Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  DEBORAH did not answer. She was still remarkably pale. Shivering a little she lit a cheroot and blew smoke through her nostrils.

  “Come!”

  Danton obeyed the officer. Deborah at his side, he was marched through Myapur toward the temple that housed Captain Yakuni. Behind the file followed a horde of natives, gabbling among themselves, and determined to follow Kroo’s priest despite the frequent orders of the Japanese that they disperse. They did not but they stayed at a respectful and safe distance.

  YAKUNI did not rise from behind his improvised desk. His smile was obviously insincere.

  “May I ask an explanation, Dr. Danton?” he suggested. “You need not be seated.”

  “Look, it wasn’t his fault,” Deborah told Yakuni.

  “Silence, please, Miss Hadley. Now, Doctor. In our previous conversation you mentioned hypnotism. And you say you have been in Tibet. I advise you not to try to impress the Burmese natives with trickery. They are unarmed, and you cannot foment a revolt.”

  “I wasn’t,” Danton said. “I couldn’t help what happened.”

  “Then you must be restrained, for your own protection. We need no fakirs in Myapur. I hesitate to have you shot. Imprisonment would be more effective. I am not satisfied with the story you have told me. Once again, Dr. Danton, how did you reach Myapur?”

  “I flew. Or I thought I did. Captain—” Yakuni held up his hand. “From what base did you fly?”

  “Tibet. Near the Ghora Pass.”

  “Why did you come to Myapur? Why the powerhouse?”

  “Delay not the priest of Kroo,” Danton roared abruptly.

  Yakuni jerked back with a startled gasp. The soldiers moved their rifles into position.

  Deborah made a hopeless, inarticulate noise and gripped Danton’s arm.

  “Dan, be careful,” she gasped. “Don’t take off again. They’ll shoot you sure this time.”

  “Ho,” Danton bellowed at the astounded Yakuni. “Bow down and worship Kroo. He shall protect his chosen. Their nation will prosper above all others. Obey!”

  “Dr. Danton,” the Captain said carefully, rising. “I must ask you to modulate your voice. I must also request an apology. As an officer and representative of my country, I cannot allow this insult to pass.”

  “Waste not words,” Danton roared. “Your allegiance henceforth is to Kroo. He shall make you mighty.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Deborah whispered faintly. “He’s really crazy. You mustn’t have him shot, Captain Yakuni. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  The officer slowly unholstered a pistol. “I have said that I am willing to accept an apology. I am a civilized man, Miss Hadley, but I am also a servant of the Son of Heaven.”

  “A false god,” Danton broke in tactlessly. “He shall be overthrown by Kroo’s might. Never dare to refer to your petty god again in Myapur, henceforth the holy sanctum of Kroo. On your knees, dog!”

  Yakuni’s eyes widened.

  “You die!” he said in a shocked voice, lifting his gun.

  Danton, quite helpless now in the grip of the god, went green as he heard his voice, harsh and sonorous, break into a string of incredibly vile oaths. The language was Japanese, but the genesis of the profanity was without time or race.

  It went back to the days of the dolmens, when shaggy brutes first learn to grunt monosyllabic oaths, and it drew color from unknown ages of barbarism. Kroo was not a civilized god. His curses, therefore, were the curses of soldiers and peasants.

  Danton was thankful that Deborah could not understand Japanese.

  But Yakuni and his soldiers could. For the first time Danton saw a Japanese officer lose his studied impassivity. He was quite nonplussed.

  Just as Yakuni, frothing with rage, pulled the trigger of his gun, Danton and Deborah vanished. For once Kroo had shown sound judgment.

  CHAPTER VI

  Kroo Muscles in

  IN THE wink of an eye Deborah Hadley and Danton had been transported from the Burmese temple to the powerhouse. The girl gazed about her at the huge dynamos and transformers in a dazed fashion and blinked her eyes.

  “Whizzing prayer-wheels!” she exclaimed. “How’d we get here?”

  “Kroo,” Danton muttered. “He did it. See? He’s brought the yak, too.”

  That was unmistakable. A yak looks singularly out of place in a powerhouse, but, on the other hand, the beast would seem out of place anywhere, except perhaps the Cretan Labyrinth. Aside from Kroo’s sacred animal and the two whites, the powerhouse was empty.

