The Unconquerable (23)
By:
December 4, 2014
HiLoBooks is pleased to serialize Helen MacInnes’s 1944 novel The Unconquerable (later reissued as While We Still Live), an espionage adventure that pits an innocent English woman against both Nazis and resistance fighters in occupied Poland. MacInnes, it’s worth noting, was married to a British intelligence agent, which may explain what one hears is the amazing accuracy of her story’s details. Under the editorship of HILOBROW’s Joshua Glenn, the Save the Adventure book club will reissue The Unconquerable as an e-book for the first time ever. Enjoy!
Heinrich Dittmar, in a smart grey suit, waited with three uniformed men in a pleasant room. On a large desk were flowers, a huge ash-tray of heavy crystal, a silver framed photograph. The chairs were comfortable and decorative. The men seemed in excellent humour. They rose to their feet and saluted her in the Nazi manner. Hefner remained tactfully in the background.
The black uniformed man with the exaggerated armlet brought his heels sharply together, bowed, and echoed “Streit!” as Dittmar said, “Captain Wolfgang Streit.” He resumed his commanding position at the desk, his elbows on the polished rosewood, his finger-tips joining his outspread hands as he waited for the other introductions to be completed.
The man in the green uniform of the Waffen-SS brought his heels together as Dittmar said “Captain Hans Greiser.” He bowed and echoed “Greiser!”
The man in grey uniform with a black square and silver embroidered letters on his sleeve brought his heels together. Dittmar said, “Herr Josef Engelmann.” Again there was the sharp bow from the waist, again the echo. “Engelmann!”
Sheila inclined her head. She restrained herself in time from a full bow heel-click, and “Braun!” She took the offered chair, feeling as if she were on a stage and each small movement had become magnified into a gesture. She waited, her throat closing treacherously. The short silence probed like a knife at her heart. Fortunately, Dittmar was in a hurry.
“We asked you to come here, Fräulein Braun,” he said quickly, “because you are the only person in Warsaw at the moment who can identify the man we have downstairs. All of us here, in our own way, are interested in that man. We believe he is Kordus. You can help us; for you were examined by Kordus after Colonel Bolt had questioned you, and then escaped.”
“Discharged ” Sheila said. “The first time I was discharged. The second time I didn’t wait to meet Kordus.”
“Oh, yes! Discharged.” Dittmar’s watchful eyes smiled benevolently. “Anyway, you can help us. This way, Fräulein Braun.”
The three uniforms exchanged glances. Their faces were expressionless as they could do nothing but follow the too quick Dittmar, who was already guiding Sheila out of the door. The short procession went down into the large, well-built cellars. Every inch of space in the enormous, modern building had been turned to use. Partitions had been erected to create more offices out of the cellar rooms. Men in and out of uniform hurried through the long basement corridor, stood respectfully aside to let pass Dittmar’s personally conducted tour. Sheila was glad of the length of the journey: it gave her time to prepare herself. Fake, Hofmeyer had warned her. And now Dittmar had warned her too. “Escaped,” he had said. He had said it purposely as if trying to trip her up. Perhaps it was only what he thought passed for a sense of humour. But possibly it was a test. What if Dittmar knew that the body in this building was not that of Kordus? What if she said it was Kordus, hoping that would end the search for him? She had been tempted to identify whatever she might see as Kordus. Now she knew that such a clever piece of work was not clever enough. It was all that Dittmar needed to hear in order to condemn her. He still had doubts about her, then. She was glad she knew that, however unpleasant it was. It’s war between you and me. Herr Dittmar, she thought, smiling at him sweetly when he halted at one of the end doors in the cellar. As he swung it open and led the way into the room so that he could turn and face her when she saw the body, she was already guarding herself against the chance that Hofmeyer had been wrong, that she would really see the body of the man whom the Germans knew as Kordus.
A brilliant, cruel light came from the large naked bulb overhead. The smell was heavy and loathsome. Even after the smell of death in Warsaw streets, to which Sheila had become accustomed, the thick, threatening air in this room was too much for her. She turned her head away and fumbled for a handkerchief.
One of the men behind her said, “Whew! They don’t take long, do they?”
