Thunder Jim Wade

by Henry Kuttner

  “Okay,” Red grunted. “But I’d rather fight now.”

  “Save the ammunition till we need it. We don’t want to advance with empty guns. Come on!”

  A spear whistled past them. The three retreated faster up the slope. Dim in the coiling mists, the warriors came on. Tabin Naung’s deep voice roared commands.

  “He certainly changed sides in a hurry,” Marat panted. “Bad as Hess. If I get a good shot at him, I’ll waste one bullet, anyway.”

  But the sawbwa did not appear. He stayed well behind his men, urging them on.

  Wade and his companions were forced to retreat down the slope into the clearing where the Thunderbug had landed. And beyond that, until the ground changed beneath their feet to oozy slime.

  “They’re driving us into the swamp,” Red whispered.

  “Good place to hide,” Wade grunted, inwardly seething over Tabin’s treachery.

  “Good place to run into crocs,” Marat scowled.

  Abruptly the fog swirled down, thick and blanketing. The distant figures of the natives were lost. Stumbling, splashing, the trio moved on as silently as possible.

  “We’ll lose ’em and then circle around, getting to the village by way of the swamp. The gas ought to have dissipated by now,” Wade murmured.

  He stopped, and so did the others. It was utterly silent. The warriors seemed to have vanished completely.

  “Hey!” Dirk said suddenly. “I’m in quicksand!”

  Wade whirled. The little man, a shadow in the fog, was knee-deep in water that swept blackly about his trousers. Red cursed and leaped back, just as Thunder Jim felt the betraying shifting beneath his own boot-soles. Quicksand!

  He sprang swiftly for a tussock of grass, found solid footing there, and snapped a command to Red. The red-haired giant dropped flat, gripping Wade’s ankles.

  “Got you.”

  Those huge hands, Wade knew, would never relax their grasp. He lowered himself and slid out across the scummy pool, stretching his arms toward Marat, who was waist-deep by now. Dirk, after his first startled cry, had not emitted a sound.

  This was the only way to reach him. One could not walk through the quicksand, but, by lying flat, Wade’s weight was distributed over a greater area. Yet it was necessary to work fast.

  The stagnant, choking stench of the marsh crept into his nostrils as he advanced bit by bit to where Marat waited motionless. His ankles hurt where Marat was gripping them. Then he felt Dirk’s hands touch his, and the next moment Argyle was dragging them back.

  The quicksand was loath to give up its prey. With soft, sucking noises it fought against the men. But slowly, gradually, they won the battle. Red’s sinewy muscles turned the balance. Marat was tugged free.

  Back on the tussock, they found that it, too, was slowly sinking, and they were forced to retreat hurriedly through the blinding mists. For awhile it was a nightmare, sightless flight through a quaking world. But at least Tabin Naung’s warriors had given up the pursuit.

  At last they found solid ground and paused, stickily uncomfortable in the moist heat, their clothing wet and smeared with slime. They could see for no more than a few feet in any direction. The sky was invisible. Only sound penetrated that white blanket—the lapping of water, and more ambiguous noises that might have come from living things.

  Red took out his gun and examined it. “Okay,” he grunted. “The water didn’t get to it. How about you two?”

  Marat’s gun was in good condition, but Wade took time to give his Colt a hasty going-over.

  “It’ll work, I guess,” he said, holstering it. “Now what? Which way is Pallinwa?”

  Red scratched his head. During the last few minutes they had lost all sense of direction. Sight and sound were alike distorted by the fog.

  “Maybe it’ll clear,” Marat said, without much hope.

  “Maybe.” Wade scowled. “What the devil got into Tabin Naung? D’you think he intended all along to cross us up?”

  “Why should he?” Red asked.

  “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” For a brief moment Wade’s eyes turned to black, glacial ice. “First we’ve got to get back to Palinwa. Anyhow, the sawbwa can’t get into the Thunderbug. Or can he?”

  “I locked the door,” Red assured him. “Houdini himself couldn’t get in.”

  Wade grunted abstractedly. A huge, wedge-shaped head slipped into view from the water nearby, stared at them with glistening eyes, and flicked out a forked tongue. Then, changing its mind, it drew back and vanished in the fog. Marat had his throwing knife in one hand, poised and ready. He whistled softly.

