Don’t stop. Don’t look back, just keep running.
There wasn’t a plan. There had never been a plan. All there was was hope, but there was little enough of that, and there was something the ghost girl had taught him on the very first day they met: Guns did not like water.
The lagoon was where he belonged right now, and he fled for it, dodging and weaving as much as he dared. The water was his world. Cox was a big, heavy man, and water would drag at his clothes. Yes!
He heard a shot fired, and a bullet sang past his head. But here was the lagoon and he dived in when the water was hardly above his knees. He would have to come up for air, but surely the man would not dare to come in after him?
Out toward the middle of the lagoon, where the damaged canoes were drifting, he stopped and made use of their cover to grab some more air. Then he peered around the canoe to find Cox—and he was right there on the shoreline, already sighting on him.
Mau dived, but Cox had expected that. Perhaps it was true. The man could see into people’s heads.
Mau turned to look back. He couldn’t help it. Men face their enemy, just once….
And what Mau saw was the bullet coming. It hit the water a few feet in front of him, trailing bubbles—and stopped inches from his face. He gently picked it out of the water as it started to fall, and then let it go and watched in wonder as it dropped to the sand.
How had that happened? Bullets really didn’t like water….
He climbed up to the surface for a mouthful of air and heard another bang as he dived again. He turned to watch the trail of bubbles head toward him, and the bullet bounced off his arm. Bounced! He hardly felt it!
He struck out for the gap into the deep water, which was half blocked with floating weeds today. At least it gave him some cover. But what had happened to the bullets? A bullet certainly hadn’t bounced off Ataba. It had made a big hole, and there had been a lot of blood.
He would have to surface again, because Cox was probably even more dangerous when you couldn’t see where he was.
He grabbed the edge of the coral, steadied himself on a root of an old tree that had wedged in the gap. Very cautiously, he pulled himself up.
And there was Cox, running, running along the spit of old coral that led from the shore around to Little Nation and the new gap. Mau heard his boots crunch on the coral as he ran, speeding up while the watching Raiders scuttled out of the way.
The man glanced up, raised his gun, and, still pounding over the coral, fired twice.
A bullet went through Mau’s ear. The first thought as he dropped back through the water was about the pain. The second thought was about the pain, too, because there was so much of it. The water was turning pink. He reached up to his ear and most of it was not there. His third thought was: Sharks. And the next thought, happening in some little world of its own, said: He has fired five shots. When he has fired all the bullets he has, he will have to load the guns again. But if I was him, I would wait until I’d had one last shot with the big pistol and then reload it, keeping the little pistol ready to hand in case the darkie suddenly came out of the water.
It was a strange, chilling thought, dancing across his mind like a white thread against the terrible red background. It went on: He can think like you. You must think like him.
But if I think like him, he wins, he thought back.
And his new thought replied: Why? To think like him is not to be him! The hunter learns the ways of the hog, but he is not bacon. He learns the way of the weather, but he is not a cloud. And when the venomous beast charges at him, he remembers who is the hunter, and who the hunted! Dive now! Dive right now!
He dived. The tree half wedged in the gap was tangled up in a mass of seaweed and palm fronds, twisting everything together as the tides rolled it. He ducked into its shadow.
Already the tree had become a world of its own. Many of its branches had been ripped off, but the trailing weeds had colonized it, and little fish darted in and out of the forests of green. But better than that, if he tucked himself up between the tree and the edge of the gap, he could just get his face out of the water and be lost in the mass of vegetation.
He dropped back under the surface; the water around him was going pink. How much blood could one ear contain? Enough to attract sharks, that’s how much.
There was a thump, and the whole of the tree shook.
“I’ve got you now, my little chappie,” said the voice of Cox. He sounded as though he was right above Mau. “Nowhere to go now, eh?” The tree rocked again as the man walked up and down in his heavy boots. “And I won’t fall off, don’t you worry about that. This piece of wood is as wide as bloody Bond Street to a sailor!”
There was another thump. Cox was jumping up and down, making the tree rock. It rolled slightly, and a bullet went past Mau’s face before he pulled himself back into the shadows.
“Uh-oh. We’re bloody bleeding,” said Cox. “Well done. All I’m going to have to do is wait for the sharks to turn up. I always like to see a shark having his dinner.”
Mau worked his way along the bottom of the log, hand over hand. The trail of pinkness followed him.
There had been six shots. He raised his head in the shelter of a clump of weeds and heard a click.
“Y’ know, I’m really disappointed in those cannibal johnnies,” said Cox, right overhead. “Too much talk, too many rules, far too much mumbo jumbo. Jumbo mumbo jumbo, ha, ha. Milk-and-watery bunch, the lot of ’em. Been eating too many missionaries, if you ask me.” There was another click. Cox was reloading. He had to use two hands for that, didn’t he?
Click…
Mau reached down for his knife and his belt was empty…. Click.
So he swam face upward along the underside of the trunk, his nose only a foot or so from the bark, which was covered with tiny crabs.
