'This was not a krit,' said the Migraani. Then she turned sharply away.
Charles remained on the ramp, making no attempt to escape. 'You're a fool, Carstairs,' he said. 'You and the others, all fools. You could be in Faluaan tomorrow and on the way home in hours. If you stay here, you'll die, along with the rest of these renegades. Are you coming, Daphne?'
The Migraani rounded on him furiously. 'The Voorni stays with us. Now get out of my sight, or I'll bury you in the same grave as that treacherous beast.'
They watched the aircraft rise into the night sky, its remaining thaal steersman at the controls. If Charles was on the bridge, he was not to be seen.
'Why did you let him go?' asked Wilfred.
'What would you have had me do, kill him too?' asked the Migraani, unknotting her skirts. 'Kindly attend to Pepseema.'
Wilfred watched her link arms with Veldo and leave the clearing. 'That hakijuk might have come in useful,' he muttered.
Chapter 21
As Torris Verga's most accomplished bowler came pounding up to the crease, a breathless hush fell upon the close-packed spectators. Here was no ordinary batsman, and who knew what mixed emotions filled the breast of his deadly opponent? The ball pursued its guilefully erratic course, drifting well to leg before bouncing, perfectly delivered, towards the stumps. But instantly, unexpectedly, there came the sharp crack of battered willow on leather, and with a mighty roar of approbation the crowd rose to its feet.
'And a six! Bit of a dark horse, that one,' said Albert Simms, and neatly cut the score into one of the rune-sticks he invariably carried.
Deep in a brown study and startled by the sudden tumult, Wilfred looked up and gazed about him. We are "flannelled fools at the wicket," he thought. A storm was surely approaching that could sweep them all away and no-one seemed to care. Automatically he turned to check on his nearest sentry post, high on the crater wall, hoping they were keeping their eyes peeled and weren't entirely absorbed in the excitement below.
It was now more than four months since he and his companions had been astonished to discover in the forbidden land of the Black Tuun, not only Daphne and the Migraani safe and well, but the game of cricket already firmly established. In truth, the equipment was somewhat primitive, but the rules in all their satisfying complexity had been faithfully passed on by the ubiquitous drums, and many of the locals, both human and thaal, were in a fair way to becoming useful players.
Today it was Loris Loriji's jubilee, and a celebratory one-day match had been announced, to be followed by a grand banquet in the evening. The usual problem had arisen that the visiting team – if it could still be so called – was unable to field a full eleven men. Freddy, much weakened by the privations of the wilderness, had settled for the less arduous role of umpire, and without the perfidious Prendergast that left them four short. Fortunately the Captain of Ships had cheerfully volunteered both his services and those of his remaining men, and at the last moment they had been brought up to strength by the gracious addition of none other than the High Tuun himself.
The home team having won the toss and elected to bat, the visitors had returned from lunch facing a not impossible eighty-five to beat. To begin with they had done quite well, Wilfred and Heft scoring between them a creditable thirty-seven in six overs. To this, little Iffy added fifteen of his own, a personal record, leaving just thirty-four to win. Alas, a flying centre stump and a ripple of deferential clapping now returned Loris dolefully to his team-mates.
'I've been of little use to you, I'm afraid,' he sighed, throwing himself down beside them. 'I do not seem to be improving at all.'
'But my dear fellow, you are doing splendidly,' encouraged the Professor. 'That six was magnificent, and your twelve runs may yet win us the game.'
'Oh, I understand that well enough,' complained the disgruntled monarch, 'But I had hoped to produce something more impressive on such a public outing. Perhaps I should make an example of that treasonable bowler and sentence him to stitch some new balls, eh? We could certainly do with them.'
