Agnes, who was arranging Wilfred's sodden cricket whites in front of a cooking fire, gave them a sudden, fierce shake. 'Begging your pardon, sir,' she said, 'but you won't get anywhere with them like that.'
'No?' said Charles. 'Well you try then. Maybe you can get down to their level. I can't.'
'All right, sir, I will.'
Leaving Simms to deal with the whites, the little maid marched confidently to the centre of the long-house. Though small and slight, her bearing nevertheless conveyed a certain authority, like a young schoolteacher. 'Pusta pusta,' she said brightly, and immediately everyone stopped what they were doing. 'Abupup ifto Huft?' she asked. 'Poptapopto.'
After a little discussion, the witchdoctor was seen to have a quiet word with two sturdy males. They immediately plunged into the rain, returning several minutes later with the elderly hermit struggling between them. All were soaked to the skin and stank as only a wet thaal can.
Huft sulkily shook them off. 'I have nothing to tell you,' he said. 'I was mending my nets.'
'You don't know what we're going to ask you yet,' said the Tuuntu. 'We only want to discover where the tzinid have taken the Voorni.'
'Since the Voorni is a goddess, she must have willed the tzinid to come for her,' said Huft, cynically. 'And if she had wanted you to follow, she would no doubt have given you directions. Why ask me anyway? I'm just a foolish old fisherman.'
Perhaps the witchdoctor knew more Venusian than he'd been letting on, or perhaps he simply guessed what they were saying, for he now stepped forward and jabbed his medicine-stick at the old thaal's chest. 'Popo nah!' he said fiercely. 'Popo fu tzin. Voorni ani tzin. Ifto po? Taba!'
At this, the whole room began crying, 'Popano Voorni. Popano Voorni ban!'
Heft shook his head crossly. 'Ah taro,' he snapped. 'Popo fudu! Po tish!' But his quavering old voice was now almost drowned by the others' rising clamour. They wanted their goddess back, and despite Huft's protestations they clearly thought he knew something about her whereabouts.
'Popano Voorni,' they howled. 'Pop! Pop! Ban!' Many of the males began brandishing the spear-paddles they kept always at their sides, while the females now broke into a strange, high-pitched whine, their muzzles drawn back to reveal disconcertingly sharp fangs.
Wilfred recognised only too well the danger signs. They were clearly approaching that dangerous state of mass hysteria often found among primitive societies. Looking down, he noticed that the floor was suddenly black with fry, instinctively scuttling for cover.
'Guns sir?' asked Simms, rising to his feet.
Charles nodded. 'Yes, all right. But keep them out of sight.'
'And see if you can find some canoes,' added Freddy. 'If the worst happens, we might need to clear out quickly.'
Now came the call that Wilfred had feared. 'Anapoo jalaapa!' shouted someone, a demand that was quickly taken up by others, 'Anapoo jalaapa!' 'Anapoo jalaapa, ban!' A dozen eager arms now reached out and lifted the old thaal shoulder high. Next moment they were rushing from the long-house with him, followed by everyone else.
'They're taking him to the tree,' he cried. 'We must do something!'
The rain had stopped, but the river ran as high as ever. Wilfred wondered how they could hope to get across to the walkway in the reed bed, but to his surprise they began operating a simple windlass, concealed within its own small hut. Out of the rushing water now rose, dripping, a narrow rope bridge, linking the island with the riverbank. It seemed terribly wobbly and insecure but the male thaalid immediately piled onto it, the leaders still carrying the unfortunate Huft. Everyone else followed.
'They're probably just trying to frighten him,' suggested Freddy hopefully.
'We can't take that chance,' said Wilfred. 'Come on Prendergast.'
With difficulty they scrambled across the bridge, forcing their way past the jostling females and juveniles. But halfway along the jetty in the now-submerged bog they could get no farther, their way blocked by chanting, spear-waving males.
'Grim looking thing,' shouted Charles, gesturing at the tree. 'How do they get them into it?'
He was about to be given a demonstration, for one of the thaalid now picked up the long pole the Migraani had used and jabbed at one of the tree's obscene "buds". Immediately it released its grim contents, the remains of some earlier victim tumbling into the water with a splash. Even above the males' howls and the females' high pitched ululating they could hear Huft's desperate shrieks as the others held him out over the end of the jetty, inches from the dangling, bat's-wing leaves of the tree. From their shouts and gestures it seemed the villagers were again demanding to know where the Voorni had been taken — or else. But the old thaal was clearly not lacking in courage for he still refused to tell them.