  “Pretty big,” he commented laconically.

  “Yeah. We’d better stay here for awhile,” Wade said. “If we wander deeper into the swamp, it’ll be just too bad. Maybe the fog will clear. We can’t be far from the island, and a wind may spring up.”

  SO THEY waited. There was nothing else to do. From the distance came the wallowings of the marsh denizens, crocs, snakes, or worse. Once a croc crawled up toward them, but a chunk of floating carrion distracted his attention, and he moved away and was gone. Silence, and the white fog. Nothing else.

  It seemed hours later when Wade stirred. “See that?” he asked.

  Marat and Argyle stared.

  “Red light—funny,” the little man muttered.

  In the distance was a faint crimson glow, too vivid to be merely a fire. Wade shrugged and got up.

  “Might as well head for it. It can’t be phosphorescence or volcanic activity. Presumably somebody kindled it. And I can’t see anybody entering this swamp just to light a beacon.”

  They moved warily toward the curious flame. It was farther away than it appeared to be, but at last they came to a narrow islet where a fire burned. A grotesque figure emerged suddenly from the fog, scuttled forward, and threw a handful of powder on the flames, which leaped up again with intense red brilliance.

  “Natthiya!” Wade whispered.

  It was the high priest. But the old man was considerably changed. The white beard was stained and discolored, his garments were torn and blood-smeared. Natthiya saw the approaching trio, and his face cracked into a grim smile. One finger at his lips, he beckoned to them.

  “Trap?” Marat asked from the corner of his mouth.

  Wade shook his head, but kept his hand on his gun, though Natthiya was unarmed. The old priest beckoned again, urgently. His voice was hushed and anxious.

  “Come! I built the magic fire to guide you back to Palinwa by a secret way. Come before the guards see it!”

  Wade gripped the scrawny arm. “To guide us, Natthiya? Why?”

  “Because I learned Tabin Naung betrayed you, too. We can talk later. There is much danger in lingering here, though the soldiers may think nats kindled this fire. Come!”

  Something wallowed heavily nearby. Wade saw the priest’s jaw drop, his eyes bulge. He whirled in time to glimpse a black, columnar tower rising through the mists. Marat’s knife flipped into one hand, his gun into the other.

  “Holy smoke!” Red gasped.

  Wade’s back felt icy cold. This was neither a crocodile nor a snake. It was something far more formidable, with a monstrous, bloated body almost submerged beneath the water, its thick, swan-like neck rearing above them with a head like the dream of a mad artist! Flaming red eyes blinked through the mists; a cavernous maw of a mouth gaped as that great head swooped down. The fetid, roaring hiss that poured out of it was like the blast of a steamboat whistle.

  It was a plesiosaur—a monster of a species that should have died a million years ago, but which had somehow survived in this unknown, evil swamp!

  GUNS snarled and stammered in chorus. The head writhed back with an oddly startled movement and then flashed down again. One of the red eyes was gone, smashed by a bullet. But the other glared malevolently at the humans. The mighty jaws clamped shut on Red Argyle’s arm.

  An involuntary groan of agony was forced from the giant’s lips as he was dragged toward the w
ater. Wade and Marat acted instantly, leaping toward the hideous saurian head. Dirk mouthed vicious curses as his knife plunged hilt-deep into the monster’s remaining eye, blinding it completely. But Wade, knowing that even a bullet through the brain would not relax those clamped jaws, sprang instead to where knots of muscle marked the hinge of the monster’s mandibles. He jammed the Colt’s muzzle against scaly flesh and sent bullet after bullet smashing through bone.

  The jaws of the trap, ruined on one side, gave slightly, and Marat, seeing what Wade was doing, followed his example. The huge mouth dropped open, releasing Argyle. That malformed devil-mask, hissing in agony, slid away through the mists and was gone amid a furious splashing.

  Red’s face was white with pain, his teeth clamped together. Helped by Wade and Marat, he followed Natthiya along the narrow spit to the solid ground of the island.

  The priest was breathing heavily. “We must hide! We can tend the big man’s arm once we get to a hiding-place where Tabin Naung’s men won’t find us.”

