Meanwhile, they walked on; the crowd opened before and closed again behind them and their six guards. In the distance, on the stage in the amphitheater, the phosphorescent Diurnals continued singing, as if nothing new had happened or was happening.
It was a prodigious song, as musically sonorous, multiple, varied, melodious and harmonious as a great orchestra in Paris or Bayreuth—richer, in any case, than the most celebrated church choirs and choral societies of the civilized terrestrial world.
Suddenly, Saint-Clair saw in the distance a tall dark form standing up, doubtless on the first tier of the amphitheater. It was a Nocturnal more colossal than the rest, outlined against the phosphorescence of the steps and the Diurnals. It raised its arm and uttered a guttural cry. Instantly, the song ceased, like that of a phonographic disk suddenly stopped dead.
Intuitively, Gno Mitang said:
“That must be because of us.”
“Probably,” said Saint-Clair—but immediately added, in a different tone: “Gno, my wrists have a little play within the knots of the cords. What about yours?”
“Mine too.”
“Let’s walk more slowly, giving ourselves time. Let’s not arrive too soon at where I hope Véronique and Fageat at. I’m slowing down.”
“Good.”
The Frenchman Saint-Clair, the Nyctalope, and Gno Mitang, the Japanese warrior, diplomat and politician, both great travelers and adventurous explorers, had certainly experienced emotions of every sort in the course of their often-perilous adventures, charged with mortal menace: vast, profound and violent emotions… but never—no, never—as much as they did at that moment, the most prodigious of their existence.
For both of them, there was the planet Rhea and its entire world, so unfamiliar and so mysterious. For Saint-Clair, there was also Véronique—Véronique, whom it was necessary to save. But did she not count also for Gno Mitang, Saint-Clair’s friend? Yes, certainly. And for both of them, again, there was Fageat, who had to be punished.
But the possibility that the Terrans could stay alive in the Rhean world, the salvation of Véronique and the punishment of Ariste Fageat all depended on the answer to one question: could Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang free their hands soon enough? Soon enough—which is to say, a few seconds before finding themselves confronted by Fageat, on his guard, free and armed, with prompt reflexes and a conscience without scruples. For if the criminal glimpsed, on the part of both or only one of the captives, the slightest suspect movement, and had time to aim his pistol, he would undoubtedly fire to kill both Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang, in order to save himself and have Véronique to himself.
All of that went through the minds of the two friends at that moment, and they had no need to say it aloud; each knew that the other was thinking it, and that he would lose none of the calm, self-composure, lucidity or energy that were more necessary than ever.
Suddenly, Mitang said:
“Leo, the darkness is no longer complete for me. The phosphorescence is perceptible. I’m beginning to see what’s around me, you...”
“Good,” said the Nyctalope. “What about your hands?”
“No tangible progress for a few moments. You?”
“Me neither. Let’s slow down further.”
“Yes. Pretend to be gripped by curiosity regarding one of the Nocturnals.”
“We might even stop.”
“Why not?”
They both stopped, as if startled by the sight of a Nocturnal that, by virtue of an extraordinary anomaly, was much smaller than all the rest. Its stature only just matched that of Gno, who was not tall.
Gno Mitang had not been mistaken, two minutes earlier, when he had said, at the abrupt cessation of the Diurnals’ song: “That must be because of us.”
Thanks to his height, and because he had never ceased to watch the entrance to the first grotto of the subterranean domain of which he was the king, the Nocturnal Tugg had seen the movement and then the drawing apart of the crowd and had understood that the supreme Woo’s “evil companions” had been overcome and captured, and were being brought to him. Immediately, by means of a mime, gestures and words that Fageat understood very well, he had given the expected notification.
“Already!” the engineer had exclaimed.
Then, thinking what he ought to have thought before, he muttered:
“I’ll wager that the Nyctalope and the Japanese woke up first, earlier than I had calculated.” Cheerfully, he added: “So much the better, then! The sooner we get it over with, the better. Then again, it’s as well that everything is settled before Véronique wakes up. Afterwards, I’ll only have to deal with Vitto, Soca and Margot, which is nothing. The only one dangerous to me is the Nyctalope—and, secondarily, the Japanese. Come on! Enough singing—let’s get to the action!”
