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      <TITLE>"NURSE BETTY" -- by John C. Richards & James Flamberg</TITLE>
NURSE BETTYScreenplay by John C. Richards & JamesFlambergStory by John C. Richards                                                         Shooting Script(FINAL)                                                         3/9/99                                                                FADE IN:      1     INT. OPERATING ROOM - DAY                                1            A tensesurgery in progress.  Meters flicker, instruments            flash in the bright overhead light.  In the midst of it all            stands DR. DAVID RAVELL, 35.  The master of his domain.            Ravell leans forward so a NURSEcan mop the sweat from his            brow as he completes a last, delicate procedure.  His co            workers sigh collectively with relief.                                DAVID                          (to Asst.Surgeon)                      Close her up, will you?      2     INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY                             2            Dr. Ravell comes out of surgery, clearly exhausted.  Without            his surgical mask heis ruggedly handsome.  TWO NURSES            follow, attending him like a fighter fresh from the ring:            CHLOE, 25, Raven-haired and striking, and JASMINE, 24, an            exotic mix of African-American andAsian.            BLAKE DANIELS, 58, the silver-haired Chief Surgeon, rushes up            the corridor.  On his heels is DR. LONNIE WALSH, 33. Lonnie            is also conspicuously handsome, but he'll always be secondto            David.  In everything.            The look on Blake's face stops David in his tracks.                                BLAKE                      There's been a train crash near Santa                      Barbara. They'reflying an aortal trauma                      here now.  How can I ask you this,                      David...            David rubs his eyes.  Thinks about it.                                DAVID                      I can do it,Blake.            His bravery isn't lost on the two nurses, although Chloe            exchanges a quick, covert glance with Lonnie.                                CHLOE                      Is he crazy, Jasmine?   He's been onhis                      feet for fourteen hours.                                JASMINE                      Chloe, it's been this way since Leslie                      died.  Losing himself in his work,poor                      thing...                                                                    2.                                YOUNGERMAN'S                                VOICE                          (O.S.)                      ... I'll give you something to lose                      yourself in...                                OLDER MAN'SVOICE                          (O.S.)                      Excuse me, miss?            PULL BACK TO REVEAL: WE ARE LOOKING AT A TELEVISION SCREEN            BEHIND THE COUNTER OF ASMALL-TOWN DINER.            INSERT:            FAIR OAKS, KANSAS      3     INT. TIP TOP DINER - DAY                                 3            Quaint, Midwestern eatery.  Knick-knacks and photosabound.            The booths and counter are packed with LOCALS.  A family            dining section off in one corner.            TWO GUYS sitting at the counter in team jackets.  The older            of the two holds up hisempty coffee cup.  But his WAITRESS,            standing a couple seats down from him, doesn't move. She's            completely absorbed in watching the soap opera that plays on            two battered, fuzzy TVsets.            BETTY SIZEMORE, 30, has a wholesome attractiveness that            competes with a bit too much makeup and a cheesy white            waitress uniform. TWO OTHER WAITRESSES attend tocustomers            behind her.            The younger of the two guys is involved in the soap opera.            But the older one, still wants coffee.  He gestures toward            Betty.                                OLDERMAN                      Miss?            Betty leans forward, grabs the coffee pot and moves in front            of him.  Without taking her eyes from the TV, she pours the            java, which somehow lands in his cupwithout spilling a drop.                                OLDER MAN                                (cont'd)                      Very impressive.  That is very...                          (turning to others)                      Did anybody seethat?            The LOCAL GUYS around him don't even bother to look up. Of            course, they've seen it before.  Bettysmiles.                                                                    3.                                OLDER MAN                                (cont'd)                      Thank you.  Could I bother you for a                      littlemore...?            Before he can even finish, Betty is topping him off with            milk.                                BETTY                      Skim, right?                          (tears open an Equal)                      And half apack, if I remember correct...            The older gentleman's mouth works a bit but nothing comes            out.  He is flabbergasted by her attention to detail.  She            looks at the younger man, who is still followingthe show and            gobbling down a huge bacon burger.                                BETTY (cont'd)                      You know, you're never too young to start                      on a lean meatsubstitute...                          (BEAT)                      You wanna try some turkey bacon on that?                                YOUNGER MAN                      You want a tip when I'mthrough?                                BETTY                      It's your body...            Betty turns back to change pots.  The older man watches her            intently as the younger of the two mumbles tohimself.                                YOUNGER MAN                          (to himself)                      That's right, so why don't you get up off                      it...                                OLDERMAN                      Wesley...                          (to Betty)                      I've told him the same thing.  Thanks for                      the suggestion.                                BETTY                      Noproblem.            Betty flashes the men a winning smile and moves off, one eye            always on the TV as she approaches two local types.            SHERIFF ELDEN BALLARD, 32, a short, tightly wound littleman,            sitting at his own booth.  Ballard is spit and polish all the            way:  creases in his shirt, a glossy shine on his shoes.            Badge proudly displayed.  He sitswith                                                                    4.            ROY OSTREY, 31, a gangly, bookish local reporter.  Betty            drops five ketchup packets and four mayonnaise packets on the            table forhim.  Another smile.                                ROY                      Hi, Betty.  You're looking good...                                BETTY                      Thanks, Roy, you're sweet... a big liar,                      butsweet.  I liked your editorial this                      morning...                                ROY                      Oh, appreciate it.  I was trying to, ahh,                      give a sense of historyto...                                BALLARD                          (interrupting)                      Yeah, it was great.  Really put the whole                      idea of "church bake sales"in                      perspective...                                ROY                      You know, Elden, some people actually                      read more than just theClassifieds...                                BALLARD                      Why don't you go back to doing something                      you're good at... like that Lonelyhearts                      column?                          (chucklesto himself)                      I'll take a refill there, Betty...            His cup is full before he can even finish the sentence.                                BETTY                      Hey, Sheriff.  How'severything?                                BALLARD                      Oh, you know, the usual... keeping the                      world safe.                                BETTY                      ... I meant yourfood.                                BALLARD                      Oh, right... 's fine.  Thanks.                                ROY                      I thought you said the eggsweren't...                                BALLARD                      It's fine.  Mind your own meal...                                                                    5.                                ROY                      Youshould get the order you want.                                BALLARD                      And you should keep your nose out of                      another man's omelette...                          (to Betty)                      It's nobig deal, Betty.                                BETTY                      There's yolks in there, huh?  It's no                      prob'... gotta keep you on track.            Betty grabs Ballard's plate without another word, giveshim a            reassuring rub on the shoulders and moves off.  He smiles            appreciatively after her, then turns on Roy.                                BALLARD                      Why you always gotta embarrassme?  I                      been eating lunch with you since grade                      school and you always gotta embarrass me!                                ROY                      They're just eggs, Elden,how                      embarrassing can eggs be?                                BALLARD                      ... plenty                                ROY                      Who eats eggs for lunch,anyhow?                                BALLARD                      Mind your own business.  You just said                      that shit so you could look at her a                      little longer, anyway...            Still carryingBallard's plate, she returns to the counter.                                BETTY                      Come on, guys, I told you it's egg whites                      only for the Sheriff...                          (quietly)                      ...I put him in that 'zone' thing.                                COOK #1                      Well, it better be a pretty good size                      zone if he's in it...            Betty and the cooks share a quick laugh.  They move tochange            his order while Betty glances up at the TV.                                                                    6.      4     INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - RETURN TO TV SCREEN             4            Lonniecatches up to Blake in the corridor.                                LONNIE                      Blake, I can handle that transplant!                                BLAKE                      We need someone with the right kindof                      experience, Lonnie.                                LONNIE                      Even if he's falling asleep on his feet?                                BLAKE                      Lonnie, it's a complex


