Read Online Compleat Traveller in Black by John Brunner - Free Book Online
Authors: John Brunner
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the crowd. “There!” he shouted, throwing up his arm to indicate the hideous red idol. “That’s the best they can muster against you! Hark at his howling! Why, already he fears your mere presence!”
“I must go down,” said the margrave in low tones. “I have no stomach to stand up here and watch the poor fools massacred.”
“I’ll come with you,” Eadwil said.
Accordingly they descended together to the gate. Among muttered threats from the commoners, saying that if these nobles were going to interfere out of spite they would earn short shrift, they elbowed closer and closer to Bernard. The heat of Eadwil’s feet helped clear a path.
At last the margrave stood face to face with Bernard Brown, and cast on him a look eloquent of sympathy.
“This is none of our doing,” he said in apologetic tones. “It seems the people of Ryovora, so long accounted sensible, have finally taken leave of their good sense.”
Bernard blinked at him unhappily. “I fear you are right, sir,” he agreed. “Especially since this galumphing monstrosity is plainly nothing more than an overgrown child.”
“A – what? ” said the margrave, and Eadwil was seen to be grinning almost from ear to ear.
“An overgrown child,” repeated Bernard patiently. “Why, he howls and strikes out and breaks things at random! This is not the behavior of an intelligent, adult personality! Moreover, one must assume that the folk of Acromel have attempted to establish communication with their idol, must one not?”
“Why – ah …” The margrave was bewildered. “One would imagine so, yes!”
“Yet their preferred mode of converse proves to be torches on long sticks.” Bernard spread his hands. “One may deduce that we have here a case of arrested development, not entirely on the idol’s part, so what I would propose …”
VIII
Wave upon wave of laughter rang out around the walls of Ryovora, and at once the citizens, aided and abetted by the margrave, set about implementing Bernard’s plan. Eadwil stood a little apart, his lips set in a smile that bid fair to become permanent.
Meanwhile the sky attained full brightness and the sun hoisted itself towards the meridian. Among the ranks of those from Acromel a certain impatience grew manifest. The torches which served to goad the idol were withdrawn one by one, soaked in fresh pitch, and relit; the chains which tethered his sixteen limbs were firmly anchored to posts hammered deep in the ground, so that the teams of men afoot and ahorse who weighed him down when he was on the move might relax for a while; but in the comings and goings of the mass there was more restlessness than purpose.
Ultimately, close upon midday, the spokesman who had previously addressed the nobility of Ryovora again ascended his knoll and called for the margrave. Sweating from hard work, hands filthy, his richly embroidered sleeves turned back above his elbows, that official leaned over the ramparts and responded with a wave.
“Ah, there you are, your honor! It’s time to remind you that our god is restive! Time wastes – it’s almost noon – and we hunger to learn the outcome of this matter!”
The margrave glanced down into the avenue paralleling the wall, where work had proceeded apace under Bernard Brown’s direction. Far below, Eadwil raised both arms to signal that all was ready.
“Good!” said the margrave privately, and shouted to the spokesman for Acromel.
“Our city’s god is prepared to meet yours!”
At once the man from Acromel yelled to those charged with loosing the Quadruple God from his chains. A moment passed; then, from amid the crowd before the gate of Ryovora, diffidently yet with unfaltering strides, Bernard Brown marched forth to face the enemy.
A gust of merriment ascended, and the welkin rang with scornful gibes. But Bernard kept on plodding towards the Quadruple God.
And the huge red idol paid him no attention.
Because behind the approaching man, behind
“I must go down,” said the margrave in low tones. “I have no stomach to stand up here and watch the poor fools massacred.”
“I’ll come with you,” Eadwil said.
Accordingly they descended together to the gate. Among muttered threats from the commoners, saying that if these nobles were going to interfere out of spite they would earn short shrift, they elbowed closer and closer to Bernard. The heat of Eadwil’s feet helped clear a path.
At last the margrave stood face to face with Bernard Brown, and cast on him a look eloquent of sympathy.
“This is none of our doing,” he said in apologetic tones. “It seems the people of Ryovora, so long accounted sensible, have finally taken leave of their good sense.”
Bernard blinked at him unhappily. “I fear you are right, sir,” he agreed. “Especially since this galumphing monstrosity is plainly nothing more than an overgrown child.”
“A – what? ” said the margrave, and Eadwil was seen to be grinning almost from ear to ear.
“An overgrown child,” repeated Bernard patiently. “Why, he howls and strikes out and breaks things at random! This is not the behavior of an intelligent, adult personality! Moreover, one must assume that the folk of Acromel have attempted to establish communication with their idol, must one not?”
“Why – ah …” The margrave was bewildered. “One would imagine so, yes!”
“Yet their preferred mode of converse proves to be torches on long sticks.” Bernard spread his hands. “One may deduce that we have here a case of arrested development, not entirely on the idol’s part, so what I would propose …”
VIII
Wave upon wave of laughter rang out around the walls of Ryovora, and at once the citizens, aided and abetted by the margrave, set about implementing Bernard’s plan. Eadwil stood a little apart, his lips set in a smile that bid fair to become permanent.
Meanwhile the sky attained full brightness and the sun hoisted itself towards the meridian. Among the ranks of those from Acromel a certain impatience grew manifest. The torches which served to goad the idol were withdrawn one by one, soaked in fresh pitch, and relit; the chains which tethered his sixteen limbs were firmly anchored to posts hammered deep in the ground, so that the teams of men afoot and ahorse who weighed him down when he was on the move might relax for a while; but in the comings and goings of the mass there was more restlessness than purpose.
Ultimately, close upon midday, the spokesman who had previously addressed the nobility of Ryovora again ascended his knoll and called for the margrave. Sweating from hard work, hands filthy, his richly embroidered sleeves turned back above his elbows, that official leaned over the ramparts and responded with a wave.
“Ah, there you are, your honor! It’s time to remind you that our god is restive! Time wastes – it’s almost noon – and we hunger to learn the outcome of this matter!”
The margrave glanced down into the avenue paralleling the wall, where work had proceeded apace under Bernard Brown’s direction. Far below, Eadwil raised both arms to signal that all was ready.
“Good!” said the margrave privately, and shouted to the spokesman for Acromel.
“Our city’s god is prepared to meet yours!”
At once the man from Acromel yelled to those charged with loosing the Quadruple God from his chains. A moment passed; then, from amid the crowd before the gate of Ryovora, diffidently yet with unfaltering strides, Bernard Brown marched forth to face the enemy.
A gust of merriment ascended, and the welkin rang with scornful gibes. But Bernard kept on plodding towards the Quadruple God.
And the huge red idol paid him no attention.
Because behind the approaching man, behind
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