by L. P. Davies
We saw no sign of our quarry until we reached the far side of the plantation. In the lead, I slowed down when the palms started to thin out, and straightened with relief. Ahead, the path cut across a small plateau towards what at first glance appeared to be an unbroken towering wall of red stone. But we were just in time to see the hunter vanish into a cleft so unobtrusive that without his unintentional help it would have escaped our notice.
We gave him a few seconds before following. The walls on either side of the cleft were high enough to completely exclude the sun, and we found the relief welcome. But it was only a shortlived respite. As we rounded a corner, the walls fell away abruptly, a new vista opening out. I pulled up so quickly that Lee bumped into me.
In front of us was a saucer-shaped valley, perhaps a mile across and encircled by low rolling hills. The fur-clad hunter was some distance away, walking briskly along the path that led gently down to a cluster of what had to be houses, set in a rough circle of stunted palms.
The houses were squat, solid-looking affairs, with loping walls, flat roofs, windows, but no chimneys. They looked for all the world like four-sided pyramids that had been sliced across, the upper parts re-moved and roofs laid on top. And the roofs, as far as I could make out from the distance, were nothing more than thickish layers of dried palm leaves, a kind of browny-green thatch held in position with rows of stones.
There were about a score of them, all identical, each with a door made of rough pieces of wood, each with windows set in the same places. And the windows had glass in them, for I could see how they shone, reflecting the sunlight. It struck me as strange that in such a primitive settlement as this—each house simplicity itself, no pretence of gardens or dividing hedges, no roads, a village inhabited presumably by people who wore animal skin—that something so sophisticated and civilized as glass should have been used in the windows.
But there was no time to try to puzzle out incongruities. There were people moving about down there, all similar in appearance and dress to the huntsman, who had already joined them. Where there were people and houses there also would be food and water …
It was Lee who spotted the stream. He grabbed my shoulder and pointed with mute excitement to where water gushed from the rocks not a hundred yards away to go snaking, shimmering and sparkling, towards the rear of the settlement. But to reach the water would mean exposing ourselves. Licking parched lips, I leaned forward to inspect the lay of the land. There were rocks and piles of stones, but none of them were large enough to give cover.
“We’ve got to try,” Lee said. “If we move slowly we might not be spotted. And if we are, for all we know the folk down there might turn out to be friendly. They look harmless enough.”
They did—at least, apart from the blow-pipe weapons—but appearances can be very deceptive. But we were both in desperate need of water now, and the sight of it there was too strong a temptation to be denied. I looked down at the village again. Two fur-clothed men—I suppose they were men—carried a large basket between them. A little further away a group seemed engaged in conversation. Children wearing the same kind of clothes as the adults, only distinguishable by their size, played on the ground outside one of the houses. In its way, a pleasant, almost homely little scene.
“We’ll have a stab at it,” I said. “Take it dead steady.” I glanced at his shirt then down at mine. There was little of their original whiteness left now to show up against the red background of the rocks.
Lee moved out of the cleft. Crouching, I followed, stepping sideways. My eyes were fixed on the settlement. No faces turned in our direction. Lee ran the last few yards to the stream to drop to his knees and plunge his face into it without any preliminaries, without bothering to test it. And I was equally incautious. I had never known anything so incredibly pleasurable as the feel of the ice-cold water on my face, of its sweetness as I gulped it down. And when the edge had been taken off my thirst I cupped my hands and scooped water, splashing it over my face and chest.
Still gasping, I squatted back on my heels and looked up. There, not a stone’s throw away, coming purposefully towards us up the slope, were three of the fur-clad men, each carrying a bamboo weapon. Lee saw them at the same time. We struggled to our feet together, turned, and found any chance of escape by the way we had come cut off by two more of the villagers, who had already reached the cleft. it seemed they had sharper eyes than we had given them credit for. We could only wait and see what they intended doing with us.
Lee shrugged and even grinned. “It was worth it, anyway,” he said.
We became the centre of a small circle of unsmiling brown-faced men. One of them reached out to touch my shirt and then said something to his companions in a soft, sibilant tongue. That they made no attempt to talk to us told me that they must have realised, perhaps from our clothes, that we were strangers—at least to this part of their world. It was difficult to read the expressions on the flattish faces. If the men felt any surprise at finding us, they disguised it very well. For a few minutes they spoke together in their incomprehensible language, then the circle parted and one of them used his bamboo tube to point down in the general direction of the village, his meaning clear enough.
“Walk into our parlour.” Lee shrugged again. “No option, Gerald.”
