by Gee, Maurice
‘Lord.’ One of the guards came gliding forward. ‘Someone approaches in the tunnel.’
Odo Cling listened. He showed his teeth in a grin. ‘I thought he would not be long.’ Susan, too, guessed who it was whistling that cheerful tune as he stumped along in the dark.
Cling waved his whip. ‘Prepare. We must welcome our friend.’
Two of the guards flattened themselves against the rock, one on each side of the tunnel. The rest moved off a little way, dragging Susan with them. They stood in a group, with Odo Cling at their head.
The whistling became louder. It was some gold-town shanty, Susan thought. She wanted to cry a warning, but even more she wanted to see someone from her world. Jimmy Jaspers, when he came stumping into the grey light, was the first thing that had made any sense since she had come out of the tunnel. He saw her, saw the waiting party, gave a grin.
‘Ah, you got ’er? I done all right, Mr Cling. Now I’ve come fer me gold.’
Odo Cling smiled. ‘Welcome again to O, Jimmy Jaspers. You shall have your reward.’
‘Where is it, then? A sack o’ gold, yer said.’ He came down the sloping rock to them, and at his back the two Deathguards glided silently.
‘The smoke? The bottle? You have brought me that?’ Odo Cling said.
‘Durn it, no, I fergot,’ Jimmy Jaspers said. ‘I’ll chuck it away when I get back.’
Odo Cling grinned. ‘No matter. When some fool finds it and opens it the smoke will escape and that will be that. The tunnel will be closed. Until of course we take our armies through to conquer your world.’
‘’Ere,’ Jimmy Jaspers said, ‘yer never told me nothin’ about that.’
‘There are many things I did not tell you.’
‘Yer don’t own this world yet from what I can see.’
‘No. But soon we will.’ Cling flicked his whip at Susan. ‘She was the last danger. Now we have her. Thanks to you, Jimmy Jaspers. You have been an excellent servant.’
‘You Halfies is a tricky lot. Gimme me gold. I’m gettin’ back.’
‘So you can warn them? Ah no, Jimmy Jaspers.’
The two guards slid in closer. Susan could stand it no longer. ‘Look out,’ she screamed. ‘Behind you.’
Jaspers lumbered round, but he was too slow. The guards moved like shadows, seized his arms, forced him on his knees.
‘Eh, eh,’ he cried, ‘what’s this? I kept me word. I done me part.’
‘And now I have no more use for you,’ Odo Cling smiled.
‘Yer promised me. Yer said yer’d give me gold.’
‘I shall give you something better. Death.’
‘Yer bloddy twister. I’ll get yer fer this.’
‘Ha! Amusing. I like you, Jimmy Jaspers. But you are a Mixie. All Mixies die. It is the law. I shall have them kill you quickly though. That is your reward.’
‘Yer can’t do this. Yer’ a bloddy ratbag.’
‘Take him,’ Odo Cling said.
The guards jerked Jaspers to his feet and dragged him back to the tunnel entrance.
‘No, no,’ Susan cried. She struggled to get free.
‘’Elp me, girl. I’m sorry fer what I done.’
‘I can’t help,’ Susan cried. She fought and twisted, but could not escape.
The guards hauled Jimmy Jaspers into the dark. Odo Cling made a sign. A third guard ran up to the tunnel mouth, drawing a long knife from his robes. He went inside. Susan turned away. She began to cry. Her hands were tied at her back and she could not wipe her face.
Bellows of rage came out of the tunnel as Jimmy Jaspers fought. But in a moment they were cut off in a yelp of pain. Something heavy fell on the rock floor. Susan turned around. The three guards came out, one of them wiping his knife on his robes.
‘So end all Mixies,’ Odo Cling said.
‘You promised him gold. And you killed him,’ Susan sobbed.
‘Promises to Mixed men do not exist. But he betrayed you, yet you cry for him. Most amusing.’
‘Does killing people amuse you?’
‘Yes. Yes indeed. It is the best thing. Pain and death. But enough. We have a long way to go. Darksoul waits. Bring her.’ He started off down a track leading from the platform by the tunnel.
