Rather than witness another defeat, Wilfred handed his bat to the Professor and ambled, hands in pockets, among the busily working villagers. Females, sitting in companionable groups, were preparing food or weaving mats and baskets, while the older males were variously engaged in scraping and tanning hides, fletching arrows and even hollowing out a log canoe. For this they were using well constructed adzes of the ubiquitous Venusian bronze, and Wilfred wondered where they had come from. There was no other evidence of metallurgy, and neither, in that watery place, did there appear to be any source of ore. They must, he supposed, have come by trade. He would have liked to ask Huft, but from the day they arrived there was little to be seen of him. It seemed that he largely stuck to the self-imposed solitude of a popoti and would disappear in his little one-man canoe for days or weeks at a time, tending his widely spaced kraatu nets and collecting wild fruits.
In the long-house, Daphne was, as usual, holding court, or 'goddessing' as she liked to call it. This meant long hours of displaying the Holy Mark to the constant stream of pilgrims from other villages. Sometimes she would sit quietly on her throne, and sometimes, by way of a change, she would move majestically among the faithful, briefly placing a naked foot upon each lowered head. Many recipients of this benediction would moan and cry out, or even become cataleptic with religious ecstasy, requiring them to be carried away on makeshift stretchers by their relatives or friends. They were not the only ones who needed such help, for the scent of insect-repellant blooms was often overwhelmed by the gagging stench of sickness or cruelly suppurating wounds. Bloated or emaciated, shaking with some jungle ague or plagued with sores, these supplicants would lie helpless before her, their eyes filled with hope and pain.
Here, however, she could bring only spiritual comfort, for the Migraani had made it very clear that she must never make any practical attempt to treat them. She was to remember that she was a deity, and deities, if they heal at all, do so only by miracles. Neither was direct communication allowed, even had it been possible. Questions might be asked of her and prayers offered up, but she could 'answer' only through the medium of the witchdoctor. This irritating individual never left her side, except occasionally to dance and whirl about and point his medicine-stick (now repaired) at anyone whom he thought might displease the Voorni. Her advent – for which he had no doubt claimed the credit – enormously boosted his prestige, but the responsibility appeared to make him nervous. At first, listening to the pilgrims' plaints, he had seemed to observe her inscrutable human features for some clue as to how he should respond. Finding none, or none that he could read, he had soon returned to consulting the bones and feathers that he kept in a pouch at his waist, before offering his various nostrums, predictions and advice. What he told them, she could not, of course, understand, but they usually went away happy enough, or at any rate content.
Meanwhile, Agnes, now in the role of acolyte, was kept busy marshalling the faithful into some semblance of a queue and shooing them away when she decided it was the next batch's turn to worship. Their dialect was not quite the same as Hawghi's – suggesting that he did not come from the immediate neighbourhood – but it was close enough for her to understand some of what was said. Not only that, but being young, and lacking the cultured inhibition of her betters, she would even attempt to speak a few words as well. This was greatly to the amusement of the thaalid, who soon began to treat her almost as one of their own.
Wilfred decided to wait for Daphne to come out. He had seen little of her since they arrived at the village and missed terribly their long conversations together. He had just settled himself on a convenient log when he noticed the Migraani watching him.
'Mr Carstairs, if you are not too busy at the moment, I should like to show you something. Would you be prepared to paddle a canoe? I do not wish to take a thaal with us.'
'Yes, of course,' said Wilfred politely. He often wondered how the human Venusians ever got any exercise, for he had never seen either of them exert themselves in any way.
As it turned out, she only wanted to cross the eight or ten yards of river that separated the floating island from the nearest bank. Directly opposite was the reed-clogged outlet of a sluggish tributary stream, and it was here that she bade him land. Wilfred was just beginning to wish, not for the first time, that he'd packed a pair of gumboots when he noticed a broad and well-constructed wooden walkway, winding inland. It even had handrails and was clearly in frequent use. Waiting for him to tie up, the Migraani now led him along it, the translucent sijndu reeds high on either side.
