Читать книгу The Ray Cummings MEGAPACK ®: 25 Golden Age Science Fiction and Mystery Tales - Ray Cummings - Страница 26

CHAPTER 24

LYLDA ACTS

“She’ll do it,” the Very Young Man murmured, staring at the doorway through which Lylda had disappeared. “She can do anything.”

The Chemist rose to his feet. “I’ll send Oteo. Will you wait here gentlemen? And will you have some of the drugs ready for Lylda? You have them with you?” The men nodded.

“How about Lylda carrying the drugs?” asked the Very Young Man. “And what about her clothes?”

“I have already made a belt for Lylda and for myself—some time ago,” the Chemist answered. “During the first year I was here I made several experiments with the drugs. I found that almost anything within the immediate—shall I say influence of the body, will contract with it. Almost any garment, even a loose robe will change size. You found that to be so to some extent. Those belts you wore down—”

“That’s true,” agreed the Doctor, “there seems to be considerable latitude—”

“I decided,” the Chemist went on, “that immediately after your arrival we should all wear the drugs constantly. You can use the armpit pouches if you wish; Lylda and I will wear these belts I have made.”

Oteo, the Chemist’s personal servant, a slim youth with a bright, intelligent face, listened carefully to his master’s directions and then left the house hurriedly, running up the street towards the center of the city. Once or twice he stopped and spoke to passers-by for a moment, gathering a crowd around him each time.

The Chemist rejoined his friends on the balcony. “There will be a thousand people here in half an hour,” he said quietly. “I have sent a message to the men in charge of the government workshops; they will have their people cease work to come here.”

Lylda appeared in a few moments more. She was dressed as the Chemist had seen her first through the microscope—in a short, grey skirt reaching from waist to knees. Only now she wore also two circular metal discs strapped over her breasts. Her hair was unbound and fell in masses forward over her shoulders. Around her waist was a broad girdle of golden cloth with small pouches for holding the chemicals. She took her place among the men quietly.

“See, I am ready,” she said with a smile. “Oteo, you have sent him?” The Chemist nodded.

Lylda turned to the Doctor. “You will tell me, what is to do with the drugs?”

They explained in a few words. By now a considerable crowd had gathered before the house, and up the street many others were hurrying down. Directly across from the entrance to Lylda’s garden, back of the bluff at the lake front, was a large open space with a fringe of trees at its back. In this open space the crowd was collecting.

The Chemist rose after a moment and from the roof-top spoke a few words to the people in the street below. They answered him with shouts of applause mingled with a hum of murmured anger underneath. The Chemist went back to his friends, his face set and serious.

As he dropped in his chair Lylda knelt on the floor before him, laying her arms on his knees. “I go to do for our people the best I can,” she said softly, looking up into his face. “Now I go, but to you I will come back soon.” The Chemist tenderly put his hand upon the glossy smoothness of her hair.

“I go—now,” she repeated, and reached for one of the vials under her arm. Holding it in her hand, she stared at it a moment, silently, in awe. Then she shuddered like a frightened child and buried her face in the Chemist’s lap, huddling her little body up close against his legs as if for protection.

The Chemist did not move nor speak, but sat quiet with his hand gently stroking her hair. In a moment she again raised her face to his. Her long lashes were wet with tears, but her lips were smiling.

“I am ready—now,” she said gently. She brushed her tears from her eyes and rose to her feet. Drawing herself to her full height, she tossed back her head and flung out her arms before her.

“No one can know I am afraid—but you,” she said. “And I—shall forget.” She dropped her arms and stood passive.

“I go now to take the drug—there in the little garden behind, where no one can notice. You will come down?”

The Big Business Man cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice was tremulous with emotion.

“How long will you be gone—Lylda?” he asked.

The woman turned to him with a smile. “Soon will I return, so I believe,” she answered. “I go to Orlog, to Raito, and to Tele. But never shall I wait, nor speak long, and fast will I walk.… Before the time of sleep has descended upon us, I shall be here.”

In the little garden behind the house, out of sight of the crowd on the other side, Lylda prepared to take the drug. She was standing there, with the four men, when Loto burst upon them, throwing himself into his mother’s arms.

“Oh, mamita, mamita,” he cried, clinging to her. “There in the street outside, they say such terrible things—of you mamita. ‘The master’s woman’ I heard one say, ‘She has the evil magic.’ And another spoke of Targo. And they say he must not die, or there will be death for those who kill him.”

Lylda held the boy close as he poured out his breathless frightened words.

“No matter, little son,” she said tenderly. “To mamita no harm can come—you shall see. Did my father teach you well today?”

