John Christopher - Tripods 3 - The Pool Of Fire

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Tripods 3 -- The Pool Of Fire -- John Christopher -- (1968)

(Version 2002.12.07)

To my daughter, Elizabeth

1 -- A Plan of Action

Everywhere there was the sound of water. In places it was no more than a

faint whisper, heard only because of the great stillness all around; in

others, an eerie distant rumbling, like the voice of a giant talking to

himself in the bowels of the earth. But there were places also where its

rushing was clear and loud, and the actual torrent was visible, in the light

of oil lamps, flinging itself down dark rocky water-courses or spilling in a

fall over a sheer edge of stone. And places where the water lay calm in long

black reaches, its sound muted to a monotonous drip...drip which had continued

for centuries and would continue for as many more.

I was relieved from guard to go to the conference, and so went through

the dimly lit tunnels late and alone. The work of nature here mingled with the

work of man. The earth's convulsions and the action of long-dead rivers had

hollowed out these caverns and channels in the limestone hills, but there were

marks of the ancients, too. Men had been here in the past, smoothing uneven

floors, widening narrow gaps, sinking handrails into an artificial stone to

aid and guide the traveler. There were also long ropelike cables, which had

once carried the power called electricity to light bulbs of glass along the

way. Our wise men, Beanpole had told me, had learned the means of doing this

again, but needed resources that were not available to them here -- nor would

be, perhaps, while men were forced to skulk like rats in the dark corners of a

world governed by the Tripods, those huge metal monsters who strode on three

giant legs across the face of the earth.

I have told already how I left my native village, at the urging of a

strange man who called himself Ozymandias. This happened during the summer

which was to have been my last before I was presented for the Capping

ceremony. In that, boys and girls in their fourteenth year were taken up into

one of the Tripods and returned later wearing Caps -- a metal mesh that fitted

close to the skull and made the wearer utterly obedient to our alien rulers.

There were always a few whose minds broke under the strain of Capping, and

these became Vagrants, men who could not think properly and who wandered

aimlessly from place to place. Ozymandias had posed as one of them. In fact,

his mission was to recruit people who would fight against the Tripods.

So I went, with my cousin Henry, who also lived in my village, and later

with Beanpole, a long journey to the south. (His real name was Jean-Paul, but

we nicknamed him Beanpole because he was so tall and thin.) We arrived at last

at the White Mountains, where we found the colony of free men Ozymandias had

spoken of. From there, the following year, three of us were sent as a

spearhead to penetrate into the City from which the Tripods came and learn

what we could of them. Not quite the same three, however. Henry was left

behind, and in his place we had Fritz, a native of the land of the Germans in

which the City stood. He and I had got into the City, served as slaves of the

Masters -- monstrous three-legged, three-eyed reptilian creatures who came

from a distant star -- and learned something of their nature and their plans.

But only I had escaped, plunging through the drain of the City into a river,

and there being rescued by Beanpole. We had waited, hoping Fritz might do the

same, until, with snow falling and winter coming on, we had been forced to

return, heavy-hearted, to the White Mountains.

We had reached them to find that the colony had moved. This had been the

result of a prudent decision by Julius, our leader. He had foreseen the

possibility of our being unmasked by the enemy, and of our minds being

ransacked once we were helpless in their grasp. So, without telling us of it,

he had formed a plan to evacuate the tunnel in the White Mountains, leaving

only a few scouts to await our hoped-for return. The scouts had discovered

Beanpole and myself as we stared miserably around the deserted fortress, and

had led us to the new headquarters.

This lay a long way to the east, in hilly rather than mountainous

country. It was a land of narrow valleys, flanked by barren, mostly pine-

wooded hills. The Capped kept to the valley floors, we to the ridges. We lived

in a series of caves that ran, tortuously, for miles through the heights.

