The Fountains of Paradise

"Revered sire," said the prince, in a voice that dripped venom, "he was the first-born of Paravana the Great, he sat on the throne of Taprobane, and the evil that he did dies with him. When the body is burned, you will see that the relics are properly entombed, before you dare set foot upon Sri Kanda again."

The Mahanayake Thero bowed, ever so slightly. "It shall be done – according to your wishes."

"And there is another thing," said Malgara, speaking now to his aides. "The fame of Kalidasa's fountains reached us even in Hindustan. We would see them once, before we march on Ranapura…"

From the heart of the Pleasure Gardens which had given him such delight, the smoke of Kalidasa's funeral pyre rose into the cloudless sky, disturbing the birds of prey who had gathered from far and wide. Grimly content, though sometimes haunted by sudden memories, Malgara watched the symbol of his triumph spiralling upwards, announcing to all the land that the new reign had begun.

As if in continuation of their ancient rivalry, the water of the fountains challenged the fire, leaping skyward before it fell back to shatter the surface of the reflecting pool. But presently, long before the flames had finished their work, the reservoirs began to fail, and the jets collapsed in watery ruin. Before they rose again in the gardens of Kalidasa, Imperial Rome would have passed away, the armies of Islam would have marched across Africa, Copernicus would have dethroned the earth from the centre of the universe, the Declaration of Independence would have been signed, and men would have walked upon the Moon.

Malgara waited until the pyre had disintegrated in a final brief flurry of sparks. As the last smoke drifted against the towering face of Yakkagala, he raised his eyes towards the palace on its summit, and stared for a long time in silent appraisal.

"No man should challenge the gods," he said at last. "Let it be destroyed."

9. Filament

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," said Rajasinghe accusingly, as he poured the morning coffee. "At first I thought you had some anti-gravity device – but even I know that's impossible. How did you do it?"

"My apologies," Morgan answered with a smile. "If I'd known you were watching, I'd have warned you – though the whole exercise was entirely unplanned. I'd merely intended to take a scramble over the Rock, but then I got intrigued by that stone bench. I wondered why it was on the very edge of the cliff and started to explore."

"There's no mystery about it. At one time there was a floor – probably wood – extending outwards, and a flight of steps leading down to the frescoes from the summit. You can still see the grooves where it was keyed into the rock-face."

"So I discovered," said Morgan a little ruefully. "I might have guessed that someone would have found that out already."

Two hundred and fifty years ago, thought Rajasinghe. That crazy and energetic Englishman Arnold Lethbridge, Taprobane's first Director of Archaeology. He had himself lowered down the face of the Rock, exactly as you did. Well, not exactly…

Morgan had now produced the metal box that had allowed him to perform his miracle. Its only features were a few press-buttons, and a small readout panel; it looked for all the world like some form of simple communications device.

"This is it," he said proudly. "Since you saw me make a hundred-metre vertical walk, you must have a very good idea how it operates."

"Commonsense gave me one answer, but even my excellent telescope didn't confirm it. I could have sworn there was absolutely nothing supporting you."

"That wasn't the demonstration I'd intended, but it must have been effective. Now for my standard sales-pitch-please hook your finger through this ring."

Rajasinghe hesitated; Morgan was holding the small metal torus – about twice the size of an ordinary wedding-ring – almost as if it was electrified.

"Will it give me a shock?" he asked.

"Not a shock – but perhaps a surprise. Try to pull it away from me."

Rather gingerly, Rajasinghe took hold of the ring – then almost dropped it. For it seemed alive; it was straining towards Morgan – or, rather, towards the box that the engineer was holding in his hand. Then the box gave a slight whirring noise, and Rajasinghe felt his finger being dragged forward by some mysterious force. Magnetism? he asked himself. Of course not; no magnets could behave in this fashion. His tentative but improbable theory was correct; indeed, there was really no alternative explanation. They were engaged in a perfectly straightforward tug-of-war – but with an invisible rope.

Though Rajasinghe strained his eyes, he could see no trace of any thread or wire connecting the ring through which his finger was hooked and the box which Morgan was operating like a fisherman reeling in his catch. He reached out his free hand to explore the apparently empty space, but the engineer quickly knocked it away.