“Come on, Mara,” he said. “Let’s see if Senilde is at home today.”
She nodded, smiling, and plunged gaily down the hill with him.
“This,” said George, when they reached it, “was once a cultivated garden.”
She said, “Yes,” and let her gaze rove over the mold-encrusted stone seats, the weed-grown paths, the stagnant ornamental ponds, and the wilderness which was choking them all. At the far end, the house stood as silent as the towering rock-pinnacle behind it. She saw that the greenness of the latter was due to a wide-leafed creeper swarming over it. But the house and its ridiculous portico were free from any such green parasites.
George noticed that Mara was getting two steps ahead of him up the main driveway to the house. But she hadn’t quickened her pace: he’d slowed his through caution. His pride made him catch up.
They reached a big, wrought-metal fountain. It was covered with verdigris and its basin was empty and bone-dry. He was surprised by the similarity of terrestrial and Venusian ideas of landscape gardening. He thought: this could be a corner of Versailles after centuries of neglect.
Then, without warning, the fountain squirted a wavering umbrella of dirty water. It spread well beyond the circumference of the basin and soaked them from head to foot.
George thought he heard a thin, high laugh from the direction of the house. He glowered as he wiped his face. He loathed being made a fool of. Mara just giggled.
“There’s a practical joker around,” George growled. “When I’m through with him, he won’t be quite so practical.”
The water was sour and evil-smelling. His feet squelched in his shoes. There was a solid stone seat just off the driveway. George sat on it with the intention of removing his shoes. The seat sank silently and smoothly into the earth and he was flat on his back with his feet in the air.
The faint laugh from the house was drowned by a howl of laughter from Mara.
Red with mortification, violently angry, George jumped up, threw a withering glance at the convulsed Mara, and strode purposefully toward the house. He’d find this joker and wring his neck.
The moss-grown path was hard under his feet. For a time. Then, although its surface texture looked just the same, it became soft, sticky, gooey, like molten rubber. He sank ankle-deep.
Grimly, he tried to plod on. But the stuff clung. Soon, he was walking slow-motion, lifting one enlarged blob of a foot after the other with care, striving to keep his balance. He realized that the accumulation was becoming so heavy that presently he would be incapable of movement. So he abandoned the frontal assault and floundered to the solid ground bordering the driveway. His dignity had been hurt. Mara trotted along to him on the verge, and he wouldn’t look at her. He tried to pull the stuff off his feet. It stretched and stuck like chewed gum. He got himself into a fine mess. The unseen watcher was cackling continually. Mara, grinning, pulled out her knife and cut or scraped most of the stuff off.
As she finished, a man emerged from the house into the dull daylight. He was short and broad, in a monkish gown corded at the waist. He was red-cheeked, healthy-looking, seemed to be around fifty. His mouth was sensual and hung half open, giving him a vacant look which was enhanced by his pale eyes, which appeared to comprehend only part of what they saw.
He looked stupid and harmless. He said something in a weak, cracked voice to George, who merely scowled at him. Mara answered him in his own language. They had a chat.
Then Mara said: “This is Senilde.”
“I had gathered as much,” said George, morosely. He’d been reflecting that as he needed information from this fool, it would hardly be politic to start by screwing his head off. He made an effort and swallowed his gorge. He took a spare Teleo from the satchel and told Mara: “Explain this to Senilde.”
“I have explained,” she said, taking it. She was still two steps ahead of him. Through the new medium, Senilde said: “Once, long ago, I invented a gadget like this.”
“Indeed?” said George. “Where is it now?”
Senilde made a careless gesture. “I threw it away. I threw all my toys away in time. One gets bored… Still, I’m glad you came and let me play with my garden again. I haven’t been able to find a victim for years now. There are very few people left on this planet, you know. Maybe I overdid it.”
“Overdid what?”
“The war. It’s a game I used to play.”
