Alice's World Page 6

  We’re behaving like gentlemen, he thought. Damnit! If I had any sense at all, I’d wring his bloody neck!

  Captain Nemo was regarding him with cool, dispassionate eyes. He sat in one of the easychairs, legs crossed, a small glass in one hand. He was smoking.

  “If you’re thinking of escape,” he said evenly, “I’m afraid I must discourage you. Nautilis at this moment is heading southeast toward the Mediterranean Sea, at a depth of one hundred fathoms. There is no possibility of escape except by my consent. A submarine is, as you will see, a very effective prison—if you persist in considering it as one. For me, you are naturally an honored guest.”

  “And when will you consent to let us go?”

  “Some time.” Captain Nemo shrugged indifferently. “Or perhaps never. I believe you’ll find our journey quite stimulating, so I don’t think you’ll regret this slight inconvenience.” He smiled, looking into the fire.

  “We’re here on a very important mission,” Monteyiller said, “and there are people up there, members of my crew, who need help. If you only knew—”

  “I know everything about your mission,” Captain Nemo interrupted. “Everyone here does. And as for your missing friends, undoubtedly they will find that they can manage quite well without you, for the time being.” He smiled vaguely and repeated as if to himself, “Quite well.…”

  Monteyiller said, “So you refuse to let us go?”

  “I certainly do.” Captain Nemo cast a quick glance toward the girl, who sat on the table-edge, bouncing her ball up and down, and laughing in a low, happy voice. “There is so much to discuss, so much to show you, and I—”

  Monteyiller felt the old, familiar anger rise, an anger born out of helplessness and impotence. He swung around and threw the glass into the fire; it shattered in thousands of bright, exquisite fragments, gleaming and reflecting the light of the dancing flames.

  “I’m not interested,” he said.

  He turned around and walked toward the mahogany door. It opened noiselessly before him. On the other side, uniformed men waited.

  Captain Nemo had not moved from his easychair. “Well discuss it later, Captain Monteyiller; perhaps you’ll be more interested in listening to reason then.”

  Monteyiller kicked the heavy door shut behind. him. He had the satisfaction of hearing the crash resound through the ship, before a not too gentle gun was thrust in his back and the silent men marched him off.

  At least Captain Nemo had been considerate enough to give them cabins adjoining each other’s. Monteyiller’s cabin was luxurious, by ship’s standards, with mahogany panels, a large writing desk and a beautifully soft bed made of some dark wood. On the wall over the writing desk there were dials and meters registering pressure on the hull, speed and depth. There was a deep rug on the floor, and he had a small private bathroom at his disposal. Cat’s cabin was simpler: the walls were metal, in the writing desk’s place was a small round iron table, and the bed was a narrow bunk which was let down at night, taking up most of the space in the cabin. There was no private bathroom. There was a bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase on the table, though, as a concession to the female taste. Heracles stayed in the men’s quarters, by the engine room. He had a lower berth and hated it, even though he still was strangely quiet, refusing to let himself be provoked into doing something rash.

  Rank, Monteyiller thought wryly, had its privileges.

  Cat said, “What are we going to do? Just stay here and let that madman who calls himself captain go on with this?” She was sitting on the luxurious bed, her legs tucked up under her. She was pale, nervous. The strain showed itself as thin lines around her mouth.

  Well, why not, Monteyiller thought. I don’t blame her.

  He heaved himself up on the edge of the writing desk. He looked up at the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, its prisms clinking faintly as the submarine slowly rocked back and forth in the undercurrents, and shrugged.

  She looked up at him. “Why not?”

  “Indeed, why not. Because the only weapons we’ve got are the disrupters, and one discharge would burn right through the hull of this ship, that’s why not. And Captain Nemo knows it.”

  Cat was absently chewing on a tuft of her hair. She said, “Bribes?”

  “Not a chance. He’s got everything anyone could possibly want, and then some. We can’t offer him anything.”

  “The way he wined and dined you, one should think you had something he needed—especially as I was kept out of it,” Cat said.