That was how it would end. The best thing to do would be to leap up and get shot. That would surely be better than a shark’s teeth. And then everyone who knew about the Nation would die—
Are you totally stupid, Mau? It was the new voice, and it said: I’m you, Mau, I’m just you. You will not die. You will win, if you pay attention!
Click…
The pale green weed in front of him moved and he saw something black. In a moment where time stood still, he brushed the weeds aside and saw it, wedged firmly in the trunk: a trunk that was full of little marks to show where men had helped other men.
He had been proud of himself that day. He had hit the tree with the alaki axehead so hard that it would take all the next boy’s strength to pull it out. The next boy was him.
Without thinking, and watching himself, somehow, from the outside, he grabbed the handle and raised his legs until they were firm against the underside of the trunk. The axe was stuck fast.
“I can hear you wriggling about,” said a voice right above him. “You will be wriggling a whole lot faster in a moment. I can see the fins coming. Oh my giddy aunt, I wish I’d brought sandwiches.”
Click…
The axe came loose. Mau felt nothing. The grayness was back in his mind. Don’t think. Do the things that must be done, one after another. The axe was free. Now he had it. This was a fact. The other fact was that Cox had now loaded his pistol.
Mau dragged himself branch by branch to the little area where he could breathe without being seen. At least, the area where he hoped he could not be seen. As he ducked his head down, a bullet went past it. Five bullets left, and Cox was losing his temper: he fired again (four bullets left; a fact), and Cox was right above him, searching for movement in the tangle of floating greenery. The bullet had come down as straight as a spear but had tumbled and lost its way. It’s hard to run through water, Mau told himself. The more you try, the harder it gets. A fact. It must be the same for bullets. A new fact.
“Did I get you that time?” said Cox. “I hope I did for your sake, ’cause they’re getting closer. Actually, I was just saying that to be nice, ’cause I want to see you
wriggling. I want to stay here until I sees the sharks burp, and then I will go back and have a nice chat with your little lady.”
Mau’s lungs were beginning to hurt. He made the tree trunk wobble, then let himself sink. He didn’t hear what Cox shouted, but four bullets splashed into the water high above him, left trails of bubbles for a few moments, and then just tumbled away in the current.
Six shots. Only the little pistol would be left. No, Cox would have to reload. And that needed both hands. A fact.
Now there had to be more facts, one after the other, all falling carefully into place like little gray blocks.
Mau rose fast, dragging the axe behind him. He grabbed the stub of a broken branch with his free hand, got a purchase with his feet on another, and, with his lungs on fire, let all the momentum of his rise and all the strength left in his body flow into his arm.
The axe came out of the water in a great curve, moving in space but not in time, water droplets hanging in the air to mark the arc of its passage. It blocked the light of the sun, it made the stars come out, it caused thunderstorms and strange sunsets around the world (or so Pilu said later on)—and as time came back at double speed, the axe hit Cox in the chest and he went backward off the log. Mau saw him raising his pistol as he sank, and then his expression changed to an enormous grin, with blood at the corners, and he was dragged into the swirling waters.
The sharks had arrived for dinner.
Mau lay on top of the log until the commotion died down. And he thought, in those little white thoughts that scribbled their way along the redness of the pain in his lungs: That was a really good axe. I wonder if I’ll be able to find it again.
He pushed himself onto his knees and blinked, not quite certain who he was. And then he looked down and saw the gray shadow.
I will walk in your steps for a while, said a voice just above his head.
Mau pulled himself onto his feet, not an unbruised thought in his head, walked to the far end of the log, and stepped onto the path across the broken coral. Grayness filled the air around him as he walked, and on either side the great wings of Locaha beat gently. He felt like…metal, hard and sharp and cold.
They reached the first of the big war canoes, and he stepped onto it. The few warriors who hadn’t already jumped into the water fell to their knees, terrified. He looked into their eyes.
They can see me. They worship me, Locaha said. Belief is a hard thing to believe, is it not? For now, at this time, here in this moment under these stars—you have the gift. You can kill them with a touch, a word, by the passing of your shadow. You have earned this. How would you like them to die?
“Take your captives to the shore and leave them there,” Mau said to the nearest men. “Pass this command along and then go. If you stay here, I will close my wings over you.”
That is all? said Locaha.
Thoughts pieced themselves together in the chill on Mau’s mind as he turned and headed across the coral.
“Yes,” he said, “it is.”
I would have acted differently, said the voice of death.
“And I would not, Locaha. I’m not you. I have choices.”
Mau plodded on, in silence and gray shadow.
This day turned out well for you, said the voice of Locaha.
Mau still said nothing. Behind them the Raiders’ fleet was boiling with terrified activity. There will be so many new mouths to feed, he thought. So much to do. Always so much to do.
I am not often surprised, said Locaha, and you are wrong. There is one choice I can make, in the circumstances….
The sand under Mau’s feet turned black, and there was darkness on every side. But in front was a pathway of glittering stars.
Mau stopped and said, “No. Not another trap.”
But this is the way to the Perfect World! said Locaha. Only a very few have seen this path!
Mau turned around. “I think that if Imo wants a perfect world, he wants it down here,” he said. He could still see the beach around him, but it was indistinct, as if it was behind a wall of dark water.