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Uncle Silas, by J. S. LeFanuThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Uncle Silas       A Tale of Bartram-HaughAuthor: J. S. LeFanuRelease Date: January 31, 2005 [EBook#14851]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNCLE SILAS ***Produced by Suzanne Shell, Bob McKillip and the Online DistributedProofreading Team.[Transcriber's note: The spellinginconsistencies of the original havebeen retained in this etext.]UNCLE SILASA Tale of Bartram-HaughBy J. S. LeFanu1899TOTHE RIGHT HON.THE COUNTESS OF GIFFORD,AS A TOKEN OFRESPECT, SYMPATHY, ANDADMIRATION_This Tale_IS INSCRIBED BYTHE AUTHOR_A PRELIMINARY WORD_The writer of this Tale ventures, in his own person, to address a very fewwords, chiefly of explanation, to his readers. A leading situationin this'Story of Bartram-Haugh' is repeated, with a slight variation, from a shortmagazine tale of some fifteen pages written by him, and published long agoin a periodical under the title of 'A Passage in the SecretHistory of anIrish Countess,' and afterwards, still anonymously, in a small volume underan altered title. It is very unlikely that any of his readers should haveencountered, and still more so that they should remember,this trifle. Thebare possibility, however, he has ventured to anticipate by this briefexplanation, lest he should be charged with plagiarism--always a disrespectto a reader.May he be permitted a few words also ofremonstrance against thepromiscuous application of the term 'sensation' to that large school offiction which transgresses no one of those canons of construction andmorality which, in producing the unapproachable'Waverley Novels,' theirgreat author imposed upon himself? No one, it is assumed, would describeSir Walter Scott's romances as 'sensation novels;' yet in that marvellousseries there is not a single tale in which death,crime, and, in some form,mystery, have not a place.Passing by those grand romances of 'Ivanhoe,' 'Old Mortality,' and'Kenilworth,' with their terrible intricacies of crime and bloodshed,constructed with so fine a masteryof the art of exciting suspense andhorror, let the reader pick out those two exceptional novels in the serieswhich profess to paint contemporary manners and the scenes of common life;and remembering in the'Antiquary' the vision in the tapestried chamber,the duel, the horrible secret, and the death of old Elspeth, the drownedfisherman, and above all the tremendous situation of the tide-bound partyunder the cliffs; and in'St. Ronan's Well,' the long-drawn mystery, thesuspicion of insanity, and the catastrophe of suicide;--determine whetheran epithet which it would be a profanation to apply to the structure ofany, even the most excitingof Sir Walter Scott's stories, is fairlyapplicable to tales which, though illimitably inferior in execution, yetobserve the same limitations of incident, and the same moral aims.The author trusts that the Press, to whosemasterly criticism and generousencouragement he and other humble labourers in the art owe so much, willinsist upon the limitation of that degrading term to the peculiar type offiction which it was originally intended toindicate, and prevent, as theymay, its being made to include the legitimate school of tragic Englishromance, which has been ennobled, and in great measure founded, by thegenius of Sir WalterScott.CONTENTSCHAPTERI. AUSTIN RUTHYN, OF KNOWL, AND HIS DAUGHTERII. UNCLE SILASIII. A NEW FACEIV. MADAME DE LA ROUGIERREV. SIGHTS AND NOISESVI. A WALK IN THE WOODVII. CHURCHSCARSDALEVIII. THE SMOKERIX. MONICA KNOLLYSX. LADY KNOLLYS REMOVES A COVERLETXI. LADY KNOLLYS SEES THE FEATURESXII. A CURIOUS CONVERSATIONXIII. BEFORE AND AFTER BREAKFASTXIV. ANGRYWORDSXV. A WARNINGXVI. DOCTOR BRYERLY LOOKS INXVII. AN ADVENTUREXVIII. A MIDNIGHT VISITORXIX. AU REVOIRXX. AUSTIN RUTHYN SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEYXXI. ARRIVALSXXII. SOMEBODY IN THEROOM WITH THE COFFINXXIII. I TALK WITH DOCTOR BRYERLYXXIV. THE OPENING OF THE WILLXXV. I HEAR FROM UNCLE SILASXXVI. THE STORY OF UNCLE SILASXXVII. MORE ABOUT TOM CHARKE'S SUICIDEXXVIII.I AM PERSUADEDXXIX. HOW THE AMBASSADOR FAREDXXX. ON THE ROADXXXI. BARTRAM-HAUGHXXXII. UNCLE SILASXXXIII. THE WINDMILL WOODXXXIV. ZAMIELXXXV. WE VISIT A ROOM IN THE SECONDSTOREYXXXVI. AN ARRIVAL AT DEAD OF NIGHTXXXVII. DOCTOR BRYERLY EMERGESXXXVIII. A MIDNIGHT DEPARTUREXXXIX. COUSIN MONICA AND UNCLE SILAS MEETXL. IN WHICH I MAKE ANOTHER COUSIN'SACQUAINTANCEXLI. MY COUSIN DUDLEYXLII. ELVERSTON AND ITS PEOPLEXLIII. NEWS AT BARTRAM GATEXLIV. A FRIEND ARISESXLV. A CHAPTER-FULL OF LOVERSXLVI. THE RIVALSXLVII. DOCTOR BRYERLYREAPPEARSXLVIII. QUESTION AND ANSWERXLIX. AN APPARITIONL. MILLY'S FAREWELLLI. SARAH MATILDA COMES TO LIGHTLII. THE PICTURE OF A WOLFLIII. AN ODD PROPOSALLIV. IN SEARCH OF MR. CHARKE'SSKELETONLV. THE FOOT OF HERCULESLVI. I CONSPIRELVII. THE LETTERLVIII. LADY KNOLLYS' CARRIAGELIX. A SUDDEN DEPARTURELX. THE JOURNEYLXI. OUR BED-CHAMBERLXII. A WELL-KNOWN FACE LOOKSINLXIII. SPICED CLARETLXIV. THE HOUR OF DEATHLXV. IN THE OAK PARLOURCONCLUSIONUNCLE SILASA Tale of Bartram-HaughCHAPTER I_AUSTIN RUTHYN, OF KNOWL, AND HIS DAUGHTER_It was winter--that is,about the second week in November--and great gustswere rattling at the windows, and wailing and thundering among our talltrees and ivied chimneys--a very dark night, and a very cheerful fireblazing, a pleasantmixture of good round coal and spluttering dry wood, ina genuine old fireplace, in a sombre old room. Black wainscoting glimmeredup to the ceiling, in small ebony panels; a cheerful clump of wax candleson thetea-table; many old portraits, some grim and pale, others pretty,and some very graceful and charming, hanging from the walls. Few pictures,except portraits long and short, were there. On the whole, I think youwouldhave taken the room for our parlour. It was not like our modernnotion of a drawing-room. It was a long room too, and every way capacious,but irregularly shaped.A girl, of a little more than seventeen, looking, Ibelieve, younger still;slight and rather tall, with a great deal of golden hair, dark grey-eyed,and with a countenance rather sensitive and melancholy, was sitting at thetea-table, in a reverie. I was that girl.The only otherperson in the room--the only person in the house related tome--was my father. He was Mr. Ruthyn, of Knowl, so called in his county,but he had many other places, was of a very ancient lineage, who hadrefused abaronetage often, and it was said even a viscounty, being of aproud and defiant spirit, and thinking themselves higher in station andpurer of blood than two-thirds of the nobility into whose ranks, it wassaid, they hadbeen invited to enter. Of all this family lore I knew butlittle and vaguely; only what is to be gathered from the fireside talk ofold retainers in the nursery.I am sure my father loved me, and I know I loved him. With thesureinstinct of childhood I apprehended his tenderness, although it was neverexpressed in common ways. But my father was an oddity. He had been earlydisappointed in Parliament, where it was his ambition tosucceed. Though aclever man, he failed there, where very inferior men did extremely well.Then he went abroad, and became a connoisseur and a collector; took a part,on his return, in literary and scientific institutions,and also in thefoundation and direction of some charities. But he tired of this mimicgovernment, and gave himself up to a country life, not that of a sportsman,but rather of a student, staying sometimes at one of hisplaces andsometimes at another, and living a secluded life.Rather late in life he married, and his beautiful young wife died, leavingme, their only child, to his care. This bereavement, I have been told,changedhim--made him more odd and taciturn than ever, and his temper also,except to me, more severe. There was also some disgrace about his youngerbrother--my uncle Silas--which he felt bitterly.He was now walking upand down this spacious old room, which, extendinground an angle at the far end, was very dark in that quarter. It was hiswont to walk up and down thus, without speaking--an exercise which used toremind me ofChateaubriand's father in the great chamber of the ChÃ¢teaude Combourg. At the far end he nearly disappeared in the gloom, and thenreturning emerged for a few minutes, like a portrait with a background ofshadow,and then again in silence faded nearly out of view.This monotony and silence would have been terrifying to a person lessaccustomed to it than I. As it was, it had its effect. I have known myfather a whole day withoutonce speaking to me. Though I loved him verymuch, I was also much in awe of him.While my father paced the floor, my thoughts were employed about the eventsof a month before. So few things happened at Knowlout of the accustomedroutine, that a very trifling occurrence was enough to set people wonderingand conjecturing in that serene household. My father lived in remarkableseclusion; except for a ride, he hardly ever leftthe grounds of Knowl; andI don't think it happened twice in the year that a visitor sojourned amongus.There was not even that mild religious bustle which sometimes besets thewealthy and moral recluse. My father hadleft the Church of England forsome odd sect, I forget its name, and ultimately became, I was told, aSwedenborgian. But he did not care to trouble me upon the subject. So theold carriage brought my governess, when Ihad one, the old housekeeper,Mrs. Rusk, and myself to the parish church every Sunday. And my father, inthe view of the