The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 02

by Anthology

  With a gesture she sent her attendants to the opposite end of the room.

  "Now speak, woman! What would you counsel?" she said.

  "Why, this," said Rebecca, hurriedly. "You don't want any more o' them things talkin' all over London, I'm sure."

  A groan that was half a growl broke from the sorely tried sovereign.

  "Of course you don't. Well--I told you him and I come from America together. I know where he keeps all his phonograph things, and I know how to get there. But you must be quick or else he'll get there fust and take 'em away."

  "You speak truly, Lady Rebecca," said the Queen. "How would you go--by what conveyance? Will you have horses--men-at-arms?"

  "No, indeed!" was the reply. "Jest let me hev a swift boat, with plenty o' men to row it, so's to go real fast. Then I'll want a carryall or a buggy in Southwark----"

  "A carryall--a buggy!" Elizabeth broke in. "What may these be?"

  "Oh, any kind of a carriage, you know, 'cause I'll hev to ride some distance into the country."

  "But why such haste?" asked the Queen. "Had this American a horse?"

  "He had a bicycle an' that's wuss," said Rebecca. "But ef I can start right away and take a short cut by the river while he finds his way through all them dirty, dark streets, I'll get there fust an' get the rest of his phonographs."

  "Your wit is nimble and methinks most sound," said the Queen, decisively. Then, turning to the group of ladies, she continued:

  "Send us our chamberlain, my Lady Temple, and delay not, we charge you!"

  In ten minutes Rebecca found herself once more upon the dark, still river, watching the slippery writhings of the moonbeams' path. She was alone, save for the ten stalwart rowers and two officers; but in one hand was her faithful umbrella, while in the other she felt the welcome weight of her precious satchel.

  The barge cut its way swiftly up the river in silence save for the occasional exclamations of the officers urging the willing oarsmen to their utmost speed.

  Far ahead to the right the huge bulk of the Tower of London loomed in clumsy power against the deep dark blue of the moonlit sky. Rebecca knew that London Bridge lay not far beyond that landmark, although it was as yet invisible. For London Bridge she was bound, and it seemed to her impatience that the lumbering vessel would never reach that goal.

  She stood up and strained her eyes through the darkness, trying to see the laboring forms of the rowers in the shadow of the boat's side, but only the creak of the thole-pins and the steady recurrent splash and tinkle from the dripping oars told of their labor.

  "Air ye goin' as fast as ye can?" she called. "Mr. Droop'll get there fust ef ye ain't real spry."

  "If spry be active, mistress," said a voice from the darkness aft, "then should you find naught here amiss. Right lusty workers, these, I promise you! Roundly, men, and a shilling each if we do win the race!"

  "Ay--ay, sir!" came the willing response, and Rebecca, satisfied that they could do no more, seated herself again, to wait as best she might.

  At length, to her great delight, there arose from the darkness ahead an uneven line of denser black, and at a warning from one of the officers the boat proceeded more cautiously. Rebecca's heart beat high as they passed under one of the low stone arches of the famous bridge and their strokes resounded in ringing echoes from every side.

  Having passed to the upper side of the bridge, the boat was headed for the south shore, and in a few moments Rebecca saw that they had reached the side of a wooden wharf which stood a little higher than their deck. One of the officers leaped ashore with the end of a rope in his hand, and quickly secured the vessel. As he did so a faint light was seen proceeding toward them, and they heard the steps of a half dozen men advancing on the sounding planks. It was the watch, and the light shone from a primitive lantern with sides of horn scraped thin.

  "Who goes there?" cried a gruff voice.

  "The Queen's barge--in the service of her Majesty," was the reply.

  The watchman who carried the lantern satisfied himself that this account was correct, and then asked if he could be of service.

  "Tell me, fellow," said he who had landed, "hast seen one pass the bridge to-night astride of two wheels, one before the other, riding post-haste?"

  There was a long pause as the watchman sought to comprehend this extraordinary question.

  "Come--come!" cried the officer, who had remained on the boat. "Canst not say yes or no, man?"

