A Game of Authors

by Frank Herbert

  “I was a blind moron.”

  “You know what’ll happen to Nita if Raul takes her!”

  “He won’t take her . . . alive.”

  “Patron!” said Medina. “They are assembling canoes and boats along the opposite shore.” Luac turned away from Garson, bent over the Lewis gun, pushed it forward into a patch of moonlight. The fins of the machine gun’s air-cooled barrel cast weird shadows on the floor.

  “Smash the window there to give me a better traverse,” said Luac.

  Medina took up a rifle, swung it by the barrel to shatter the glass.

  Garson crossed to Medina’s side, found a row of rifles across the arms of a chair, took one.

  “Don’t fire until the order is given,” said Luac. “Choco! Give us a little light.”

  Medina fumbled on the seat of the chair, crossed to the door, opened it, stood in the protection of the wall while he aimed something out across the lake.

  A rocket arched from his hand, exploded into brilliance above the lake, drifted down slowly swinging from its tiny parachute.

  In the sudden light, they could see masses of canoes and a scattering of rowboats along the far shore. Men ran from them, scrambled into the shadows of the trees.

  “Shall I sink their navy?” asked Luac.

  “It would be a better object lesson to wait until . . .”

  A rifle bullet splatted into the door beside Medina. He dropped to his knees.

  “That came from this side of the lake!”

  “Where?” asked Luac.

  “The little ridge up there above the graves.”

  “Are the doors all locked in back?” asked Luac.

  “Sí!”

  “Where’s Maria?”

  “Aqui, Patron!” The old woman’s voice came from the darkness behind them.

  “Get down!” ordered Luac. “They will be shooting from the other side in a moment.”

  Medina slipped away from the door, padded away into the darkness at the rear of the house. Presently, he returned. “All bolted down tight. We’d hear anyone before they could get in.”

  Garson was staring to the right, down the lake toward El Grillo’s barrio. In the glare of the flare he could see the entire curve of shoreline. He looked to the left, saw that the ridge hid a short piece of the shore.

  “They will come from the left,” said Garson. “They will try to get into the protection of the ridge, come up the other side until they can infiltrate the whole area.”

  “He’s right,” said Medina. “I believe I’ll go out and discourage them as soon as the flare dies.”

  “Antone!” It was a long, hallooing call from the ridge.

  “Raul!” said Luac. “Don’t answer him!”

  “We know you’re in there, Antone! Come out with your hands up.”

  The flare sizzled to darkness in the lake.

  Medina slipped out the door, faded into the darkness.

  “Come out with your hands in the air!” called Separdo.

  Luac said, “I feel something in the wind. I will give odds that Olaf has arrived.”

  Garson felt a shudder pass over his body, jumped as Anita Luac brushed against his arm, lifted one of the rifles from the chair.

  “A one-man picket line!” snapped Garson.

  “Ahhh, but he was with Villa,” said Luac.

  “And I was with the Marines. This situation stinks!”

  “What do you suggest, Mr. Garson?”

  “Is there a chance that El Grillo will help us?”

  Luac turned his head slightly without taking his attention from the lake. “Maria? What about that? He’s your brother.”

  “Quien sabe, Patron?”

  “Send Maria for El Grillo,” said Garson. “Maybe in the confusion, we could . . .”

  “El Grillo is also Raul’s cousin,” said Luac. “We cannot be sure of him. And there’s another complication.” He hesitated.

  Garson crept up beside Luac. “Yes?”

  “Eduardo was a favorite with El Grillo. What’s your guess on the story Raul gave him?”

  “We’ve got to find out,” said Garson. “Raul doesn’t know yet that Maria’s with us.”

  “But he suspects,” said Luac. “Otherwise, he’d have just walked in, believing all of us in a drugged slumber.”

  Maria’s feet slithered up behind them. She spoke in a heavy accent: “Meester Garson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why deed Raul keel my sahn?”

  “Because Raul found out that your son brought Mr. Garson here to spy on him,” said Luac.

