The World Set Free Read online

  circle in the sky. The towns were to be placarded with offers of

  reward to any one who would help in the discovery of atomic

  bombs…

  'You will sign that,' said the ex-king.

  'Why?'

  'To show that we aren't in any way hostile to you.'

  Pestovitch nodded 'yes' to his master.

  'And then, you see,' said the ex-king in that easy way of his,

  'we'll have a lot of men here, borrow help from your police, and

  run through all your things. And then everything will be over.

  Meanwhile, if I may be your guest…' When presently Pestovitch

  was alone with the king again, he found him in a state of

  jangling emotions. His spirit was tossing like a wind-whipped

  sea. One moment he was exalted and full of contempt for 'that

  ass' and his search; the next he was down in a pit of dread.

  'They will find them, Pestovitch, and then he'll hang us.'

  'Hang us?'

  The king put his long nose into his councillor's face. 'That

  grinning brute WANTS to hang us,' he said. 'And hang us he will,

  if we give him a shadow of a chance.'

  'But all their Modern State Civilisation!'

  'Do you think there's any pity in that crew of Godless,

  Vivisecting Prigs?' cried this last king of romance. 'Do you

  think, Pestovitch, they understand anything of a high ambition or

  a splendid dream? Do you think that our gallant and sublime

  adventure has any appeal to them? Here am I, the last and

  greatest and most romantic of the Caesars, and do you think they

  will miss the chance of hanging me like a dog if they can,

  killing me like a rat in a hole? And that renegade! He who was

  once an anointed king!…

  'I hate that sort of eye that laughs and keeps hard,' said the

  king.

  'I won't sit still here and be caught like a fascinated rabbit,'

  said the king in conclusion. 'We must shift those bombs.'

  'Risk it,' said Pestovitch. 'Leave them alone.'

  'No,' said the king. 'Shift them near the frontier. Then while

  they watch us here-they will always watch us here now-we can

  buy an aeroplane abroad, and pick them up…'

  The king was in a feverish, irritable mood all that evening, but

  he made his plans nevertheless with infinite cunning. They must

  get the bombs away; there must be a couple of atomic hay lorries,

  the bombs could be hidden under the hay… Pestovitch went and

  came, instructing trusty servants, planning and replanning…

  The king and the ex-king talked very pleasantly of a number of

  subjects. All the while at the back of King Ferdinand Charles's

  mind fretted the mystery of his vanished aeroplane. There came no

  news of its capture, and no news of its success. At any moment

  all that power at the back of his visitor might crumble away and

  vanish…

  It was past midnight, when the king, in a cloak and slouch hat

  that might equally have served a small farmer, or any respectable

  middle-class man, slipped out from an inconspicuous service gate

  on the eastward side of his palace into the thickly wooded

  gardens that sloped in a series of terraces down to the town.

  Pestovitch and his guard-valet Peter, both wrapped about in a

  similar disguise, came out among the laurels that bordered the

  pathway and joined him. It was a clear, warm night, but the stars

  seemed unusually little and remote because of the aeroplanes,

  each trailing a searchlight, that drove hither and thither across

  the blue. One great beam seemed to rest on the king for a moment

  as he came out of the palace; then instantly and reassuringly it

  had swept away. But while they were still in the palace gardens

  another found them and looked at them.

  'They see us,' cried the king.

  'They make nothing of us,' said Pestovitch.

  The king glanced up and met a calm, round eye of light, that

  seemed to wink at him and vanish, leaving him blinded…

  The three men went on their way. Near the little gate in the

  garden railings that Pestovitch had caused to be unlocked, the

  king paused under the shadow of an flex and looked back at the

  place. It was very high and narrow, a twentieth-century rendering

  of mediaevalism, mediaevalism in steel and bronze and sham stone

  and opaque glass. Against the sky it splashed a confusion of

  pinnacles. High up in the eastward wing were the windows of the

  apartments of the ex-king Egbert. One of them was brightly lit

  now, and against the light a little black figure stood very still

  and looked out upon the night.

  The king snarled.

  'He little knows how we slip through his fingers,' said

  Pestovitch.

  And as he spoke they saw the ex-king stretch out his arms slowly,

  like one who yawns, knuckle his eyes and turn inward-no doubt to

  his bed.

  Down through the ancient winding back streets of his capital

  hurried the king, and at an appointed corner a shabby

  atomic-automobile waited for the three. It was a hackney

  carriage of the lowest grade, with dinted metal panels and

  deflated cushions. The driver was one of the ordinary drivers of

  the capital, but beside him sat the young secretary of

  Pestovitch, who knew the way to the farm where the bombs were

  hidden.

  The automobile made its way through the narrow streets of the old

  town, which were still lit and uneasy-for the fleet of airships

  overhead had kept the cafes open and people abroad-over the

  great new bridge, and so by straggling outskirts to the country.