Fortunately, there were several entrances. We had guards on them all, and a

plan for evacuation in case of attack. But so far all had been quiet. We

raided the Capped for food, but were careful to have our raiding parties

travel a long way from home before they pounced.

Now Julius had called a conference and I, as the only person who had

seen the inside of the City -- seen a Master face to face -- was summoned from

guard duty to attend it.

In the cave where the conference was held, the roof arched up into a

darkness that our weak lamps could not penetrate: we sat beneath a cone of

night in which no star would ever shine. Lamps flickered from the walls, and

there were more on the table, behind which Julius sat with his advisers on

roughly carved wooden stools. He rose to greet me as I approached, although

any physical action caused him discomfort, if not pain. He had been crippled

in a fall as a child, and was an old man now, white-haired but red-cheeked

from the long years he had spent in the thin bright air of the White

Mountains.

"Come and sit by me, Will," he said. "We are just starting."

It was a month since Beanpole and I had come here. At the outset I had

told all I knew to Julius and others of the Council and handed over the things

-- samples of the Masters' poisonous green air, and water from the City --

which I had managed to bring with me. I had expected some kind of swift

action, though I did not know what. Swift, I thought, it had to be. One thing

I had been able to tell them was that a great ship was on its way, across

space, from the home world of the Masters, carrying machines that would turn

our earth's atmosphere into air which they could breathe naturally, so that

they would not have to stay inside the protective domes of the Cities. Men,

and all other creatures native to the planet, would perish as the choking

green fog thickened. In four years, my own Master had said, it would arrive,

and the machines would be set up. There was so little time.

Julius might have been speaking to me, answering my doubts. He said,

"Many of you are impatient, I know. It is right that you should be. We all

know how tremendous a task we face, and its urgency. There can be no excuse

for action unnecessarily delayed, time wasted. Every day, hour, minute counts.

"But something else counts as much or more; and that is forethought. It

is because events press so hard on us that we must think and think again

before we act. We cannot afford many false moves -- perhaps we cannot afford

any. Therefore your Council has deliberated long and anxiously before coming

to you with its plans. I will give you them in broad detail now, but each one

of you has an individual part to play, and that will be told you later."

He stopped, and I saw that someone in the semicircle in front of the

table had risen to his feet. Julius said, "Do you wish to speak, Pierre? There

will be opportunity later, you know."

Pierre had been on the Council when we first came to the White

Mountains. He was a dark, difficult man. Few men opposed Julius, but he had

done so. He had, I had learned, been against the expedition to the City of

Gold and Lead, and against the decision to move from the White Mountains. In

the end, he had left the Council, or been expelled from it; it was difficult

to be sure which. He came from the south of France, from the mountains which

border on Spanish land. He said, "What I have to say, Julius, is better said

first than last."

Julius nodded. "Say it, then."

"You talk of the Council coming to us with its plans. You talk of parts

to play, of men being told what they must do. I would remind you, Julius: it

is not Capped men you are talking to, but free. You should rather come to us

asking than ordering. It is not only you and your Councilors who can plan how

to defeat the Tripods. There are others who are not lacking in wisdom. All

free men are equal, and must be given the rights of equality. Common sense as

well as justice demands this."

He stopped speaking, but remained on his feet, among the more than a

hundred men who squatted on the bare rock. Outside it was winter, with even

these hills mantled with snow, but, as in the tunnel, we were protected by our

thick blanket of rock. The temperature never changed here, from one day or

season to another. Nothing changed here.

Julius paused for a moment, before he said, "Free men may govern

themselves in different ways. Living and working together, they must surrender

some part of their freedom. The difference between us and the Capped is that

we surrender it voluntarily, gladly, to the common cause, while their minds

are enslaved to alien creatures who treat them as cattle. There is another

difference, also. It is that, with free men, what is yielded is yielded for a

time only. It is done by consent, not by force or trickery. And consent is

something that can always be withdrawn."

