Wilbur Smith - B4 The Leopard Hunts In Darkness

by B4 The Leopard Hunts In Darkness(Lit)

  "It may take a little time, but in the end-"

  "I am not so certain," Bukhariri sighed morosely. "Do you v indeed have the woman you spoke of, this Sarah Nyoni?" Peter hesitated. "Not yet. She has disappeared, but again, it's only a matter of time. She cannot hide for ever."

  "Time," Colonel Bukharin repeated. "Yes, there is a time for everything, but your time is passing. This thing must be done soon, or not at all."

  ics'l

  "Days only, not wee Peter promised, but his voice had become thin and Colopel Bukharin, the consummate hunter of men, sensed his Advantage.

  "This Zebiwe is a hard man, I am not sure he will respond th to the treatment at our clinic. I do not like is business of a diamond treasure. it smacks too much of a story for young boys. And I do not like the fact that you have let this Matabele woman elude you. This whole business begins to depress me."

  "You are unduly pessimistic everything is going well. I need just a little time to prove it to you."

  "You already know that I cannot remain here much longer, I must return to Moscow. And what must I tell them there that you are digging for treasure?" Bukharin threw up both hands. "They will believe that I am turning senile."

  "A month," Peter Fungabera said. "I need another month."

  "Today is the tenth. You have until the last day of the month to deliver both money and the man to us "That is cutting it too fine," Peter protested.

  "On the first of next month, I will return. If on that date you cannot deliver, I will recommend to my superiors that this entire project be aborted." he adder was almost six feet long and seemed as gross as a pregnant sow. It was coiled upon itself in a corner of the mesh cage, and the patterning of its scales was in soft purples and golds, in russet and madder, all the colours of autumn enclosed in perfect diamonds each of which was outlined in the black of mourning.

  However, the colours and patterns were not sufficiently Spectacular to divert attention from. the creature's hideous head. It was the size of a Poisonous gourd, but shaped like the ace of spades, flattening and tapering to the snout with its nostril slits. The adder's eyes were bright as beads of polished jet and its tongue was bifurcated and feathery light as it slipped in and out between the grinning lips.

  "I can claim no credit for this," said Peter Fungabera.

  "The good doctor is responsible for this little entertainment." He smiled at Tungata. "It is many days since last we spoke, and frankly, your time is up. So is mine. I must have your agreement today or else it does not matter. After today you are expendable, Comrade Zebiwe." Tungata was strapped to a sturdy chair of red Rhodesian teak. The mesh cage stood on the table before him.

  "You were once in the Game Department," Peter Fun, gab era went on.

  "So you will recognize this reptile as bit is gabonica, the Gaboon adder. It is one of the most venomous of African snakes, its toxicity exceeded only by the mamba.

  However, its sting is more agonizing than either mamba or cobra. It is said that the pain drives men mad before they die. "stick He touched the cage with the tip of his swagger and the adder struck at him. The coils propelled the monstrous head across the cage in a liquid blur of movement, half its gross body serialized by the power of the strike; the jaws gaped to expose the butter-yellow lining of the throat, and the long recurved fangs were gleaming white as polished porcelain, as it crashed into the wire mesh with a force that shook the table. Even Peter Fungabera. jumped back involuntarily, and then chuckled apologetically.

  "I cannot stand snakes," he explained. "They make my flesh crawl.

  What about you, Comrade Minister?"

  "Whatever you are planning, it is a bluff, Tungata answered. His voice was weaker now. Since their last meeting, he had spent many days at the wall in the sun.

  His body seemed to have shrunk until it was too small for his head. His skin had a grey tone, and looked dusty and dry. "You cannot afford to let that thing sting me. I expect you have removed the poi " sacs." won "Doctor." Peter FuRgabera turned to the regimental doctor who sat at the far end of the table. He rose immediately and left the room.

  "We were quite fortunate to find a specimen of the Gaboon," Peter Fungabera went on conversationally. "They are really rather rare, as you know." The doctor returned. He now wore thick gloves that reached to his elbows, and carried a large striped bush rat the size of a kitten. The rat squealed piercingly and struggled in his gloved hands.

  Gingerly the doctor opened the door in the top of the mesh cage, dropped the rat through it and immediately snapped the sprung door closed. The " little animal scampered around the cage, testing the mesh walls with its nose and whiskers until suddenly it saw the adder in the corner. It leaped high an,l landed on stiff legs and then retreated into the opposite corner and crouched there, staring across the cage.

  The adder began to uncoil, its scales glowing with al unearthly loveliness as it slid silently over the sanded floor.

  towards the cornered rat. An unnatural stillness overcame the small animal. Its nose no longer twitched and wriggled.

  It sank down on its belly, fluffed out its fur and watched with mesmeric fascination as repulsive death slid inexorably towards it.

  Two feet from the rat the adder stopped, its neck arched into a taut "S" and then, so swiftly that the eye could not record it, it struck.

