Silverlock (Prologue Books)

by John Myers Myers

  My companion drew a huge sigh and turned to me. “I was sure,” he said, “but it helps a lot to see it. You’re not going to be fish food after all, A. Clarence Shandon.”

  “Just Shandon will do,” I snapped. My mind had reached a puerile state when it hated to be proved wrong, no matter on what score. “We aren’t there yet,” I pointed out. “We’ll probably be swept past it or dashed against the rocks.”

  “There are sometimes rocks,” he admitted, “and I’m in no shape to do much swimming. Well, let’s see if we can find out what we’re up against.”

  After saying that, and as promptly as if it had something to do with the case, he startled me by beginning to chant a sort of mad plain song:

  I invoke the Commonwealth!

  I know what was in Othroerir;

  Othroerir was in it,

  In it, it was hoarded,

  Hoarded, it was stolen,

  Stolen, it was spilled,

  Spilled, I caught it;

  Caught, it was given away,

  Given away, it stays my own,

  My own is the Commonwealth.

  I invoke it!

  The land may not be hidden from its lover.

  As if some cosmic hand was taking off the lid, a bank of mist then lifted to show a bank of greenery. It was not very far off, and we were being impelled directly toward it.

  “We’re in the Archipelago,” Golias said when we had washed a little nearer.

  By then I had made the adjustment to take the fact of solid earth for granted. Yet I was so exhausted that the realization hardly dented my emotions. I stared at the land, which looked pleasant enough, although uninhabited.

  “You need more than one island for that,” I objected.

  “There are at least two right in the offing.” He pointed, and I realized that a bank of mist adjacent to what he insisted was an island had stayed put. “There’s one or more tucked away in that fog, which is probably of the natural sort.”

  “Sure,” I said, not thinking it worth while to challenge the observation. “Got any idea which one this island in front of us is?”

  “I could better tell you which ones it is not.” His head was turned away from me, but I could see him shake it. “From the way things are shaping up this could be P’eng Lai, Emne, or — oh, any one of a dozen others.”

  “Well, if you don’t recognize it,” I protested, “how the devil are you so sure it’s an island at all? It might just as well be a cape.”

  “For one thing, it doesn’t look like we’re going to have any trouble landing,” he told me. “There’s usually somebody waiting to take a swing at you when you hit the mainland. Or if it isn’t that, it’s something else. Once when I thought I had it made, the ship cracked up just where a river ploughed through the ocean as if it had the right of way. Of course, I was in better condition then or I never could have stemmed it.”

  We were close enough to see that there was indeed no obstacle to landing. Between us and a dense woods was a gently shelving beach. Barring an undertow, we had it cinched, and I freed myself from the rope which bound me to the spar.

  We landed as deliberately as driftwood. My legs, as I found when I tried to put them down, would not support me, so I had to stay with the mast after all. Moderate breakers rolled us back and forth in the shallows until we reached a point where we could crawl. Then every time the water flowed seaward we gained a foot or two. Even on all fours I could hardly hold myself up. The effort made me dizzy, so that I could not see where I was going; but in time I felt dry sand.

  “We’ve got to get out of the reach of high tide,” Golias gasped, when I let myself fall on my face. “Out of the sun, too.”

  My physical strength was gone, and I had no other to call upon. It seemed to me that I had made a reasonable effort. More than that was not worth while. If quitting cost me my life, it would not be costing me much that I valued.

  “Go ahead,” I mumbled. “I’m comfortable right here.”

  It angered me to be tugged at, but I was too weak to struggle with him. How he managed it is a mystery. I knew him to be worn out. Yet somehow he dragged me a few yards, while I helplessly cursed him. When he finally let me alone, I slept.

  2

  The Animal Fancier

  THE SUN was well down when, after several brief awakenings, hunger and thirst fully roused me. Golias was still asleep, which was not surprising. He had had two nights in the water to my one.

  As he wore only a loin cloth I could see that, although not a big man, he was well muscled. He lay prone, just inside the shade to which he had dragged me, his right arm stretched out into the sunlight. It had turned red, but I did not bother to move it for him. A sunburn on him would cause me no discomfort at all.

  Rising, I found myself stiff but otherwise undamaged. What had to be done was as obvious as it was unpleasant. Exploring a strange wilderness in my circumstances did not appeal to me, but it was self-service or none. I hitched up my only garment, a pair of shorts starched with salt, and hobbled into the woods.

  The trees were low-slung and wide-spreading, cluttered with moss and vines. Save for occasional palmetto clumps there wasn’t much underbrush. The fact, coupled with the absence of rocks, made the footing good. The air was woven of sweet odors; but the sweetest to me was the smell of fresh water. Before I had gone fifty yards I found a spring welling up between the mossy roots of a tree. Taking it slowly, I drank until I could all but feel the drying blood in my veins thin enough to flow freely again.

  Next, feeling confident that I wouldn’t lose my bearings as long as I could hear the ocean, I started searching for fruit or berries. I found none, but in the course of my rambling I ran across a little mound and climbed it for a lookout. Golias had been right. Beyond the trees, a short distance in every direction, lay the sea. My view was broken only to the north, where rain or a thick mist still hid the neighboring island. As a last resort I squinted into the low-lying sun. Rising black against it was a column of smoke.

