The adult struthies made no attempt to shield their offspring from the horrid sight. It was well known among both human and dinosaurian parents that any attempt to hide something from a child only intensified the child’s desire to learn its secrets. Better always to reveal through explanation than tease with obfuscation. This was a hallmark of Dino-topian education.
Hisaulk let his gaze wander past their prattling captors, past the tectonic architecture of the boneyard, past the flowers and bromeliads and trees, and out into the muggy vastness of the Rainy Basin. His eldest was out there somewhere, alone and afraid.
Keelk, he thought forcefully, you must find help, and find it quickly. Preserve yourself for that.
If these humans were barbaric enough to consume the flesh of the deceased, what might they do one day if they found themselves with nothing to eat in, say, the Great Desert? Might they look differently upon himself and his family? Though many parents would have found such a notion impossible to contemplate, Hisaulk did not shy from the possibility. It was reality, and however distasteful, he had no choice but to confront it.
The inhabitants of Dinotopia had been confronting reality for more than a hundred million years, and as a consequence had managed to survive where others had died out.
Blackstrap raised his cutlass. “Cease your babbling! Haven’t you noticed that the thing’s stopping?”
It was true. Surrounded by the bones of a dozen different creatures, the duckbill had finally halted alongside a fallen forest emergent. Perhaps its roots had been exposed by a heavy rain. The result was a temporary gap in the ferociously competing greenery.
Dropping to all fours, her powerful hips higher than her shoulders and head, the Parasaurolophus inhaled prodigiously. The pirates could hear the whistle of the formidable intake. Venerable lungs expanded to their utmost to contain it all.
Then it was expelled, with such exquisite modulation as to bring a tear to the eyes of several hardened seamen. It was a song, no question about that. A song, and a dirge, intricately crafted and rife with all the memories of a long and vibrant life. That single breath carried it along, high and sweet, for several moments.
When the last breath had died upon the air like a wisp of foam on a receding wave, it took with it the soul of the creature who had done the singing. With great dignity the duckbill slumped down on its belly in the manner of a hound settling itself before a warm fire and closed its eyes. The great chest trembled twice, thrice, like a foresail in the last zephyr of evening, and then was still.
It was over.
“Well, now.” Smiggens wiped self-consciously at his eyes.
“Well, what?” Blackstrap was not in the least moved by the display. “Tfie beast’s up and died. About time, too. I was afraid we were going to have to follow the blasted thing halfway across this bloody island, for surely an island it must be.
“What say you to that, Smiggens? Mebbee fancy a name for the place, do ye? Get your name in the bloody encyclopedia—you’d like that.”
“I’d settle for a footnote,” the first mate muttered tersely.
Blackstrap frowned at him. “What was that, Mr. Smiggens?”
“Nothing, Captain.” The first mate took a deep breath. “Perhaps we can jerk some of the meat.”
“I will see to that,” declared Thomas. “We can fill the ship’s hold easy. Have enough to last all the way ’round Africa.”
Blackstrap gazed past the sphinxlike body. “What think you, Mr. Smiggens? Ought we to take some of these bones back with us?”
“Not a bad idea, but let’s see what else we can find, first. Myself, I’d think live specimens rather more valuable.” The silent, motionless, and as yet undisturbed corpse of the creature they had been following unsettled him. It had died with too much composure for a mere animal.
Or perhaps we do not die with enough, he told himself.
“A skin, now,” he recommended, more to take his mind off the recent passing than for any other reason, “that might be really valuable. Think of the unique boots it could make.”
Blackstrap was ignoring him. Taking note of the mental state of some of his crew, he waded in angrily among them. “Here, now, what’s this!” He turned a slow circle, eyeing each man in turn. “When was the last time any of you cried over a dying dog?”
“Never was the day when I heard a dog sing its own death song, Captain.”
Blackstrap glared back at O’Connor. “Have you not?” Moving close, the captain removed one of several knives from its scabbard and thrust it under the sailor’s chin. “You’ve a fine Irish tenor, Mr. O’Connor.”