  "Ay, can I, master!" was the reply. "But you had as well ask had I seen a witch riding across the moon on a broomstick. We have no been asleep to dream of flying wheels."

  "Well--well!" said he who had landed. "Go you now straight and stand at the bridge head. We shall follow anon."

  The watch moved slowly away and Rebecca was helped ashore by the last speaker.

  "Our speed hath brought us hither in advance, my lady," he said. "Now shall we doubtless come in before the fugitive."

  "Well, I hope so!" said Rebecca. Then, with a smothered cry: "Oh, Land o' Goshen! I've dropped my umbrella!"

  They stooped together and groped about on the wharf in silence for a few moments. The landing was encumbered with lumber and stones for building, and, as the moon was just then covered by a thick cloud, the search was difficult.

  "I declare, ain't this provokin'!" Rebecca cried, at length.

  "These beams and blocks impede us," said the officer. "We must have light, perforce. Ho there! The watch, ho! Bring your lanthorn!"

  "Why, 'tain't worth while to trouble the watchman," said Rebecca. "I'll jest strike a light myself."

  She fumbled in her satchel and found a card of old-fashioned silent country matches, well tipped with odorous sulphur. The officer at her side saw nothing of her movements, and his first knowledge of her intention was the sudden and mysterious appearance of a bluish flame close beside him and the tingle of burning brimstone in his nostrils.

  With a wild yell, he leaped into the air and then, half crazed by fear, tumbled into the boat and cut the mooring-rope with his sword.

  "Cast off--cast off!" he screamed. "Give way, lads, in God's name! A witch--a witch! Cast off!"

  A gentle breeze off the shore carried the sulphurous fumes directly over the boat, and these, together with their officer's terror-stricken tones and the sight of that uncanny, sourceless light, struck the crew with panic. Fiercely and in sad confusion did they push and pull with boat-hook and oar to escape from that unhallowed vicinity, and, even after they were well out in the stream, it was with the frenzy of superstitious horror that they bent their stout backs to their oars and glided swiftly down stream toward Greenwich.

  As for Rebecca--comprehending nothing of the cause of this commotion at first--she stood with open mouth, immovable as a statue, watching the departure of her escort until the flame reached her fingers. Then, with a little shriek of pain, she flicked the burnt wood into the river.

  "Well, if I ever!" she exclaimed. "I'm blest ef I don't b'lieve those ninnies was scared at a match!"

  Shaking her head, she broke a second match from her card, struck it, and when it burned clear, stooped to seek her umbrella. It was lying between two beams almost at her feet, and she grasped it thankfully just as her light was blown out by the breeze.

  Then, with groping feet, she made her way carefully toward the inshore end of the wharf, and soon found herself in the streets of Southwark, between London Bridge and the pillory. From this point she knew her way to the grove where the Panchronicon had landed, and thither she now turned a resolute face, walking as swiftly as she dared by the light of the now unobscured moon.

  "If Copernicus Droop ketches up with me," she muttered, "I'll make him stop ef I hev to poke my umbrella in his spokes."

  CHAPTER XVI

  HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST

  For one hour before sunset of that same day Phoebe had been patiently waiting alone behind the east wall of the inn garden. As she had expected, her step-mother had accompanied her father to London
that afternoon, and she found herself free for the time of their watchfulness. She did not know that this apparent carelessness was based upon knowledge of another surveillance more strict and secret, and therefore more effective than their own.

  The shadow of the wall within which she was standing lengthened more and more rapidly, until, as the sun touched the western horizon, the whole countryside to the east was obscured.

  Phoebe moved out into the middle of the road which ran parallel to the garden wall and looked longingly toward the north. A few rods away, the road curved to the right between apple-trees whose blossoms gleamed more pink with the touch of the setting sun.

  "Nothing--no one yet!" she murmured. "Oh, Guy, if not for love, could you not haste for life!"

  As though in answer to her exclamation, there came to her ears a faint tapping of horses' hoofs, and a few moments later three horsemen turned the corner and bore down upon her.

