Chapter IX. "It Is Not a Game"

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　Loristan walked slowly up and down the back sitting-room andlistened to Marco, who sat by the small fire and talked."Go on," he said, whenever the boy stopped. "I want to hearit all. He's a strange lad, and it's a splendid game."Marco was telling him the story of his second and third visits tothe inclosure behind the deserted church-yard. He had begun atthe beginning, and his father had listened with a deep interest.A year later, Marco recalled this evening as a thrilling memory,and as one which would never pass away from him throughout hislife. He would always be able to call it all back. The smalland dingy back room, the dimness of the one poor gas-burner,which was all they could afford to light, the iron box pushedinto the corner with its maps and plans locked safely in it, theerect bearing and actual beauty of the tall form, which theshabbiness of worn and mended clothes could not hide or dim. Noteven rags and tatters could have made Loristan seem insignificantor undistinguished. He was always the same. His eyes seemeddarker and more wonderful than ever in their remotethoughtfulness and interest as he spoke."Go on," he said. "It is a splendid game. And it is curious.He has thought it out well. The lad is a born soldier.""It is not a game to him," Marco said. "And it is not a gameto me. The Squad is only playing, but with him it's quitedifferent. He knows he'll never really get what he wants, but hefeels as if this was something near it. He said I might show youthe map he made. Father, look at it."He gave Loristan the clean copy of The Rat's map of Samavia. Thecity of Melzarr was marked with certain signs. They were to showat what points The Rat--if he had been a Samavian general --wouldhave attacked the capital. As Marco pointed them out, heexplained The Rat's reasons for his planning.Loristan held the paper for some minutes. He fixed his eyes onit curiously, and his black brows drew themselves together."This is very wonderful!" he said at last. "He is quiteright. They might have got in there, and for the very reasons hehit on.How did he learn all this?""He thinks of nothing else now," answered Marco. "He hasalways thought of wars and made plans for battles. He's not likethe rest of the Squad. His father is nearly always drunk, but heis very well educated, and, when he is only half drunk, he likesto talk.The Rat asks him questions then, and leads him on until he findsout a great deal. Then he begs old newspapers, and he hideshimself in corners and listens to what people are saying. Hesays he lies awake at night thinking it out, and he thinks aboutit all the day. That was why he got up the Squad."Loristan had continued examining the paper."Tell him," he said, when he refolded and handed it back,"that I studied his map, and he may be proud of it. You mayalso tell him--" and he smiled quietly as he spoke--"that in myopinion he is right. The Iarovitch would have held Melzarrto-day if he had led them."Marco was full of exultation."I thought you would say he was right. I felt sure you would.That is what makes me want to tell you the rest," he hurried on."If you think he is right about the rest too--" He stoppedawkwardly because of a sudden wild thought which rushed upon him."I don't know what you will think," he stammered. "Perhaps itwill seem to you as if the game--as if that part of itcould--could only be a game."He was so fervent in spite of his hesitation that Loristan beganto watch him with sympathetic respect, as he always did when theboy was trying to express something he was not sure of. One ofthe great bonds between them was that Loristan was alwaysinterested in his boyish mental processes--in the way in whichhis thoughts led him to any conclusion."Go on," he said again. "I am like The Rat and I am like you.It has not seemed quite like a game to me, so far."He sat down at the writing-table and Marco, in his eagerness,drew nearer and leaned against it, resting on his arms andlowering his voice, though it was always their habit to speak atsuch a pitch that no one outside the room they were in coulddistinguish what they said."It is The Rat's plan for giving the signal for a Rising," hesaid.Loristan made a slight movement."Does he think there will be a Rising?" he asked."He says that must be what the Secret Party has been preparingfor all these years. And it must come soon. The other nationssee that the fighting must be put an end to even if they have tostop it themselves. And if the real King is found--but when TheRat bought the newspaper there was nothing in it about where hewas. It was only a sort of rumor. Nobody seemed to know anything."He stopped a few seconds, but he did not utter the words whichwere in his mind. He did not say: "But you know.""And The Rat has a plan for giving the signal?" Loristan said.Marco forgot his first feeling of hesitation. He began to seethe plan again as he had seen it when The Rat talked. He beganto speak as The Rat had spoken, forgetting that it was a game.He made even a clearer picture than The Rat had made of the twovagabond boys--one of them a cripple--making their way from oneplace to another, quite free to carry messages or warnings wherethey chose, because they were so insignificant and poor-lookingthat no one could think of them as anything but waifs and strays,belonging to nobody and blown about by the wind of poverty andchance. He felt as if he wanted to convince his father that theplan was a possible one. He did not quite know why he felt soanxious to win his approval of the scheme--as if it were real--asif it could actually be done. But this feeling was what inspiredhim to enter into new details and suggest possibilities."A boy who was a cripple and one who was only a street singerand a sort of beggar could get almost anywhere," he said."Soldiers would listen to a singer if he sang good songs--andthey might not be afraid to talk before him. A strolling singerand a cripple would perhaps hear a great many things it might beuseful for the Secret Party to know. They might even hearimportant things. Don't you think so?"Before he had gone far with his story, the faraway look hadfallen upon Loristan's face--the look Marco had known so well allhis life. He sat turned a little sidewise from the boy, hiselbow resting on the table and his forehead on his hand. Helooked down at the worn carpet at his feet, and so he looked ashe listened to the end. It was as if some new thought wereslowly growing in his mind as Marco went on talking and enlargingon The Rat's plan. He did not even look up