  “We’ll follow you,” Wade said. “But I’ll shoot your head off at the first sign of treachery.”

  Natthiya did not seem to hear. He led the way swiftly, skirting the shore, and then striking inland through a bushy canyon. There seemed to be no pursuit, yet the priest did not pause till the four were crouching in a mass of thorny trees which made a natural zareba.

  “We are safe, for awhile,” he whispered. “Now for your friend’s arm.”

  “Broken,” Argyle said shortly.

  “Hurts a bit, but a splint will take care of it.”

  WADE fumbled at his belt and brought out a tiny phial. “Here. This’ll stop the pain.”

  Marat was already using his knife to make a temporary splint. Luckily it was not a compound fracture. Wade doused the wound with iodine, in case the monster’s teeth had held poison, and, tearing his shirt into strips, went at his task. Meanwhile he glanced at Natthiya.

  “We’ll palaver,” he said. “What’s the angle?”

  The priest lifted a hand. “Talk quietly. We are still in danger. You bested me at magic, white man, but I bear you no malice for that. Tabin Naung betrayed you.”

  “That’s no news,” Marat growled.

  The priest went on.

  “When I awoke from the sleep you put on us, Tabin Naung and his men had taken us prisoners. He boasted of how he had tricked you, used you for his own ends. But you were driven into the Waters of Death, he said, and would die there. For the rest, Kamanthi and I and those faithful to her would die, after tortures.”

  Wade deftly tied a bandage-end. “So. Well, here’s what Tabin Naung told me.” In a few sentences he explained.

  The priest gnawed at his beard.

  “He lied. Kamanthi is the rightful queen of Palinwa. Tabin Naung always hated her and yearned for power. He was merely a palace guard. Two moons ago or more he gathered men, malcontents, promising them power and greatness if they would aid him to conquer Kamanthi. He wished to be sawbwa. But he did not succeed. Kamanthi conquered, and banished him into the Waters of Death.”

  “I see,” Wade said between his teeth. “So Tabin Naung’s yarn about the head-hunters was a fake, too.”

  Natthiya gnawed at his cracked lips. “He boasted of that, too. The white men who rescued him and took him to that place called Mandalay. Carver and Sanderson, I think their names were.”

  Marat interrupted. “He told us head-hunters had killed them.”

  “That was a lie. He tricked them, pretending enemies were attacking, and then slew them by stealth in the darkness of the zayat where they had taken shelter. He buried their heads, fired a few shots, and fled to the camp of the porters, telling a tale of head-hunters who had attacked and slain the white men. He did not want the government of your land to help him. He intended to use only you—the whites had told him of your powers—and then he planned to kill you here.”

  “Check. And he’s the real usurper—not Kamanthi.”

  “She is a good ruler, kind and wise. She has ruled Palinwa well. But Tabin Naung is evil, and now plans to open a way to the outer world. He said our sacred metal, gold, is immensely valuable there.”

  “It’s a complete double-cross,” Argyle growled. “We’ve just pulled Tabin Naung’s chestnuts out of the fire for him.”

  “He’ll kill Kamanthi, the real queen, take her place, and flood the world with gold,” Wade finished. “If we don’t stop him.”

  “How’ll he get through the swamp?” Marat broke in.

  Natthiya answered that. “He intends to build a trail to the other side. Till now, we did not know there was another side. We thought the Waters of Death covered all the world, save for Palinwa. Many lives will be lost building the trail, but it will be built. Then Tabin Naung said, men will fly in hollow birds, through the air, and they will bow down to him because he can make gold.”

  “Is that true?” Wade asked sharply. “Is such a thing really possible?”

  The old priest nodded his white head. “Aye, it is true enough. Though only a few priests know the secret. I do. Tabin Naung will force the others to do his bidding. The magic came down to us from the Days of Greatness, so long ago that we have no longer any memory of them.”

  Argyle sighed. “The sawbwa’s biting off more than he can chew. He may think his secret will make him a big shot, but once the wolves outside get wind of this, Tabin Naung’s going to end up in a coffin.”

  “It’ll be too late, then,” Wade said. “Once the news reaches an espionage agent, the fat will be in the fire. Plenty of people would like to see the gold standard smashed. Germany, for example. That secret must not reach the outside world!”