honest rector who shook his head over him--'a cloud withoutwater, carried about of winds, and awandering star to whom is reserved theblackness of darkness'--corresponded with the 'minister' of his church, andwas provokingly contented with his own fertility and illumination; andMrs. Rusk, who was a sound andbitter churchwoman, said he fancied he sawvisions and talked with angels like the rest of that 'rubbitch.'I don't know that she had any better foundation than analogy and conjecturefor charging my father withsupernatural pretensions; and in all pointswhen her orthodoxy was not concerned, she loved her master and was a loyalhousekeeper.I found her one morning superintending preparations for the reception ofa visitor, inthe hunting-room it was called, from the pieces of tapestrythat covered its walls, representing scenes _Ã  la Wouvermans_, of falconry,and the chase, dogs, hawks, ladies, gallants, and pages. In the midst ofwhom Mrs.Rusk, in black silk, was rummaging drawers, counting linen, andissuing orders.'Who is coming, Mrs. Rusk?'Well, she only knew his name. It was a Mr. Bryerly. My papa expected him todinner, and to stay for somedays.'I guess he's one of those creatures, dear, for I mentioned his name justto Dr. Clay (the rector), and he says there _is_ a Doctor Bryerly, a greatconjurer among the Swedenborg sect--and that's him, I dosuppose.'In my hazy notions of these sectaries there was mingled a suspicion ofnecromancy, and a weird freemasonry, that inspired something of awe andantipathy.Mr. Bryerly arrived time enough to dress at hisleisure, before dinner. Heentered the drawing-room--a tall, lean man, all in ungainly black, with awhite choker, with either a black wig, or black hair dressed in imitationof one, a pair of spectacles, and a dark, sharp,short visage, rubbing hislarge hands together, and with a short brisk nod to me, whom he plainlyregarded merely as a child, he sat down before the fire, crossed his legs,and took up a magazine.This treatment wasmortifying, and I remember very well the resentment ofwhich _he_ was quite unconscious.His stay was not very long; not one of us divined the object of his visit,and he did not prepossess us favourably. He seemedrestless, as men of busyhabits do in country houses, and took walks, and a drive, and read in thelibrary, and wrote half a dozen letters.His bed-room and dressing-room were at the side of the gallery, directlyopposite tomy father's, which had a sort of ante-room _en suite_, in whichwere some of his theological books.The day after Mr. Bryerly's arrival, I was about to see whether my father'swater caraffe and glass had been duly laid onthe table in this ante-room,and in doubt whether he was there, I knocked at the door.I suppose they were too intent on other matters to hear, but receiving noanswer, I entered the room. My father was sitting in hischair, with hiscoat and waistcoat off, Mr. Bryerly kneeling on a stool beside him, ratherfacing him, his black scratch wig leaning close to my father's grizzledhair. There was a large tome of their divinity lore, I suppose,open onthe table close by. The lank black figure of Mr. Bryerly stood up, and heconcealed something quickly in the breast of his coat.My father stood up also, looking paler, I think, than I ever saw him tillthen, and hepointed grimly to the door, and said, 'Go.'Mr. Bryerly pushed me gently back with his hands to my shoulders, andsmiled down from his dark features with an expression quite unintelligibleto me.I had recovered myselfin a second, and withdrew without a word. The lastthing I saw at the door was the tall, slim figure in black, and the dark,significant smile following me: and then the door was shut and locked, andthe twoSwedenborgians were left to their mysteries.I remember so well the kind of shock and disgust I felt in the certaintythat I had surprised them at some, perhaps, debasing incantation--asuspicion of this Mr. Bryerly, of theill-fitting black coat, and whitechoker--and a sort of fear came upon me, and I fancied he was assertingsome kind of mastery over my father, which very much alarmed me.I fancied all sorts of dangers in the enigmaticalsmile of the lankhigh-priest. The image of my father, as I had seen him, it might be,confessing to this man in black, who was I knew not what, haunted me withthe disagreeable uncertainties of a mind very uninstructedas to the limitsof the marvellous.I mentioned it to no one. But I was immensely relieved when the sinistervisitor took his departure the morning after, and it was upon thisoccurrence that my mind was nowemployed.Some one said that Dr. Johnson resembled a ghost, who must be spoken tobefore it will speak. But my father, in whatever else he may have resembleda ghost, did not in that particular; for no one but I in hishousehold--andI very seldom--dared to address him until first addressed by him. I had nonotion how singular this was until I began to go out a little among friendsand relations, and found no such rule in force anywhereelse.As I leaned back in my chair thinking, this phantasm of my father came, andturned, and vanished with a solemn regularity. It was a peculiar figure,strongly made, thick-set, with a face large, and very stern; hewore aloose, black velvet coat and waistcoat. It was, however, the figure of anelderly rather than an old man--though he was then past seventy--but firm,and with no sign of feebleness.I remember the start with which,not suspecting that he was close by me, Ilifted my eyes, and saw that large, rugged countenance looking fixedly onme, from less than a yard away.After I saw him, he continued to regard me for a second or two; andthen,taking one of the heavy candlesticks in his gnarled hand, he beckoned me tofollow him; which, in silence and wondering, I accordingly did.He led me across the hall, where there were lights burning, and intoalobby by the foot of the back stairs, and so into his library.It is a long, narrow room, with two tall, slim windows at the far end, nowdraped in dark curtains. Dusky it was with but one candle; and he pausednear thedoor, at the left-hand side of which stood, in those days, anold-fashioned press or cabinet of carved oak. In front of this he stopped.He had odd, absent ways, and talked more to himself, I believe, than to allthe rest ofthe world put together.'She won't understand,' he whispered, looking at me enquiringly. 'No, shewon't. _Will_ she?'Then there was a pause, during which he brought forth from his breastpocket a small bunch of somehalf-dozen keys, on one of which he lookedfrowningly, every now and then balancing it a little before his eyes,between his finger and thumb, as he deliberated.I knew him too well, of course, to interpose a word.'Theyare easily frightened--ay, they are. I'd better do it another way.'And pausing, he looked in my face as he might upon a picture.'They _are_--yes--I had better do it another way--another way; yes--andshe'll notsuspect--she'll not suppose.'Then he looked steadfastly upon the key, and from it to me, suddenlylifting it up, and said abruptly, 'See, child,' and, after a second or two,'_Remember_ this key.'It was oddly shaped, andunlike others.'Yes, sir.' I always called him 'sir.''It opens that,' and he tapped it sharply on the door of the cabinet. 'Inthe daytime it is always here,' at which word he dropped it into his pocketagain. 'You see?--and atnight under my pillow--you hear me?''Yes, sir.''You won't forget this cabinet--oak--next the door--on your left--you won'tforget?''No, sir.''Pity she's a girl, and so young--ay, a girl, and so young--nosense--giddy. Yousay, you'll _remember_?''Yes, sir.''It behoves you.'He turned round and looked full upon me, like a man who has taken a suddenresolution; and I think for a moment he had made up his mind to tell me agreat dealmore. But if so, he changed it again; and after another pause,he said slowly and sternly--'You will tell nobody what I have said, underpain of my displeasure.''Oh! no, sir!''Good child!''_Except_,' he resumed, 'under onecontingency; that is, in case I shouldbe absent, and Dr. Bryerly--you recollect the thin gentleman, in spectaclesand a black wig, who spent three days here last month--should come andenquire for the key, youunderstand, in my absence.''Yes, sir.'So he kissed me on the forehead, and said--'Let us return.'Which, accordingly, we did, in silence; the storm outside, like a dirge ona great organ, accompanying our flitting.CHAPTERII_UNCLE SILAS_When we reached the drawing-room, I resumed my chair, and my father hisslow and regular walk to and fro, in the great room. Perhaps it was theuproar of the wind that disturbed the ordinary tenor ofhis thoughts; but,whatever was the cause, certainly he was unusually talkative that night.After an interval of nearly half an hour, he drew near again, and sat downin a high-backed arm-chair, beside the fire, and nearlyopposite to me, andlooked at me steadfastly for some time, as was his wont, before speaking;and said he--'This won't do--you must have a governess.'In cases of this kind I merely set down my book or work, as itmight be,and adjusted myself to listen without speaking.'Your French is pretty well, and your Italian; but you have no German.Your music may be pretty good--I'm no judge--but your drawing might bebetter--yes--yes.I believe there are accomplished ladies--finishinggovernesses, they call them--who undertake more than any one teacher wouldhave professed in my time, and do very well. She can prepare you, andnext winter, then,you shall visit France and Italy, where you may beaccomplished as highly as you please.''Thank you, sir.''You shall. It is nearly six months since Miss Ellerton left you--too longwithout a teacher.'Then followed aninterval.'Dr. Bryerly will ask you about that key, and what it opens; you show allthat to _him_, and no one else.''But,' I said, for I had a great terror of disobeying him in ever so minutea matter, 'you will then be absent,sir--how am I to find the key?'He smiled on me suddenly--a bright but wintry smile--it seldom came, andwas very transitory, and kindly though mysterious.'True, child; I'm glad you are so wise; _that_, you will find, Ihaveprovided for, and you shall know exactly where to look. You have remarkedhow solitarily I live. You fancy, perhaps, I have not got a friend, andyou are nearly right--_nearly_, but not altogether. I have a verysurefriend--_one_--a friend whom I once misunderstood, but now appreciate.'I wondered silently whether it could be Uncle Silas.'He'll make me a call, some day soon; I'm not quite sure when. I won't tellyou hisname--you'll hear that soon enough, and I don't want it talked of;and I must make a little journey with him. You'll not be afraid of beingleft alone for a time?''And have you promised, sir?' I answered, with anotherquestion, mycuriosity and anxiety overcoming my awe. He took my questioning verygood-humouredly.'Well--_promise_?--no, child; but I'm under condition; he's not to bedenied. I must make the excursion with him


