Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Martians -- Fiction; Science fiction
Directly underneath in the great square at the bottom of Hath's palace
steps were gathered a concourse of people, brilliant in many-coloured
dresses. They were sitting or lying about just as they might for all I
knew have done through the warm night, without much order, save that
where the black streaks of inlaid stone marked a carriageway across the
square none were stationed. While I wondered what would bring so many
together thus early, there came a sound of flutes--for these people can
do nothing without piping like finches in a thicket in May--and from
the storehouses half-way over to the harbour there streamed a line of
carts piled high with provender. Down came the teams attended by their
slaves, circling and wheeling into the open place, and as they passed
each group those lazy, lolling beggars crowded round and took the dole
they were too thriftless to earn themselves. It was strange to see how
listless they were about the meal, even though Providence itself put it
into their hands; to note how the yellow-girted slaves scudded amongst
them, serving out the loaves, themselves had grown, harvested, and
baked; slipping from group to group, rousing, exhorting, administering
to a helpless throng that took their efforts without thought or thanks.
I stood there a long time, one foot upon the coping and my chin upon my
hand, noting the beauty of the ruined town and wondering how such a
feeble race as that which lay about, breakfasting in the limpid
sunshine, could have come by a city like this, or kept even the ruins
of its walls and buildings from the covetousness of others, until
presently there was a rustle of primrose garments and my friend of the
day before stood by me.
"Are you rested, traveller?" she questioned in that pretty voice of
hers.
"Rested ambrosially, An."
"It is well; I will tell the Government and it will come up to wash and
dress you, afterwards giving you breakfast."
"For the breakfast, damsel, I shall be grateful, but as for the washing
and dressing I will defend myself to the last gasp sooner than submit
to such administration."
"How strange! Do you never wash in your country?"
"Yes, but it is a matter left largely to our own discretion; so, my
dear girl, if you will leave me for a minute or two in quest of that
meal you have mentioned, I will guarantee to be ready when it comes."
Away she slipped, with a shrug of her rosy shoulders, to return
presently, carrying a tray covered with a white cloth, whereon were
half a dozen glittering covers whence came most fragrant odours of
cooked things.
"Why, comrade," I said, sitting down and lifting lid by lid, for the
cold, sweet air outside had made me hungry, "this is better than was
hoped for; I thought from what I saw down yonder I should have to trot
behind a tumbril for my breakfast, and eat it on my heels amongst your
sleepy friends below."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account