“And you also sought out Lyra and protected her,” Eward added. “Why? Why us particularly?”
Dalmer smiled slowly. “Because, Eward, you are my son.”
Eward and the girl stared in amazement.
“So strange?” Dalmer chucked, and then shook his head. “No! I was exiled to Callisto, but I escaped and came back. I fought my way with medical knowledge to the position of head surgeon, always with my plans of revenge. I knew where my son was. I knew one day my son should be the Grey Avenger. What more could a parent do than watch over his daughter-to-be whilst his son was destroying a Godless persecution?”
Dalmer said no more. He could not. Regardless of orders, Eward leapt out of bed and tore across to the armchair. Not a second later the girl was on top of him. Together they smothered the helpless scientist under the enthusiasm of their affection.
ARCTIC GOD
How could an English village be here in the frozen north? And what was the arctic god thy feared so much?
CHAPTER I
The Expedition
“Say, ever hear of this range on maps or things?” Jerry Marsden pulled off his helmet, rubbed his aching bearded face and drew a breath of the lung-cutting air.
Sid’s face emerged from the furs too—bewhiskered, beefy. He gave a puzzled frown.
“Nope.” Jerry looked round in the gloom: the weak Polar daylight was very near masked to twilight by the storm. “I’ve not the remotest idea where we are. And that’s kind of funny, come to think of it! We started this Expedition to find and claim new territory, then we have to lose our Omnibus and find the new territory on foot!”
He looked again at the gaunt, rocky interior of the cave then toward the tunnel that loomed back of it. Sid caught his thought.
“We might as well see where it takes us. Can’t do much on the outside until the storm blows itself out anyway. Come on.”
They made their way carefully along the rocky vista. The further they went and left behind the polar hell the warmer the air seemed to get. Jerry’s pedometer said they’d covered nearly two miles before the tunnel ended, and by this time the warmth was so oppressive they had to start pulling off their furs.
“Queer?” Sid looked his question, then stared at the barrier wall in the light of his torch.
“Volcanic activity probably,” Jerry replied. “Right now I’d give my life—what it’s worth!—to see what’s beyond this wall. First we get an unknown mountain range, then a natural tunnel through it—But what’s beyond that?”
“More tunnel and more storm I expect. We can try and find out.” Discarding their furs completely they set to work to pull away the mass of boulders and stones that blocked the passage. The more they worked the more evident it seemed that volcanic substance had created the barrier. But there was not a great deal of it. At the end of an hour’s heavy manual labor Jerry pulled clear a block of pumice-rock that allowed a pure, clear ray of light to shine through.
“Say, it’s daylight!” Sid looked amazed. “I thought the storm had blanked that completely!”
“Storm or no storm, it’s still daylight,” Jerry said briefly. “Anyway, we’re on the other side of the range by now and the storm may not be raging here— Come on, give me a hand. This gets interesting.”
They redoubled their efforts, clawing and pulling, at last managed to scramble through the gap they made. Then they sat down to a sitting position, astounded at what they beheld. It was like looking down into a medieval paradise…
They were high up on a completely encircling range of mountains. At the mountain summits frothed and fumed atmospheric vapors from the streaming cold of the Arctic: there was an incessant dull rumble of thunder as heat and cold locked in combat.
But down here in the cup made by the range was a great sweeping fertile valley, dazzling with flowers and pasture land. It reached right to the edges of a quaint town that looked like something lifted wholesale from the Middle Ages of England. There were thatched roofs, cobbled streets, overhanging gables, little mullioned windows—
Over it all a blue sky. The sun was hidden by its low angle and the further barrier of the mountains—otherwise the air was warm and spring-like, the wind a gentle caress.
Sid said finally, “Maybe we’re dead?”
“Dead nothing!” Jerry growled. “This valley is volcanic, hence the warmth. It’s shut off from the Arctic waste—an immensely fertile stretch all by itself. But I’ll be damned if I can figure out this little colony. Looks as though a chunk of England side-slipped in Time or something… Better go see what they’ve got. Maybe quaff a measure of mead,” he finished, grinning through his bearded lips.