Wilfred smiled fondly at his improbable team-mate. Did ever a man less resemble the rapacious monster of legend than this amiable fellow? Modest and retiring, he seemed to care little for the affairs of state, preferring instead his arcane studies and the cultivation of his physic garden. Everything new or unexplained fascinated him, and in Lord Lambent he had clearly discovered an intellectual soul-mate. Indeed, within days of their arrival, that diminutive personage had found himself accorded the unheard-of privilege of sharing the High Tuun's bachelor apartments. Here, amid a clutter of fossils, archaeological remains, chemical retorts and drying medicinal herbs, they would sit and smoke the vile Venusian tobacco and discuss for hours every imaginable branch of science and philosophy, their powerful minds absorbing the essentials of each other's language almost without noticing.
Great had been Loris's rejoicing when Hawghi, the beloved companion of his youth, had miraculously reappeared, and he had readily granted his request that the Voorni and her party be rescued and protected, even waiting into the night to greet her as she emerged frightened and oil-stained from the bowels of the tzin. He was, of course, immediately and powerfully smitten by the lovely young deity, and had wasted no time in making his feelings known, filling her rooms with flowers and sending his servants to dance attendance upon her. At the numerous banquets and soirees held in her honour he would scarcely allow her to take the floor with anyone else and as soon as he could fairly articulate the words, he had asked her to dine alone with him, an invitation she could scarcely refuse.
No doubt, thought Wilfred, it was these undesirable attentions that had caused the Migraani to appear so relieved at his own arrival. Indeed, with Charles and the others still missing, presumed dead, she had made no secret of her desire that he and Daphne should tie the knot forthwith. It was therefore unfortunate that as the weeks went by, he found himself unaccountably reluctant to woo the young woman whom he had desired for so long, and his half-hearted attempts at intimacy were in any case gently but firmly repelled.
'Dear Wilfy,' she would say, pushing him away from her. 'You are my bestest friend; please don't spoil it. You think Charles is dead, but he's not. I know he's not. And he'll come back to me, you'll see.'
Loyalty to the absent Charles did not, however, prevent Daphne from throwing herself with enthusiasm into the rather frivolous life of the Torris Vergan Court, where she naturally acquired a considerable following. Indeed, after the danger and discomfort of the Dameefuan jungle she must almost have felt as if she were once again a gay and carefree debutante.
By contrast, the Migraani spent much time restlessly pacing her apartments or gazing anxiously at the sky. Accustomed to deference and the more sophisticated pleasures of Erijuaan she did little to conceal her disdain for her rustic hosts, especially the women. The principle of female dominance was anathema here – that much at least of the myth seemed true – whilst the Torris Vergan thaalid, considering themselves at least the equals of their human neighbours, would prostrate themselves before no-one. As for Hawghi, though he continued to treat Daphne with the utmost respect, the fervour of the convert had been instantly quenched in the wreck of the Migraani's spaceship.
'She is a good person,' he confided, 'but I no longer believe she commands the Fates. When the engine stopped working she could not save us, or even herself.'
'But might she not have intended things to happen as they did?' teased Wilfred. 'After all, we got down safely.'
Hawghi twitched his ears and whiskers as he considered this apparently novel proposition. 'Do you believe that?' he asked.
'No,' admitted Wilfred, 'but she's not my goddess. Why did you save her from the Purples if you no longer believed in her?'
'Because she helped me when I was sick and because I had promised to do so,' said Hawghi matter-of-factly.
Safely delivered out of slavery, Wilfred's friend had changed entirely, sloughing off his self-protective carapace of ignorance
and submissiveness to reveal within a proud and self-assured member of the Torris Vergan aristocracy. Even the broken English had quite disappeared. It now seemed vain, if not presumptuous, to compare their intelligence or capabilities; they had become equals.
That did not mean, however, that their views were always the same, and whilst the two found much in common, there was one thing upon which they could never agree — the defence of the realm. Contrary to the carefully fostered beliefs of the Dameefuan thaalid, the High Tuun of Torris Verga had no standing army and no weapons at his disposal more lethal than pitchforks and fishing tridents. The impressively large ray guns that had greeted Freddy's party were either broken or dangerously inclined to overheat, and had not been used in generations. Instead, the little jungle state seemed to rely for protection entirely on some occasional mild terrorism by its few still-functioning tzinid.
'The tzinid keep us safe,' said Hawghi complacently. 'They have always done so.'
