But the cries remained unanswered....
Up the steps of the New Tower of Babel there crept a man. It seldom happened in the great Metropolis, Joh Fredersen’s time-saving city, that anyone used the stairs. They were reserved in case of all the lifts and the Pater-noster being over-crowded, of the cessation of all means of transit, of the outbreak of fire and similar accidents—improbable occurrences in this perfect settlement of human beings. But the improbable had happened. Piled up, one above the other, the lifts, which came hurtling down, blocked up their shafts, and the cells of the Pater-noster seemed to have been bent and charred by a hellish heat, smouldering up from the depths.
Up the stairs of the New Tower of Babel did Josaphat drag himself. He had learnt to swear in that quarter of an hour, even as Grot used to swear, and he made full use of his newly acquired art. He roared at the pain which racked his limbs. He spat out an excess of hatred and contempt at the agony in his knees. Wild and ingenious were the execrations which he hurled at every landing, every new bend in the staircase. But he conquered them all—one hundred and six flights of stairs, each consisting of thirty steps. He reached the semicircle where the lifts had their opening. In the corners before the door to Joh Fredersen’s rooms there crouched knots of human beings, pressed together by the common pressure of a terrible fear.
They turned their heads to stare at the man who was crawling up the stairs, dragging himself up by aid of the walls.
His wild eyes swept over them.
“What is it?” he asked breathlessly. “What are you all doing here?”
Agitated voices whispered. Nobody knew who was speaking. Words tumbled over each other.
“He drove us out into the town, where death is running as though amok.... He sent us out to look for his son, Freder. We couldn’t find him.... None of us.... We daren’t go in to Joh Fredersen.... Nobody dares take him the news that we haven’t been able to find his son....”
A voice swung out, high and sharp from out the knot:
“Who can find one single damned soul in this hell—?”