They set off together down the mountain slope. It was a longer descent than they had expected. The flowers, when they reached them, turned out to be conventional daisies, buttercups and dandelions… Far away in the distance were cattle—perfectly normal sheep and cows, even horses. Once they glimpsed a pair of oxen yoked together and led by a man in a curiously old-fashioned costume.
“I still think we’re dead,” Sid muttered, as they went on knee-high through the grass. “Such peace and quiet as this can’t exist on polar ice— Maybe it’s Utopia!” His eyes gleamed at that. Then he pointed quickly. “Take a look! Men and women right out of ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’!”
Jerry grinned as he saw what he meant. Men and women were clearly in view now they had touched the outskirts of the town. They all wore the quaint Puritan-like garb of early England. The men wore billowy-sleeved shirts, jerkins, and tight breeches; the women tight-bodiced dresses with flowing skirts and, here and there, a conical hat. There were a few children—very few, Jerry noticed.
In some sort of market place, jammed with fruit stalls, oxen, shouting men and bargaining women, Jerry came to halt with Sid right beside him. There was an instant flurry among the populace at the presence of two strangers—bearded, dirty, heavily armed. Some ran to shelter in the heavily gabled houses, which in spite of their design appeared to be composed of still comparatively new material. Others of the people stood their ground, waited doubtfully. Jerry made a vague welcoming gesture with his arms.
“Hi ya, folks! Any idea where we are? What place is this, anyway?”
The people looked at each other. An old man wagged his grey head doubtfully.
“’Tis strangers thou art,” he breathed. “Only by witchcraft couldst thou have come hither.”
“Huh?” Jerry stared at Sid, then gave a grunt. “Witchcraft my foot! We walked it—pounding, pounding, through the snow-ways beyond this mountain range— Damnit, isn’t anybody going to give us a welcome?” he went on impatiently. “We don’t want to hurt you. All we ask is food, a chance to rest, and—and a shave.”
At that a girl edged her way from the crowd and looked at Jerry critically; then at Sid. She was very slight, possibly twenty-two, dressed in the simple Puritan style. Her flaxen hair reached nearly to her waist. Her face was oval, delicately flushed; her eyes gray and bright with intelligence.
“Perchance I—I canst help thee,” she said, coming forward and dropping a little curtsy. “I—er—”—she glanced nervously at her frowning fellow townsfolk—“I can help thee because my father is the town cryer. He knoweth much—”
She caught Jerry’s hand in impulsive quickness. “Come quickly, I beg of thee!”
“Yeah—yeah, sure,” Jerry agreed, surprised; and with Sid beside him they all three pushed through the gawping people to a tavern further up the street.
It was an ale-house of pure old fashioned sort, full of oaken cross beams, rough wood tables, brass ornaments, hide-backed chairs… The windows were cross-patterned in diamond-mullion.
“Please tarry,” the girl smiled, waving to chairs, then she went hurrying off to other parts of the tavern.
“Where’d they get this ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ stuff?” Sid demanded, sitting down and scratching his head. “Looks like we side-tracked ourselves someplace and finished up in medieval England. If that’s wrong
how did this place get here?”
“Take a look,” Jerry said in response, and jerked his head. The populace was peering through the windows now, muttering and talking. They were in the doorway too, tramping on each others’ toes to get a better look—
Then suddenly the girl and a massive stomached man appeared—presumably her father. He took a look at the people, slammed the door in their faces and bolted it, clamped shutters across the window, then lit massive candles to relieve the gloom. He turned, red-faced, genial, massive armed, a huge apron round his immense middle.
“Marry, but thou art strangers indeed!” he exclaimed, staring at them. “And a comely crop of beard too—” He broke off as the girl nudged him, seemed to remember something. “I am Robert the Robust,” he explained. “Town cryer to his most Excellent Majesty Ethelbert the Red—and in spare time, forsooth, keeper of this tavern. Here ist mine only one—Hesther. But—” he frowned—“whom wouldst thou be?”