  “I weel go,” she said.

  “It’s very dangerous,” said Luac.

  “Sí. Entiendo, Patron.”

  I understand. The words were spoken very softly and simply.

  “Well, I’m not ordering her out there,” said Luac. “I refuse to participate in any more idiocy!”

  A fusillade of rifle shots rang out along the ridge. Immediately, several probing bullets splatted against the thick adobe of the front walls—all fired from across the lake.

  “Stay down low!” hissed Luac. “Nita?”

  “I’m all right, Father.” Her voice sounded calm, as though she had come to some understanding with herself.

  Presently, Medina scrambled through the front door.

  “I could see you coming down most of the way,” said Luac. “Why didn’t they shoot at you?”

  “Perhaps because they have retreated back off the ridge and into the grove,” panted Medina. “I am hit in the shoulder. It is just a scratch, but I would appreciate a bandage.”

  “What’s it like out there?” asked Garson.

  “It is very open, my friend. There is not much cover on this side of the ridge. I went clear back to the swamp before moving up.”

  Anita Luac came up beside Medina, moved him into a patch of moonlight. “I got the first-aid kit.”

  “Did you get any of them?” asked Luac.

  “One, but I do not think it was Raul.”

  “How many are there?” asked Garson.

  “There is only one canoe on the . . .” He drew in a sharp breath, “Aieee! Madre de Dios!”

  “I’m sorry, Choco,” said Anita Luac. “It’s the only disinfectant we have.”

  “Puro fuego!” he said. Pure fire!

  She tied a bandage around his upper arm. “I can’t see very well, Choco, but it looks like a clean wound just along the edge of the bone and through the muscle. The bullet went right on through.”

  “I have cured such as this with nothing more than a good night’s sleep,” said Medina.

  “You’re not going to get that sleep tonight,” said Garson.

  Medina chuckled. “Sí. I will stay awake.”

  Maria Gomez moved to the door. “Choco! La luz!” she said. The light!

  “What’s going on?” asked Medina.

  “Mr. Garson had the brilliant idea to send Maria for El Grillo.”

  “What could he do?”

  Garson said, “He could come to that mudbank on the right over there where he brought me the first night. He could do it as soon as the moon is down.”

  “As soon as the moon is down, that lake will be swarming with canoes,” said Medina.

  “We could discourage the first swarm with a flare and the Lewis gun,” said Garson.

  “And likely discourage El Grillo in the bargain!” snapped Luac.

  “Not if Maria explains this to him.”

  “I explain,” said Maria Gomez.

  “This is a mistake,” said Luac.

  “Porque la luz?” asked Medina. Why the light?

  “So they see me.”

  “They’ll think she’s escaping,” said Garson.

  “She’ll be a nice clear target,” said Luac.

  “Maybe you shoot at me, too,” she said.

  “No!” snapped Garson. “They know we wouldn’t shoot at you. If we did shoot, they know we couldn’t miss. It’d give the whole show away.”

  �
��La luz, Choco,” she said.

  “What about it, Patron?” asked Medina.

  “I refuse to have any part of this. Make your own decisions!”

  “A flare would be a smart move,” said Garson. “If she went out there in the dark, they’d think it was one of us and just open fire.”

  “There can be nothing smart about an act of stupidity!” snapped Luac. “They will shoot her anyway.”

  “I weel go,” she said.

  “Then I’d better give her the light,” said Medina.

  “Suit yourself!” said Luac.

  Medina found the flare gun, loaded it, turned to Maria Gomez. “Vaya con Dios, Abuelita.”

  Go with God, little grandmother. Garson shuddered, almost called out to stop her.

  Anita Luac moved up beside him. “I’m afraid!” she whispered.

  Again a flare arched over the lake, swung lazily downward.

  Immediately, Maria Gomez moved out the door and across the terrace, going rapidly in her curious shambling walk.

  They watched her unchain the boat, clamber into it, take up the oars and begin rowing across the lake.

  “I told you they wouldn’t shoot!” said Garson.