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Queen of the Black Coast, by Robert E. HowardThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Queen of the Black CoastAuthor: Robert E. HowardRelease Date: February 24, 2013 [EBook#42183]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK QUEEN OF THE BLACK COAST ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net                     QUEEN OF THE BLACK COAST                       By Robert E. Howard    [Transcriber's Note: This etext was first published in Weird Tales    May 1934. Extensive research did not uncoverany evidence that the    U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]1 Conan Joins the Pirates    _Believe green buds awaken in the spring,      That autumn paints the leaves with somber fire;    Believe I held myheart inviolate      To lavish on one man my hot desire._    THE SONG OF BÃLITHoofs drummed down the street that sloped to the wharfs. The folk thatyelled and scattered had only a fleeting glimpse of a mailedfigure on ablack stallion, a wide scarlet cloak flowing out on the wind. Far up thestreet came the shout and clatter of pursuit, but the horseman did notlook back. He swept out onto the wharfs and jerked the plungingstallionback on its haunches at the very lip of the pier. Seamen gaped up athim, as they stood to the sweep and striped sail of a high-prowed,broad-waisted galley. The master, sturdy and black-bearded, stood inthebows, easing her away from the piles with a boat-hook. He yelled angrilyas the horseman sprang from the saddle and with a long leap landedsquarely on the mid-deck.'Who invited you aboard?''Get under way!'roared the intruder with a fierce gesture thatspattered red drops from his broadsword.'But we're bound for the coasts of Kush!' expostulated the master.'Then I'm for Kush! Push off, I tell you!' The other cast a quickglanceup the street, along which a squad of horsemen were galloping; farbehind them toiled a group of archers, crossbows on their shoulders.'Can you pay for your passage?' demanded the master.'I pay my way withsteel!' roared the man in armor, brandishing thegreat sword that glittered bluely in the sun. 'By Crom, man, if youdon't get under way, I'll drench this galley in the blood of its crew!'The shipmaster was a good judge ofmen. One glance at the dark scarredface of the swordsman, hardened with passion, and he shouted a quickorder, thrusting strongly against the piles. The galley wallowed outinto clear water, the oars began to clackrhythmically; then a puff ofwind filled the shimmering sail, the light ship heeled to the gust, thentook her course like a swan, gathering headway as she skimmed along.On the wharfs the riders were shaking theirswords and shouting threatsand commands that the ship put about, and yelling for the bowmen tohasten before the craft was out of arbalest range.'Let them rave,' grinned the swordsman hardily. 'Do you keep her onhercourse, master steersman.'The master descended from the small deck between the bows, made his waybetween the rows of oarsmen, and mounted the mid-deck. The strangerstood there with his back to the mast,eyes narrowed alertly, swordready. The shipman eyed him steadily, careful not to make any movetoward the long knife in his belt. He saw a tall powerfully built figurein a black scale-mail hauberk, burnished greavesand a blue-steel helmetfrom which jutted bull's horns highly polished. From the mailedshoulders fell the scarlet cloak, blowing in the sea-wind. A broadshagreen belt with a golden buckle held the scabbard of thebroadswordhe bore. Under the horned helmet a square-cut black mane contrasted withsmoldering blue eyes.'If we must travel together,' said the master, 'we may as well be atpeace with each other. My name is Tito,licensed master-shipman of theports of Argos. I am bound for Kush, to trade beads and silks and sugarand brass-hilted swords to the black kings for ivory, copra, copper ore,slaves and pearls.'The swordsman glancedback at the rapidly receding docks, where thefigures still gesticulated helplessly, evidently having trouble infinding a boat swift enough to overhaul the fast-sailing galley.'I am Conan, a Cimmerian,' he answered. 'I cameinto Argos seekingemployment, but with no wars forward, there was nothing to which I mightturn my hand.''Why do the guardsmen pursue you?' asked Tito. 'Not that it's any of mybusiness, but I thoughtperhaps----''I've nothing to conceal,' replied the Cimmerian. 'By Crom, though I'vespent considerable time among you civilized peoples, your ways are stillbeyond my comprehension.'Well, last night in a tavern, acaptain in the king's guard offeredviolence to the sweetheart of a young soldier, who naturally ran himthrough. But it seems there is some cursed law against killingguardsmen, and the boy and his girl fled away. It wasbruited about thatI was seen with them, and so today I was haled into court, and a judgeasked me where the lad had gone. I replied that since he was a friend ofmine, I could not betray him. Then the court waxedwrath, and the judgetalked a great deal about my duty to the state, and society, and otherthings I did not understand, and bade me tell where my friend had flown.By this time I was becoming wrathful myself, for I hadexplained myposition.'But I choked my ire and held my peace, and the judge squalled that Ihad shown contempt for the court, and that I should be hurled into adungeon to rot until I betrayed my friend. So then, seeingthey were allmad, I drew my sword and cleft the judge's skull; then I cut my way outof the court, and seeing the high constable's stallion tied near by, Irode for the wharfs, where I thought to find a ship bound forforeignparts.''Well,' said Tito hardily, 'the courts have fleeced me too often insuits with rich merchants for me to owe them any love. I'll havequestions to answer if I ever anchor in that port again, but I can proveI actedunder compulsion. You may as well put up your sword. We'repeaceable sailors, and have nothing against you. Besides, it's as wellto have a fighting-man like yourself on board. Come up to the poop-deckand we'll have atankard of ale.''Good enough,' readily responded the Cimmerian, sheathing his sword.The _Argus_ was a small sturdy ship, typical of those trading-craftwhich ply between the ports of Zingara and Argos and thesoutherncoasts, hugging the shoreline and seldom venturing far into the openocean. It was high of stern, with a tall curving prow; broad in thewaist, sloping beautifully to stem and stern. It was guided by thelongsweep from the poop, and propulsion was furnished mainly by the broadstriped silk sail, aided by a jibsail. The oars were for use in tackingout of creeks and bays, and during calms. There were ten to the side,fivefore and five aft of the small mid-deck. The most precious part ofthe cargo was lashed under this deck, and under the fore-deck. The menslept on deck or between the rowers' benches, protected in bad weatherbycanopies. With twenty men at the oars, three at the sweep, and theshipmaster, the crew was complete.So the _Argus_ pushed steadily southward, with consistently fairweather. The sun beat down from day to day withfiercer heat, and thecanopies were run up--striped silken cloths that matched the shimmeringsail and the shining goldwork on the prow and along the gunwales.They sighted the coast of Shem--long rollingmeadowlands with the whitecrowns of the towers of cities in the distance, and horsemen withblue-black beards and hooked noses, who sat their steeds along the shoreand eyed the galley with suspicion. She did not putin; there was scantprofit in trade with the sons of Shem.Nor did master Tito pull into the broad bay where the Styx river emptiedits gigantic flood into the ocean, and the massive black castles ofKhemi loomed over theblue waters. Ships did not put unasked into thisport, where dusky sorcerers wove awful spells in the murk of sacrificialsmoke mounting eternally from blood-stained altars where naked womenscreamed, and where Set,the Old Serpent, arch-demon of the Hyboriansbut god of the Stygians, was said to writhe his shining coils among hisworshippers.Master Tito gave that dreamy glass-floored bay a wide berth, even whenaserpent-prowed gondola shot from behind a castellated point of land, andnaked dusky women, with great red blossoms in their hair, stood andcalled to his sailors, and posed and postured brazenly.Now no moreshining towers rose inland. They had passed the southernborders of Stygia and were cruising along the coasts of Kush. The seaand the ways of the sea were never-ending mysteries to Conan, whosehomeland wasamong the high hills of the northern uplands. The wandererwas no less of interest to the sturdy seamen, few of whom had ever seenone of his race.They were characteristic Argosean sailors, short and stockilybuilt.Conan towered above them, and no two of them could match his strength.They were hardy and robust, but his was the endurance and vitality of awolf, his thews steeled and his nerves whetted by the hardness ofhislife in the world's wastelands. He was quick to laugh, quick andterrible in his wrath. He was a valiant trencherman, and strong drinkwas a passion and a weakness with him. NaÃ¯ve as a child in many ways,unfamiliarwith the sophistry of civilization, he was naturallyintelligent, jealous of his rights, and dangerous as a hungry tiger.Young in years, he was hardened in warfare and wandering, and hissojourns in many lands wereevident in his apparel. His horned helmetwas such as was worn by the golden-haired Ãsir of Nordheim; his hauberkand greaves were of the finest workmanship of Koth; the fine ring-mailwhich sheathed his arms andlegs was of Nemedia; the blade at his girdlewas a great Aquilonian broadsword; and his gorgeous scarlet cloak couldhave been spun nowhere but in Ophir.So they beat southward, and master Tito began to look forthehigh-walled villages of the black people. But they found only smokingruins on the shore of a bay, littered with naked black bodies. Titoswore.'I had good trade here, aforetime. This is the work of pirates.''And if wemeet them?' Conan loosened his great blade in its scabbard.'Mine is no warship. We run, not fight. Yet if it came to a pinch, wehave beaten off reavers before, and might do it again; unless it wereBÃªlit's_Tigress_.''Who is BÃªlit?''The wildest she-devil unhanged. Unless I read the signs a-wrong, it washer butchers who destroyed that village on the bay. May I some day seeher dangling from the yard-arm! She is calledthe queen of the blackcoast. She is a Shemite woman, who leads black raiders. They harry theshipping and have sent many a good tradesman to the bottom.'From under the poop-deck Tito brought out quilted jerkins,steel caps,bows and arrows.'Little use to resist if we're run down,' he grunted. 