  I eyed it irresolutely. Whoever had lighted that fire in this desolate spot might not be friendly to strangers. On the other hand it might be wiser to look him or them over before he or they discovered my presence. In the end the position of the sun decided me. The temperature had been pleasant, but the night air might not be so gentle to a bare hide. If there was shelter, or at least warmth, handy, it would be foolish to shiver all night because I was afraid to try my luck.

  Walking about had unknotted my muscles, and, except for being light-headed from hunger, I did not feel bad. My unshod feet considered, I made fair progress, though I was careful to watch ahead at all times. I was prepared for anything from a tribal village to a farm house; but not for what I eventually saw. The trees abruptly gave way to make room for a clearing with a villa in it. The sun was right behind it, but as nearly as I could make out the building was of polished marble.

  This was more than reassuring. Without pausing to reconnoiter farther, I strolled into the clearing. I was halfway to the house before I saw how the sun had betrayed me. Walking with my head down to shield my eyes from the rays, I felt an animal rub against me. Set to give an ingratiating pat to the watch dog of the premises, I found myself caressing a lion. He was not a solitary lion, for there were quite a few in the herd of animals frisking toward me.

  Mingled with them were leopards, wolves, and creatures I took to be hyenas, though it had been years since I had visited a zoo. Besides thinking it wiser to stand my ground, I was trembling so that I couldn’t proceed. Not that they threatened; they were even less hostile than I found pleasant, what with licking my hands and other familiarities. They failed to win me with their fawning, yet in the end they gave me new assurance. It was senseless to fear where no harm threatened, and I pushed gingerly through them.

  While engaged with the menagerie, I had been more or less aware of a woman singing inside the villa, but nobody showed him or herself until I banged on a bronze door. It opened then, and I beheld a person I
took to be the singer.

  Her sleeveless dress, if it was a dress, seemed to be her only garment. Taking swift inventory, I raised my eyes to see if her face was also attractive. Her features were framed in red hair, which she wore bound up with a fillet. They were lovely and in cool contrast to her tresses.

  Although her lids drooped demurely, she had an eye for a man. Complacently I stood her inspection. I was six-foot-two and stripped well. If I was unshaven, I had a long face that, I was confident, looked good in the tan I had picked up aboard the Naglfar. As more than one woman had noticed, my dark hair had been, since late adolescence, cut in two by a streak of pure white. Some women had professed to think this made me look distinguished, and, in the days when I still cared enough to give it a thought, I had been inclined to agree with them. My blue eyes had long, dark lashes, though this particular girl hadn’t had a chance to find that out yet.

  To give her an opportunity of making this discovery I stepped nearer and bowed. “Pardon the intrusion and the lack of clothes, but I’m a shipwrecked mariner.”

  To my satisfaction she responded in my own language. “You poor man,” she said with a luscious throatiness. “Were you the only one tossed ashore here?”

  Hungry as I was, there was the future to think of. So far no husband or what have you had put in his appearance, and I certainly wasn’t going to introduce a third party. Golias would have to do his own foraging.

  “The only one I know of,” I said sorrowfully. She didn’t look frightened, but I thought it well to give the gentlemanly touch. “I hope I haven’t alarmed you, breaking in on you this way.”

  “On the contrary,” she said. “When one lives all alone, as I do, a visit is a kindness. You’re starved, aren’t you? Come in and let me fix you something.”

  It was as simple as that. There was no fake hesitation, no pretence of wondering whether it would be the correct thing to do. She didn’t even bother to introduce herself. Well, if she wanted things on an informal basis, that exactly fitted in with my plans. I swaggered a bit as I stepped inside.

  The room into which she led me was foreign-looking but spacious. Its chief articles of furniture were chairs, a number of chaise longues, and a large dining-room table. All in all it did not suggest a solitary spinster, and I wanted to be sure.

  “So you live all by yourself,” I murmured. “Don’t you get lonesome?”

  “Oh, people drop in from time to time.” She hesitated a moment. “And then I have my animals.”

  “An unusual collection.” I seated myself on the chair to which she waved me. “Did you train them yourself?”

  For the first time she smiled a little. “Yes. Why don’t you lean back and be comfortable? I won’t be long.”

  My jaws ached with the knowledge that food was at hand, but it felt good to rest. Stretched out, I no longer felt light-headed, and I began to figure the possibilities more exactly. As far as I was concerned, I had found a home until the next ship called at the island. With this lion tamer to entertain me it would be all right, if the steamer wasn’t too long in coming. Of course, Golias would probably show up in the morning, but by then I expected to be master pro tern of the household. Unless or until I happened to get tired of the redhead there would be no room under the roof for any other man. If Golias ran short of companionship, he could try the hyenas.

  While the woman worked at her cooking, she had started to sing again, which I took for a good sign. The song was an odd one, though not especially so for an animal trainer.

  Some go and hunt their prey,

  Some let it come their way —

  That’s for the spider.

  Some snag with bait and hook,

  Some hold with but a look —

  That’s for the adder.