'But we can scarcely muster five reliable ones,' protested Wilfred. 'How can they dominate the whole of Dameefu?'
'There is no need for more,' said Hawghi. 'You forget the drums.'
Wilfred expressed himself doubtful. A universal respect for the mighty mechanical men was certainly an ingenious method of ensuring that the surrounding tribes left them unmolested, but they were hardly likely to daunt the infinitely more powerful Purple House. Why, then, had they not attacked? One would have thought that with their hegemony threatened for the first time in two thousand years, they would attempt to snatch away the Voorni by whatever means necessary, yet all they had done was to send Charles and a couple of thaal thugs for her. Even if they had not previously known of Torris Verga's existence outside the realm of myth and epic poetry they certainly did now, including, probably, its military weakness. His best guess was that by bringing war to the crater they faced an unacceptable risk of injuring or even killing their irreplaceable Queen-Goddess. Hence their attempt to remove her by guile. But when he had put this to the Migraani she had sadly shaken her head.
'Make no doubt they will come. Only their defeat in battle will prevent it. In order for our cause to have any chance of success, the Yellow House must first mobilise on our side. Who knows if they will? They are puusht eaters.'
Nevertheless she had accepted his argument that holding out for even a few days might buy enough time for the rebel forces to triumph. Acting on his own initiative, he had therefore put in hand the reinforcement of the great bronze gate at the entrance to the ravine, building sturdy redoubts to guard both it and at least some of the larger villages, and establishing permanently manned sentry posts on the surrounding hills. Meanwhile he kept his little band of amateur soldiers well-drilled and in a constant state of alert.
The Migraani appeared to approve of these efforts and would frequently accompany him as he travelled about, drawing up plans or superintending the various works. She even volunteered comments and suggestions, although it was clear that she had no talent for such matters. This sudden physical activity surprised Wilfred, who had come to assume that the sub-queen was naturally indolent. Perhaps, he though, she was simply lonely, for since the brief and brutal return of Charles, Daphne had retreated to her rooms, with her meals brought to her and her shutters closed against prying eyes. He could well understand why a sheltered upper-class young woman might be deeply affected by sudden violence and death, not to mention the humiliating exile of her duplicitous fiancé. But as the days went by, and the weeping gave way to outbursts of plate-hurling hysteria, followed by a violent rejection of all who tried to comfort her, the Professor and Freddy were heard to mutter darkly about a nervous breakdown.
The Migraani's response was more robust. 'She is best ignored,' she said dismissively. 'One should not reward such foolishness with attention. Now tell me truly, if we were to set off together, who do you suppose would reach that hilltop first?'
Watching her bounding nimbly among the rocks, Wilfred shook his head in wonderment at this unsuspected side of her nature. He had begun to look forward to their excursions together, for with her lithe and handsome figure, dark good looks and lively wit she was excellent company. All the more so in the absence of the tiresome Veldo, who after initial enthusiasm for their project had quite suddenly withdrawn, protesting that he was a fighting man and not a thaal, whose job it properly was to perform such menial tasks as the building of forts and digging of mantraps.
One day she said, 'When we are alone you may call me Veleema,' and produced a neatly packed luncheon-basket. Thereafter when the morning's work was done, they were often to be found skimming stones at the lakeside, splashing through its limpid shallows or watching the fishermen filling their creels with kraatuid.
Scooping one up, Wilfred examined it. It was not quite dead and still weakly waving its stubby tentacles. 'It looks like a krit,' he said, recalling his uncles's oft repeated description.
'That is because it is a krit. Kraatu just means a small one. It is fortunate that most do not grow so large.'
'Now why didn't I think of that? In future I shall eat them with respect!'
The Migraani laughed. 'I'll have some cooked and stuffed for us tomorrow. Come, it is late. We must return home.'
