Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  Next day she had felt the same atmosphere around her of cruelty, gloating cruelty. Before she had been lonely, anxious, oppressed, but now she knew the real chill of fear. Whither could she turn? The Indians? They were savages out of some other world, and she had not a word of their speech. There was no pity in their gaunt, glowing faces...The Bodyguard? They at any rate were human, for they could laugh. One of them, too, had a dog, a mongrel terrier, with whom Janet, having an invincible attraction for all dogs, had endeavoured to make friends. She had partly succeeded, but success was easier with one kind of animal than with the other. The Bodyguard that day was dispersed, except the three, Molinoff, Carvilho, and Carreras, who were resting after their labours of the previous days.

  Carreras had been one of the three trusties who had been hardly treated by Geordie Hamilton that evening on board the Corinna, and, since he had seen her there, he seemed to regard her with special rancour. As she passed them, where they grumbled and spat over a game of cards, she felt that among these squalid ruffians there was no refuge from the cruelty of their masters.

  With no books, and nothing to occupy her thoughts, she had watched the hot afternoon decline to evening. She saw homing birds returning, especially one great eagle which had been hunting out in the plains. She saw the sun go down behind the hills, and kindle far off a blue peak which reminded her of Stob Dearg as seen from her room at Glenraden. The old happy world she had lost flitted through her mind in a chain of pictures which she had not the strength to repel. She shut her eyes tight, and the smell of wood smoke from the cooking-fires brought back the hall at Glenraden in wintertime, with her sister Agatha making tea, and her father stamping the snow from his feet, and the dogs tangled on the hearthstone...But it was the picture of Archie which broke her heart, the picture which she had so resolutely fought to shut from her; Archie with his boyish laugh and tousled hair and flushed face, so absurd and unexpected and gallant and gentle...

  Janet had her supper alone in the immense rotunda where she slept. The Indian who brought it looked steadily before him and had no language but a grave inclination of the head. She heard the blocks being piled together, and knew that for another night she was safe. She blew out her candle and tried to sleep, but now it was not fear that thrilled her, but homesickness. She had gone clean over the horizon, away from the kindly race of men. She believed that she could face horrors, death if necessary, if only a friendly eye or voice were near, if only Archie could hold her hand...

  But if Archie were here it would mean death for him. The thought terrified her till she remembered how vain it was. Archie would be looking for her with a breaking heart, but by no conceivable chance could he find her hiding-place. It was like being buried deep in the earth...Archie was safe. That was something...As for herself, whether Sandy lost or won she would not live to see it. A sense of utter hopelessness had come over her, the shadow of a dark and certain destiny. But in this certainty there was a kind of miserable peace, and she fell asleep.

  She awoke with a start, lit her candle and watched the monstrous shadows run into the uppermost gloom. Then, as we have seen, she tried to sleep again, and slowly drifted from memory to vagueness, from vagueness to unconsciousness.

  She woke again, this time to complete awareness. She had heard a sound different from the light rumble of the wind or the fall of minute particles of dust. There was a human presence somewhere in the emptiness. Panic shook her. Her sanctuary was no sanctuary, and her enemies were here. With trembling fingers she struck a match and held it to her candle. It seemed ages before the wick caught fire, and then it flickered thinly. She was on her feet now, her eyes wildly searching the darkness.

  Suddenly a voice spoke from behind her. “Please do not be alarmed. Lady Roylance. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

  It was a pleasant voice — a foreign voice, for it spoke English with unnatural precision, and made three syllables of her surname. There was something reassuring about that precision. It seemed familiar, too.

  “Who is it?” she asked, her voice still quivering.

  A figure came out of the gloom. She held up the candle and it revealed an Indian, barelegged and barefooted, wearing a long tunic of cats’ skins and on his shoulder a red poncho. In her amazement she almost dropped the candle and all her terrors returned. He seemed to understand her fright, for he spoke rapidly. “Please do not fear. I am a friend whom you know. I am a friend of your husband and of Lord Clanroyden...Will you please dress a little, for I would like you to take a walk with me.. I will retire. We cannot speak in this place.”

  “But who are you?” This time her voice had hope.

  “My name is Luis de Marzaniga.”

  “Oh, Don Luis, Don Luis!”...Her voice was a wail, for violent relief often takes the tone of tragedy. “Oh, my dear, my dear...I am so glad...I can’t speak...in a second I will be ready.”

  Janet’s toilet did not take long, for she had no clothes but those in which she had left the Courts of the Morning. She pulled on a jumper, and thrust her feet into a pair of much-stained grey suede shoes. At her call Luis again came out of the darkness.

  “I know I’m a fright, Don Luis. My hair won’t stay tidy, for I have lost most of my hairpins. I swear I shall be shingled as soon as I get home...Archie wanted me to, before we came out here...Have you any word of Archie?...We can’t get out of this place, you know.”

  She babbled like a happy child.

  “No,” he said, “but we can get above it. You have a good head, I hope. Lady Roylance, for I am going to take you nearer to the stars.”