“This will be cleared as soon as Fräulein Braun identifies them,” Captain Streit’s slow, quiet voice said. “Quickly, Fräulein Braun. This way.” His highly polished boots struck the cement floor with self-possessed rhythm. He was taking charge now. Dittmar was too busy watching her face to worry about that.
She held the handkerchief over her mouth and nose and followed Streit. Dittmar kept beside her. The other stayed near the door, sacrificing curiosity to comfort.
“Come in and close the door. Don’t want it all down the corridor,” Streit ordered. They obeyed reluctantly.
The first stiff figure, bent into a grotesque angle like a piece of hammered tin, had been thrown on a narrow table. Two other bodies were stretched on the floor.
“Is that Kordus?”
Sheila’s glance flickered over the gashed face, the gouged eye, the earless head. It wasn’t Olszak. In her thankfulness she almost forgot her mounting sickness.
She shook her head.
“Definitely?”
She nodded.
“Know this?” Streit turned one of the bodies on the ground with the toe of his long black boot.
She nodded. The battered face had a ghastly smile, as if the man had welcomed death when it came.
“And that?” Streit pointed to the third body.
She shook her head.
The heavy door closed behind them.
In the corridor there was only the smell of Turkish tobacco and talcum powder, of men who were well dressed and careful of their well-being. In Captain Streit’s office there was the smell of roses from the vase on the desk. But she still felt ill, still crushed the damp ball of handkerchief in the palm of her hand.
Dittmar began, “Well, that’s that. Now ——”
And then Captain Streit asserted his authority for the second time. He interrupted Dittmar unfeelingly, said quietly but firmly, “You were sure, Fräulein Braun, that the first body was not that of Kordus?”
“I never saw that man before.”
“The Chief Commissioner did question you when you were first arrested by the Poles?”
“First, Colonel Bolt questioned me. Then some one who was called Special Commissioner questioned me. I did not hear his name.”
“That second man was Kordus. What was he like?”
“Medium height, thin, undistinguished.” By the way Streit had glanced down at a pad on his desk, she guessed that Kordus’s description was already known. But even so, that put Olszak in little danger. There were so many men of medium height who were thin and undistinguished.
“Age?” Streit asked.
Sheila shook her head slowly, helplessly. “Middle-aged,” she said. Streit nodded as much as to say, “That’s what anyone who has seen him tells us.” He pursed his thin lips in annoyance at the undistinguished Kordus.
Dittmar wanted his innings, too. “Who was the man you identified?”
Truthfully she answered him, “He was with the police when Lisa and I were arrested.”
Dittmar’s eyes flickered: He concealed his disappointment well.
“And the third body?”
“No one could recognize that,” Sheila said briefly. The men laughed, shortly, quietly. Sheila was conscious of a slight change in their attitude. The tension eased. The faces were not merely polite now. They smiled, too.
“Well, that’s all, Fräulein Braun,” Streit said. “You were right, Dittmar — the markings inside the man’s clothing saying he was Kordus were either coincidence or purpose.”
Sheila rose, bowed, and moved toward the door. She had been dismissed. It was over. She had told the truth throughout. It was over.
“One moment, Fräulein Braun,” Dittmar called, and roused a sharp stare from Captain Streit. “After your release from questioning by Kordus where did you meet Olszak? Remember, you arrived that night at Korytowski’s flat with him.”
“I met him in the street outside. He was going there for a visit.”
“You met him in the street?”
“Yes.” Mild surprise at such a question was in Sheila’s voice.
“Was there another man with him? Some one who looked like that second exhibit downstairs?”
“No. He was alone. He almost knocked me down in the black-out. But there was no one else there at the time.”
Dittmar frowned. This time he could not conceal his disappointment. Her mention of the blackout had reminded him that in such conditions she could not be expected to see anyone. He had had his theory nicely developing; now a blackout made any other questions about that night quite pointless.
“What’s this you’ve got up your sleeve, Dittmar? What’s this about an Olszak?” Streit asked with a pleasant smile. But he and Greiser and Engelmann exchanged an almost imperceptible glance. “You’re a fine fellow, I must say, after we all agreed to pool our knowledge on the Kordus affair.”
Sheila saw the others watching Dittmar’s sudden, bland smile.