Wilfred was aroused from his reverie by more cheering and saw that the last wicket had fallen. The result was, as Freddy optimistically glossed it, almost a draw, and honour was satisfied on both sides. But now the sky was rapidly darkening, presaging the afternoon rain, and the spectators were beginning to disperse, the humans more rapidly than the thaalid, who did not so much mind getting wet. Pushing through them from the direction of the palace was Hawghi. Wilfred had scarcely seen him since the news of Agnes' death and he was saddened at the change in him. His pelt was dull and unkempt, and he appeared to have lost weight.
'She is asking for you,' he said.
'Ha ha!' cried Veldo. 'She calls, he runs to her!'
Constantly annoyed by the man's foolishness, Wilfred was minded to make some sharp retort, but Hawghi's manner suggested urgency and he contented himself with a black look.
I don't suppose she told you what it's about,' he said as they hurried towards the palace.
Hawghi shook his head. 'If you want everyone to know, tell a thaal.'
'You are a remarkably tolerant race,' chuckled Wilfred. 'Did you know that?'
'And you have much to learn about us yet.'
Wilfred wanted to ask him how he did, but wasn't quite sure how to phrase the question and they walked in silence until they arrived outside the Migraani's apartments, a detached suite of rooms in the sprawling palace compound. Here Hawghi took his arm.
'Do you recall Huft?' he asked.
'The old fisherman who died leading us here? Of course. Did you know him?'
Hawghi nodded. 'He was our teacher. Many thought him mad, but he was the wisest of all beings. He understood things that no-one else does, human or thaal. He told me much about the world beyond the crater, and all that he told was true, but I wanted to see it through my own eyes and to learn about the goddess that the drums spoke of. He said that she was just a human female with a mark upon her belly, but how could so many be wrong? Now I have seen not one but two worlds, but I have also seen terrible things; such cruelty and wickedness as I had never imagined. I never thought to meet the Voorni, or to feel her foot upon my head, but when I did she was kind to me. The Voorni is kind but her people are cruel. I do not understand those people or even my own. I do not understand how they can think she is a little animal out of the trees. The more I see, the less I understand. I am minded to take up the net and become a wandering popoti as Huft did, for I am weary and crave peace.'
He paused at last, gazing earnestly at his friend. 'I loved Agnes, Wilfred. More than I can say. Does that seem strange to you?'
'No, not at all,' said Wilfred sympathetically.
Hawghi gave him what might have been a wry smile. 'Then I think it should!' He inclined his head towards the Migraani's door. 'She
is angry. Prepare yourself for a beating.'
Wilfred stood for a moment and watched him lope away into the gathering gloom. A mob of youngsters came past, gaily calling out their traditional insults as the first drops of rain began to fall.
'May your house flood and your furniture float out the door!' one of them cried to him.
'May it be your bed and you upon it!' rejoined Wilfred, smiling.
A thaal servant let him in – the Migraani would not allow humans to attend her – and then absented himself. Wilfred found her staring fixedly out of the window. She did not look round.
'And how went the game?' Her voice sounded cold and brittle.
'You're not interested in cricket,' said Wilfred.
'Nevertheless I ask.'
'We lost by eight runs. It was a good match. What did you want to see me about?'
'Pepseema,' she said.
'In what regard?'
At this she turned to face him. 'Play your foolish games if you wish, but not with me,' she snapped. 'It is now five days since your beloved came of age. She must have a tuun. What do you intend to do about it?'
'Nothing,' admitted Wilfred.
'And why is that?'
'She will not have me.'
Folding her arms, the Migraani looked him up and down with sudden contempt. 'Are you a man?' she demanded. 'If you wish to be a Venusian, behave like one. Go to her now and take her, by force if necessary. I will see to it that no-one interferes.'
Wilfred stared at her incredulously. 'I can't do that!' he cried. 'It's not . . . I cannot possibly!'
'Cannot or will not?' demanded the Migraani. She came to gaze searchingly up at him, her dark eyes narrow under their heavy lids. 'Is it perhaps that you no longer love her?' she asked sarcastically. 'Has the flame gone out at last? Yes, I see that it has. Then forget love. I am giving you Venus! Is not that enough?'
'No,' said Wilfred.
'Then what is?' She was shouting now.
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