Pierre said, "You talk of consent, Julius, but where does your authority

lie? In the Council. And who appoints the Council? The Council itself does,

under your control. Where is the freedom there?"

"There will be a time," Julius said, "for us to discuss among ourselves

how we shall be governed. That day will come when we have destroyed those who

now govern humanity all over the world. Until then, we have no room for

squabbling or dispute."

Pierre began to say something, but Julius raised a hand and silenced

him.

"Nor do we have room for dissension, or the suspicion of dissension.

Perhaps what you have said was worth saying, whatever the motive with which

you said it. Consent, among free men, is given and can be withdrawn. It can

also be affirmed. So I ask: will any man who wishes to challenge the authority

of the Council, and its right to speak for this community, rise to his feet?"

He stopped. There was silence in the cave, apart from the shuffle of a

foot and the unending distant roar of water. We waited and watched for a

second man to get to his feet. None did. When time enough had gone by, Julius

said, "You lack support, Pierre."

"Today. But perhaps not tomorrow."

Julius nodded. "You do well to remind me. So I will ask for something

else. I ask you now to approve this Council as your government until such a

time as those who call themselves the Masters are utterly defeated." He pawed.

"Will those in favor stand up?"

This time, all stood. Another man, an Italian called Marco, said, "I

vote the expulsion of Pierre, for opposing the will of the community."

Julius shook his head. "No. No expulsions. We need every man we have,

every man we can get. Pierre will do his part loyally -- I know that. Listen.

I will tell you what we plan. But first I would like Will here to talk to you

of what it is like inside the City of our enemies. Speak, Will."

When I had told my story to the Council, I had been asked by them to

keep silent to others for the time being. Normally this would not have been

easy. I am talkative by nature, and my head was full of the wonders I had seen

inside the City -- the wonders, and the horrors. My mood, though, had not been

normal. On the way back, with Beanpole, my energies had been taken up by the

arduousness and uncertainty of the journey: there had been little time in

which to brood. But after we had come to the caves it had been different. In

this world of perpetual lamp-lit night, of echoing silences, I could think and

remember, and feel remorse. I found I had no wish to talk to others of what I

had seen, and what had happened.

Now, under Julius's instruction to speak, I found myself in confusion. I

spoke awkwardly, with many stops and repetitions, at times almost

incoherently. But gradually, as I continued with my story, I became aware of

how closely they were all listening to it. As I went on, also, I was carried

away by my recollection of that terrible time -- of what it had been like to

struggle under the intolerable burden of the Masters' heavier gravity,

sweating in the unvarying heat and humidity, watching fellow slaves weaken and

collapse under the strain, and knowing this would almost certainly be my own

fate. As it had been Fritz's. I spoke, Beanpole told me later, with passion

and with a fluency that was not normally mine. When I had finished and sat

down, there was a silence in my audience that told how deeply the story had

affected them.

Then Julius spoke again.

"I wanted you to listen to Will for several reasons. One is that what he

says is the report of someone who has actually witnessed the things of which

he tells. You have heard him, and you know what I mean: what he has described

to you he has seen. Another reason is to hearten you. The Masters are

possessed of tremendous power and strength. They have traveled the

unimaginable distances that lie between the stars. Their lives are so long

that ours, by comparison, seem like the dancing of mayflies for a brief day

over a tumbling river. And yet..."

He paused, and looked at me with a little smile.

"And yet Will, an ordinary boy, no brighter than most, a trifle on the

small side -- Will has struck at one of these monsters and seen it collapse

and die. He was lucky, of course. There is a place where they are vulnerable

to a blow, and he was fortunate enough to discover it and to strike there. The

fact remains that he killed one of them. They are not all-powerful. We can

take heart from that. What Will managed by luck, we can achieve by planning

and resolution.