'We must do something,' declared Charles. 'If that creature dies, we may never find the tzinid.'
'Yes, but what?' said Wilfred. 'They're hardly likely to listen to Agnes now.'
But at that moment something made him look up. Coming towards them at treetop height was the searching spaceship. The villagers saw it too and chaos ensued, their cries of blood-lust turning to screams of terror as they rushed madly about, some snatching up the older fry, some plunging into the bog, some even throwing themselves into the roiling river to be immediately swept away. To them any flying object meant slavery and they would do anything to avoid such a fate.
'It's a Purple ship!' cried Charles, almost dancing with excitement. 'Now we can escape this hell.' Immediately he turned and fought his way back to the island, frantically waving at the approaching vessel.
Wilfred found Huft still sitting where he'd been dropped. 'Come on,' he said kindly. 'Stay close to us and you'll be all right.'
Charles must have succeeded in attracting the ship's attention, for having gone some distance downstream it went into a long, banking turn and started back towards them. Wilfred wondered why it was moving so fast. Surely it would not be able to stop in time to hover over the village? He also noticed that it had its forward gun-port open. Next moment it fired.
Unbearably bright at such close quarters, the mighty ray traversed the length of the floating island, slicing lethally through the milling thaalid and setting fire to some huts. A charred black strip, a yard wide, marked its passing. The villagers' panic now rose to new heights. Nothing in their experience, it seemed, had prepared them for such an eventuality.
Wilfred watched dumbfounded as the now distant ship began to turn once again towards them. They're trying to kill us, he thought wonderingly. How do they know they won't hit Daphne? Or do they know she's no longer here? Of course! That must be it.'
Freddy appeared, looming out of the smoke from the burning huts. 'I don't know about you chaps but I reckon it's time for a strategic withdrawal. We've got the canoes and loaded a few things into them. If we stick close to the bank, we should be all right.'
Wilfred didn't see how they would be safer on the river. Their attacker could simply pick them off at his leisure, if the current didn't overturn them first. Suddenly he remembered the Migraani's little ray pistol. If it was as powerful as she claimed, would it not have some effect on a spaceship? It might at least discourage them. He reached into his pocket but it was no longer there. Blast! It must be in his cricket whites, or at the bottom of the river. The ship was already beginning its next run. If he was going to act, it had to be now. He sprinted for the long-house.
'For goodness' sake, Carstairs!' cried Charles. 'Where the blazes are you going?'
'You carry on,' shouted Wilfred. 'Try to get them into the trees. They'll be sitting ducks in a canoe.'
It was always gloomy in the long-house, despite its open sides. Ducking between the hand looms and swinging hammocks, he nearly tripped over a group of cowering thaalid. Didn't they know they could be burned alive in here? His whites were still where Simms had placed them, draped over the embers of the cooking fire. Fumbling for the gun, he was suddenly all fingers and thumbs. It was still there but caught up in the damp fabric. Suppo
se it hadn't survived its ducking? Suppose he couldn't make it work? Suppose he couldn't get the bally thing out of his pocket! Precious seconds passed before he had it free. Peering at the little weapon, he tried to remember what the Migraani had told him. Pull back the knurled ring to cock it, turn it to adjust the power. He turned it full on. Or was it full off? There were no marks to tell him which way! He stepped outside and immediately put a hand to his eyes, shielding them from the glare of the advancing ray. Its unimaginable power was vaporising the river water, driving before it a thunderous geyser of steam. In the scalding fog, Wilfred could just about descry the bug-eye windows of the approaching vessel's bridge. It was almost upon him. Taking up the sideways stance proper to firing a pistol, he aimed at what seemed to be the source of the ray and fired.
The result was profoundly disappointing. From out of the toy-like weapon came the narrowest beam of pale blue light. It struck the ship all right, though well aft of his intended target, but didn't appear even to penetrate its plating. There was no time for a second shot; he had gambled and lost. 'I love you, Daphne,' he said. His only regret was that he hadn't told her when he had the chance.
