However, from this angle of vision—right underneath the cliff, with the bushes and the trees close about him in the now once more brilliant moonlight, the rope seemed nowhere in sight. He hesitated, trying to decide which way he would move to look for it and then, at that moment, he heard a sound that checked him in mid-movement.
It was the sound of a bush rustling less than twenty feet from him.
His pursuer had been closer than he thought. Bill turned desperately to the cliff beside him. It was pitted enough by cracks and holes so that it was just possible he might be able to climb it. He turned to the cliff-face and began to climb.
He went up as noiselessly as he could. For the first eight or ten feet, he made swift and quiet progress. But then, he reached upward with his right leg for a foothold upon a small projection from the cliff-face—and it broke beneath his boot sole.
With a sound that seemed to Bill’s tense ears to be like the roar of an avalanche, the broke piece of rock and a few shards of cliff-face it had carried away with it, went cascading down to the bushes below. And with that, everything began to happen very swiftly.
He scrabbled frantically with his unsupported foot for a new resting place. But, as he did so, there was a tearing, rushing sound through the bushes below him, and something that sounded like a snarl of animal triumph. At the same time, the strain of his body weight upon his two hands and remaining foot proved too much for their precarious grasp upon the cliff-face.
The support beneath his other foot gave way suddenly, and he fell, spread-eagled backward, outward into darkness and downward toward the ground, fifteen or twenty feet below.
Chapter 19
As he fell backward through the darkness, Bill instinctively tried to roll himself about in midair as he had learned in Survival School, and land on his feet. But the distance was too short. Even as he tried to relax in expectation of a bone-shattering concussion against the hard ground at the foot of the cliff, his fall was interrupted.
He found himself, unexpectedly, caught in midair—by what appeared to be two very large and capable hands.
“So it’s you, Pick-and-Shovel!” the voice of Bone Breaker rumbled above him. “I thought it was you. Didn’t I get your promise you wouldn’t come back here, except in daylight?”
He set Bill on his feet, as the moonlight broke finally free of all clouds and they saw each other clearly. Bill looked up at the towering, coal-black Dilbian form. His mind was racing. He had never thought faster in his life.
“Well,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you privately—”
“Privately? That’s a Shorty for you!” said Bone Breaker. “Don’t you know that if anybody found out we’ve been talking together privately, anything might happen? Why, people would be likely to start guessing all sorts of things! But here you show up—”
He broke off abruptly, staring down at Bill.
“By the way,” he asked in a tone of puzzlement, “just how did you get here, anyhow? The guards in the gates didn’t let you in. And there’s no way you could get over the stockade fence in the dark.”
Bill took a deep breath and gambled that the truth would serve him better at this point than anything short of subterfuge. He pointed up the wall of the cliff alongside them.
“I climbed down there,” he said.
Bone Breaker continued to stare at him for a long moment. Then the Dilbian outlaw chief’s eyes moved slowly away from him and lifted, traveling up the sheer face of the cliff.
“You—” the words came out of him slowly with long, incredulous pauses in between, “came down that?”
“Why, certainly!” said Bill determinedly and cheerfully, “we Shorties can climb almost anything. Why, back on my own world once, I—”
“Never mind that,” rumbled Bone Breaker. His eyes came back down to focus on Bill’s face. “If you came down it, I suppose you can get back up it, again?”
“Well… yes,” said Bill, a little reluctantly, his fall of a moment before fresh in his mind. “I can climb it, all right.”
“Then you better get going,” said Bone Breaker—not so much angrily as emphatically. “You don’t know how lucky you are it was me who spotted you sneaking around the buildings, back there, instead of it being one of our regular watchmen. It’s just a happy chance for you that I like to take a stroll around myself every evening before I turn in, just to see that everything’s all right. Why, you could’ve spoiled everything!”
“Everything?” echoed Bill frowning.
“Why, certainly,” rumbled Bone Breaker reprovingly. “Why would anybody think you’d be here, except to have that duel with me? And what’s the point of having a duel at this time of night, with no real light to see by and hardly anybody around? No, no, Pick-and-Shovel. You’ve got to get this sort of thing straight in your Shorty head. Something like our duel has to be held in broad daylight. With everybody looking on, too. I want everybody up in the valley, and watching. And as many villagers as can get here, as well.” His voice took on, strange as it seemed, almost a wistful note. “It’s just too bad we can’t send runners out with the word so that anyone in the district could drop by. But, I suppose that’d be overdoing it.”
