Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 18, 1928 — page 68: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~ 866 erby was lying. “ But I intrude at a very sad time for you—”’ She and Ren sat quietly down among us. Ren said abruptly: “Our king, too, is ill, A very old man—” He shook his head dubiously. “Oh,” said Jim. ‘“ Well, then we—” Sonya seemed to take the thought from him. “TI have already told my uncle,” she said quickly, “ that you must swear your allegiance to the king at once. We need you—you men look very strong, very mas- terful—” She said it frankly, merely as a state- ment of fact, but there was an unconscious admiration in her glance. ‘“ We need you —and we—perhaps need your girls.” She said the last with a singular, enigmatic emphasis. “ Right,” said Jim heartily. ‘ You fix it up for us—get us the audience. I want to be out of here; we’ve been tied here like timekeepers in a tower.” I had noticed that for some minutes past the room seemed abnormally darkening. A distant sound was now audible—a rumbling mutter, like thunder. At the end of our upper apartment a door gave into a balcony. We went there, stood at its railing, sheltered by the roof which jutted out over us. The sky had gone black, a great inky mass of cloud rolling up from the distant horizon. Our dwelling here was set upon a hill- side slope. Before us lay the moundlike roofs of the houses, each with a leveled platform at one end banked with flowers. The houses were built of metal and stone. Small, spider viaducts occasionally con- nected them, spanning the streets like cob- webs. Pedestrians were hurrying for shelter. A boat-shaped vehicle on small wheels, steered in front, pushed by a harnessed animal behind, went swiftly by. In the gathering ‘darkness lights were beginning to wink on; a cone-shaped hanging light at our street corner cast a blue-white glare downward upon a railed triangular bed of flowers which stood in the open space of the in- tersecting, curving streets. Again the distant thunder rumbled. And far off, over the roofs, a puff of green- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. white light seemed to burst in the sky. In a moment came the accompanying thunder. The lightning had illumined the distant water off there, the Warm Sea which lapped against the outlying sections of the city. Alice joined us, alarmed at the sudden darkness. “He is no different. Poor grandfather!” “Shall I go stay in there?” asked Jim. But Ren shook his head. “TI think it is not necessary for a time.” The storm broke upon the city in a breathlessness first, an oppression. My breathing was constrained. I gasped; and as the oppression intensified, I was soon panting. A sinister hush lay on everything. The darkness was like night—but with a dif- ference, an ominous, luminous undertone of green, a lurid cast which made our faces look ghastly. The lightning soon was more frequent, not in bolts; rather were they explosive puffs of light, like green-white bombs bursting in the blackness overhead. The thunder was sharp as the crack of an ancient fire- arm. A report; but there was an electric sizzle to it, and it ended with a clatter like splintering glass. The wind came with a roar; a sweep of warm wind from the sea, then hot like the blast from a furnace. And then the rain; it brought a saving coolness, a surg- ing of water, a slanting curtain of green beads hung before us. The street was soon a mountain torrent, white water cascading down its center depression. The rain was heavy as a cloudburst, but it was brief. Ahead, the sky opened with a faint yellow glow. The green curtain of rain turned golden, falling beads of gold. A. thinning curtain, soon it had vanished. The storm swept past. The thunder was soon behind us; a great yellow radiance was ahead. A cool freshness was in the air, a sudden peace. And a calm silence which seemed to carry a quality almost religious: peace after turmoil; a soul at rest after the turgid strife of life. It was wholly fancy on my part, yet in that instant [ seemed to hear something. A faint pealing of bells? An organ, faint, intangible as a thought. Gomichbooks (E(0)