Chapter VIII. An Exciting Game

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　Loristan referred only once during the next day to what hadhappened."You did your errand well. You were not hurried or nervous,"he said. "The Prince was pleased with your calmness."No more was said. Marco knew that the quiet mention of thestranger's title had been made merely as a designation. If itwas necessary to mention him again in the future, he could bereferred to as "the Prince." In various Continental countriesthere were many princes who were not royal or even serenehighnesses--who were merely princes as other nobles were dukes orbarons. Nothing special was revealed when a man was spoken of asa prince. But though nothing was said on the subject of theincident, it was plain that much work was being done by Loristanand Lazarus. The sitting- room door was locked, and the maps anddocuments, usually kept in the iron box, were being used.Marco went to the Tower of London and spent part of the day inliving again the stories which, centuries past, had been inclosedwithin its massive and ancient stone walls. In this way, he hadthroughout boyhood become intimate with people who to most boysseemed only the unreal creatures who professed to be alive inschool- books of history. He had learned to know them as men andwomen because he had stood in the palaces they had been born inand had played in as children, had died in at the end. He hadseen the dungeons they had been imprisoned in, the blocks onwhich they had laid their heads, the battlements on which theyhad fought to defend their fortressed towers, the thrones theyhad sat upon, the crowns they had worn, and the jeweled sceptersthey had held. He had stood before their portraits and had gazedcuriously at their "Robes of Investiture," sewn with tens ofthousands of seed-pearls. To look at a man's face and feel hispictured eyes follow you as you move away from him, to see thestrangely splendid garments he once warmed with his living flesh,is to realize that history is not a mere lesson in a school-book,but is a relation of the life stories of men and women who sawstrange and splendid days, and sometimes suffered strange andterrible things.There were only a few people who were being led about sight-seeing. The man in the ancient Beef-eaters' costume, who wastheir guide, was good-natured, and evidently fond of talking. Hewas a big and stout man, with a large face and a small, merryeye. He was rather like pictures of Henry the Eighth, himself,which Marco remembered having seen. He was specially talkativewhen he stood by the tablet that marks the spot where stood theblock on which Lady Jane Grey had laid her young head. One ofthe sightseers who knew little of English history had asked somequestions about the reasons for her execution."If her father-in-law, the Duke of Northumberland, had left thatyoung couple alone--her and her husband, Lord Guildford Dudley--they'd have kept their heads on. He was bound to make her aqueen, and Mary Tudor was bound to be queen herself. The dukewasn't clever enough to manage a conspiracy and work up thepeople. These Samavians we're reading about in the papers wouldhave done it better. And they're half-savages.""They had a big battle outside Melzarr yesterday," thesight-seer standing next to Marco said to the young woman who washis companion. "Thousands of 'em killed. I saw it in bigletters on the boards as I rode on the top of the bus. They'rejust slaughtering each other, that's what they're doing."The talkative Beef-eater heard him."They can't even bury their dead fast enough," he said."There'll be some sort of plague breaking out and sweeping intothe countries nearest them. It'll end by spreading all overEurope as it did in the Middle Ages. What the civilizedcountries have got to do is to make them choose a decent king andbegin to behave themselves.""I'll tell my father that too," Marco thought. "It shows thateverybody is thinking and talking of Samavia, and that even thecommon people know it must have a real king. This must be thetime!" And what he meant was that this must be the time forwhich the Secret Party had waited and worked so long--the timefor the Rising. But his father was out when he went back toPhilibert Place, and Lazarus looked more silent than ever as hestood behind his chair and waited on him through hisinsignificant meal. However plain and scant the food they had toeat, it was always served with as much care and ceremony as if ithad been a banquet."A man can eat dry bread and drink cold water as if he were agentleman," his father had said long ago. "And it is easy toform careless habits. Even if one is hungry enough to feelravenous, a man who has been well bred will not allow himself tolook