It was Mark’s hope that the approaching men would head immediately for the door, and that they would fail to see his men in the darkness outside.
The sound of slapping sandals was growing louder, and Mark’s heart sank as he heard the occasional clank of armor. Sword-hilts striking against breastplates! These were soldiers coming, not poorly armed watchmen. His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, could see the grim expressions on the faces of his men, indicating that they had interpreted the sounds as he had.
But the way they held their clubs and knives told him, that even though outnumbered and outclassed in armament, they would give a good accounting of themselves if it came to a fight.
The foremost of the soldiers dashed through the archway and continued, without breaking his stride, toward the lighted door. His eyes, partially blinded by the dim light, missed the men crouched in the shadows. Those who followed dashed right after him.
A steady stream, numbering at least fifty armored soldiers, crossed the courtyard at a run. Mark was elated at the success of his strategy. He was calling for his men to break cover and make their escape when abruptly a laggard soldier puffed through the archway. He was a heavy man, and had little breath left when he confronted Mark’s party. But what small amount of wind he retained, he used in a hoarse yell as he drew his sword and swung it at Mark.
Mark stepped out of range of the swing and then felled the man with an axe blow as his momentum carried him past. But the yell had done its work. The last two of the soldiers to dash into the prison had heard it and were calling to those who had gone before.
One man went down without striking a blow, but the other three were cutting at him viciously. His own men were not slow in sizing up the situation, however. In a body they dashed forward and belabored the three with heavy clubs. The soldiers were driven back through the portal. It slammed shut with a thud.
MARK realized that he was holding a lion by the tail. He leaned against the door and kept it closed against the pressure of the soldiers on the other side. But there was no way to secure it. The bolts were on the other side of the door, In a few minutes, as the men on the inside found that the prison was empty, they would all be pushing.
“Back to headquarters!” he ordered. “Walk! Don’t attract any attention. I’ll hold the door until you get a good start.”
“But what of you? They’ll get you!”
“Do as I say! If we all make a break for it, they’ll trace us back to headquarters. Go quietly and no one will notice you. I’ll meet you there.”
Reluctantly, the spurious night-watch obeyed. His way was the only solution.
Mark, his back braced against the door, counted the beats of his pulse.
He had to give his party a start sufficient to carry them far enough away that they could not be reached if the soldiers should spread out in a search for them.
At the count of five hundred, indicating that about seven minutes had passed, he suddenly released his pressure from the door, and sped across the courtyard.
The door swung violently open and five men went to their knees. Those in the rear scrambled past them and took up the chase.
But by the time they reached the archway, Mark was a dwindling figure in the distance. At their best speed the soldiers followed. It was a hopeless chase, for in the space of a few blocks the murkiness of the night had swallowed up their quarry, leaving no evidence of his passing.
They scattered, trying to pick up the trail, but finally had to give it up. The search ended at a spot several miles removed from the location of the rebel headquarters, for Mark had purposely led them in the opposite direction. But the real chase was only beginning...
Chapter 6: Lorn Lady
A VIKING ship of the eightieth century, while a model of efficiency for its day, was no speedboat. And so it was that after two weeks of sailing, Nona’s ship was still plowing earnestly but sluggishly through the North Se. It had been a long voyage, especially without the companionship of Mark. Even at his noblest and most irritating, Mark was more fun than any other man. And she missed him. She fretted too; knowing Omega’s capacity for getting Mark into trouble, she almost wished he wouldn’t find Mark. Omega, you see, was the typical friend of the family, only instead of luring Mark off on disgraceful benders, he was more apt to drag him into perilous crusades to save the world.
Most of Nona’s life had been spent so far from the sea that her only knowledge of it had come from books. And the few months that she had traveled on the water had been in Mark’s company. Without him, she found she didn’t like the sea so very much. It was too unruly, too desolate — and too darned big.
Her mind kept returning to the morning when she had found that he had been washed overboard. She experienced over and over again the wild grief of that moment, and the hopelessness of the subsequent search.
Long days had passed without hearing further from Omega and the strength of her hope was wearing thin. So omnipotent were the powers of Omega that if her husband still lived, the Selenite should have found him long ago. Daily the conviction was becoming stronger in her mind that the visit of Omega had been a figment of her overwrought imagination.
On the fifteenth day land was sighted.
Among the Norsemen there came a stir of excitement. Sven, the captain, climbed the mast and took his place beside the lookout. It was up to him to determine their position. For although they had set their course to bring them to their home port at Stadtland, there was no guarantee that the land sighted was within a hundred miles of that point. Norsemen navigated by instinct — they were very proud of their intuitive sea bearings. But in point of fact, instinct seemed to be merely another name for trial and error.
Sven, who did know every jutting cape and twisting inlet along the coast of his own land, even if he was pretty blank on other coasts, quickly discovered that the ship had made an extraordinarily lucky landfall and lay within one day’s northward travel of its destination.
Nona watched listlessly as the crew bent enthusiastic backs to the long oars, aiding the feeble wind that refused to belly the great sail. The sight of land had brought no stir to her breast, in spite of the weary weeks that had made her utterly fed up with the sea.