Wilfred wondered why the thaalid would trouble to build such a thing when a dry route into the forest lay only a short distance away. But long before it reached the trees, the walkway came abruptly to an end, thrusting out on heavy wooden piles into an unpleasant-looking bog. Unusually for Venus, nothing whatever grew there, excepting, at the bog's exact centre, a most peculiar tree. Its smooth, translucent bark was thick with the slimy mucilage that seemed to coat so much of Venus's plant life, while from each of its half-dozen stout branches sprang a crown of enormous, deeply ribbed leaves that in colour and appearance somewhat reminded him of bats' wings. Some of these hung flaccidly down to trail in the water, while others were wrapped into what appeared to be immense, misshapen buds. The walkway had obviously been built to provide access to the evil-looking thing, for it ended only a foot or two from the squat, bottle-like trunk. It was very still and quiet there, surrounded by the high reeds. For once, no insects buzzed, and the air seemed even hotter and more oppressive than usual. It was, he thought, about the most dismal spot he'd ever seen.
'Watch carefully,' commanded the Migraani. There was a long pole lying on the jetty, and picking it up, she poked forcefully at the largest of the "buds." Instantly, the close-wrapped leaves flew apart. There was a brief impression of something familiar among them, bleached and white, then it dissolved into a rain of bones.
'It is the jalaapa tree,' she said. 'It is a particularly cruel death, for it is slow. The tijit vine first strangles its victim, but here he is alive and conscious as his flesh and then his internal organs are slowly dissolved.' Putting down the pole she turned and looked quizzically at Wilfred, as if she were waiting for some kind of response.
Wilfred watched the bones slowly settling into the bog. One or two had landed on the planks of the walkway and he swept them off it with his foot. He wondered what the unfortunate creature had done to merit such a punishment and how long he had been there. 'I knew about the tree,' he said. 'The Professor mentioned it.'
'Did he also mention that the jalaapa is our own preferred method of execution?' asked the Migraani. 'We have learned well from our slaves. To fraternise with these creatures may seem harmless enough, but please believe me when I tell you that danger and death are all around us, and to survive in this place you must be forever on your guard.' She paused and glanced back along the walkway, as if to be sure they were not overheard. 'Mr Carstairs, may I speak to you in confidence?'
'Yes, of course,' said Wilfred.
'Then it is this. Our position here is perilous in the extreme and I fear for our precious Voorni, who can never be replaced. My duty is to protect her, but though I rule in my own country I am here only a weak and helpless woman, and what should I do if we were threatened or attacked? I am aware of your feelings for her, and it would greatly ease my mind to know that you would always take her part and be her strong right arm, for I do not trust that mountebank Prendergast.'
'You need have no fear on that score,' said Wilfred. 'I don't know how it is on Venus, but on Earth any decent man would give his life for a woman if necessary – any decent Englishman anyway – and I'm sure that includes Prendergast. But why do you call him a mountebank? I can't pretend to like him, but he's considered a hero on Earth, and without his skill and bravery we should probably not have survived our journey here. Or can you see things in people that others can't? I must say, I've often wondered.'
The Migraani shook her head.
'I cannot read minds, Mr Carstairs, if that is what you are suggesting, but I have learned to read men, and I can only wish that Pepseema had chosen you over him.'
'It makes no difference,' said Wilfred. 'You're right in believing that I care for her, and I might as well tell you, since we're speaking in confidence, that I love her. She belongs to Prendergast and I make no claim on her, but I remain devoted to her and care for nothing but her safety and happiness.'
'Then you are the noblest of men,' declared the Migraani. And to his great surprise she reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 'Come, we must return to the village. No, wait. I had almost forgotten. Please turn around.'
Wilfred did as he was told. There was a rustle of clothing and when he turned back she was holding the little ray-pistol with which she had threatened Charles on the ship. Alarmed, he stepped backwards, but with the faintest of smiles she handed it to him.
