Chapter XVIII. "Cities and Faces"

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　The hours of Marco's unexplained absence had been terrible toLoristan and to Lazarus. They had reason for fears which it wasnot possible for them to express. As the night drew on, thefears took stronger form. They forgot the existence of The Rat,who sat biting his nails in the bedroom, afraid to go out lest hemight lose the chance of being given some errand to do but alsoafraid to show himself lest he should seem in the way."I'll stay upstairs," he had said to Lazarus. "If you justwhistle, I'll come."The anguish he passed through as the day went by and Lazarus wentout and came in and he himself received no orders, could nothave been expressed in any ordinary words. He writhed in hischair, he bit his nails to the quick, he wrought himself into afrenzy of misery and terror by recalling one by one all thecrimes his knowledge of London police-courts supplied him with.He was doing nothing, yet he dare not leave his post. It was hispost after all, though they had not given it to him. He must dosomething.In the middle of the night Loristan opened the door of the backsitting-room, because he knew he must at least go upstairs andthrow himself upon his bed even if he could not sleep.He started back as the door opened. The Rat was sitting huddledon the floor near it with his back against the wall. He had apiece of paper in his hand and his twisted face was a weird thingto see."Why are you here?" Loristan asked."I've been here three hours, sir. I knew you'd have to come outsometime and I thought you'd let me speak to you. Will you--will you?""Come into the room," said Loristan. "I will listen toanything you want to say. What have you been drawing on thatpaper?" as The Rat got up in the wonderful way he had taughthimself. The paper was covered with lines which showed it to beanother of his plans."Please look at it," he begged. "I daren't go out lest youmight want to send me somewhere. I daren't sit doing nothing. Ibegan remembering and thinking things out. I put down all thestreets and squares he might have walked through on his way home.I've not missed one. If you'll let me start out and walk throughevery one of them and talk to the policemen on the beat and lookat the houses--and think out things and work at them--I'll notmiss an inch--I'll not miss a brick or a flagstone--I'll--" Hisvoice had a hard sound but it shook, and he himself shook.Loristan touched his arm gently."You are a good comrade," he said. "It is well for us thatyou are here. You have thought of a good thing.""May I go now?" said The Rat."This moment, if you are ready," was the answer. The Rat swunghimself to the door.Loristan said to him a thing which was like the sudden lightingof a great light in the very center of his being."You are one of us. Now that I know you are doing this I mayeven sleep. You are one of us." And it was because he wasfollowing this plan that The Rat had turned into Brandon Terraceand heard the Samavian song ringing out from the locked basementof Number 10."Yes, he is one of us," Loristan said, when he told this partof the story to Marco as they sat by the fire. "I had not beensure before. I wanted to be very sure. Last night I saw intothe depths of him and knew. He may be trusted."From that day The Rat held a new place. Lazarus himself,strangely enough, did not resent his holding it. The boy wasallowed to be near Loristan as he had never dared to hope to benear. It was not merely that he was allowed to serve him in manyways, but he was taken into the intimacy which had beforeenclosed only the three. Loristan talked to him as he talked toMarco, drawing him within the circle which held so much that wascomprehended without speech. The Rat knew that he was beingtrained and observed and he realized it with exaltation. Hisidol had said that he was "one of them" and he was watching andputting him to tests so that he might find out how much he wasone of them. And he was doing it for some grave reason of hisown. This thought possessed The Rat's whole mind. Perhaps hewas wondering if he should find out that he was to be trusted, asa rock is to be trusted. That he should even think that perhapshe might find that he was like a rock, was inspiration enough."Sir," he said one night when they were alone together, becauseThe Rat had been copying a road-map. His voice was very low--"do you think that--sometime--you could trust me as you trustMarco? Could it ever be like that--ever?""The time has come," and Loristan's voice was almost as low ashis own, though strong and deep feeling underlay its quiet--"the time has come when I can trust you with Marco--to be hiscompanion--to care for him, to stand by his side at any moment.And Marco is--Marco is my son." That was enough to uplift TheRat to the skies. But there was more to follow."It may not be long before it may be his part to do work inwhich he will need a comrade who can be trusted--as a rock can betrusted."He