"This leads me to my third point, my third reason for wanting you to

hear Will's story. It is that essentially it is a story of failure." He was

looking at me, and I felt myself flushing. He went on, calmly and unhurriedly:

"The Master was made suspicious by finding in Will's room the notes he had

made about the City and its dwellers. Will did not think the Master would go

into his room, where he would have to wear a mask to be able to breathe; but

this was shallow thinking. After all, he knew his Master was one who took more

care of his slaves than most, and knew that he had, before his own time,

arranged for small extra comforts to be installed in the refuge room. It was

reasonable that he might do so again, and find the book with notes in it."

His tone was level, considering rather than critical, but the more

damming for that. My shame and embarrassment grew as I listened to him.

"Will was able, with Fritz's help, to salvage a great deal from the

situation. He escaped from the City, and returned with information whose value

to us is beyond computing. But still more could have been gained." His eyes

were on me again. "And with time to plan things better, Fritz might have come

back, too. He passed on to Will as much as he could of what he had learned,

but it would have been better if he had been able to testify himself. Because

every tiny item counts in the struggle."

Julius spoke then of the short time we had, of the ship already on its

way toward us through the far deeps of space, and of the final death for all

earthly things which it would bring with it. And he told us what had been

decided by the Council.

The most important thing was to speed up -- tenfold, a hundredfold,

eventually a thousandfold -- our efforts to win the young, those still not

Capped, to our side. To do this, as many as possible must go out, winning over

and teaching young people, all over the world. Cells of resistance must be set

up, and must create other cells. The Council had maps, and would give

instructions where to go. Particularly, we must aim at establishing opposition

groups in the neighborhood of the other two Cities of the Masters -- one

thousands of miles across land to the east, the other on the far side of the

great ocean to the west. There were problems of language which would have to

be overcome. There were other problems -- of survival, of organization --

which might seem, at first sight, insuperable. They were not insuperable,

because they must not be. There could be no weakening, no despair, nothing but

a determination to give every last ounce of energy and strength to the cause.

This course, obviously, involved a risk of alerting the Masters to the

opposition that was developing. It was possible that they would not bother

much about it, since their plan for extermination was so far advanced. But we

had to be prepared for countermeasures. We must not have one headquarters, but

a dozen, a hundred, each capable of carrying on by itself. The Council would

split up, its members traveling from place to place, only meeting occasionally

and with due precaution.

So much for the first part of the Plan -- the urgent need to mobilize

all available forces for the struggle, and to reconnoiter and set up colonies

within reach of all three enemy Cities. There was another part, perhaps even

more important. Means had to be devised for destroying them, and this would

involve much hard work and experimentation. A separate base was to be set up,

but only those allotted to it would know where it was. That was where our

ultimate hope lay. We dared not risk its discovery by the Masters.

"Now," Julius said, "I have told you what I can. Later, you will be

given your individual instructions, and the things, such as maps, which you

may need to carry them out. I will ask now: are there any questions, or

suggestions?"

No one spoke, not even Pierre. Julius said, "Then we can go our ways."

He paused. "This is the last time we shall meet together, in such an assembly,

until our task is completed. The only final thing I would say is what I have

said already. That which we have to do is a tremendous and frightening thing,

but we must not let it frighten us. It can be done. Yet it can only be done by

each one giving his all. Go now, and God go with you."

It was Julius himself who gave me my instructions. I was to travel to

the south and east, posing as a trader, with a packhorse, winning recruits and

seeding resistance, and reporting back to this center.

Julius asked, "Is It clear to you, Will?"

"Yes, sir."

"Look at me, Will."

I raised my eyes. He said, "I think you are still smarting, lad, from

some of the things I said, after you had told your tale to the assembly."

"I realize that what you said was true, sir."

"But that does not make it easier to bear, when one has told a story of

courage and skill and high endeavor, and finds it afterward painted a somewhat

different color."

I did not answer.