so. A dog may, a man may not. Just as a dog may howl whenhe is angry or in pain and a man may not."It was only one of the small parts of the training which hadquietly made the boy, even as a child, self-controlled andcourteous, had taught him ease and grace of boyish carriage, thehabit of holding his body well and his head erect, and had givenhim a certain look of young distinction which, though it assumednothing, set him apart from boys of carelessly awkward bearing."Is there a newspaper here which tells of the battle, Lazarus?"he asked, after he had left the table."Yes, sir," was the answer. "Your father said that you mightread it. It is a black tale!" he added, as he handed him thepaper.It was a black tale. As he read, Marco felt as if he couldscarcely bear it. It was as if Samavia swam in blood, and as ifthe other countries must stand aghast before such furiouscruelties."Lazarus," he said, springing to his feet at last, his eyesburning, "something must stop it! There must be somethingstrong enough.The time has come. The time has come." And he walked up anddown the room because he was too excited to stand still.How Lazarus watched him! What a strong and glowing feeling therewas in his own restrained face!"Yes, sir. Surely the time has come," he answered. But thatwas all he said, and he turned and went out of the shabby backsitting- room at once. It was as if he felt it were wiser to gobefore he lost power over himself and said more.Marco made his way to the meeting-place of the Squad, to whichThe Rat had in the past given the name of the Barracks. The Ratwas sitting among his followers, and he had been reading themorning paper to them, the one which contained the account of thebattle of Melzarr. The Squad had become the Secret Party, andeach member of it was thrilled with the spirit of dark plot andadventure. They all whispered when they spoke."This is not the Barracks now," The Rat said. "It is asubterranean cavern. Under the floor of it thousands of swordsand guns are buried, and it is piled to the roof with them.There is only a small place left for us to sit and plot in. Wecrawl in through a hole, and the hole is hidden by bushes."To the rest of the boys this was only an exciting game, but Marcoknew that to The Rat it was more. Though The Rat knew none ofthe things he knew, he saw that the whole story seemed to him arealthing. The struggles of Samavia, as he had heard and read ofthem in the newspapers, had taken possession of him. His passionfor soldiering and warfare and his curiously mature brain had ledhim into following every detail he could lay hold of. He hadlistened to all he had heard with remarkable results. Heremembered things older people forgot after they had mentionedthem. He forgot nothing. He had drawn on the flagstones a mapof Samavia which Marco saw was actually correct, and he had madea rough sketch of Melzarr and the battle which had had suchdisastrous results."The Maranovitch had possession of Melzarr," he explained withfeverish eagerness. "And the Iarovitch attacked them fromhere," pointing with his finger. "That was a mistake. Ishould have attacked them from a place where they would not havebeen expecting it. They expected attack on their fortifications,and they were ready to defend them. I believe the enemy couldhave stolen up in the night and rushed in here," pointing again.Marco thought he was right. The Rat had argued it all out, andhad studied Melzarr as he might have studied a puzzle or anarithmetical problem. He was very clever, and as sharp as hisqueer face looked."I believe you would make a good general if you were grown up,"said Marco. "I'd like to show your maps to my father and askhim if he doesn't think your stratagem would have been a goodone.""Does he know much about Samavia?" asked The Rat."He has to read the newspapers because he writes things," Marcoanswered. "And every one is thinking about the war. No one canhelp it."The Rat drew a dingy, folded paper out of his pocket and lookedit over with an air of reflection."I'll make a clean one," he said. "I'd like a grown-up man tolook at it and see if it's all right. My father was more thanhalf- drunk when I was drawing this, so I couldn't ask himquestions. He'll kill himself before long. He had a sort of fitlast night.""Tell us, Rat, wot you an' Marco'll 'ave ter do. Let's 'ear wotyou've made up," suggested Cad. He drew closer, and so did therest of the circle, hugging their knees with their arms."This is what we shall have to do," began The Rat, in thehollow whisper of a Secret Party. "The hour has come. To allthe Secret Ones in Samavia, and to the friends of the SecretParty in every country, the sign must be carried. It must becarried by some one who could not be suspected. Who