Virdon gave Martin a reassuring wave and rode Woda slowly out of the smithy. Martin was still deeply concerned about the safety of his son and of Virdon. After a few moments of thought, Martin went to the corral gate, taking off his blacksmith’s apron as he walked. He hung it up on the gate, which he opened. Then he began to round up several of the horses inside.
In the woods outside of town, near the arroyo, where Zandar and his gorillas had made camp, Urko and several uniformed gorillas were passing the time by hurling lances at a square target on a tree. It was a game of darts for giants, and these massive apes qualified for that title. Among the gorillas playing were Zandar and Zilo.
“All right, Zandar,” said Urko. “If you don’t do better this time, I’ll find someone else to run my errands.”
Zandar only grunted in reply. He picked a lance, aimed briefly, took a few steps, and threw. The lance hit the target with a chunking sound. “Almost dead center,” said Zandar proudly. “Do better than that, if you can.”
“Would you like to make a bet?” asked Urko.
Zandar suddenly lost the enthusiasm he had gathered when he saw how good his throw had been. He knew what happened to apes who bet against Urko. “No,” he said. “Your temper will be bad enough if I beat you at lances. If you lost a bet along with it, well . . .” Zandar’s voice trailed off. There was no need to finish the sentence.
“Don’t worry,” said Urko. “I won’t lose.” Casually, almost without looking, Urko flung his lance. It hit the tree and vibrated. The point of the lance rested just inside Zandar’s, closer to the center. There were murmurs of praise from the gorillas who watched the contest. One of the gorillas took the opportunity to approach Urko. “Did you fix the tree on the back road, Moro?” asked the general.
“Yes, Urko,” said Moro. “Just as in the last race. The branch will probably knock the human off Barlow’s horse when I let it swing back.”
“Good,” said Urko. “Zilo!”
Zilo stepped forward. “Yes, Urko?” asked the patrol gorilla.
“When the race starts, you will be in place,” said Urko. “I don’t want you hurrying there in full view of the spectators.”
“Yes, Urko,” said Zilo. “How far from the finish line should I stand?”
“About fifty yards,” said Urko. “Close enough to see well, far enough not to be noticed.”
“Urko,” said one of the other gorillas, “the human has arrived with your horses.”
Urko turned and saw Martin tethering several horses nearby. Urko smiled to himself. He enjoyed startling humans almost more than anything else. He turned back to Zilo and raised his voice, to be sure that Martin heard. “If the human is leading when he passes you,” said Urko, “shoot and kill him.”
Martin reacted with horror; there was nothing for him to do, nothing to say. Urko enjoyed Martin’s anxiety.
“Of course,” answered Zilo.
Martin’s expression of fear deepened as the implications of Urko’s scheme hit him. Virdon would be killed; but that meant the same for Greger. Martin finished tethering the horses, almost in a daze. Like a man sleepwalking, the blacksmith moved toward Urko.
The gorilla general and his soldiers had almost resumed their game of lances. “Since the human will be riding a horse, against your laws,” said Zilo, “shall I shoot him even if he loses the race?”
Urko thought for a moment. “Zaius has given permission—foolishly—for the thing. Perhaps it’s not important enough to kill the human if he loses. We do have the other young human, and he’ll serve as an example.”
Zandar, standing near, looked past the crowd of gorillas. “The blacksmith,” he said.
“What about him?” asked Urko. “Has he finished his work?”
“Yes, sir,” said Zandar.
Urko looked up, knowing precisely what his words had done to Martin. The gorilla relished the scene which he knew would be played out next.
Martin stood before Urko, his eyes cast down to the forest floor. He waited for Urko to recognize him.
“What is it?” asked Urko in his deepest rumble.
Martin was paralyzed for a moment. He only looked up humbly. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. Urko restrained himself; an evil smile almost broke across his face, but he maintained his stern expression. He eyed Martin suspiciously, pretending that he was unaware that the man was the father of the “young human.”
“What do you want, old man?” he asked in an irritable tone.
