The Secret People

by John Wyndham

  How long it was since they had left the Sun Bird rocking on the underground river, and started the climb, none of them knew. Two or three days, perhaps, but it had seemed a short lifetime. There had been disappointments, dead-ends, retracing of steps and fresh starts. They had been confronted with cracks too narrow for passage, walls too smooth to be climbed, caves from which the only outlet was a split in the roof. Margaret, still weak at the start, had soon become exhausted. Mark had helped her until his strength gave out and Ed came to the rescue. The calm patience of the two Americans amazed them. Again and again they turned back from dead-ends without bitterness or the futility of anger, and sought another route. If they felt any despondency, not a trace of it was allowed to show, and their confidence buoyed up the rest.

  Except when Ed performed his prodigies of climbing, Smith was in the lead. The Sun Bird’s searchlight was hung against his chest, and a battery mounted on his back; next came Ed, carrying Margaret, then Gordon, adding to the illumination with his globe, while Mark, with another lamp and a smaller battery, brought up the rear. Each had started with a pack of food in the form of mushroom slabs, but these had now dwindled to a quarter of their original size, and what remained was dry and leathery.

  Smith’s call put fresh life into them all. Mark forgot that his feet, on which the boots were coming to pieces, were swollen with great blisters, and hurried on till he was close behind Gordon.

  ‘Daylight?’ he called.

  ‘Sure, sunlight,’ shouted Smith.

  They emerged from a crevice on to a narrow ledge. The sun was about to set behind a line of rugged mountains. It was some time before anyone spoke.

  ‘Gees,’ said Ed, at last, as he lowered Margaret, ‘ain’t that just glorious? There ain’t no sweller sight in the whole of God’s world – an’ I reckoned I wasn’t never gonna see it no more. Yeh, we’ve sure been missing somethin’ down there.’

  Mark crossed to Margaret. He put his arm round her.

  ‘You mustn’t cry, darling. It’s all over now.’

  ‘I know,’ she managed. ‘That’s why I’m crying. It’s so lovely and I’m so glad. Oh, Mark …’ She lifted her bandaged hands and put her arms about his neck.

  Gordon laid his light globe down carefully and turned to observe the sunset with the air of one witnessing an interesting, and slightly unusual phenomenon.

  ‘Well, what do we do now?’ he asked in a practical tone as the last arc sank from view.

  ‘Sleep,’ Smith told him promptly.

  ‘You’ve said it,’ Ed agreed.

  ‘What we got to do is get goin’ as soon as maybe,’ Smith observed through a mouthful of shrivelled and unappetizing mushroom. ‘There ain’t no tellin’ when the next break’ll come, nor how big it’s goin’ to be. If we aim to get the rest out, we’ve got to move right now. Here’s my idea.’ He turned to Gordon. ‘You speak a bit of Arabic, don’t you?’ Gordon nodded. ‘Well, you and Mark get along to the nearest village, find out where we are and get hold of something to ride – don’t matter what, camels, horses, mules – and get some of those Arab duds, burnouses, or whatever they call ’em, for Ed an’ me. We three wait here for you, and then we all cut off together for civilization. How’s that?’

  Gordon demurred.

  ‘Why don’t you go? You’re both about twice our size, and size tells with Arabs.’

  ‘Two good reasons. One is that we only know about two words of the lingo, but you know it well, and Mark’s got money which is a good substitute for lingo any place. And the other is these duds.’ He indicated the shreds of his uniform. ‘We’d run into a goumier like as not, and that’d be that.’

  ‘What’s a goumier?’ Margaret asked.

  ‘Kinda native cop they run to in these parts. He gets twenty-five francs if he brings in a Legion deserter, dead or alive – and a dead man’s less trouble.’

  ‘But you aren’t deserters.’

  ‘No, but who’s goin’ to believe that till they know about the pygmies? It’s no fun bein’ found innocent if you’ve been bumped off first. What’s more, it seems to me we’re goin’ to save a hell of a lot of trouble and argument if we desert right now. What say?’ He looked questioningly at Ed.

  ‘Suits me.’

  ‘And after that?’ Mark asked.

  ‘We make for some place where we can get white man’s pants. Then, when we’re all swell and classy, we spill the beans about the pygmies – and, believe me, we’ll have to do a mighty lot of persuading.’

  ‘But we’ve got proof,’ Gordon pointed to his globe.

  ‘An’ we’ll need it. Well, what about my proposition? You guys willin’?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mark agreed, ‘but where are we going to find a village?’

  Smith looked down from the ledge into the rocky valley. He pointed to a small, muddy stream which meandered along the dusty bottom.

  ‘See that? I’m willin’ to bet it’s someone’s water supply. They like it that way round here. Just you follow downstream, and you’ll find a village pretty soon.’

  ‘Right you are. So long, and look after Margaret.’

  ‘And look after the lamp,’ added Gordon. ‘Don’t let that damned cat get anywhere near it.’

  The three left on the ledge watched them climb down and turn to the north.

  ‘They won’t be in danger? You’re sure?’ Margaret asked Ed.

  ‘Betcha life,’ he replied with an assurance which sounded more nearly absolute than he expected.

  A week later a party which had come into Algiers the previous day by the line from Jelfa sat round a café table. They attracted a certain amount of unwelcome interest by their curious appearance. For one thing, they were accompanied by a desert cat of unattractive, even repulsive, aspect; for another, the girl’s hands were heavily wrapped in bandages, but most remarkable was the complexion of one of her three male companions. The forehead and the upper part of his face was badly sunburned to a vivid, angry red, while the rest was of a startling white, as though a beard might recently have been removed. He addressed the other two, who wore beards neatly trimmed and pointed.