The seaman eyed the blade nervously. “Well, now, Captain, I don’t know about that. There’s some who say—”
The point of the knife pricked the Irishman’s throat and he flinched. “Some who say? Why, I says it, Mr. O’Connor. Give us a song, then.”
“What, now?” The seaman looked bewildered.
“Aye. Don’t you want to give us your ‘death song’?” O’Connor was sweating profusely, and not from the humidity. “Captain, I—”
Blackstrap withdrew the blade. “What, no interest? Well, then, let it be something livelier. Something to cheer your mates.” He searched their faces again. “This bloody graveyard could use a spritely tune or two.”
“Right, surely.” So saying, O’Connor promptly launched into an edgy sea shanty, a favorite among the crew. As Blackstrap continued to ignore him, his voice grew stronger, the tune steadier. Several of the others joined in, and their strong voices soon rang off silent bones.
“Listen to them.” Shremaza spoke from beneath the shade of the tree where the family was standing, carefully attended by half a dozen of the alert humans. “They’re making a lot of noise.” She looked around nervously. “Too much noise.”
“I know.” Tilting his head and neck, Hisaulk inspected his restraints. “We have to slip free of these ropes before—”
The smashing of saplings and the snap of breaking branches interrupted his pronouncement. All four struthies turned instantly to the source of the noise. But it was only some innocuous smaller creature, fleeing from the raucous singing. Hisaulk relaxed slightly.
“Not only is there too much noise,” Shremaza went on, “but there is the recent dying.” She nodded toward the silent duckbill who had just made the final passing. The body, like the spirit that had been restrained within, was now at peace.
“There’s nothing we can do. We can’t warn them because they don’t understand us, don’t even want to try to understand us.”
“They’ll find out,” declared Arimat firmly.
“Yes, they’ll find out.” Hisaulk probed the brooding depths of the forest. “I would just rather be somewhere else when they do.”
IX
“A fine job.” Stepping back, Blackstrap surveyed the progress they’d made so far. “What say you, Mr. Smiggens?”
The first mate conceded his approval. “A strong palisade, to be sure, Captain. When it’s finished, this will make an excellent base camp from which to explore the surrounding countryside.”
The circular enclosure crowned a small hillock in the middle of the boneyard. Fashioned mostly of enormous ribs gathered from close by and bound together by lengths of liana, the protective wall they were constructing would form an impenetrable barrier, with the base of each rib firmly posted in the ground and the sharp points facing outward. It would be a foolhardy creature indeed that would attempt to surmount such a fortification.
They intended to fill Fort Dragon, as it was unanimously christened, with booty taken from territory yet to be explored. That they had as yet encountered no sign of such booty did not in the least discourage them.
The simple bone gate was decorated with a pair of skulls also removed from the immense graveyard. Though they noted the glee with which these were mounted, the struthie family did not shudder. Bones were not flesh, and the use of them for utilitarian purposes was not unknown to the civilized inhabitants of Dinotopia.
It was, in fact, a quite acceptable means of honoring the deceased.
Hisaulk would not have thought their captors so enlightened. It was perhaps the first civilized action they had demonstrated.
And thank goodness they had stopped singing.
However, the humans had constructed their temporary habitation entirely too near the recent passing for comfort. The danger had only been postponed, not avoided. Hisaulk and his family remained alert.
Mist and night enveloped the Rainy Basin, enclosing all who dwelled within in damp darkness. Inside the pirates’ encampment a bonfire blazed hot enough to withstand the wandering vapors. Those who benefited from its cheery sputter took turns feeding the crackling pyre, drying the wood they had scavenged or cut before consigning it to the flames.
O’Connor wandered over to engage the first mate in conversation, nodding in the direction of the softly chattering Strutkiomimuses as he did so.
“Sure, and for funny animals they’re plenty vocal. What do you suppose they’re on about, Mr. Smiggens?”
