tumult, her face lashed by windy whips, her eyes blinded by fine
particles of frozen snow, her ears deafened by the multitudinous voices
of the storm sprites shrieking to their fellows. Something in her
nature, fierce and untamed, leaped forth to meet the tempest.
Intoxicated by the strong wine of its fury, she flung out her arms, half
fearing, half hoping that she might be swept away, whirled like some
wild sea-bird, into the heart of the madness. A strong hand pulled her
back.
"Esmay!" shrieked a voice in her ear. "Esmay!"
Loudly as the call must have been uttered, it came to her, as though
from a great distance, thin and of an infinite littleness. Yet she
allowed herself to be drawn back into the room, and made no demur to the
closing of the window.
It was a tall, finely built woman of thirty or thereabouts who stood
beside her--a woman with a dark, passionate face shaded by a mop of
raven hair as coarse as a horse's mane. "Esmay!" she said again, with an
accent of wondering reproach.
The girl stood silent, motionless for a moment; then, with a swift
intake of her breath:
"Don't be angry, Nanna, but something is going to happen. I've got to
laugh or to cry--I don't know which."
It was a laugh, low but genuine, and full of a silver trickle of sound.
The elder woman caught up the girl impetuously into a close embrace.
"My dear! my dear! is it really you? I can't believe it. After these
dreadful three months in which you have hardly said as many words. It
would be a miracle, if there were any saints in Doom to work one."
She drew away for a moment, her eyes ablaze with excitement. There was a
smooth, graceful strength in her every movement that was almost
animal-like; she suggested the idea of a big cat as she alternately
released the girl and then returned, in a half-circle, to take renewed
possession of her. "A miracle!" she repeated.
"Indeed, it almost needed that to bring me to myself," said the girl,
gravely. "But now I see things clearly; it seems almost as though the
mother herself had stood beside me and drawn the veil away. It was Ugo,
though, who really did it," she added, and laughed again softly.
"Ugo!" echoed the other, indignantly. "And, if you please, where is the
fellow? The candles have not been lighted, the fire is dying out, and
not a sign of supper visible. It is unbearable, Esmay, and he shall pack
this very night."
"But Nanna!"
"I won't listen to a word."
"You will. He has gone already."
She pushed the elder woman into a chair. "Now don't dare to move until I
am back with wood and a light. Not a word, sister mine--if you love me."
Taken by surprise, Nanna let her go, and sat waiting.
The girl returned in a few minutes with a basket containing several
lumps of sea-coal.
"This is a thousand times better than Ugo's boards and barrel-staves,"
said Esmay, triumphantly, and transferred the fuel to the hearth, where
it presently burst into a cheerful flame. "There are three or four boxes
of the stuff in the cellar, enough to last us all winter. Now for the
lamp."
On the mantel-piece stood a shallow dish containing a small quantity of
cotton-seed oil and a piece of lampwick. Esmay took down the vessel and
inspected it with a calculating eye. "It will last until bedtime," she
announced, and lit it with a spill of paper.
Nanna looked at her half-sister questioningly, but did not offer to
speak. She had never seen Esmay just like this, and the change was
especially noticeable after the silence and apathy of the past months.
Her thoughts travelled back to the human link that had united them for
so long--the woman whom each had called mother, although to Nanna it had
been only a step-relationship. How impossible it had once seemed that
there could be any new adjustment of life's machinery; how difficult the
realization that nature is accustomed to settle these matters in her own
time and way, and invariably does so! Yet here was Esmay suddenly
returned to herself, moving about, alert and eager, knitting her brows
over the one important problem of the moment, the question of supper.
"You'll have to make out with the firelight for a little while," said
Esmay, picking up the rude lamp. "But you won't mind, dear?" She
stooped, kissed her sister, and was gone again.
The elder woman felt her eyes brimming saltily. The girl, so far as
years were concerned, might almost have been her daughter, since Nanna
had been both wife and widow at seventeen. For all that, the sisterly
relation was the true one between them; they were of the same strong
breed, even if Esmay were only in half a daughter of the Doomsmen. Nanna
had never been able to forget that her father's second wife had been of
the blood of the despised House People. In spite of herself she had
learned to love the dead Elena; she adored Esmay as a part of herself. A
primitive emotion, but then Nanna was the elemental woman.
