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  The warden gradually became calmer, although his expression remained forbidding. I would not speak first, but waited for him to acknowledge my presence. A joint of excellent young lamb was carved, and while we were eating he referred abruptly to my investigations. “I notice you confine them to the ruins in my vicinity.” I was disconcerted, I had not known I was being watched. Luckily there was a ready-made answer. “As you know, these have always been the administrative buildings, so anything of interest is more likely to turn up here than anywhere else.” He said nothing, but made the sound of a player whose opponent claims a dubious point in the game. I could not tell whether my reply had satisfied him or not.

  Coffee was put on the table, and to my surprise, everybody withdrew from the room. I felt apprehensive, I could not imagine what he could have to say to me in private. His mood appeared to have hardened; he looked formidable, cold, distant. It was difficult to believe he had ever showed friendliness when he remarked ominously: “People who try to trick me usually regret it; I’m not easily taken in.” His voice was controlled and quiet, but the threat I had detected in it on a former occasion had become open. I said I did not understand what he meant; the obvious implication did not apply to me. He subjected me to a prolonged stare, which I returned with more coolness than I was feeling. An aura of danger and duplicity surrounded him, I was on my guard.

  Pushing aside his cup, he leaned his elbows on the table, brought his face close to mine and went on gazing fixedly at me without a word. His eyes were startlingly bright, I could feel them trying to dominate me, and found it hard not to lower my own. He must have practiced hypnosis at some time: I had to keep up a sustained effort of resistance. It was a relief when he drew back a little, and said bluntly: “I want you to do something for me.” “What on earth can I possibly do for you?” I was astonished. “Listen. This is a small, poor, backward country, without resources. In an emergency we would be lost without the help of the big powers. Unfortunately the big powers consider us too insignificant to be of any interest. I want you to convince your government that we can be useful, if only because of our geographical position. I’m assuming you have the necessary influence?” I supposed I had; but I was taken back, I had not expected anything like this. My instinct was against it, and I began: “That sort of thing’s not my line at all—” He interrupted impatiently: “I’m simply asking you to point out to your politicians the advantage of co-operating with us. It should be easy. They’ve only got to look at the map.” Before I could think what to say, he pressed me again with increased impatience: “Well, will you do it?” His habit of dominance and his personal magnetism made it virtually impossible to refuse; almost involuntarily, I made a sound of assent. “Good. It’s a bargain. Of course you’ll receive an adequate return.” As if to clinch the matter, he stood up and held out his hand, adding: “You’d better write immediately to prepare the ground.” He picked up a small silver bell, rang it vigorously, people came trooping into the room. As he went to meet them, he dismissed me with a casual nod. I felt confused and uneasy, and was glad to get out of the place. I did not like this new turn of events, I had the impression my luck was changing.

  A day or two later his big car stopped beside me and he looked out, wearing a magnificent fur-lined overcoat. He wanted a word with me; would I come to the High House? I got in, we raced up to the entrance.

  We went into a room full of people waiting to speak to him: the guards moved them back so that we could pass through to a room beyond. I heard him mutter, “Get rid of this fellow after five minutes,” before he dismissed his men. To me he said: “I presume you’ve written to someone about that bargain of ours?” I muttered something evasive. In quite a different tone he rapped out: “The post office informs me you have not communicated with any useful person. I took you for a man of your word; it seems I was mistaken.” To avoid a quarrel I took no notice of the insult, replied peaceably: “I haven’t heard yet what I’m to get out of the bargain.” Curtly he told me to state my terms. I decided to speak in a frank, simple manner, hoping to make him less hostile. “My request seems almost too trivial to mention after these preliminaries.” I gave him what I hoped was a disarming smile. “It’s simply this: I believe your guest may be an old acquaintance of mine, and should like to meet her in order to settle the point.” I was careful not to show too much interest.