He made Tugg understand that he wanted the Diurnals, while remaining in place, to stop singing. Immediately, the Nocturnal chief stood up on the first step and uttered a cry.
Silence fell instantly, on the steps of the amphitheater and in the depths of the grotto, but not in the rest of the vast excavation. Around the extraordinary newcomers, Nocturnals were exchanging their impressions, thus making a dull rumor that was propagated to the limits of the grotto like wavelets on a deep pool of water into which a heavy stone has fallen, followed by other stones falling successively closer to the bank—the bank here being represented by the semicircular base of the amphitheater
There was a pause, which Fageat observed. What’s happening? he wondered. Why aren’t they coming forward any longer?
The pause was brief, however, and the progress of the Terrans, invisible in the crowd because of their relatively restricted height, resumed at a slow pace.
Impatient and nervous, Fageat had the idea of standing on the same step as Tugg, but he thought that it might compromise his dignity, and therefore remained seated.
I’ll see them soon as the crowd parts, he told himself—and that happened two or three minutes later.
The progressive separation of the crowd suddenly formed a double hedge between the group of newcomers and the space left vacant in front of the amphitheater. Ariste Fageat saw Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang at the same moment when the Nyctalope and the Japanese saw the traitor.
With an instinctive gesture, Fageat drew his pistol from its holster and held it in his right hand, resting on his thigh.
The Nocturnals might not have tied their wrists properly, he thought. At the first suspect movement, I’ll fire.
Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang saw that, and divined the thought. Without interrupting their march, they looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders. Alas, during the brief halt before the singular dwarf Nocturnal, neither of them had been able to loosen the cords that rendered them incapable of action. Their wrists had some freedom of movement within the double or triple bracelet, but not sufficient to free a hand, even the left. The indignant fury of the Nyctalope and the cold rage of the Japanese were at their peak when they finally came to a halt three paces from the step on which Véronique d’Olbans lay asleep in the midst of a heap of furs, between a colossal standing Nocturnal and Ariste Fageat, sitting on the edge of the step, his legs crossed and dangling, with his left thumb tucked into his belt and his right hand resting on his thigh, holding the pistol pointed in their direction.
Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang had such self-control, however, that nothing betrayed the cold rage of the one or the burning fury of the other. The two faces retained the same severe and scornful calm. There was a rapid change in Saint-Clair’s features for a second or two—a change of complexion and a painful softening of his gaze.
“Véronique,” he sighed.
But that was brief, and his terrible eyes fixed themselves on Fageat.
Immediately, the duel was engaged: the duel that was inevitable. In conformity with his character and habits, the Nyctalope attacked first. In a tone of contained violence, with an inimitable hauteur, he said:
“Fageat, you’re a traitor
. At the very moment when you were meditating, in Maxime d’Olbans house, begging me to accept you aboard the Olb.-I, your treason began. I wanted to be generous. I didn’t heed my instinctive antipathy. I only took account of your technical abilities. You’ve betrayed Monsieur d’Olbans, your good master; you’ve betrayed me, the leader who trusted you and has treated you benevolently. You’ve betrayed your companions, who thought you worthy of them. You’ve betrayed the illustrious man who did us the honor of becoming one of us, His Excellency Gno Mitang. As for Mademoiselle Véronique, you have dared… you have dared…!”
He fell silent, his voice strangled. He could no longer contain his fury at being powerless to do anything but pronounce vain words—and he stiffened, his teeth clenched and his jaws contracted.
Then Fageat, with simultaneous insolence, fatuity, bravado, anger and ferocious joy, said:
“Oh, what I have dared thus far is really very little—nothing, even—by comparison with what I shall dare when Mademoiselle Véronique has woken up, and is fully conscious, endowed with speech, capable of defensive reflexes...”
He laughed, with inexpressible vileness.