  “You are speaking too soon,” said Luac.

  The rowboat reached the halfway mark, crossed it. Suddenly, a bullet fired from the ridge splatted the water beside the boat.

  “You see!” barked Luac.

  Another bullet smacked into the stern of the boat at the waterline. The old woman redoubled her efforts, rowing frantically.

  “You made a mistake,” said Luac. “The boat is sinking!”

  “The caribe!” said Garson. “If the boat sinks . . .”

  “She may yet make it,” said Luac. “Nita!”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Let Choco out the rear door. Maybe he can silence those men on the ridge.”

  They ran across the room, into the darkness of the hall.

  “Why’s Raul shooting at her?” asked Garson.

  “Because it’s obvious that she’s going for help.”

  Garson looked up at the swaying flare—another ten minutes of light. “We should’ve shot the flare out lower!”

  Another shot hit the rowboat alongside Maria, showered her with water. They recognized the sharp splat of Raul’s Luger.

  Now, they could see that the boat was sinking rapidly.

  “Why doesn’t he just kill her and be done with it?” demanded Garson.

  “That’s not Raul’s way,” said Luac. “He likes to see the caribe get them alive!”

  Anita Luac returned from the rear of the house, stared out at the lake, turned and buried her head against Garson’s chest. “I can’t look!”

  Another shot from the Luger smacked into the rowboat at the stern. It was followed immediately by the roar of a rifle, and another fusillade sounded from the ridge.

  Less than a hundred yards separated Maria Gomez from the opposite shore.

  They could see groups of men along the other dock and on the shore watching her plight. The rowboat showed less than an inch above the water, moved sluggishly in spite of the old woman’s frantic efforts.

  “Why don’t those men over there do something?” demanded Garson.

  He stared at Maria Gomez struggling beneath the blue-white torment of the flare.

  “What can they do?” asked Luac. “They fear that if they go onto the lake, they will become targets.”

  Garson’s eyes caught movement to the right, pointed. “El Grillo!”

  The gnome figure of the little Mexican bent over a paddle, shooting his dugout toward the sinking rowboat.

  “I think he will be too late,” said Luac.

  Anita Luac looked up, stared fascinated for a moment, again hid her eyes against Garson.

  Something flashed silver and splashed across the foundering gunwale of the rowboat. Maria stood up, struck at it with the oar. She turned, screamed at El Grillo, who redoubled his efforts.

  “Why doesn’t Raul shoot at El Grillo, too?” asked Garson.

  “Choco may be keeping them occupied.”

  Another silver flash leaped the sinking gunwale. Maria tried to climb onto the rowboat’s seat. Her foot slipped, and she fell sideways into the lake. One hand reappeared, vanished.

  Even from the peninsula they could see the water boil with caribe.

  El Grillo’s canoe shot across the disturbed water. He looked down once, then stared at the peninsula. A flick of his paddle turned the canoe back the way he had come.

  The flare came down to the lake, seemed to hover there for a moment, then hissed into the water.

  Garson stared into the darkness, a sick feeling in his stomach.

  Anita Luac looked up at him, a question in her eye.

  Garson shook his head.

  She shuddered.

  “That’s torn it,” said Luac. “We may all be fish food before morning!”

  “I don’t like the quiet on the ridge,” said Garson.

  “That fiend,” said Anita Luac.

  “Do you have any more brilliant ideas, Mr. Garson?” asked Luac.

  “Shut up!” barked Garson.

  As long as he lived, Garson knew he would carry that scene in his mind: the old woman struggling, falling, the water boiling with the terrible fish.

  “Someone’s coming,” said Luac. “It’s Choco.”

  Medina slipped in the door. “I winged Raul!”

  “What’re they doing up on the ridge?” asked Luac.

  “They’re staying put!”

  “Is Raul seriously injured?”

  “I don’t know. He fell, but then he crawled away.”

  “Did you see the . . . lake?” asked Garson.

  “I saw.”