Susan threw a last desperate look behind her, then was pushed roughly along by the guard at her back. She stepped down to the track and went zig-zagging through shale and stunted trees. The black sun was low in the sky. Far below, a river wound towards the fringe of a forest. She guessed Odo Cling was heading for some camp down there and hoped to reach it before night fell.
When the path levelled out she threw a glance behind her but the tunnel was hidden by the brow of the hill. The file of guards coming down made a black zed on the slope. They were, she thought, like a band of Inquisition monks going to watch someone burned at the stake. She trotted desperately after Odo Cling. He was the worst of them, but at least he had said he meant to keep her unharmed for the time being. They crossed a narrow plateau and before starting down the slope beyond it she turned and saw the tunnel in view again. It had shrunk to an insignificant mark on the face of the cliff. She wondered how she would ever find it again if she escaped. Then she almost gave a cry. Something moved up there. It fluttered like a bird in the tunnel mouth. She could not see, she could not quite make out … Then the guard behind gave a hiss and sent her reeling with a thrust of his palm. They went in file down a new slope, and the tunnel was lost. She knew she would not see it again. But something had moved. She did not even know if it was human. As they went down the shaly slopes, across the plateaux, through a landscape without variation or colour, she clung to that movement as her only hope.
They walked for an hour or more. She saw she had been wrong about reaching a camp. The black sun slid down into the haze beyond the forest and still they seemed no closer to the river than when they had started. Blackness began to grow like a fog in the air. They came down a steep hill, turning among thorny trees, and at the bottom Odo Cling held up his hand.
‘Here.’
It was no camp, simply a place to stop. Coarse grass grew among the stones. Odo Cling sat down. He pointed. A guard forced Susan down.
‘Give her water.’
She was feeling dizzy and breathless and wanted time to recover, but someone thrust the neck of a flask in her mouth and she drank lukewarm water tasting of mothballs. Odo Cling was eating from ajar brought by one of his men.
‘Feed her.’
‘No,’ Susan said, ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You will eat. We have five days to march. I do not want you dying.’
A hand thrust something grey at her mouth. ‘No.’ She twisted her head away. At once another guard sprang forward. He seized her jaw, forced her mouth open. The first man pushed something slimy inside. Then her mouth was forced shut. Fingers clamped her nose. She had to swallow. It felt horrible – slimy, thick, cold – but the worst part was that it had no taste. It was like swallowing pieces of greasy plastic. They fed her half a dozen, then Odo Cling said, ‘Enough.’
She gasped and gagged for a while but the food stayed down.
‘Now you will sleep.’
‘I want to wash,’ she managed to say.
‘Tomorrow. When we reach the river.’ He signed to one of his men, who took a blanket out of his pack and spread it on the ground.
‘Lie on it,’ Cling said.
Susan obeyed. The man folded the blanket over her. She shivered. The spiky grass and stones hurt her sides.
‘I can’t sleep with my hands tied.’
‘Do you think we mean to let you escape Mixie?’
‘It hurts.’
‘Quiet. Another word and I will have you whipped.’
All around the men of the Deathguard were arranging themselves for sleep. They curled up like cats in their black robes. Two men walked silently round the rim of the camp. Two more stood at her head and feet. A night black as coal came down. Later there was a faint lightening as a moon rose be
hind shifting clouds. She glimpsed it from time to time and it was coloured like pewter and had markings her moon did not have. She slept a little, and woke whimpering. A guard hissed at her. Suddenly Odo Cling’s face was bending over her. ‘I told you to sleep.’
‘I can’t. I’m cold. I’m aching all over.’
Cling made an angry sound. He fumbled at his neck. All the guards kept a little bag of something there, and sniffed at it from time to time. Cling, too, had a bag. She had seen him put it to his nose several times on the walk down from the tunnel. Now he thrust it at her face.
‘No. No.’
‘Sniff. Then you will sleep.’
‘No.’
He seized her hair. She cried out with pain. But the hard little bag came down under her nose and over her mouth and a carbide reek filled her and she felt herself hurled into sleep as though by a great blow on her head. For the rest of the night she dreamed hideous dreams that had no shape, that were all twisting and whirling and falling into black pits with no bottom. When she woke in the morning her face was salty with tears. She knew she could not go through another five days of this.