  He said nothing, but I could feel opposition behind his silence. Evidently there had been a change in his attitude since the day when he had proposed to introduce us at lunch. Now I felt pretty sure he would not agree to the meeting.

  Suddenly remembering the time, I looked at my watch. The five minutes had almost gone. I had no intention of waiting until the guards came in, according to orders, to throw me out, and began to make the opening moves of departure. He came to the door with me, kept his hand on the knob, preventing me from leaving. “She’s been unwell, and is nervous about meeting people. I shall have to ask if she’ll see you.” I was convinced he would not allow the meeting to take place, and looked at my watch again. There was only one minute left. “I really must go now. I’ve taken up too much of your time already.” His unexpected laughter took me by surprise; he must have known what was going on in my head. His mood seemed to alter suddenly, all at once his manner was easy. Once more I was momentarily aware of an obscure sense of inner contact with him. He opened the door and gave an order to the men standing outside, who saluted and marched away down the corridor, their boots thumping on the polished floor. He turned to me then, and as if demonstrating his goodwill, said: “We can go to her now, if you like. But I’ll have to prepare her first.”

  He took me back into the crowded waiting-room, where everybody surged round, eager to speak to him. He had a smile and a friendly word for those nearest, raised his voice to apologize generally for keeping them waiting, begged them all to be patient a few minutes longer, promised that everyone would be heard in due course. In a tone audible all over the room, he demanded: “Why is there no music?” then spoke sharply to a subordinate. “You know these people are my guests. The least we can do is try to entertain them if they have to wait.” The notes of a string quartet started to fill the room, and followed us out of it.

  He led the way past more guards, strode quickly along winding corridors ahead of me, ran up and down several flights of stairs. It was all I could do to keep pace with him. He was in far better condition that I was, and seemed to enjoy demonstrating the fact, looking back at me, laughing, showing off his fine physique. I did not quite trust this sudden good humor. But I admired his tough athlete’s body, the wide shoulders and elegant, narrow waist. The passages seemed never-ending. I was breathless, he had to wait for me finally, standing at the top of yet another short staircase. The landing was in deep shadow, I could just distinguish the rectangle of a single door, and realized that the stairs led only to this one room.

  He told me to stay where I was for a minute while he explained the situation to the girl, adding, with a malicious grin: “It’ll give you time to cool off a bit.” With his hand on the door knob, he went on: “You understand, don’t you, that it’s entirely up to her to decide. There’s nothing I can do if she prefers not to see you.” He opened the door without knocking and vanished into the room.

  Left out there in the semi-darkness, I felt gloomy and irritated. He seemed to have got the better of me by a trick. Nothing satisfactory to myself could come of an interview arranged and introduced by him. Most probably it would not materialize at all; either she would refuse to see me, or he would forbid her to do so. In any case, I did not want to talk to her in his presence, when she would be under his influence.

  I listened, but could hear nothing through the soundproofed wall. After some moments I went down the stairs and wandered round dark passages until I met a servant who showed me the way out. My lucky period certainly seemed to be over.

