‘Because I arranged that,’ replied Oakley. ‘When you and your pals get back to London—with gold or without—you’ll have to thank me for some pretty rapid thinking. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll do a spot of rapid talking as well, because I reckon the Chief must now be entering the seventh lap, which only leaves three more. Here are the other things I have so far arranged for you. Listen, mark, and digest. Item, that you must be alone when you eat. Gods do not actually eat—they spirit food away, and it is a very private performance. Item, you like solitude. Gods have to get through a great deal of pondering, and Oomoo, the God of Storms, has to decided which seas he shall whip up and which he shall calm down. Thus, you will be visited periodically, but never—we hope—for long sessions. Item, you are not to be touched. That was an easy item to arrange, for they are as afraid of you here as you are of them.’
‘Go on!’ murmured Ben incredulously.
‘Item,’ continued Oakley, after a glance towards the inner curtain, ‘if a situation gets beyond you, or if you feel your nerve snapping, lift both your arms and place your hands upon your head. That will imply that you are falling into a divine trance and that you must have immediate solitude. In other words, it will mean, “Scoot!” Admit I am doing all I can for you.’
‘I’ll leave yer me skull in me will,’ answered Ben.
‘Item, remember that gods never move off their pedestals or seats. Not in public, anyway.’
‘Yus, but I’m gettin’ stiff,’ said Ben.
‘You must suffer the penalty of greatness,’ answered Oakley. ‘It will only be, we hope, for twenty-four hours. Item, do not take any risks or play any tricks. In other words, don’t “get funny.” One false move may ruin everything.’
‘Wot’s the hitem if I sneeze?’
‘The hope that it will be interpreted as godly wrath. Possibly it may be safe to sneeze here, in the Chief’s house. In the Temple of Gold, it will be more hazardous. In fact,’ added Oakley, with uncomfortable significance, ‘it is in the Temple of Gold that our real trouble will begin. The Chief is fairly simple. Any clever sharper could play the three-card trick on him. The High Priest is a very different matter. Now I must go.’
‘Oi! ’Arf a mo’!’ gasped Ben as Oakley began to move. ‘Wot ’appens if ’Is Nobs comes ’ere?’
‘His nobs?’
‘The ’Igh Priest?’
‘Oh—that’s not very likely,’ replied Oakley. ‘He’s an exclusive old fellow. He hardly ever leaves the precincts of the Golden Temple.’
‘Yus, but s’pose terday is one o’ the ’ardly evers?’
‘In that case, you must certainly not sneeze.’
‘Wot’s ’e like?’
‘A description of him does not exist.’
‘’Ave a shot!’
‘Well—how about a tall skeleton thinly covered with yellowish flesh?’
‘Lumme!’ muttered Ben miserably. ‘I wish I could go ’ome.’
‘I’m doing my darndest to get you there,’ Oakley reminded him.
‘Tha’s right,’ nodded Ben. ‘I ain’t fergettin’. But where are yer goin’ now?’
‘To see the others who share your wish.’
‘Well, give ’em Oomoo’s love, and doncher be gorn long. I feel like a ship wot’s lorst ’er rudder when you ain’t ’ere. Oh, and ’ere’s another messidge fer ’em. Tell ’em ter fergit that there gold, see? It ain’t ours, and gawds don’t steal. See?’
Oakley had turned to go, but now he turned back for a moment, and peered into Ben’s solemn face.
‘You’re a queer blighter,’ he remarked. ‘I can’t recall ever having met anything quite like you before. I’ll give them your message, but I don’t imagine they’ll pay any attention to it. After all—they’re human.’
‘Well, so are the black johnnies, ain’t they?’ answered Ben. ‘I mean ter say—well, ain’t they?’
Oakley smiled gravely.
‘I’ve an idea you’re going to be a bit of trouble, Ben,’ he said.
‘If yer goin’ ter git trouble, yer might as well give it,’ replied Ben. ‘Fair’s fair!’
9
Wooma and Gung
‘Well, Miss Sheringham,’ said Tom Haines, ‘how do you like pleasure-cruising?’
They were sitting on a slab of rock. Around them was a tall, encircling palisade of the inevitable bamboo, similar in design to that which, at the same moment, encircled Ben; but the hut it enclosed, and which formed their temporary indoor quarters, was smaller and less imposing. It was, in fact, the island prison.