  One glance was enough to show her that Guy was not one of the group, and Phoebe leaped back into the shadow of the wall. She felt that she must not be seen watching here alone by anyone. As she stood beneath the fringe of trees that stood outside of the garden wall, she looked about for means of better concealment, and quickly noticed a narrow slit in the high brick enclosure, just wide enough for a man to enter. It had been barred with iron, but two of the bars had fallen from their sockets, leaving an aperture which looked large enough to admit a slender girl.

  Phoebe felt instinctively that the approaching riders were unfriendly in their purpose and, without pausing to weigh reasons, she quickly scrambled through this accidental passage, not without tearing her dress.

  She found herself within the garden and not far from the very seat where she had hidden from Will Shakespeare. How different her situation now, she thought. Not diffidence, but fear, was now her motive--fear for the man she loved and whom she alone could save.

  While she listened there, half choked by the beating of her own heart, she heard the three cavaliers beyond the wall. Their horses were walking now, and the three conversed together in easily audible tones.

  "My life on it, Will," said one, "'twas here the wench took cover!"

  "Thine eyes are dusty, Jack," replied a deep voice. "'Twas farther on, was it not, Harry?"

  The horses stopped.

  "Ay--you are i' the right, Will," was the answer. "By the same token, how could the lass be here and we not see her? There's naught to hide a cat withal."

  "Nay--nay!" said Will. "Count upon it, Jack, the maid fled beyond the turn yonder. Come on, lads!"

  "I'll not stir hence!" said Jack, obstinately. "Who finds the girl, catches the traitor, too. Go you two farther, an ye will. Jack Bartley seeks here."

  "Let it be e'en so, Will," said Harry, the third speaker. "Dismount we here, you and me. Jack shall tie the nags to yon tree and seek where he will. Do you and I creep onward afoot. So shall the maid, hearing no footfall, be caught unaware."

  "Have it so!" said Will.

  Phoebe heard the three dismount and, trembling with apprehension, listened anxiously for knowledge of what she dared not seek to see.

  She heard the slow walk of the three horses, shortly interrupted, and she knew that they were being tethered. Then there was a murmur of voices and silence.

  This was the most agonizing moment of that eventful night for Phoebe. Strain her ears as she might, naught could she hear but the shake of a bridle, the stamp of an occasional hoof, and the cropping of grass. The next few seconds seemed an hour of miserable uncertainty and suspense. She knew now that she was watched, that perhaps her plans were fully known, and all hope for her lover seemed past. She had called him hither and he would walk alone and unaided into the arms of these three mercenaries.

  She clasped her hands and looked desperately about her as though for inspiration. To the right an open sward led the eye to the out-buildings surrounding the inn. To the left a dense thicket of trees and bushes shut in the view.

  Suddenly she started violently. Her ear had caught the snapping of a twig close at hand, beyond the concealing wall. At the next moment she saw a stealthy hand slip past the opening by which she had entered, and the top of a man's hat appeared.

  Like a rabbit that runs to cover, she turned noiselessly and dashed into the friendly thicket. Here she stopped with her hand on her heart and glanced wildly about her. Well she knew that her concealment here could be but momentary. Where next could she find shelter?

  A heap of refuse, stones and dirt, leaves and sticks, was heaped against that portion of the wall, and at sight of this a desperate plan crossed her mind.

  "'Tis that or nothing!" she whispered, and, still under cover of the shrubbery, she hurried toward the rubbish heap.

  In the meantime, Jack, whose quick eye had descried that ancient opening in the wall, perceived by neither of his companions, was standing just within the wall gazing about for some clue to his prey's location.

  Phoebe leaped upon the refuse heap and scrambled to the top. To her dismay, there was a great crashing of dead wood as she sank nearly to her knees in the accumulated rubbish.

  Jack uttered a loud exclamation of triumph and leaped toward the thicket. Poor Phoebe heard his cry, and for an instant all seemed hopeless. But hers was a brave young soul, and, far from fainting in her despair, a new vigor possessed her.

  Grasping the limb of a tree beside her, she drew herself up until, with one foot she found a firm rest on the top of the wall. Then, forgetting her tender hands and limbs, straining, gripping, and scrambling, she knew not how, she flung herself over the wall and fell in a bruised and ragged heap on the grass beyond.