  “This is a man’s world,” Monteyiller said, grinning. “There’s simply no room for a woman. Probably he wouldn’t even know what to do with a woman if he suddenly got one in his hands. He just wanted to talk shop, nothing else. He seemed to be starved for company.”

  The electric light in the chandelier suddenly flickered and died, leaving the cabin in darkness. After a couple of seconds, a gaslight flamed up with an audible click over the bed, spreading a soft, yellow light. The gas fixture was formed in the figure of a bronze angel, holding a burning torch in its hand. Monteyiller, momentarily startled, relaxed and smiled self-consciously.

  “Time for bed, obviously.” He glanced at her. “Any ideas?”

  She said, “Heracles is down by the engine room. If we could get him out of there—”

  “From what I’ve seen of his behavior, he’s just a big mouth and no guts.” He stared thoughtfully at the door of the cabin. “However, we’re in this together. Might as well give him a chance to get out, even if he’s a coward at heart.” He jumped down from the table. “Ready?”

  She stared at him. “Now?”

  “We have to do it sooner or later anyway, so there’s no use postponing it. And it is bedtime for all good crew members.” He walked noiselessly up to the door. “Is that guard still standing outside?”

  “He was there when I slipped in here,” Cat said, rising. “He winked at me.”

  Monteyiller pressed his ear against the door and listened intently. The guard was walking back and forth just outside the door, his boots making a hollow sound on the metal floor. Monteyiller waited until he had just passed the door, then threw it open and jumped out. The guard never had a chance. He uttered a weak, strangled cry as Monteyiller hit him with the edge of his hand right under the ear, then slumped forward on the floor, unconscious. Monteyiller dragged the limp body into the cabin and dumped him unceremoniously on the floor.

  “Karate.” He grinned, rubbing his hand. “One of the wonders of ancient Earth. A bloody clumsy guard, too. Such carelessness mustn’t go on unpunished.” He bent over the guard and took his gun. “We might need this. Let’s go.”

  Cat was already at the door, looking down the dim corridor for signs of other guards. There were none; obviously Captain Nemo had deemed one to be enough. Obviously, he had been wrong.

  “And I had been looking forward to a night of wild, frenzied love,” she said, stepping out. “What about that?”

  “Ask the guard.” Monteyiller grinned. “He’ll need some diversion after our friend the mad captain is through with him!”

  They stole down the corridor, darting from shadow to shadow, tensing for the sound of approaching footsteps. The ship was silent, the stillness broken only by the faint sound of the throbbing engines. Cat, who had been shown around by a charmed crew member, led the way down to the crew’s quarters above the keel of the submarine. They went down a spiral staircase and other sparsely lit, empty corridors. The ship was immense.

  Finally they stood before the gray, featureless metal door to the crew’s quarters. Cat looked inquiringly at Monteyiller.

  “Well?”

  “Well, nothing. I’ll go in there; you stay here and cover my back. And no noises. If we’re lucky, we might get him out without waking up everyone.” He grimaced. “This will be the chance for Mr. Muscle to show if he’s a coward or not.” He hesitated, placing his hand on the doorknob. He stood motionless for a moment, then opened the door.

  And
stared right into Heracles’ grinning face.

  “So you’ve come at last!” he shouted. “By Zeus! I thought you were asleep in that room of yours. Why did it take you so long?”

  He was sitting on a bunk by the door, combing his tangled beard with an ornamented comb. The floor was strewn with fallen bodies. He laughed loudly at Monteyiller’s foolish expression.

  “Did you really believe that I, the mighty Heracles, would consent to be treated like a jackal?” he said, rising. “Me? I kept my temper in the beginning, because I’m a peaceful man at heart, as you should know, but there are limits to what even a peaceful man can stand! So when nighttime came, I made sure those rats slept well.” He spat contemptuously on the floor. “They couldn’t even fight like men, the swine!”

  “Keep quiet!” Monteyiller wheezed. “Do you want to wake up the whole ship? We aren’t safe yet!”

  “Are you afraid, little man?” Heracles asked, still grinning. “You fear that perhaps someone will come and devour you? Don’t worry, I, Heracles, will bash in the head of anyone who tries to hurt my small friends. If you’ll just follow me and keep your babbling mouths shut, everything will be fine.”