When Esmay returned she brought with her a bowl containing a small
quantity of cottage cheese, hard and yellow with age. Surmounting the
bowl was a plate upon which were some crusts of bread and a knuckle of
ham, the latter being little more than the bare bone. A table stood in
the middle of the room, a handsome piece of buhl-work. Esmay drew it
forward to the fire and proceeded to arrange her feast. Scanty enough it
seemed, but the cloth covering the table was of the finest damask, the
plates that she took from a glazed cabinet were of the precious china of
Sevres, the knives and forks were in solid silver, and the drinking-cups
of silver-gilt had been fashioned by a great artist. A strange contrast!
beggar's fare served so royally; but hunger is not nice about trifles
one way or the other. And so it was upon the viands that Nanna's
attention was immediately concentrated. She glanced suspiciously at the
cheese, despairingly at the knuckle-bone, and then said, solemnly:
"Tell me, Esmay, what does it mean? Where is Ugo?"
"Ugo has deserted us--like the rats," answered the girl. "And the
situation--it is just this." She stopped and took a swallow of water.
"It is three months now since she--the mother--slipped away from our
arms, and of course the pension stopped with her. I gave the last
handful of tokens to Ugo to settle up his wages. So you see I'm a
beggar. It's a woman against the world, and one of us will have to
devour the other. Lucky, isn't it, that I woke up desperately hungry?
That means that I'll make a fight for it. Have the first bite."
"Esmay! You know that I have still my widow's rate."
"Yes, and I also know that it is barely enough to keep one body and soul
together; the two of us would only starve by inches. No use, Nanna, we
must take things as we find them. But isn't it strange--" She stopped
abruptly and let her glance wander over the luxurious table-service, the
gleaming surface of the silver reflecting her troubled eyes. She went on
slowly:
"All this meant something once--this array of silver and jewelled glass,
the tapestries on the walls, the fur cloak about my shoulders. Think of
it, Nanna! These things must have been the envied treasures of the rich,
the luxuries of life. And now any one may possess them who cares to
fight their battle with moth and rust."
"While a single one of Dom Gillian's brass tokens outweighs it all,"
rejoined Nanna, nodding her head wisely. "It is not hard to understand
why, for with the token any one may buy a quarterweight of flour at the
public stores or a fore-shoulder of mutton."
"And bread and meat mean life, don't they? Well, and suppose one doesn't
happen to possess a long purse-string laden with these wonderful,
miracle-working bits of token-money, what then? A woman can't put on a
quilted coat and steel cap and go out with the raiders to earn her share
of the loot. Fancy my teaching a fat House-dweller how to dance on a
red-hot plate or riding the toll roads of the West Inch in a jacket full
of arrow-holes."
"That is true," agreed Nanna, gravely.
Esmay rose and walked excitedly up and down the long room.
"It's just hopeless, Nanna, to stay on here in this city of the dead."
She stopped and faced her sister.
"So I have decided; I am going back to my mother's people. There is a
chance in their world for a woman to secure her own living; here she
can only starve or accept some man's protection."
The elder woman remonstrated feebly, but the girl swept her aside.
"Listen to me, Nanna. You know that Messer Hugolin, Councillor Primus of
Croye, is my uncle, my mother's own brother. She ever insisted that in
his charity I had a final resource. He might not offer it, but surely he
could not deny me, if I sought it. Nanna, you recall what the mother
herself said--how she always believed that the message would reach him.
My own uncle and Councillor Primus of Croye," she concluded, hopefully.
But Nanna was not to be so easily convinced. "But, Esmay, it is
impossible," she exclaimed. "You could never escape from Doom."
"But I will."
"You cannot. The High Bridge to the north is always guarded, and on the
other three sides of the city there is deep water."
"I shall manage it," returned the girl, confidently. "It is simply a
question of my going empty-handed to my uncle's house. Now gold among
the House-dwellers has a value that it does not possess with us; so Ulick
once told me. They use it as money."
"Here in Doom it is nothing," assented Nanna, "save that we women like
the pretty things that the ancients fashioned from it."
