by Andre Norton
10. A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER
Shann took up the piece of soft chalklike stone he had found and drewanother short white mark on the rust-red of a boulder well above tidelevel. That made three such marks, three days since Thorvald hadmarooned him. And he was no nearer the shore now than he had been onthat first morning! He sat where he was by the boulder, aware that heshould be up, trying to climb to the less accessible nests of the seabirds. The prisoners, man and wolverines, had cleaned out all those theyhad discovered on beach and cliffs. But at the thought of more eggs,Shann's stomach knotted in pain and he began to retch.
There had been no sign of Thorvald since Shann had watched him steerbetween the two westward islands. And the younger Terran's faint hopethat the officer would return had died. On the shore a few feet away layhis own pitiful attempt to solve the problem of escape.
The force ax had vanished with Thorvald, along with all the rest of themeager supplies which had been the officer's original contribution totheir joint equipment. Shann had used his knife on brush and smalltrees, trying to put together some kind of a raft. But he had not beenable to discover here any of those vines necessary for binding, and hisbest efforts had all come to grief when he tried them in a lagoonlaunching. So far he had achieved no form of raft which would keep himafloat longer than five minutes, let alone support three of them as faras the next island.
Shann pulled listlessly at the framework of his latest try, fullydisheartened. He tried not to think of the unescapable fact that thewater in the rain tank had sunk to only an inch or so of muddy scum.Last night he had dug in the heart of the interior valley where therankness of the vegetation was a promise of moisture, to uncover dampclay and then a brackish ooze. Far too little to satisfy both him andthe animals.
There were surely fish somewhere in the lagoon. Shann wondered if theraw flesh of sea dwellers could supply the water they needed. Butlacking net, line, or hooks, how did one fish? Yesterday, using hisstunner, he had brought down a bird, to discover the carcass so rankeven the wolverines, never dainty eaters, refused to gnaw it.
The animals prowled the two beaches, and Shann guessed they hunted shelldwellers, for at times they dug energetically in the gravel. Togi wasbusied in this way now, the sand flowing from under her pumping legs,her claws raking in good earnest.
And it was Togi's excavation which brought Shann a first ray of hope.Her excitement was so marked that he believed she was in quest of someworthwhile game and he moved across to inspect the pit. A patch ofbrown, which had been skimmed bare by one raking paw, made him shout.
Taggi shambled downslope, going to work beside his mate with aneagerness as open as hers. Shann hovered at the edge of the pit theywere rapidly enlarging. The brown patch was larger, disclosing itself asa hump doming up from the gravel. The Terran did not need to run hishands over that rough surface to recognize the nature of the find. Thiswas another shell such as had come floating in after the storm to formthe raw material of their canoe.
However, as fast as the wolverines dug, they did not appear to makecorrespondingly swift headway in uncovering their find as mightreasonably be expected. In fact, a witness could guess that the shellwas sinking at a pace only a fraction slower than the burrowers wereusing to free it. Intrigued by that, Shann went back to the waterline,secured one of the lengths he had been trying to weave into hisfailures, and returned to use it as a makeshift shovel.
Now, with three of them at the digging, the brown hump was uncovered,and Shann pried down around its edge, trying to lever it up and over. Tohis amazement, his tool was caught and held, nearly jerked from hishands. To his retaliating tug the obstruction below-ground gave way, andthe Terran sprawled back, the length of wood coming clear, to show theother end smashed and splintered as if it had been caught betweenmashing gears.
For the first time he understood that they were dealing not with anempty shell casing buried by drift under this small beach, but with ashell still inhabited by the Warlockian to whom it was a naturalcovering, and that that inhabitant would fight to continue ownership. Amoment's examination of that splintered wood also suggested that theshell's present wearer appeared well able to defend itself.
Shann attempted to call off the wolverines, but they were out of controlnow, digging frantically to get at this new prey. And he knew that if hepulled them away by force, they were apt to turn those punishing clawsand snapping jaws on him.
It was for their protection that he returned to digging, though he nolonger tried to pry up the shell. Taggi leaped to the top of that dome,sweeping paws downward to clear its surface, while Togi prowled aroundits circumference, pausing now and then to send dirt and gravelspattering, but treading warily as might one alert for a sudden attack.