'But it rasps thesoul to give up life without a struggle.'       *       *       *       *       *It was just at sunrise when the lookout shouted awarning. Around thelong point of an island off the starboard bow glided a long lethalshape, a slender serpentine galley, with a raised deck that ran fromstem to stern. Forty oars on each side drove her swiftly throughthewater, and the low rail swarmed with naked blacks that chanted andclashed spears on oval shields. From the masthead floated a long crimsonpennon.'BÃªlit!' yelled Tito, paling. 'Yare! Put her about! Intothatcreek-mouth! If we can beach her before they run us down, we have achance to escape with our lives!'So, veering sharply, the _Argus_ ran for the line of surf that boomedalong the palm-fringed shore, Tito stridingback and forth, exhortingthe panting rowers to greater efforts. The master's black beardbristled, his eyes glared.'Give me a bow,' requested Conan. 'It's not my idea of a manly weapon,but I learned archery among theHyrkanians, and it will go hard if Ican't feather a man or so on yonder deck.'Standing on the poop, he watched the serpent-like ship skimming lightlyover the waters, and landsman though he was, it was evident to himthatthe _Argus_ would never win that race. Already arrows, arching from thepirate's deck, were falling with a hiss into the sea, not twenty pacesastern.'We'd best stand to it,' growled the Cimmerian; 'else we'll all diewithshafts in our backs, and not a blow dealt.''Bend to it, dogs!' roared Tito with a passionate gesture of his brawnyfist. The bearded rowers grunted, heaved at the oars, while theirmuscles coiled and knotted, and sweatstarted out on their hides. Thetimbers of the stout little galley creaked and groaned as the men fairlyripped her through the water. The wind had fallen; the sail hung limp.Nearer crept the inexorable raiders, and theywere still a good milefrom the surf when one of the steersmen fell gagging across a sweep, along arrow through his neck. Tito sprang to take his place, and Conan,bracing his feet wide on the heaving poop-deck, liftedhis bow. He couldsee the details of the pirate plainly now. The rowers were protected bya line of raised mantelets along the sides, but the warriors dancing onthe narrow deck were in full view. These were painted andplumed, andmostly naked, brandishing spears and spotted shields.On the raised platform in the bows stood a slim figure whose white skinglistened in dazzling contrast to the glossy ebon hides about it. BÃªlit,without adoubt. Conan drew the shaft to his ear--then some whim orqualm stayed his hand and sent the arrow through the body of a tallplumed spearman beside her.Hand over hand the pirate galley was overhauling the lightership.Arrows fell in a rain about the _Argus_, and men cried out. All thesteersmen were down, pincushioned, and Tito was handling the massivesweep alone, gasping black curses, his braced legs knots of strainingthews.Then with a sob he sank down, a long shaft quivering in hissturdy heart. The _Argus_ lost headway and rolled in the swell. The menshouted in confusion, and Conan took command in characteristic fashion.'Up, lads!' heroared, loosing with a vicious twang of cord. 'Grab yoursteel and give these dogs a few knocks before they cut our throats!Useless to bend your backs any more: they'll board us ere we can rowanother fifty paces!'Indesperation the sailors abandoned their oars and snatched up theirweapons. It was valiant, but useless. They had time for one flight ofarrows before the pirate was upon them. With no one at the sweep, the_Argus_rolled broadside, and the steel-baked prow of the raider crashedinto her amidships. Grappling-irons crunched into the side. From thelofty gunwales, the black pirates drove down a volley of shafts thattore through thequilted jackets of the doomed sailormen, then sprangdown spear in hand to complete the slaughter. On the deck of the piratelay half a dozen bodies, an earnest of Conan's archery.The fight on the _Argus_ was shortand bloody. The stocky sailors, nomatch for the tall barbarians, were cut down to a man. Elsewhere thebattle had taken a peculiar turn. Conan, on the high-pitched poop, wason a level with the pirate's deck. As thesteel prow slashed into the_Argus_, he braced himself and kept his feet under the shock, castingaway his bow. A tall corsair, bounding over the rail, was met in midairby the Cimmerian's great sword, which sheared himcleanly through thetorso, so that his body fell one way and his legs another. Then, with aburst of fury that left a heap of mangled corpses along the gunwales,Conan was over the rail and on the deck of the _Tigress_.Inan instant he was the center of a hurricane of stabbing spears andlashing clubs. But he moved in a blinding blur of steel. Spears bent onhis armor or swished empty air, and his sword sang its death-song.Thefighting-madness of his race was upon him, and with a red mist ofunreasoning fury wavering before his blazing eyes, he cleft skulls,smashed breasts, severed limbs, ripped out entrails, and littered thedeck like ashambles with a ghastly harvest of brains and blood.Invulnerable in his armor, his back against the mast, he heaped mangledcorpses at his feet until his enemies gave back panting in rage andfear. Then as they liftedtheir spears to cast them, and he tensedhimself to leap and die in the midst of them, a shrill cry froze thelifted arms. They stood like statues, the black giants poised for thespear-casts, the mailed swordsman with hisdripping blade.       *       *       *       *       *BÃªlit sprang before the blacks, beating down their spears. She turnedtoward Conan, her bosom heaving, her eyes flashing. Fierce fingers ofwonder caught at his heart. Shewas slender, yet formed like a goddess:at once lithe and voluptuous. Her only garment was a broad silkengirdle. Her white ivory limbs and the ivory globes of her breasts drovea beat of fierce passion through theCimmerian's pulse, even in thepanting fury of battle. Her rich black hair, black as a Stygian night,fell in rippling burnished clusters down her supple back. Her dark eyesburned on the Cimmerian.She was untamed as adesert wind, supple and dangerous as a she-panther.She came close to him, heedless of his great blade, dripping with bloodof her warriors. Her supple thigh brushed against it, so close she cameto the tall warrior. Herred lips parted as she stared up into hissomber menacing eyes.'Who are you?' she demanded. 'By Ishtar, I have never seen your like,though I have ranged the sea from the coasts of Zingara to the fires ofthe ultimatesouth. Whence come you?''From Argos,' he answered shortly, alert for treachery. Let her slimhand move toward the jeweled dagger in her girdle, and a buffet of hisopen hand would stretch her senseless on the deck.Yet in his heart hedid not fear; he had held too many women, civilized or barbaric, in hisiron-thewed arms, not to recognize the light that burned in the eyes ofthis one.'You are no soft Hyborian!' she exclaimed. 'You arefierce and hard as agray wolf. Those eyes were never dimmed by city lights; those thews werenever softened by life amid marble walls.''I am Conan, a Cimmerian,' he answered.To the people of the exotic climes, thenorth was a mazy half-mythicalrealm, peopled with ferocious blue-eyed giants who occasionallydescended from their icy fastnesses with torch and sword. Their raidshad never taken them as far south as Shem, and thisdaughter of Shemmade no distinction between Ãsir, Vanir or Cimmerian. With the unerringinstinct of the elemental feminine, she knew she had found her lover,and his race meant naught, save as it invested him withthe glamor offar lands.'And I am BÃªlit,' she cried, as one might say, 'I am queen.''Look at me, Conan!' She threw wide her arms. 'I am BÃªlit, queen of theblack coast. Oh, tiger of the North, you are cold as the snowymountainswhich bred you. Take me and crush me with your fierce love! Go with meto the ends of the earth and the ends of the sea! I am a queen by fireand steel and slaughter--be thou my king!'His eyes swept theblood-stained ranks, seeking expressions of wrath orjealousy. He saw none. The fury was gone from the ebon faces. Herealized that to these men BÃªlit was more than a woman: a goddess whosewill was unquestioned.He glanced at the _Argus_, wallowing in thecrimson sea-wash, heeling far over, her decks awash, held up by thegrappling-irons. He glanced at the blue-fringed shore, at the far greenhazes of the ocean, at the vibrantfigure which stood before him; andhis barbaric soul stirred within him. To quest these shining blue realmswith that white-skinned young tiger-cat--to love, laugh, wander andpillage--'I'll sail with you,' he grunted,shaking the red drops from his blade.'Ho, N'Yaga!' her voice twanged like a bowstring. 'Fetch herbs and dressyour master's wounds! The rest of you bring aboard the plunder and castoff.'As Conan sat with his backagainst the poop-rail, while the old shamanattended to the cuts on his hands and limbs, the cargo of the ill-fated_Argus_ was quickly shifted aboard the _Tigress_ and stored in smallcabins below deck. Bodies of thecrew and of fallen pirates were castoverboard to the swarming sharks, while wounded blacks were laid in thewaist to be bandaged. Then the grappling-irons were cast off, and as the_Argus_ sank silently into theblood-flecked waters, the _Tigress_ movedoff southward to the rhythmic clack of the oars.As they moved out over the glassy blue deep, BÃªlit came to the poop. Hereyes were burning like those of a she-panther in thedark as she toreoff her ornaments, her sandals and her silken girdle and cast them athis feet. Rising on tiptoe, arms stretched upward, a quivering line ofnaked white, she cried to the desperate horde: 'Wolves of theblue sea,behold ye now the dance--the mating-dance of BÃªlit, whose fathers werekings of Askalon!'And she danced, like the spin of a desert whirlwind, like the leaping ofa quenchless flame, like the urge of creation


