Arabella of Mars(85)
Their escort did not accompany them further. “We have delivered you to Corey House, as requested,” said the escort leader, “and now we return to our akhmok.”
“Thank you for accompanying us this far,” Arabella said, “and please convey my thanks and appreciation to Khema as well.”
The escort leader merely tossed her head in acknowledgement and rode off toward the rising sun, accompanied by her fellows and leading the two huresh that Arabella and the captain had ridden.
Arabella looked upon their retreating backs with considerable trepidation. Though she had finally returned to the planet of her birth, it now seemed foreign and dangerous. Even Khema, who was more dear to her than any one save her own family, had become barely recognizable. And now even that tiny particle of familiarity was gone, leaving Arabella alone and defenseless among angry, armed Martians who wanted her brother dead.
No … not alone. She had the captain by her side, for which she was more grateful than she could comfortably express.
“Come,” she said to him. “Let us present ourselves at the gate. The sooner my brother can explain himself, the better.”
*
They made their way through the surging crowd, Martian warriors hurrying this way and that with weapons, supplies, and construction materials for the gigantic catapults. Most of the warriors simply glared at them, but on many occasions they were approached by angry Martians with swords or spears raised, who backed down as soon as they scented the storek. By the twentieth or thirtieth such occasion Arabella had learned to stand her ground as though unafraid, though her heart still raced every time.
“How long does this … charm last?” the captain murmured to her as yet another armed Martian angrily swished her sword at them and stalked away.
“Khema said it would get us as far as the gate,” she replied. It was all she knew.
The crowd grew thicker and angrier as they approached the house, until by the time they reached the gate itself they found themselves pushing through a packed mob, many of who were hurling rocks or shooting arrows at the house’s thickly shuttered windows. If not for the storek’s influence they might not even have been able to progress on foot.
The gate itself, a heavy double door of khoresh-wood some ten feet wide, was deeply set into the red stone of the wall. Both door and wall were exceedingly scarred. Arabella banged the knocker, politely at first and then vigorously, but received no response.
They stepped back a bit. “Ahoy the house!” the captain called in a carrying voice that even stilled for a moment the furious activity of the Martians packed shoulder to shoulder around them. “Ahoooy!” he called again.
For some minutes nothing more happened. Then a clattering and a rattling sounded from the other side of the gate’s thick wood. “How the d—l did you get here?” came a muffled voice.
“We have a safe-conduct from … from a Martian general,” Arabella called back. There was a tiny peep-hole in the door, she noticed, and she directed her voice to it. “We are here to negotiate an end to this siege.”
Voices sounded from inside, at least two different ones, but between the thickness of the door and the clattering of the Martians she was unable to make out the words. “There seems to be some disagreement within,” the captain said, and Arabella could only nod in unhappy agreement.
“Please let us in,” Arabella called again. “I am Arabella Ashby, Michael’s sister. And this is Captain Prakash Singh of the Honorable Mars Company.”
“Miss Ashby?” came a voice from within, a different one. “I had thought you were on Earth!”
“I took passage on Diana, a fine and very rapid ship,” she said. “Oh, do let us in. I promise we mean you no harm.”
The argument within resumed, even more vehemently, until finally the first voice cursed and called out, “I shan’t open the door unless you can get those d____d savages to back away at least five yards. And if they charge when I open it, I shall shoot the lot of them, and you too if I must!”
Even with the storek, it was not easy for Arabella to convince the Martians to clear the area near the door as the unpleasant voice demanded. The task was finally accomplished through a combination of gentle persuasion on Arabella’s part, using every bit of Martian politeness she’d learned from Khema, and a display of self-assurance from the captain, who simply spread his arms and walked slowly forward, pressing the crowd back by sheer force of personality.
Rattles, thuds, and dragging sounds came from the door’s other side as whatever barricade had been erected within was laboriously disassembled. “Get in close!” the unpleasant voice called. “I’ll give you a count of three to get inside.”
Arabella and the captain moved in close to the gate. The crowd of Martians began to edge forward, diminishing the open space.
Suddenly, with a grinding scrape of wood on stone, the door was pulled open. It stopped when the opening was less than one foot wide. “Inside!” the voice demanded, accompanied by a pair of wild red-rimmed eyes, a rifle barrel, and a pale beckoning hand. “Hurry!”
Arabella squeezed herself through as quickly as she could, followed immediately by the captain. A moment later the door was pushed shut behind her, and she was roughly shoved aside as the door was barred and casks, crates, and heavy furniture were piled up against it. The grunts of men and the thump of wood on stone as the barricade was restored were matched by the cries and clatters of the Martians outside trying to get in.