"Precisely; and as you know there is not much of it in existence, even
here in Doom, where silver is almost as common as iron."
"Well, and then?"
"Don't you see? If only golden tongues could plead my cause in Croye I
should be independent, even of my uncle Hugolin. Now there is store of
this gold somewhere in Doom. It must be so, for the war-galleys always
carry a money-chest when they sail to the northern colonies."
"A treasure," said Nanna, slowly. "Who would know of it here in Doom?
Dom Gillian himself--or perhaps----"
"Master Quinton Edge," supplied Esmay, and thereupon silence fell
between them.
The minutes passed away. Then, suddenly, Esmay stopped in her monotonous
pacing of the room and flung herself on her knees by her sister's chair.
"You goose!" she exclaimed, with tender suspicion. "I believe you have
been crying."
"Not a bit of it," returned Nanna, sitting bolt upright and staring hard
at the ceiling. "I only want you to be sure and let me know before you
go. Or couldn't you take me with you?" she added, wistfully, as though
the idea had but just occurred to her.
"Why, Nanna, as though I could have dreamed of anything else! Go without
you! Don't you see yourself how ridiculous that would be?"
"Then nothing else matters," said Nanna, comfortably, and openly wiped
her eyes. "When do you want to go--to-night?"
"Foolish one! But then you love me, and I can forgive you. Now let me be
quiet; I want to think out my--our plan."
Nanna left the room softly. Esmay sat looking into the fire, her small,
firm chin propped in her palm. So violent was the storm that she did not
hear the opening and closing of the street-door, but the flickering of
the lamp in the swirl of a current from the outer air warned her that
she had a visitor. She recognized him instantly as he came forward, his
laced hat in the hollow of his arm. There was no one in Doom besides
Master Quinton Edge who bowed with so easy a grace--a woman has a quick
eye for such trifles.
"You are Esmay, daughter of Mad Scarlett," he began, gently. "My
intrusion is unseasonable, perhaps, but none the less unavoidable."
The girl made no answer.
"I will speak to the point," he went on. "Are you ready to make choice,
to-night, between young Ulick and his oafish cousin Boris? I have a
reason for asking, believe me."
Esmay flushed with annoyance. "I will not listen to either of them," she
said. "Boris I detest, and Ulick is only a boy, and a silly one; I have
told him so a score of times."
"I thought as much, but I wanted the confirmation of your own lips, my
dear child. The knowledge emboldens me to offer you an asylum under my
own roof for the next few months--or longer. Ulick, as you say, is but a
boy, half hot, half muddle-head. He, perhaps, could be kept in
check----"
"I can manage that sufficiently well," broke in the girl, haughtily.
"No doubt, no doubt; but with Boris also in the field the situation
becomes a complicated one. Accordingly, I have concluded to offer you my
assistance in dealing with it."
"It is difficult to think of Master Quinton Edge in the light of a
disinterested adviser. Perhaps you have other motives."
"Possibly," returned the man, with calm assurance. "Why not a dozen of
them? But to disclose them--this is not the time. You have only to
accept my offer and be thankful."
"Suppose that I refuse?"
Quinton Edge glanced over his shoulder, and the three men who had been
standing motionless in the shadow of the doorway took a step forward.
"You perceive that there is no such alternative," he said, suavely.
The girl started but kept herself in hand. "My sister goes with me?"
"No," said Quinton Edge.
But Nanna's arms were already encircling her treasure. She had entered
unobserved, and she had heard enough to understand. "You!" she said, and
spat at Quinton Edge.
The man's face paled. He stepped forward as though making to push the
intruder away. In a flash she had turned upon him and her teeth closed
upon the fleshy part of his right hand. He shook her off as one does a
snake.
"A true forest-cat," said Quinton Edge, and smiled as he twisted a fine
lawn handkerchief about the wounded member. Then, with entire
good-humor: "I apologize for my incivility and truth; it were a biting
rejoinder. Madam, you, too, are welcome to my poor house. With such a
dragon in the garden, he will be a brave man indeed who thinks to filch
my apples."