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's He Walked Around the Horses, by Henry Beam PiperThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: He Walked Around the HorsesAuthor: Henry Beam PiperIllustrator: CartierRelease Date: July 11, 2006[EBook #18807]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HE WALKED AROUND THE HORSES ***Produced by Greg Weeks, William Woods and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.netTranscriber's note:This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction April 1948.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyrighton this publication wasrenewed.[Illustration]HE WALKEDAROUND THE HORSESBY H. BEAM PIPERIllustrated by Cartier_This tale is based on an authenticated,documented fact. A man vanished--rightout of this world. And where hewent--__In November 1809, an Englishman named Benjamin Bathurst vanished,inexplicably and utterly.__He was en route to Hamburg from Vienna, where he had been servingas his government's envoy to the courtof what Napoleon had leftof the Austrian Empire. At an inn in Perleburg, in Prussia, whileexamining a change of horses for his coach, he casually steppedout of sight of his secretary and his valet. He was not seentoleave the inn yard. He was not seen again, ever.__At least, not in this continuum...._(From Baron Eugen von Krutz, Minister of Police, to His Excellencythe Count von Berchtenwald, Chancellor to His MajestyFriedrichWilhelm III of Prussia.)25 November, 1809Your Excellency:A circumstance has come to the notice of this Ministry, thesignificance of which I am at a loss to define, but, since itappears to involve matters ofState, both here and abroad, I amconvinced that it is of sufficient importance to be brought toyour personal attention. Frankly, I am unwilling to take anyfurther action in the matter without your advice.Briefly, thesituation is this: We are holding, here at theMinistry of Police, a person giving his name as Benjamin Bathurst,who claims to be a British diplomat. This person was taken intocustody by the police at Perleburg yesterday,as a result of adisturbance at an inn there; he is being detained on technicalcharges of causing disorder in a public place, and of being asuspicious person. When arrested, he had in his possession adispatch case,containing a number of papers; these are of such anextraordinary nature that the local authorities declined to assumeany responsibility beyond having the man sent here to Berlin.After interviewing this person andexamining his papers, I am,I must confess, in much the same position. This is not, I amconvinced, any ordinary police matter; there is something verystrange and disturbing here. The man's statements, taken alone,areso incredible as to justify the assumption that he is mad. Icannot, however, adopt this theory, in view of his demeanor,which is that of a man of perfect rationality, and because of theexistence of these papers. Thewhole thing is mad; incomprehensible!The papers in question accompany, along with copies of thevarious statements taken at Perleburg, a personal letter to mefrom my nephew, Lieutenant Rudolf von Tarlburg. Thislast isdeserving of your particular attention; Lieutenant von Tarlburgis a very level-headed young officer, not at all inclined to befanciful or imaginative. It would take a good deal to affect himas he describes.The mancalling himself Benjamin Bathurst is now lodged in anapartment here at the Ministry; he is being treated with everyconsideration, and, except for freedom of movement, accordedevery privilege.I am, most anxiouslyawaiting your advice, et cetera, et cetera,Krutz(Report of Traugott Zeller, _Oberwachtmeister_, _Staatspolizei_,made at Perleburg, 25 November, 1809.)At about ten minutes past two of the afternoon of Saturday,25November, while I was at the police station, there entered a manknown to me as Franz Bauer, an inn servant employed by ChristianHauck, at the sign of the Sword & Scepter, here in Perleburg.This man Franz Bauermade complaint to _Staatspolizeikapitan_Ernst Hartenstein, saying that there was a madman making troubleat the inn where he, Franz Bauer, worked. I was, therefore,directed, by _Staatspolizeikapitan_ Hartenstein,to go to theSword & Scepter Inn, there to act at discretion to maintain thepeace.Arriving at the inn in company with the said Franz Bauer, I founda considerable crowd of people in the common room, and, in themidst ofthem, the innkeeper, Christian Hauck, in altercation witha stranger. This stranger was a gentlemanly-appearing person,dressed in traveling clothes, who had under his arm a smallleather dispatch case. As I entered, Icould hear him, speaking inGerman with a strong English accent, abusing the innkeeper, thesaid Christian Hauck, and accusing him of having drugged his, thestranger's, wine, and of having stolen his, thestranger's,coach-and-four, and of having abducted his, the stranger's,secretary and servants. This the said Christian Hauck was loudlydenying, and the other people in the inn were taking theinnkeeper's part, andmocking the stranger for a madman.On entering, I commanded everyone to be silent, in the king's name,and then, as he appeared to be the complaining party of the dispute,I required the foreign gentleman to state tome what was thetrouble. He then repeated his accusations against the innkeeper,Hauck, saying that Hauck, or, rather, another man who resembledHauck and who had claimed to be the innkeeper, had drugged hiswineand stolen his coach and made off with his secretary and hisservants. At this point, the innkeeper and the bystanders all beganshouting denials and contradictions, so that I had to pound on atable with mytruncheon to command silence.I then required the innkeeper, Christian Hauck, to answer thecharges which the stranger had made; this he did with a completedenial of all of them, saying that the stranger had had nowinein his inn, and that he had not been inside the inn until a fewminutes before, when he had burst in shouting accusations, andthat there had been no secretary, and no valet, and no coachman,and nocoach-and-four, at the inn, and that the gentleman wasraving mad. To all this, he called the people who were in thecommon room to witness.I then required the stranger to account for himself. He saidthat his namewas Benjamin Bathurst, and that he was a Britishdiplomat, returning to England from Vienna. To prove this, heproduced from his dispatch case sundry papers. One of these wasa letter of safe-conduct, issued by thePrussian Chancellery, inwhich he was named and described as Benjamin Bathurst. The otherpapers were English, all bearing seals, and appearing to beofficial documents.Accordingly, I requested him to accompany meto the police station,and also the innkeeper, and three men whom the innkeeper wanted tobring as witnesses.Traugott Zeller_Oberwachtmeister_Report approved,Ernst Hartenstein_Staatspolizeikapitan_(Statement ofthe self-so-called Benjamin Bathurst, taken at thepolice station at Perleburg, 25 November, 1809.)My name is Benjamin Bathurst, and I am Envoy Extraordinary andMinister Plenipotentiary of the government of HisBritannic Majestyto the court of His Majesty Franz I, Emperor of Austria, or, atleast, I was until the events following the Austrian surrendermade necessary my return to London. I left Vienna on the morningof Monday,the 20th, to go to Hamburg to take ship home; I wastraveling in my own coach-and-four, with my secretary, Mr. BertramJardine, and my valet, William Small, both British subjects, anda coachman, Josef Bidek, anAustrian subject, whom I had hiredfor the trip. Because of the presence of French troops, whom Iwas anxious to avoid, I was forced to make a detour west as faras Salzburg before turning north toward Magdeburg,where Icrossed the Elbe. I was unable to get a change of horses for mycoach after leaving Gera, until I reached Perleburg, where Istopped at the Sword & Scepter Inn.Arriving there, I left my coach in the inn yard, and Iand mysecretary, Mr. Jardine, went into the inn. A man, not this fellowhere, but another rogue, with more beard and less paunch, andmore shabbily dressed, but as like him as though he were hisbrother, representedhimself as the innkeeper, and I dealt withhim for a change of horses, and ordered a bottle of wine formyself and my secretary, and also a pot of beer apiece for myvalet and the coachman, to be taken outside to them.Then Jardineand I sat down to our wine, at a table in the common room, untilthe man who claimed to be the innkeeper came back and told usthat the fresh horses were harnessed to the coach and ready togo. Then wewent outside again.I looked at the two horses on the off side, and then walked aroundin front of the team to look at the two nigh-side horses, and as Idid I felt giddy, as though I were about to fall, and everythingwentblack before my eyes. I thought I was having a faintingspell, something I am not at all subject to, and I put out my handto grasp the hitching bar, but could not find it. I am sure, now,that I was unconscious for sometime, because when my headcleared, the coach and horses were gone, and in their place was abig farm wagon, jacked up in front, with the right front wheeloff, and two peasants were greasing the detached wheel.Ilooked at them for a moment, unable to credit my eyes, andthen I spoke to them in German, saying, "Where the devil's mycoach-and-four?"They both straightened, startled: the one who was holding the wheelalmostdropped it."Pardon, excellency," he said, "there's been no coach-and-four here,all the time we've been here.""Yes," said his mate, "and we've been here since just after noon."I did not attempt to argue with them. Itoccurred to me--andit is still my opinion--that I was the victim of some plot; thatmy wine had been drugged, that I had been unconscious for sometime, during which my coach had been removed and thiswagonsubstituted for it, and that these peasants had been put to workon it and instructed what to say if questioned. If my arrival atthe inn had been anticipated, and everything put in readiness,the whole businesswould not have taken ten minutes.I therefore entered the inn, determined to have it out withthis rascally innkeeper, but when I returned to the common room,he was nowhere to be seen, and this other fellow, who hasgivenhis name as Christian Hauck, claimed to be the innkeeper anddenied knowledge of any of the things I have just