  FIVE

  My window overlooked an empty landscape wh
ere nothing ever moved. No houses were visible, only the debris of the collapsed wall, a bleak stretch of snow, the fjord, the fir forest, the mountains. No color, only monotonous shades of gray from black to the ultimate dead white of the snow. The water lifeless in its dead calm, the ranks of black trees marching everywhere in uniform gloom. Suddenly there was a movement, a shout of red and blue in that silent gray monotone. I seized my overcoat, struggled into it as I rushed to the door; changed my mind and went back to the window, which was stuck fast. I managed to heave it up, stepped out on to piles of rubble, then pulled it shut behind me with the tips of my fingers. Slithering on the frozen grass, I ran down the slope; it was the quickest way; and I had eluded the woman of the house, whom I suspected of keeping watch on my movements. There was no one on the narrow path skirting the fjord, but the person I was chasing could not be far off. The path plunged into the forest. At once it got colder and darker under the trees, which grew close together, their black branches meeting in dense entanglements overhead, intertwining with the undergrowth lower down. Twenty invisible people could have been near me, but I saw the ghostly gray coat flicker among the firs, and occasionally caught a glimpse of its checked lining. The wearer’s head was uncovered: her bright hair shimmered like silver fire, an ignis fatuus glimmering in the forest. She hurried on as fast as she could, anxious to get out of the trees. She was nervous in the forest, which always seemed full of menace. The crowding trees unnerved her, transformed themselves into black walls, shutting her in. It was late, after sunset; she had come too far and must hurry back. She looked about for the fjord, failed to see it, lost her bearings, and at once became really frightened, terrified of being overtaken by night in the dark forest. Fear was the climate she lived in; if she had ever known kindness it would have been different. The trees seemed to obstruct her with deliberate malice. All her life she had thought of herself as a foredoomed victim, and now the forest had become the malign force that would destroy her. In desperation she tried to run, but a hidden root tripped her, she almost fell. Branches caught in her hair, tugged her back, lashed out viciously when they were disentangled. The silver hairs torn from her head glittered among black needles; they were the clues her pursuers would follow, leading them to their victim. She escaped from the forest at length only to see the fjord waiting for her. An evil effluence rose from the water, something primitive, savage, demanding victims, hungry for a human victim.

  For a second she stood still, appalled by the absolute silence and loneliness all around. A new ferocity pervaded the landscape now that night was approaching. She saw the massed armies of forest trees encamped on all sides, the mountain wall above bristling with trees like guns. Below, the fjord was an impossible icy volcano erupting the baleful fire of the swallowed sun.

  In the deepening dusk every horror could be expected. She was afraid to look, tried not to see the spectral shapes rising from the water, but felt them come gliding toward her and fled in panic. One overtook her, wound her in soft, clammy, adhesive bands like ectoplasm. Wildly choking a scream, she fought herself free, raced on blindly, frantic and gasping. Her brain was locked in nightmare, she did not think. The last light fading, she stumbled against unseen rocks, bruising knees and elbows. Thorns lacerated her hands, scratched her face. Her flying leaps shattered the thin ice at the fjord’s edge and she was deluged in freezing water. Each breath was painful, a sharp knife repeatedly stabbing her chest. She dared not stop or slacken speed for an instant, terrified by the loud thud of pursuing steps close behind her, not recognizing her own agonized heartbeats. Suddenly she slipped on the edge of a snowdrift, could not stop herself, fell face down in a deep snow-grave. There was snow in her mouth, she was done for, finished, she would never get up again, could not run any further. Cruelly straining muscles relentlessly forced her up, she had to struggle on, pulled by the irresistible magnet of doom. Systematic bullying when she was most vulnerable had distorted the structure of her personality, made a victim of her, to be destroyed, either by things or by human beings, people or fjords and forests; it made no difference, in any case she could not escape. The irreparable damage inflicted had long ago rendered her fate inevitable.

  A pitch black mass of rock loomed ahead, a hill, a mountain, an unlighted fortress, buttressed by regiments of black firs. Her weak hands were shaking too much to manipulate a door, but the waiting forces of doom dragged her inside.

  Stretched out on her bed, she could feel the hostile, alien, freezing dark pressed to the wall like the ear of a listening enemy. In the utter silence and solitude, she lay watching the mirror, waiting for her fate to arrive. It would not be long now. She knew that something fearful was going to happen in the soundproof room, where nobody could or would come to her rescue. The room was antagonistic as it always had been. She was aware of the walls refusing protection, of the frigid hostility in the air. There was nothing she could do, no one to whom she could appeal. Abandoned, helpless, she could only wait for the end.