  “Behold the house of Kroo,” Danton went on in a suddenly changed voice. “The interlopers have been removed. Henceforward it is a sacred place. Only Kroo’s priest may enter.”

  Deborah gulped. “I can take a hint.”

  “Debby! Don’t go—nay! Since you are here, here you stay. You were the first to sacrifice to Kroo. In reward, you shall be Kroo’s priestess.”

  “Not if it makes me talk that way,” she said wanly. “Dan, how can I tell when it’s you and not—not—this Kroo?”

  “My voice is different,” Danton told her. “When Kroo takes over, I roar. Look-out. Here I go again . . . Prepare the temple and make ready the sacrifice! Kroo goes, but will return.”

  There was silence. The yak lumbered forward a few steps, staring glumly at the concrete floor. Distantly came the sound of faint shouts.

  Danton relaxed. “Okay. He’s gone. I—I can feel it. Whew!”

  “Second the motion. Jumping jeepers, Dan, what sort of devil have you got yourself tied up with?”

  “He’s not a devil. He’s a god. Tibetan or something. What he’s up to now only Heaven knows—I don’t.”

  “Well, we’d better start thinking fast,” Deborah said practically. “When Yakuni finds us here, it’ll be blackout and quick curtain. This powerhouse is sacred, all right, but not to Kroo.”

  “Wonder what happened to the men?” Danton brooded. “Kroo said he’d—removed them.”

  “Don’t ask me. But you’ll notice I’m not stepping on any of these piles of cinders scattered around. What’s that?”

  It was a whole cow, its throat cut, sprawled unpleasantly atop one of the silent dynamos. Danton hesitated.

  “Sacrifice, I suppose. Kroo thinks that’s an altar.”

  “Maybe it is to him, but to Yakuni it’s the Ka’aba. Do you realize, Dan, that men have been working since yesterday afternoon to repair one of these dynamos? Something went wrong and production on the bombs had to stop until it was fixed. Yakuni’s been threatening to shoot everybody unless they worked triple-fast.”

  Danton went over and tried out the dead switches. “They don’t work, anyhow. I can’t repair ’em. I’m no technician.”

  “Yakuni’s got technicians, and he’s got a firing-squad, too.”

  Danton’s shrug expressed hopelessness. “So what can we do? Take to the jungle?”

  “I wonder if Kroo hasn’t done us a favor. If we can wreck these dynamos proper—”

  “Uh-huh! I’d forgotten about that. What we need is a bomb. See any?”

  Deborah grimaced. “They don’t keep the bombs here, sap. Those dynamos are valuable. There’s a sledge-hammer. Try that. I’ll see what I can find.”

  Danton hefted the heavy hammer. “Maybe. Well, here’s where I commit suicide, after Yakuni catches up with me.” He swung mightily.

  The weapon was ripped from his hands in a blaze of coruscating flame and sent sailing through the air to smash heavily against the yak, which grunted in a surprised way. Palms singed and tingling, Danton slid down to the floor, gasping for breath and choking inarticulately, conscious that Kroo was trying to make use of his tongue. Without sufficient breath that was impractical. The yak spoke.

  “Traitorous priest, would you break the altar of Kroo?”

  “I—ugh—uh—”

  “False priest and priestess! Prepare to die!”

  Deborah hurried forward. She dropped beside the half-stunned Danton and faced the yak.
>
  “Kroo! Wait a minute. You’re all wrong. That was just part of the ceremony. We weren’t trying to smash your altar.”

  “Lie not,” the yak warned. “Kroo knows all.”

  “Then—uh—then Kroo knows that in this land altars are made of metal, so they’ll ring when they’re struck. Like temple gongs. It’s always done.”

  “That’s right,” Danton seconded weakly. “We were just starting the ceremony.”

  “Oh. Well. You have sinned through ignorance, not wilfully. But remember in future that Kroo’s altars must be treated with due reverence. Only my priest and priestess may approach them, and they must never be touched by human hands.”

  “We won’t,” Deborah murmured. “We’ll remember, I mean.”

  “That is well. And if you should forget—should I find that you have broken my law, then you shall know the wrath of Kroo. Nay, you cannot touch my altars. I lay that geas upon you both. It is forbidden you to do sacrilege in this manner, either wilfully or by chance. I have spoken.”

  Danton managed to nod. “What do you want us to do?”