"Listen, Will. What I did, I did for a purpose. The standards we set

ourselves must be high, to a point of near impossibility. So I used your story

to point a moral: that carelessness, in one man, can destroy us -- that enough

is never enough -- that there can be no complacency, however much is achieved,

because there is always more to achieve. But I can tell you now that what you

did, you and Fritz, was of tremendous value to us all."

I said, "Fritz did more. And Fritz did not come back."

Julius nodded. "It's is a thing you have to suffer. But what matters is

that one of you came back -- that we did not lose a year out of the brief time

we have. We all have to learn to live with our losses, and to use our regrets

to spur us on in the future." He put a hand on my shoulder. "It is because I

know you that I can say you did well. You will remember it, but you will

remember my criticism more clearly and for longer. Isn't that true, Will?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "I think it is true."

The three of us -- Henry, Beanpole, and I -- met at a place we had found

where there was a fissure high up in the rock, through which a little weak

daylight filtered -- just about enough for us to make out each other's faces

without the need of lamps. It was some distance from those parts of the caves

which were in general we, but we liked going there because of the reminder

that the world outside -- normally only glimpsed during guard duty at one of

the entrances -- really did exist: that somewhere there was light and wind and

weather, in place of this static blackness and the rumble and whisper and drip

of underground water One day, when there must have been a violent storm

blowing outside, a fine mist of rain was driven through the crack and filtered

down into our cave. We turned our faces up to it, relishing the cool dampness,

and imagining we could smell trees and grass in it.

Henry said, "I'm to go across the western ocean. Captain Curtis is

taking us, in the Orion. He will pay off his crew in England except for the

one who is false-Capped like himself, and those two will sail her down to a

port in the west of France, where we shall join them. Six of us. The land we

are going to is called America, and the people there speak the English tongue.

What about you, Will?"

I told them briefly. Henry nodded, clearly thinking his own the better

and more interesting mission. I agreed with him in that; but I did not care

much, either.

Henry said, "And you, Beanpole?"

"I don't know where."

"But they've allocated you, surely?"

He nodded. "To the research base."

It was what one should have expected. Beanpole, obviously, was the sort

they would need to work things out for the attack against the Masters. The

original trio, I thought, really would be split up this time. It did not seem

to matter a great deal. My mind was on Fritz. Julius had been quite right: it

was what he had said in criticism that I remembered and, remembering, was

shamed by. With another week or so to prepare, we might both have escaped. It

was my carelessness that had precipitated matters and so led to Fritz being

trapped. It was a bitter thought, but inescapable.

The other two were talking, and I was content to let them. They noticed

this in time. Henry said, "You're very quiet, Will. Anything wrong?"

"No."

He persisted. "You've been altogether quiet lately."

Beanpole said, "I read a book once about those Americans, to whose land

you will be going, Henry. It seems that they have red skins, and go about

dressed in feathers, and they carry things like hatchets, and play on drums

when they go to war and smoke pipes when they want to be peaceful"

Beanpole was usually too much interested in objects -- in the way they

worked or could be made to work -- to pay any great attention to people. But I

realized that he had noticed my unhappiness and guessed the cause of it --

after all, he had shared with me the vain wait outside the City, and the

journey home -- and was doing what he could to distract Henry from questioning

and me from brooding. I was grateful for that, and for the nonsense he was

talking.

There were many things to do before I could set off. I was instructed in

the ways of a packman, taught something of the languages in the countries I

would visit, advised on how to set up resistance cells and what to tell them

when I moved on. All this I took in conscientiously, and with a determination

to make no mistakes this time. But the melancholy I felt did not lift.

Henry left before I did. He went in high spirits, in a party that

included Tonio, who had been my sparring partner and rival before we went

north to the Games. They were all very cheerful. It seemed that everyone in

the caves was, apart from me. Beanpole tried to cheer me up, but without

success. Then Julius called me to see him. He gave me a lecture on the

futility of self-recrimination, the importance of realizing that the only good

lesson to be learned from the past was how to avoid similar errors in the

future. I listened, and agreed politely, but the black mood did not lift. He

said then, "Will, you are taking this the wrong way. You are someone who does

not easily bear criticism, and perhaps least of all from yourself. But to

settle into such a mood is something that makes you be capable of doing what

the Council requires of you."