  “What can we do?” Natthiya asked. “We are but four. Tabin Naung’s guard fills the temple, and Kamanthi is a prisoner.”

  He hesitated, and Wade spoke grimly.

  “Show us that secret way in, Natthiya. And then”—his hand fingered the cool metal of the Colt—“then it’s up to us!”

  Chapter VI

  Captured!

  AN HOUR later the four were moving quietly along a narrow tunnel which they had entered by pushing aside a balanced rock in a dark gulley.

  “Few know of this way,” the priest told them softly. “It dips far under the temple and rises again. The ancients built it long ago.”

  “It’s plenty old,” Wade commented, eying the discolored walls and lifting the improvised torch he had made.

  Marat glanced sidewise at Argyle. “How’s your arm, lamebrain?”

  Red touched the sling that held it motionless. “Okay. But I won’t be much good in a fight.”

  Wade chuckled. Even without the use of one arm, Argyle was a formidable antagonist. He had found a cudgel in the ravine and carried it over his good shoulder, ready for use.

  They went on for a long time, till at last Natthiya halted before a bare wall. His fingers flickered over the surface of rock, and a narrow rectangle widened in it.

  “Be silent now,” he cautioned. “We may encounter Tabin Naung’s men anywhere on this way.”

  “What’s the program?” Marat murmured.

  “The Thunderbug,” said Wade. “Once we get inside, we can laugh at the sawbwa. There’ll be guards, I suppose, but we have our guns.”

  Natthiya glanced over his shoulder. “That is truth? Once you reach your magic chariot, you can defeat Tabin Naung? You will not desert us?”

  “We won’t desert you,” Wade promised quietly. “Not before I’ve evened a few scores and put Kamanthi back on the throne.” His eyes were cold and hard.

  “Good!” The priest halted, fumbled in his garments, and brought out a packet of yellowish linen. He held up his arm for silence and moved forward stealthily to where the corridor turned sharply. Natthiya threw the packet around the bend and sprang after it. Instantly a flaring blaze of light flashed out.

  More magic. The Palinwan equivalent of magnesium flash powder, Wade realized, as he leaped after the priest. He was in time to see a guard, dazzled
by the glare, futilely striking at the old man with his sword. Moving with catlike agility, Natthiya hurled himself on the soldier, his gnarled, stubby fingers searching for vital nerve centers in the thick neck. He found them. The guard gave an inarticulate grunt and slumped to the floor.

  Wade stared, noticing that flambeaux burned along the passage farther on, and that the soldier had been stationed before a metal door, on the lock of which Natthiya was now working with desperate haste. Over his shoulder the priest whispered hurriedly:

  “Tabin Naung ordered Kamanthi to be held captive here. We can free her, eh?”

  Wade laughed softly. “Sure. Let Argyle handle that door.”

  The red-haired giant moved forward, reaching in his pocket for a small metal probe. Even handicapped by his useless arm, Red’s dexterous fingers worked magic. Within seconds he had unlocked the barrier and swung the portal wide.

  NATTHIYA hurried into the dungeon. The others followed. A lamp burned on a niche in the wall, and the floor was of bare stone. Kamanthi was shackled hand and foot, the golden headdress gone from her, the false sets of arms removed, the green unguent smeared on her smooth skin. Nevertheless, she was still lovely, still uncowed. Her proud stare flashed over the four.

  “I have brought help, priestess,” Natthiya told her.

  “Help?” Kamanthi’s lip curled. “From these men?”

  “Tell her,” Wade said curtly, and the priest obeyed.

  When he had finished, some of the hostility was gone from the girl’s face. But suspicion still remained. She did not move when Wade took the pick-lock from Red and went to work on the manacles. But she said quietly:

  “You came none too soon. Look!” she then said quietly, pointing toward a gap in the wall, a circular hole six feet in diameter. Darkness was beyond that portal, and an acrid, unpleasant smell crept into the dungeon from the tunnel.

  “I never used this dungeon,” Kamanthi said. “The death it gives is not a clean one. That passage leads into the swamp, and sometimes snakes and dragon-lizards come through it.”