“Oh, this had nothing to do with Kordus,” the man an swered coolly. “This is a little question just between me and Fräulein Braun. I never get the chance of seeing her. She’s in Hofmeyer’s department.”
Sheila smiled. She could only hope the smile betrayed none of her nervousness. For now she was convinced that Dittmar had found some cause for suspicion. He was on the right road. He was trying to connect Olszak with Kordus, and Kordus with Hofmeyer. He considered her the hand which would tie the loose ends round Olszak’s neck into a tight, satisfying knot. Why didn’t he make his charges against Hofmeyer? she wondered, and then realized that Hofmeyer’s position with other departments was too assured at the moment for unprovable statements to be made about him. All Dittmar needed was one small piece of proof. One small stone could start an avalanche.
“When did you last see Olszak?” he asked suddenly.
Sheila was conscious that the others’ manners were strained. But they didn’t watch her, strangely enough. They were watching Dittmar.
Sheila stared at him, too. “Frankly,” she said with a puzzled frown, “I cannot remember the exact date. Some time during the siege. He came to ask about the Aleksanders.”
“Why?”
“He had just heard that Barbara Aleksander was dead.” Sheila looked at the three men in uniform. “She was burned to death with nearly a hundred children in one of our big raids.”
They ignored her remark. Hefner alone seemed shocked by the idea. “You must be mistaken,” he said sharply, and received a look of disapproval from the others, not for his naïveté, but for the fact that he should have spoken at all.
Sheila looked pointedly at her scarred left hand. “I was nearly burned alive, too,” she said. “A dinner engagement saved me.”
“We all run risks, Fräulein Braun,” Streit said coldly, but he looked at her with sudden interest. Something in her emotional outburst was connected with Dittmar. Sheila took a deep breath. The first phase of her attack had been launched. To strike back at Dittmar had been instinctive; this was the only way to defend herself and her friends. At the very least it would serve as a diversion. Subconsciously, Hofmeyer’s remarks about departmental jealousies had linked up with the look on these men’s faces as they had watched Dittmar taking the centre of the stage. If she had had time to think it all out she would never have had the courage to attempt her next move. If she had been a man she would never have tried it.
She returned Streit’s look with wide brown eyes. “Yes, Captain Streit. I have been running risks willingly for three months now.” She was almost weeping with indignation. “And to-day I find that all my work during these three months may be sabotaged. Not by the enemy. By some one among us, some one who may want to usurp Herr Hofmeyer’s power.”
“What’s this?” interrupted Engelmann sharply. “What’s this? Hofmeyer is one of my men. He has been of outstanding service to our new branch of the Sicherheitsdienst. Who has been interfering with his work?”
“I don’t know. Herr Hofmeyer didn’t say. He is loyal,” Sheila said, but her eyes flickered towards Dittmar’s bent head. He was pretending to examine the arrangement of roses on Captain Streit’s desk. Streit had at least caught Sheila’s implication. His thin, clever lips became thinner. Sheila’s guess that he didn’t like Dittmar was confirmed. Her fingers stopped their hidden trembling. She unclasped her hands and smoothed her skirt.
“Sit down, Fräulein Braun,” Streit said pleasantly. “How sabotaged? That is a strong statement.”
“By some unexplained refusal to let me make a short journey to Korytów.”
“Why must you go?”
“I don’t want to go. The journey will be unpleasant. But there are three people there — two children, one elderly female —whom I must contact. I can only do that by going to Korytów.”
Streit looked puzzled, disappointed; but he was still watching Dittmar, who was now looking unconcernedly out of the window. “If they are necessary to your work, Fräulein Braun, then we can telephone and have them sent here.”
“Then they would know we are behind this move. The Poles are very suspicious. I must accomplish this as Sheila Matthews, not as Anna Braun.”
“What is this Korytów?”
“A very small village near enough to Warsaw.”
“Is Hofmeyer against your going?” Captain Streit was beginning to get bored, but he was thorough.
“No. Yesterday it was his solution to my biggest problem. To-day he finds that another department which he had to consult is against the idea.”
“Why so much fuss about a mere trip to an unimportant pigsty? There should be no difficulty for any agent to reach there. The question should not even have arisen. So much time wasted on these petty misunderstandings!”