Martin was suddenly aware of the rash thing he had done. A human being never approached an ape for any kind of favor. And even an ape would think twice about approaching Urko. For a fleeting second, Martin considered running, fleeing the forest and the humiliating, painful circumstances. But there was nowhere to go. “Excuse me,” he said in a low voice. “I am Martin. I have shod your horses for many years.”
Urko knew all of this very well. He knew that Martin was one of the best, most skilled blacksmiths in the entire territory. But still Urko played his game of not recalling the human. “I asked you once, human,” said the gorilla, “what do you want? If I have to ask you again, you’ll find yourself tied to a tree as a target in our lance game.” The other gorillas laughed at this weak display of humor.
“Please,” said Martin in an agonized voice, “I can be of help to you. I have also shod the horse that Barlow will race against you.” This made Urko frown; the news was more interesting than what the gorilla had expected. There was a tense hush in the forest, while Urko waited for Martin to continue. “I know how to make sure you win,” he said.
Urko gave Martin another scrutiny; this time, the suspicion in the gorilla’s eyes was genuine. “Is there any doubt about my horse winning?” he asked. “I didn’t have any doubt, until now. Tell me what you know.”
Martin had reached a crisis. It was the most important moment in his life, and he knew it. He suddenly realized, though, what he was doing—he was standing in the forest, far from any friendly help, offering to betray a fellow human to their mutual enemy. But, Martin thought, it was a course he was forced to choose. Greger’s life was at stake.
Urko had grown impatient. “Speak, human,” he roared.
“Barlow’s horse,” said Martin, almost stammering in his fear and anguish, “Woda. It’s a very fast horse. But I can fix his shoes with wedges under them that will pain him and slow him down. I know right where to put them. It would not be discovered until it was too late.”
“That is very ingenious,” said Urko. “I wonder why you have never suggested it to me in all those years you claim to have shod my horses.”
“In those years,” said Martin feebly, “you never seemed to need help. Barlow never had a horse as good as this.”
Urko only grunted.
“Then you wouldn’t have to worry about killing the rider,” said Martin, hurrying on with his plea.
Urko spoke slowly. “Why do you want to help me,” he asked in a contemptuous voice, “against Barlow, who pampers humans?”
Martin tried to speak and found that his mouth and throat were so dry that the words would not leave. He gulped a breath and tried again. “It’s for my son, Greger,” he said. He thought for a moment that he should leave it at that, but then realized that Urko might not know who Greger was. “He is the one who has been sentenced to die for riding a horse,” he said in a hopeless rush of words.
Urko grunted once more. He knew perfectly well who Greger was.
Martin almost fell to his knees. Instead, he lowered his head again. Speaking softly, almost inaudibly, he continued his plea. “I beg you,” he said, as tears formed in his eyes, “he’s young, headstrong, he didn’t think. Let him go and I promise you he’ll never ride a horse again.” Martin paused; he realized that Urko didn’t care whether Greger ever rode a horse again. His entreaty would have to promise something for Urko’s benefit. “I will help you win,” said Martin. “Greger will be safe, and so will the man who is Barlow’s jockey.”
Urko appeared to consid
er the offer. In reality, he was enjoying Martin’s dilemma. He watched cruelly as his silence made Martin even more uncomfortable. Finally, Urko spoke. “Say nothing of this to anyone,” he said casually. “If my horse wins, your son will go free.”
Martin was almost as dumbfounded by this unexpected piece of good fortune as he was by the bad news he had heard before. He didn’t know how to react. He just stood and stared at Urko.
“You will remember that you promised to help me win this race,” said Urko. “Something about wedges under Barlow’s horse’s shoes. I don’t care about the details. But you ought to get to work. There isn’t much time.”
Martin backed away from Urko, nodding and crying. “Thank you!” murmured the blacksmith. “Thank you!”
Urko watched Martin go, a look of scorn on the ape’s face. When Martin was out of earshot, Urko gestured to Zandar. The gorilla came nearer his general. “As soon as the race starts,” said Urko, “release the human from the stocks.”
“At the start?” asked Zandar. “What if the blacksmith is lying?”
