For a long, tense moment, Ardath's inscrutable gaze dwelt on the giant.
"No one can enter here save by my will," he said. "You would do well to obey me in future."
Thordred nodded hastily and changed the subject.
"The girl is awakening."
Jansaiya's green eyes slowly opened. The instant she saw Ardath, horror and hatred sprang into her gaze.
She looked then at the crafty Thordred. Suddenly and unmistakably, the giant Earthling realized that he had found an ally against Ardath. But he said nothing.
He waited, silent and passive, while Ardath spoke to Jansaiya in her own language, explaining why she had been abducted.
She listened attentively, and the Kyrian knew she did not regard him as a god or a demon.
Not for nothing had he sought out the most intelligent human of this particular time.
The Sun was setting when Ardath finished his explanation. Through the transparent window of a port, they could see the land that stretched beneath them, green and beautiful. Smoke plumed up from the volcanic range. The city, tiny and white, lay in the distance.
"You intend to put me to sleep?" Jansaiya asked incredulously. "For a thousand years?"
"A thousand or more," Ardath said quietly. "Your civilization does not suit my needs. Do you love it so well that you would refuse?"
"No," she responded. "Return to be imprisoned in Dagon's temple once more? No, I am glad to be free! But to have to leave my world forever…"
"Kingdoms die," Ardath pointed out. "Civilizations pass like shadows. When we awake, perhaps no man will remember your land."
Jansaiya rose and went to the port. The red Sun cast bloody light on her face.
"You are wrong," she whispered. "I am your prisoner. I have no choice but to obey. Yet if we sleep for a hundred thousand years, men will not forget my kingdom. All over Earth our ships carry wondrous goods. Our civilization is the mightiest in the world.
"It cannot die or pass. It will go on, through the ages, growing mightier. Not even the gods can destroy this land. Not even Dagon, Lord of the Sea, can destroy Atlantis!"
CHAPTER VII
Doom
On the 2nd of January, 1941, Stephen Court left for Canada. His cabin plane contained two passengers and a good deal of equipment. Marion Barton went with him, and he had allowed Sammy to go along. The old man had been reformed in every other respect, but wanderlust can be removed from a man only by the surgery of death.
"I won't be no trouble, Stevie," he had argued. "I get itchy feet this time of year, and, besides, I never rode in an airplane. Anyhow"—his watery eyes narrowed cunning—"you'll need a handyman to do odd jobs. I can help you unpack and other things."
To save argument that would waste time, Court had agreed. It was a clear, bitingly cold day when the plane took off from the Wisconsin flying field. Luckily the weather reports were good. Though there was no danger of snow, Court flew at low altitude, fearing that ice would form on the wings.
The excitement of hurtling the plane at high speed made him uncharacteristically talkative. His gaunt cheeks were flushed, and he chatted with the others with unusual animation and warmth. Sammy did not talk much, but he listened and occasionally asked a question.
"Plague, eh?" he said once. "I was in the South once when a plague hit. It was pretty awful. Kids and women—we couldn't bury 'em fast enough. I sure hope it ain't like that."
"We'll see," Court said. "I can't do much till I examine this fellow Locicault. For that matter—" He frowned, pondering. "I really haven't enough equipment with me. I've got to bring Locicault back to my lab."
"But you say it's contagious," Marion protested. "How can he travel?"
"I've arranged that. I'm having an ambulance made ready. It'll be plated with several thicknesses of lead, which ought to be safe enough. They're sending the car after me as soon as it's ready."
"Oh," Marion said.
She fell silent, watching the mountains and lakes glide past below.
"You know," Court observed after a time, "I came across an interesting angle, a completely unexpected one. I've been getting photographs from most of the observatories. While I found no trace or my X in space, I did notice something else —a satellite of some kind circling the Earth. No one's noticed it before, it's so small and travels so fast. But it seems to be made of homogeneous metal."
"Iron?"
"Smooth metal, Marion. Not pitted and rough, as an asteroid would be. It's made of pure gold, or some yellow metal that resembles gold."
The girl looked sharply at Court.
"A space ship?"
"Possibly. But why wouldn't it come down, if it is a ship? Has it been circling the Earth for ages?"
"But where could it have come from?"
"Some ancient civilization might have mastered space travel, though I doubt that. If it is a space ship, it probably came from some other planet."
"There's nothing in history about it," Marion said. "If one space ship could come here, probably so would a lot more."
"Nothing in history? No, but there's a lot in mythology and folklore. I'm just guessing, of course. I'm anxious to find out more about that highly unnatural satellite."
She was silent, fascinated by the thought.
"How can you reach it?" she asked.
"It looks impossible," he admitted. "Space travel is impossible to us today. That's one reason—You see, Marion, if it really is a space ship, it may mean Earth's salvation. To be completely rational, we must consider that perhaps the plague can't be conquered. If it is a space ship, we may be able to leave the Earth and go to another planet. If those worlds are also in danger, we could leave the System.
"We couldn't do that with modern rocket fuels. Suppose that strangely colored satellite is a genuine space ship, one that has already traveled across the interstellar void. Repairing it would be less work than inventing one."
"It's worth trying," Marion breathed hopefully.
"I may fail. That's why I want to find out more about X. The space ship's a dangerously long chance, and I don't want to gamble everything on one throw of the dice. When I see Locicault—"
Time wore on. Sammy asked innumerable questions about the plague, but when he exhausted his curiosity, he went to sleep. The plane sped over the Border and into Canada.
It was afternoon before they reached the landing field. An automobile met them and took them into town, another following with Sammy and the equipment. At the hospital they were greeted by Doctor Granger, a shriveled gnome of a man with one tuft of white hair standing straight up from his bald skull.
"Court!" he said in relief. "Am I glad you're here! Are you hungry?"
"No." Characteristically Court did not bother to introduce anyone. "Where's the patient?"
"In the left wing of the hospital. We've cleared out everyone else. You'll have to put on the lead suit. We have only one, unfortunately."
Court seemed transformed into a swift, emotionless machine. He hastily donned the form-fitting suit of canvas, with leaden scales sewed closely over the surface. As he followed Granger to the door, the physician paused.
"I'd better not go farther. I don't know exactly how far the radiation extends. It wilts gold-leaf at quite some distance."
Court nodded, got his directions, and clumped ponderously out the door. He went along the corridor until he found the patient's room. Any other man would have hesitated before entering, but Court was not like any other man. Without stopping, he pushed open the door.
The bare, white-walled chamber was spotlessly sterile. A case of instruments lay open on a table, a hypodermic needle in view. On the bed a man was sprawled.
Peering through lead-infiltrated goggles, Court came closer. Locicault was unconscious. No, he was asleep. His spare, wasted frame was barely fleshy enough to make a visible shape under the coverlets. On the pillow lay the withered, skull-face of an incredibly old man.