For although an honored place in Norse society would be hers, by reason of Mark’s attainments, the prospect seemed savorless without him to share it.
Of late she had spent most of her time shut in her cabin. The cheerful faces of the crew irked her. They felt none of the doubts that were making her miserable. She had told them, as Omega had suggested, that she had been the recipient of a message from Thor the Thunder God, who had told her that Mark was engaged in fulfilling a mission that would take him several weeks, but that he would return to them when it was accomplished. The Vikings, who revered Mark as the chosen of Thor, found the deception quite believable, and felt no more anxiety for Mark’s safety.
This gullibility gave Nona a low opinion of their intelligence, and she found it impossible to endure their light-hearted conversation. She was not by any means certain that she would ever again see the face of her husband.
Another thing that made her visits on deck become shorter as the days went by, was the fact that they made her miss Mark all the more. Invariably he had been with her when she left the cabin. As a pastime he had taught her the use of the axe and short-sword. Garbed in the heavy leather trapping of the Norsemen, to protect them from cuts that might spill too much of their radio-active blood, they would spend hours cutting and slashing at each other, in mock combat.
AT FIRST they had been very careful not to hurt each other, and had used axes and swords with dulled cutting edges. Mark, during this phase of her tuition, had concentrated on the finer points of the art, teaching her to fend off axe slashes with deft parries of the shortsword held in the left hand, and to deliver effective counter-slashes.
And for some time he had dealt his blows lightly, afraid of hurting her. But as her skill increased and it became apparent that she was as p
roof against injury as he, her strength and agility made him extend himself more and more.
The time soon came when they battled with such skill and fervor that the crew looked on aghast at the apparent intensity of the conflict.
Both of them tireless, they could maintain their strenuous exercise at fever pitch, long after the hardiest of the Norsemen would have fallen, exhausted. The battles invariably ended in one way. Mark would lead her to swing for his helmet while his guard was down, then in the instant she was off balance, he would drop his weapons, make a lightning lunge and swing her high in the air, unable to touch him with either axe or sword. Laughing and bowing, they would acknowledge the wild applause of the conflict-loving Vikings.
But now that Mark was gone, the very things which had brought so much happiness made her heart ache. Her misery had to remain locked within her, for there was no one in whom she could confide. The cabin was her only refuge from the carefree cheerfulness of these simple men. And it was to the cabin that she turned after Sven came down from the rigging with news of their location.
She opened the door, froze for an instant into rigid immobility, then abruptly stepped inside and closed the door after her.
There, reclining on a cushioned divan, in a pose that would have done credit to a member of the seraglio from which the divan had been pilfered, was Omega. He was presenting himself in the same antiquated body that she had last seen. With his bony chin cupped seductively in the interlaced fingers of scrawny hands, he treated her to a toothless grin — a grin which might have been bold and dashing if the body he had acquired had been about fifty years younger. As it was, he just looked silly.
“Hullo, babe,” he said.
“Where’s Mark?”
“Let’s not go into that right now,” he urged. “I was just thinking maybe I could take his place for a while. You’re not a bad-looking wench, you know.” He ogled her shamelessly.
Nona looked sour. “You’re not very, funny,” she stated. “Where is Mark?”
Omega allowed a tear to trickle from the corner of his left eye. The right one still retained a twinkle. It was a special delight of his to create human bodies and then make them do hideously inhuman things.
“Whatever that is you’re doing with your eyes, stop it. It’s disgusting. And so, you Selenite lecher, are you. Where’s Mark?”
“So you still want him?” His voice quavered with emotion. “When you could have a fine specimen of vigorous manhood like me, for the asking. A sad case... Yes, a very sad case.” At this point Nona showed signs of becoming violent. Omega sobered abruptly. “All right, all right. I found him.”
“Take me to him,” she demanded.
“Not so fast,” he counseled, waving her to a seat. “I found him, all right, over a week ago. And a tough job it was. But I don’t think it would be a good idea to take you to him just now.”
Nona’s face fell, “Doesn’t he want... Has he forgotten me?”
OMEGA stroked his chin. “That’s the funny thing about it. He struck his head when he went overboard. He remembers you, but he’s forgotten everything else. When I finally found him, I took the liberty of delving into his mind, a thing I seldom do — don’t consider it ethical. But I had to learn what had happened.
“And it turns out that he remembers your name, and can visualize you in his mind, but he doesn’t even know who you are! He has only a dim conviction that you belong to him, but that’s all.”
“But can’t you restore his memory? Or bring him here? He’ll remember if you do that.”
“Wouldn’t be advisable,” Omega said. “His brain is healing and it would be better to let his memory return by itself. Besides, he’s started a job that he must finish...”
“Now, Omega, you listen to me,” she began. “If you encourage Mark into any more crazy adventures, I’ll — I’ll scratch your eyes out! Or whomsoevers eyes those unmatched horrors are.” Omega paid no attention.