  When her pursuer reached the thicket, he was confounded to find no one in sight.

  Phoebe lay for one moment faint and relaxed upon the ground. The landscape turned to swimming silhouettes before her eyes, and all sounds were momentarily stilled. Then life came surging back in a welcome tide and she rose unsteadily to her feet. She walked as quickly as she could to where the three horses stood loosely tied by their bridles to a tree. At any moment the man she feared might appear again at the opening in the wall.

  She untied all three horses and, choosing a powerful gray for her own, she slipped his bridle over her arm so as to leave both hands free. Then, bringing together the bridles of the other two, she tied them together in a double knot, then doubled that, and struck the two animals sharply with the bridle of the gray. Naturally they started off in different directions, and, pulling at their bridles, dragged them into harder knots than her weak fingers could have tied.

  She laughed in the triumph of her ingenuity and scrambled with foot and knee and hand into place astride of the remaining steed. Thus in the seclusion of the pasture had she often ridden her mare Nancy home to the barn.

  There was a shout of anger and amazement from the road, and she saw the two men who had elected to walk farther on running toward her.

  Turning her steed, she slapped his neck with the bridle and chopped at his flanks with the stirrups as best she could. The horse broke into an easy canter, and for the moment she was free.

  Unfortunately, Phoebe found herself virtually without means for urging her steed to his best pace. Accustomed as he was to the efficient severity of a man's spurred heel, he paid little attention to her gentle, though urgent, voice, and even the stirrups were hardly available substitutes for spurs, since her feet could not reach them and she could only kick them flapping back against the horse's sides.

  Her one chance was that she might meet Sir Guy in time, and she could only pray that the knots in the bridles of the remaining horses would long defy every effort to release them. As she turned the curve among the apple-trees, she looked back and saw that the horses had been caught and that all three men were frantically tugging and picking with fingers and teeth at those obstinate knots.

  Phoebe drew up for a moment a few yards beyond the curve and broke off a long, slender switch from an overhanging bough. Then, urging the horse forward again
, she picked off the small branches until at length she had produced a smooth, pliant switch, far more effective than bridle or stirrup. By the help of this new whip, she made a little better speed, but well she knew that her capture was only a matter of time unless she could find her lover.

  Great was her joy, therefore, when she turned the next curve in the road; for, straight ahead, not twenty rods away, she saw Sir Guy approaching at a canter, leading a second horse.

  By this time the twilight was deepening, and the young cavalier gazed in astonishment upon the ragged girl riding toward him astride, making silent gestures of welcome and warning. Not until he was within twenty yards of her did Sir Guy recognize his sweetheart.

  "Mary!" he cried.

  Together they reined in their horses, and instantly Phoebe slipped to the ground.

  "Quick, Guy--quick!" she exclaimed. "Help me to mount yon saddle. Come--come!"

  Leaping at once from his horse, Sir Guy lifted Phoebe to the back of the beast he had been leading, which was provided with a side-saddle, the stirrup of which carried a spur. Stopping only to kiss her hand, he mounted his own steed, turned about, and followed Phoebe, who had already set off at her best speed. Even as they started, they heard a shout behind them, and Phoebe knew that the pursuit had begun in earnest.

  "What is it--who are they whom you flee?" asked the young knight, as he came to Phoebe's side.

  "Men seeking thee, Guy--for reward! There is a price on thy head, dear. For high treason! Oh, may God aid us this night!"

  "High treason!" he exclaimed. Then, after a pause, he continued, in a stern voice:

  "How many be they?"

  "Two."

  Sir Guy laughed in evident relief.

  "But two! By my troth, why should we fear them, sweetheart?" he said. "An I be not a match for four of these scurvy rascals, call me not knight!"

  "Alas--alas!" cried Phoebe, in alarm, as she saw Sir Guy slacken his pace. "Stay not to fight, Guy. Urge on--urge on! The whole countryside is awake. How, then, canst thou better thee by fighting two? Nay, on--on!" and she spurred again, beckoning him after with an imperious hand.