‘I prefer a cruise that sticks to its programme,’ replied Ruth, after a pause. ‘This wasn’t advertised on the posters, you know.’
‘Yes, you’ve a case against the Company,’ smiled Haines.
‘I’ll ring up my solicitor first thing after breakfast,’ she smiled back.
They were the only two who seemed able to smile. On another rocky slab a little way off, Smith and Miss Noyes were sitting side by side in doleful silence, while Lord Cooling and Ernest Medworth were inside the hut, gloomily examining its dimensions and dirt draughts. A couple of native spearmen, hovering around them with suspicious curiosity, added to the discomfort.
‘And, talking about breakfast,’ added Ruth, ‘do we get any, do you suppose?’
‘Bound to,’ answered Haines, optimistically. ‘If our gaolers forget, Oakley will probably come along and remind them.’
‘Expect so,’ she nodded. ‘The question is less if we’ll get any than if we’ll want any! Do you know, I feel so far from civilisation already that I can hardly believe people are sitting down to coffee and ham and eggs at this very moment!’
‘To Oakley, after three years, they must be entire theories.’
‘What do you think of our Mr Oakley?’
‘I can’t help rather liking him.’
‘Same here—only—is he bats?’
‘I don’t blame him, if he is.’
‘Rather not. If we stay here a week, we’ll all be bats by the end of it.’ She dug her heel into the ground and regarded her bedraggled shoe. Had this disgraceful footwear once tempted her into a shop in Bond Street? ‘But meanwhile, Mr Haines, it won’t add to the comfort of the island if we find that our Mr Oakley’s brain is wonky.’
‘He talked some good sense.’
‘I believe most of them do between their spasms. But in spite of his sense, he seems to me to be mentally—upside down. While he’s talking I get a queer feeling that, if somebody came along and cut him in half, he’d just go on talking and saying it didn’t matter. Ugh!’ She gave a little shiver. ‘I’m glad you’re here, anyway. If you weren’t, I’d—’
She paused, and stared at her shoe harder than ever.
‘Well, I am here, Miss Sheringham—and I’m glad I’m here, too,’ he answered. ‘So that’s that.’
‘I’ve got a suggestion,’ she said after a moment. ‘My first name’s Ruth. Suppose you use it? It won’t mean that we’re going to marry each other and live happily ever after—just that it’ll seem more friendly. I say, am I getting hysterical?’
‘Not a bit!’ he laughed. ‘I think you’re wonderful. And I agree with you. My name’s Tom.’
‘Hallo, Tom!’
‘Hallo, Ruth!’
She giggled. She was on the verge of hysterics. She had been hugging on to herself for hours, and during that grim march through the forest she had nearly collapsed, though nobody had known it … Now, suddenly, she heard herself giggling, and stopped abruptly while she could.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said in response to his anxious glance. ‘I’m all right. Only we mustn’t get sentimental, or you’ll see a strong woman weep. What do you suppose the others are talking about?’
Haines turned his head. Smith and Miss Noyes were not talking about anything. They were still sitting side by side in moody silence. Cooling and Medworth were just issuing from the hut.
‘Shouldn’t we all have a confab or something?’ asked Rut
h.
‘Not much good, till Oakley comes along with some news,’ replied Haines.
‘Suppose he doesn’t come along?’
‘He’s promised to. He told me he’d have to go with the major part of the procession when it split. I should think that, at the moment, our little stoker needs his assistance even more than we do.’
She nodded, and her face grew grave.
‘Poor little stoker!’ she murmured. ‘What on earth is going to happen to him?’
‘I’m fairly good at riddles,’ replied Haines, ‘but that one beats me, Ruth.’ She smiled slightly as he pronounced her name. But one thing’s certain. If Oomoo can’t save us, we’ve got to save Oomoo.’
‘Carried unanimously,’ she answered. ‘There’s something about that funny little fellow that—that makes me want to tuck him up in bed and put him to sleep.’
‘I’m not sure, though, that Ardentino isn’t the one we ought to be most anxious about,’ Haines went on frowning. ‘He was an idiot to bolt off like that. He’ll probably get it hot when they catch him.’