“What is done to a human who tries to escape from the stocks?” asked Urko with a smile of false innocence.
“But if I release him,” said Zandar, confused. Then, suddenly, realization hit him. “Oh!” he said. “Who will know I released him?”
“When a human rides a horse,” said Urko harshly, “he must die!”
“You said the human on Barlow’s horse would be free if he loses,” said Zandar.
“I think I was wrong,” said Urko. “I’ll settle the matter with Zaius later. In the meantime, if the human is winning, we’ll kill him before he crosses the finish line. If he loses, we’ll kill him afterward. It’s only a question of when.” Urko thought about the neat plan, and a rare smile of pleasure creased his hideous face.
EIGHT
In Venta, the carnival atmosphere had almost reached its climax. Apes and people mixed together in a large crowd; for one day out of the year, humans were tolerated—although grudgingly, and only at the order of Barlow. Emancipated for a few hours, the slaves made an elaborate festival out of the day of the race. The apes enjoyed watching the humans, and it all worked out rather well. Both apes and humans made their way toward the grandstand, where they could watch the start and finish of the race. There were banners, humans doing tumbling acts, apes playing drums and pipes. Everyone in the village had forgotten the worries of the usual daily routines.
Everyone, that is, except Greger, who still languished in the town’s stocks, watched over by a uniformed and armed gorilla guard. The ape stared at Greger in annoyance. After a while, when everyone else had gone to watch the race, the guard and Greger were alone. The street was otherwise deserted. “If Urko was only willing to get rid of you before the race,” muttered the guard, “I’d get to see the horses run.”
“I’m sorry I’m causing you so much inconvenience,” said Greger in surly tones.
A lone figure appeared down the street. The gorilla did not reply to Greger; he watched the figure instead, his rifle held at the ready. His weak eyes saw that it was another ape. The gorilla relaxed his guard a little. The ape was Galen. The young chimpanzee hurried up to the gorilla. He paused and spoke. “Excuse me,” said Galen, “but has the race started yet?”
“No,” said the guard.
“Good,” said Galen, “thank you.” The ape started off toward the grandstand, then, as though a thought had just struck him, he stopped and turned back to the guard. “Perhaps you could tell me if I’d have time to eat my lunch before the start,” he said innocently.
“You better eat fast,” said the gorilla.
Galen thought to himself that the gorillas really weren’t the most clever of the apes in the world. Their conversation was somewhat limited. “Well,” said Galen, “in that case, perhaps I’d better not. I’d hate to miss the beginning of the race for the sake of some old vegetables. I could just as well eat after the race. Or even during—”
“Why don’t you move along,” said the guard. “You’ll miss the whole thing, standing here debating with yourself.”
“Yes, yes,” said Galen. “Thank you.” He started toward the grandstand again. Once more he stopped and turned back. “I can understand why that human isn’t watching in the stands,” he said. “But you—?”
“Guard duty,” said the gorilla.
“I see,” said Galen. The guard said nothing.
Galen stood for a moment as though studying Greger; the human boy had made no sign that he recognized Galen. For a few seconds, Galen wondered if he did. Then he said, “Can the human get out of that thing?”
The guard looked scornful. “Not unless it’s unlocked, of course. And I’ve got the key.”
“Then what are you guarding?” asked Galen.
“Him,” said the gorilla. There was another silence. Galen silently cursed the gorilla’s stupidity.
“Why?” asked Galen.
“He’s to be shot when the race is over.”
“I see,” said Galen, gritting his teeth. The gorilla just wouldn’t see the point Galen was trying to make.
“You could shoot me now,” said Greger.
“Urko wouldn’t approve of that,” said the guard.
Galen knew that he was going to have to lead the gorilla to the proper insight, hand in hand, like he would lead a child through its lessons. “I commend you on your sense of duty,” he said. “It isn’t every guard who would miss the big race just to watch a prisoner who couldn’t possibly get away.”
“Thank you,” said the gorilla.
