There were but fifty bodies in the condition of serquor on the whole of Keemar, and most of them had been there for many ages. None could remember some of them as creatures full of life; their names were written on tablets and placed above them—their only connection with the generation of the present. In a small, underground chapel in the Temple at Hoormoori were these poor ones kept. Niches, cushion-lined were made in the walls, and in these the victims were laid. There they would remain until Jupiter itself returned to its first void, and emptied its population into the lap of Heaven.
“I beg you stay not long here, my Lord,” said the Waz to Alan. “’Tis an evil place, and I would fain hurry and leave it far behind me”.
“Nay, my Waz. Stay until the Kymo rises full in the Heavens—’tis but a short time now, and then I shall be ready to accompany you”.
There were no separate degrees of punishment in the Hall of Sorrows. The real punishment lay in its awful loneliness. The Keemarnians who were there were paying dearly for their faults. Utter loneliness—comfortless—cheerless—it was desolation personified. Those were the first impressions that Alan received. Food was let down from the air at certain intervals. There was no division, and only just sufficient to go round. It was a question of first come, first served, and the man who appeared last received little if any of his portion. No lighting was arranged in the place, and as it was near the Pole, half their time was spent in total blackness. There was no warmth; it was cold and draughty; no privacy; no comfort.
The Keemarnians who offended purged themselves clean in this dread place of sorrow. Once they were free of it, they never put themselves into the position to be sent there again. Their terms of incarceration varied. For some it might be for only six Kymos; for others sixty or even six hundred! The worst sinner there had nothing on his conscience one quarter as bad as Arrack the Miserable; but he was sent there too, to consort with them.
Alan could not bear to stay in the place. The atmosphere stifled him—the sight depressed him. His last view of Arrack, was of a lonely figure in a gown of black, sitting drearily in a corner of the big Hall, watching intently the still form of his late master. His hands were clasped, his expression hopeless—his whole attitude one of despair.
“It’s very terrible,” said Alan to the Waz as they sailed away from Fyjipo.
“What is, my Lord?”
“Your Hall of Sorrows.”
“But why, my Lord?”