by Desmond Cory
“Such talk is great nonsense.”
“Maybe. Let’s forget about it. Tell me instead of your worries.”
The two men paused and faced each other, standing on the mud bank a few yards away from the Circe. The grey river-wraiths bubbled and plopped at their feet; to the east, a green dawn was swelling in the sky like a ripening fruit. The trees and the tangled scrub were still dark and colourless.
Demetrius seemed a little reluctant to speak. “It is a bad thing,” he said eventually, “this death of Doctor Raikes.”
“It’s a bad thing that he was killed by a black man,” said Johnny softly. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“Yes. That is especially bad.”
“We can’t prove it.”
“But the locals already know it. They know that the black has struck against the white; they know this in their hearts. They do not speak of it.”
Johnny raised a hand, adjusted the set of his belt. “What will they do?”
“Allah alone has knowledge. Perhaps they will do nothing; perhaps one night they will hear voices saying ‘Kill.’ The Masai have always been an axe that turns in the hand.”
“And the Bushmen?”
“They are simple people, and greatly perplexed. Perhaps they will follow the Masai; perhaps they will fight against them, for the Masai are strangers and not greatly loved.”
Johnny nodded slowly. “And what about Snort?”
“I say nothing of him.”
“It could have been an accident,” said Johnny, watching Demetrius narrowly. “Things could have fallen out in the manner that Snort described.”
Demetrius lifted his narrow shoulders. “A white man has died; that is the important thing.”
“If Raikes was killed deliberately, Snort must have taken a very great risk. For with two rifles out of action, if I had missed the buffalo it might have killed us all.”
Demetrius shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because the buffalo would have smelt the blood, and would have stayed to trample the doctor. When a buffalo smells blood, it seeks the source and ignores everything else; for such are the animal’s ways. With Doctor Raikes dead from such a terrible wound, the rest of us might have walked away.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Johnny. He whistled a few bars of music to himself. “It’s a thousand pities that neither you nor I saw what really happened.”
“Nor Mister Schneider,” said Demetrius expressionlessly.
“Nor Mister Schneider. But there is another man who might perhaps have done so.”
“You mean the Masai Tentigi.”
“Yes, I do. You watch the fellow, Demetrius. We will talk to him; later, when he has had time to think of many things. Tomorrow, perhaps. He may have seen nothing; but he was standing to the rear, and the eye of a Masai misses very little that moves.”
“The Bushmen say,” said Demetrius, clapping his hands together almost soundlessly, “that today we shall reach the Kob’ei. They will travel no further. Already they move in fear of the devils.”
“Today?” Johnny looked surprised. “Van Kuyp wasn’t banking on arrival there till tomorrow.”
Demetrius smiled. “That may well be so, unless you rouse the camp very shortly. It is time for us to be moving.”
Certainly the current seemed indefinably stronger when they set out up the river; certainly the ridges of the terraces seemed closer together than before. The arms of the paddlers moved as rhythmically, their chant sounded as loudly as ever, for while they were working their thoughts did not oppress them; but nevertheless, the river Kob’ei that had always seemed a hundred miles further away had suddenly come very close. There was a freshness, an alertness about the Expedition that morning; and Johnny himself, alone once more in the bows of the Masai canoe, seemed to feel the ferocity of the sun less keenly.
There were vibrations in the air that morning, vibrations of golden light far beyond the ridge to the south; movements that Johnny had never seen before. He guessed that it was caused by vectors rising from the hot scrubland that now flanked the jungle of the river valley. Then to the east there was cloud, great grey and white pillars of cumulus billowing upwards as though from some gigantic explosion in the distance; they seemed never to move or even to change shape, but to remain for ever clutching the sky like a beacon over the Kob’ei. The jungle was at last relaxing its hold on the land; where it fell back there were patches of riotous colour and fantastic rock shapes; sandstone that was almost scarlet, sandstone of a pale yellow, grey and silver gravel, stone outcrops varying in colour from greeny-blue to black, shot through and through with sparkles of glinting quartz. Van Kuyp, on the deck of the Circe, was using his binoculars almost constantly to examine these phenomena before writing furiously in his notebook; even Raven was awake and taking a lively interest in his surroundings. Johnny could see his red-enwrapped head turning to and fro in quest of curiosities; Schneider sat beside him in the other canoe, loose-shouldered and relaxed.
