author - "Henry Kuttner"
e at the desk-lamp. "F(t)--I mean, if you counted the kappa waves of my radio-atomic brain now, you'd be amazed how the frequency's increased." He paused thoughtfully. "F(t)," he added.
Moving quite slowly, like a man under water, Martin lifted his glass and drank whiskey. Then, cautiously, he looked up at the robot again.
"F(t)--" he said, paused, shuddered, and drank again. That did it. "I'm drunk," he said with an air of shaken relief. "That must be it. I was almost beginning to believe--"
"Oh, nobody believes I'm a robot at first," the robot said. "You'll notice I showed up in a movie lot, where I wouldn't arouse suspicion. I'll appear to Ivan Vasilovich in an alchemist's lab, and he'll jump to the conclusive I'm an automaton. Which, of course, I am. Then there's a Uighur on my list--I'll appear to him in a shaman's hut and he'll assume I'm a devil. A matter of ecologicologic."
"Then you're a devil?" Martin inquired, seizing on the only plaus
CHAPTER II.
DRUMBEAT OF DEATH
LUIZ WAS staring at Raft in surprise.
"S'nhor?" Luiz said.
"What?" Raft answered.
"Did you speak?"
"No." Raft let the lens fall back on da Fonseca's bare chest.
Merriday was at his side. "The other man won't let me look at him," he said worriedly. "He's stubborn."
"I'll talk to him," Raft said. He went out, trying not to think about that lens, that lovely, impossible face. Subjective, of course, not objective. Hallucination--or self-hypnosis, with the light reflecting in the mirror as a focal point. But he didn't believe that really.
The bearded man was in Raft's office, examining a row of bottles on a shelf--fetal specimens. He turned and bowed, a faint mockery in his eyes. Raft was impressed; this was no ordinary backwoods wanderer. There was a courtliness about him, and a smooth-knit, muscular grace that gave the impression of fine breeding in bo
st the dragging tide.
I lifted my sword -- threw the sheath away. I cut at the golden mists that fettered me.
Under the ancient steel the shining fog-wraiths shuddered and were torn apart -- and drew back. There was a break in the humming harmony; for an instant, utter silence.-
Then --
"Matholch!" the invisible whisperer cried. "Lord Matholch!"
The wolf crouched, fangs bared. I aimed a cut at its snarling mask. It avoided the blow easily and sprang.
It caught the blade between its teeth and wrenched the hilt from my grip.
The golden fogs surged back, folding me in their warm embrace.
"Caer Llyr," they murmured.
The Need-fire roared up in a scarlet fountain.
"Caer Llyr!" the flames shouted.
And out of those fires rose -- a woman!
Hair dark as midnight fell softly to her knees. Under level brows she flashed one glance at me, a glance that held question and a fierce determination. She was loveliness incarnate. Dark loveliness.
e at the desk-lamp. "F(t)--I mean, if you counted the kappa waves of my radio-atomic brain now, you'd be amazed how the frequency's increased." He paused thoughtfully. "F(t)," he added.
Moving quite slowly, like a man under water, Martin lifted his glass and drank whiskey. Then, cautiously, he looked up at the robot again.
"F(t)--" he said, paused, shuddered, and drank again. That did it. "I'm drunk," he said with an air of shaken relief. "That must be it. I was almost beginning to believe--"
"Oh, nobody believes I'm a robot at first," the robot said. "You'll notice I showed up in a movie lot, where I wouldn't arouse suspicion. I'll appear to Ivan Vasilovich in an alchemist's lab, and he'll jump to the conclusive I'm an automaton. Which, of course, I am. Then there's a Uighur on my list--I'll appear to him in a shaman's hut and he'll assume I'm a devil. A matter of ecologicologic."
"Then you're a devil?" Martin inquired, seizing on the only plaus
CHAPTER II.
DRUMBEAT OF DEATH
LUIZ WAS staring at Raft in surprise.
"S'nhor?" Luiz said.
"What?" Raft answered.
"Did you speak?"
"No." Raft let the lens fall back on da Fonseca's bare chest.
Merriday was at his side. "The other man won't let me look at him," he said worriedly. "He's stubborn."
"I'll talk to him," Raft said. He went out, trying not to think about that lens, that lovely, impossible face. Subjective, of course, not objective. Hallucination--or self-hypnosis, with the light reflecting in the mirror as a focal point. But he didn't believe that really.
The bearded man was in Raft's office, examining a row of bottles on a shelf--fetal specimens. He turned and bowed, a faint mockery in his eyes. Raft was impressed; this was no ordinary backwoods wanderer. There was a courtliness about him, and a smooth-knit, muscular grace that gave the impression of fine breeding in bo
st the dragging tide.
I lifted my sword -- threw the sheath away. I cut at the golden mists that fettered me.
Under the ancient steel the shining fog-wraiths shuddered and were torn apart -- and drew back. There was a break in the humming harmony; for an instant, utter silence.-
Then --
"Matholch!" the invisible whisperer cried. "Lord Matholch!"
The wolf crouched, fangs bared. I aimed a cut at its snarling mask. It avoided the blow easily and sprang.
It caught the blade between its teeth and wrenched the hilt from my grip.
The golden fogs surged back, folding me in their warm embrace.
"Caer Llyr," they murmured.
The Need-fire roared up in a scarlet fountain.
"Caer Llyr!" the flames shouted.
And out of those fires rose -- a woman!
Hair dark as midnight fell softly to her knees. Under level brows she flashed one glance at me, a glance that held question and a fierce determination. She was loveliness incarnate. Dark loveliness.