboratory!" he echoed. "What do you do here?"

      "I think. When I want to work I use Martin's." She picked up a white carving from the desk. "See here—some of your ancient work." She added a trifle sadly, "We have no artists able to create such beauty today. It's a tragedy that the arms were broken. During the Dark Centuries, I suppose."

      Connor looked at the exquisite little ivory replica of the Venus de Milo and laughed.

      "Arms broken!" he scoffed. "That's a copy of an ancient Greek statue of Praxiteles. The arms were broken two thousand years before my time!"

      "A copy! Where's the original? I want it!"

      "It was in the Louvre, in Paris."

      "Paris is in ruins. Do you know where the Louvre stood?"

      "Yes."

      "Then tell me! I'll have it searched for. Tell me!"

      He gazed into eyes sincerely eager; the eyes now of the white–clad girl of the woods who had lolled with him on a mossy woodland bank and told him stories of the ages. That girl had loved beauty, too; had been seeking it, watching her own reflection in the black pool. It amazed him that now in her role as the frigid princess she could still be so avid for beauty.

      "That's a bit of information I withhold," he said slowly, "until I can trade it for something else I may want. Evanie's safety, or my own."

      The mocking light returned to her eyes. "You amuse me, Weed!" she said curtly. "But very well." She led the way to the South Tower elevators.

      She was silent during the long ride to the very pinnacle of the tower. They emerged into a small chamber walled on every side in glass, and Connor stood awe–struck as the city spread out before them. The palace over–topped even the colossal structures around the Park. He gazed speechless at the mighty stretch of peaks out–lined in light.

      The Princess turned to a black screened box.

      "Send СКАЧАТЬ