"The job will be done, sir," I said. "And properly this time. I promise

that."

He shook his head. "I am not sure that such a promise will serve. It

would be different if you were of Fritz's temper. Yes, I will speak of him,

even though it hurts you. Fritz was melancholic by nature, and could tolerate

his own gloom. I do not think this is so with you, who are sanguine and

impatient. In your case, remorse and despondency could be crippling."

"I shall do the best I can."

"I know. But will your best be enough?" He looked at me, in slow

scrutiny. "You were to have started your journey in three days' time. I think

we must delay it."

"But, sir..."

"No buts, Will. It is my decision."

I said, "I am ready now, sir. And we do not have the time to waste."

Julius smiled. "There was something of defiance there, so all is not

lost. But you are already forgetting what I said at the last assembly. We

cannot afford false moves, or plans or people who are not fully prepared. You

will stay here a while longer, lad."

I think I hated Julius in that moment. Even when I had got over that, I

was bitterly resentful. I watched others leave, and chafed at my own

inactivity. The dark sunless days dragged by. I knew that I must change my

attitude, but could not. I tried, attempting to put on a false cheerfulness

but knowing no one, Julius least of all, was deceived. At last, though, Julius

called me back.

He said, "I have been thinking about you, Will. I believe I have found

an answer."

"May I go, sir?"

"Wait, wait! As you know, some packmen travel in pairs, for company and

so as to protect their goods better from thieves. It might be a good idea for

you to have such a companion."

He was smiling. Angry again, I said, "I am well enough by myself, sir."

"But if it is a question of going with another, or staying here -- which

will you choose?"

It was galling to think that he regarded me as unfit to be sent out on

my own. But there was only one answer that it was possible to give. I said,

not without sulkiness, "Whatever you decide, sir."

"That's good, Will. The one who is to go with you...would you like to

meet him now?"

I could see his smile in the lamplight. I said stiffly, "I suppose so,

sir."

"In that case..." His eyes went to the dark shadows at the edge of the

cave, where a row of limestone pillars made a curtain of stone. He called,

"You can come forward."

A figure approached. I stared, thinking that the dimness of the light

must be deceiving me. It was easier to disbelieve my eyes than to accept that

someone had come back from the dead.

For it was Fritz.

He told me later all that had happened. When he had seen me plunge into

the river that led out of the City, under the golden Wall, he had returned and

covered my traces as he had said he would, spreading the story that I had

found my Master floating in his pool and had gone straightway to the Place of

Happy Release, not wishing to live once my Master was dead. It was accepted,

and he was ready to make the attempt to follow me out. But the hardships he

had suffered, together with the extra exertions of the night we had spent

searching for the river, had taken their toll. He collapsed a second time, and

a second time was taken to the slaves' hospital.

It had been agreed that, if I got out, I should wait three days for him

to follow. More time than that had passed before he was fit even to rise from

his bed, and he thought therefore that I would have gone on. (In fact,

Beanpole and I waited twelve days before despair and the coming of the snow

drove us away, but Fritz could not know that.) Believing this, he began, as

was typical of him, to think the whole thing through again, slowly and

logically. He guessed that the underwater plunge through the City's outlet

vents must be difficult -- it would have killed me if Beanpole had not been on

hand to fish me from the river -- and knew the weakness of his own condition.

He needed to build up strength, and the hospital offered the best chance of

doing that. While he was there, he could avoid his Master's beatings and the

heavy tasks that normally were laid on him. He must, of course, be careful not

to arouse suspicion that he thought differently from the other slaves, which

meant that he had to calculate with care the length of time he could stay. He

made it last a fortnight, shamming, for the others, a weakness which increased

rather than diminished as the days went by; and then, sorrowfully, declared

that he realized he could no longer serve his Master as a Master should be

served, and so must die. He left the hospital late in the day, heading toward

the Place of. Happy Release, found somewhere to hide till night fell, and then

made for the Wall and freedom.