  “You are Kroo’s mouthpiece. My people approach the temple. None may enter, but you shall stand at the doors and accept their offerings. Tell them Kroo has decreed a holiday. There will be a festival. They must hold games in my honor, as in the ancient days, and all must praise the name of Kroo. Later, I shall show my people how to live. The men must hunt, and women till the soil. The strongest must be chieftain. That way is best.”

  “Look,” Danton said desperately, “I’m willing to go out and tell the Japs what you want, but they won’t listen. They’ll just shoot me.”

  “They will listen,” the yak promised. “Kroo can protect his priest.”

  “Here they come,” Deborah whispered. “Feel okay, Dan?”

  “Candidly, I feel terrible. Stay inside. Duck behind a dynamo where bullets won’t reach you.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “You’re going to do what I say. Jump.”

  Deborah hesitated and then went toward a dynamo. A foot away she stopped, turning a white face back toward Danton.

  “I can’t. I can’t get any closer to it.”

  “My geas is strong,” the yak remarked.

  It was. Danton realized that he and Deborah had been forbidden to lay hands on any of the dynamos, and Kroo’s powers were by no means weak. He made an urgent gesture.

  “You don’t have to touch it. Circle around behind it—that’s right. Now—”

  Danton walked toward the doors, with an outward confidence he did not feel inwardly. The doors burst open at his approach, revealing a mob of Japanese soldiery outside, waiting, apparently, for Captain Yakuni, who was pushing his way through the group.

  Yakuni saw Danton and flung up his arm. “Shoot that man,” he commanded.

  Half a hundred hands moved—and were frozen in sudden stasis. The Japanese turned into statues. Kroo’s power held them motionless. Several men fell over with dull thumps.

  Danton hesitated. A dozen feet away Captain Yakuni stood, trembling a little as he tried to move. The only perceptible result was a slight quivering of his whole body.

  “Uh—I’ve got something to say. There’s no use trying to shoot me—you’re—I mean—” Danton stuck helplessly. Kroo, growing impatient, came to his rescue. The booming voice of the god spoke through Danton’s lips.

  “You come empty handed, and that does not please me. Yet you have come to worship, and for that reason Kroo forgives you all. Hearken now—forsake your weak gods and remember only that Kroo rules Myapur, as he shall some day rule all the world. This is Kroo’s temple. None may enter under pain of death. Hearken again. This day is holy to Kroo. Feast and make merry and sacrifice. Drink mightily and fight mightily. The smell of kumiss is as pleasant as the odor of new-spilled blood.”

  There was a pause. Kroo resumed. “And break not my law,” he roared. “I shall watch, and my lightning will destroy those who show not their gladness at my rule. Go now and obey.” Movement shook the ranks. A Burmese in the outer fringes cried out shrilly.

  “Ai! He is a nat!”

  “I am greater than any demon,” Kroo thundered. “Draw kris and da-knife. Grow drunk with rejoicing.”

  Natives were straggling through the champac trees, few by few. Curiosity and fear brought them. They had heard Danton’s words as they hid among the undergrowth.

  “Form ranks,” Captain Yakuni ordered brusquely, “Quick.” As the soldiers obeyed, he led them toward Danton, but only a few steps. Once again paralysis seized the Japanese.

  “Dogs,” yelled Danton. “Would you enter Kroo’s sacred house? Stand where you are, till I give you word.” The white man’s hand lifted, pointing to a little knot of Burmese. “There is laughter on your faces. That is well. Rejoice.”

  The natives instantly sobered, with wary glances at the Japanese. Kroo roared at them.

  “Dance! Praise Kroo!”

  They danced, unwillingly enough, continually watching Yakuni and his paralyzed cohorts. As it became evident that the Japanese were apparently conquered, the merriment became less strained. Other Burmese trickled out of the forest and joined in the capering.

  Danton nodded benignantly. “You do well. Yet kumiss is needed. Feast and drink in Kroo’s honor.”

  One of the natives mustered up enough courage. “There is but little to eat or drink, sawbwa,” he cried. “The conquerors have taken it all.”

  “Ya!” said Danton, waving his arm, and instantly there appeared a huge pile of edibles on the ground near by, like the overflow from the horn of plenty. There were bottles, too. Danton, staring at the seals and marks on the stuff, realized that Kroo had raided the stores in the Myapur Japanese comissariat. One look at Yakuni confirmed that supposition. The officer was a bright scarlet with impotent rage.

