The Pool of Fire (The Tripods) by John Christopher Page B

unsuspecting,” he said. “It is a good plan. Go ahead with preparations.”
    •  •  •
    I was called later to see Julius. He was writing in a book, but looked up as I entered the room.
    “Ah, Will,” he said. “Come and sit down. You know Ulf has gone?”
    “I saw him leave this morning, sir.”
    “With some satisfaction, I gather?” I did not answer. “He is a very sick man, and I have sent him south to the sun. He will serve us there, as he has done all his life, for the short time that remains to him. He is also a very unhappy man. Even though things turned out well, he sees only failure: his failure to conquer an old weakness. Do not despise him, Will.”
    “No, sir.”
    “You have your own weaknesses. They are not his, but they lead you into folly. As they did this time. Ulf’s folly lay in getting drunk, yours in putting pride before sense. Shall I tell you something? I brought Ulf and you together again partly because I thought it would do you good—teach you to accept discipline and so to think more carefully before you acted. It does not seem to have had the result that I hoped for.”
    I said, “I’m sorry, sir.”
    “Well, that’s something. So is Ulf. He told me something, before he left. He blamed himself for you and Beanpole going astray at your first encounter. He knewhe ought not to have stayed in the town, and thus given you the excuse to go ashore looking for him. If I had known this, I would not have let him come here. Some people are oil and water. It seems that you and he were.”
    He was silent for a moment or two, but I felt more uncomfortable than ever under the scrutiny of his deep-set blue eyes. He said, “This expedition that is being planned. Do you wish to take part in it?”
    I said, quickly and with conviction, “Yes, sir!”
    “My rational impulse is to refuse your request. You have done well, but you have not learned to master your rashness. I am not sure that you ever will.”
    “Things have turned out well, sir. As you said.”
    “Yes, because you have been lucky. So I am going to be irrational, and send you. And it is also true that you know the City, and will be valuable for that reason. But I think, to be honest, it is your luck that makes the biggest impression on me. You are a kind of mascot to us, Will.”
    Fervently, I said, “I will do my best, sir.”
    “Yes, I know. You can go now.”
    I had reached the door when he called me back.
    “One thing, Will.”
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Spare a thought now and then for those who do not have luck on their side. For Ulf, in particular.”

Five

Six Against the City

    It was in spring, not of the next year but the year after, that the expedition was launched.
    In between there had been so many things to do and to prepare, plans to be made, equipment to be fashioned, actions to be rehearsed again and again. Contacts had to be made, also, with those who had gone out to form centers of resistance in the region of the other two Cities. Things would have been easier if we had been able to use the means of sending messages through the air on invisible rays, which our forefathers had used and which the Masters used themselves. Our scientists could have built machines for this, but the decision went against it. The Masters must be kept in their state of false security. If we used the thing called radio, they would detect it, and whether or not theytracked down our transmitters, they would know that a large-scale rebellion was afoot.
    So we were forced to rely on the primitive means we had. We spread a network of carrier pigeons, and for the rest relied on fast horses and hard riding, using both riders and horses in relays as much as possible. Plans were coordinated far in advance, and men from the distant centers returned for briefings on them.
    One of those who returned was Henry. I did not recognize him easily; he had grown, and thinned, and was bronzed with long exposure to the hot sun of the tropics. He was very