The Pool of Fire (The Tripods) (14 page)

Silence registered agreement with what he had said. The one with the metal stopped hammering. We stood in a motionless dispirited group. Carlos looked up at the vast crystal bubble, covering the maze of ramps and pyramids.

“If we could only get up there,” he said, “and knock a hole in that . . .”

Jan sat down, to rest his injured leg. He said, “You can stand on my shoulders, if you like.”

It was a feeble joke, and no one was in a mood for laughing. I drew a deep breath, and winced at the pain in my bandaged ribs. I was trying to think of something, but all my brain would say was, “Trapped . . . trapped.”

Then one of the Capped said, “There is a way up.”

“How can there be?”

“My—” He hesitated. “One of—them—showed me. He was inspecting the dome, and I had to take things up to him. And there’s a ledge running around, inside the dome, at the top of the Wall.”

I said, “We could never hope to break the dome. It must be stronger than the glass over the dials on the machines. I doubt if we could scratch its surface.”

“We’re going to try, though,” Fritz said. “I see no other way out except by the river.”

I had forgotten the river! I looked at him happily.

“Of course! Why not do that? Escape through the river.”

He shook his head. “We can’t. We have to be sure they aren’t able to take over again, when they recover consciousness. We must wreck the City, somehow, while we have the chance.”

I nodded, my optimism disappearing as rapidly as it had come. The river was no answer.

•  •  •

We went down the ramp again, with our new guide leading the way. At one of the garden-pools, we equipped ourselves with metal stakes: they had been used for training a certain creeping plant that ran along the edges of the pools, and we could wrench them out without too much difficulty. Coming away, I thought I
saw one of the fallen Masters stir. It was hardly anything, just the quiver of a tentacle, but the sight was ominous. I spoke to Fritz, and he nodded, and urged the guide to move faster.

The way up, of which he had spoken, was in a part of the City filled with tall tapering pyramids—one to which slaves had very rarely gone. This was a ramp, too, but one which clung to the Wall; narrow, and vertiginously steep. He had warned us of that, and said that he did not know how he had climbed it on that earlier occasion—that he could not have done it if he had not had a direct order from his Master. The ending of their gravity made it less difficult physically, but as we climbed higher and higher, and an unfenced abyss yawned beside and beneath us, the sensation was a terrifying one. I kept in as close to the gleaming surface of the Wall as I could and, after one horrified glimpse, did my best to avoid looking down.

We reached the ledge at last. It too was unfenced, and no more than four feet wide. The Masters must have had no sensitivity to heights. It ran along inside the Wall as far as the eye could see in either direction. The edge of the crystal bubble came down to within about eight feet of it. For one of the Masters, of course, this would be below eyelevel, but for us . . .

We had a try. Some made backs for the others, who clambered up and wielded their stakes awkwardly. I could not, because of my ribs, but it was harrowing enough watching them. The ledge seemed to shrink, and an incautious movement precipitated the fear of their falling to the ground, two or three hundred feet below.
They hammered at the crystal, and at the point where it united with the metal of the Wall. But there was no sign of a seam, they said, and no sign of their blows making any impression. A second team was formed further along, and a third, with no greater success.

Fritz said, “Stop a minute.” To the one who had guided us, he went on, “You met your Master here?”

He shook his head. “No, I did not see him. The command was to bring food and gas-bubbles and leave them here. I stayed no longer than was necessary.”

“You did not even see him further along the ledge?”

“No, but he might have been out of sight. One cannot see across to the far side.”

“One cannot see through the Wall, either—he might have been outside.”

“They could not breathe out there, in our air. And he did not have a mask with him.”

Fritz said, “They would need to be able to inspect the outside as well as the inside. It’s worth looking for.” He looked up at the sweep of crystal, with the pale disk of the sun well down toward the west. “Unless someone has a better idea.”