Galen was about to give up. The gorilla was hopeless. The chimpanzee nodded and was about to start off. Just as he was leaving, he saw light dawn in the guard’s expression. Galen thought that it was about time. “Wait a minute,” said the gorilla. “What you just said. I can come back when the race ends. I don’t have to stay here. No one would know.”
“That’s true,” said Galen.
“Thank you,” said the gorilla. Taking his rifle, he hurried away, toward the grandstand and the race.
Galen waited for the guard to go far enough away so that Galen might speak to Greger without fear of being overheard. The chimpanzee stepped up to Greger, who looked up gratefully. “You saved my life,” said Galen softly. “You can be sure we’ve not forgotten you.”
“I appreciate it,” said Greger, “but there’s nothing that you can do, or your friends.”
“Barlow has arranged to free you if his horse wins the race,” said Galen. “Alan is riding him and he won’t lose. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Greger. “But my back hurts an awful lot.”
Galen laughed quietly at the boy’s remark; the human had more courage than most apes, including Urko. “I will see you later,” said Galen. “After the race.” He hurried away toward the grandstand, where Virdon and Burke waited.
The grandstand was filled to capacity. The crowd was excited and noisy. It was segregated, because even with Barlow’s relaxed attitude toward humans, the different members of his little domain felt more comfortable with their own kind. Apes sat in the front section of the stands, and the humans were in the back. Barlow himself sat in the front row, nervous and worried. Beside him sat Zandar and his gorillas. There was a murmur through the crowd as Urko arrived.
“Well, Barlow,” said Urko, “we’ve come to the moment of truth.”
“Not quite,” said Barlow mildly. “The moment of truth is at the finish line.”
Urko grunted. “In the matter of these races,” he said, “I have come to look on the actual running as mere formality.”
“It gives the day its tone,” said Barlow, trying to appear unconcerned. He did not fool Urko. Both apes looked down toward the starting line, where an official stood with a flag, waiting to signal both the start and finish of the race.
“For this race,” said Urko, “it’s at the starting line.” He appeared to have ignored Barlow’s remark. That irritated the prefect, but
he said nothing. Urko went on. “I learned a long time ago that I dislike losing,” said the gorilla. “As a result, I make a habit of winning.”
“That’s a difficult habit to form,” said Barlow. “After all, you’re at the mercy of so many other factors.”
“I try not to be,” said Urko coldly.
“I thought the enjoyment of a race depended on being unsure of the outcome,” said Barlow.
“For some individuals,” said Urko. “But try not to worry about my enjoying myself. I expect to have a marvelous time. Ah, there are the horses.”
Barlow was surprised by Urko’s announcement. He looked down the track and, sure enough, the jockeys were riding their horses up to the starting line. Barlow felt a queasy feeling. He thought there was more time before the race actually began. He would have liked to have postponed the whole thing indefinitely.
Urko’s horse, which was called Tusan, was ridden by a gorilla named Kagan. Martin led Woda; the animal was nervous and prancing. Between the horses and the starting line was the water-filled hole dug by Burke. It looked like a broad puddle. Kagan steered Urko’s horse around the hole.
Urko turned to Bartow curiously. “I see your horse,” he said, “but where is your wonderful human jockey?”
The general’s question made Barlow look down the track fearfully. Could it be that Virdon had decided at the last minute not to risk the danger?
“There’s still the official call,” said Barlow.
“It would be a shame to be disappointed,” said Urko, echoing Barlow’s thoughts. “I had so wanted to see a human matched against my Kagan. I will say your horse is beautiful. A little high-strung for my tastes, though. Perhaps badly broken.”
“Woda is a very good horse,” said Barlow distractedly, searching the track for Virdon.
“What was your jockey’s name?” asked Urko.
“I’m sure he’ll be here,” said the prefect. “There’s time. The race doesn’t start for a little while.”
“I don’t mind if he doesn’t appear,” said Urko, smiling his mirthless smile. “I’ve no objections to winning by default.” Urko’s words did nothing to improve Barlow’s depressed mood.
Planet of the Apes 03 - Journey into Terror Page 15