They fed her again and then Odo Cling had her hands untied and let her wash at a small spring in the side of the hill. Guards stood at her back with knives drawn. When they came to tie her again she said, ‘Please, tie my hands in front. I won’t try to escape.’
‘No.’
‘I’ll walk faster.’
Odo Cling thought. ‘No tricks, Mixie.’ He signalled the guards. ‘Tie them in front.’ They bound her tight, eyeing the mark on her wrist. Cling seemed in a good mood. ‘Here.’ He walked to the edge of the slope and looked out over the falling land. A guard brought Susan to his side. ‘See,’ Cling pointed, ‘tonight we will reach the forest. Then three days to Sheercliff. Then down out of this stinking air into the glory of Darkland. There you will meet Otis Claw.’ He grinned. ‘I do not know what he plans for you Mixie, but I shall be there to enjoy it all.’
Susan shivered. She tried to concentrate on the view in front. Although much of it was still in shadow, things stood out with a clarity they had lacked the night before. The forest was tar-black. It ran on and on like a huge rumpled blanket on the land. The river curved into it and vanished. She could not see the place Cling had called Sheercliff, but guessed it would be a drop in the land. The forest stopped over there and gave way to a grey murkiness, like an oily pond, spreading out on the horizon. Sunlight gleamed on it. She guessed it was a kind of smog. Underneath lay the place Odo Cling called Darkland. What was that? And who was Otis Claw? She shivered again and looked behind her. The guards were drawn up in a file, ready to move out. Beyond them the land climbed into the sky. Huge grey hills filled the horizon. Here and there the peaks of mountains rose. A dark glow showed where the sun would rise over them. The mountains ran north-east, so Darkland and Sheercliff were off to the west.
She turned to Odo Cling. ‘I don’t know where I am or why I’m here.’
‘You don’t need to know.’
‘I’ve got a right. You’ve taken me away from home.’
‘There is no home. And Mixies have no rights. Halfmen rule O. That is enough.’
‘I don’t know any O. I don’t belong here. I’m from Earth.’
Odo Cling sneered. ‘Look at your wrist. You belong.’
‘What is it? This mark?’
‘The less you know the less dangerous you are. Enough talk. March. We have a long way to go.’
They started off again. Susan was third in line, behind Cling and one of the guards. She walked more easily with her hands tied in front. She began to wonder if she could dart off to one side and escape among the boulders beside the track. But the guard behind was never more than a step away. He hissed each time she turned to look at him. By midday she was exhausted. They stopped to eat and she sprawled on the ground. When a guard brought her a jar of the grey meat she ate it almost hungrily. She knew she must keep her strength up.
In the early afternoon the track was easier. It ran over a plain where the only obstacle was an occasional outcrop of rock. Susan kept up easily. She began to feel strong and made up her mind that next time she saw a chance she would try to get away. Then, if she could find a sharp stone and cut the rope round her wrists, she should have a good chance of finding her way back to the tunnel – and maybe whatever it was she had seen moving around up there would help her find her way back through the spinning dream to her own world.
They came to the edge of the plain. A long slope fell away to the river and forest. It was broken country, full of ravines and gorges and clumps of trees, and boulders sharp as knives that pointed every way. She felt elated. Surely her chance would come in there. They started down. The path dropped sharply, curving round boulders and cutting across cliff-faces. They went by tumbling streams and waterfalls. Then Susan thought she saw a perfect place. On the left the ground sloped down from the path, then dropped out of sight into a black ravine; but on the right a cleft showed in the cliff. It was full of trees and boulders, closely packed, just right for someone her size to scramble through. If she could get in there she would leave these men in their flapping robes far behind. She grinned with determination.