'Do not be afraid. It is yours. I give it to you.'
'But why? It will leave you unarmed.'
'It is not much use to me; I could not hit a krit at five paces. You, however, may find it useful. It is, as you have observed, easily hidden.'
Wilfred examined the tiny weapon. It was still a little moist on one side from having lain against her skin. 'It's very small. Will it kill a man?'
'It will do whatever you ask of it. I am trusting you to use it wisely. There will be very few times when such a course is justified.'
Paddling back to the island they were so lost in their own thoughts that they did not immediately notice that it was deserted. After a few moments of concern, however, they found the entire village gathered in the long-house. There was a good deal of jostling and rising on tiptoe as those on the margin tried to see what was going on, but all stood in uncharacteristic silence, their long ears pricked forward to catch every word spoken within.
'Something bad has happened here,' said the Migraani.
Pushing their way through the crush, they came upon a most extraordinary scene. In a dramatic tableau, somewhat recalling the death of Nelson, an adult male thaal lay propped in Daphne's lap, his eyes rolling horribly upwards and his head and shoulders crimson with blood. Standing and kneeling around him in various attitudes of concern were both cricket teams – the batsmen still padded up – together with the Tuuntu, the witchdoctor and all the more senior members of the community. Every one of them was gazing in fascination at the Professor who was delicately probing, with a pair of Daphne's eyebrow tweezers, a gaping wound in the thaal's head.
'Dija taas! What in the name of Hanijaar is going on here?' demanded the Migraani.
'It is a depressed fracture of the skull,' said the Professor distractedly. 'I considered it most urgent to remove any fur and splinters of bone before sepsis sets in.'
'But the Voorni!'
'It is essential that the patient keeps perfectly still. Ideally he would be anaesthetised, but hysterical paralysis seems equally effective.'
'It was a cricket ball, I suppose,' said Wilfred, grasping the situation immediately.
'Afraid so, old chap,' said Freddy. 'We were staring at defeat, with Heft to bowl next over, when Simms scored a rather splendid six off young Haffen. Unfortunately it dented this poor beggar's head.'
'I knew no good would come of your foolish games,' grumbled the Tuuntu. 'We Venusians have more sense.'
'It was an accident, that's all. No-one's blaming anyone.'
'Hmm, that should do it, I think,' muttered the Professor. 'Simms, the half-crown if you please. Has it been well boiled? Good, that should be just the ticket.' Placing the coin, now beaten to twice its normal size, over the gaping hole in the thaal's skull he pulled the bloody flaps of skin back over it. 'I think you may stitch him up now, Agnes, if you would be so kind.'
'And when you have finished, Voorni,' said the Migraani, though gritted teeth, 'I should like a word with you.'
Life in the village didn't cease during the hours of darkness. The thaalid appeared to need little sleep, and the night was a time for play. As the shadows lengthened, the younger males would gather in little crouching groups and begin a slow, hypnotic chant. Low at first, this would steadily rise in speed and volume until the air seemed to throb with it. Only then would the unattached females shyly appear, adorned only with a kind of bustle made of feathers. Forming a line in front of the males, they would begin a vigorous, stamping, leaping dance that would go on for hours, culminating in both sexes throwing themselves with much whistling and shrieking into the river. Even when the party ended, the Earthlings, sweatily tossing in their hammocks, were denied peace, for then would begin an intermittent, hollow-sounding drumming, often continuing until dawn. Whenever it paused, its complex rhythms could be heard repeated, far away.
His mind filled with the events of the day and despairing of sleep, Wilfred slipped from the hut he shared with his uncle and wandered to the water's edge. There he was surprised to find the Migraani, her tall figure silhouetted against the glow of the riverside trees. She was looking upwards, staring into the blackness.
'See, there?' she said, pointing.
Following her outstretched arm, Wilfred descried a dim moving light in the sky, though at what height or distance, he could not tell. 'Is it a ship?' he asked.