stated.Furthermore, there were four cavalrymen, Uhlans, drinking beerand playing cards at the tablewhere Jardine and I had had ourwine, and they claimed to have been there for several hours.I have no idea why such an elaborate prank, involving theparticipation of many people, should be played on me, except attheinstigation of the French. In that case, I cannot understandwhy Prussian soldiers should lend themselves to it.Benjamin Bathurst(Statement of Christian Hauck, innkeeper, taken at the policestation at Perleburg, 25November, 1809.)May it please your honor, my name is Christian Hauck, and I keepan inn at the sign of the Sword & Scepter, and have these pastfifteen years, and my father, and his father, before me, for thepast fiftyyears, and never has there been a complaint like thisagainst my inn. Your honor, it is a hard thing for a man whokeeps a decent house, and pays his taxes, and obeys the laws,to be accused of crimes of this sort.I knownothing of this gentleman, nor of his coach, nor hissecretary, nor his servants; I never set eyes on him before hecame bursting into the inn from the yard, shouting and ravinglike a madman, and crying out, "Where thedevil's that rogue ofan innkeeper?"I said to him, "I am the innkeeper; what cause have you tocall me a rogue, sir?"The stranger replied:"You're not the innkeeper I did business with a few minutes ago,and he's therascal I want to see. I want to know what the devil'sbeen done with my coach, and what's happened to my secretary andmy servants."I tried to tell him that I knew nothing of what he was talkingabout, but he wouldnot listen, and gave me the lie, saying thathe had been drugged and robbed, and his people kidnaped. He evenhad the impudence to claim that he and his secretary had beensitting at a table in that room, drinkingwine, not fifteenminutes before, when there had been four noncommissioned officersof the Third Uhlans at that table since noon. Everybody in theroom spoke up for me, but he would not listen, and was shoutingthat wewere all robbers, and kidnapers, and French spies, and Idon't know what all, when the police came.Your honor, the man is mad. What I have told you about this is thetruth, and all that I know about this business, sohelp me God.Christian Hauck(Statement of Franz Bauer, inn servant, taken at the police stationat Perleburg, 25 November, 1809.)May it please your honor, my name is Franz Bauer, and I am aservant at the Sword &Scepter Inn, kept by Christian Hauck.This afternoon, when I went into the inn yard to empty a bucket ofslops on the dung heap by the stables, I heard voices and turnedaround, to see this gentleman speaking toWilhelm Beick and FritzHerzer, who were greasing their wagon in the yard. He had not beenin the yard when I had turned away to empty the bucket, and Ithought that he must have come in from the street. Thisgentlemanwas asking Beick and Herzer where was his coach, and when theytold him they didn't know, he turned and ran into the inn.Of my own knowledge, the man had not been inside the inn beforethen, nor hadthere been any coach, or any of the people he spokeof, at the inn, and none of the things he spoke of happened there,for otherwise I would know, since I was at the inn all day.When I went back inside, I found him inthe common room shoutingat my master, and claiming that he had been drugged and robbed. Isaw that he was mad and was afraid that he would do some mischief,so I went for the police.Franz Bauerhis (x)mark(Statements of Wilhelm Beick and Fritz Herzer, peasants, taken atthe police station at Perleburg, 25 November, 1809.)May it please your honor, my name is Wilhelm Beick, and I ama tenant on the estate of theBaron von Hentig. On this day, Iand Fritz Herzer were sent into Perleburg with a load of potatoesand cabbages which the innkeeper at the Sword & Scepter hadbought from the estate superintendent. After we hadunloadedthem, we decided to grease our wagon, which was very dry, beforegoing back, so we unhitched and began working on it. We tookabout two hours, starting just after we had eaten lunch, and inall that time,there was no coach-and-four in the inn yard. Wewere just finishing when this gentleman spoke to us, demanding toknow where his coach was. We told him that there had been nocoach in the yard all the time we hadbeen there, so he turnedaround and ran into the inn. At the time, I thought that he hadcome out of the inn before speaking to us, for I know that hecould not have come in from the street. Now I do not know wherehecame from, but I know that I never saw him before that moment.Wilhelm Beickhis (x) markI have heard the above testimony, and it is true to my ownknowledge, and I have nothing to add to it.Fritz Herzerhis (x)mark(From _Staatspolizeikapitan_ Ernst Hartenstein, to His Excellency,the Baron von Krutz, Minister of Police.)25 November, 1809Your Excellency:The accompanying copies of statements taken this day will explainhowthe prisoner, the self-so-called Benjamin Bathurst, came intomy custody. I have charged him with causing disorder and being asuspicious person, to hold him until more can be learned abouthim. However, as herepresents himself to be a British diplomat,I am unwilling to assume any further responsibility, and amhaving him sent to your excellency, in Berlin.In the first place, your excellency, I have the strongest doubtsof theman's story. The statement which he made before me, andsigned, is bad enough, with a coach-and-four turning into a farmwagon, like Cinderella's coach into a pumpkin, and three peoplevanishing as though swallowedby the earth. But all this isperfectly reasonable and credible, beside the things he said tome, of which no record was made.Your excellency will have noticed, in his statement, certainallusions to the Austrian surrender,and to French troops inAustria. After his statement had been taken down, I noticed theseallusions, and I inquired, what surrender, and what were Frenchtroops doing in Austria. The man looked at me in apityingmanner, and said:"News seems to travel slowly, hereabouts; peace was concludedat Vienna on the 14th of last month. And as for what Frenchtroops are doing in Austria, they're doing the same thingsBonaparte'sbrigands are doing everywhere in Europe.""And who is Bonaparte?" I asked.He stared at me as though I had asked him, "Who is the Lord Jehovah?"Then, after a moment, a look of comprehension came into hisface."So, you Prussians concede him the title of Emperor, and referto him as Napoleon," he said. "Well, I can assure you that HisBritannic Majesty's government haven't done so, and never will;not so long as oneEnglishman has a finger left to pull a trigger.General Bonaparte is a usurper; His Britannic Majesty's governmentdo not recognize any sovereignty in France except the House ofBourbon." This he said very sternly, asthough rebuking me.[Illustration]It took me a moment or so to digest that, and to appreciate all itsimplications. Why, this fellow evidently believed, as a matter offact, that the French Monarchy had been overthrown bysome militaryadventurer named Bonaparte, who was calling himself the EmperorNapoleon, and who had made war on Austria and forced a surrender. Imade no attempt to argue with him--one wastes time arguingwithmadmen--but if this man could believe that, the transformation of acoach-and-four into a cabbage wagon was a small matter indeed. So,to humor him, I asked him if he thought General Bonaparte's agentswereresponsible for his trouble at the inn."Certainly," he replied. "The chances are they didn't know meto see me, and took Jardine for the minister, and me for thesecretary, so they made off with poor Jardine. I wonder,though,that they left me my dispatch case. And that reminds me; I'llwant that back. Diplomatic papers, you know."I told him, very seriously, that we would have to check hiscredentials. I promised him I would makeevery effort to locatehis secretary and his servants and his coach, took a completedescription of all of them, and persuaded him to go into anupstairs room, where I kept him under guard. I did startinquiries, calling in allmy informers and spies, but, as Iexpected, I could learn nothing. I could not find anybody, even,who had seen him anywhere in Perleburg before he appeared at theSword & Scepter, and that rather surprised me, assomebody shouldhave seen him enter the town, or walk along the street.In this connection, let me remind your excellency of thediscrepancy in the statements of the servant, Franz Bauer, and ofthe two peasants. Theformer is certain the man entered the innyard from the street; the latter are just as positive that he didnot. Your excellency, I do not like such puzzles, for I am surethat all three were telling the truth to the best oftheirknowledge. They are ignorant common folk, I admit, but theyshould know what they did or did not see.After I got the prisoner into safekeeping, I fell to examining hispapers, and I can assure your excellency thatthey gave me a shock.I had paid little heed to his ravings about the King of Francebeing dethroned, or about this General Bonaparte who called himselfthe Emperor Napoleon, but I found all these things mentioned inhispapers and dispatches, which had every appearance of being officialdocuments. There was repeated mention of the taking, by the French,of Vienna, last May, and of the capitulation of the AustrianEmperor to thisGeneral Bonaparte, and of battles being fought allover Europe, and I don't know what other fantastic things. Yourexcellency, I have heard of all sorts of madmen--one believinghimself to be the Archangel Gabriel, orMohammed, or a werewolf,and another convinced that his bones are made of glass, or that heis pursued and tormented by devils--but so help me God, this is thefirst time I have heard of a madman who haddocumentary proof forhis delusions! Does your excellency wonder, then, that I want nopart of this business?But the matter of his credentials was even worse. He had papers,sealed with the seal of the British ForeignOffice, and to everyappearance genuine--but they were signed, as Foreign Minister, byone George Canning, and all the world knows that Lord Castlereaghhas been Foreign Minister these last five years. And to cap itall,


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<title>THE LOST WORLDJURASSIC PARK</title>