Odo Cling passed the cleft without a glance. The guard went past. Then Susan came to it. There was a tree bending low to the path and as she came level she took two quick steps, jumped on the trunk, ran along it like a path, and began to haul herself over the boulders. As soon as she was clear of them she would be in the cleft, and climbing, and none of the guards would get near her. There was a slapping of feet on stone, a scrambling sound of hands, a clink of knives. She heard Odo Cling screeching commands. And then it was she saw she had misjudged. The final boulder was too sleep for her. She felt for hand-holds desperately, but the surface was smooth. She looked about for ways to go. There was no time. The first guard had her. She spun around, saw his eyes burning, smelt his carbide breath, and saw his knife. She gave a scream. But he did not mean to kill her, only to hold her. His free hand came down on her wrist. He was too eager. He had forgotten. He grasped her by the wrist that had the mark.
At once a flat explosion rattled the air. Susan felt nothing. But the guard gave a shriek as the force in her picked him up and hurled him end over end like a stick, down from the boulders, over the track, on to the sloping ground. He came down like a huge black legless bird, tumbled helplessly in a spray of shingle, and vanished with a shriek into the ravine. A cry came floating up. Then there was nothing.
Susan turned again and tried to run. But in her pause a guard had scrambled up another way and stood above her. Two others came sliding along the rocks. Before she had taken half a dozen steps knives were pricking at her breast and throat. She stopped and stayed absolutely still. She saw their red eyes bulging. These men were aching to kill her.
Odo Cling stood on the path. ‘Tie her. Hands behind.’ And when that was done, ‘Bring her.’ They tumbled her down from the boulders. She fell on her knees at Odo Cling’s feet.
‘So Mixie, you have killed one of my men. I shall make you suffer.’
‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’
‘I should throw you down to join him. I should throw you to the jackals.’
‘I don’t care what you do.’
‘You will care.’ He flicked his whip at her cheek. She felt it burn like fire. He laughed. ‘That is just a taste. And now we will see how you like travelling in a throttle.’ He jerked with the whip and a guard brought a leather collar from his pack. It had ropes running through it. He placed it over Susan’s head and pulled it tight on her throat. A guard in front took one rope and a guard behind the other. ‘On your feet, Mixie. Any tricks and either one of them can throttle you.’
So they walked through the afternoon. They went through gorges, down the sides of cliffs on paths that would have troubled a goat, tracked across shingle slides, walked on slimy stone beside black streams, and all the time Susan felt that wicked collar pressing on he
r windpipe. She took care with every step. One slip and the guards would choke her.
The sun was going down when they reached the river. They crossed by a ford and made camp on the edge of the forest. The trees were close-packed and the dark in there was more intense than any Susan had ever seen. She wondered if tomorrow they would travel in the forest. But she had no strength left to be frightened. She drank when a flask was thrust into her mouth and ate more lumps of slimy meat. Then she lay down and tried to sleep. She knew better than to ask Odo Cling to have her hands untied or have the collar taken from her neck. The guards at her head and feet had the ropes tied round their waists. Every time she swallowed she felt the leather pressing on her throat. She tried not to move, tried to breathe softly. Whatever happened, she did not want Odo Cling pressing his horrible sniffing-bag under her nose.
She managed to doze for a while, and woke when the guards were changing. She lay still as everything settled down. Now and then distant animal cries came from the forest. Once a bird like a morepork sounded close. Tears ran down her face. She would never hear real moreporks again, or see fantails, or see her mother and father, or her dopey cousin, Nicholas Quinn. She tried to wipe her face on her blanket. The guard at her head gave his rope a jerk. Then he leaned down and loosened the collar so she could breathe. After a while she dozed again.
She woke with the moon on her face. Grey light filled the campsite. Boulders gleamed in the grass and the trunks of the trees in the forest stood out like an army of soldiers. Something had woken her. Cautiously she turned her head and looked about. The men wrapped in their robes slept without moving. Odo Cling lay only an arm’s length away. His breath sang horribly in his nose. Watchmen paced by the forest and river. The guards at her head and feet stood still as stone. Everything was normal. Yet something was wrong. She felt it. Or perhaps something was right. She felt a thrill in her blood at the thought. Then the answer came – a birdcall from the forest.
‘Morepork.’ A long pause. ‘Morepork.’
She felt herself almost choking with delight and anguish. There was no mistake: a morepork, a bird from her world. But somehow she knew it was more than that – she knew it was a message for her alone. Someone from her world was out in the bush, making that call. Someone was coming to rescue her.
