The Seventh Scroll tes-2

by Wilbur Smith

  leathery face. His physique was short and chunky, and his sleeves were

  rolled up over hairy, work thickened arms. After speaking a few words to

  the guards at the gate he came out to the Toyota

  "Yeah? What's going down here?" he demanded in Texan drawl, speaking

  around the stub of an unlit cigar.

  "The name is Quenton-Harper." Nicholas dismounted from the truck to

  greet him, and held out his hand.

  "Nicholas Quenton-Harper. How do you do?"

  The American hesitated, and then took the hand as though he had been

  offered an electric eel to squeeze.

  "Helm," he said. "Jake Helm, from Abilene, Texas. I am the foreman

  here." His hand was that of an artisan, with calloused palms and lumpy

  scar tissue over the knuckles, and half moons of black grease under the

  fingernails.

  "Terribly sorry to worry you. I am having some trouble with my truck. I

  wondered if you had a mechanic who could have a look at it for

  me."Nicholas smiled winningly, but received no encouragement from the

  man.

  "Not company policy." He shook his head.

  "I am prepared to pay for any-'

  "Listen, buddy, I said no." Jake removed the cigar from his mouth and

  examined it minutely.

  "Your company - Pegasus. Can you tell me where your head office is

  situated? Who is your managing director?"

  "I am a busy man. You are wasting my time." Helm ,,returned the cigar to

  his mouth and began to turn away.

  "I will be hunting in this area over the next few weeks.

  I would not like to endanger any of your employees with a stray shot.

  Can you give me some idea of where you will be working?"

  outfit here, mister. I don't

  "I am running a prospecting give out news flashes on my movements. Beat

  id'

  He turned and walked to the gate and gave brusque orders to the guards

  before marching back to his office building.

  "Satellite disc on the roof," Nicholas remarked. "I wonder who our lad

  Jake is speaking to at this very moment."

  "Somebody in Texas?" Royan hazarded.

  "Doesn't follow, necessarily, Nicholas demurred. Tega, is probably a

  multinational. Just because Jake is one, doesn't mean his boss is Texan

  also. Not a very instructive conversation, I am afraid." He started the

  engine and Uturned the Toyota. "But if someone at Pegasus is the ugly

  mixed up in this, he will recognize my name. We have given them notice

  of our arrival. Let's see what we have flushed out of the bushes."

  When they got back to the Dandera river falls, they found that Boris's

  truck had arrived, the tents had been erected, and the chef had brewed

  tea for them. Boris was less welcoming than his chef, and maintained a

  sullen silence while Nicholas tried to placate him for commandeering his

  truck.

  It was only after his first vodka of the evening that he mellowed

  sufficiently to speak again.

  "The mules were supposed to be waiting for us here.

  Time means nothing to these people. We cannot start down into the gorge

  until they arrive."

  "Well, at least while we are waiting for them I will have a chance to

  sight in my rifle,'Nicholas remarked with resignation. "In Africa it

  never pays to be in a hurry. Too wearing on the nerves."

  After a leisurely breakfast the next morning, when there was still no

  sign of the mules, Nicholas fetched his rifle case.

  When Nicholas lifted the weapon out of its nest of green baize, Boris

  took it from him and examined it minutely.

  "An old rifle?"

  "Made in 1926,'Nicholas nodded. "My grandfather had it made for

  himself."

  "They knew how to make them in those days. Not like the mass-produced

  crap they turn out today." Boris pursed his lips critically. "Short

  Mauser Oberndorf double square, bridge action, beautiful! But it has

  been rebarrelled, no?

  The original barrel was shot out. I had it replaced with a Shilen match

  barrel. It will shoot the wings off a mosquito at a hundred paces."

  "Calibre 7 57, is it?" Boris asked.

  '275 Rigby, as a matter of fact," Nicholas corrected him, but Boris

  snorted.

  "It is exactly the same cartridge - just your English bloodiness must

  call it something else." He grinned. "It wilt push a 150 grain bullet

  out there at 2800 feet per second.

  It is a good rifle, one of the best."

  "You will never know, my dear fellow, how much your approval means to

  me,'Nicholas murmured in English, and Boris chuckled as he handed the

  rifle back to him.

  "English jokes! I love your English jokes."

  When Nicholas left camp carrying the little rifle in its slip case,

  Royan followed him down to the river and helped him fill two small

  canvas bags with white river sand. He laid them on top of a convenient

  rock and they formed a firm but malleable rest for the rifle as he

  settled it over them.

  Using the open hillside as a safe back'stop, he "stepped out two hundred

  yards and at that range set up a cardboard carton on which he had taped

  a Bisley'type target. He came back to where Royan waited and then

  settled down behind the rock on which the weapon lay.

  Royan was unprepared for the report of the first shot from the dainty,

  almost feminine-looking rifle. She jumped involuntarily, and her ears

  sang.

