The next morning he decided not to go into the park; he felt rightly that
there would be difficulties there. He took up a position in a rather
low-lying and deserted part of the grounds in which the direct path
from the castle to the laboratory was intercepted by an old, overgrown
rampart. He climbed on to the top of it whence, more or less hidden,
he could see the corner of the castle and a small part of the park. He
liked the place and buried there some of his hand-grenades. He divided
his attention between watching the path, a beetle running at his feet,
and the sparrows perched on the swinging branches. Once a robin settled
there for a moment, and Prokop, holding his breath, gazed at its dark
neck; it piped a note or two, twitched its tail and _f-r-r_—it was gone.
Below in the park the Princess was walking along by the side of a tall
young man while they were followed at a respectful distance by a group of
gentlemen. The Princess was looking to the side and moving her hand as if
she had in it a switch and was flicking the ground with it. Nothing more
was to be seen.
An hour later Uncle Rohn appeared with the fat cousin. Then again
nothing. Was it worth while waiting there?
It was almost mid-day. Suddenly round the corner of the castle there
appeared the Princess, heading straight in his direction. “Are you
there?” she called in a subdued tone. “Come down and then to the left.”
He slid down from the rampart and pushed his way through the bushes in
the direction indicated. There against the wall was a heap of all sorts
of objects: rusty hoops, tin pots full of holes, old top hats, filthy
rags; God knows how such things had accumulated in the castle. And
in front of this miserable pile was standing the Princess, fresh and
beautiful, and childishly biting her fingers. “I used to come here to be
angry, when I was little,” she said. “Nobody knows of the place. Do you
like it here?”
He saw that she would be annoyed if he was not pleased with it. “I like
it,” he said quickly.
Her face glowed with pleasure and she put an arm round his neck. “You
dear! I used to put an old pot on my head, you know, as a crown and
pretended to myself that I was the reigning princess. ‘What may Her
Excellency deign to want?’ ‘Harness the four-in-hand; I’m going to
Zahur.’ You know, Zahur, that was the place I’d invented. Zahur, Zahur!
Darling, is there really such a place in the world? Come, we’ll go to
Zahur! Discover it for me, you who know so much——”
She had never been so fresh and joyful as to-day. So much so that
it filled him with jealousy, with a passionate suspicion. He took
her in his arms and pressed her to him. “No,” she defended herself,
“don’t. Be reasonable. You are Prospero, the Prince of Zahur, and
you’ve only disguised yourself as a magician in order to abduct me. I
don’t know. But Prince Rhizopod has come for me from the Kingdom of
Alicuri-Filicuri-Tintili-Rhododendron, a horrible, horrible man with a
church candle instead of a nose and cold hands. Hu! And I’m just going
to become his wife when you suddenly appear and say: ‘I’m the Magician
Prospero, the hereditary Prince of Zahur.’ And my Uncle Metastasio will
fall on your neck and they will begin to ring bells, blow trumpets and
fire——”
Prokop realized well enough that her playful chatter conveyed something
very, very important, so refrained from interrupting her. She kept her
arm round his neck and rubbed her fragrant face against his rough one.
“Or wait; I’m Princess of Zahur and you are the Great Prokopo-Kopak,
King of Spirits. But I’m under a curse, they’ve said over me the words:
‘ore ore baléne, magot malista manigoléne’ and so I’m to be given to
a fish, a fish with fishy eyes and fishy hands and fishy in its whole
body, and he’s going to take me away to the fishes’ castle. And then the
Great Prokopo-Kopak arrives on his magic carpet and carries me off—_Au
revoir!_” she concluded suddenly and kissed him on the lips. She was
still smiling, clear and rosy as she had never been before, and left him
to brood gloomily over the ruins of Zahur. And in God’s name, what did it
all mean? She clearly wanted him to help her; pressure was being put on
her and she relied on him ... expected him somehow to save her! Heavens!
what was he to do?
Deep in thought, Prokop wandered back to the laboratory. Clearly ...
nothing was left but the Big Attack, but where was he to begin it? He
had already reached the door and was feeling in his pocket for the key.
Then he suddenly recoiled and broke into curses. The outer door of the
building was barricaded with iron cross-pieces. He pulled at them in a
frenzy but could not move them.
To the door was affixed a piece of paper on which were the words: “In
accordance with the instructions of the Civil Authorities this building
is closed on account of having been used irregularly for storing
explosives without the required precautions having been taken. Par. 216
& 217 d.lit.F tr.z. and No. 63,507. M.1889.” Underneath was an illegible
signature and below that, written with a pen, the words: “Mr. Eng. Prokop
is to report at the quarters of Sgt. Gerstensen, Barrack No. III.”
Mr. Holz carefully examined the barricade with the eye of an expert but
finally only whistled and thrust his hands into his pockets; there was
absolutely nothing to be done. Prokop, white with rage, walked all round
the building. The explosive trap had been dug up and, as before, there
was a grille in front of each window. He hastily took stock of all his
munitions; five small bombs in his pockets, four larger ones buried in
the Zahur rampart; one could not do much with them. Beside himself with
anger he hurried to the office of that cursed Carson: “Wait, you louse,
and see what I’ll do with you!” But on arriving there he was told by a
servant that the manager was away and was not returning. Prokop pushed
him out of the way and penetrated into the office. Carson was not there.
