stopped, the
stopped, the men on top leapt to the ground. The doors to the coach opened and another half-dozen men spilled out from the interior. I was so struck by the improbable sight that I stood motionless. My artist’s sense of perception was attempting to determine by what magic means so many men—beefy types, to boot—had managed to fit inside the not very commodious coach. I would have done better to have noticed the fact that every other person in the crowded plaza had disappeared.
One of the policemen pointed to me and cried: “Seize him!” A moment later I was brought down by the horde, chained and manacled, protesting my innocence all the while.
“He must be guilty as sin, Sergeant,” I heard a policeman chortle. “The only one who didn’t run! And listen to him pleading his innocence!”
“A foreigner, too!” cackled another. “Listen to that outlandish accent!”
“I’m from Ozar,” I protested. A momentary pause in the bustle of binding, manacling and chaining. Then:
“The blackguard! Impersonating an Ozarine!”
“Gag him,” came a tone of command. “No need for honest secret policemen to listen to the honeyed words of treason.”
Before I knew it—now gagged, to boot—I was hustled into the coach. As I was forced into its dark interior, I heard the sergeant say: “You two stay here and search the area for the other one.” A moment later, the coach careened into motion.
By now I was in a dark and gloomy mood, full of self-reproach. In my mind’s eye, I could already hear
One of the policemen pointed to me and cried: “Seize him!” A moment later I was brought down by the horde, chained and manacled, protesting my innocence all the while.
“He must be guilty as sin, Sergeant,” I heard a policeman chortle. “The only one who didn’t run! And listen to him pleading his innocence!”
“A foreigner, too!” cackled another. “Listen to that outlandish accent!”
“I’m from Ozar,” I protested. A momentary pause in the bustle of binding, manacling and chaining. Then:
“The blackguard! Impersonating an Ozarine!”
“Gag him,” came a tone of command. “No need for honest secret policemen to listen to the honeyed words of treason.”
Before I knew it—now gagged, to boot—I was hustled into the coach. As I was forced into its dark interior, I heard the sergeant say: “You two stay here and search the area for the other one.” A moment later, the coach careened into motion.
By now I was in a dark and gloomy mood, full of self-reproach. In my mind’s eye, I could already hear