  The rat was hurled back against the mesh, and immediately the adder withdrew, its coils flowing back upon itself Now there were tiny droplets of blood on the rat's russet fur, and its body began to pulsate rapidly. The limbs twitched and jumped without coordination and then, abruptly, it squealed, a shrill cry of unbearable agony, and rolled over on its back in the final convulsion of death.

  The doctor lifted the carcass out of the cage with a pair of wooden tongs and carried it from the room.

  "Of course," said Peter Fungabera. "You have many times the body mass of that rodent. With you it would take much longer." The doctor had returned and with him were the guard captain and two troopers.

  "As I said, the doctor has designed the apparatus. I think he has done excellent work, given the limited materials and shortage of time." They lifted Tungata's chair and placed him closer to the cage. One of the troopers carried another smaller mesh cage. It was shaped like an oversized fencing helmet, and it fitted over Tungata's head, closing snugly around his throat. From the front of the encompassing helmet protruded a mesh tube that resembled the thickened and shortened trunk of a deformed elephant.

  The two troopers stood behind Tungata's chair and forced him forward until the open tube of mesh aligned WIth the door of the adder's cage. Dexterously the Shana doctor clipped the tube of Tungata's helmet and the cage together.

  "When the door of the cage is raised, you and the Gaboon will be sharing the same livin space." Tungata stared down the mesh tube to the door at its extremity.

  "But we can stop this at any time you say the word."

  "Your father was a dung-eating Shana hyena," said Tungata softly.

  "We will induce the adder to leave its cage and join you in yours by applying heat to the far wall. I do advise you to be sensible, Comrade. Take us to bid Lobengula's tomb."

  "The king's tomb is sacred-" Tungata broke off. He was weaker than he had realized. It had slipped out. Up to now he had stubbornly denied the existence of the tomb.

  "Good," said Peter happily. "At least we have now agreed that there is a tomb. Now agree to take us there, and this will all end. A safe flight to another land, for you and the woman--2

  "I spit on you, Fungabera, and I spit on the diseased whore that was your mother."

  "Open the cage, "ordered Fungabera.

  It rattled up in its runners and Tungata stared down the tube as though down the barrel of a rifle. The adder was coiled on the far side of the cage, staring back at him with those bright black eyes.

  "There is still time, Comrade."

  Tungata did not trust his voice to speak again. He J steeled himself, and stared into the adder's eyes, trying to
dominate it.

  "Proceed," said Peter, and one of the troopers placed a small charcoal brazier on the table. Tungata could feel the heat from it even where he sat. Slowly the soldier pushed the glowing stove closer to the far mesh of the cage, and the adder hissed explosively and uncoiled its body. To escape the heat, it began to slither towards the opening of the mesh tube.

  "Quickly, Comrade," Peter urged him. "Say you will do it. There are only seconds left. I can still close the door." Tungata felt the sweat prickle as it burst out on his forehead and slid down his naked back. He wanted to shout a curse at Peter Fungabera, to consign him to a fate as horrid as this, but his pulse was pounding in his own ears, deafening him.

  The adder hesitated at the mouth of the tube, reluctant to enter.

  "There is still time," Peter whispered. "You do not deserve such a loathsome death say it? Say you will do id" Tungata had not realized how huge the adder was. Its eyes were only eighteen inches from his, and it hissed again as loudly as a punctured truck tyre, a vast exhalation of air that dinned in his eardrums. The trooper pushed the glowing charcoal brazier hard u against the mesh, and the adder thrust its head into the opening of the tube and its belly scales made a dry rasping sound against the wire.

  "It's not too late yet." Peter Fungabera unbuckled the % flap of his holster and drew his pistol. He placed the muzzle against the wire, only inches from the adder's head. "Say the word, and I will blow its head off."

  "Damn You to your own stinking Shana hell," whispered Tungata. He could smell the adder now, not a strong odour, a faint mousy sweetness tinged with corruption. It nauseated him. He felt vomit rise and scald the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and began to struggle against the straps that held him. The cage shook with his efforts, but the two troopers h8d his shoulders, and the great adder, alarmed by his movements, hissed again and arched its neck into the "S" of the strike.

  Tungata stopped struggling and forced himself to remain still. He could feel his sweat pouring down his body, trickling coldly down his flanks and puddling under him on the seat of his chair.

  Gradually the adder uncocked its neck, and crept forward towards his face. Six inches from his eyes, and Tungata sat still as a statue in his own sweat and loathing and horror. It was so close now that he could not focus on it. It was merely a blur that filled all his vision and then the adder shot out its tongue and explored his face with feather-light strokes of the black forked tongue.

  Every nerve in Tungata's body was screwed up to snapping point, and his weakened body was overdosed with adrenalin so that he felt he was suffocating. He had to cling to consciousness. with all his remaining strength or he would have slipped over the edge into the black void of oblivion.

  The adder moved on slowly. He could feel the cool slippery touch of coils across his cheek, under his ear, around the back of his n%k, and then, in a final orgasm of horror, he realized th4 the huge reptile was throwing coil after coil of its body about his head, enveloping him, covering his mouth and his nose. He dared not scream nor move, and the seconds drew out.