  And all through his capital the king who hoped to outdo Caesar,

  sat back and was very still, and no one spoke. And as they got

  out into the dark country they became aware of the searchlights

  wandering over the country-side like the uneasy ghosts of giants.

  The king sat forward and looked at these flitting whitenesses,

  and every now and then peered up to see the flying ships

  overhead.

  'I don't like them,' said the king.

  Presently one of these patches of moonlight came to rest about

  them and seemed to be following their automobile. The king drew

  back.

  'The things are confoundedly noiseless,' said the king. 'It's

  like being stalked by lean white cats.'

  He peered again. 'That fellow is watching us,' he said.

  And then suddenly he gave way to panic. 'Pestovitch,' he said,

  clutching his minister's arm, 'they are watching us. I'm not

  going through with this. They are watching us. I'm going back.'

  Pestovitch remonstrated. 'Tell him to go back,' said the king,

  and tried to open the window. For a few moments there was a grim

  struggle in the automobile; a gripping of wrists and a blow. 'I

  can't go through with it,' repeated the king, 'I can't go through

  with it.'

  'But they'll hang us,' said Pestovitch.

  'Not if we were to give up now. Not if we were to surrender the

  bombs. It is you who brought me into this…'

  At last Pestovitch compromised. There was an inn perhaps half a

  mile from the farm. They could alight there and the king could

  get brandy, and rest his ner
ves for a time. And if he still

  thought fit to go back he could go back.

  'See,' said Pestovitch, 'the light has gone again.'

  The king peered up. 'I believe he's following us without a

  light,' said the king.

  In the little old dirty inn the king hung doubtful for a time,

  and was for going back and throwing himself on the mercy of the

  council. 'If there is a council,' said Pestovitch. 'By this time

  your bombs may have settled it.

  'But if so, these infernal aeroplanes would go.'

  'They may not know yet.'

  'But, Pestovitch, why couldn't you do all this without me?'

  Pestovitch made no answer for a moment. 'I was for leaving the

  bombs in their place,' he said at last, and went to the window.

  About their conveyance shone a circle of bright light. Pestovitch

  had a brilliant idea. 'I will send my secretary out to make a

  kind of dispute with the driver. Something that will make them

  watch up above there. Meanwhile you and I and Peter will go out

  by the back way and up by the hedges to the farm…'

  It was worthy of his subtle reputation and it answered passing

  well.

  In ten minutes they were tumbling over the wall of the farm-yard,

  wet, muddy, and breathless, but unobserved. But as they ran

  towards the barns the king gave vent to something between a groan

  and a curse, and all about them shone the light-and passed.

  But had it passed at once or lingered for just a second?

  'They didn't see us,' said Peter.

  'I don't think they saw us,' said the king, and stared as the

  light went swooping up the mountain side, hung for a second about

  a hayrick, and then came pouring back.

  'In the barn!' cried the king.

  He bruised his shin against something, and then all three men

  were inside the huge steel-girdered barn in which stood the two

  motor hay lorries that were to take the bombs away. Kurt and

  Abel, the two brothers of Peter, had brought the lorries thither

  in daylight. They had the upper half of the loads of hay thrown

  off, ready to cover the bombs, so soon as the king should show

  the hiding-place. 'There's a sort of pit here,' said the king.

  'Don't light another lantern. This key of mine releases a

  ring…'

  For a time scarcely a word was spoken in the darkness of the

  barn. There was the sound of a slab being lifted and then of feet

  descending a ladder into a pit. Then whispering and then heavy

  breathing as Kurt came struggling up with the first of the hidden

  bombs.

  'We shall do it yet,' said the king. And then he gasped. 'Curse

  that light. Why in the name of Heaven didn't we shut the barn

  door?' For the great door stood wide open and all the empty,

  lifeless yard outside and the door and six feet of the floor of

  the barn were in the blue glare of an inquiring searchlight.

  'Shut the door, Peter,' said Pestovitch.

  'No,' cried the king, too late, as Peter went forward into the

  light. 'Don't show yourself!' cried the king. Kurt made a step

  forward and plucked his brother back. For a time all five men

  stood still. It seemed that light would never go and then

  abruptly it was turned off, leaving them blinded. 'Now,' said

  the king uneasily, 'now shut the door.'

  'Not completely,' cried Pestovitch. 'Leave a chink for us to go

  out by…'

  It was hot work shifting those bombs, and the king worked for a

  time like a common man. Kurt and Abel carried the great things

  up and Peter brought them to the carts, and the king and

  Pestovitch helped him to place them among the hay. They made as

  little noise as they could…

  'Ssh!' cried the king. 'What's that?'

  But Kurt and Abel did not hear, and came blundering up the ladder

  with the last of the load.

  'Ssh!' Peter ran forward to them with a whispered remonstrance.

  Now they were still.

  The barn door opened a little wider, and against the dim blue

  light outside they saw the black shape of a man.