“I believe the trouble arises because Korytów is to be destroyed. That was the reason given Herr Hofmeyer.”
“Then that is a military matter,” Streit said, and marked the conclusion of a disappointing conversation by slapping the gleaming rosewood with his open hand. “For the moment the military is in control.”
The case was closed. She had lost. Sheila thought. And in more ways than one, she realized, as Dittmar turned round to face the room and looked at her.
But Engelmann said, “There’s a department for liaison with the military in matters of reprisals. I was to have headed it, but owing to pressure of my own duties Arndt was appointed instead. Where is Arndt? He will explain. He advises the military which areas we want cleaned up.”
Dittmar broke his silence. “He had to visit Cracow. I have been acting as deputy here for him.”
“Then you advised the military committee that a village should be selected as an example?” Engelmann said. “Such a decision should have been suggested first of all to Streit, or Greiser, or to me. On what authority do you make your decisions, Herr Dittmar?”
Sheila’s eyes counted the roses. She had offered a diversion from questions about Olszak. She had stirred up something far deeper than she had intended. She was now too nervous even to enjoy Dittmar’s sudden uncertainty.
“As Herr Arndt’s chosen ——”
“Arndt is responsible in such matters to me. He would have had me ratify such a decision. As for this Korytów… where is it? I haven’t heard of any trouble recently there. I never even heard of it until these last minutes.”
Streit picked up the telephone and gave brisk instructions. He then settled himself comfortably in his chair. All his interest had returned. He was no longer annoyed over his time being wasted. “We shall wait until the right department is found to explain to us why Korytów should have been the selected village,” he said amiably to the room.
Sheila stirred uncomfortably. “I am sorry ——” she began
apologetically.
Streit silenced her with a careless wave of his hand. “Not at all, Fräulein Braun. Several little difficulties have kept arising during the few days we have been in Warsaw. We are always interested to see who is causing unnecessary complications for purely personal motives. Warsaw is difficult enough to organize, in any case. The place is a mass of ruins and intrigue. We have got to establish a firm order and discipline, not only among the snivelling Poles but among ourselves. There is no time for personal ambitions.”
It was easy for Captain Streit to talk, Sheila reflected as she listened gravely. His position was already attained; now he didn’t have to worry about personal ambitions of his own. All he had to do was to worry about the personal ambitions of others who might reach for his job.
Dittmar said, his face white with anger, his voice compressed and hard, “There is no need to find any department. I am responsible for the definite choice of Korytów. We had to make an example of one village to bring that district around Lowicz to its senses.”
Sheila’s horror couldn’t be restrained. For a moment she stared at the man’s set face. The others saw that stare. They remembered the term she had first used: sabotage. Now it seemed to them as if she had found proof that the village of Korytów had been picked maliciously to embarrass Hofmeyer’s plan. It was obvious that she was outraged by Dittmar’s statement.
“We all know the record of that part of the country,” Streit said brusquely, “I agree that one example, perhaps two, possibly three must be made. It doesn’t matter which villages are chosen, whether they are actually guilty or not. But it does matter that you recognize the correct procedure in such matters. In that way, no department will have its plans — complicated.” In the slight but careful hesitation there had been the suggestion of a stronger word. Streit continued in the same even tone, “The A.O. has done good work in preparing the ground first for the military occupation and then for the Gestapo. But now that we are here we do not need the A.O. to help us make decisions. We decide, Herr Dittmar. The A.O. merely suggests.”
There was an uneasy movement from the embarrassed Hefner. He was worried. Sheila saw. Loss of prestige for an over-ambitious Dittmar meant loss of security for Hefner.
Captain Greiser stretched his long legs and then rose. “A most illuminating afternoon,” he said, “and now I must beg your leave, Captain Streit. I have a committee meeting in ten minutes. I regret I must go. I am sure we shall all benefit from this most interesting discussion.” He saluted negligently and left the room.
Dittmar, his broad face impassive, saluted quickly and said, “I must beg your leave, too, Herr Hauptmann.” He hurried after the Wehrmacht captain as the Gestapo arm raised its cold consent, and Hefner hurried after him.
“Was it possible that he chose Korytów purposely and not accidentally?” Engelmann was asking. This last half-hour had upset him more than anyone except Sheila.
