Read Ebook: The belt by West Wallace

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Ebook has 189 lines and 8817 words, and 4 pages

"And what waters does this ocean communicate with?"

"The Atlantic on the west, and the Pacific on the east."

"Can you name two or three of the most important seaports on the Pacific?"

"I can mention Yokohama, in Japan; Melbourne, in Australia; San Francisco, in the State of California."

"Well, since the Arctic Ocean communicates on one side with the Atlantic, and on the other with the Pacific, do you not think that the shortest route to Yokohama or San Francisco would be through this Arctic Ocean?"

"Assuredly," answered Erik, "it would be the shortest way, if it were practicable, but all navigators who have attempted to follow it have been prevented by ice, and been compelled to renounce the enterprise, when they have escaped death."

"Have they often attempted to discover the north-east passage?"

"At least fifty times during the last three centuries, but without success."

"Could you mention a few of the expeditions?"

"The first was organized in 1523, under the direction of Franois Sebastian Cabot. It consisted of three vessels under the command of the haracteristics. Notice that one's fingers ... long and slender for delicate work. And this one's ... so tough that he can reach right into his forge."

"Have they lost the power of speech?"

"Oh, no, sir. They talk when speech is necessary in carrying on their work. Just a few words, though--like parrots, I would say."

Oppressed by the horror of this silent, noisy place, they hurried along until they came to a better-lighted section of the building. There a number of women were engaged in etching delicate designs on almost-finished stones.

Dressed in black nun-like robes, they crouched over their work while their fingers flew. Most of them were ugly and toothless, with dirty hair and shoulders permanently rounded. A few retained some semblance of good looks and made pitiful attempts at adornment. One had a drooping flower in her unkempt locks; another wore an ancient ring. Those little things sent a thrill through the newcomer. Perhaps....

Glancing away from this group of harpies, Jonathan drew in his breath sharply. On a platform near a broken window sat a girl who was looking at him with a faint show of interest in her great, sad eyes. Her chestnut hair was held back with a strip of cloth. Her robe was clean. Her face reminded him of a Watteau shepherdess.

"Who is she?" he whispered.

"The women's overseer, sir; she talks a bit."

"Good morning," Jonathan addressed the girl hesitantly. "I'm the new master. Do you like to work here? Have you any complaints?" He stopped, feeling foolish, as he realized that, although she still was looking at him, her fragile fingers had not ceased their endless task of sorting little blue stones.

"Good morning, new master," she answered in a voice faint from disuse. "I do like to work here. I have no com-com...." She stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

"What is your name?"

"Jo."

"Jo what?"

"Jo." He detected a look of fright in her blue eyes.

"Would you like to leave this place?"

"No!" With a gasp Jo dropped her eyes and sorted with increased speed. Jonathan thought of the fluttering canaries.

"Would you like a holiday, Jo?"

She did not answer. Her face was white and her breath jerked.

"Better leave her alone, sir," said Tom; "you're getting her all upset. Come. I'll show you the mine."

"What's that?" A shuffling sound nearby had startled him.

"One of the miners, sir. They don't need lights any more; they seem to feel or smell the vein of Lapis. Look."

He swung the beam to disclose a naked horror which was scrabbling at the end of the tunnel with a crowbar. The creature snarled through a matted beard and hid its eyes.

"The miners only come out after dark," said Tom. "They've almost lost the power of sight.... Look out--here comes an ore car." He dragged his master aside as a loaded car trundled out of the depths and skittered by them on rickety wheels, pushed by another monster.

"Good Lord," panted Jonathan. "Get me out of here before I go mad. This air...."

"The pumps aren't adequate, sir. Your father was going to install new ones, but the miners don't seem bothered by the foulness. The air may become highly explosive. That's why we keep the canaries. But since the miners have stopped using lights...." He plodded toward the surface while his master walked close beside him as the one remaining link to the world of reality.

Back in the factory workroom at last, Jonathan mounted a bench and shouted for attention. The belt flapped idly on; work continued. Most of the laborers lifted their eyes to stare at him dully.

"I am the new master," he yelled above the din. "I do not want you to work on Sunday. Turn off the power; go home. Come back tomorrow. This is the day of rest."

The belt flapped on. Most of them gaped at him without comprehension. In a far corner, however, an ancient and twisted man rose from his bench and started fumbling at his leather apron. After half a minute another followed his example.

"We ken!" The answer came in chorus, like a ragged thunderclap. The old man refastened his apron and sat down again, as did his companion. The belt flapped.

"Now look here!" Jonathan was furious. "I said...."

"It's no use, sir." Tom was plucking at his sleeve. "You might as well talk to the Lapis, now; come."

At the mansion, Jonathan sat for hours with his head between his hands, trying to think of some way to lift the curse riveted on New Patmos. He waved away the luncheon which Tom brought, then, as the old man started to leave the room, called him back. "Who's in charge at the factory?" he asked.

"There's nobody rightly in charge, sir; things just run themselves."

"Who is that creature with the voice like a squeaky hinge, then?"

"Oh, that's Jock, the men's supervisor, sir. He only...."

"Jock!" Jonathan caught his breath. "Could that be Jock MacPherson, 7th, a descendant of Sir Jonathan's original overseer?"

"I wouldn't rightly know, sir. But you had better watch him; I think he is jealous."

"Jealous? Why, for heaven's sake?"

"Because you spoke to his girl Jo, sir. Under the law they will mate soon to produce another generation of supervisors."

"You're a doddering old fool!" Jonathan's face was pink.

"Yes, sir; anything else, sir?" Tom turned stiffly toward the door.

"I'm sorry, Tom. Forget it. I've got the jumps trying to figure out a way to shut down that factory. Can you suggest anything?"

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