Nanna, huddled up in a corner of the room whither she had been flung,
answered not a word, but watched him steadily, unwinkingly, her eyes
narrowed to two gleaming slits. Esmay went over and assisted her to her
feet.
"You will give us time to get a few things together," said the girl,
turning to Quinton Edge. "A woman cannot be moved about like a piece of
furniture."
"Ten minutes."
It were waste of breath to renew the argument, and within the quarter of
an hour the two women, closely shawled and veiled, descended the steps
to the street. It was still storming. A coach drawn by two horses was
waiting at the curb, and the Doomsman, having assisted his unwilling
guests to mount within, took his place on the box with the driver, the
three men following on horseback. The little company moved slowly down
the avenue; then, turning into a side thoroughfare, proceeded directly
eastward.
XII
THE HEDGE OF ARROWS
For the first few days following upon his arrival in the city, Constans
kept under rover, venturing forth only after nightfall. He wanted to
make sure of all his bearings before taking any long step in advance,
and the extent and strength of the enemy's defences particularly
interested him. Fortunately for his purpose the weather was growing
colder every day, autumn having given place to winter much earlier than
usual, and on these chilly nights the Doomsmen were not inclined to
wander far abroad. By keeping closely to the side streets he ran but
little risk of discovery through a chance encounter; at the same time he
must get inside the danger zone if he hoped to obtain any information of
value.
Constans found the solution of his problem by betaking himself to the
house-tops. Through the aid of a rope, furnished with cross-pieces
inserted in the strands at regular intervals and a grappling-hook at the
free end, he could pass easily from roof to roof of contiguous
buildings, and so gain points of observation that otherwise he would
never have dared to approach.
One of these aerial routes led from the side avenue on the east to a
moderate-sized building situated on the Citadel Square and directly
overlooking the fortress. Twice now he had ventured to spend the whole
of a day lying perdue in this convenient eyrie, his binoculars in
constant use, and what he saw and learned increased his thoughtfulness,
although he would not let it shake his resolution.
So far as he could judge, the Doomsmen could not be regarded as
formidable through mere weight of numbers. Their available fighting
force Constans estimated at two hundred, which would indicate a total
population of a round thousand. Now Croye alone was a city of full
fifteen hundred inhabitants, and the census of the West Inch should show
twice that number. In an open field, and man to man, the House-dwellers
were much more than a match for Dom Gillian's wolves.
On the other hand, the Doomsmen were all trained warriors, and to smoke
them out of their own nest--one would have to think twice about that.
Here was a half-ruined city, several square miles in actual area, and
surrounded by unfordable tidal rivers. Deep at its heart was the
citadel, strongly built and abundantly supplied with water and
provisions. Under these circumstances it was a simple matter for a small
force to maintain itself indefinitely; it would necessitate the
employment of an attacking army four or five times as large as the
defence to even up the chances. This, of course, on the presumption that
both sides were armed alike. Constans's thoughts reverted to the fire
artillery of the ancients; with that at his disposal he would hold the
balance of power. The possession of a single score of rifles should
enable him to demonstrate the feasibility of the attempt to his
sluggard kinsmen, the Stockaders, and to the even more reluctant
townsmen. He determined to take the first opportunity to make a careful
search of the city armories and ammunition depots; in the mean time, it
was his business to acquaint himself as thoroughly as possible with the
material situation.
The stronghold of the Doomsmen occupied the middle section of the
ancient city square. In shape it was an irregular oblong, the original
builders being apparently content to enclose sufficient space without
reference to architectural symmetry. Its perimeter might be roughly
estimated at eight hundred yards, respectable proportions, and
indicating a capacity to comfortably accommodate the whole population of
Doom should the necessity arise.
The barricade was constructed of stone, principally paving-blocks torn
up from the adjoining streets, and since the material was unlimited in
quantity the walls were of massive proportions, sixteen feet in height
and nearly six feet in thickness at the bottom course. At the several
corners stood towers elevated some ten feet above the wall veil and
properly loop-holed. Under the east and south walls and virtually built
into them were a series of huts, which served as storehouses and for
living quarters in time of siege. At present these huts--low,
uncomfortable-looking structures of stone and roofed with broad, flat
flags--were untenanted save for the two or three used by the small
garrison on duty. The western side of the enclosure was occupied almost
entirely by storehouses for grain and other provisions; here, too, were
pens for cattle on the hoof and immense cisterns for the storage of
drinking-water. Somewhat to the south of the centre of the square stood
what appeared to be the administration building, a round, tower-like
structure, three stories in height and with enormously thick walls. One
could fancy it the scene of a last stand in a lost cause.