A moment later he found himself on the floor. The ship had passed so low overhead that he'd involuntarily thrown himself down. Leaping to his feet, he rushed to the other end of the island. Not only had the vessel stopped firing but it seemed to be having difficulty regaining height. He watched as it struggled to climb out of its dive, almost clipping the tops of the trees as it finally turned away over the jungle. Moments later there came an immense explosion, bright as a lightning flash, and a dense cloud of bluish smoke rose in the distance. He looked down with amazement at the tiny pistol. Had it really done that? Then with a curse he threw it from him; it was red-hot.
A grinning Tuuntu appeared, followed by Huft and the others. 'Congratulations, Mr Carstairs,' he said. 'I see you've decided to join us!'
'Wilfred, my boy, I shall never go shooting again,' said Freddy. 'How can I possibly follow that?'
'Oh sir! Jolly good show, sir!' cried Simms, abandoning his customary aplomb. 'Let me shake you by the hand, sir!'
'I never thought to see the like,' marvelled the Professor. 'Whatever is the power that can be contained in so diminutive a weapon?'
Charles didn't join in the celebrations. 'So much for being rescued by the Purples,' he said bitterly. 'They must assume we're in league with the rebels.'
A bedraggled-looking witchdoctor approached them, together with about a score of the sturdier males. Some of them were still carrying their spear-paddles, causing Huft to hide nervously behind Wilfred, but it was clear that the villagers' murderous hysteria had quite abated. Indeed they seemed thoroughly cowed and submissive, rolling their brown eyes and making the little placatory noises sometimes heard from the females and young. Even so, everyone was surprised when the witchdoctor humbly prostrated himself before Wilfred, followed by the others.
'He says you've saved the village, sir' said Agnes, trying to make sense of his babbling. 'He says that you're a great and mighty tuun, even greater than Loris Loriji, whoever he is.'
Huft began speaking earnestly to the Tuuntu.
'Apparently he is the High Tuun of Torris Verga and master of the tzinid,' said the Venusian. 'He says he will take us to him.'
'What is Torris Verga?' asked Freddy.
'I have never heard of it. It means The Red Cliffs.'
'Ask him why the blazes he didn't offer before,' demanded Charles. 'He's put us to a lot of unnecessary trouble.'
'It is forbidden,' was Huft's reply. 'One may not speak of that place or those who live there. Neither must one go there, on pain of death.' He gestured at the villagers. 'These bumpkins know this, yet they would kill me for keeping silent.'
'Then how can you take us to him, if it's forbidden?' persisted Charles.
'Because I am Huft!'
Chapter 15
The Earthlings were eager to set off immediately for Torris Verga, but their hosts would not hear of it, patiently explaining that before embarking on such a dangerous expedition it was essential to fortify oneself with a mighty feast. Furthermore, gifts had to be found to exchange with the villages upriver and brand-new canoes built and decorated, it being the worst possible luck to use old ones.
'We'll be here forever at this rate,' complained the Professor.
But he had reckoned without the thaalids' eagerness to reclaim their goddess. Almost before they'd finished their packing, the travellers found themselves back where they'd begun, sitting in the crowded long-house in their now heavily mildewed evening clothes and politely admiring the mountain of food set before them. This time, however, they were not strange and foreign interlopers but accepted members of the little jungle community; chatting in a mixture of words and gestures with their neighbours and gnawing hungrily on still-quivering flesh that would have made them shudder with revulsion a few weeks before.
As night fell, and hanging bundles of jungle leaves cast a soft glow on the proceedings, an expectant hush crept over the assembled company. The witchdoctor, who had retired outside, now burst, dancing and whirling, into the room. Pointing with his medicine stick he indicated which warriors should join him and together they began slowly to advance upon the slightly alarmed humans, intoning their fierce war chant and brandishing their spears.
It was Wilfred, however, who proved to be the focus of their attention. Indicating that he should sit upon the Voorni's vacant throne the witchdoctor now began a seemingly endless speech, occasionally punctuated by appreciative cries of 'Haa!' and 'Pinpoo!' from his audience. Then, to Wilfred's great embarrassment, the witchdoctor threw himself at full-length before him.
'Put your foot on his head,' hissed the Tuuntu, and after some hesitation Wilfred did so, provoking an appreciative storm of male haa-ing and female ululating from the thaalid.
'Pipat nop Wilfred!' proclaimed the Witchdoctor, rising to his feet, at which everyone began crying 'Pipati Wilfred! Pipati Wilfred!'