The Migraani nodded. 'They have heard the drums and are looking for us. Tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that, they will find us.'
'Who?' asked Wilfred. 'Who has heard the drums? Are they friend or foe?'
'I do not know. It may be our own people or it may be the Purples or one of their allies. Only when they arrive shall we know.'
'But the nearest city is hundreds of miles away, on the other side of the mountains. How can they hear the drums?'
The Migraani looked quizzically up at him. 'Venus is round, Mr Carstairs. There are no mountains to the east. The drums can be heard for about a taar, which is why that unit of distance is so called. It will have taken only the time we have been speaking for the news of our presence to travel that far. It is perhaps a thousand taarid to the royal palace, so in a little over a day after our arriving here they will have learned of us.'
'Is much news transmitted in this way?'
'Yes. Sometimes we find it useful, but one cannot control them. Anything they consider of interest will spread relentlessly to the whole planet. We have a saying in Venus: if you want everyone to know, tell a thaal.'
'Can you read the messages?'
'No human can, but I do not need to. I scarcely expected to find worshippers of the Voorni in this place, but when we did, I knew immediately that we should be discovered.'
'What is to be done?'
'Nothing. There is nowhere to hide.' She lowered her voice and turned to him. 'Mr Carstairs, we have exchanged confidences and I believe I can trust you completely. There are some things of importance I should like to tell you concerning Pepseema. Come to my hut during the rain tomorrow, for then we shall not be overheard.' A thought seemed to strike her and she gave a girlish little giggle. 'No doubt the Tuuntu will think we are lovers!'
Chapter 13
The unfortunate accident to one of their number did nothing to diminish the villagers' enthusiasm for cricket. Indeed, so many wanted to play that it was decided to expand both teams to the conventional eleven a side, with six eager youngsters co-opted by the visitors in the role of honorary Earthlings.
It had already been found necessary to modify somewhat the MCC rules to suit the very different conditions appertaining on Venus. The inaugural general meeting of the Vanapop Cricket Club had therefore voted to limit an innings to ten overs, not only to spare the older players but to provide some possibility of completing a match before the afternoon rain. In order to provide a reasonably even and readily reproducible surface, the wicket was to be constructed of the same finely-woven sijndu-reed matting used to surface the dwelling huts (it was somewhat slow compared with dry grass but at least predictable) and the boundary, previously rather a vague concept, was now deli
neated by flexible lianas.
None of this much helped the visiting side however, and in this their third official match, the human members of the team had found themselves dismissed for a humiliating total of fifteen runs. Settling down to watch the now all-thaal field they found it extraordinary that such a subtle and civilized game should be so readily embraced by these primitive beings.
'Probably just a nine-days' wonder,' said Charles dismissively. 'Though I'll grant you, they have a certain aptitude for it.'
'Aptitude!' cried Freddy. 'Why, if young Heft was playing for an English county, he'd be capped by now. I say! Another six.' He clapped enthusiastically as his gangling protegé casually deflected a difficult ball over their heads and into the river. Half a dozen of the older juveniles immediately went in after it.
'Which gives us thirty-seven,' said Simms, noting it down. 'If you don't mind taking over for a minute, sir, I think I'd better go and keep an eye on those youngsters. Once they've got the ball they don't always want to give it up.'
Glancing towards the long-house, Wilfred was rewarded with the sight of Daphne emerging from her morning's duties. As she strode confidently towards them, still in her Voorni's revealing apparel, he wondered how he could ever have thought her an ordinary English rose. He could see so clearly now that those preternaturally large eyes were Venusian eyes, no different, except in colour, from the Migraani's dark and tragic orbs, and that perfect, unblemished skin which he so longed to touch was Venusian skin, already approaching the Migraani's sun-starved pallor. Neither did the perpetual heat and humidity trouble her as it did the rest of them. Within days of arriving she had seemed as comfortable on this, the planet of her birth, as she had in an English garden.
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