They had the creature almost clear now, though the shell still restedfirmly on the ground, and they had no notion of what it might protect.It was smaller, perhaps two thirds the size of the one which Thorvaldhad fashioned into a seagoing craft. But it could provide them withtransportation to the mainland if Shann was able to repeat the feat ofturning it into an outrigger canoe.
Taggi joined his mate on the ground and both wolverines padded about thedome, obviously baffled. Now and then they assaulted the shell with atesting paw. Claws raked and did not leave any marks but shallowscratches. They could continue that forever, as far as Shann could see,without solving the problem in the least.
He sat back on his heels and studied the scene in detail. The excavationholding the shelled creature was some three yards above the high-watermark, with a few more feet separating that from the point where lazywaves now washed the finer sand. Shann watched the slow inward slip ofthose waves with growing interest. Where their combined efforts hadfailed to win this odd battle, perhaps the sea itself could now bepressed into service.
Shann began his own excavation, a trough to lead from the waterline tothe pit occupied by the obstinate shell. Of course the thing living inor under that covering might be only too familiar with salt water. Butit had placed its burrow, or hiding place, above the reach of the wavesand so might be disconcerted by the sudden appearance of water in itsbed. However, the scheme was worth trying, and he went to work doggedly,wishing he could make the wolverines understand so they would help him.
They still prowled about their captive, scrapping at the sand about theshell casing. At least their efforts would keep the half-prisoneroccupied and prevent its escape. Shann put another piece of his raft towork as a shovel, throwing up a shower of sand and gravel while sweatdampened his tattered blouse and was salt and sticky on his arms andface.
He finished his trench, one which ran at an angle he hoped would feedwater into the pit rapidly once he knocked away the last barrier againstthe waves. And, splashing out into the green water, he did just that.
His calculations proved correct. Waves lapped, then flowed in a rapidlythickening stream, puddling out about the shell as the wolverines drewback, snarling. Shann lashed his knife fast to a stout length ofsapling, so equipping himself with a spear. He stood with it ready inhis hand, not knowing just what to expect. And when the answer to hiswater attack came, the move was so sudden that in spite of hispreparation he was caught gaping.
For the shell fairly erupted out of the mess of sand and water. Acomplete fringe of jointed, clawed brown limbs churned in aforward-and-upward dash. But the water worked to frustrate that charge.For one of the pit walls crumbled, over-balancing the creature so thatthe fore end of the shell lifted from the ground, the legs clawingwildly at the air.
Shann thrust with the spear, feeling the knife point go home so deeplythat he could not pull his improvised weapon free. A limb snapped clawsonly inches away from his leg as he pushed down on the haft with all hisstrength. That attack along with the initial upset of balance did thejob. The shell flopped over, its rounded hump now embedded in the waterysand of the pit while the frantic struggles of the creature to rightitself only buried it the deeper.
The Terran stared down upon a segmented under belly where l
egs werepaired in riblike formation. Shann could locate no head, no good target.But he drew his stunner and beamed at either end of the oval, and then,for good measure, in the middle, hoping in one of those three generalblasts to contact the thing's central nervous system. He was not to knowwhich of those shots did the trick, but the frantic wiggling of the legsslowed and finally ended, as a clockwork toy might run down for want ofwinding--and at last projected, at crooked angles, completely still. Theshell creature might not be dead, but it was tamed for now.
Taggi had only been waiting for a good chance to do battle. He grabbedone of those legs, worried it, and then leaped to tear at the underbody. Unlike the outer shell, this portion of the creature had no properarmor and the wolverine plunged joyfully into the business of the kill,his mate following suit.
The process of butchery was a bloody, even beastly job, and Shann wasshaken before it was complete. But he kept at his labors, determined tohave that shell, his one chance of escape from the Island. Thewolverines feasted on the greenish-white flesh, but he could not bringhimself to sample it, climbing to the heights in search of eggs, andmaking a happy find of a niche filled with the edible moss-fungi.
By late afternoon he had the shell scooped fairly clean and thewolverines had carried away for burial such portions as they had notbeen able to consume at their first eating. Meanwhile, theleather-headed birds had grown bold enough to snatch up the fragments hetossed out on the water, struggling for that bounty against feedersarising from the depths of the lagoon.
