Read Online Escape From Hell by Larry Niven - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Larry Niven
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tree. Now tell me more about the Winds.”
• • •
T he Winds were fierce, even near the ground. Rosemary and I crossed hugging the rocks, feeling for handholds and toeholds. Her long, dark hair whipped in the wind, torn loose from its neat braid. There was a musty smell, not entirely unpleasant but too much of it. A smell of bedrooms and sweat.
The Winds got stronger. There was a whirlwind coming directly toward us. “Look out! Hold on!” I shouted.
The whirlwind surrounded us, then we were in the eye and there was no wind at all. A stocky man in Edwardian clothes hovered in front of us. He had the kind of mustache you see on villains in a melodrama, black handlebar with twisted ends. He paid no attention to me at all.
“Welcome to the Winds, pretty lady.”
Rosemary looked up with a frown. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Frank Harris, at your service.”
“Frank Harris?” I asked.
“The same. You have heard of me, of course.”
“I am sorry, no,” Rosemary said.
“I have,” I said.
There was a young lady of Paris
Whom nothing could ever embarrass
Until one fine day
In a sidewalk café
She abruptly ran into Frank Harris.
Rosemary looked puzzled.
“He was well known,” I told her. “Oscar Wilde said he’d been invited to all the best houses in Europe. Once.”
Frank laughed. “Indeed. Stay watchful, I am certain you will see Oscar,” he said. “If you’d care to join me, pretty lady, you must be quick about it. I can’t control this wind for long.”
Four women, one teenage and the rest older, whirled around us in a furious circle. Frank moved slightly, moving the center of the eye, and a blast caught me, nearly tearing me loose from my rock.
Frank was the tour guide. He kept pointing out people as they whipped past. One of them was Oscar Wilde, but he didn’t stop to talk. Another was Simon Raven. He had his own little whirlwind with maybe a dozen others, men and women both. Frank and Simon Raven exchanged courteous greetings before Raven was whisked away.
“You can leave this place,” I shouted. “I know the way out of Hell.”
“Do you, now?” Frank asked.
“All the way down. Did you ever read Dante?”
“I did.”
“He had the geography right.” I stared at Frank. “How did you get to be a tour guide? And who are your customers?”
“People like you,” Frank said. “There are more of you, lately. So there’s a way out. I might give that a try, if I can find a replacement.”
I thought about that. “Hugh Hefner’s got years to go,” I said.
Frank’s laugh was big and infectious. “I have heard of him. Many times. He must have wonderful stories. A worthy successor! Hang on!”
The warning was just in time. When Frank moved on the Winds came back. We crawled downhill.
The damned streamed above us in ribbons and clusters. Some of what I heard was certainly screams, but I heard laughter, too.
“I was flighty in college,” Rosemary said. “I slept with a dozen boys, maybe more, once with two of them at once. I’m scared of this place.”
“Me, too,” I said. “But it bothers me. If dalliance is sin enough to put you in this circle of Hell, why aren’t we here?”
“Because we didn’t think it mattered that much?” Rosemary said. “Only now we know it does.”
“Maybe you’ve got it,” I said. I wasn’t sure at all, but I had every reason to be afraid of the place where the carnal were punished. One commentator I’d read said it was the place for those who had betrayed reason to their appetites. That was a fair description of periods of my life. Why wasn’t I in the Winds? But then why wasn’t just about every man I’d ever known?
“Were those homosexuals?” Rosemary demanded. She was pointing to a group, all male, of ages from adolescent to elderly, being whirled around in an odd dance that coupled them by twos and threes, then whipped them around to new partners.
“Beats me.” I didn’t recognize
• • •
T he Winds were fierce, even near the ground. Rosemary and I crossed hugging the rocks, feeling for handholds and toeholds. Her long, dark hair whipped in the wind, torn loose from its neat braid. There was a musty smell, not entirely unpleasant but too much of it. A smell of bedrooms and sweat.
The Winds got stronger. There was a whirlwind coming directly toward us. “Look out! Hold on!” I shouted.
The whirlwind surrounded us, then we were in the eye and there was no wind at all. A stocky man in Edwardian clothes hovered in front of us. He had the kind of mustache you see on villains in a melodrama, black handlebar with twisted ends. He paid no attention to me at all.
“Welcome to the Winds, pretty lady.”
Rosemary looked up with a frown. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Frank Harris, at your service.”
“Frank Harris?” I asked.
“The same. You have heard of me, of course.”
“I am sorry, no,” Rosemary said.
“I have,” I said.
There was a young lady of Paris
Whom nothing could ever embarrass
Until one fine day
In a sidewalk café
She abruptly ran into Frank Harris.
Rosemary looked puzzled.
“He was well known,” I told her. “Oscar Wilde said he’d been invited to all the best houses in Europe. Once.”
Frank laughed. “Indeed. Stay watchful, I am certain you will see Oscar,” he said. “If you’d care to join me, pretty lady, you must be quick about it. I can’t control this wind for long.”
Four women, one teenage and the rest older, whirled around us in a furious circle. Frank moved slightly, moving the center of the eye, and a blast caught me, nearly tearing me loose from my rock.
Frank was the tour guide. He kept pointing out people as they whipped past. One of them was Oscar Wilde, but he didn’t stop to talk. Another was Simon Raven. He had his own little whirlwind with maybe a dozen others, men and women both. Frank and Simon Raven exchanged courteous greetings before Raven was whisked away.
“You can leave this place,” I shouted. “I know the way out of Hell.”
“Do you, now?” Frank asked.
“All the way down. Did you ever read Dante?”
“I did.”
“He had the geography right.” I stared at Frank. “How did you get to be a tour guide? And who are your customers?”
“People like you,” Frank said. “There are more of you, lately. So there’s a way out. I might give that a try, if I can find a replacement.”
I thought about that. “Hugh Hefner’s got years to go,” I said.
Frank’s laugh was big and infectious. “I have heard of him. Many times. He must have wonderful stories. A worthy successor! Hang on!”
The warning was just in time. When Frank moved on the Winds came back. We crawled downhill.
The damned streamed above us in ribbons and clusters. Some of what I heard was certainly screams, but I heard laughter, too.
“I was flighty in college,” Rosemary said. “I slept with a dozen boys, maybe more, once with two of them at once. I’m scared of this place.”
“Me, too,” I said. “But it bothers me. If dalliance is sin enough to put you in this circle of Hell, why aren’t we here?”
“Because we didn’t think it mattered that much?” Rosemary said. “Only now we know it does.”
“Maybe you’ve got it,” I said. I wasn’t sure at all, but I had every reason to be afraid of the place where the carnal were punished. One commentator I’d read said it was the place for those who had betrayed reason to their appetites. That was a fair description of periods of my life. Why wasn’t I in the Winds? But then why wasn’t just about every man I’d ever known?
“Were those homosexuals?” Rosemary demanded. She was pointing to a group, all male, of ages from adolescent to elderly, being whirled around in an odd dance that coupled them by twos and threes, then whipped them around to new partners.
“Beats me.” I didn’t recognize
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