had said the very words The Rat's own mind had given to him."A Rock! A Rock!" the boy broke out. "Let me show you, sir.Send me with him for a servant. The crutches are nothing.You've seen that they're as good as legs, haven't you? I'vetrained myself.""I know, I know, dear lad." Marco had told him all of it. Hegave him a gracious smile which seemed as if it held a sort offine secret. "You shall go as his aide-de-camp. It shall bepart of the game."He had always encouraged "the game," and during the last weekshad even found time to help them in their plannings for themysterious journey of the Secret Two. He had been so interestedthat once or twice he had called on Lazarus as an old soldier andSamavian to give his opinions of certain routes--and of thecustoms and habits of people in towns and villages by the way.Here they would find simple pastoral folk who danced, sang aftertheir day's work, and who would tell all they knew; here theywould find those who served or feared the Maranovitch and whowould not talk at all. In one place they would meet withhospitality, in another with unfriendly suspicion of allstrangers. Through talk and stories The Rat began to know thecountry almost as Marco knew it. That was part of the gametoo--because it was always "the game," they called it. Anotherpart was The Rat's training of his memory, and bringing home hisproofs of advance at night when he returned from his walk andcould describe, or recite, or roughly sketch all he had seen inhis passage from one place to another. Marco's part was torecall and sketch faces. Loristan one night gave him a number ofphotographs of people to commit to memory. Under each face waswritten the name of a place."Learn these faces," he said, "until you would know each oneof them at once wheresoever you met it. Fix them upon your mind,so that it will be impossible for you to forget them. You mustbe able to sketch any one of them and recall the city or town orneighborhood connected with it."Even this was still called "the game," but Marco began to knowin his secret heart that it was so much more, that his handsometimes trembled with excitement as he made his sketches overand over again. To make each one many times was the best way toimbed it in his memory. The Rat knew, too, though he had noreason for knowing, but mere instinct. He used to lie awake inthe night and think it over and remember what Loristan had saidof the time coming when Marco might need a comrade in his work.What was his work to be? It was to be something like "thegame." And they were being prepared for it. And though Marcooften lay awake on his bed when The Rat lay awake on his sofa,neither boy spoke to the other of the thing his mind dwelt on.And Marco worked as he had never worked before. The game wasvery exciting when he could prove his prowess. The four gatheredtogether at night in the back sitting-room. Lazarus was obligedto be with them because a second judge was needed. Loristanwould mention the name of a place, perhaps a street in Paris or ahotel in Vienna, and Marco would at once make a rapid sketch ofthe face under whose photograph the name of the locality had beenwritten. It was not long before he could begin his sketchwithout more than a moment's hesitation. And yet even when thishad become the case, they still played the game night afternight. There was a great hotel near the Place de la Concorde inParis, of which Marco felt he should never hear the name duringall his life without there starting up before his mental vision atall woman with fierce black eyes and a delicate high-bridgednose across which the strong eyebrows almost met. In Viennathere was a palace which would always bring back at once a palecold-faced man with a heavy blonde lock which fell over hisforehead. A certain street in Munich meant a stout genial oldaristocrat with a sly smile; a village in Bavaria, a peasant witha vacant and simple countenance. A curled and smoothed man wholooked like a hair-dresser brought up a place in an Austrianmountain town. He knew them all as he knew his own face and No.7 Philibert Place.But still night after night the game was played.Then came a night when, out of a deep sleep, he was awakened byLazarus touching him. He had so long been secretly ready toanswer any call that he sat up straight in bed at the firsttouch."Dress quickly and come down stairs," Lazarus said. "ThePrince is here and wishes to speak with you."Marco made no answer but got out of bed and began to slip on hisclothes.Lazarus touched The Rat.The Rat was as ready as Marco and sat upright as he had done."Come down with the young Master," he commanded. "It isnecessary that you should be seen and spoken to." And havinggiven the order he went away.No one heard the shoeless feet of the two boys as they stole downthe stairs.An elderly man in ordinary clothes, but with an unmistakableface, was sitting quietly talking to Loristan who with a gesturecalled both forward."The Prince has been much interested in what I