He went on to explain how Mark had swum, after falling overboard, to the shore of the land that had once been ancient England; how he had become embroiled in the cause of the rebels, and that after seeing the privations suffered by the lower classes — the undernourished children, the fear of parents for their daughters — he wouldn’t stop his campaign for anything, even the return of his memory.
“Then you can take me to him,” said Nona. “I can help him. I think it’s crazy — but if I can’t stop him, I’m going to be with him.”
“No!” Omega emphasized the word by jumping up and down in fury.
“Why not?” asked Nona, using her most beguilingly reasonable tone.
“It wouldn’t be safe.”
“Nonsense! I’m the equal of any five men. Mark taught me to fight, you know.”
Omega grinned ruefully. “Yes, I know. Mark trained you. I don’t get any credit for providing the blood that made it possible, do I? But I wasn’t thinking of your safety. I wouldn’t worry about you in a cave full of snarling tigers. It’s Mark. Right now Mark is doing very well, and he’s slowly getting an inkling of his past. But if you were suddenly to pop up, he would be torn between a desire to look after you, and the necessity of finishing what he has started. And he’d probably wind up in the hands of the enemy, who aren’t at all nice to rebels.”
The battle was joined. Nona insisted she would be more help than hindrance, while Omega was determined that she finish the journey to Stadtland and prepare a home for Mark on his eventual return to the land of the Norsemen.
Finally Omega, wearying of the yammer, abruptly deserted the form of the aged man and became the spiderlike creature which represented his original body. He then made a noise which could have been made only with human lips, and followed it with the remark: “Phooey to females!” This was taking a nasty advantage but ethics had never been Omega’s strong point. Nona shrieked in terror, sank back on a divan, and Omega disappeared entirely. “Come back here, you — you thing,” she raged. “That’s not fair!” She began to heave cushions about the room.
She tired of this in a few minutes, and sat up to stare at the wall of the cabin. Then, after a few deft touches to her wavy ebon hair, she stepped out on the deck.
Shortly after, she and Sven were poring over his inaccurate maps of the islands of the North Sea. Nona had invented a plan. It appeared that Thor had sent her a second message.
Chapter 7: The Fat Satan
MARK strode along a cobbled street a full mile to the west of the misleading route he had taken when the soldiers were pursuing him. He was doubling back now, heading in the general direction of Smid’s haberdashery shop. He was walking slowly and smiling happily to himself. The smile was not occasioned by the success of the jail delivery. Nor was it a result of his coup in drawing the pursuit away from the rebel headquarters. Both things had left his mind entirely.
He was remembering!
From the instant his party of disguised rebels had entered the prison courtyard he had felt a vague stirring in his brain. It had congealed into concrete thought when he had hammered on the door.
Two weeks before he had experienced a return of certain portions of his memory when he had stood on that very spot. The association had brought it back. On the other occasion his thoughts had been driven away by his sudden surge of anger at the foul blow of one of the night watchmen. But this time, even though events had been happening with bewildering rapidity, the train of his thoughts had continued, falteringly but unbroken.
First as he had hammered at the huge portal, had come the memory of days of intense abdominal pain.
Coupled with the recollection he could see a face, a somber face which he knew belonged to Dr. Kelso. Old Chisel-chin, he had called him. The doctor was going to remove the pain. It had been vague and disquieting, at first, this memory.
But it had strengthened suddenly as the party waited at the door.
In a matter of seconds he had experienced the return of memories covering thousands of years. Dr. Kelso had developed a new anaest
hetic which had apparently worked admirably on guinea-pigs. He had wished Mark’s signed permission to use it during the appendectomy which must be performed. The permission had been granted, with surprising results. Mark had slipped quietly into a state of suspended animation from which he had been awakened six thousand years later by the former inhabitant of the moon, Omega.
Good old Omega. Mark’s grin broadened. He wondered where that moon-imp was now. Probably considered his work on Earth finished, now that he had safely established Mark and Nona as the new Adam and Eve of a new and finer race, and gone cavorting about the other planets. Mark frowned. Everything had gone wrong; Omega wouldn’t like it. Mark and Nona were separated and here he was all mixed up in some insular revolution that might very well be considerably less altruistic than its ringleaders made it out. Wherever Omega was, Mark fervently hoped that Omega wasn’t paying any too much attention to what he, Mark, was up to.
Then suddenly Mark knew that the thing he wanted most in life was Nona. Remembering the howling storm which had washed him overboard he felt sudden anxiety for her safety. But it was allayed immediately by the thought that the stout Viking ship would have weathered the dying fury of that tempest with ease. And Nona had been safe in their cabin. Still, the thought of her safety was not enough.
ABRUPTLY he was cursing himself for becoming so engrossed in his thoughts as to lose awareness of his surroundings. In his preoccupation he had been totally oblivious to the fact that his movements had been observed and that he was being slowly but completely surrounded by a body of soldiers.
In the darkness of the night they managed to get quite close before he noticed them. It is likely that one of them would have stolen close enough to strike an unexpected blow, if Mark hadn’t been warned by the clanking rattle of a breastplate. As it was, when he did sense their presence they were on all sides.
The Best of Argosy #6 - Minions of Mars Page 5