At first, all went well. He came out into the river on a dark night,

swam wearily to the bank, and went south, following the route we had taken.

But he was a couple of days behind us, and fell farther behind when a feverish

chill forced him to lie for several days, sweating and starving, in a farmer's

barn. He was still desperately weak when he started again, and not long after

was halted by a more serious illness. This time, fortunately, he was found and

looked after, for he had pneumonia and would have died without care. A lady

took him in. Her son, some years before, had turned Vagrant after his Capping.

She cherished Fritz because of that.

At last, when he was well and strong, he slipped away and continued his

journey. He found the White Mountains swept by blizzards, and was forced to

hide out near the valley villages for some time before he could make his way

painfully up through deep snow. At the tunnel, he was challenged by the single

guard that Julius had left there, just in case. The guard had led him, that

morning, to the caves.

All this I learned from him later. At the moment of our meeting, I

merely stared, incredulous.

Julius said, "I hope you and your companion will get on together. What

do you think, Will?"

Suddenly I realized I was grinning like an idiot.

2 -- The Hunt

We headed southeast, away from the winter that had closed in over the

land. There was a stiff climb, encumbered by drifts of snow, through the

mountain pass that took us to the country of the Italians, but after that the

going was easier. We traveled across a rich plain, and came to a sea that

beat, dark but tideless, against rocky shores and little fishing harbors. So

southward, with hills and distant mountains on our left hand, until it was

time to break through the heights to the west again.

As peddlers, we were welcomed almost everywhere, not only for the things

we brought with us but as new faces in small communities where people, whether

liking or disliking them, knew their neighbors all too well. Our wares, to

start with, were bolts of cloth, and carvings and small wooden clocks from the

Black Forest: our men had captured a couple of barges) trafficking along the

great river, and made off with their cargoes. We sold these as we went, and

bought other things to sell at a farther stage of our journey. Trade was good;

for the most part, these were rich farming lands, the women and children

anxious for novelties. The surplus, apart from what we needed to buy food,

accumulated in gold and silver coins. And in most places we were given board

and lodging. In return for the hospitality we were shown, we stole their boys

from them.

This was a thing that I could never properly resolve in my mind. To

Fritz, it was simple and obvious: we had our duty, and must do it. Even apart

from that, we were helping to save these people from the destruction which the

Masters planned. I accepted the logic, and envied him his singlemindedness,

but it still troubled me. Part of the difficulty, I think, was that it fell to

me more than to him to make friends with them. Fritz, as I now knew well

enough, was amiable at heart, but taciturn and withdrawn in appearance. His

command of languages was better than my own, but I did more of the talking,

and a lot more of the laughing. I quickly got onto good terms with each new

community we visited, and moved on, in many cases, with real regret.

Because, as I had learned during my stay in the Château de la Tour

Rouge, the fact that a man or a woman wore a Cap, and thought of the Tripods

as great metal demigods, did not prevent him or her from being, in all other

respects, a likable, even lovable, human being. It was my job to beguile them

into accepting us and taking part in our bartering. I did it as well as I

could, but I was not able to remain, at the same time, entirely detached. I

have always thrown myself into things, unable to hold back, and it was so with

this. It was not easy to like them, to recognize their kindness to us, and at

the same time to keep to our objective: which was, as they would have seen it,

to gain their trust only to betray them. I was often ashamed of what we did.

For our concern was with the young, the boys who would be Capped in the

next year or so. We gained their interest in the first case by bribery, giving

them small presents of knives, whistles, leather belts, things like that. They

flocked around us, and we talked to them, artfully making remarks and putting

queries designed to discover which of them had begun to question the right of

the Tripods to rule mankind, and to what extent. We rapidly grew skilled at

this, developing a good eye for the rebellious, or potentially rebellious.