 THE LOST WORLD JURASSIC PARK Screenplay by   David Koepp       based on the novel by Michael Crichton EXT. TROPICAL LAGOON -DAY A 135-foot-luxury yacht is anchored just offshore in a tropical lagoon.  The beach is a stunning crescent of white sand at the jungle fringe, utterly deserted. ISLA SORNA 87 miles southeast of NublarTwo SHIP HANDS, dressed in white uniforms, have set up a picnic table with three chairs on the sand and are carefully laying out luncheon service -- fine china, silver, crystal decanters with red and white wine. PAULBOWMAN, fortyish, sits in a chair off to the side, reading.  MRS. BOWMAN, painfully thin, with the perpetually surprised look of a woman who's had her eyes done more than once, supervises the settings of the table.She looks up and sees a little girl, CATHY, seven or eight years old, wandering off down the beach. MRS. BOWMAN Cathy!  Don't wander off! Cathy keeps wandering. MRS. BOWMAN (cont'd) Cathy, comeback!  You can look for shells right here! Cathy gestures, pretending she can't hear. BOWMAN (eyes still in his book) Leave her alone. MRS. BOWMAN What about snakes? BOWMAN There'sno snakes on a beach.  Let her have fun, for once. FURTHER DOWN THE BEACH, Cathy keeps wandering away, MUTTERING to herself as her parents' quarreling voices fade in the distance. CATHYPlease be quiet, please be quiet please be quiet... Rounding a curve in the beach, her parents disappear from view behind her.  A RUSTLING sound draws her attention, and she turns, toward where the thick junglefoliage gives way to the sand. A large bush, maybe twelve feet tall, is moving, its branches swaying and shaking.  Curious, Cathy walks up to the bush, which abruptly stops moving. A small, lizard-like animal, darkgreen with brown stripes along its back, steps out from the bush.  Only about a foot tall, it stands on its hind legs, balancing on its thick tail. It walks upright, bobbing its head like a chicken. CATHY Well, hellothere! The animal (a COMPSOGNATHUS) just stares at her.  Cathy squats down on her haunches. CATHY (cont'd) What are you?  A little bird or something? She opens her hand.  She's got a handful of goldfish crackers.CATHY (cont'd) Are you hungry?  You want a goldfish? The compy bobs forward a few steps, cautiously. CATHY (cont'd) Come on.  I won't hurt you. The compy draws closer.  Cathy holds the cracker in the palm of herhand.  The compy gets closer still -- -- and hops numbly up onto Cathy's palm.  Her arm dips a bit under the weight, but it's not that heavy, and she holds it up easily.  It bobs its head, scarfs up the goldfish, and eatsit. Enchanted, Cathy breaks into an enormous grin and returns her hand, calling back over her shoulder. CATHY (cont'd) Mom!  Dad!  You gotta come see this! I found something! She turns back. Thirty more compyshave come out onto the sand.  They're standing there, bobbing anxiously, staring at her from a few feet away.  Cathy's smile fades. She turns her head slowly to the right.  TWENTY MORE COMPYS have come in fromthat side, forming a semi-circle, bobbing and CHIPPING as they surround her. CATHY (cont'd) (terrified) What do you guys want? BACK ON THE BEACH, the table is set.  Mrs. Bowman calls out. MRS.BOWMAN Cathy, sweetheart!  Lunch is ready! From around the curve of the beach, a flock of birds bolts from the jungle trees as Cathy's shrill SCREAMS suddenly pierce the air. MRS. BOWMANPAUL! She takes off, running down the beach, Mr. Bowman leaps out of his chair and follows, and all available deck hands race off to help, kicking up geysers of sand behind them. DOWN THE BEACH,Mrs. Bowman stops dead in her tracks when she rounds the bend in the beach.  We don't see what she sees, but we hear the frenzied SQUEAKING of the strange compys.  Mr. Bowman and the Hands race past her tohelp Cathy as Mrs. Bowman lets loose a horrified, slack-jawed SCREAM, her mouth a perfect oval. DISSOLVE TO: INT. BOARD ROOM - DAY Mrs. Bowman's screaming face dissolves slowly over theYAWNING face of a bored CORPORATE EXECUTIVE, TWENTY OTHER EXECUTIVES sit around a conference table in the boardroom of a monied corporation.  All are in expensive suits, most are over sixty.  There are rowsof BACKBENCHERS too, whispering in their lawyers who sit behind their clients, whispering in their ears.  Empty coffee cups and fast food containers on the table hint that everyone's been here a long time. A familiarVOICE resounds through the boardroom as we move down the long table, pat the grim faces of the board members. VOICE (O.S.) The hurricane seemed like a disaster at the time, but now I think it was ablessing, nature's way of freeing those animals from their human confines.  Of giving them another chance to survive, but this time as they were meant to, without man's interference. The source of the voice is JOHNHAMMOND, the founder of InGen and creator of Jurassic Park.  But he's not in the room.  His image is on a closed circuit TV screen, which has been wheeled up to the end of the table. And he doesn't look good.  He'sterribly infirmed, propped up in bed, his face pale and drawn, medical equipment BEEPING around him. HAMMOND (cont'd) There are some corporate issues that are not about the bottom line.  We have so much still tolearn about those creatures.  A whole world of intricate, interlocking behaviors, vanished everywhere -- except for Site B. Please.  Let's not do what is good for more men at the expense at what is best for all mankind.The CHAIRMAN, seventyish, nods awkwardly to the television. CHAIRMAN Thank you, John.  Mr. Ludlow? He turns to PETER LUDLOW, late thirties, a man with the anxious look of someone who insists the buckstop on his desk. Ludlow flips open a file, pulls out a stack of black and white eight by tens, and tosses them on the table. LUDLOW (an accent similar to Hammond's) These pictures were taken in a hospital inCosta Rica forty-eight hours ago, after an American family on a yacht cruise stumbled onto Site B.  The little girl will be fine, but her parents are wealthy, angry, and very fond of lawsuits.  But that's hardly new to us, isit? (takes a paper from the file) Wrongful death settlements, partial list:  family of Donald Gennaro, 36.5 million dollars; family of Robert Muldoon, 12.6 million.  Damaged or destroyed equipment, 17.3 million.Demolition, de-construction, and disposal of Isla Nublar facilities, organic and inorganic, one hundred and twenty-six million dollars.  The list goes on, gentlemen -- research funding, media payoffs.  Silence is expensive.He's warming up.  Not a bad performer. LUDLOW (cont'd) This corporation has been bleeding from the throat for four years.  You, our board of directors, have set patiently and listened to ecology lectures while Mr.Hammond signed your checks and spent your money. You have watched your stock drop from seventy-eight and a quarter to nineteen flat with no good and in sight.  And all along, we have held a significant productasset that we could have safely harvested and displayed for profit.  Enormous profit. He reaches out to a model on the table and gives it a shove, sending it sliding down the length of the table in front of them.  It's amini-mall version of a zoo.  Cages hold tiny replicas of various kinds of dinosaurs while Boy Scout troops and Tourists look on in wonder. LUDLOW (cont'd) Enough money to wipe out four years of lawsuits and damagecontrol and unpleasant infighting, enough to not only send our stock back to where it was but to double it.  And the one thing, the only thing standing between us and this asset is a born-again naturalist who happens tobe our own CEO.  Well, I don't work for Mother Nature.  I work for you. Two of his Backbenchers distribute documents from a stack. Ludlow takes one and reads from it. LUDLOW (cont'd) "Whereas the Chief ExecutiveOfficer has engaged in wasteful and negligent business practices to further his own personal environmental beliefs -- Whereas these practices have affected the financial performance of the company by incurringsignificant losses -- Whereas the shareholders have been materially harmed by these losses -- Thereby, be it resolved that John Parker Hammond should be resolved from the office of Chief Executive Officer, affectiveimmediately."  Mr. Chairman, I move the resolution be put to an immediate vote.  Do I have a second? BOARD MEMBER I second the motion,  Mr. Chairman, Please poll the members by a show of hands. TheCHAIRMAN signs heavily, feeling like a traitor.  He can't bear to look at Hammond on the TV monitor. CHAIRMAN All those in favor of InGen Corporate Resolution 213C, please signify your approval by raisingyour right hand. It starts slowly, guiltily, but every hand in the room goes up.  Ludlow sits back, victorious.  Hammond, furious, raises his right hand, which holds a remote control, and points it at the TV screen.  It goesblank. CUT TO: EXT. WELDER'S YARD - NIGHT Sparks fly out the windows and doors of a shed in the middle of a welder's yard.  Scrap iron and steel lies everywhere. Somewhere inside the shed, aphone RINGS. The WHOOSH of the arc welder shuts off.  DIETER STARK, a big barrel-chested man of forty or so, his face streaked with soot and grime, steps outside with a cordless phone, a cigarette dangling from hislips. DIETER Yeah. He takes a deep drag while someone talks on the other end.  He smiles and blows out a cloud of smoke. CUT TO: INT. NEW YORK SUBWAY - NIGHT Smoke turns intosteam as a subway THUNDER into a station underneath Manhattan.  The door WHOOSH open, spit out some COMMUTERS and suck up a few more. A tall man hurries down the platform, limping heavily, moving as fastas he can.  The subway doors begin to close, but just before they meet -- -- the man jams a cane in between, stopping them.  The man is IAN MALCOLM, fortyish, dressed in black from head to toe. There's a hardwisdom in Malcolm's eyes that may not have been there's a few years ago -- he know what you think, and he doesn't care. INT. SUBWAY CAR - NIGHT MALCOLM finds a seat on the crowded subway car andsits down. He looks awful.  Tired.  Weathered.  He notices a CURIOUS MAN across from his is staring at his.  Malcolm looks away.  The Curious Man still stares.  Nervy, the Curious Man gets up and approaches.MALCOLM (under his breath) Shit. The Curious Man sits down next to Malcolm, grinning. MAN You're him, aren't you? MALCOLM Excuse me? MAN The guy.  The scientist.  I saw you onTV. (conspiratorially) I believed you. No response from Malcolm.  The guy leans in even closer. MAN (cont'd) Roooooarr. MALCOLM (a withering look) I was misquoted.  I was merely speculating on theevolutionary scenario of a Lost World.  I never said I was in any such place. He gets up and moves to another seat on the car, away from the Curious Man.  As he sits down, he notices two other COMMUTERS across