  He led her to the south-eastern corner, and there her candle, which he carried, revealed a low recess. He motioned her to follow him and she found herself in a tunnel where she had to crouch, almost to crawl. He felt carefully the left side and suddenly he stopped and reached for her hand.

  “Follow close,” he whispered. “The tunnel is a trap, which ends presently in a pit.”

  They squeezed through a subsidiary opening, and almost at once found the roof rise. “There is a staircase,” he whispered. “It is built inside the wall, but it is in good condition. You can stand upright now,” He blew out the candle and took her hand.

  The steps were smooth and unbroken and they rose steeply. Then they seemed to turn a corner, where the darkness was exchanged for a faint green light. With every step the light grew, and the smell of earth and powdered stone began to change to the freshness of the outer world. Suddenly wind blew in their faces, and they emerged on a kind of barbican, with the stone slats of a roof rising steeply behind them, and in front, beyond a low parapet, the valley white in the moonshine.

  Janet caught her breath. The sight was not only of a torturing beauty, but it seemed to be an earnest of freedom. She peered over the edge and saw far below her the dusty avenues of the camp, white and quiet as if under a mantle of snow. One of the cooking-fires still smoked feebly, but otherwise there was no movement in the place.

  The subsidiary towers, which recalled in their shape pictures she had seen of the Rhodesian Zimbabwes, were like solid cones of pale ivory, and their shadows were deep emerald.

  The valley, she saw, was thickly forested on all sides, the trees now milky in the moon, now of the blackest jet. But beyond its containing walls she saw what was invisible to one below, peaks which must be high mountains, but which under this vault of elfin light seemed curiously near and foreshortened. To the west and south-west, apart from the barrier ridge, the horizon seemed empty, and she realised that she was very near to the edge of the hills. Over there must lie the Gran Seco and her friends.

  The girl drew long breaths of an air which seemed to blend the aromatic strangeness of forests with the coolness of the high snows. She felt in command once again of herself and her fate. Below were her captors, but now she stood above them.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  He spoke a name.

  “The Thrones of the Kings,” she repeated.

  “Of the Kin
g,” he corrected. “Los Tronos del Rey. There was only one king, but he was very great. When he died, his captains and councillors were made to die with him. He was buried here, and they in those lesser towers. Once each was also full of gold and silver images and uncountable treasure, but they were rifled long ago by the ancestors of our people — my own among them. The spoilers would have destroyed the tombs also, but they could lot. No hand of man can touch this masonry. High explosives only, and happily they did not have them.”

  “Does the world know about it?”

  He shook his head. “Only the Indians of the Pais de Venenos, and they do not talk. The other Indians of the hills regard it as accursed and will not approach it.”

  “But who brought these people here — the Conquistadors and the others?”

  “The man called Romanes was in touch with the Pais Venenos — also, I think, Pasquali. They got their drugs here, and it was necessary for them to find a camp near. I sanctioned it, for I have much power among the people of the Poison Valley. It was by my authority that these Indians accompanied them, and I myself joined them. You admire my disguise? Since their first coming here I also have been present to observe...But I did not expect you, Lady Roylance, and you have given me anxious thoughts...Also there is another development. Romanes, he who is the commandante, is a good soldier, and his mind is quick. He has discovered that which I hoped to keep hidden.”

  “I know,” said Janet excitedly. “I saw yesterday that they had found out something which they thought desperately important. I tried to discover what it was — but of course I had no chance. They have sent off messengers to General Lossberg.”

  “They have. But I do not think those messengers will get through. One was an Indian, and he is already back with me in the forest, not a mile away. The other was the man called Magee. I think that by this time he may have had an accident.”

  “What was the news?”

  “No less than the secret way out of the Gran Seco, the way by which I am accustomed to travel. Olifa believes that there is no road but the railway, except for a stray cragsman. The Gobernador also believes this. But there is a way through difficult passes into the Vulpas valley. Once I showed it to Lord Clanroyden, and it is a road which a light army can travel.”

  “I see, I see,” Janet cried. “Then Sandy might use it, unless Lossberg gets there before him.”

  “Lossberg will not get there before him. And Lord Clanroyden will beyond doubt use it, since it is the only path to victory.”

  Janet clasped her hands. All fear for herself had gone and she joyfully felt herself already united with her friends since she was again in the game. “I thought I was hidden hundreds of miles away from the rest,” she said, “and find that I am at the key-point.”

  Luis looked down upon the small figure whose hair was dull gold in the moonlight, and he smiled.

  “But you cannot stay here,” he said. “It is too dangerous. It is very necessary that you escape not later than to-morrow night — to-night, I mean, for it is now past midnight.”

  “I long to get away...I admit I have been horribly frightened...But is there nothing I could do if I stayed?”