No one had. We set out to walk along the ledge, in a clockwise direction. On our right was the vertical drop to the City’s streets. Some of the smaller pyramids looked like spikes, ready to impale a body that dropped on them. I felt sick from the height, and my chest was hurting badly. I supposed I could have fallen out, and gone back; it was not as though I was going to be any use to anyone in my condition. But the thought of leaving my companions was worse still.

We trailed on. The top of the ramp was lost in the haze behind us. There was nothing to find, I was sure. The Master would have simply been out of sight of the ramp, as we now were. Then Fritz said, “There is something!”

The others were obscuring my view, but after a moment I saw what he meant. Just ahead, the ledge ended, or rather was replaced by something which projected out from the Wall to take up its full space and more. A sort of blockhouse—and with a door. And the door did not have a button to operate it. Instead there was a wheel, of the same golden metal as the Wall.

We crowded up, ignoring vertigo for the moment, as Fritz tried to turn the wheel. He got nowhere at first, but then, trying it in the reverse direction, it moved. Not much, but enough to give us hope. He swung on it again, using all his strength, and it yielded a bit more. After a few minutes, he handed over to another. This continued, with volunteers working in relays. The wheel moved painfully slowly, but it went on moving. And, at last, we saw a crack widen in the side. The door was opening to us.

As soon as the gap was wide enough, Fritz squeezed through, and we followed. There was light, from the partly opened door and also from squares of crystal in the roof. We could see our surroundings quite clearly.

The blockhouse was slotted into the Wall, and extended on either side of it. It was very bare, but held some boxes, which probably contained equipment, and, on a rack, half a dozen of the mask-suits which the Masters could wear if they had to breathe human air. Fritz pointed to them, “That was why he did not take a
mask. They were kept here.” He looked around the cell-like room. “They would not bring power all the way up here. It would not be worth it. So the doors are mechanically operated.”

There was another door facing the one through which we had come, and presumably giving access to a continuation of the ledge. At the far side, two similar doors faced each other. They must open on to a similar ledge, but outside the dome. I said, “But if this is an airlock . . . you would need power for pumping the air.”

“I do not think so. Remember, their air is denser than ours. A simple pressure-operated valve would do it. And the volume of air in here, compared with what the dome holds, is very small. Power is not necessary.”

Jan said, “So all we have to do is open one of the doors on the outside. What are we waiting for?”

Fritz put his hands on the wheel, tensed, and heaved. His muscles bulged with the force he was applying. He relaxed, and heaved again. Nothing happened. He stood back, wiping his brow.

“Someone else try.”

Several others did. Carlos said, “This is ridiculous. The door is the same as the other. The wheels are identical.”

Fritz said, “Wait a minute. I think maybe I understand. Close the inner door.”

A wheel on this side complemented the other. It turned, though reluctantly: these had been made for Masters’ strength, not human. At last the door was sealed.

“Now,” Fritz said.

He heaved on the outer door’s wheel again. This time it moved. Slowly, slowly, but at last there was a crack of light, and the crack widened. There was the whistling noise of air escaping, the breeze of its passing on our bodies. Soon we were looking out onto a ledge, the outside of the dome, and the earthly landscape spread out below us, a patchwork of fields, streams, the distant mound of the ruined great-city. The brightness of daylight made me blink my eyes.

Fritz said, “Even Masters can make mistakes, so they have a device to prevent it. The doors to the outside will not open unless the doors to the inside are sealed. And the other way around, I should think. Try to open the inner door now.”

The attempt failed. It was clear that what he said was right.

Carlos said, “Then we can open one door . . . but must smash through the other?”

Fritz was examining the door.

“That will not be easy. Look.”

The door was about four inches thick, made of the tough gleaming metal that formed the Wall. It had been machined to a satiny smoothness and, obviously, to such precision that even air would not pass between the opposing surfaces when it was sealed. Fritz picked up the spike he had been carrying and hammered at it. It made absolutely no impression that I could see.

We had come to another, perhaps a final check. We could keep the inner door closed and thus, with our natural air surrounding us, we could remove the masks.
So we would not suffocate. But we had no food, no water—above all, no means of getting down the sheer cliff of the Wall. In any case, unless we could puncture the shell of the City in some way, we faced the possibility of the Masters recovering from their paralysis and relighting the pool of fire.