  "What a horrible, vicious thing!" she exclaimed. "How can you bring

  yourself to kill lovely animals with a highpowered gun like that?" she

  demanded.

  "Rifle," he corrected her, as he noted the strike of the shot through

  his binoculars. "Would it make you feel better if I used a low-powered

  rifle, or beat them to death with a stick?"

  The shot had struck three inches right and two inches low. As he

  adjusted the telescopic sight he attempted to explain. "An ethical

  hunter does everything in his power to kill as swiftly and as cleanly as

  is possible, and that means stalking in as close as he is able to do,

  using a weapon of adequate power and sighting it the best way he knows

  how."

  His next shot struck exactly on line but only an inch above the

  bull's-eye. He wanted it to shoot three inches high at that range. He

  worked on the sight again.

  "Gun or rifle, but I don't understand why you would want to deliberately

  kill any of God's creatures," she protested.

  "That I can never explain to you." He aimed deliberately and fired once.

  Even through the lower magnification of the sight lens he could see that

  the bullet had struck exactly three inches high.

  "It is something to do with an atavistic urge that few men, no matter

  how Cultured and civilized they deem themselves, can deny completely."

  He fired a second time.

  "Some of them work it out in the board room, others on the golf course

  or the tennis court, and some of us on a salmon river, in the ocean

  deeps or in the hunting field."

  He fired a third shot, merely to confirm the previous two, and then went

  on, "As for God's creatures, he gave them to us. You are the believer.

  Quote me Acts 10, verses 12 and 13."

  "Sorry." S
he shook her head. "You tell me.

  ... all manner Of fourfooted beasts of the earth, and wild beasts, and

  creeping things, and fowL of the air,"'

  Nicholas obliged her. "'And there came a voice to him, Rise, Peter;

  kill, and eat., "You should have been a lawyer," she moaned in mock

  despair.

  "Or a priest," he suggested, and went forward to retrieve the target. He

  found that his last three shots had punched a tiny symmetrical rosette

  three inches above the bull, all three bullet holes just touching each

  other.

  He patted the butt stock of the little rifle, "That's my lovely darling,

  Lucrezia Borgia." He had named the rifle for her beauty and for her

  murderous potential.

  He slid the rifle back into its leather slip case and they walked back

  together. As they came in sight of the camp, Nicholas pulled up short.

  "Visitors," he said, and raised his binoculars. "Aha! We have flushed

  something out of the undergrowth. That is a Pegasus truck parked there

  and, unless I am much mistaken, one of our visitors is the charming

  laddie from Abilene.

  Let's go down and find out what is going on."

  As they drew closer to camp, they realized that there were a dozen or

  more heavily armed, uniformed soldiers clustered around the red and

  green Pegasus truck, and that Jake Helm and an Ethiopian army officer

  were seated under the awning of the dining tent in serious and intent

  conversation with Boris, A

  s soon as Nicholas entered the tent, Boris introduced him to the

  bespectacled Ethiopian officer. "This is Colonel Tuma Nogo, the military

  commander of the southern Goiam region."

  "How do you do?" Nicholas greeted him, but the colonel ignored the

  pleasantry.

  "I want to see your passport, and your firearms licence, he ordered

  arrogantly, while Jake Helm chewed complacently on the evil-smelling

  butt of an extinguished cigar.

  "Yes, of course," Nicholas agreed, and went to his own tent to fetch his

  briefcase. He opened it on the dining table, and smiled at the officer.

  "I am sure you will also want to see my letter of introduction from the

  British Foreign Secretary in London, and this one from the British

  Ambassador in Addis Ababa. Here is another from the Ethiopian Ambassador

  to the Court of St. James, and this is from your own Minister of

  Defence, General Abraha."

  The colonel stared in consternation at this fruit salad of ornate

  official letterheads and scarlet beribboned seals.

  Behind the gold-rimmed glasses his eyes were bemused and confused.

  "Sir!" He jumped to his feet and saluted. "You are a friend of General

  Abraha? I did not know. Nobody informed me. I beg your pardon for this

  intrusion."

  He saluted again, and his embarrassment made him awkward and ungainly.

  "I came to warn you only that the Pegasus Company is conducting drilling

  and blasting operations. There may be some danger. Please be alert. Also

  there are many bandits and outlaws, shufta, operating in this area."

  Colonel Nogo was flustered and barely coherent.

  He stopped and drew a deep breath to steady himself. "You see, I have

  been ordered to provide an escort for the employees of the Pegasus

  Company. If you yourself experience any trouble while you are here, or

  if you need assistance for any reason you have only to call on me, sir."

  "That is extremely civil of you, colonel."

  "I will detain you no longer, sir." He saluted a third time and backed

  off towards the Pegasus truck, taking the Texan foreman along with him.

  Jake Helm'had not uttered a word since their arrival, and now he left

  without a farewell.

  Colonel Nogo gave Nicholas his fourth and final salute through the cab

  window as the truck pulled away.