'What is a pipati?' asked a scarlet-faced Wilfred.
The Tuuntu turned questioningly to Huft, but could get no satisfactory answer. 'He translates it as haazijri, which means a hard master, a tyrant, but his Venusian is somewhat eccentric. Perhaps there is no equivalent in our language.'
'Well whatever it means, you're evidently the big cheese now,' grinned Freddy.
Wilfred smiled shyly and settled back on his throne. The most agreeable part of this unexpected honour was that it clearly annoyed Charles, but he was slightly concerned about what might be required of him. Was he now their chief, their protector, or some sort of champion? All he'd done was to fire one lucky shot. Anyone could have done it.
A few hours later, the yawning members of the expedition could be found loading provisions and equipment into two handsome new canoes. Every male in the village had volunteered to paddle for them, but working on Freddy's principle that 'a sportsman is likely to be a cut above your average chap,' they had chosen the most handy of the cricketers, eight being considered sufficient.
The whole village turned out to see them off, crowding to the water's edge and ceremonially casting insect-repellant flowers into the boats. But before they left, there was one last ritual to perform. Each member of the expedition was solemnly presented with a shell locket containing what looked like a large, amber bead.
'It is the seed of the jalaapa,' explained Huft. 'He who wears it can come to no harm.'
Peering closely, Wilfred thought he saw a dark shape moving sluggishly within. The thing seemed to him to emanate evil.
Freddy didn't care for it either. 'Gives me the creeps,' he said, and as soon as no-one was looking he threw his away.
Soon the village was out of sight and the silent, impenetrable jungle closed in on either side. For perhaps four hours their crews paddled steadily upriver until, just as the sky began to darken, they tied up to a tiny floating island, sheltering from the afternoon rain in its single hut. They had already passed sev
eral of these sanctuaries, and the obvious communal effort required to build and maintain them seemed to Wilfred to provide evidence of a remarkably human-like altruism among the thaalid. Charles, however, was of the opinion that this was nothing but the solidarity of the pack, to which no higher motive could be ascribed. They were still arguing about it when as dusk turned swiftly to night they drew alongside another village, identical in its essentials to the one they had left behind. Here the fate of the Voorni was well known and they received a hero's welcome. Indeed, it was only because of some delicate diplomacy by Huft that they avoided having to wait for another great feast to be prepared. This was to be the pattern of their days; the dipping and rising of the reeds, the lethal tijit vines dangling in wait for the unwary, and at length another isolated floating community, linked to its fellows only by the river and the night-time pounding of the drums. Only after three days' hard paddling did they pass into what was, to all but Huft, terra incognita.
'The Pipati should have his weapon ready,' advised the old fisherman. 'The people hereabouts are not like us; they are wild and dangerous.'
Recalling their recent conversation, Wilfred chuckled delightedly at this remark, which drew only a sour grunt from Charles.
It was now Wilfred to whom the thaalid deferred, totally ignoring the others. It sometimes felt as though he were back in Africa, sole representative for many miles of king and country. It was a queen, however, who was forever in his thoughts, and using his newfound power over his paddlers he forced the pace unmercifully, getting everyone up at the crack of dawn and resisting any demands to stop until only the glow of the jungle vegetation lit their near-silent, rippling progress upstream.
With the last floating village behind them, the character of the landscape had begun to change, becoming a little more open, with the occasional glimpse of far-off hills. Here many islands dividing the stream, so that without Huft's guidance it would have been difficult to know which channel to take.
It certainly appeared that the local thaalid were an altogether more primitive race. They had no fixed settlements but lived as roving bands of a dozen or so individuals, their temporary camps consisting of strange, woven shelters, hanging like thatched birdcages from the jungle creepers. From their shouts and threatening gestures it seemed that strangers were not welcome, and Huft advised keeping well clear of their blowpipes. These deadly weapons were quite capable of delivering a poisoned dart clean across the river and their aim was remarkably accurate, as several near-misses testified. However, it only needed someone to cry 'Vinapoo Voorni' for their demeanor to change entirely. They, too, had heard the drums, and were quite prepared to give everything they had to speed the expedition on its way. Fortunately there was little reason to disturb them, for their abandoned camps were everywhere, making convenient if rather uncomfortable stopping places.
Storm on Venus Page 17