We were all looking at the door. Carlos said, “There is a difference between the inner doors and the outer ones. The first one opened inward, but this opens out.”

Fritz shrugged. “Because of the difference in pressure. It makes it easier for them.”

Carlos squatted, fingering the place where door and wall joined.

“The door itself is too strong to be broken. But the hinges . . .”

Hinges ran all the way up the inside, thin and bright and gleaming a little with oil. Renewed, perhaps, by the Master who had unwittingly led us here.

Fritz said, “I think we could break them. But we can only get at them with the door open, which means the inner door is sealed. How does that help?”

“Not break them entirely,” Carlos said. “But if we were to weaken them—then close the door—then, after opening the inner door . . .”

“Try to hammer it open from inside? It might work! At any rate, we can try.”

They got down to it, two at a time hammering at the joints of the hinges. It was not easy, but a cry of triumph told us that the first had broken. Others followed. They went through them systematically, leaving only a single hinge at the top and one at the bottom untouched.
Then the door was wound shut again, and the inner door opened.

“Right,” Fritz said. “Now we hammer top and bottom.”

They banged and thumped with the metal stakes. Fritz and Carlos had started; when they were exhausted they passed the task on to others. These, in turn, tired and were replaced. Minutes dragged by, to the monotonous unchanging clang of metal on metal. The crystal squares in the roof of the blockhouse were darkening, dusk beginning to fall. I wondered if the Masters were stirring yet, moving about, in confusion but with a purpose . . . making their way toward the dark pit where the fire had danced, and might dance again . . . I said, “Can I have a go?”

“I’m afraid you would be little help,” Fritz said. “All right, Carlos. You and I once more.”

The hammering went on and on. Then my ear caught something else, a sort of creak. It came again, and again.

“Harder,” Fritz called.

There was a sound of metal tearing. The two hinges must have given way almost simultaneously. The door began to fall, and I glimpsed the open sky, graying now. That was the last thing I noticed clearly for quite a time. Because, as the door collapsed outward, a great wind swept through the blockhouse, from open door to open door, a gale plucking one outward. Someone shouted, “Get down!” I dropped to the floor, and it was a little better there. I felt it tearing at my back, but I stayed where I was. It roared through, and it was like no noise
of wind I had ever heard because it stayed on one note, unvarying, a harsh unending bellow. One could not speak above the din, and anyway I was too dazed to have anything to say. I could see the others scattered on the floor. It was incredible that it could go on for so long, unchanging.

But change came at last. The noise was overlaid by another, sharper, far louder, more terrifying. It sounded as though the sky was splitting and tearing to shreds. And a moment later, the wind died. I was able to get groggily to my feet, only now realizing that my ribs were hurting even more after dropping to the floor.

Several of us went to the inner doorway. We looked out silently, too awed for comment. The crystal dome had shattered inward. Quite a lot still adhered to the top of the Wall, but a jagged hole extended all across the center. Huge shards had fallen on the City; one seemed to be covering the Sphere Arena. I turned to look for Fritz. He was standing alone by the outer door.

I said, “That’s it. Not one of them could have survived.” There were tears in his eyes. Of joy, I thought, but there was no joy in his expression. I asked, “What’s the matter, Fritz?”

“Carlos . . .”

He gestured toward the open door. I said, in horror, “No!”

“The wind took him through. I tried to hold him, but could not.”

We looked out together. The Wall was a precipice beneath our feet. Far, far down, a tiny square of gold
marked the position of the blockhouse door. Near it lay a small black speck.

•  •  •

We ripped off the masks, and could breath ordinary air. The green air of the Masters had spread out and been lost in the vastness of the world’s natural atmosphere. We made our way back along the ledge, and down the steep ramp into the City. I was glad we had not left it any later than this; light was fading rapidly and poor visibility did nothing to improve my feeling of dizziness. But we got down at last.