“Most possible,” Streit said. “Isn’t that so, Fräulein Braun? I think Fräulein Braun could tell us a lot if she weren’t so afraid. Isn’t that so, Fräulein Braun?”
Sheila, who had hoped that Dittmar’s exit would also be the cue for her dismissal, sank back again into her chair. She felt the cold sweat break down her spine.
“Don’t be afraid, Fräulein Braun. You can say what you think. We should like to know what you think.”
“Captain Streit, Herr Engelmann.” She stopped. Tears of desperation were not far away. “I may need your protection.” She tried to stop twisting her innocent handkerchief.
The two Nazis looked at each other in amazement and then in mild amusement. Herr Engelmann was even a little touched by such a pleasant idea. The colder Streit merely waited for this frightened girl to explain her hysteria. His eyes had scarcely left her face since Dittmar had gone.
“Dittmar told you he never sees me,” she said in desperation. “Yet he forced his way into my apartment a few days ago. He told me that Hofmeyer would not last. He told me a clever girl would look for another boss. He meant himself. I refused. I told him I had my job to do. He knew it concerned Korytów. That was why I challenged him to-day, as you saw, Captain Streit. He will not forget that. And yet I do not see why a man like Dittmar should be allowed to elbow his way into power. For power is the reward of service and bravery, not of scheming. Isn’t that true of our country, gentlemen?”
Captain Streit smiled approval of such a pretty speech. The more excitable Engelmann cursed softly and paced the room. “Hofmeyer is one of my men,” he said at last. “I’ll see he is left to work without any threats.” The attack on Hofmeyer had now reached the dimensions of an attack on Engelmann himself. He bit his thumb savagely.
“Get hold of a car and send her in it to Korytów,” Streit said curtly. “Surely we can spare one car, when so many are being used by our gallant young officers on leave?”
Engelmann nodded in agreement with Streit’s passing jibe at the army and reached for the telephone.
“You look pale and tired, Fräulein Braun,” Captain Streit said. “Perhaps you have been overworking?”
Sheila, praying that the hard grey eyes would give her just two minutes’ respite from their watchfulness, smiled shakily and said, “You know, I still can smell that room downstairs.”
Streit reached a long-fingered hand towards the vase and broke off a rose. “Try this,” he said. “I often do. You come from Munich, Fräulein Braun?”
She took the rose. Its perfume was soft and sweet and clean. “Yes. But I lived many years in London.”
“So I noticed. When you are excited there is quite a hint of English inflexion in your accent. It is extremely interesting.”
Sheila was holding the rose to her face as if it were a bottle of smelling salts. Engelmann, replacing the receiver, said jovially, “Now I know why you’ve been reminding me all this time of Chicago.”
Sheila looked blankly at him.
“One of my best men, when I was working in the A.O., was sent out to Chicago to organize the loyal Germans there. He was there for five years. When he came back in ’38 he spoke German with a Chicago accent. I heard him with my own ears. Incredible!”
Streit was amused in that cold way of his, but he looked at the telephone suggestively.
Engelmann said hurriedly, “A car is coming round here for Fräulein Braun. She had better leave at once in order to reach Korytów in time. She will make her own plans to deal with her contacts there.”
“Any escort?”
“Can’t be spared to-day. She could have one to-morrow if she waited.”
“What does Fräulein Braun say?” Streit asked mockingly. “It may be dangerous.”
“I’ll go to-day,” Sheila said quietly. Engelmann was pleased, obviously. Captain Streit had a tantalizing way of hiding his emotions.
The telephone bell rang as Sheila rose. For a moment she was paralysed with dread at its possible message. But Streit’s voice was normal when he answered, “Too late now.” He replaced the receiver unconcernedly. “Only about the Dittmar-Korytów-military-liaison-office affair,” he said to Engelmann. He rose to his feet and said to Sheila, “Perhaps we may have dinner together one night, and discuss what you saw and heard at Korytów, Fräulein Braun. And come to me with any other information.”
Engelmann had saluted and was already marching into the corridor.
Captain Streit’s voice was so gentle that Sheila had to strain to catch all his words. “Information not only about Dittmar. About anyone. Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein Braun!”
Sheila smiled and acknowledged his salute, as Engelmann’s worried voice called, “Fräulein Braun, we have little time.”