Either of those two men, thought Johnny, could have ordered Raikes’ death.
For Johnny distrusted coincidence, and in his own mind he was almost sure that Raikes had died because he had heard of a man called Huysmans. He had said as much to Johnny, at a time when Schneider was standing within earshot and Raven asleep by his side – or pretending to be asleep. And he had been killed in order that he might say no more.
Yet he had said enough, in a way; for Johnny had found out what it was he knew. That Madrid was really Huysmans’ daughter, and therefore Otto Schneider his son. That was important; for it meant that two other people, at least, had come to the Ubangi for the same reason as Johnny; to look for Huysmans’ body. And what was more, that newspaper cutting had clearly shown that they had an idea where to look …
To the right of the fork where the Kob’ei joined the Ubangi was an excellent camping-place; a broad limestone shelf, not too thickly packed with undergrowth, where the grass grew ankle-high. On the far side of the river, the jungle fought its savage battle with the scrub and the thorn; winning in the low ground, losing in the high patches towards the ridge where eroded soil glowed redly through the screen of green. Over the great alluvial deposits of the fast-moving Kob’ei the jungle ran riot, revelling in its victory; casuarina and flowering acacia hid from view all that lay to the north.
But not very much attention was paid to the camping-site, at first. The canoes and the steamer were safely moored by the sloping limestone shelf; then, leaving the natives to clear the camp-space and to light the fire under the direction of Demetrius and Snort, the members of the Wayland University Expedition to the Ubangi set off through the twilight of the crouching trees towards the river that some of them had crossed half the world to see.
It was not in itself a very imposing sight. But the Kob’ei did indeed seem remarkable in its contrast with the Ubangi, for it was a clear, deep river with an apparent sense of purpose about it; its waters lightened the brown dirtiness of the Ubangi for two hundred yards beyond its point of emergence. It was a fast river by African standards, not by European; yet it had its suggestion of urgency, as though it were well aware that it sprang from the great lakes in the Mountains of the Sun and that it was fed by many hill streams swollen in the time of the rains. And, standing on the bank where it struck the Ubangi, one could see to the north the wide V that it had cut through the shallow slope of the gravel terrace and, beyond that gully, the rhythms of further hills that slowly changed into mountains.
The Expedition viewed this scene appreciatively for several minutes. Then van Kuyp advanced briskly upon Johnny and, for the second time that evening, Johnny found his right hand being convincingly wrung.
“Well now, we’ve really made it, Mr. Fedora; thanks to you and that little boat of yours. This is a wonderful moment; it certainly is.”
“We made pretty good going, really,” said Johnny.
“I’ll say we did – better than I ever hoped for.
And now that we’ve got here, we don’t propose to waste any time. Let’s all get back and get to work establishing our camp. I guess that shelf is going to be our base – till we find a better.”
Yet could the desire to keep secret his own identity be a strong enough motive for Schneider to have Raikes murdered? Johnny doubted it; he was puzzled, and knew it. He was puzzled by the whole of this strange expedition which seemed outwardly so normal, inwardly so mysterious.
But he was not surprised when, after the midday halt, Schneider offered to accompany him in the Masai canoe. “I’d like to hear something about these apes you’re after,” said Schneider politely, “and other things.”
Well, thought Johnny, perhaps now that I know about Huysmans being his father, he’s going to kill me too. “… I’ll be glad of your company,” he answered, truthfully.
