As they passed along the tree lined boulevard, their eyes were
attracted to several edifices of strange forms and colors. Some were
shaped like gigantic mushrooms, and were of a sky-blue complexion;
others were like huge inverted sea-green funnels; while the queerest
of all was an enormous crystalline sphere that rested on a wide base
of black marble. "You see, Jude," Downey remarked, "this is the
twenty-third century, sure enough. Was anything like this ever known in
our own time?"
"They do look crazy," Judith admitted, "but I'd be crazier yet if I
believed what you want me to. We must both be dreaming. That's the
simplest explanation."
On reaching the triangular doorway, they passed into a hall whose
softly glowing walls were lined with a satiny claret-colored cloth. The
floors were of alabaster; the air was rich with pine-incense; and the
golden incense burners, upon ebony tables, gave something of the effect
of an Oriental temple.
But it was not this that arrested the newcomers' attention. Their eyes
were immediately drawn to a figure who, clad in lush crimson, sat on a
throne that dangled ten feet above the floor, being suspended from the
ceiling by chains. As Downey adjusted himself to the subdued light,
he was able to make out that the man was old, very old; his face was
seamed and pitted until it might have been mistaken for the mummy of
Rameses.
Yet his movements belied his age. He was able to act with the swiftness
and decision of youth; and his words, when at length they came forth,
were spoken rapidly and with force.
Surrounding him like courtiers, on the floor of the hall, were half
a dozen elaborately robed men with faces as creased and scarred as
his own. Yet all, despite their appearance of extreme age, moved with
an almost youthful robustness; their bodies seemed erect and well
developed, with none of the flabby or wizened quality that might have
been expected to belong to their years.
It was with a vague discomfort that Downey noted the owlish stares
these ancient beings cast at him, nudging one another, and ogling
him with unhealthy peeps and squints. In his eyes they were the most
repulsive creatures he had ever seen.
Judith, also, appeared to have something of the same feeling. Pressing
close, she whispered into his ears, "What is this? The hall of the
Harpies?"
The silver-starred dignitary, who had preceded them into the hall,
had paused before the suspended throne, and was speaking to the
crimson-robed old man, whom he addressed as "High Councillor." Downey
could not make out much of his words, but could see how he paused
occasionally to point to Judith and himself; and he noted with
apprehension the avid gleams in the eyes of the High Councillor, who
stared down half curiously, half malevolently at the two prisoners as
they stood silently amid the guards.
At length the Councillor motioned the starred one away; beckoned Downey
to approach him; and spoke, in the high, piping tones of advanced age:
"Stranger, I do not know where you come from: whether you be a spy from
across the ocean, or one who was hidden away by misguided parents in
order to escape the Decapitation Draft. In any case--"
"What is the Decapitation Draft?" Downey could not help breaking out.
The Councillor's fist came down angrily, pounding at the vacant air.
"Do not think to save your head," he shrilled, "by pretending ignorance
of one of our most honored customs! As I was about to say, unless you
can satisfactorily show where you come from, you will be sent to the
body-testing rooms; and if you pass, as I believe you will, judging
from your sturdy-looking frame, you will be put on the list for early
decapitation. Such is the law of Nuamerica, of which I am the local
administrator."
Downey gasped. Could it be that every one in the twenty-third century
was mad?
"Well, are you going to speak or not?" piped the Councillor, leaning
down from his throne until Downey thought he was about to fall off.
"I'm giving you your chance to prove where you come from!"
As simply as he could, Downey attempted to state the facts of his
origin; although he felt convinced that there would be little gain
in arguing with a lunatic. And, as he foresaw, his words evoked only
merriment. "Truly, stranger," said the chief tormentor, after he, the
courtiers and the guards had all rocked back and forth with laughter,
"you have little imagination, if you cannot think of a better story!
So you were born in the year 1915! That is, 1915 by the old reckoning!
Why, that would make you older than I! And I'm the most elderly man
in this district, even though I won't celebrate my two hundred and
seventy-fifth birthday till next year!"
Downey stared, and said nothing, more convinced than ever of the
Councillor's madness.
"Of course, if it were not for you young man," the leader went on,
meditatively, "I would have been in my grave two centuries ago. It
is you who supply us with the robust young bodies to keep our old
heads alive. I well remember how, just two hundred and nine years
ago, I was pronounced at the point of death from heart disease--and
the transfusion to a young body was performed barely in the nick of
time. Since then, I've had the operation repeated once every thirty
years--which accounts for my present good health."
From amid these rambling phrases, Downey had begun to catch a gleam of
horrible meaning. Was the old man really mad after all? Or had he and
his followers been kept alive through some dread process of grafting
new bodies on to old heads?
Even as these questions flashed across the young man's mind, he heard
the renewed rasping of the Councillor's voice, "I give you one final
chance, sir! If you can't explain who you are and where you're from,
you will be honored, according to the law of Nuamerica, by giving your
head--"
He was interrupted by a half muffled cry. Judith, with one hand to her
mouth, had vainly tried to keep back her horror.
The scowl on the Councillor's mummy face gave way to a faint smile as
he turned to the girl, and said, "Have no fear, lady. You will not
share in the honor. Don't you know that the Official Head Commission
only last year exempted women from the Draft?"
[Illustration: _"Have no fear, lady," the counsellor said, "you will
not share the honor. You are exempt."_]
And then, blandly turning to the guards, the Councillor ordered, "Take
the prisoners to the body-testing rooms. I believe we are up on our
schedule, are we not?"
"Yes, Your Highness," returned the leader of the guards, bowing until
his bare knees touched the floor, "there is no reason why your desires
should not be executed within three days."
"Splendid!" approved the Councillor; while Downey, his arms still bound
by the cramping wires, felt himself being drawn away in the midst of
his grinning, kilted captors.