“This one,” said the lieutenant, pulling Fina forward by the hair; “Was not kenneled.”
“Cut her throat,” said the leader of the strangers.
“No!” said the pit master, raising his hand.
“Show us the lower corridors,” said the leader of the darkly clad men.
“No, Master!” wept Fina.
“They are dangerous,” said the pit master.
“Show us,” said the leader of the strangers.
“I will show you,” said the pit master.
“He is a weakling,” said the lieutenant.
“Release the slave,” said the leader of the strangers, “but keep her, and the others, with us.”
The fellow who had brought Fina forward let her go. She, sobbing, began to back away. But another fellow stopped her, forcibly. He took her by the upper left arm and thrust her forward. She would remain with us.
“You will recognize him, my good Gito?” inquired the leader of the strangers.
“I am sure of it,” said the furtive fellow, the side of his face moving under the scar tissue. His face was such that it might once have been thrust into boiling oil.
“Go first,” said the leader of the strangers to the pit master.
“Master!” protested Fina, in misery. But she was cuffed to silence.
I had seen nothing of the officer of Treve this morning. He had, I gathered, thought it best to avoid the depths this day. Indeed, the guards of the pits had been dismissed. “We have no need of them,” had said the leader of the helmeted, darkly clad brethren.
We followed the pit master, descending toward the lower corridors.
“Cursed Assassins!” cried a fellow from a cell.
In a few minutes we were in the lower corridors. Here and there there was water on the corridor floor. It was cold to my bare feet. Sometimes it splashed, too, on my ankles, from the tread of the men about me. By myself, or with the pit master, I could avoid the water, keeping to the higher parts of the floor, but it was not easy to do so now, I muchly in line, with the other girls, the men about. Here and there the ceiling of the corridor was so low that even I must bend over. Two of the fellows with the leader carried lanterns. The passage was lit, too, here and there, with tiny lamps. Common cord held my wrists behind my back. I was tightly bound.
“Move back the observation panel on that door,” said the leader of the helmeted men.
One of the fellows with a lantern undid the panel latch and slid the panel, in its tracks, to one side. He lifted the lantern near the opening and peered within.
“Something is within,” he said.
“Open the door,” said the leader of the helmeted men.
“There is only a peasant within,” said the pit master. “He does not even know who he is.”
“And who is he?”
“41.”
“ ’41’?”
“Prisoners in this corridor are referred to only by numbers,” said the pit master.
“Let us see him,” said the leader of the strangers.
“ I do not have the key,” said the pit master.
“Why do you insist upon obstructing us in the line of our duty?” inquired the leader of the strangers. “Do you think no report will be made of this to the administration, to the administrator, to the high council?”
“I do not have the keys,” said the pit master.
“Keys may be fetched,” said a man.
“Tools may be brought,” said another. “We may then force the door.”
“I weary of these hindrances,” said the leader of the helmeted men.
“Shall we go back for the keys, for tools?” asked a man.
“Where are the keys?” asked the leader of the helmeted men.
“I do not know,” said the pit master.
“Seize him,” said the leader of the helmeted men.
The pit master was seized. Four men held him. He did not struggle. I think they did not know his strength. He did not try to throw them off.
The leader of the helmeted men pulled the pit master’s head up, by the hair.
“You are a tarsk, indeed,” said the leader of the helmeted men.
The pit master looked up at him, his mouth open, his eyes rolling. He growled, a sound not human.
“Where are the keys?’ asked the leader of the helmeted men.
“I do not know,” said the pit master.
“Kill him,” said the leader of the helmeted men. The lieutenant removed his dagger from its sheath.
“No, Masters!” cried Fina, thrusting herself forward, falling to her knees in the damp corridor. “He has not spoken the truth to you. The keys are here! They are on a cord, about his neck!”
the leader of the helmeted men reached inside the tunic of the pit master and pulled forth keys, on a string. He broke the string, jerking it against the back of the neck of the pit master, freeing it.
“Open the door,” he said to one of the men.
The pit master looked down at Fina.
“Forgive me, Master,” she said, putting down her head.
The door, after a time, was swung open.
One of the men with a lantern entered first. He was followed by the leader of the helmeted men. Then entered the pit master, who had been released by those who had held him. Some other men, too, entered, including the lieutenant.
The lantern was held up, and the men regarded the sitting figure within.
“He is a big one,” said a man.
“So are many of his caste,” said another.
The peasant lifted his eyes, blinking, against the lantern.
“Light the lamps in the cell,” said the leader of the helmeted men.
The lamps, one by one, were lit. I had usually lit only one, in my attendance here.
Fina and I, and the other girls, as the lamps were being lit, were thrust into the cell and knelt to one side, on the right, as one would look toward the prisoner. In this fashion, our helplessness was increased, we now being subject to a custody stricter than would have been possible in the open corridor. Certainly we would be less tempted to run. Too, this disposition of us freed more men to enter the cell.
“You have misled us again, have you not?” inquired the leader of the strangers.
“I do not understand,” said the pit master.
“You are a brave man,” said he, “to trifle with those of the black caste.”
“Perhaps he whom you seek is not here,” said the pit master.
“Who are you?” demanded the leader of the strangers of the peasant.
“I do not know,” said the peasant.
The leader of the black-tunicked men straightened up, disgustedly.
“Is it time for the planting?” asked the peasant.
The leader of the black-tunicked men turned in fury to the pit master, who stood to one side, to his left.
“You would palm this off upon us,” demanded the leader of the black-tunicked men, “for he whom we seek?”