So Schneider transferred his rifle and light pack and water-bottle from one canoe to the other, and took his seat beside Johnny. He sprawled inelegantly across the mildewing skins, fingering the butt of the Mannlicher moodily. He didn’t seem at all anxious to open the conversation, in spite of his previous suggestion; Johnny assumed that it had been made purely for the benefit of their audience; he, too, remained silent as the Masai paddled upstream, and spoke neither of hunting nor of white gorillas.
When some ten minutes had elapsed, Schneider rolled over on to his side and said, “I’ve been hearing some funny things from Madrid.”
“No doubt she has a fund of amusing stories.”
“This one wasn’t very amusing. She tells me that by snooping around in her tent you’ve discovered that our name is really Huysmans.” Schneider was speaking with visible effort, almost unwillingly. “You implied to her that the name … means something to you. Well, I want to know something about it.”
“Such as?”
“Such as what it means to you.”
Johnny thought for a few moments. “I’ll tell you the inference I’ve made. I think that you and your sister have come to the Ubangi to look for your father, or for what’s left of him; and that you signed on with this barmy Expedition with just that purpose in mind.”
“I see,” Schneider expelled breath, very slowly. “And just what purpose have you in mind?”
“I’m looking for Huysmans, too.”
“Yes. Yes, I thought as much.” Schneider looked at Johnny, then propped himself up on his left elbow and looked thoughtfully up-river. “I’m not much good at verbal fencing, Fedora. I prefer straight questions. Now, Madrid and I had good reason to suppose that our father was to be found somewhere near the Kob’ei – What brought you to that conclusion?”
“Perhaps,” said Johnny softly, “perhaps I was one of the people that helped to send him there.”
He saw Schneider’s knuckles go white on the rifle-butt.
“You mean …?”
“You are his son. You know what I mean.”
“Then … Then the Party still has need of him?”
“If he is still alive, then the Party has great need of him. No other man can be of more service to our coming Fourth Reich.”
“I see. It’s as I’d imagined it.” Schneider, incredibly, was now nervous; the pale skin at his hair-line was damp. “But I have no concern with politics nor with war, and neither has my sister. We wish only to find our father and to have him back with us.”
“That may perhaps be arranged,” said Johnny. “If indeed he is still alive.”
“I’m convinced that he is. He has lived in the jungle for many years before this. He might well feel himself to be safer there than anywhere else in the civilised world.” The last two words bore a heavy emphasis of scorn. “And it was in the Kob’ei that his work lay.”
“We must persuade him that perhaps it lies elsewhere.”
“… South America?”
“It’s early to answer questions.”
Schneider mopped at his forehead with his elbow. “I’ve spent many years in South America; I saw many interesting things there. However, that is by the way. For the time being, I assume that we may work in alliance – Herr …?”
“Fedora is still my name. By all means let’s work together. Your assistance will be most valuable.”
Schneider extended a lean brown hand, which Johnny shook firmly. “There is one thing,” said Schneider, “of which I should warn you – though I’m sure the warning is superfluous.”
“That is …?”
“Of van Kuyp. Van Kuyp is an expert geologist, there is no doubt of that. He is the one member of this Expedition, other than you and I, to whom the name Huysmans would most certainly … mean something.”
“That had occurred to me,” said Johnny. “And in the circumstances, I can’t help feeling that it’s foolish of your sister to leave that Bible lying about so obviously.”
Schneider made an impatient gesture. “Of course – I’ve told her so a hundred times. But Madrid’s a sentimentalist at heart; that Bible is the only thing she has that … well, that belonged to our father. She will never consent to part with it.”
Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “I have no objection to the Bible, as such. Its teaching is not incompatible with the National Socialist ideology, as our leaders have always maintained. It’s that infernal fly-leaf which … which gives the game away.”
“It gives the game away to an officer of the German Intelligence,” said Schneider cunningly. “Not to anybody else.”