or change hisposition as he answered, "Yes. I think so."But, because of the deep and growing thought in his face, Marco'scourage increased. His first fear that this part of the planningmight seem so bold and reckless that it would only appear tobelong to a boyish game, gradually faded away for some strangereason. His father had said that the first part of The Rat'simaginings had not seemed quite like a game to him, and now--evennow--he was not listening as if he were listening to the detailsof mere exaggerated fancies. It was as if the thing he washearing was not wildly impossible. Marco's knowledge ofContinental countries and of methods of journeying helped him toenter into much detail and give realism to his plans."Sometimes we could pretend we knew nothing but English," hesaid. "Then, though The Rat could not understand, I could. Ishould always understand in each country. I know the cities andthe places we should want to go to. I know how boys like uslive, and so we should not do anything which would make thepolice angry or make people notice us. If any one askedquestions, I would let them believe that I had met The Rat bychance, and we had made up our minds to travel together becausepeople gave more money to a boy who sang if he was with acripple. There was a boy who used to play the guitar in thestreets of Rome, and he always had a lame girl with him, andevery one knew it was for that reason. When he played, peoplelooked at the girl and were sorry for her and gave her soldi.You remember.""Yes, I remember. And what you say is true," Loristananswered.Marco leaned forward across the table so that he came closer tohim. The tone in which the words were said made his courage leaplike a flame. To be allowed to go on with this boldness was tofeel that he was being treated almost as if he were a man. Ifhis father had wished to stop him, he could have done it with onequiet glance, without uttering a word. For some wonderful reasonhe did not wish him to cease talking. He was willing to hearwhat he had to say--he was even interested."You are growing older," he had said the night he had revealedthe marvelous secret. "Silence is still the order, but you areman enough to be told more."Was he man enough to be thought worthy to help Samavia in anysmall way--even with boyish fancies which might contain a germ ofsome thought which older and wiser minds might make useful? Washe being listened to because the plan, made as part of a game,was not an impossible one--if two boys who could be trusted couldbe found? He caught a deep breath as he went on, drawing stillnearer and speaking so low that his tone was almost a whisper."If the men of the Secret Party have been working and thinkingfor so many years--they have prepared everything. They know bythis time exactly what must be done by the messengers who are togive the signal. They can tell them where to go and how to knowthe secret friends who must be warned. If the orders could bewritten and given to--to some one who has--who has learned toremember things!" He had begun to breathe so quickly that hestopped for a moment.Loristan looked up. He looked directly into his eyes."Some one who has been trained to remember things?" he said."Some one who has been trained," Marco went on, catching hisbreath again. "Some one who does not forget--who would neverforget--never! That one, even if he were only twelve--even if hewere only ten--could go and do as he was told." Loristan puthis hand on his shoulder."Comrade," he said, "you are speaking as if you were ready togo yourself."Marco's eyes looked bravely straight into his, but he said notone word."Do you know what it would mean, Comrade?" his father went on."You are right. It is not a game. And you are not thinking ofit as one. But have you thought how it would be if somethingbetrayed you--and you were set up against a wall to be shot?"Marco stood up quite straight. He tried to believe he felt thewall against his back."If I were shot, I should be shot for Samavia," he said. "Andfor you, Father."Even as he was speaking, the front door-bell rang and Lazarusevidently opened it. He spoke to some one, and then they heardhis footsteps approaching the back sitting-room."Open the door," said Loristan, and Marco opened it."There is a boy who is a cripple here, sir," the old soldiersaid. "He asked to see Master Marco.""If it is The Rat," said Loristan, "bring him in here. I wishto see him."Marco went down the passage to the front door. The Rat wasthere, but he was not upon his platform. He was leaning upon anold pair of crutches, and Marco thought he looked wild andstrange. He was white, and somehow the lines of his face seemedtwisted in a new way. Marco wondered if something had frightenedhim, or if he felt ill."Rat," he began, "my father--""I've come to tell you about my father," The Rat broke inwithout waiting to hear the rest, and his voice was as strange ashis pale face. "I don't know why I've come, but I--I justwanted to. He's dead!""Your father?" Marco stammered. "He's--""He's dead," The Rat answered shakily. "I told you he'd killhimself. He had another fit and he died in it. I knew he would,one of these days. I told him so. He knew he would himself. Istayed with him till he was dead--and then I got a burstingheadache and I felt sick--and I thought about you."Marco made a jump at him because he saw he was suddenly shakingas if he were going to fall. He was just in time, and Lazarus,who had been looking on from the back of the passage, cameforward. Together they held him up."I'm not going to faint," he said weakly, "but I felt as if Iwas. It was a bad fit, and I had to try and hold him. I was allby myself. The people in the other attic thought he was onlydrunk, and they wouldn't come in. He's lying on the floor there,dead.""Come and see my father," Marco said. "He'll tell us what dodo. Lazarus, help him.""I can get on by myself," said The Rat. "Do you see mycrutches? I did something for a pawnbroker last night, and hegave them to me for pay."But though he tried to speak carelessly, he had plainly beenhorribly shaken and overwrought. His queer face was yellowishwhite still, and he was trembling a little.Marco led the way into the back sitting-room. In the midst ofits shabby gloom and under the dim light Loristan was standing inone of his still, attentive attitudes. He was waiting for them."Father, this is The Rat," the boy began. The Rat stoppedshort and rested on his crutches, staring at the tall, reposefulfigure with widened eyes."Is that your father?" he said to Marco. And then added, witha jerky half-laugh, "He's not much like mine, is he?"