A Voyage to Arcturus. David Lindsay

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СКАЧАТЬ a rapid pace. Maskull, seeing that there was no help for it, followed him. The shelf did not extend for above a quarter of a mile, but its passage was somewhat unnerving; there was a sheer drop to the sea, four hundred feet below. In a few places they had to sidle along without placing one foot before another. The sound of the breakers came up to them in a low, threatening roar.

      Upon rounding a corner, the ledge broadened out into a fair—sized platform of rock and came to a sudden end. A narrow inlet of the sea separated them from the continuation of the cliffs beyond.

      “As we can’t get any further,” said Maskull, “I presume this is your Gap of Sorgie?”

      “Yes,” answered his friend, first dropping on his knees and then lying at full length, face downward. He drew his head and shoulders over the edge and began to stare straight down at the water.

      “What is there interesting down there, Nightspore?”

      Receiving no reply, however, he followed his friend’s example, and the next minute was looking for himself. Nothing was to be seen; the gloom had deepened, and the sea was nearly invisible. But, while he was ineffectually gazing, he heard what sounded like the beating of a drum on the narrow strip of shore below. It was very faint, but quite distinct. The beats were in four—four time, with the third beat slightly accented. He now continued to hear the noise all the time he was lying there. The beats were in no way drowned by the far louder sound of the surf, but seemed somehow to belong to a different world....

      When they were on their feet again, he questioned Nightspore. “We came here solely to hear that?”

      Nightspore cast one of his odd looks at him. “It’s called locally ‘The Drum Taps of Sorgie.’ You will not hear that name again, but perhaps you will hear the sound again.”

      “And if I do, what will it imply?” demanded Maskull in amazement.

      “It bears its own message. Only try always to hear it more and more distinctly.... Now it’s growing dark, and we must get back.”

      Maskull pulled out his watch automatically, and looked at the time. It was past six.. .. But he was thinking of Nightspore’s words, and not of the time.

      Night had already fallen by the time they regained the tower. The black sky was glorious with liquid stars. Arcturus was a little way above the sea, directly opposite them, in the east. As they were passing the base of the tower, Maskull observed with a sudden shock that the gate was open. He caught hold of Nightspore’s arm violently. “Look! Krag is back.”

      “Yes, we must make haste to the house.”

      “And why not the tower? He’s probably in there, since the gate is open. I’m going up to look.”

      Nightspore grunted, but made no opposition.

      All was pitch—black inside the gate. Maskull struck a match, and the flickering light disclosed the lower end of a circular flight of stone steps. “Are you coming up?” he asked.

      “No, I’ll wait here.”

      Maskull immediately began the ascent. Hardly had he mounted half a dozen steps, however, before he was compelled to pause, to gain breath. He seemed to be carrying upstairs not one Maskull, but three. As he proceeded, the sensation of crushing weight, so far from diminishing, grew worse and worse. It was nearly physically impossible to go on; his lungs could not take in enough oxygen, while his heart thumped like a ship’s engine. Sweat coursed down his face. At the twentieth step he completed the first revolution of the tower and came face to face with the first window, which was set in a high embrasure.

      Realising that he could go no higher, he struck another match, and climbed into the embrasure, in order that he might at all events see something from the tower. The flame died, and he stared through the window at the stars. Then, to his astonishment, he discovered that it was not a window at all but a lens.. .. The sky was not a wide expanse of space containing a multitude of stars, but a blurred darkness, focused only in one part, where two very bright stars, like small moons in size, appeared in close conjunction; and near them a more minute planetary object, as brilliant as Venus and with an observable disk. One of the suns shone with a glaring white light; the other was a weird and awful blue. Their light, though almost solar in intensity, did not illuminate the interior of the tower.

      Maskull knew at once that the system of spheres at which he was gazing was what is known to astronomy as the star Arcturus.. .. He had seen the sight before, through Krag’s glass, but then the scale had been smaller, the colors of the twin suns had not appeared in their naked reality.... These colors seemed to him most marvellous, as if, in seeing them through earth eyes, he was not seeing them correctly.... But it was at Tormance that he stared the longest and the most earnestly. On that mysterious and terrible earth, countless millions of miles distant, it had been promised him that he would set foot, even though he might leave his bones there. The strange creatures that he was to behold and touch were already living, at this very moment.

      A low, sighing whisper sounded in his ear, from not more than a yard away. “Don’t you understand, Maskull, that you are only an instrument, to be used and then broken? Nightspore is asleep now, but when he wakes you must die. You will go, but he will return.”

      Maskull hastily struck another match, with trembling fingers. No one was in sight, and all was quiet as the tomb. The voice did not sound again. After waiting a few minutes, he redescended to the foot of the tower. On gaining the open air, his sensation of weight was instantly removed, but he continued panting and palpitating, like a man who has lifted a far too heavy load.

      Nightspore’s dark form came forward. “Was Krag there?”

      “If he was. I didn’t see him. But I heard someone speak.”

      “Was it Krag?”’

      “It was not Krag—but a voice warned me against you.”

      “Yes, you will hear these voices too,” said Nightspore enigmatically.

      The Night of Departure

      When they returned to the house, the windows were all in darkness and the door was ajar, just as they had left it; Krag presumably was not there. Maskull went all over the house, striking matches in every room—at the end of the examination he was ready to swear that the man they were expecting had not even stuck his nose inside the premises. Groping their way into the library, they sat down in the total darkness to wait, for nothing else remained to be done. Maskull lit his pipe, and began to drink the remainder of the whisky. Through the open window sounded in their ears the trainlike grinding of the sea at the foot of the cliffs.

      “Krag must be in the tower after all,” remarked Maskull, breaking the silence.

      “Yes, he is getting ready.”

      “I hope he doesn’t expect us to join him there. It was beyond my powers—but why, heaven knows. The stairs must have a magnetic pull of some sort.”

      “It is Tormantic gravity,” muttered Nightspore.

      “I understand you—or, rather, I don’t—but it doesn’t matter.”

      He went on smoking in silence, occasionally taking a mouthful of the neat liquor. “Who is Surtur?” he demanded abruptly.

      “We others are gropers and bunglers, but he is a master.”

      Maskull СКАЧАТЬ