Part 8 (1/2)
Tarrano's slim gray-brown hand came up.
”The Lady Elza remembers me----” He seemed waiting with his gentle smile for her to speak.
”They called you Taro then,” she said. Her voice was the small, scared, diffident voice of a child.
”Yes. Taro. A mere sub-officer of the Central State. But destined for bigger things than that, as you see. They did not like what they called my ambitious ways--and so they sent me to the Cold Country. That was soon after I had met you and your father, Lady Elza. You hardly remarked me then--I was so insignificant a personage. But you--I remembered you----”
Still there was in his voice and on his face nothing but kindness and a queer whimsical look of reminiscence. He broke off at the buzz of a disc that hung from his belt by a golden chain. He jerked it loose from its snap, and to his ear clasped a small receiver. Like a mask his gentleness dropped from him. His voice rasped:
”Yes?...” The receiver murmured into his ear. He said: ”Connect him--I'll listen to what he has to say.”
A moment; then on the tiny mirror fastened to his wrist with a strap, I saw a face appear--a face known throughout our Earth--the face of the War-Director of Great London. Tarrano listened impa.s.sively. When the voice ceased, he said without an instant's hesitation: ”No!”
A decision irrevocable; the power almost of a deity seemed behind its finality. ”No! I--will--not--do--it!” Careful, slow enunciation as though to make sure an inferior mentality could not mistake his words.
And with a click, Tarrano broke connection. The mirror went dark; he hung his little disc and ear-piece back on his belt. Again he was smiling at us gently, the incident forgotten already--dismissed from his mind until the need to consider it should again arise.
”I remember you, Lady Elza, very well.” A vague wistfulness came into his voice. ”I wish to speak with you alone--now--for a moment.” He touched two of the metal b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt-front together. A man appeared in the narrow tunnel-entrance to the garden. A small man, no more than four and a half feet tall; a trim, but powerfully made little figure, in the black and white linen uniform worn also by Tarrano. Yet more pretentiously dressed than his superior. A broad belt of dangling weapons; under it, a sash of red, encircling his waist and flowing down one side. Over his white ruffled s.h.i.+rt, a short sleeveless vest of black silk. A circular hat, with a vivid plume. A smooth-shaven face; black hair long to the base of the neck; a deep, red-brown complexion. A native of the Little People of Mars, here in the service of Tarrano. He stood stiff and respectful in the tunnel entrance.
Tarrano said crisply: ”Wolfgar, take these two men to the fourth tower.
Make them comfortable.”
I met Georg's eyes. Leave Elza here alone with this man? Georg burst out: ”My sister goes with me!”
”So?” Tarrano's heavy brows went up inquiringly. A quizzical smile plucked at his lips. ”You need have no fear. The Lady Elza----” He swung to her. ”Not--afraid, are you?”
”I--no,” she stammered.
”She'll come with us,” I declared; but the stoutness of my words could not hide my fear. Tarrano was still smiling; but as I took a protecting step toward Elza, his smile died.
”You--will go--with Wolfgar--both of you.” That same slow finality. His face was impa.s.sive; but under his frowning bushy brows, his eyes transfixed me. It was as though with his paralyzing ray he had rooted me to the spot. And Georg beside me. Yet he had not moved from his careless att.i.tude of ease on the fountain-rim; the little conical golden weapon dangled untouched at his belt.
Elza was frightened. ”Jac! You must do what he says. I'm--not afraid.”
Again Tarrano was smiling. ”No--of course not.” His gaze went to Georg.
”You are her brother--your fear is very natural. So I give you my word--the honorable word of Tarrano--that she shall come to no harm.”
Elza murmured: ”Go, Georg.” Afraid for us, and doubtless she had good reason to be. It struck me then as queer that Tarrano should waste these words with us; but I realized, as did Elza and Georg, that we were treading very dangerous ground. Georg said, with a sudden dignity at which I marveled:
”Your word is quite enough.” He gestured to me. With a last glance at Elza, standing there frightened, but for our sakes striving not to show it, we let this Wolfgar lead us away.
Elza later told us what occurred. With her father, she had been twice to the Venus Central State--the visit of two years ago Dr. Brende had mentioned to me, and a former one. It was upon this first trip Elza had met Tarrano. He was an under-officer then, in the Army of the Central State--his name then was Taro. She--herself no more than a slip of a girl at that time--remembered him as a queerly silent young man--insignificant in physique and manner. He had escorted her once to a Venus festival; in a strange, brooding, humble, yet dignified fas.h.i.+on, he had spoken of love. She had laughed, and soon forgot the incident.
But Tarrano had not forgotten. The daughter of the great Dr. Brende had fired his youthful imagination. Who knows what dreams even then--born of the genius as yet merely latent--were within him? He had never crossed Elza's mind from that time, until today she saw and recognized him.
When they were alone, still without moving from his seat, he signed her to come to him, to sit on the carpet of gra.s.s at his feet. She was frightened, but she would not show it. He made no move to touch her; he gazed down to meet her upturned, fascinated stare, still with his gentle, whimsical smile.
”Queer that I should meet you again, Lady Elza. Yet, I must admit, it comes not by chance, for I contrived it. My prisoner! Dr. Brende's daughter, held captive by little Taro!”
It seemed to amuse him, this whimsical reminiscence of those days when he was struggling unknown. ”I want to confess something to you, Lady Elza. You were so far above me then--daughter of the famous Dr. Brende.
Yet, as you remember, I aspired to you. And now--I have not changed. I never change. I still--aspire to you.”