  He picked up his truncheon, swung it upon his shoulder and marched past them. “Are you going to follow me?” he shouted. “There are one or two men still left somewhere in this accursed-ship, and if you’re lucky perhaps you’ll have an opportunity to see the mighty Heracles bash in a couple of heads. Get going!”

  Monteyiller and Cat exchanged a quick glance, smiled and followed.

  Suddenly the sirens went on, and the corridor was filled with grim, silent men that rushed on them from both sides. They didn’t dare use their weapons inside the vulnerable ship, but attacked with cudgels, gun butts and fists. Heracles waded through the mass of attackers, swinging his truncheon right and left, laughing joyously as the men fell before him. Cat and Monteyiller covered his back, fighting with hands and knees and feet, using every dirty trick in the book. Cat fought like a tigress at Monteyiller’s side. Men fell, but there were always new ones to fill their places. They were slowly pressed backward, swept along by the overwhelming tide of determined men. Even Heracles’ strength seemed to wane; his rolling laugh was replaced by loud cursings as he was steadily pressed back by the attackers.

  “By Zeus,” he shouted, “they’re using men against us this time! Away, you rats! Heracles is tired of this!” He flung a courageous attacker aside with a terrible blow of his fist and stepped back into the open door of the control room. It was deserted, except for the yellow-haired girl who stood by the far wall with her ball clutched in her hands, staring at the fight with widened eyes. Monteyiller kicked out at a man who tried to drag him down to the floor and staggered into the small room, dragging Cat after him.

  “We can’t keep this up much longer,” gasped Heracles from the doorway. “This takes something special, by Zeus, it does!”

  “If he can get us out of this,” Monteyiller whispered, “he’s—”

  “The deus ex machina!” shouted Heracles.

  He swung around and brought his truncheon down on the maneuver table. There was a loud explosion, the floor heaved and shook; a geyser of fire thundered up from the ruined machine. The light went out; there was a sound of distant thunder and they were falling, falling.…

  12

  In Arcadia Incontaminatus.

  The low, rolling hills stretched undisturbed toward the snow-covered mountain ranges that encircled the horizon in all directions. The landscape was soft, lush and beautiful, dotted with small groves of beeches, oaks, birches and stone-pines. There were birds singing in the clear blue air; rabbits munching on the grass; roe-deers gracefully treading the lush grass, looking up with large, liquid eyes. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of flowers and Arcadia’s eternal spring. There was the distant music of a Pan-pipe coming from one of the groves and rising up in the air.

  A white Pegasus descended gracefully to the ground not far away. A girl was sitting on her back; she was dressed in gossamer white and held a shepherd’s crook in her hand. The Pegasus folded his wings to his body and stood still as the girl jumped down. She shadowed her eyes with her hand and gazed up at the newcomers on the hill.

  Heracles belched loudly and happily and sat down in the grass, leaning his back against a magnificent ancient oak. He yawned broadly, stretching his powerful arms. He looked up at Monteyiller out of the corner of his eyes, and grinned.

  “What’s the matter with you, little man?” he demanded. “Aren’t you happy now that the mighty Heracles once again has saved you all?” He belched again, lustily. “By Zeusl I have never in my life seen anything like you, standing there like a cursed scarecrow when you ought to dance and rejoice and do your best to please your friend Heracles who fought at your side against an army of wizards! Why this sorry face, little man? Is there anything more you want Heracles to do for you, eh?” He laughed heartily, banging his fist in the ground. “As long as the mighty Heracles is near you, nothing can hurt you!” He turned toward Cat, who stood in the shadows of the trees, staring out over the landscape. “And this also means you, woman, even though I hate women ever since I killed my poor wife!”

  Monteyiller said, “What happened?”

  “You talk too much,” Heracles grumbled. “Talk, talk, talk, nothing but talk. A simple little trick, nothing special. The dramatists in my country always use it when they’ve got the hero of their cursed plays into a spot and can’t get him out again. They call it deus ex machina, the swines, but it’s nothing except sheer incompetence. I seldom use it, but this time I had to.” He grinned at Monteyiller. “And it worked, didn’t it? The end justifies the means, I always say.”