Relaxing on the ground, the first mate didn’t bother to look up as he replied. “Who knows, O’Connor? It’s in the nature of birds to make noise, and these things are very like birds. All they lack are feathers and wings.”
“I’ve seen parrots by the dozen gather on a single branch,” Thomas commented from nearby. “They rattle away like old women on market day.”
“A sort of beautiful, aren’t they?” O’Connor studied their captives.
“Aye.” They all turned to the captain, who had come up behind them. “As pretty as a chest of new-minted coin. They be our fortunes, mates. Now, if we could just manage one or two more, perhaps a little larger next time, I think I might be content.”
Uncharacteristically cold, a gust of dry wind whistled through the camp, ruffling hair and nerves. Thomas scrutinized the sky uneasily.
“Don’t like that breeze, Captain. That storm, she still out there mebbee.”
“Forget the bleeding storm, Mr. Thomas. We be safe enough here, and those aboard the ship will cope. ’Tis that very storm which carried us to this land. Ill luck turned good, says I.” He scanned the surrounding trees, their tops visible above the rampart of bone.
“We’ll mark well the latitude and longitude of this country, har. She’ll become our own private hunting ground, from which we’ll supply the zoological societies and scientific institutions of the world. Not to mention the idle rich, eh? Can you not see the queen herself walking one of our smaller pretties on a jeweled leash?” He nudged his first mate with a foot.
“What think you of that, Mr. Smiggens? After years of plundering and stealing goods and currency, we find ourselves in the blooming pet trade!” Fie guffawed mightily, delighted with his own witticism. The others laughed with him, and even the first mate found himself grinning.
Laughter and smiles alike evaporated as a deeper-throated chuckle sounded just outside the pale palisade.
Thomas gazed nervously at the inner wall. “Did you hear that?”
“Aw, there were nothin’ there to hear.” O’Connor grabbed the other man’s leg and pinched.
The Jamaican jumped, his gaze narrowing. “I warn you, Irishman, don’t do that.”
“See here, you’re spoiling a fine night. It were nothing, man.”
The “nothing” outside the wall growled again, sufficiently distinct and loud this time to convince even the cynical O’Connor. “Mother MacRee,” he muttered. “I hear it now, for sure.”
A grim-faced Blackstrap shoved past them, a revolver in each hand. “Look to your weapons, gentlemen. It seems we have a caller. Apparently there be no respect for the lateness of the hour.”
There was a scramble as guns and swords were drawn and made ready. Everyone except those guarding the captives clustered in front of the fire. As for the struthies, it did not escape the first mate’s notice that they were now standing utterly motionless, gazing out into a night become suddenly sinister.
Vegetation rustled just beyond the fence. Blackstrap whispered to his first mate, “Can you make it out, Mr. Smiggens?” “No, sir. I can’t see a thing.”
“Heard it, though, didn’t you? A lion?”
“That was no lion, Captain.” Instinctively, Mkuse held his rifle out before him, like a spear. “I have heard many lions. They moan or cough. They do not make noises like that.”
For a third time that unearthly growl rolled over them. One man retreated slowly, until the fire singed his pants. “What the devil?” Copperhead was muttering.
“Aye,” murmured Smiggens softly. “The devil indeed.” Beyond the line of anxious men and outside the palisade they had raised, eyes that were curiously intent and intensely curious were examining the structure. It hadn’t been there three days ago, when last this place had been visited. Had the humans violated the unspoken covenant and begun to build in the Rainy Basin? Nothing had been said about it. There had been no mention of any such thing passed among the rain forest tribes.
It was difficult to believe the humans were serious. One swift kick, a simple matter for a fully grown, thirty-foot-long Megalosaurus, could easily collapse the feeble wall they had built.
It blinked at the fire and the milling human shapes silhouetted by the flames. Like every dinosaurian inhabitant of Dino-topia, the megalosaur was intelligent. As did the rest of its kind, it simply rejected the trappings of civilization, preferring
to live in the Rainy Basin in a state approximating that of its ancestors.