  “You are brave. But no, there is nothing you can do. You will understand that these people are now in a dangerous mood. You are their hostage, but any day they may think that you can be of no use as a hostage, and then...they will not be merciful. They are very complete rascals, and it is necessary to keep them here till Lord Clanroyden has made his great stroke. That I think I can undertake through my friends. But we cannot have one of our own people left in their hands. They will be helpless, like imprisoned starving dogs, but they have nasty fangs...No, you must go tomorrow night — this night.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  “No. I will follow you by another road. But I will see that you are accompanied. It is a journey which will need courage, Lady Roylance. Also to-morrow will need courage. Your warders will be in a difficult temper, and you must act a part. You must appear to be in deep sorrow, and I think you had better be a little ill. Yet you must go among them, for when they see you sad and helpless they will be encouraged and perhaps hopeful, and it very necessary to keep their hope alive for another day. If they have hope they will not think yet of revenge...You will sup in your big bedroom, as you did to-night, and in hour before moonrise I will come for you.”

  “But how can you get out of this place?”

  “By the way which I shall use to-night. The old builders had many tunnels and passages, which I and my Indians have long known. That is simple. It will be harder to get out the valley, but there is a road for bold hearts, and after a little your friends will meet you. That I have arranged. And now you must go back to bed and sleep very well, for you have much to do to-morrow.”

  “I shall sleep,” Janet cried. “I do not think that I have really slept since I came here, but now...” Her face glowed with happiness; she seized his hands and held them, like a child who finds in a gesture what it cannot find in words.

  “You have not asked me who will be your escort,” he said.

  “I feel so strong,” she laughed, “that if you gave me the right direction I think I could escape alone.”

  “Not so, my dear lady. It is too hard a task for one, even one so gallant. But you will be given full directions, and two trusty companions. One will be a Scotch soldier, whose name is Hamilton.”

  Janet dropped his hands and stared open-mouthed.

  “Geordie Hamilton! Fusilier Geordie! How on earth did he get here? He was in the garrison in the Courts of the Morning.”

  “He is here. He arrived, having fallen sick on the way, but he is now cured. The other...” He paused.

  “The other?” Janet repeated, with a sudden wild anticipation.

  “The other is your husband.”

  XIV

  Janet looked out next morning on a new world. Hitherto her eyes had been turning inward, busy with her own grief.

  Now she was in a mood of confidence, almost of exhilaration, and the outer scene made a sharper impact upon her senses. She saw the strange beauty of this glen of sepulchre the uncanny shafts of ghostly stone, the avenues white and crackling in the heat, the cincture of green forest, the sentinel and enveloping mountains. The sight of a far blue peak seen through a gap seemed a promise of liberty. Her youth had returned to her and she was almost in a mood for singing...Then she remembered the part she had to play, and composed herself to a decent bewilderment.

  She soon found that she had no need to dissemble, for her new-gained cheerfulness evaporated during breakfast. He hosts seemed overnight to have changed their attitude. Their formal politeness had gone, and they treated her roughly, like an embarrassing chattel. Behind their iron composure a deep restlessness was patent. Their schemes were going awry, they could not get in touch with their allies, the place which they had thought a strategic vantage-ground was in danger of becoming their prison.

  They talked freely before her, too, and, with what she had learned from Luis, she could follow the drift of it.

  They spoke of methods of access and egress. Now that the seaplane was useless, and Lossberg’s planes seemed unable to arrive, they discussed the land routes. Some had come by the Pais de Venenos, but that was a difficult road, and it would land them in that eastern part of the Tierra Caliente where the patrols of Peters and Escrick were too active for comfort. There was a way through the hills direct to the west, the way by which they had dispatched Magee, but that also was slow and difficult, and came out on to the plateau too near Pacheco. They spoke of a road to the south, the road their daily scouting parties had taken, and in that appeared to lie their chief hope. But it had clearly been no part of their plan to leave — rather they expected Lossberg to make contact with them, and Janet knew the reason. They commanded the secret outlet to Olifa; they were the forward observation-post for Lossberg; but unless Lossberg received and acted on their intelligence, they would be more in the nature of a forlorn hope.r />
  They had other anxieties. Janet gathered that the Bodyguard was getting a little out of hand. It had been docile enough when it believed that it was being led back to Castor and its old life. But if it scented failure it would take its own road. She realised that the only tie between the two parties was a common interest; remove that, and there would remain only dislike and contempt. For the first time she heard a note of natural passion among these marionettes, when Lariarty spoke of a wrangle he had had with Judson. For the first time, too, she heard an oath on their discreet lips. Into the face of Romanes there had come a spark of human anger. “By God,” he said, “I’ll show these curs who’s top dog.”

  Janet played well her game of an ailing and heartbroken prisoner, but she was unregarded. Presently she was to have a striking proof of her hosts’ suspicions. The day before in her loneliness she had had thoughts of throwing herself on the mercy of the Bodyguard, and had tried to enter into conversation with them, but had been surlily rebuffed. The most she had succeeded in was a half-hearted friendship with the mongrel terrier that belonged to Carreras. She passed a group of them who were playing cards in the shade of one of the towers, squatted in the white dust. The dog ran to her and she stopped to fondle it.

  Suddenly she felt her arms pinioned and looked into a grinning face.

  “Come and join our little party, dearie,” a voice said. “We’re better men than the deadheads up the way. We’re all of us free, white, twenty-one, and hairy chested, and we know how to be kind to a pretty girl.”

  She struggled to release her arms, but the man’s grip remained, while the card-party laughed. Even in her terror she noticed how curiously low the ears were set on his head.