  ‘I wish to Heaven I’d had the sense to keep on my beard. I feel like a circus clown.’

  Margaret laughed.

  ‘Never mind, dear, I like you better without it – and your face will soon even up.’

  Smith knocked back his fourth brandy that morning with great appreciation.

  ‘That’s what I call a white man’s drink.’ He ordered another, and looked up the street.

  ‘Where the hell’s Gordon? You ought to be gettin’ along.’

  ‘He’s gone to get a case for that precious globe of his – he said it might take him half an hour or so.’

  ‘Well, he’s late already.’ Smith paused, and a worried frown came over his face. ‘You’re sure you’ve got this right?’ he said. ‘You three go and lay the information, but you don’t say anything about Ed an’ me. We’re the absolute last shot in the locker. If you can’t convince ’em any other way at all, you can bring us into it, an’ we’ll try.’

  ‘I don’t see what they could do even if they found out who you are,’ said Margaret. ‘After all, the term of service in the Legion is only five years, and that’s up long ago.’

  ‘If they chalked us up as deserters it ain’t over, you betcha sweet life,’ Ed replied. ‘Not by a million miles. And they’re just crazy over deserters.’

  ‘There he is,’ said Mark suddenly.

  Gordon was hurrying along the crowded footpath towards them. He looked hot, moreover, his face suffered from the same varie-colouring as afflicted Mark’s. In one hand he clutched a clumsy, cubical leather box, and in the other, a newspaper which he waved at them.

  ‘What’s the rush?’ Smith inquired, as he came up to the table. ‘Seein’ you’re a half-hour late right now, why bother?’

  ‘Look at this,’ Gordon panted, throwing the paper on to the table, and dropping into a chair.

  ‘Good God!’ Mark had caught s
ight of a headline. The four craned over to read:

  MYSTERY OF THE NEW SEA

  and underneath, a lesser caption:

  LEVEL SINKS 24 CMS IN ONE NIGHT

  ‘What’s that?’ said Ed.

  ‘’Bout nine or ten inches,’ muttered Mark, reading ahead.

  The New Sea, which has on several occasions failed to show the expected rate of progress, sprang a new surprise on the experts last night. The engineers in charge of the work were hurriedly summoned from their beds soon after retiring for the night. Upon arrival at the observation station they quickly discovered that the level of the New Sea was dropping rapidly. ‘It was amazing,’ said M. Radier, who is in command of the Qabés works, when interviewed by our correspondent. ‘We have never experienced anything like it before. The level continued to show its usual rise until ten o’clock, and then began to fall. The men left in charge became alarmed, and summoned us to the scene. We at once verified their observations with the gravest concern. The fall continued throughout the night although all the pumps are at work as usual. This morning it had dropped by 23.832 centimetres, at which figure it remains. It is a very serious thing for us, meaning as it does a loss of many weeks of work.’ Asked if he could offer any reason, M. Radier replied: ‘No. It is inexplicable.’ At the suggestion that the same thing might happen again, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is impossible to say until we know more,’ he declared.

  Another responsible official, M. Pont, when interviewed, replied: ‘The fall must have been caused by a sudden subsidence of the sea bottom.’ Asked if this was usual, he said: ‘No, but it does not surprise me. The earth is as full of holes as a sponge.’ Our interviewer then suggested that so great a volume of water might cause danger, should it reach the internal fires. M. Pont smiled as he replied: ‘You need have no fear of that; if it had reached the internal fires, I should not be talking to you now.’

  There was a great deal more, chiefly repetitive. The four read it through, and looked up at one another. Smith took a drink of brandy, and lit a cigarette with care.

  ‘Poor devils,’ he said. ‘I guess that’s that.’

  Mark nodded. Ten inches of water over that vast area represented an unthinkable number of gallons. Yes, it was the end. The big break had come. There would be no rescues from the pygmy caves now.

  ‘I wonder if any of them got out?’ Margaret said.

  A few, Gordon thought; probably quite a number of the prisoners had been lucky enough to climb shafts here and there, but the pygmies, no …

  ‘Well,’ said Ed, and there was a note of relief in his voice. ‘That lets us out. There’s no good spinnin’ the yarn now, and I don’t mind tellin’ you folks that I’m gonna be a lot easier in the mind when I’m out of French territory.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Smith agreed, ‘but where are we goin’?’

  ‘London, of course,’ said Gordon. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you’ve forgotten that you are to be members of the board of the Cold Light Company Limited?’

  Margaret looked round the group.

  ‘Yes, London,’ she agreed. ‘But there’s something much more important than the Cold Light Company. You’re going to attend a wedding.’

  Smith tossed down the last of his brandy.

  ‘Free drinks?’ he inquired.

  ‘Oceans of them.’

  He rose, and dragged Ed with him.

  ‘Good news, sister. Lead us to London.’

  THE BEGINNING

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  PENGUIN BOOKS

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  Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  First published by George Newnes, Ltd under the authorship of John Beynon

  Published by Coronet 1972

  Published in Penguin Books 2016

  Copyright © Executors of John Beynon Harris, 1935

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening

  Cover illustration: Brian Cronin

  ISBN: 978-0-241-97700-2