  “If we could only signal El Grillo,” said Garson.

  “Ah, hope,” said Luac. “The carrot on the stick leading us into eternity!”

  “There may be a way,” said Garson. “El Grillo told me to signal him with a white cloth if I wanted him to come for me.”

  “Well, you just go right out there and wave to him now,” said Luac.

  Garson ignored the jibe. “He told me to hang the cloth on a limb near that mudbank where he let me out.”

  “And you believe this will bring him?”

  “Why not?”

  “He might do it, Father,” said Anita Luac.

  “And the sun may rise tomorrow in the west!”

  “Give me a revolver,” said Garson. “I’m going to try to tie a handkerchief on one of those bushes. I’ll want both hands free.”

  “I will do it,” said Medina.

  “You’re wounded,” said Garson. “This one’s easy. It’s away from the ridge where Raul and his men are.”

  “They could be working around behind us right now,” said Medina. “I don’t see why they haven’t already tried.”

  “Maybe you discouraged them,” said Garson. “Give me a revolver.”

  Medina went into the darkness at one side of the room, returned with a bullet-studded belt, a holster and a gun. “This is my last spare thirty-eight,” he said. “Try not to lose it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Garson.

  “And this time, aim two inches lower,” said Medina.

  Anita Luac came up beside Garson. “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “This is another stupidity!” said Luac. “El Grillo will not come for us. He may very well think we’re the ones who killed his sister just now.”

  “Then does he believe in personal revenge?” asked Garson.

  “He’s Mexican!”

  “Then he’ll come.”

  “But if he thinks I . . .”

  “He’ll come,” repeated Garson. “For one reason or another, he’ll come. Because he has a price, or to get revenge on you—he’ll come.”

  “Ahhhhhh,” said Luac. “Now I am relegated to the role of bait! Not yet bait for the worms, but soon enough that, too, eh?”

  “Do you think he could stand
against four of us?” asked Garson.

  “He could stand against a thousand who trusted a fool to guide them!”

  “Maybe there’s a better way,” said Anita Luac.

  “Oh, let him try,” said Luac.

  “Perhaps it will work,” said Medina. He was staring at the shadows of the far shore. “They still are not coming.”

  “They’ve just had an object lesson on why they should stay off the lake,” said Luac. He pointed to the moon-silvered hills beyond the lake. “But they will have their darkness soon. See those clouds.”

  They all moved closer to the window, looked at a line of black clouds moving in across the hills. “It is early for the rains,” said Luac. “But this is the kind of luck we may expect!”

  “What will Raul be doing now?” asked Garson.

  “He is like a wounded tiger,” said Medina. “He is waiting for his moment to leap from ambush!”

  Garson studied the far shore. We’ll be caught like a nut in the jaws of a nutcracker if we don’t get out of here before Raul’s men come down from the ridge and across the lake! And if they catch us on the lake . . .

  He shuddered.

  “The sooner the better,” said Medina.

  Garson buckled the cartridge belt around his waist, settled the revolver in its holster.

  “As soon as I get back, we can shoot up another flare so El Grillo will see the signal.”

  “For luck,” said Anita Luac. She handed him a white scarf. “Tie that to the bush!”

  “The knight goes forth!” muttered Luac.

  Garson stood by the door for a moment. The moonlight on the terrace suddenly seemed to take on the brightness of a searchlight.

  “Stay low and hug the wall,” said Medina.

  Garson nodded, slipped outside, crouched and ran to the right, paused in the shadows at the corner of the house. The muggy warmth of the night seemed to hold a special menace. He steeled himself against the fear that tortured his nerves, moved back along the house to the garden wall, paused.

  The sounds of the insects came to him amplified out of all proportion by his fear-tuned senses. He crouched, crossed an open space to the shadows of a line of bushes, felt the sand of the trail under his feet.

  Stealthily, listening at every step, he worked his way down the trail to the lakeshore. He came to the log where he had hidden the empty revolver, froze as he thought he heard movement behind him. The darkness revealed nothing.