“Miserable coward,” pronounced Gno Mitang. “And a ridiculous fool, who believes Mademoiselle d’Olbans capable of surviving certain insults—such as, for instance, the lust of a man like you. And, finally, stupid and brainless enough to imagine that a dozen clips for his pistol and rifle and twenty batteries for his lamp and electric torch will suffice for him to ensure a lifetime of domination in the double society of the momentarily-subjugated Nocturnals and the Diurnals, with whom you will also have to reckon with us gone. Your treason will not pay; treason never pays. It provides a temporary illusion of being richer in future than one is at present. Ariste Fageat, my friend Saint-Clair was right when he called you a traitor; for myself, I’ve told you, no less pertinently, that you’re a coward, a fool and an imbecile. It’s not in the character of Saint-Clair and myself to say such as much, especially when words are futile, but the circumstances excuse the exception we have made. And all is said, isn’t it, my dear Leo?”
“Indeed, my dear Gno, all is said!” pronounced the Nyctalope, in his most placid voice.
“So, let’s be quiet then, and await the realization of what Ariste Fageat has undoubtedly planed in our regard.”
Even when one is the only person who can understand what certain people say to them, one suffers in hearing the truth laid bare.
Fageat was not an insensitive brute; he suffered. And he understood that if Mademoiselle d’Olbans had heard what Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang had just said to him, he would not have had the starring role. That comprehensive suffering modified his homicidal plan. An idea occurred to him: it would be better to employ cunning, to make up an improbable story, to dupe Véronique, to make her admire him and then to remain her “last resort” on Rhea.
So, the traitor made no reply either to the Japanese or to Saint-Clair. With a gesture he summoned Rrou and Ggo, who were standing a few paces away, at his disposal, looking at the two captives in a hostile manner. He spoke to them, as he already knew how to talk to the Nocturnals. They understood, and spoke in their turn to the chief Tugg, who approved.
Immediately, Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang were grabbed by the shoulders by four of their guards. They were irresistibly shoved and dragged along the semi-circular base of the amphitheater, and then into the midst of the crowd, which opened before them and closed behind them as they passed.
It was so brutal and so rapid that the two friends scarcely had time to bid farewell to Véronique d’Olbans, who was still unconscious, with a glance.
Chapter X
Actions and Reactions
Although he was able to make himself understood to some extent by the Nocturnals, given the relatively summary knowledge of their language that he had, Ariste Fageat was unable to make all his ideas clear to them. He could, in sum, only make them obey him in a simplistic manner, however willing they were.
That was why Tugg thought that he was acting correctly and sufficiently when he ordered the two Terrans captives to be taken to the grotto specially reserved for the existence, henceforth subterranean, of the Diurnals.
The numerous choristers that Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang had heard and seen in the phosphorescent amphitheater only comprised about a quarter of the Diurnals presently living in the Nocturnals’ domain of that Rhean country. The winged Rheans were habitually lodged in another large cave, and only emerged in order to sing in the amphitheater, or, when they died, to be buried by night in some isolated place in the rugged hills.
All that, Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang were soon to learn in detail, but they had a sudden and rapid intuition of it as soon as they arrived in the “Diurnals’ grotto”—for that was evidently where Tugg and the six guards had brought the two prisoners.
It offered a characteristic aspect by which Gno, although he was no nyctalope, was struck, because the grotto was illuminated in its entirety by columns made of the hardened phosphorescent clay with which the Diurnals’ cities and the amphitheater in the great grotto were constructed. Those columns, twenty in number, were set at equal intervals, and rose fro the floor to the vault. Everywhere between the columns, innumerable “monkey” hides were heaped in various thicknesses, and to those makeshift beds and seats, Diurnals were lying or sitting. Others were walking in wide aisles contrived between the orderly rows of heaped pelts.
“Look!” said Saint-Clair. “The subterranean river reappears here.”
“And the Diurnals drink from it,” said Gno.