  A woman came in without knocking and stood in the doorway, handsome, forbidding, dressed all in black, tall and menacing as a tree, followed by other indistinct shapes, which kept to the shadows behind her. The girl at once recognized her executioner, whose enmity she had always felt without understanding it, too innocent or too preoccupied with her own dream world to guess the obvious cause. Now, cold bright pitiless eyes swam in the glassy depths of the mirror, darted toward their victim. Her eyes were widely dilated and black with dread, two deep pits of terror, of intuitive nightmare foreknowledge. Then a sense of fatality overcame her; she experienced a regression, became a submissive, terrorized child, cowed by persistent ill-treatment. Intimidated, obedient to the woman’s commanding voice, she got up and with faltering steps left the platform, her white face blank as paper. When her arms were seized she cried out, struggled feebly. A hand was clamped over her mouth. Several figures towered above her. She was gripped from all sides, roughly handled, hustled out of the room, her hands tied behind her back.

  Under the trees it got darker and darker, I kept losing sight of the path. In the end I lost it entirely and came out at a different place. I was close to the wall. It was impressive, intact, no break in it anywhere; I saw the black shapes of sentries posted along the top. Two of them were approaching each other and would cross quite near me. I stood still in the shadow of the black trees where I should not be seen. Their steps were loud, the hard frost magnified every sound. They met, stamped their feet, exchanged passwords, separated again. I walked on when the footsteps grew fainter. I had a curious feeling that I was living on several planes simultaneously; the overlapping of these planes was confusing. Huge rounded boulders as big as houses, resembling the heads of decapitated giants, were lying near, where they had fallen long ago from the mountainside. Suddenly I heard voices, looked everywhere, but could see no one. The sound seemed to come from among the boulders, so I went to investigate. A light flowered yellow in the blue dusk: I was looking at a cottage, not a mass of rock. People were talking inside it.

  I heard yells, crashes, the frightened neighing of horses, all the noises of battle. Arrows flew in clouds. War clubs thumped. There was loud clashing of steel. Strangely dressed men came at the wall in waves, swarming up it, using their feet as well as their hands, holding cutlasses in their teeth. Agile as gorillas, they came in their thousands; however many were thrown back, a new wave always came on. Finally all the defenders of the wall were exterminated, the second line defenses forced back. Invaders already inside opened the gates, and the rest burst in like a tidal wave. People barricaded themselves in their houses. In the town there was utter chaos. Hand-to-hand fighting in the narrow streets; savage meaningless cries like the cries of wild animals resounding between the walls. The strangers raced through the town like madmen, pouring wine down their throats, slaughtering all they met, every man, woman, child, animal. The wine streamed down their faces mingled with sweat and blood so that they looked like demons. A little snow fell: t
his seemed to excite them to frenzy, they laughed insanely, tried to catch the falling flakes in their mouths. The horsemen carried long lances with pennants or feathers attached. Hacked-off heads were impaled on these lances, sometimes infants or dogs. Huge fires blazed everywhere, it was as bright as day. The air was full of the reek of burning, of charred wood and old dust. As people were smoked out of their homes they were massacred by the enemy. Many preferred to die in the flames.

  I had no weapon, and searched for something with which to defend myself. I was in a street where dead horses had been piled up to form a barricade, among them a man who had been killed with his mount. He had not had time even to draw his sword, which was still in the scabbard, engraved with intricate patterns, a beautiful piece of work. I tugged at the projecting hilt, but in falling the blade had jammed and I could not move it. The dead beasts had been heaped up in such frantic haste that my persistent efforts were shaking the whole construction; carcasses worked loose, rolled down, forming a breech. Before I could repair the damage, a troop of horsemen galloped along the street with a fearful clattering din, waving their lances, yelling their senseless cries. I threw myself flat on the ground, hoping they had not seen me, expecting the worst. As they came up, one of them jabbed his long lance ahead of him into the dead rider, dislodging the body so violently that it fell on top of me, probably saving my life. I kept perfectly still while the whole troop went careering past, rolling their bloodshot, demented, animalic eyes.