He quickly went through all the offices, causing consternation among all
the officials, down to the girl at the telephone. Carson was nowhere to
be seen.
Prokop ran back to the Zahur rampart, so that he could at least save
his bombs. And then he found that the whole rampart, including the
tangle of brushwood and the rubbish heap, was surrounded by a fence of
barbed wire; a real entanglement of the type used in the War. He tried
to loosen the wire but only succeeded in tearing his hands. Sobbing
with anger he somehow succeeded in getting through it, to find that his
four large bombs had been removed. He nearly cried with helplessness.
To make matters worse an unpleasant drizzle began to fall. He crawled
back, his clothes torn to rags and his hands and face bleeding, and
hurried to the castle in the hope of finding there the Princess, Rohn,
or the heir to the throne. In the vestibule he was stopped by the blonde
giant he had encountered once before, who was determined this time to be
torn to pieces rather than let him pass. Prokop took one of his little
boxes of explosives out of his pocket and shook it threateningly. The
giant blinked his eyes but did not yield. Suddenly he dashed forward and
seized Prokop round the shoulders. Holz struck him in the chest with his
revolver with all his strength. The giant roared and let go, and three
men, who had appeared suddenly, as if out of the earth, and were about
to hurl themselves on Prokop, hesitated for a moment and then stepped
back against the wall. Prokop stood with the box in his raised hand,
ready to throw it under the feet of the first one who moved, and Holz,
who was definitely on the side of revolution, waited with his revolver
ready. In front of them were four pale men, inclined a little forward,
three of them with revolvers in their hands. There was evidently going
to be a fight. Prokop moved strategically to the stairs and the four men
also moved in the same direction. Behind, some one ran away. There was
a deathly silence. “Don’t shoot,” whispered one of them sharply. Prokop
could hear the ticking of his watch. From the floor above came the sound
of cheerful voices; no one there knew what was happening. As the exit was
still open, Prokop retired towards the door, covered by Holz. The four
men near the steps remained as motionless as if they were carved out of
wood and Prokop made his way back into the open.
There was still a cold and unpleasant drizzle. What was he to do now?
He rapidly considered the situation and decided to fortify himself in
the swimming bath on the lake. But from there he could not watch the
castle. As the result of another sudden decision, Prokop ran off to the
quarters of the guard, with Holz behind him. He broke into them just at
the time when the old doorkeeper was having his dinner. The old man was
completely unable to realize why he was being driven away “by force and
under a threat of death”; he shook his head and went to the castle to
complain about it. Prokop was extremely satisfied at having captured this
position. He closed the iron gates leading to the park and finished the
old man’s dinner with the greatest relish. Then he collected everything
which he could find in the house that resembled chemicals: coal, salt,
sugar, glue, dried paint and other materials and considered what he
could make of them. Meanwhile Holz spent his time in looking out, and
converting the windows into portholes—a rather unnecessary step in view
of his having only four cartridges. Prokop set up his laboratory in the
kitchen; there was a frightful smell but in the end he had succeeded in
making a small quantity of high explosive.
The enemy did not launch any attack; they evidently did not want to cause
a scandal while they still had such a distinguished guest in their midst.
Prokop racked his brains to think of a way of wiping out the castle. He
cut off the telephone, but there still remained three gates, without
counting the road to the factory by the Zahur rampart. He was forced to
abandon the plan of surrounding the castle on all sides.
It rained unceasingly. The window of the Princess’s room opened and a
white figure wrote large characters in the air with its hand. Prokop was
unable to decipher them but nevertheless stood in front of his own little
house and wrote provocative messages in the air, waving his arms like
a windmill. In the evening Dr. Krafft ran across to the rebels. In his
lofty excitement he had forgotten to arm himself in any way; his mission
was a purely moral one. Later on Mr. Paul shuffled over, bringing with
him in a basket a magnificent cold supper and quantities of champagne
and red wine; he asserted that he had not come on anyone else’s behalf.
Nevertheless Prokop carefully impressed upon him that he was to say—he
did not say to whom—that “he thanked them and would not give himself
up.” At their splendid supper Dr. Krafft ventured to drink wine for the
first time, probably to show his manliness; the result was that he became
idiotically dumb, while Prokop and Mr. Holz began to sing military songs.
It was true that they sang different songs in different languages, but
from a distance, especially in the rain and darkness, they achieved a
sort of melancholy harmony.
Finally some one in the castle opened his window to hear better and then
attempted to accompany them on the piano. But soon he began to play the
Eroica instead and then to strike chords aimlessly. When the lights in
the castle had gone out Prokop erected an enormous barricade in front
of the door, and the three heroes quietly went off to sleep. They were
awakened the next morning by the knocking of Mr. Paul, who arrived with
three cups of coffee on a tray.