Jerry hesitated. “We’re polar explorers. Tell you what you do, Robert—bring us something to eat and drink and we’ll tell you the whole story. There’s plenty to it—both sides.”
“So be it—but thou talkest in strange vein—
“We’ve nothing on you, pal,” Jerry said; then as the rotund one went off with a mystified look he added to the girl, “Look, Hesther, what goes on? We don’t know anything about this setup, see? We’re from the outer world—New York. Ever heard of it?”
She shook her flaxen head, watched as Jerry eased off his accoutrements. “I knoweth only the England whence we came but a year or so ago.”
“Year or so?” Jerry looked at her sharply.
She seated herself. “Of a truth. The storm brought us hither and we wert lost. We slept. Then the Great God of the Mountain gaveth us life, and peace, and brought us hence…”
“But—but—” Jerry got a grip on himself. “Listen, you belong to an England that went phut some four centuries back at least— When did this valley come into being? Anyway, who’s the Great God?”
“None knoweth.” There was reverent awe in her gray eyes. “He giveth life as he willeth it. None hath seen him—but he liveth. Far up yonder mountain.”
“Gold in them thar hills, pal,” Sid grinned.
Jerry relaxed. “Your witness,” he sighed.
“Repeating the question, when did this valley come into being?” Sid demanded.
“Three years ago perchance. We buildeth it ourselves when the Great God of the Mountain sent us hither—”
The landlord suddenly returned, planked down plates loaded with wholesome fare and two tankards of foaming ale.
“This on the house?” Jerry inquired briefly. “We’ve no money to pay for it see—unless you’ll take American money.”
“American money? What badinage is this? No money—
“Father, it were better to let them tarry,” the girl broke in urgently. “They are not of us. They cometh from the outer world—from one York—”
“New York!” Jerry growled, wiring into the food. “Deal of difference! We came through a tunnel into this valley and we want to know what it’s all about. Listen, Robert, your daughter says you left England in a storm a year or so back…”
“’Tis true,” the landlord acknowledged. “We calleth this valley ‘Little England’ after the country we left. We set out for unknown parts as settlers with many children and many a head of cattle. Storm struck us. We wert driven into Polar ice and went to sleep. About three years ago the Great God of the Mountain waketh us and gave to us this valley. We buildeth our homes… everything.”
“A moment,” Jerry said quickly. “What ship was it you sailed in? From England I mean?”
“T’was the good ship Springflower—”
“Springflower!” Jerry twirled. “Listen, Sid, that ship is on the official list of mysteriously vanished ships—ranking with the Kobenhavn and Cyclops for mystical disappearance.… Lemme think! The Springflower sailed from England with a party of some thousand colonists aboard in June, 1542! Not sure of the month, but I know it was that year… Holy Cats, these must be the survivors!”
“Descendants, you mean,” Sid snapped. “How do you figure they lived in the odd four centuries between?”
Hesther caught the implication of the argument for she said, “Nay, not descendants. We—a thousand strong—art the original people who left England…”
“This has got me licked,” Jerry muttered. “Just what happened in the four centuries in between?”
“Mebbe the Old Man of the Mountain,” Sid mused.
Jerry looked up again. “Nobody’s seen this Mountain God of yours— How do you know there is a God?”
“’Tis there for all to see,” the landlord shrugged. “At times yon mountain range bursts with fire and from it there steppeth but more numbers of our people from the Spring/lower. One by one the great God of the Mountain is returning to us all those who wert aboard that ship. In time, perchance, we shall be all here…”
“Something screwy somewhere all right,” Jerry sighed, going on with his meal. Then presently, “When do the mountain fireworks start again? Any chance of seeing anything?”
“Of a truth!” Hesther broke in excitedly. “Even this day it ist time for yon mountain to bring us more people—”
“Today? How’d you reckon days with six months of continuous light this time of year?”
“We measureth by the candle,” she smiled. “I canst show thee this mountain if thou are desirous—”
“It’s a deal,” Jerry nodded grimly. ‘And later, Robert the Robust, I’ll borrow something to slice these whiskers.” Robert nodded, then asked, “Wouldst thou not care for an audience with Ethelbert the Red himself?”