So we started off down the slope. Our captors lowed no violence towards us, no enmity, not even curiosity. The bamboos were carried loosely at their sides; no hands reached to touch the knives that were tucked into the cord belts. But the men were careful to hem us in for all that. One led the way, one walked on either side of us, and the remainder followed close at our heels. Escape, even if we had felt like it, would have been out of the question. For myself, I had a hearty respect for the simple but effective bamboos.
We were led through the centre of the village. The children broke off from their play, coming to their feet to watch us go by with silent, impassive faces. A woman—the first female of the species we had seen; slimmer legs, softer features, and longer hair being all that distinguished her from the menfolk— stood in one of the doorways, her unwinking gaze more intent upon our clothing than our faces.
The party came to a halt while our guards indulged in a second discussion, this time probably wondering what to do with us next. Meanwhile, one of them took hold of my wrist gently—the first time any one of them had touched us—lifting it to peer closely at my watch. I was afraid at first that he intended helping himself to it. Not that the watch was of any use now that it had stopped, but it was a kind of connection between this weird dimension and the stable, comfortable world we had left behind. But after a close scrutiny he left my wrist fall.
We set off again, this time guided towards one of the houses. The door was opened, it was made clear by gestures that we were to enter, the door closed behind us and we were on our own again.
There was much more to the interior than one might have guessed from the unprepossessing exterior. Certainly, there was no floor as such, only a hard-trodden mixture of earth and stone dust, but there were mats of plaited leaves to lend some small semblance of comfort. Stone walls, much thinner than the exterior ones, divided the place into rooms—oddly shaped rooms by reason of the sloping walls. The doors, held in place by thongs, were made of thick pieces of bark.
There were three rooms. The larger, into which the outer door opened, contained furniture of a kind—a
wooden bench, chairs, and a table, all very rough and ready, but functional enough. At least the seats were covered with layers of leaves in lieu of cushions, the table had a smooth top, and there was even an ornament on it—a vase made of glass, very clear and sparkling glass, with no distortion on its smooth surface when I picked it up and held it to the light.
In the next room we found wooden bunks, padded with more of the dried palm leaves. And Lee, exploring ahead, almost seeming to be enjoying himself, dis-covered the local version of a bathroom, exclaimed
aloud, called for me to come and see …
“Towels?” wondered Lee, touching them.
And there was even a mirror, a sheet of silvered glass, attached to the wall above the smaller bowl.
“All the comforts of home,” Lee remarked as we returned to the large room. Seating himself, he looked around. “No fireplace, though.”
“Perhaps they don’t need one. Tropical climate all fear.”
“I was thinking about cooking arrangements.”
“A sort of central kitchen,” I hazarded. “The place run on community ideas.”
“Utopia.” He grinned. “Without plumbing.” Then he became puzzled. “Why the sloping walls? Surely they would find it easier to build them straight ahead at an angle?”
I went to stand at the window. Its glass was smooth and crystal-clear without any tinge of colour. I ran my nail across the mortar in which it was set, finding it to be even harder than the surrounding sandstone.
“I wonder what they intend doing with us?” I asked.
“God knows.” He didn’t seem particularly concerned. “They’ve treated us decently so far.”
I moved to one side of the window so that I could look towards the outside of the door. Arms folded, bamboo tube cradled against his chest, one of the dark-faced men leaned against the wall.
“Sentry on duty,” I reported.
“Reasonable enough,” Lee said placidly. “I noticed when we came in that there were no locks or bolts to the door, not even a latch or a handle.” His gaze travelled round the room again. “No metal of any kind anywhere, Gerald. Had you noticed? No pottery either. Nor cloth of any kind. Only wood, stone, fur, leaves, and glass. All very primitive except for the glass. And toilet arrangements in the bargain. A stone-age cottage with some attempt at modern sanitation. What do you make of it?”
The glass was the odd man out. I picked up the vase again. When I rang it with my nail, it gave off a clear bell-like sound. It wouldn’t have been out of place in a Mayfair drawing-room. On an impulse I flung it as hard as I could against the stone wall. I think I knew what would happen. It chipped stone but was itself undamaged, bouncing back to fall intact and unharmed to the ground.
“It looks like glass,” I said, retrieving it.
“But obviously isn’t. At least not glass as we know it. Those daggers they carry—the blades seem to be made of the same stuff. And they don’t have beards, which means they shave. What with—glass razors?”
Coming to his feet, Lee joined me. I had returned to stand by the window.
“I’m not thirsty any more,” he announced, “but I’m damned hungry. I wonder if they believe in feeding their guests?”
“I haven’t eaten since last night either,” I reminded him.
“Which doesn’t make me feel any better.” He looked down at himself, grimacing distaste. “What a ruddy sight. Who uses the bathroom first?”
“We can’t toss for it,” I said. “You go ahead.”