This could prove unfortunate for those unlucky enough to stumble across its path.
According to the law, anything that came into the Rainy Basin was fair game, be it a giant sauropod or tiny human. All humans knew that. These humans should know that. It made their presence here as much as their pitiful construction all the more inexplicable.
He considered advancing and breaking through the flimsy wall. The thought of seeing the humans panic and scatter amused him. Saliva dripped between great teeth and down the side of one powerful jaw. Having never had the opportunity to hunt live humans, having never been one of those carnosaurs who’d chosen to confront a caravan, the mega-losaur was somewhat taken with the possibilities. It might be entertaining, and the taste of human was one that had escaped him.
It wouldn’t be very sporting, though. They were not armored, and their only dinosaurian escort appeared to consist of a quartet of Struthiomimuses, who would be worse than useless in a fight. Humans were slow and fragile. Certainly not much of a challenge for a mature megalosaur.
Were they hiding something? The big meat-eater might be slow, but he was not ignorant. One thing humans were notorious for, even within the Rainy Basin, was trickery. Were they tempting him to attack, only so they might unleash some unknown mischief upon his unsuspecting person? Fang and claw could only do so much.
He sniffed hard. These humans reeked powerfully, which in itself was unusual. They also smelled of the ocean, but not of the eels or fish with which travelers through the Rainy Basin usually purchased safe passage from the carnivores who lived there. This absence of tribute was itself reason enough to attack.
Moving closer, the megalosaur peered over the top of the makeshift barrier and into the enclosure. As it did so, it entered the circle of illumination cast by the central fire.
One of the humans let out an ear-piercing shriek and turned to flee. A much larger human with distinctive facial hair intercepted him and struck him on the head with a small, curving device. The first human immediately fell down unconscious.
This struck the megalosaur as exceedingly eccentric behavior, even for humans. Were they playing some sort of game? Or were they hunting each other? The large human showed no signs of trying to eat the one he’d knocked down.
Swerving his great head to the right, he locked eyes with the largest of the Struthiomimuses. There, at least, he encountered the proper quotient of fear. Then the carnivore saw that they were bound arm and leg with ropes, the ends of which were grippe
d by several humans. Definitely some kind of game, the megalosaur decided. The question was, did he want to play?
If so, it would be by his rules.
He struggled to understand. Surely this was the oddest band of humans to enter the Rainy Basin in recent times. Had others of his kind observed such aberrant behavior before? Though conversation between carnosaurs was stilted and infrequent, he resolved to inquire and try to find out.
When he saw the haunch of meat Blackstrap’s party had scavenged, his confusion deepened. Had some humans suddenly turned carnivore? It was rumored that they had once eaten meat, but that was only a rumor, and one the megalosaur had no way of verifying. He knew they ate fish, but that was all.
It made a certain sense, though. Did they not walk on two legs like the great carnivores? Did not their eyes point forward instead of off to the side? Of course, their teeth were altogether inadequate, but they fashioned teeth of metal to cut for them. Wondering as much about their taste as their motivation, the megalosaur was torn between trying to talk to the strangers and eating them. He took another step forward.
Several large bangs resounded and the megalosaur jerked reflexively. The noise came from a handful of long tubes the humans were pointing in his direction. Knowing nothing of fireworks sophisticated or otherwise, he could only blink at the noise. Some small unseen things stung his chest and stomach.
Was this part of the game? Were they inviting him to participate? If so, how ought he to react? Was he supposed to eat the tube holders or ignore them and consume their quieter companions instead? It was at once intriguing and confusing.
The largest human had begun by knocking down one of its own kind. Then had come the tube pointing. The megalosaur considered jumping the fence and knocking down the big human. Would that be considered proper procedure? The human would not survive the attention, of course, though he would make a nice snack.
Again the tubes boomed and flashed, and again something tiny and superfast stung his chest. Reaching across with a three-fingered claw, he scratched at the places that burned, then lowered his head and sniffed of himself. There was an odd odor in the air, as of burned earth.
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