“Can he tell us any more than you have?”
“Nay—”
“Oke, then we’ll leave Ethelred the Bert to his crown of glory and look into this for ourselves. Listen, you folks ever heard of radio?”
“Radio?” Hesther repeated the word in unaccustomed wonder. “What ist?”
“Or electricity, or atoms?” Jerry persisted. “Or explosives, stars, the universe?”
“Daughter, he talketh of devil’s tools,” Robert breathed.
Jerry compressed his lips. “Just as I figured. You folks don’t know the first rudiments of modern science. You never heard of movies or talking pictures or television, either?”
Father and daughter shook their heads mystifiedly. Jerry nodded, lifted up his portable radio and switched on the receiver portion.
“This may interest you,” he said briefly. “Later, when we’ve looked into the puzzle of this place we’ll call aid—Right now”—he tuned the dial—”you’re listening to a short-wave station from that New York I told you about. We call it twenty-nine meter band.”
Hesther jumped back nervously and caught her equally astounded father’s arm as the radio burst into sudden life. The announcer spoke briefly. Swing music began to come over the air, entirely free of all static jamming or atmospherics.
“Withcraft!” the landlord panted, eyes popping. “Devil’s witchcraft!”
Hesther however, her first shock over, looked at the radio more closely, her keen gray eyes studying it intently.
“Listen to it and hear what goes on in the great big world outside here,” Jerry smiled. “Call in the rest of the folks. Now, Robert the Robust, your razor— And afterwards, Sweet Nell of Old Drury, we’ll be with you to take a look at the Old Man of the Mountain himself.”
CHAPTER II
The Remarkable Captain
Cleaned up and shaved, fresh for the unexpected course their Polar expedition had taken, Jerry and Sid walked with the girl between them to a grassy knoll she chose facing the opposite side of the mountain range perhaps a couple of miles away.
She seated herself and waited solemnly, gray eyes fixed steadily on the cliff face, hair blown back gently by the breeze.
“Anybody ever tell you you got looks?” Jerry murmured.
&
nbsp; “Nay… Have I?” She even colored slightly.
“Plenty. Get you in New York in modern duds and you’d knock the socialities for a loop—We’ll skip that for the moment though. Tell me, how’d you get the wood to build this town of yours? And the tools?”
“They wert here—awaiting us. The God attendeth to everything. As to the wood—There wert a forest here, waiting to be hewn.”
“Hm-m. And everybody, you included, just sort of came here—? Just like that!” Jerry snapped his fingers.
“Yea.” The girl looked reflective. “I remember falling asleep aboard the Spring/lower There wast dreadful cold. Then—then I woke, here in this valley. My father wert with me, and one other whom we knew. So… we joined yonder community in the town.”
“Somewhere,” Jerry said, “it begins to look as though four centuries have skidaddled. The medieval world has gone, Hesther. Today, beyond here, it is a world of radio, flying machines, wars, chaos, economic revolutions—Machine Age gone mad. Understand?”
“Nay,” she said, innocently. “But I believe thee— The radio, as you call it. Black magic indeed!”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure…” Jerry cocked a hopeless eye on Sid: then suddenly the girl caught each of their arms tightly, nodded her flaxen head. “Behold!” she cried.
Following her gaze they were just in time to see a sudden blaze of light in the distant mountain, for all the world like a giant flashlight.
A cloud of white smoke puffed upwards and drifted away on the warm breeze. As it cleared, some four people merged into view, mere dots against the mountain. They were motionless for a while then began to move slowly down towards the town.
“Well I’ll be twice damned!” Sid exploded. “It’s as good as a stage illusion!”
“We’re going to look into this,” Jerry said curtly, jumping up. “It’s no supernatural setup, I’ll wager. Come on.”
“’Tis folly to question the God of the—” Hesther broke off as Jerry swung on her.
“You don’t have to come, Hes, if you don’t want. But we’re going to take a look… It’d help if you’d show us the way, at least.”
The John Russell Fearn Science Fiction Megapack Page 29