  The habits of adders were not too clear to me, but I found amusement in the part about spiders. As she would soon learn, I was not bad at spinning a web myself.

  Some can both stalk and wait,

  Transfix or trap with bait —

  That’s for my —

  She broke off, “It’s all ready,” she called out. A second later she appeared, carrying a loaded tray. “I do hope you like it.”

  The fragrance of the food was almost more than my hunger could stand. “Let’s find out,” I said, taking the place she had set for me. She had forgotten the fork, but I didn’t bother to remind her. Grabbing spoon and knife, I went at it.

  The food was not only good but made me feel exceptionally fine, and ready to take up new business. After the meal we both reclined on chaise longues, not side by side, but not far apart either, drinking wine. Or rather I sipped and talked while she watched me and listened.

  Nothing in her conduct made her seem approachable except the fact that she would never quite meet my eyes. It had been my experience that timidity was apt to be as much a help as a hindrance. Your bold girl is inclined to pick whom she wants, and it may well not be you, while your bashful one waits for someone who will take trouble. My hostess was either overawed in the presence of a man from one of the great cities of the world, or she was inexperienced. In due time I would determine which was the case and campaign accordingly.

  I could summon that much detachment because no friendliness marred the purity of my motives. Having found it unnecessary to like women — a discovery I had made early enough to save me from ever having proposed marriage — I never traded my emotions for what I wanted of them. As to what they might think of me, I cared not at all. Some, to be sure, would have none of me on my terms, but there were enough who would. Here, in spite of the absence of overt encouragement, I felt I had knocked at the right door.

  In this case I had a double stake, for I wanted bed and board as well as body. So while letting her see from the way I looked at her that I was willing to work for my living, I put myself out to be agreeable much more than I usually did. Incidentally I managed to tell her what an important fellow she was entertaining, stretching a point here and there after I learned she had never been to Chicago.

  She made a good listener, another fact that encouraged me. While I chatted, slipping in pertinent biographical data when convenient, she lay still, watching me from beneath lowered lids and hardly saying a word. After a while she commenced toying with an object which looked not unlike a large golden knitting needle.

  Her purpose, I reasoned, was to show off her hands, which were as sightly as the rest of her; but I also saw that the thing was unusual enough to make a suitable opening. When the right time came, that is to say when my supper felt comfortably digested, I rose.

  “That’s a fascinating-looking dingus,” I remarked, walking lazily over to her. “I’d like to see just what it is.”

  She held it to her bosom in her first sign of archness, but just the same she shifted her legs to make room for me to sit down. “Are you sure you want to?”

  This was working out as planned. “Oh, very sure,” I nodded, making my eyes big and looking very solemn. Already my hands were aware of how her body would feel beneath that filmy dress, but I was willing to play the game a little longer. I leaned toward her. “Please, darling.”

  “Very well,” she said, and her voice was suddenly hard. With the words she at last let me look into her eyes. Far from being those of a woman inviting seduction, they were so brightly fierce that I blinked. Confused, I drew back — but not far enough.

  “You wanted to know. Find out!” she cried. Without changing her position, she reached out and tapped me with the little golden stick.

  Experiencing something between an electric shock and a convulsion, I fainted. When I came to, I rose to my feet, only to find that the movement left my hands on the floor. I tried to look at them but found it difficult, because my eyes did not seem to be in the right location. While I was trying to get them to focus, I heard my hostess’ voice, shrill with disgust.

  “Outside, you nasty pig; shoo!”

  As she spoke, a broomstick or something like it poked me in the ribs. Trying to turn
on her, I found myself skidding on all fours on the marble floor.

  “Get out!” she shrieked, poking me again.

  In my wrath and dismay I stumbled, panting. I meant to tell her that as soon as I could pull myself together I would give her saddle sores, but my voice was on strike. While I was scrambling to get my balance, she walloped me. Catching me over the backbone, the blow hurt like the devil, and articulation returned to me in a rush.

  “Oink!” I protested, trotting forward.

  Utterly routed then, I made no further efforts to resist. I only wanted to get out of her way and skidded along at my best speed, as she hazed me out through the kitchen. Once on the ground outside I found the going easier, but I still couldn’t outfoot her. Rapping me first on one side, then on the other, she steered me well away from the villa until, what with the night and my confusion, I butted into a wooden fence. There she poked me once more — with the golden thingamajig, I believe, for it was too sharp to be the end of a broomstick — and over the fence I went.

  I landed up to my knees and elbows in ooze. It was dark, but there was no question as to where I was. Once encountered, and I had lived in Chicago most of my life, the smell of live pork is never forgotten.

  For a long while I stood as I had fallen, trembling, straddle-legged in the stinking slime. Accepting facts was a habit of mine on which I had always prided myself, and I tried to bring what had happened to me into comprehension. Reason was stumped, though, until a slice of moon cleared the trees around the clearing. Turning my head to look at it, I was aware of a long-snouted shadow moving, too. I tried to lose that shadow but could not. First I walked, then I trotted, then I plunged madly through the slop, but it came with me. Reaching the other side of the pen, I threw myself at it with a cry of despair. The squeal of a terrified pig broke the night’s silence.