And there were far more of these than one would have guessed. At the

beginning I had been surprised to find that Henry, whom I had known and fought

with since we were both able to walk, was as eager as I to break loose from

the chafing confinement of life as we knew it -- as apprehensive of what our

elders told us was the wonderful bliss of being Capped. I had not known,

because one did not talk about these things. To voice doubts was unthinkable,

but that did not mean that doubts did not exist. It became clear to us that

doubts of some kind were in the minds of all those who found the Capping

ceremony looming up in their lives. There was an intoxicating sense of release

to them in being in the presence of two who seemed to be Capped, yet did not,

as their parents did, treat the subject as a mystery that must never be spoken

of, but instead encouraged them to talk and listened to what they said.

Of course, we had to be careful in this. It was a matter, at the outset,

of veiled hints, inquiries -- seemingly innocent -- whose effect depended on

the look that went with them. Our procedure was to discover the one or two

who, in each village, best combined independence of mind and reliability.

Then, shortly before we moved on, these were taken to one side, and separately

briefed and counseled.

We told them the truth, about the Tripods and the world, and of the part

they must play in organizing resistance. It was not a matter now of sending

them back to one of our headquarters. Instead, they were to form a resistance

group among the other boys in the village or town, and plan an escape before

the Spring Cappings. (This would be long enough after our visit for there to

be no suspicion that we were concerned in it.) They must find places to live,

well apart from the Capped but from where they could raid their lands for food

and their youth for new recruits. And where they could wait for new

instructions.

There could be little definitely laid down: success must depend on

individual skill in improvisation and action. Some small help we could offer,

by way of communications. We carried pigeons with us, caged in pairs, and at

intervals we left a pair with one of our recruits. These were birds that could

return, over vast distances, to the nest from which they had come, and carry

messages, written very small on thin paper, tied to their legs. They were to

be bred, and their descendants used to keep the various centers in touch with

each other and eventually with the headquarters group responsible for them.

We gave them signs of identification, too: a ribbon tied in a horse's

mane, hats of a certain kind worn at a certain angle, a way of waving, the

Simulated cries of certain birds. And places, nearby, where messages could be

left, to guide us again, or our successors, to whatever hiding place they had

found. Beyond that, we could do no more than leave it in the hand of

Providence; and go our way, farther and farther, on the path Julius had

prescribed for us.

At the beginning, we had seen Tripods fairly frequently. As we went on,

though, this happened less and less. It was not a matter of the winter making

them inactive, we found, but a real effect of distance from the City. In the

land called Hellas, we were told that they appeared only a few times in the

year, and in the eastern parts of that country the villagers told us that the

Tripods came only for the Capping ceremonies and then not to every small

place, as they did in England: children were brought great distances by their

parents to be Capped.

This was reasonable, of course. The Tripods could travel fast -- many

times the speed of a galloping horse -- and without stopping, but distance

must take its toll even of them. It was inevitable that they should police

those regions close to the City more thoroughly than far-off places: each mile

represented a widening of the circle of which it was the center. For our part,

it was a relief to find ourselves in territories where we could be well nigh

certain -- at this time of year -- that no metal hemisphere on its three

jointed legs would break the skyline. And it raised a thought. There were two

Cities of the Masters, at either edge, more or less, of this vast continent.

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Tripods3--ThePoolOfFire--JohnChristopher--(1968)(Version2002.12.07)Tomydaughter,Elizabeth1--APlanofActionEverywheretherewasthesoundofwater.Inplacesitwasnomorethanafaintwhisper,heardonlybecauseofthegreatstillnessallaround;inothers,aneeriedistantrumbling,likethevoiceofagianttalkingtohimselfinthebowels...

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John Christopher - Tripods 3 - The Pool Of Fire

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