  CHAPTER VII

  Doubting Japs

  THE Burmans, half-starved wretches, did not hesitate long. They flung themselves upon the booty with shrieks of glee. In a minute Kroo had all the celebration he could possibly demand. The natives gorged, glutted, guzzled, and babbled praise to Kroo. Tomorrow they might die, but in the meantime, they ate, drank, and were exceptionally merry.

  “Now,” said Kroo, via Danton, “hearken and obey.”

  The spell of immobility that held the Japanese was broken. Captain Yakuni, pistol in hand, hesitated. His men were looking to him for their cue. Danton could almost follow the thoughts passing through the officer’s mind.

  At last Yakuni muttered a few syllables to the soldiers nearest him. The latter formed into a compact file and marched straight toward the powerhouse doors. Their intention was obvious.

  Before Danton could dodge back out of sight, a black thundercloud sprang into view above his head. Lightning forked from it.

  The half-dozen Japanese soldiers were obliterated, to the sound of a thunderclap. The fused metal of their guns dropped amid a scattering of fine ashes.

  “Dance.” Danton roared. “Obey or die.”

  Yakuni’s lips twitched. “Dr. Danton,” he said suddenly. “I must ask you to halt this—this—nonsense.”

  “Silence. Speak not to my priest without reverence.”

  The cloud muttered ominously. Yakuni’s eyes narrowed. He snapped a quick command, and, in response, the Japanese joined the Burmese natives in their revelry. Puzzled glances were cast at the officer, but the instinct of obedience was too strong for doubt. Too strong, at present.

  The Burmese had a tendency to shy away from the Japs. There was a noticeable lack of camaraderie. Nevertheless, the pagan ceremony of adoration proceeded to Kroo’s satisfaction. Even Yakuni found a bottle and drank from it. If he refrained from dancing, that fact apparently went unnoticed by Kroo, who was slightly intoxicated by the size of his group of devotees.

  Deborah’s voice came from behind Danton. “Dan, what goes? Can I come out now?”

  “Stay where you are,” he advised her over his shoulder. “I’ll let yo
u know.” For Danton was conscious of a false note that the uncivilized, uneducated Kroo did not detect. He knew quite well that Yakuni had not given up. The Japanese mind didn’t work that way.

  He was right. A number of the Japanese soldiers, in their solemn caperings—for none, unlike the Burmese, laughed—had drawn closer to the powerhouse steps. Without warning they closed in on Danton. The precision of the attack was rather admirable. Two of them seized his arms, a third pointed his side-arms at Danton’s head, the thundercloud bellowed, and the ethnologist was yanked vertically into the air, a bullet clipping his shoe-heel. Again there was the flare of lightning.

  The three soldiers were abruptly cremated.

  Kroo lost his temper. The thundercloud expanded tremendously. A drenching rain blasted down on natives and Japs alike, the theatrical effect considerably increased by an incessant barrage of thunder and lightning. A soldier broke for the shelter of the trees, and was destroyed.

  Yakuni was jerked upward as though lassoed. He sailed in a breathtaking arc toward Danton, coming to rest a few feet below the American. The thunder still rolled deafeningly, and Kroo’s attempts to speak through Danton’s human lips were drowned.

  Both Danton and Yakuni were drawn up, until the cloud was small below them, a black, sparkling stain that lay like spilled ink on a tiny relief map.

  “Now,” Kroo said, through Danton to Captain Yakuni, “we can talk. I am displeased with you, yellow man. You are sawbwa here, I think. You would do well to obey me.”

  YAKUNI did not answer, nor did he look down. His face was frozen into impassivity.

  “You will obey. Your men will obey. Else I shall blast them all to cinders, and rip you apart muscle by sinew. Is it understood?”

  Yakuni was silent. Abruptly Kroo revolved the officer on his axis at such a speed that he was a mere blur to Danton’s eyes.

  “Is it understood?”

  “Yes,” Yakuni said, once more motionless. “I agree.”

  “Ya! Then go down to the village with your men and hold festival. Worship Kroo. Have trial by combat, so that blood may flow, and the strongest may be proved Old Man of Kroo’s tribe.”