At the coming of dusk Shann hauled the bloodstained, grisly trophy wellup the beach and wedged it among the rocks, determined not to lose histreasure. Then he stripped and washed, first his clothing and thenhimself, rubbing his hands and arms with sand until his skin was tender.He was still exultant at his luck. The drift would supply him withmaterials for an outrigger. One more day's work--or maybe two--and hecould leave. He wrung out his blouse and gazed toward the distant lineof the shore. Once he had his new canoe ready he would try to make thetrip back in the early morning while the mists were still on the sea.That should give him cover against any Throg flight.
That night Shann slept in the deep fog of bodily exhaustion. There wereno dreams, nothing but an unconsciousness which even a Throg attackcould not have pierced. He roused in the morning with an odd feeling ofguilt. The water hole he had scooped in the valley yielded him someswallows tasting of earth, but he had almost forgotten the flavor of apurer liquid. Munching on a fistful of moss, he hurried down to theshore, half fearing to find the shell gone, his luck out once again.
Not only was the shell where he had wedged it, but he had done betterthan he knew when he had left it exposed in the night. Small thingsscuttled away from it into hiding, and several birds arose--scavengershad been busy lightening his unwelcome task for that morning. Andseeing how the clean-up process had gone, Shann had a secondinspiration.
Pushing the thing down the beach, he sank it in the shallows withseveral rocks to anchor it. Within a few seconds the shell was invadedby a whole school of spiny-tailed fish, that ate greedily. Leaving hisfind to their cleansing, Shann went back to prospect the pile of raftmaterial, choosing pieces which could serve for an outrigger frame. Hewas handicapped as he had been all along by the absence of the vines onecould use for lashings. And he had reached the point of considering adrastic sacrifice of his clothing to get the necessary strips when hesaw Taggi dragging behind him one of the jointed legs the wolverines hadput in storage the day before.
Now and again Taggi laid his prize on the shingle, holding it firmlypinned with his forepaws as he tried to worry loose a section of flesh.But apparently that feat was beyond even his notable teeth, and atlength he left it lying there in disgust while he returned to a cachefor more palatable fare. Shann went to examine more closely thetriple-jointed limb.
The casing was not as hard as horn or shell, he discovered upon testing;it more resembled tough skin laid over bone. With a knife he tried toloosen the skin--a tedious job requiring a great deal of patience, sincethe tissue tore if pulled away too fast. But with care he acquired a fewthongs perhaps a foot long. Using two of these, he made a trial bindingof one stick to another, and experimented farther, soaking the wholeconstruction in sea water and then exposing it to the direct rays of thesun.
When he examined his test piece an hour later, the skin thongs had setinto place with such success that the one piece of wood might have beenfirmly glued to the other. Shann shuffled his feet in a little dance oftriumph as he went on to the lagoon to inspect the water-logged shell.The scavengers had done well. One scraping, two at the most, would havethe whole thing clean and ready to use.
But that night Shann dreamed. No climbing of a skull-shaped mountainthis time. Instead, he was again on the beach, laboring under anoverwhelming compulsion, building something for an alien purpose hecould not understand. And he worked as hopelessly as a beaten slave,knowing that what he made was to his own undoing. Yet he could not haltthe making, because just beyond the limit of his vision there stood adominant will which held him in bondage.
And he awoke on the beach in the very early dawn, not knowing how he hadcome there. His body was bathed in sweat, as it had been during hisday's labors under the sun, and his muscles ached with fatigue.
But when he saw what lay at his feet he cringed. The frameworkof the outrigger, close to completion the night before, wasdismantled--smashed. All those strips of hide he had so laboriouslyculled were cut--into inch-long bits which could be of no service.
Shann whirled, ran to the shell he had the night before pulled from thewater and stowed in safety. Its rounded dome was dulled where it hadbeen battered, but there was no break in the surface. He ran his handsanxiously over the curve to make sure. Then, very slowly, he came backto the mess of broken wood and snipped hide. And he was sure, only toosure, of one thing. He, himself, had wrought that destruction. In hisdream he had built to satisfy the whim of an enemy; in reality he haddestroyed; and that was also, he believed, to satisfy an enemy.
The dream was a part of it. But who or what could set a man dreaming andso take over his body, make him in fact betray himself? But then, whathad made Thorvald maroon him here? For the first time, Shann guessed anew, if wild, explanation for the officer's desertion. Dreams--and thedisk which had worked so strangely on Thorvald. Suppose everything theother had surmised was the truth! Then that disk _had_ been found onthis very island, and here somewhere must lie a clue to the riddle.