As she closed the door Streit was arranging the photograph on the desk to his taste. A serious-faced woman and wide-eyed little boy stared out from their silver frame at the red roses.
Sheila found she didn’t walk quite steadily. She lurched against Engelmann as they descended the broad stone staircase. She pretended that her shoes were treacherous on the stairs. But Engelmann was too preoccupied to notice anything. She looked at him curiously. He was still the same tall, thin man with an unhappy face. But now she also saw the worried eyes, the intent mouth. He had ordered the car, not because he was sympathetic to her or to Hofmeyer as he had pretended, but rather because he had wanted to assert his authority over Dittmar. If he hadn’t done so his authority would have been permanently weakened. All these people, these self-appointed lords of creation, were vulnerable. They lived with the perpetual fear that their power was threatened, because the foundation of that power was opportunity. That could explain the broken bodies in the evil-smelling room. The nouveau riche displayed his yachts and pictures to silence his doubts. The arriviste in politics displayed his brute force for the same purpose. Cruelty, like all forms of display, was the compensation for the hidden, nagging fear of inferiority. Yes, that could explain the mutilated bodies. And yet, Sheila, having known men and women who could live happily without the display of either force or wealth, felt that such people were the reason why she condemned the Nazis even as she explained them. If some of the human race could be gentle and decent in face of poverty and worry and ill-health, then there was no excuse for those who denied gentleness and decency. Explanation was no excuse at all, not even in the recently fashionable terms of Freud or Dali.
Engelmann had thought she was wondering about the removal van which had drawn up within the courtyard. “The school-teachers,” he said. “That’s the first of them.” He might have been talking of the swallows over Lisbon. Sheila averted her eyes as the human load was dragged out of the truck.
“I can see the car’s outside in the street,” Engelmann was saying with evident relief. His caution had advised him to see this young woman safely on her way, and yet he hadn’t wanted to waste much more time on her. The prompt arrival of the car had granted both his wishes. He became almost jovial. If Sheila had been a man he would have slapped her heartily on the back as he gave her last instructions. As it was, his hand-grip was as encouraging as it was prolonged.
“I’ll follow your results with interest,” he said. “Your report on your success at Korytów will, of course, be forwarded to me by Hofmeyer.” About Dittmar he said nothing, but Sheila felt that Dittmar was the real reason why her hand was being shaken so enthusiastically. Dittmar was no longer so dangerous as a rival, because Engelmann knew his danger and, knowing that, could guard against it.
Sheila nodded and tried to smile, tried not to look at the file of men encouraged with harsh words and gratuitous blows to enter this ministry of new education. It seemed incredible that one removal van could hold so many human beings. She turned her head away sharply and walked quickly through the gate. Engelmann strode along beside her. “You can leave everything to the man who is driving. He knows your destination,” were his final words to her.
To the dark-haired, dark-eyed man in corporal’s uniform, who was standing very erect beside an open army car, Engelmann said, “Fräulein Braun will give you any further instructions, Treltsch.” He had changed back to his official manner. The confiding air was gone. His salute was brisk. He walked quickly towards a row of parked cars.
The first thing Sheila did was to take one long, deep breath. And then she glanced at her wrist-watch. It was scarcely three o’clock. She had been less than an hour in that place. In one hour die had felt ten years of her life slip surely away.
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READ GORGEOUS PAPERBACKS: HiLoBooks has reissued the following 10 obscure but amazing Radium Age science fiction novels in beautiful print editions: Jack London’s The Scarlet Plague, Rudyard Kipling’s With the Night Mail (and “As Easy as A.B.C.”), Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Poison Belt, H. Rider Haggard’s When the World Shook, Edward Shanks’ The People of the Ruins, William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land, J.D. Beresford’s Goslings, E.V. Odle’s The Clockwork Man, Cicely Hamilton’s Theodore Savage, and Muriel Jaeger’s The Man with Six Senses. For more information, visit the HiLoBooks homepage.