  'Any one here?' he asked, speaking with an Italian accent.

  The king broke into a cold perspiration. Then Pestovitch

  answered: 'Only a poor farmer loading hay,' he said, and picked

  up a huge hay fork and went forward softly.

  'You load your hay at a very bad time and in a very bad light,'

  said the man at the door, peering in. 'Have you no electric

  light here?'

  Then suddenly he turned on an electric torch, and as he did so

  Pestovitch sprang forward. 'Get out of my barn!' he cried, and

  drove the fork full at the intruder's chest. He had a vague idea

  that so he might stab the man to silence. But the man shouted

  loudly as the prongs pierced him and drove him backward, and

  instantly there was a sound of feet running across the yard.

  'Bombs,' cried the man upon the ground, struggling with the

  prongs in his hand, and as Pestovitch staggered forward into view

  with the force of his own thrust, he was shot through the body by

  one of the two new-comers.

  The man on the ground was badly hurt but plucky. 'Bombs,' he

  repeated, and struggled up into a kneeling position and held his

  electric torch full upon the face of the king. 'Shoot them,' he

  cried, coughing and spitting blood, so that the halo of light

  round the king's head danced about.

  For a moment in that shivering circle of light the two men saw

  the king kneeling up in the cart and Peter on the barn floor

  beside him. The old fox looked at them sideways-snared, a

  white-faced evil thing. And then, as with a faltering suicidal

  heroism, he leant forward over the bomb before him, they fired

  together and shot him through the head.

  The upper part of his face seemed to vanish.

  'Shoot them,' cried the man who had been stabbed. 'Shoot them

  all!'

  And then his light went out, and he rolled over with a groan at

  the feet of his comrades.

  But each carried a light of his own, and in another moment

  everything in the barn was visible again. They shot Peter even

  as he held up his hands in sign of surrender.

  Kurt and Abel at the head of the ladder hesitated for a moment,

  and then plunged backward into the pit. 'If we don't kill them,'

  said one of the sharpshooters, 'they'll blow us to rags. They've

  gone down that hatchway. Come!…

  'Here they are. Hands up! I say. Hold your light while I

  shoot…'

  Section 8

  It was still quite dark when his valet and Firmin came together

  and told the ex-king Egbert that the business was settled.

  He started up into a sitting position on the side of his bed.

  'Did he go out?' asked the ex-king.

  'He is dead,' said Firmin. 'He was shot.'

  The ex-king reflected. 'That's about the best thing that could

  have happened,' he said. 'Where are the bombs? In that

  farm-house on the opposite hill-side! Why! the place is in sight!

  Let us go. I'll dress. Is there any one in the place, Firmin, to

  get us a cup of coffee?'

  Through the hungry twilight of the dawn the ex-king's automobile


  carried him to the farm-house where the last rebel king was lying

  among his bombs. The rim of the sky flashed, the east grew

  bright, and the sun was just rising over the hills when King

  Egbert reached the farm-yard. There he found the hay lorries

  drawn out from the barn with the dreadful bombs still packed upon

  them. A couple of score of aviators held the yard, and outside a

  few peasants stood in a little group and stared, ignorant as yet

  of what had happened. Against the stone wall of the farm-yard

  five bodies were lying neatly side by side, and Pestovitch had an

  expression of surprise on his face and the king was chiefly

  identifiable by his long white hands and his blonde moustache.

  The wounded aeronaut had been carried down to the inn. And after

  the ex-king had given directions in what manner the bombs were to

  be taken to the new special laboratories above Zurich, where they

  could be unpacked in an atmosphere of chlorine, he turned to

  these five still shapes.

  Their five pairs of feet stuck out with a curious stiff

  unanimity…

  'What else was there to do?' he said in answer to some internal

  protest.

  'I wonder, Firmin, if there are any more of them?'

  'Bombs, sir?' asked Firmin.

  'No, such kings…

  'The pitiful folly of it!' said the ex-king, following his

  thoughts. 'Firmin,' as an ex-professor of International Politics,

  I think it falls to you to bury them. There?… No, don't put

  them near the well. People will have to drink from that well.

  Bury them over there, some way off in the field.'

  CHAPTER THE FOURTH

  THE NEW PHASE

  Section 1

  The task that lay before the Assembly of Brissago, viewed as we

  may view it now from the clarifying standpoint of things

  accomplished, was in its broad issues a simple one. Essentially

  it was to place social organisation upon the new footing that the

  swift, accelerated advance of human knowledge had rendered

  necessary. The council was gathered together with the haste of a

  salvage expedition, and it was confronted with wreckage; but the

  wreckage was irreparable wreckage, and the only possibilities of

  the case were either the relapse of mankind to the agricultural

  barbarism from which it had emerged so painfully or the

  acceptance of achieved science as the basis of a new social

  order. The old tendencies of human nature, suspicion, jealousy,