  Cat said, “But that’s a literary device, it can’t—”

  “You don’t know this world,” Heracles said. “Everything works here.” His gaze fell on the yellow-haired girl who sat in the grass beside him, still cradling her ball in her arms.

  “Zeus!” he swore. “You, here?”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “Hello.”

  Monteyiller glanced down at her. “So you got out along with us, did you?” He frowned slightly. “Who are you?”

  “Alice. I’m ten years old, or will be soon, rather. How old are you?” She smiled up at him with so much open admiration in her eyes that Monteyiller almost smiled back, in spite of himself.

  “I detest children,” Heracles grumbled, “ever since that unfortunate accident with my poor family. Especially this one.”

  Cat said, “Where are we?”

  “Arcadia,” Alice said. She smiled across at Cat. “Don’t you like it?”

  Cat raised her eyebrows. “Arcadia? A pastoral romance?” She sighed. “One hears a lot before one’s ears fall off. Arcadia, indeed!”

  “With fauns and shepherdesses and lambs and sweet music,” Heracles muttered. “A real man would die of boredom here. I asked for a moment’s peace, not an early grave!” He spat morosely on the grass.

  “Deus ex machina,” sniffed Cat, “indeed!” But she seemed uncertain.

  The girl was walking up the slope toward them. She was dressed in a blinding white crinoline, decorated with red silk roses. She had white satin shoes, and ribbons in her hair. She had a complexion that was pale and delicate, large eyes like pools of darkness. And a small, round mouth. There was a vague scent of roses as she approached the fallen tree. She dusted it off with an embroidered handkerchief and sat down cautiously, careful not to display her insteps.

  A young hind came out from the grove and lay down at her feet; she fondled it absently, gazing at them.

  There was a long silence. Finally, Monteyiller said, “Who are you?”

  She said, “I’m Cloris, the shepherdess. I tend my Iambs and rejoice in the beauty of unspoiled nature.” She spoke softly, with a faint lisp.

  “Beautiful,” Monteyiller said sarcastically.

  She smiled at him. “The animals are my confidants, the groves are my home, the blue s
ky is my roof, and Damon, the shepherd”—she blushed delicately—“gives me his tender love. What more can I ask for, pray?” She lowered her eyes, smiling happily. “True peace is here, and pure love. I’m like the lily on the ground who does not sow, nor reap. You would be happy here.”

  Monteyiller started. “Me?”

  “If you wouldst.”

  Monteyiller grinned. “Is that a proposal?”

  She turned crimson. “It is not for me to do any such thing,” she whispered. “But perhaps I would permit you to follow me as I tend my lambs, and then perhaps I would permit you to read poetry for me and then we would—”

  She held up her cupped hand before her, as if showing him the wonders of Arcadia; her dark eyes were sparkling with joy; she was blushing. The lips moved: words tumbled out.

  Monteyiller laughed.

  He laughed so hard that he had to sit down, slapping his legs, leaning backward in the grass, staring up at the sky, laughing. The girl was close to tears, covering her blushing face with her delicate pale hands. He didn’t notice it.

  Alice went over to him. She said wonderingly, “What is it? Don’t you like it?”

  Monteyiller stopped laughing. He sat up. “You’re mad,” he said curtly.

  “But what do you want?”

  Monteyiller stared at Alice, leaning his chin in his hands. “This is supposed to be a rescue mission,” he said. “There’s a girl in danger somewhere on this mad world, and that bloody goose over there tries to fool me with poetry and moonbeams!” He grimaced.

  “I thought you’d like this,” Alice said apologetically. She looked covertly at him. “What is it that you want?”

  Monteyiller shrugged. “A city. A government center. Anything, as long as we get out of this.”

  Alice was clearly bewildered. She looked from Monteyiller to Cat and back again, her gaze shifting back and forth as she struggled with an unfamiliar thought Finally, she said, “Which city?”