SERIALIZED BY HILOBOOKS: Jack London’s The Scarlet Plague | Rudyard Kipling’s With the Night Mail (and “As Easy as A.B.C.”) | Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Poison Belt | H. Rider Haggard’s When the World Shook | Edward Shanks’ The People of the Ruins | William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land | J.D. Beresford’s Goslings | E.V. Odle’s The Clockwork Man | Cicely Hamilton’s Theodore Savage | Muriel Jaeger’s The Man With Six Senses | Jack London’s “The Red One” | Philip Francis Nowlan’s Armageddon 2419 A.D. | Homer Eon Flint’s The Devolutionist | W.E.B. DuBois’s “The Comet” | Edgar Rice Burroughs’s The Moon Men | Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Herland | Sax Rohmer’s “The Zayat Kiss” | Eimar O’Duffy’s King Goshawk and the Birds | Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Lost Prince | Morley Roberts’s The Fugitives | Helen MacInnes’s The Unconquerable | Geoffrey Household’s Watcher in the Shadows | William Haggard’s The High Wire | Hammond Innes’s Air Bridge | James Branch Cabell’s Jurgen | John Buchan’s “No Man’s Land” | John Russell’s “The Fourth Man” | E.M. Forster’s “The Machine Stops” | John Buchan’s Huntingtower | Arthur Conan Doyle’s When the World Screamed | Victor Bridges’ A Rogue By Compulsion | Jack London’s The Iron Heel | H. De Vere Stacpoole’s The Man Who Lost Himself | P.G. Wodehouse’s Leave It to Psmith | Richard Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game” | Houdini and Lovecraft’s “Imprisoned with the Pharaohs” | Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Sussex Vampire”.
ORIGINAL FICTION: HILOBROW has serialized three novels: James Parker’s The Ballad of Cocky The Fox (“a proof-of-concept that serialization can work on the Internet” — The Atlantic); Karinne Keithley Syers’s Linda Linda Linda (which includes original music); and Robert Waldron’s roman à clef The School on the Fens. We also publish original stories and comics. These include: Matthew Battles’s stories “Gita Nova“, “Makes the Man,” “Imago,” “Camera Lucida,” “A Simple Message”, “Children of the Volcano”, “The Gnomon”, “Billable Memories”, “For Provisional Description of Superficial Features”, “The Dogs in the Trees”, “The Sovereignties of Invention”, and “Survivor: The Island of Dr. Moreau”; several of these later appeared in the collection The Sovereignties of Invention | Peggy Nelson’s “Mood Indigo“, “Top Kill Fail“, and “Mercerism” | Annalee Newitz’s “The Great Oxygen Race” | Flourish Klink’s Star Trek fanfic “Conference Comms” | Charlie Mitchell’s “A Fantasy Land” | Charlie Mitchell’s “Sentinels” | Joshua Glenn’s “The Lawless One”, and the mashup story “Zarathustra vs. Swamp Thing” | Adam McGovern and Paolo Leandri’s Idoru Jones comics | John Holbo’s “Sugarplum Squeampunk” | “Another Corporate Death” (1) and “Another Corporate Death” (2) by Mike Fleisch | Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer and Frank Fiorentino’s graphic novel “The Song of Otto” (excerpt) | John Holbo’s graphic novel On Beyond Zarathustra (excerpt) | “Manoj” and “Josh” by Vijay Balakrishnan | “Verge” by Chris Rossi, and his audio novel Low Priority Hero | EPIC WINS: THE ILIAD (1.408-415) by Flourish Klink | EPIC WINS: THE KALEVALA (3.1-278) by James Parker | EPIC WINS: THE ARGONAUTICA (2.815-834) by Joshua Glenn | EPIC WINS: THE MYTH OF THE ELK by Matthew Battles | TROUBLED SUPERHUMAN CONTEST: Charles Pappas, “The Law” | CATASTROPHE CONTEST: Timothy Raymond, “Hem and the Flood” | TELEPATHY CONTEST: Rachel Ellis Adams, “Fatima, Can You Hear Me?” | OIL SPILL CONTEST: A.E. Smith, “Sound Thinking | LITTLE NEMO CAPTION CONTEST: Joe Lyons, “Necronomicon” | SPOOKY-KOOKY CONTEST: Tucker Cummings, “Well Marbled” | INVENT-A-HERO CONTEST: TG Gibbon, “The Firefly” | FANFICTION CONTEST: Lyette Mercier’s “Sex and the Single Superhero”