‘Perhaps they won’t catch him?’
‘In the long run they’re bound to. This is an island, not a Continent with frontiers!’
He rose as he spoke. The rock on which he had been sitting was at the foot of a little mound. He began to climb.
‘What are you doing?’ exclaimed Ruth sharply.
‘Going to have a squint over the prison wall,’ he answered. ‘I can get a view from the top.’
‘Be careful!’
‘It’s quite safe. Come along, too, if you like. Maybe we’ll see our film star hanging on to the top of a tree!’
She jumped up and joined him. It was an easy climb, but he took her hand in case she slipped. That at any rate was the excuse he gave himself. Below them their companions watched, and Cooling and Medworth approached the mound. The two spearmen consulted, but did not interfere.
‘What’s the idea?’ called Medworth.
‘To improve my knowledge of the geography of the island,’ Haines called back.
‘Well, when you’ve improved it, come down and talk to us,’ said Medworth. ‘We’re going into conference.’
‘Waste of time without Oakley,’ replied Haines as Ruth glanced at him.
‘Opinions differ!’ retorted Medworth, looking at Cooling. ‘Oakley’s going to do what we tell him!’
‘Let us hope,’ Cooling corrected dryly. ‘Meanwhile, kindly give us a geographical report.’
The two climbers reached the top. They were now several feet above the height of the fence, and a considerable portion of the island came into view. They saw the dark forest through which they had been marched, sloping gently towards the sea. The shore was invisible from where they stood, but a great expanse of sea glittered with almost unnatural brilliance to the horizon, and above rose the blue dome of the Pacific sky.
‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ said Haines.
‘I prefer the Outer Circle of Regent’s Park,’ she returned.
‘Perhaps, though that would make our position a bit zoological. I feel rather like a baboon as it is! Well, do you see our friend clinging to a tree?’
They strained their eyes. There was no sign of Ardentino. Then they turned, and gazed in the opposite direction. The gradual rise continued for a distance, then became a stiff climb through more forest country to a high peak. Studying the line of the sea horizon, and following it round to its two visible limits, Haines deduced that unless the island were considerably longer than it was broad the sea could not be far beyond the peak, and that the ground must drop sharply into the ocean.
Near the foot of the stiff ascent could be seen the unprepossessing roofs of the village of skulls. His keen eyes easily identified the gruesome objects on the poles, and he hoped that Ruth’s sight was not quite so good. But his main interest was a point of light that gleamed from the peak. The sun’s rays had caught something there, and was turning it into a little golden eye.
‘What are you staring at?’ cried Medworth. ‘Must you keep it to yourself?’
‘You can come up and stare, too, if you like,’ said Haines. ‘I imagine it’s the Temple of Gold.’
‘By Jove, is it?’ exclaimed Medworth, and made for the mound.
Smith and Miss Noyes advanced, also. They had shaken off their stupor, and had joined the group. But a sudden voice behind them made them turn. A stout native bearing a long, troughlike vessel had entered the compound and was demanding their attention.
‘Wooma!’ he cried, as though he were announcing a distinguished visitor. ‘Wooma! Wooma!’
He placed the trough on the ground and pointed to it.
‘Wooma!’ he repeated solemnly.
Lord Cooling, sighing for his lost monocle, advanced towards him.
‘Do we understand,’ he inquired, with a sarcasm entirely lost on his audience, ‘that this evil-smelling concoction is Wooma?’
‘Wooma,’ said the native again, and thumped his massive chest.
‘I think we may take it, ladies and gentlemen,’ observed Cooling turning to the others, ‘that this is Wooma. Wooma, moreover, that our chef has killed, caught, grown, or stunned himself. You will note that he is beating his chest with a sort of gastronomic vanity. Our next question is—what is Wooma?’
He bent over the trough, held his nose, and examined.
‘I record, with relief,’ he reported, after the examination, ‘that Wooma appears to be one of the very lesser vegetables, happily unknown in the British Isles. This brings us to our final question. Assuming that we eat Wooma—possibly a rash assumption—how do we eat it? It is evidently a communal dish. Do we say, “One, two, three, go!” and then fall upon it with our naked fingers? Or do we descend on all fours, and devour it like puppies? How lost one feels here without Mr Oakley!’