Directly opposite, in the north wall, was the gateway. It opened on to
the Palace Road, one of the principal avenues of the ancient city, and
was in the form of a vaulted passageway defended by flanking towers and
superimposed battlements. A notable stronghold was this citadel of the
Doomsmen, wisely planned and well built, and Constans could hardly fall
into the error of under-estimating its resources. For all that, he would
not acknowledge that it was impregnable; stone walls cannot stand
forever against stout hearts.
Day by day went on and Constans kept adding steadily to his stock of
information. Most important of all, he had succeeded in definitely
locating the several positions of the enemy. It appeared that the
district actually inhabited by the Doomsmen included only the fortified
square and a few of the city blocks contiguous to it on the north. The
distance from the citadel to the library building and Dom Gillian's
house was about a mile, and it was some five miles further to the tidal
estuary which formed the northern boundary of the city proper. Of the
various structures that had formerly spanned the stream, but one, the
High Bridge, remained. Built of massive masonry, it had wonderfully
resisted the disintegrating processes of time, and stood to-day,
immovable as the granite hills of which it formed the connecting link.
Being the sole means of landward approach to Doom, it was guarded
carefully, and a detail from the general garrison was at all times on
duty there.
The final conclusion to which Constans arrived was that he had only to
avoid the immediate neighborhood of the Palace Road and the Citadel
Square to pursue his investigations with entire safety. Accordingly he
grew venturesome, and began to go out-of-doors at all hours of the day
or night. And then on the fourteenth day after his arrival in the city
his immunity came abruptly to an end.
It was early in the forenoon, and Constans was exploring a quarter of
the city that lay to the northeast of the Citadel Square. He became
interested in the curious, bridgelike structure which spanned the
street; enough of it remained standing to show him that it had been
designed for overhead traffic, a highway in the air. There were the
rails, the signal-boxes, and other mysterious adjuncts of the ancient
railways; he had read about them in his books and he recognized them at
once.
Now this particular section of the aerial railway must have been a
branch line, for it ended abruptly in front of a building of unusual
size and consequent importance. Beyond this again could be seen a
surface net-work of iron rails converging to the black mouth of a great
tunnel--a highway under the earth. Constans felt a lively impulse to
push his explorations further. This was evidently a terminal station of
the wonderful steel roads of the ancients; within the building itself he
might reasonably expect to find some of the old-time engines and wagons
with which the traffic had been carried on.
Passing through a central hall of fine proportions, Constans found
himself standing under an immense arched structure of stone and iron and
glass. The ancient car-shed, so Constans conjectured; then he paused
excitedly before a long platform, at which stood a complete train, made
up and ready to start.
Constans examined this new find with critical attention. The enormous
locomotive-engine, with its driving-wheels that stood higher than a
man's head, impressed him mightily, for all that the monster's burning
heart had grown cold and its stentor breathing had been hushed forever.
He climbed into the cab and wondered hugely at the multiplicity of
stopcocks and levers and cabalistically lettered dials. It seemed
incredible that the giant could have moved even his own weight, and yet
there was his appointed task strung out behind him, fifteen long and
heavy vehicles--it was amazing!
Behind the engine came the cars for luggage, piled high with bags and
boxes, and then the regular train equipment, a long line of coaches.
These last were of the most luxurious pattern--that was plain to see,
although the varnish had blistered on the panels and the silken curtains
at the windows hung in tatters. The last car of all had clearly been in
service as an eating apartment, and fortunately the doors of this coach
had been left closed and the windows remained intact. Constans entered
and looked about him, noting that the tables still bore their weight of
plate and china and napery. Most moving of all was the little nosegay
that stood in a tall glass at each cover. But even as he gazed,
delighted that the flowers still retained recognizable shape, they broke
and crumbled into nothingness.