have told him ofyour game," he said in his lowest voice. "He wishes to see youmake your sketches, Marco."Marco looked very straight into the Prince's eyes which werefixed intently on him as he made his bow."His Highness does me honor," he said, as his father might havesaid it. He went to the table at once and took from a drawer hispencils and pieces of cardboard."I should know he was your son and a Samavian," the Princeremarked.Then his keen and deep-set eyes turned themselves on the boy withthe crutches."This," said Loristan, "is the one who calls himself The Rat.He is one of us."The Rat saluted."Please tell him, sir," he whispered, "that the crutches don'tmatter.""He has trained himself to an extraordinary activity," Loristansaid. "He can do anything."The keen eyes were still taking The Rat in."They are an advantage," said the Prince at last.Lazarus had nailed together a light, rough easel which Marco usedin making his sketches when the game was played. Lazarus wasstanding in state at the door, and he came forward, brought theeasel from its corner, and arranged the necessary drawingmaterials upon it.Marco stood near it and waited the pleasure of his father and hisvisitor. They were speaking together in low tones and he waitedseveral minutes. What The Rat noticed was what he had noticedbefore--that the big boy could stand still in perfect ease andsilence. It was not necessary for him to say things or to askquestions-- to look at people as if he felt restless if they didnot speak to or notice him. He did not seem to require notice,and The Rat felt vaguely that, young as he was, this very freedomfrom any anxiety to be looked at or addressed made him somehowlook like a great gentleman.Loristan and the Prince advanced to where he stood."L'Hotel de Marigny," Loristan said.Marco began to sketch rapidly. He began the portrait of thehandsome woman with the delicate high-bridged nose and the blackbrows which almost met. As he did it, the Prince drew nearer andwatched the work over his shoulder. It did not take very longand, when it was finished, the inspector turned, and after givingLoristan a long and strange look, nodded twice."It is a remarkable thing," he said. "In that rough sketchshe is not to be mistaken."Loristan bent his head.Then he mentioned the name of another street in another place--and Marco sketched again. This time it was the peasant withthe simple face. The Prince bowed again. Then Loristan gaveanother name, and after that another and another; and Marco didhis work until it was at an end, and Lazarus stood near with ahandful of sketches which he had silently taken charge of as eachwas laid aside."You would know these faces wheresoever you saw them?" said thePrince. "If you passed one in Bond Street or in the MaryleboneRoad, you would recognize it at once?""As I know yours, sir," Marco answered.Then followed a number of questions. Loristan asked them as hehad often asked them before. They were questions as to theheight and build of the originals of the pictures, of the colorof their hair and eyes, and the order of their complexions.Marco answered them all. He knew all but the names of thesepeople, and it was plainly not necessary that he should knowthem, as his father had never uttered them.After this questioning was at an end the Prince pointed to TheRat who had leaned on his crutches against the wall, his eyesfiercely eager like a ferret's."And he?" the Prince said. "What can he do?""Let me try," said The Rat. "Marco knows."Marco looked at his father."May I help him to show you?" he asked."Yes," Loristan answered, and then, as he turned to the Prince,he said again in his low voice: "He is one of us."Then Marco began a new form of the game. He held up one of thepictured faces before The Rat, and The Rat named at once the cityand place connected with it, he detailed the color of eyes andhair, the height, the build, all the personal details as Marcohimself had detailed them. To these he added descriptions of thecities, and points concerning the police system, the palaces, thepeople. His face twisted itself, his eyes burned, his voiceshook, but he was amazing in his readiness of reply and hisexactness of memory."I can't draw," he said at the end. "But I can remember. Ididn't want any one to be bothered with thinking I was trying tolearn it. So only Marco knew."This he said to Loristan with appeal in his voice."It was he who invented `the game,' " said Loristan. "Ishowed you his strange maps and plans.""It is a good game," the Prince answered in the manner of a manextraordinarily interested and impressed. "They know it well.They can be trusted.""No such thing has ever been done before," Loristan said. "Itis as new as it is daring and simple.""Therein lies its safety," the Prince answered."Perhaps only boyhood," said Loristan, "could have dared toimagine it.""The Prince thanks you," he said after a few more words spokenaside to his visitor. "We both thank you. You may go back toyour beds."And the boys went.