‘Very humorous, his lordship, isn’t he?’ murmured Smith miserably, to Miss Noyes.
‘And very wise,’ Miss Noyes murmured back with equal misery. ‘They say it was our sense of humour that won the war.’
The chef now turned and darted away. A few seconds later they saw him returning with another trough.
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Lord Cooling. ‘Is he bringing us more? Are we going to have one each?’
The suffocating theory was pleasantly dispelled by the contents of the second trough. It was filled with fruit, some of which they almost recognised. Placing it on the ground, the native shouted, ‘Gung!’ and once more thumped his chest, implying this time that he had picked the gung. Then he pointed from the trough to his mouth. Then he seized a piece of fruit, rubbed it rapidly along his teeth, and threw it back. Then he cried, ‘Sweeze!’ and did it all over again. His attitude was quite friendly, and he was clearly doing his best to help.
‘Thung,’ said Lord Cooling.
It was a mistake. The native’s friendliness vanished. He leaped into the air, his eyes rolling. The spearmen shook their spears. Then the native rushed from the compound howling. His howls were echoed by the other natives outside.
‘I hoped it might mean, “Thank you,”’ sighed Cooling. ‘Thung for gung. Evidently, it did not. Well, let us eat. Personally, I shall go direct to the second course.’
Ruth and Haines had descended, and now six hungry mortals ate the strangest breakfast of their lives. Its strangeness was not decreased by the fact that the spearmen joined them.
10
The Shadow of the High Priest
Oakley did not arrive for an hour. When he came his expression was grim.
‘I don’t like your face,’ said Lord Cooling.
‘I was never too fond of it myself,’ replied Oakley. ‘Let’s go into the Ritz and talk about it.’
‘Ritz?’ murmured Smith uncomprehendingly.
‘Well, pigsty, then,’ corrected Oakley, jerking his head towards the prison hut. ‘We’ll be quieter in there. These natives can’t understand our lingo, but we might as well keep ’em outside in case any of you faint or anything.’
‘I applaud your suggestion, Mr Oakley,’ said Lord Cooling, ‘but how, exactly, does one “keep ’em outside”? According to my short experience, when they are least wanted they possess a positively leech-like habit.’
‘Like this,’ responded Oakley, and turned to the spearmen. ‘Choo!’ The spearmen wheeled round and withdrew to a distance, though they seemed a little sad about it. ‘Cannibal for “Buzz off.” You can remember it by thinking of the last half of a sneeze. I’ve written out a little conversation guide, by the way, to help you with some of the choicer expressions. I’ll give it to you later.’
‘Do they do everything you tell them to?’ inquired Haines, as they moved towards the hut.
‘No, only the little things,’ answered Oakley. ‘Going away and coming back, and stunts like that. But they’d pull their own ears off if the High Priest issued the instruction.’
‘I don’t think I’m going to like the High Priest,’ commented Cooling.
‘I know you’re not,’ observed Oakley, ‘but when he comes do your best to look pleasant.’
‘Eh? When he comes?’ exclaimed Medworth.
‘Yes—that’s one of the pretty tit-bits I’ve got to tell you about.’
They entered the hut. It was dim, and had a vaguely vault-like smell.
‘Hardly the Ritz!’ murmured Ruth with a little shiver.
‘My sleeping quarters are hardly the Savoy,’ said Oakley, ‘but that’s what I call ’em. Passes the time. However, if you’re keen on accuracy, we’ll christen this the Bastille. Well, sit down, children, while Papa tells you his bedtime story. Oh, I say, do they still have bedtime stories? I used to rather like those Uncles and Aunts.’
‘Try to keep your mind from straying, Mr Oakley,’ suggested Cooling. ‘The point that immediately concerns us is seating capacity. What do we sit on?’
‘Ourselves,’ replied Oakley and squatted.
One by one, the rest followed suit. The days of luxury, even of simple comfort, seemed very long ago.
‘Well, here goes,’ began Oakley. ‘We’ll take things in their order. First, our jewel, Ben. He is seated at this moment—I devoutly hope—on the Chief’s throne in Buckingham Palace. The Chief’s first twelve wives—this year’s rating—have all done their salaams, and I have told the Chief that Oomoo wishes to be disturbed as little as possible—’
Little God Ben Page 7