  Deuce!" Nicholas told Royan, as he acknowledged the salute with a

  nonchalant wave. "I think that point was definitely ours. Now at least

  we know that, for whatever reason, Mr Pegasus definitely does not want

  us in his hair. I think we can expect his next service fairly promptly.,

  They walked back to where Boris sat in the dining tent and Nicholas told

  him, "All we need now are your mules."

  "I have sent three of my men to the village to find them. They should

  have been here yesterday." The mules arrived early the next morning, six

  big sturdy animals, each accompanied by a driver dressed in the

  ubiquitous-jodhpurs and shawl. By midmorning they were loaded and ready

  to begin the descent into the gorge.

  Boris paused at the head of the pathway, and looked out over that

  valley. For once even he -seemed to be subdued and awed by the immensity

  of the drop and the rugged splendour of the gorge.

  "You will be Passing into another land in another age," he warned them

  in an uncharacteristically philosophical mood. "They say that this trail

  is two thousand years old, as old as Christ." He spread his hands in a

  deprecating gesture.

  "The old black priest in the church at Debra Maryam will tell you that

  the Virgin Mary passed this way when she fled from Israel after the

  crucifixion." He shook his head. "But then these people will believe

  anything." And he "stepped out on to the pathway.

  It clung to the cliff, descending at such an angle that each pace was

  down a rock step so deep that it stretched the-tendons and the sinews in

  their groins and knees, and jarred their spines. They were forced to use

  their hands to scramble the rougher and steeper sections, where it was

  almost as though they were descending a ladder.

  It seemed impossible that the mules under their heavy packs could follow

  them down. The plucky beasts lunged down each of the rock steps, landing

  heavily on their forelegs, then gathered themselves for the next drop.

  The trail was so narrow that the bulky packs scraped against the rock

  wall on one hand, while on the other hand the drop sucked at them

  giddily.

  When the path dog-legged and changed direction, the mules could not make

  the turn in one attempt. They were forced to back and fill, edging their

  way round the narrow trail, sweating with terror and their eyes rolling

  until the whites flashed. The drivers urged them on with wild cries and

  busy whips.

  At places the pathway entered the body of the mountain, passing behind

  butts and needles of rock that time and erosion had prised away from the

  cliff face. These rocky gateways were so narrow that the mules had to be

  unloaded and the packs carried through by the drivers, and then the

  mules were reloaded on the far side.

  Look!" Royan cried in astonishment and pointed out into the void. A

  black vulture rose up out of the depths on widespread pinions and

  floated past them almost within arm's length, turning its gruesome naked

  head of pink lappeted skin to stare at them with inscrutable black eyes

  before sailing away.

  "He is using the thermals of heated air from the valley for lift,'

  Nicholas explained to her. He pointed out along the cliff to an

  overhanging buttress on the same level as themselves. "There is one of

  their nests." It was a shaggy moun
d of sticks piled on an inaccessible

  ledge. The excrement of the birds that had inhabited it over the ages

  had painted the cliff face below with streaks of brilliant white, and

  even at this distance they could catch whiffs of rotting offal and

  decaying flesh.

  All that day they clung to the precipitous track as they eased their way

  down that terrible wall. It was late afternoon, and they were only

  halfway down, when the trail turned back upon itself once more and they

  heard the rumble of the falls ahead. The sound grew louder and became a

  thunderous roar as they moved around the corner of another buttress and

  came in full sight of the falls.

  The wind created by the torrent tugged at them and forced them to clutch

  for handholds. The spray blew around them and wetted their upturned

  faces, but the i: Ethiopian guide led them straight on until it seemed

  that they must be washed away into the valley still hundreds of feet

  below.

  Then, miraculously, the waters parted and they stepped behind the great

  translucent curtain into a deep recess of moss-covered and gleaming wet

  rock, carved from the cliff by the force of water over the aeons. The

  only light in this gloomy place was filtered through the waterfall,

  green and mysterious like some undersea cavern.

  "This is where we sleep tonight," Boris announced, obviously enjoying

  their astonishment. He pointed to bundles of firewood piled at the rear

  of the cave, and the smoke-blackened wall above the stone hearth. The

  muleteers carrying food and supplies down to the priests in the

  monastery have used this place for centuries."

  As they moved deeper into the cavern, the sound of falling water became

  muted to a dull background rumble and the rock underfoot was dry. Once

  the servants had lit the fire, it became -a warm and comfortable, not to

  say romantic, lodging.

  With an old soldier's eye for the most comfortable spot, Nicholas laid

  out his sleeping bag in a corner at the back of the cave, and quite

  naturally Royan unrolled hers beside his. They were both tired out by

  the unusual exertion of climbing down the cliff wall, and after supper

  they stretched out in their sleeping bags in companionable silence and

  watched the firelight playing on the roof of the cave.

  "Just think!" Royan whispered. "Tomorrow we will be retracing the

  footsteps of old Taita himself."