The White Mountains (The Tripods) (5 page)

“And the Caps?”

“Are the means by which they keep men docile and obedient to them.”

At first thought, it was incredible. Later, it seemed incredible that I had not seen this before. But all my life Capping had been something I had taken for granted. All my elders were Capped, and contented to be so. It was the mark of the adult, the ceremony itself solemn and linked in one’s mind with the holiday and the feast. Despite the few who suffered pain and became Vagrants, it was a duty to which every child looked forward. Only lately, as one could begin to count the months remaining, had there been any doubts in my mind; and the doubts had been ill-formed and difficult to sustain against the weight of adult assurance. Jack had had doubts, too, and then, with the Capping, they had gone. I said, “They make men think the things the Tripods want them to think?”

“They control the brain. How, or to what extent, we are not sure. As you know, the metal is joined to the flesh, so that it cannot be removed. It seems that certain general orders are given when the Cap is put on. Later, specific orders can be given to specific people, but as far as the majority are concerned, they do not seem to bother.”

“How do the Vagrants happen?”

“That again is something at which we can only guess. It may be that some minds are weak to start with, and crumble under the strain. Or perhaps the reverse: too strong, so that they fight against domination until they break.”

I thought of that, and shuddered. A voice inside one’s head, inescapable and irresistible. Anger burned in me, not only for the Vagrants but for all the others—my parents and elders, Jack …

“You spoke of free men,” I said. “Then the Tripods do not rule all the earth?”

“Near enough all. There are no lands without them, if that’s what you mean. Listen, when the Tripods first came—or when they revolted—there were terrible happenings. Cities were destroyed like anthills, and millions on millions were killed or starved to death.”

Millions … I tried to envision it, but could not. Our village, which was reckoned no small place, numbered about four hundred souls. There were some thirty thousand living in and around the city of Winchester. I shook my head.

He went on, “Those that were left the Tripods
Capped, and once Capped they served the Tripods and helped to kill or capture other men. So, within a generation, things were much as they are now. But in one place, at least, a few men escaped. Far to the south, across the sea, there are high mountains, so high that snow lies on them all the year round. The Tripods keep to low ground—perhaps because they travel over it more easily, or because they do not like the thin air higher up—and these are places which men who are alert and free can defend against the Capped who live in the surrounding valleys. In fact, we raid their farms for our food.”

“We? So you come from there?” He nodded. “And the Cap you wear?”

“Taken from a dead man. I shaved my head, and it was molded to fit my skull. Once my hair had grown again, it was hard to tell it from a true Cap. But it gives no commands.”

“So you can travel as a Vagrant,” I said, “and no one suspects you. But why? With what purpose?”

“Partly to see things, and report what I see. But there is something more important. I came for you.”

I was startled. “For me?”

“You, and others like you. Those who are not yet Capped, but who are old enough to ask questions and understand answers. And to make a long, difficult, perhaps dangerous journey.”

“To the south?”

“To the south. To the White Mountains. With a hard life at the journey’s end. But a free one. Well?”

“You will take me there?”

“No. I am not ready to go back yet. And it would be more dangerous. A boy traveling on his own could be an ordinary runaway, but one traveling with a Vagrant … you must go on your own. If you decide to go.”

“The sea,” I said, “how do I cross that?”

He stared at me, and smiled. “The easiest part. And I can give you some help for the rest, too.” He brought something from his pocket and showed it to me. “Do you know what this is?”

I nodded. “I have seen one. A compass. The needle points always to the north.”

“And this.”

He put his hand inside his tunic. There was a hole in the stitching, and he put his fingers down, grasped something, and drew it out. It was a long cylinder of parchment, which he unrolled and spread out on the floor, putting a stone on one end and holding the other. I saw a drawing on it, but it made no sense.

“This is called a map,” he said. “The Capped do not need them, so you have not seen one before. It tells you how to reach the White Mountains. Look, there. That signifies the sea. And here, at the bottom, the mountains.”

He explained all the things on the map, describing the landmarks I should look for and telling me how to use the compass to find my way. And for the last part of the journey, beyond the Great Lake, he gave me instructions, which I had to memorize. This in case the map were discovered. He said, “But guard it well, in
any case. Can you make a hole in the lining of your tunic, as I have done?”

“Yes. I’ll keep it safe.”

“That leaves only the sea crossing. Go to this town.” He pointed to it. “You will find fishing boats in the harbor. The
Orion
is owned by one of us. A tall man, very swarthy, with a long nose and thin lips. His name is Curtis, Captain Curtis. Go to him. He will get you across the sea. That is where the hard part begins. They speak a different language there. You must keep from being seen, or spoken to, and learn to steal your food as you go.”

“I can do that. Do you speak their language?”

“It, and others. Such as your own. It was for that reason I was given this mission.” He smiled. “I can be a madman in four tongues.”

I said, “I came to you. If I had not …”

“I would have found you. I have some skill in discovering the right kind of boy. But you can help me now. Is there any other in these parts that you think might be worth the tackling?”

I shook my head. “No, no one.”

He stood up, stretching his legs and rubbing his knee.

“Then tomorrow I will move on. Give me a week before you leave, so that no one suspects a link between us.”

“Before you go …”

“Yes?”

“Why did they not destroy men altogether, instead of Capping them?”

He shrugged. “We can’t read their minds. There are many possible reasons. Part of the food you grow here goes to men who work underground, mining metals for the Tripods. And in some places, there are hunts.”

“Hunts?”

“The Tripods hunt men, as men hunt foxes.” I shivered. “And they take men and women into their cities, for reasons at which we can only guess.”