The river ran to their left, in a narrow rectilinear channel, beyond which rose the wall of the grotto itself. Many of the Diurnals were kneeling on the edge, picking up water in their cupped hands and drinking it. That did not last long. They soon got up again and, walking or flying, returned to strolling, sitting or lying down, isolated, in couples or in groups. The majority were talking among themselves. A few were humming or singing in low voices. A large number were crowding around shallow vats made of phosphorescent clay.
Guided by Tugg, who was preceding them, and followed by the six Nocturnals who had attacked them and never ceased o serve as their guards, Saint-Clair and Gno Mitang passed close by one of these vats, and were able to see that it was half-full of the shell-less nuts that constituted the sole nourishment of the Diurnal Rheans.
Naturally, the arrival and progress through the cave of the two extraordinary beings, bound and evidently captives of the Nocturnals, provoke tumultuous movements among the Diurnals, which soon spread throughout the grotto. They creased eating, drinking, singing, strolling, sitting or lying down, and gathered round, forming a crowd. Soon, the two Terrans were advancing along a narrow path bordered on one side by the channel and on the other by the rapidly-compacting crowd of Diurnals, all silent with astonishment. Those in the more distant rows leapt on to the shoulders of others, all of them watching the unprecedented, extravagant and incomprehensible spectacle of two unknown beings being led by the Woo Tugg and six Nocturnals of the “orderly service.”
At the far side of the cave, to the left, near the channel, Tugg pointed out to the two new captives a narrow excavation, not very tall, into which, comprehending the gesture, Saint-Clair and Gno entered meekly. Showing that they understood what as expected of them, they sat down on the ground, lowering their heads, seemingly resigned.
“If they leave us here alone, we’re saved,” said the Japanese.
“And we’ll save Véronique,” added the Nyctalope.
And, in fact, they were left there, alone and unguarded!
In the simplicity of his mind, Tugg doubtless thought that he had carried out the great Woo Fagg’s orders adequately. He knew, in any case, that no one escaped from his subterranean domain. The exit was a long way away. To get to it one had to traverse the entirety of the great hall of the amphitheater and force a way through the barrage of Nocturnals of the orderly service who guarded the exits continuously. He was doubtless also
in haste to return to Fagg and the sleeping being—a haste shared by the six guards. Finally, Saint-Clair and Gno did not take long to discover that the custom was to lave the Diurnals alone in the cave, from which they only emerged in order to sing in the amphitheater or to be carried away, dead, in the arms of a galloping Nocturnal. Furthermore, Tugg did not know that the two enemy companions of Woo Fagg had spent more than a day in the Diurnal city and had acquired a sufficient knowledge of their language to enter immediately into an amicable relationship with the most intelligent of the numerous winged captives.
Two or three minutes after Tugg and the six guardians had turned their backs and left, the Nyctalope got to his feet. Over the crowd of Diurnals packed in front of him, he saw the Nocturnals disappear into the darkness of the tunnel leading to the great hall.
“Get, up, Gno!” he said. “Talk to the Diurnals on your side; I’ll talk to the others. Our first objective is to get rid of these cords.”
“Yes,” said the Japanese.
It was relatively easy to make the Diurnals understand that they were two of the new beings who, during a recent assault by the Nocturnals on the city, had sided with the defenders against the attackers. Then the two friends succeeded in making it known that they had spent some time in the city itself. Finally, they convinced their wonderstruck listeners that they had come into the underworld in order to free the Diurnals from Nocturnal tyranny forever...
Turning round to display their bound wrists and arms, Saint-Clair and Gno asked to be released.
All that took time of course, the repetition of words, a varied mime and numerous movements of the head, torso and even legs, fortunately visible to the Diurnals by virtue of the radiation of a nearby phosphorescent column.
The essential thing was, however, that, in the end, what the Terrans wanted to express was understood by the Diurnals. The hands of the winged Rheans were much more vigorous than the general appearance of their slender bodies suggested, and their fingers were extremely dexterous. As soon as Saint-Clair and Gno had been understood, their desire was satisfied in less than a minute; the two cords were untied, unrolled and thrown on the ground.
The Return of the Nyctalope Page 16