“But mamita, one man who saw me standing, called me an evil name and spoke of you, my mother Lylda. And a woman looked with a look I never saw before. I am afraid, mamita.”

With quivering lips that smiled, Lylda kissed the little boy tenderly and gently loosening his hold pushed him towards his father.

“The Master’s son, Loto, never can he be afraid,” she said with gentle reproof. “That must you remember—always.”

The little group in the garden close up against the house stood silent as Lylda took a few grains of the drug. The noise and shouts of the crowd in front were now plainly audible. One voice was raised above the others, as though someone were making a speech.

Loto stood beside his father, and the Chemist laid his arm across the boy’s shoulder. As Lylda began visibly to increase in size, the boy uttered a startled cry. Meeting his mother’s steady gaze he shut his lips tight, and stood rigid, watching her with wide, horrified eyes.

Lylda had grown nearly twice her normal size before she spoke. Then, smiling down at the men, she said evenly, “From the roof, perhaps, you will watch.”

“You know what to do if you grow too large,” the Doctor said huskily.

“I know, my friend. I thank you all. And good-bye.” She met the Chemist’s glance an instant. Then abruptly she faced about and walking close to the house, stood at its further corner facing the lake.

After a moment’s hesitation the Chemist led his friends to the roof. As they appeared at the edge of the parapet a great shout rolled up from the crowd below. Nearly a thousand people had gathered. The street was crowded and in the open space beyond they stood in little groups. On a slight eminence near the lake bluff, a man stood haranguing those around him. He was a short, very thickset little man, with very long arms—a squat, apelike figure. He talked loudly and indignantly; around him perhaps a hundred people stood listening, applauding at intervals.

When the Chemist appeared this man stopped with a final phrase of vituperation and a wave of his fist towards the house.

The Chemist stood silent, looking out over the throng. “How large is she now?” he asked the Very Young Man softly. The Very Young Man ran across the roof to its farther corner and was back in an instant.

“They’ll see her soon—look there.” His friends turned at his words. At the corner of the house they could just see the top of Lylda’s head above the edge of the parapet. As they watched she grew still taller and in another moment her forehead appeared. She turned her head, and her great eyes smiled softly at them across the roof-top. In a few moments more (she had evidently stopped growing) with a farewell glance at her husband, she stepped around the corner of the house into full view of the crowd—a woman over sixty feet tall, standing quietly in the garden with one hand resting upon the roof of the house behind her.

A cry of terror rose from the people as she appeared. Most of those in the street ran in fright back into the field behind. Then, seeing her standing motionless with a gentle smile on her face, they stopped, irresolute. A few held their ground, frankly curious and unafraid. Others stood sullen and defiant.

When the people had quieted a little Lylda raised her arms in greeting and spoke, softly, yet with a voice that carried far away over the field. As she talked the people seemed to recover their composure rapidly. Her tremendous size no longer seemed to horrify them. Those who obviously at first were friendly appeared now quite at ease; the others, with their lessening terror, were visibly more hostile.

Once Lylda mentioned the name of Targo. A scattered shout came up from the crowd; the apelike man shouted out something to those near him, and then, leaving his knoll disappeared.

As Lylda continued, the hostile element in the crowd grew more insistent. They did not listen to her now but shouted back, in derision and defiance. Then suddenly a stone was thrown; it struck Lylda on the breast, hitting her metal breastplate with a thud and dropping at her feet.

As though at a signal a hail of stones flew up from the crowd, most of them striking Lylda like tiny pebbles, a few of the larger ones bounding against the house, or landing on its roof.

At this attack Lylda abruptly stopped speaking and took a step forward menacingly. The hail of stones continued. Then she turned towards the roof-top, where the men and the little boy stood behind the parapet, sheltering themselves from the flying stones.

“Only one way there is,” said Lylda sadly, in a soft whisper that they plainly heard above the noise of the crowd. “I am sorry, my husband—but I must.”

A stone struck her shoulder. She faced the crowd again; a gentle look of sorrow was in her eyes, but her mouth was stern. In the street below at the edge of the field the squat little man had reappeared. It was from here that most of the stones seemed to come.

“That man there—by the road—” The Chemist pointed. “One of Targo’s—”

In three swift steps Lylda was across the garden, with one foot over the wall into the street. Reaching down she caught the man between her huge fingers, and held him high over her head an instant so that all might see.

The big crowd was silent with terror; the man high in the air over their heads screamed horribly. Lylda hesitated only a moment more; then she threw back her arm and, with a great great sweep, flung her screaming victim far out into the lake.