wouldsuspect two boys--and one of them a cripple? The best thing ofall for us is that I am a cripple. Who would suspect a cripple?When my father is drunk and beats me, he does it because I won'tgo out and beg in the streets and bring him the money I get. Hesays that people will nearly always give money to a cripple. Iwon't be a beggar for him--the swine-- but I will be one forSamavia and the Lost Prince. Marco shall pretend to be mybrother and take care of me. I say," speaking to Marco with asudden change of voice, "can you sing anything? It doesn'tmatter how you do it.""Yes, I can sing," Marco replied."Then Marco will pretend he is singing to make people give himmoney. I'll get a pair of crutches somewhere, and part of thetime I will go on crutches and part of the time on my platform.We'll live like beggars and go wherever we want to. I can whizpast a man and give the sign and no one will know. Some timesMarco can give it when people are dropping money into his cap.We can pass from one country to another and rouse everybody whois of the Secret Party. We'll work our way into Samavia, andwe'll be only two boys--and one a cripple--and nobody will thinkwe could be doing anything. We'll beg in great cities and on thehighroad.""Where'll you get the money to travel?" said Cad."The Secret Party will give it to us, and we sha'n't need much.We could beg enough, for that matter. We'll sleep under thestars, or under bridges, or archways, or in dark corners ofstreets. I've done it myself many a time when my father drove meout of doors. If it's cold weather, it's bad enough but if it'sfine weather, it's better than sleeping in the kind of place I'mused to. Comrade," to Marco, "are you ready?"He said "Comrade" as Loristan did, and somehow Marco did notresent it, because he was ready to labor for Samavia. It wasonly a game, but it made them comrades--and was it really only agame, after all? His excited voice and his strange, lined facemade it singularly unlike one."Yes, Comrade, I am ready," Marco answered him."We shall be in Samavia when the fighting for the Lost Princebegins." The Rat carried on his story with fire. "We may seea battle. We might do something to help. We might carrymessages under a rain of bullets--a rain of bullets!" Thethought so elated him that he forgot his whisper and his voicerang out fiercely. "Boys have been in battles before. We mightfind the Lost King--no, the Found King--and ask him to let us behis servants. He could send us where he couldn't send biggerpeople. I could say to him, `Your Majesty, I am called "TheRat," because I can creep through holes and into corners anddart about. Order me into any danger and I will obey you. Letme die like a soldier if I can't live like one.' "Suddenly he threw his ragged coat sleeve up across his eyes. Hehad wrought himself up tremendously with the picture of the rainof bullets. And he felt as if he saw the King who had at lastbeen found. The next moment he uncovered his face."That's what we've got to do," he said. "Just that, if youwant to know. And a lot more. There's no end to it!"Marco's thoughts were in a whirl. It ought not to be nothing buta game. He grew quite hot all over. If the Secret Party wantedto send messengers no one would think of suspecting, who could bemore harmless-looking than two vagabond boys wandering aboutpicking up their living as best they could, not seeming to belongto any one? And one a cripple. It was true--yes, it was true,as The Rat said, that his being a cripple made him look saferthan any one else. Marco actually put his forehead in his handsand pressed his temples."What's the matter?" exclaimed The Rat. "What are youthinking about?""I'm thinking what a general you would make. I'm thinking thatit might all be real--every word of it. It mightn't be a game atall," said Marco."No, it mightn't," The Rat answered. "If I knew where theSecret Party was, I'd like to go and tell them about it. What'sthat!" he said, suddenly turning his head toward the street."What are they calling out?"Some newsboy with a particularly shrill voice was shouting outsomething at the topmost of his lungs.Tense and excited, no member of the circle stirred or spoke for afew seconds. The Rat listened, Marco listened, the whole Squadlistened, pricking up their ears."Startling news from Samavia," the newsboy was shrilling out."Amazing story! Descendant of the Lost Prince found!Descendant of the Lost Prince found!""Any chap got a penny?" snapped The Rat, beginning to shuffletoward the arched passage."I have!" answered Marco, following him."Come on!" The Rat yelled. "Let's go and get a paper!" Andhe whizzed down the passage with his swiftest rat-like dart,while the Squad followed him, shouting and tumbling over eachother.