Shann licked his lips. Suppose that Thorvald had been sent away underjust such a strong compulsion as the one which had ruled Shann lastnight? Why was he left behind if the other had been moved away toprotect some secret? Was it that Shann himself was wanted here, wantedso much that when he at last found a means of escape he was set todestroy it? That act might have been forced upon him for two reasons: tokeep him here, and to impress upon him how powerless he was.
Powerless! A flicker of stubborn will stirred to respond to that impliedchallenge. All right, the mysterious _they_ had made him do this. Butthey had underrated him by letting him learn, almost contemptuously, oftheir presence by that revelation. So warned, he was in a manner armed;he could prepare to fight back.
He squatted by the wreckage as he thought that through, turning overbroken pieces. And, Shann realized, he must present at the moment asatisfactory picture of despondency to any spy. A spy, that was it!Someone or something must have him under observation, or his activitiesof the day before would not have been so summarily countered. And ifthere was a spy, then there was his answer to the riddle. To trap thetrapper. Such action might be a project beyond his resources, but it washis own counterattack.
So now he had to play a role. Not only must he search the island for thetrace of his spy, but he must do it in such a fashion that his purposewould not be plain to the enemy he suspected. The wolverines could help.Shann arose, allowed his shoulders to droop, slouching to the slope withall the air of a beaten man which he could assume, whistling f
or Taggiand Togi.
When they came, his exploration began. Ostensibly he was hunting forlengths of drift or suitable growing saplings to take the place of thosehe had destroyed under orders. But he kept a careful watch on the animalpair, hoping by their reactions to pick up a clue to any hidden watcher.
The larger of the two beaches marked the point where the Terrans hadfirst landed and where the shell thing had been killed. The smaller wasmore of a narrow tongue thrust out into the lagoon, much of it chokedwith sizable boulders. On earlier visits there Taggi and Togi had pokedinto the hollows among these with their usual curiosity. But now bothanimals remained upslope, showing no inclination to descend to the waterline.
Shann caught hold of Taggi's scruff, pulling him along. The wolverinetwisted and whined, but he did not fight for freedom as he would haveupon scenting Throg. Not that the Terran had ever believed one of thosealiens was responsible for the happenings on the island.
Taggi came down under Shann's urging, but he was plainly ill at ease.And at last he snarled a warning when the man would have drawn himcloser to two rocks which met overhead in a crude semblance of an arch.There was a stick of drift protruding from that hollow affording Shann alegitimate excuse to venture closer. He dropped his hold on thewolverines, stooped to gather in the length of wood, and at the sametime glanced into the pocket.
Water lay just beyond, making this a doorway to the lagoon. The sun hadnot yet penetrated into the shadow, if it ever did. Shann reached forthe wood, at the same time drawing his finger across the flat rock whichwould furnish a steppingstone for anything using that door as anentrance to the island.
Wet! Which might mean his visitor had recently arrived, or else merelythat a splotch of spray had landed there not too long before. But in hismind Shann was convinced that he had found the spy's entrance. Could heturn it into a trap? He added a piece of drift to his bundle and pickedup two more before he returned to the cliff ahead.
A trap.... He revolved in his mind all the traps he knew which could beused here. He already had decided upon the bait--his own work. And ifhis plans went through--and hope does not die easily--then this time hewould not waste his labor either.
So he went back to the same job he had done the day before, making dowith skin strips he had considered second-best before, smoothing,cutting. Only the trap occupied his mind, and close to sunset he knewjust what he was going to do and how.
Though the Terran did not know the nature of the unseen opponent, hethought he could guess two weaknesses which might deliver the other intohis hands. First, the enemy was entirely confident of success in thisventure. No being who was able to control Shann as completely and ablyas had been done the night before would credit any prey with the powerto strike back in force.
Second, such a confident enemy would be unable to resist watching themanipulation of a captive. The Terran was certain that his opponentwould be on the scene somewhere when he was led, dreaming, to destroyhis work once more.
He might be wrong on both of those counts, but inwardly he didn'tbelieve so. However, he had to wait until the dark to set up his ownanswer, one so simple he was certain the enemy would not suspect it atall.