While he was gone I climbed on the table and examined the ceiling. It was made, as I had guessed, of plaited dried palm leaves, thick layers of them lashed together with thin strips of the same material. We wouldn’t need much effort to break a way through.
Some time later Lee returned looking strangely clean, shirt over one arm, announcing that he had used only half the water and that there was no soap. I pointed out our potential means of escape.
“It’s an idea.” Slipping his shirt on, he looked upwards. “Not in broad daylight though?”
‘This house is on the fringe of the village,” I told him from the door. “I noticed that when they were bringing us here. And there’s a thickish patch of trees quite close.”
Leaving him to mull the idea over, I went to the bathroom, where I stripped off my clothes and set about removing the grime that still remained after my dousing in the stream. There was little enough water, but I put what there was to good use. The leaves intended as towels performed their function better than one would have thought, but it was a case of dabbing rather than wiping dry. When I returned to the other room I found Lee seated contentedly at the table making great use of a glass spoon in a bowl of the same material that was filled with a white mushy substance. Another bowl and spoon waited for me.
“With the compliments of the management.” He pointed with laden spoon. “Draw up a chair. Not much taste to the stuff, but it’s filling.”
It appeared that during my absence one of the village women had brought the food. There were even several small pieces of a kind of bread.
“She smiled,” Lee commented. “The first time I’ve seen one of them smile. Did you notice that even the kiddies’ faces were serious?” He mopped up the last of his mush with a piece of bread, popped it into his mouth, and leaned back. “That’s better.” Then he looked up at the ceiling. “Surely they must know we could get through there if we wanted to. Or maybe they aren’t all that bright.”
“They rounded us up efficiently enough,” I replied, busy with my own food. Apart from a tang of salt the white mush was devoid of flavour. The bread, if it was bread, was equally tasteless. But it was, as Lee had discovered, very filling.
“The way we were,” he said, “a gang of kids could have rounded us up. No, I was going by their expressions—vacant, disinterested. And look at the way they’ve set out their village—just a hotch-potch, no rhyme nor reason. And no imagination—all the houses built to look the same. And the way they behaved when they first saw us at close quarters. They didn’t even seem curious. Think what would happen if a couple of them suddenly showed up in Piccadilly Circus. It would be a nine days’ wonder. Milling crowds, cameras, headlines in the papers, the lot …”
“This isn’t London,” I said slowly. His words had set a new train of thought working.
“They don’t look very intelligent,” I said. “Even so, you would think they would have been startled to see us. Our faces are very different from theirs, our clothes, the way we talk .. .”
“I think I’m way ahead of you,” Lee observed, “but go on.”
“They weren’t surprised because they had seen people like us before.”
“And not so long ago at that.” He nodded. “That’s how I had it figured. Uncle John and Adam have been here for nearly six weeks. Long enough for these people to have become accustomed to the sight of them. And there’s another thing. I haven’t seen any kind of transport, not even animals that would serve instead of horses. In this place you couldn’t get very far on foot. I’m guessing that Uncle John and Adam are here, in this very village.”
“It’s possible.” I pushed my empty bowl away. “But if they are, and these types are friendly, you’d think they’d have taken us to them.”
“Which could mean that they’re either not here after all, or if they are, they’re being kept—what’s the word?—incommunicado. And in that case—”
Sweeping the bowls aside he climbed onto the table. As I joined him, the contraption creaked beneath our combined weight.
“We could use a couple of their glass knives,” he grunted, tearing at the brittle leaves. A section came away, showering us with debris. Branches were entwined in the leaves, making it harder to wrench them apart than we had first imagined. Sunlight began to filter through.
I felt a twinge of remorse at the damage we were doing. A lot of work must have gone into making the roof. These people had treated us well enough, supplying us with what was perhaps all the comfort at their meagre disposal. We weren’t even sure we were being held prisoners. But that was something we couldn’t wait to find out. For all we knew, this might be only a temporary prison while something much more substantial was being prepared. I tried to assuage my conscience qualms with that thought.
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nbsp; The hole we had made was large enough for our purpose. Climbing up through it was easy enough, the low ceiling being only inches above our heads.
Lee wriggled through first, hoisting himself up, the ceiling sagging beneath his weight. Lying full length he reached down to help me up. For a few minutes we lay side by side in the sunlight, listening.
I raised my head cautiously. The palm trees, as I had earlier noted, were only a short distance away. In the opposite direction the sentry was out of sight, hidden by the edge of the roof. The open space in front of the house was deserted.
“All clear,” I whispered to Lee’s inquiring raised eyebrows, and we started to inch our way towards the edge of the roof nearest to the trees. The sloping wall was made for sliding down. Then we were running towards the cover of the trees. In the shade we paused to look back. Everywhere seemed quiet.