This one? It’s far from perfect! said Locaha.
“It’s a little more perfect today. And there will be more days.”
You really want to go back? said Locaha. There are no second chances—there are no chances at all. There is only…what happens.
“And what does not happen?” said Mau.
That? That happens, too, somewhere else. Everything that can happen must happen, and everything that can happen must have a world to happen in. That is why Imo builds so many worlds that there are not enough numbers to count them. That is why His fire glows so red. Good-bye, Mau. I look forward with interest to our next meeting. You turn worlds upside down…. Oh, and one other thing. Those others I mentioned, who have been shown the glittering path? They all said the same thing as you did. They saw that the perfect world is a journey, not a place. I have only one choice, Mau, but I’m good at making it.
The grayness faded and tried to take memories with it. Mau’s mind grabbed at them as they streamed away and the gray barrier faded and let the light rush back in.
He was alive, and that was a fact. The ghost girl was running along the beach with her arms reaching out, and that was another fact. His legs felt strange and weak, and that was a fact that was getting more factual with every passing minute. But when she held him as they watched the tragic cargoes unloaded, and did not move until the last war canoe was a dot on the never-ending horizon…that was a fact as big as the Nation.
CHAPTER 15
The World Turned Upside Down
MAU AWOKE. A STRANGE woman was spooning gruel into him. When she saw his eyes open, she gave a little shriek, kissed him on the forehead, and ran out of the hut.
Mau stared up at the ceiling while it all came back. Some bits were a little blurred, but the tree and the axe and the death of Cox were as clear to him as the little gecko watching from the ceiling with upside-down eyes. But it was as if he was watching someone else, just a little way in front of him. It was another person, and that person was him.
He wondered if—
“Does not happen!” The scream was like lightning through his head, because it came from a beak about six inches from his ear. “Show us your”—here the parrot muttered to itself, then went on, rather sullenly—“underthings.”
“Ah, good. How are you?” said the ghost girl, stepping inside.
Mau sat bolt upright. “You’ve got blood all over you!”
“Yes. I know. There goes the last good blouse,” said Daphne. “Still, he’s much better now. I’m pretty proud of myself, actually. I had to saw a man’s leg off below the knee! And I sealed the wound with a bucket of hot tar, exactly according to the manual!”
“Doesn’t that hurt?” asked Mau, lying back on the mat again. Sitting up had made him dizzy.
“Not if you pick it up by the handle.” She looked at his blank expression. “Sorry, that was a joke. Thank goodness for Mrs. Gurgle; she can make someone sleep through anything. Anyway, I think the man is going to live now, which is more than he would have with that terrible wound in it. And this morning I had to cut off a foot. It’d gone all…well, it was awful. Those captives were treated very badly.”
“And you’ve been sawing the bad bits off them?”
“It’s called surgery, thank you so very much! It’s not hard if I can find someone to hold the instruction manual open at the right page.”
“No! No, I don’t think it’s wrong!” said Mau quickly. “It’s just that…it’s you doing it. I thought you hated the sight of blood.”
“That’s why I try to stop it. I can do something about it. Come on, let’s get you up.” She put her arms around him.
“Who was that woman who was feeding me? I’ve seen her before.”
“Her real name is Fi-ha-el, she says…,” said Daphne, and Mau clutched at the wall for support. “We used to call her the Unknown Woman. And now we call her the Papervine Woman.”
&nbs
p; “Her? But she looked completely different—”
“Her husband was in one of those canoes. She went right up to it and dragged him out by herself. I’m blessed if I know how she knew which one he was in. I sent her to look after you because, well, it was his leg I had to saw off.”
“Newton was greatest!” screamed the parrot, bouncing up and down.
“And I thought the parrot was dead!” said Mau.
“Yes, everyone thought the parrot was dead,” said Daphne, “except the parrot. He turned up yesterday. He is minus one toe and a lot of feathers, but I think he will be fine when his wing heals. He runs after the grandfather birds now. They really hate that. I’ve, er, started doing something about his language.”
“Yes, I thought you had,” said Mau. “What’s New-Tan?”
“Newton,” Daphne corrected absentmindedly. “Remember I told you about the Royal Society? He was one of the first members. He was the greatest scientist there has ever been, I think, but when he was an old man, he said he felt that he had been like a little boy playing with pebbles on the beach while a great ocean of truth lay undiscovered before him.”
Mau’s eyes widened, and she was shocked to realize that it had been a long time since she’d seen him look so young.
“He stood on this beach?”
“Well, er, not this beach, obviously,” said Daphne. “Possibly not even any beach. It’s what trousermen call a metaphor. A kind of lie to help you understand what’s true.”
“Oh, I know about those,” said Mau.
“Yes, I think you do.” Daphne smiled. “Now come out into the fresh air.”
She took Mau’s hand. There were a few nasty grazes that he didn’t remember getting, his whole body felt stiff, and there was a ragged wound where the flesh of his ear had been, but it could have been a lot worse. He remembered the bullet in the water, slowing down and dropping into his hand. Water could be hard—you only had to belly flop from a height to know that—but even so…
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