“It would certainly give food for thought to van Kuyp, if he happened to see it,” said Johnny firmly. “I don’t understand you, Schneider. You are prepared to organise Raikes’ murder because of the merest chance –”
“I? I organise Raikes’ murder?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But – But I thought that you …”
The two men looked at each other. At the same moment there came drifting over the water a loud hail from the boat behind them. The voice was van Kuyp’s; but the words that he shouted were not clearly audible.
Johnny turned in his seat. “What did you say?”
Van Kuyp cupped both hands around his mouth; then changed his mind, and pointed instead. Johnny followed the direction of his finger towards the northern terrace, that lay spreadeagled in the light of the evening sun; then beyond that terrace to where, on the horizon, moved something grey and golden, something infinitely remote, something that was at one moment a part of the high-piled clouds above it, the next moment unquestionably a part of the rolling land beneath. It was vague enough to be the drifting smoke over some great man made city; then substantial enough to be the ocean traveller’s first certain glimpse of land. It was the outline of the highest range of the Mountains of the Sun.
Johnny thought that, at that awe-inspiring sight, the Masai began to paddle more slowly and with much less energy. This may have been true; for they certainly glanced often towards the shining peaks with expressions of obvious nervousness. After all, if they could see the mountains, then from those pinnacled towers the devils could also see them approaching … But he soon realised that the current was increasing, that the debris drifting with the stream was travelling very much faster than at any other stretch of the river; and gradually the Masai began to overhaul the canoe of the Bushmen, who were still a man short and were, moreover, in even greater fear of the Powers of the Kob’ei district. To the Masai, the hills were only a distant menace whose strength, though great, had at any rate yet to be proved; while the Bushmen had heard the legends of the strange terrors of the area from their earliest youth. Gradually, therefore, their rate of striking slowed; until the two canoes and the little steamer were no longer travelling in single file, but were moving up the broad river more or less abreast. Encouraging – or possibly threatening – shouts came from Madrid and Demetrius, aboard the Circe; van Kuyp, leaning dangerously over the guard-rail, bawled above the relentless stammer of the engine to Johnny and Schneider.
“We’ll make it. We’ll make it tonight for sure. I guess another
mile’ll see us there.”
“Where?”
“The mouth of the Kob’ei, of course. I don’t reckon the natives’ll go any further than that; but it’s the site we want, anyway.”
“And you think it’s only a mile from here?”
“There or thereabouts,” yelled van Kuyp cheerfully. The Circe was falling back as the wood-boys eased off the steam, and his voice was now fading. “All the signs … subsidence … if I know my … And take a look at the breccia … near ENOUGH.” He waved his hands despairingly, grinned and swayed back to the safety of the deck. Johnny reflected that it was pleasant to see a member of the Expedition in such unmistakable high spirits.
The Bushmen were still looking anything but happy.
Some fifteen minutes later, they rounded a long curve in the river, and, with one accord, lifted their paddles from the water. A great gasp rose from them; Johnny, leaning forward in his uncomfortable seat, looked up the river into the eye of the descending sun and saw the Kob’ei.
The wail of the Bushmen found an echo in a faint cheer from the Circe. Van Kuyp had delivered his Expedition to its site of operations.
There followed half-an-hour of enthusiastic general labour; at the end of which time tents had been pegged, a rough stockade fenced out, a huge fire built and great hunks of buffalo meat set to roast beside it. The edge of the sun was by then touching the horizon, and van Kuyp was reluctantly compelled to admit that the unshipment of the Expedition’s stores had better be left to the morning.
“I’m darn scared,” he said, “that our boys are going to desert us before we get the place into reasonable running order. It’s just no good pretending that they’re exactly comfortable here.”
He spoke indistinctly, his mouth being almost full of buffalo steak at the time. There was a short silence afterwards, everyone else being similarly occupied. Then Madrid said, “I think they’ll stay here while they have work to do. It’s when they’re idle that the Bushmen get nervy … We may lose one or two, but no more.”
She seemed more confident than Demetrius, thought Johnny dubiously.