  "He likes you," Peter Fungabera's voice had thickened with excitement and anticipation. "He's settling down with you Tungata swivelled his eyes and Peter was on the periphery of his field of vision, blurred by the fine mesh of the cage.

  "We can't have that," Peter gloated, and Tungata saw his hand reach out towards the charcoal brazier. For the first time Tungata noticed that a thin steel rod, likea poker, had been thrust into the burning charcoal. "When Peter drew it out, the tip glowed red hot.

  "This is your absolutely final chance to agree," he said.

  "When I touch the creature with this, it will go crazy." He waited for a reply. "You cannot speak, of course. If you agree, just blink your eyes rapidly." Tungata stared fixedly at him through the mesh, trying to convey to him the universe of hatred that he experienced.

  ""Ah well, we tried," said Peter Fungabera. "Now you have only yourself to blame." He slipped the point of the glowing poker through the mesh and touched the adder with it. There was a sharp hiss of searing flesh, a tiny puff of stinking smoke and the adder went berserk.

  Tungata felt the coils enfold his head, pumping and swelling, and then the great body whipped and slashed, filling the confined space of the cage with crazy uncoordi, noted convulsions. The cage banged and jarred and clattered, and Tungata lost control, he heard himself screaming, as terror engulfed him.

  Then the snake's head filled his vision. Its jaws flared open, and its bright yellow throat gaped at him, as it struck into his face. The force of the strike stunned him. It hit him in the cheek below the eye, a heavy punch that jarred him so his teeth clashed together and he bit through his own tongue. Blood filled his mouth and he felt the long curved fangs snag into his flesh like fishhooks tugging and jerking, as they spurted jets of deadly toxin into his flesh and then, mercifully, darkness took him and Tungata slumped unconscious against the straps that held him. -V, ou've killed him you bloody idiod" Peter Fungo, hera's voice was s I brill and petulant with panic.

  "No, no." The doctor was working quickly.

  With the help of the troopers, he pulled the mesh helmet off Tungata's head. One of the troopers hurled the maimed adder against the wall and then crushed its head under the butt of an AK 47. "No. He's passed out, that's all. He was weak from the wall." Between them they lifted Tungata. and carried him to the camp-bed against the far wall. With exaggerated care they laid him on it, and swiftly the doctor checked his pulse.

  "He's all right." He filled a disposable syringe from a glass ampoule, and shot it into Tungata's sweat-slicked upper arm. "I've given him a stimulant ah, there! The doctor's relief was obvious. "There! He is coming round already." The doctor swabbed the deep punctures in Tungata's cheek from which watery lymph was oozing.

  There is always risk of infection from these bites," the d doctor explained anxiously. "I will inject an antibiotic." Tungata moaned arid muttered, and then began to struggle weakly. The troopers restrained him, until he came fully conscious and then they helped him into a sitting position. His eyes focused with difficulty on Peter Fungabera, and his confusion was obvious.

  "Welcome back to the land of the living, Comrade." Peter's voi nc ce was o O? more smooth and richly modulated.

  "You are now one the privileged few who have had a glimpse of the beyond." The doctor still fussed over him, but Tungata's eyes never left Peter Fungabera's face.

  "You do not understand," Peter said, "and nobody can blame you for that. You see, the good doctor hM removed the creature's poison sacs, as you suggested he might have." Tungata shook his head, unable to speak.

  "The rat!" Peter spoke for him. "Yes, of course, the rat.

  That was rather clever. Whilst he was out of the room the doctor gave it a little injection. He had tested the dosage on other rodents to get the correct delay. You were right, my dear Tungata, we aren't ready to let you go just yet.

  Maybe next time, or the time after that you will the ver know for certain. Then of course, we might miscalculate.

  There might, for instance, have been a little residual tori-.

  in that adder's fangs-" Peter shrugged. "It's all very delicatu this time, next time who knows? How long can yot, keep it up, Comrade, before your mind snaps?"

  "I can keep it up as long as you can," Tungata whispered huskily. "I give you my oath on that."

  "Now, now, no rash promises," Peter scolded him mildly.

  "The next little production that I am planning involves my puppies you have heard Fungabera's puppies, every night you have heard them. I am not sure how we can control them. It will be interesting you could easily lose an arm or a foot it only takes one snap of those jaws." Peter played with his swagger-stick, rolling it between his fingers. "The choice is yours, and of course it only takes one word from you to end it all." Peter held up one hand. "No, please don't tax yourself. There is no need to give an answer now. We'll let you have another few days at the wall to recuperate from this ordeal,
and then-" t unga. a had lost track of time. He could not remember how many days he had spent at the wall, how many men he had seen executed, how many nights he had lain and listened to the hyena.

  He found it difficult to think further ahead than the next bowl of water. The doctor had judged the amount required to keep him alive with precision. Thirst was a torment that never ceased, not even when he slept, for his nightmares now were filled with images of water lakes and running streams which he could not reach, rain that fell all around him and did not touch him, and raging, intolerable thirst.