“They have cities, then?”

“Not on this side of the sea. I have not seen one, but I know those who have. Towers and spires of metal, it is said, behind a great encircling wall. Gleaming ugly places.”

I said, “Do you know how long it has been?”

“That the Tripods have ruled? More than a hundred years. But to the Capped, it is the same as ten thousand.” He gave me his hand. “Do your best, Will.”

“Yes,” I said. His grasp was firm.

“I will hope to meet you again, in the White Mountains.”

The next day, as he had said, he was gone. I set about making my preparations. There was a loose stone in the back wall of the den, with a hiding place behind it. Only Jack knew of it, and Jack would not come here again. I put things there—food, a spare shirt, a pair of shoes—ready for my journey. I took the food a little at a time, choosing what would keep best—salt beef and ham, a whole small cheese, oats and such. I think my mother noticed some of the things were missing, and was puzzled.

I was sorry at the thought of leaving her, and my father, and of their unhappiness when they found me gone. The Caps offered no remedy for human grief. But I could not stay, any more than a sheep could walk through a slaughterhouse door, once it knew what lay beyond. And I knew that I would rather die than wear a Cap.

Two things made me wait longer
than a week before I set out. The first was that the moon was new, no more than a sliver of light, and I was reckoning to travel by night. I needed a half-moon at least for that. The other was something I had not expected: Henry’s mother died.

She and my mother were sisters. She had been ill for a long time, but her actual death was sudden. My mother took charge of things, and the first thing she did was to bring Henry over to our house and put up a bed for him in my room. This was not welcome, from any point of view, but naturally I could not object to it. My sympathy was coldly offered, and coldly received, and after that we kept to ourselves, as far as was possible for two boys sharing a not very large room.

It was a nuisance, I decided, but not really important.
The nights were not yet light enough for me to travel, and I presumed that he would be going back home after the funeral. But when, on the morning of the funeral, I said something of this to my mother, I found to my horror that I was wrong.

She said, “Henry’s staying with us.”

“For how long?”

“For good. Until you have both been Capped, anyway. Your Uncle Ralph has too much to do on the farm to be able to look after a boy, and he doesn’t want to leave him in the care of servants all day.”

I did not say anything, but my expression must have been revealing. She said, with unusual sternness, “And I will not have you sulking about it! He has lost his mother, and you should have the decency to show some compassion.”

I said, “Can’t I have my own room, at least? There’s the apple room spare.”

“I would have given you your room back, but for the way you’ve behaved. In less than a year, you will be a man. You must learn to act like a man, not a sullen child.”

“But …”

“I will not discuss it with you,” she said angrily. “If you say another word, I shall speak to your father.”

With which she left the room, her skirt sweeping imperiously round the door. Thinking about it, I decided that it made small difference. If I hid my clothes in the mill room, I could sneak out after he was asleep and change there. I was determined to leave, as planned, on the half-moon.

• • •

There was heavy rain during the next two days, but after that it cleared, and a blazing hot afternoon dried up most of the mud. Everything went well. Before going to bed, I had hidden my clothes and pack, and a couple of big loaves with them. After that it was only a matter of staying awake, and, keyed up as I was, it did not prove difficult. Eventually Henry’s breathing, on the far side of the room, became deep and even in sleep. I lay and thought about the journey: the sea, the strange lands beyond, the Great Lake, and the mountains on which snow lay all summer through. Even without what I had learned of the Tripods and the Caps, the idea was exciting.

The moon rose above the level of my window, and I slipped out of bed. Carefully I opened the bedroom door, and carefully closed it after me. The house was very quiet. The stairs creaked a little under my feet, but no one would pay attention even if they heard it. It was an old wooden house, and creakings at night were not unusual. I went through the big door to the mill room, found my clothes, and dressed quickly. Then out through the door by the river. The wheel was motionless, and the water gurgled and splashed, black streaked with silver, all around it.

Once across the bridge, I felt much safer. In a few minutes I would be clear of the village. A cat tiptoed delicately across the cobbles, and another, on a doorstep, licked its moon-bright fur. A dog barked, hearing me, perhaps, and suspicious, but not near enough to be alarming. With the Widow Ingold’s cottage
behind me, I broke into a run. I arrived at the den panting and out of breath, but pleased with myself for having got away undetected.

With flint and steel and an oil-soaked rag, I lit a candle, and set about filling my pack. I had overestimated the amount of space at my disposal; after several reshufflings I still could not get one loaf in. Well, I could carry it for now, and I proposed to stop and eat at dawn. There would be room after that. I had a last look around the den, making sure I had left nothing I would need, doused the candle and slipped it into my pocket, and went out.

It was a good night to be going. The sky bright with stars—all suns, like our own?—and the half-moon rising, the air gentle. I picked up my pack, to put it on. As I did, a voice spoke from the shadows, a few feet away. Henry’s voice.

He said, “I heard you go out, and I followed you.”

I could not see his face, but I thought there was a mocking tone in his voice. I may have been wrong—it may have been no more than nervousness—but just then I thought he was crowing over having tracked me down. I felt blind anger at this and, dropping my pack, rushed at him. Blind anger was no help. He knocked me down, and I got up, and he knocked me down again. In a short time I was on the ground, and he was sitting on me, pinioning my wrists with his hands. I struggled and sweated and heaved, but it was no good. He had me quite firmly.

“Listen,” he said, “I want to tell you something. I
know you’re running away. You must be, with that pack. What I’m saying is, I want to come with you.”