“Er—yes,” agreed Bill.
“Well, anyway,” said Bone Breaker, his voice becoming suddenly brisk, “you’d better get started. Up that cliff with you and out of sight—and remember! Whatever you do, Pick-and-Shovel, make sure it’s daylight when you come back again. Full daylight!”
“I will,” promised Bill. He turned to the cliff-face without any further hesitation and carefully began to climb. Some ten feet above the ground, he paused to look down. The moon was out from behind its clouds, and by its light he saw the outlaw chief staring up at him. As he watched, Bone Breaker shook his head a little, as if in amazement, and then turned and went off toward the buildings, just as the moon slid once more behind a cloud, and darkness covered the scene.
As soon as the face of the cliff was cloaked in shadow, Bill ceased climbing. Cautiously, feeling his way with hands and feet in the gloom with his heart thudding, Bill climbed back down slowly onto solid ground. When at last he stood firmly upright upon it, he found his face was wet with perspiration. A single misstep on the way down could have set him falling, the way he had done once already. And this time, there would have been no Bone Breaker to catch him.
However, now that he was safely on his feet again, he began to work his way along the base of the cliff until he reached a spot where he was completely hidden by the undergrowth. Here he waited until the moon once more emerged from its cloud, and, looking up, he was able to make out the notch at the top of the cliff from which his rope descended.
It was still a little farther to his right. He continued on and came at last to the rope itself, nearly invisible in the moonlight against the light-colored rock of the cliff-face.
The climb required a number of stops to rest along the way. Whenever he found a spot where he could lean or crouch against the cliff-face to rest those muscles of his arms and legs which had been bearing his weight during the climb, he did so. In spite of this, by the time he could look up and see the bottom of the notch only ten or twelve feet above him, Bill was as exhausted as he could remember being.
He had no idea, as he paused for a final rest upon a ledge of rock outcropping from the vertical face, how long the upward climb had taken. It seemed to have taken hours. However, no alarm had so far been raised that would indicate anyone had caught sight of him. After resting on the rock ledge as long as he dared, without risking the stiffening of his weary muscles, Bill geared up his courage and his remaining energy for the last stretch to the bottom of the notch. Then he began to climb.
It was hard work. With each foot gained upward, he felt the already shallow reserves of his strength ebbing away. Eventually, the bottom of the notch came within view, but still more than an arm’s reach away. Bill locked his feet in the rope and started to let go with his right hand in order to reach upward.
Clutching desperately at the rope with both hands, Bill clung to his position. There seemed to be no strength left in him. For a second, a giddy picture of his grip finally loosening on the rope as he hung here, and his plunge to certain death at the foot of the cliff swam through his mind.
—And then he moved.
He moved upward. He and the rope together lifted a good four feet until the notch was almost level with his eyes. Before he could grasp what had happened, the rope lifted again, carrying him with it. Someone above was hauling it upward, pulling him to the safety of the cliff-top.
Wildly and unexpectedly it came to him that possibly the Bluffer had returned, although he was not due until dawn—or had stayed in position above the cliff, and was now bringing him up to safe and level ground. Bill looked upward, expecting to see the dark, furry mass of the Dilbian postman staring down at him. But it was not the Bluffer he saw.
He stared instead into the moonlit, Buddha-like countenance of Mula-ay. The hands of the Hemnoid had hold of the rope. The great, heavy-gravity muscles of the alien were bringing it easily in, and there was a smile of pure, gentle joy on Mula-ay’s face. Like a hooked fish, Bill was being drawn helplessly upward into the hands of his enemy.
If the shock and dismay that Bill felt were strong, they were overridden just at that moment by the prospect of getting off the cliff-face and onto the level top of the cliff, no matter with whose help. He clung desperately to the rope and let himself be pulled in, until at last he was hauled over the edge of the notch and collapsed weakly upon the soft ground above the vertical rock-face.
For a moment, he simply lay there, almost too weak to move, his arms and legs trembling from the strain they had just endured. Then, painfully, he let go of the rope and struggled to his feet.
Directly in front of him, and less than six feet away, with his arms now folded across his chest within the voluminous sleeves of his yellow robe, Mula-ay continued to smile contentedly at him in the moonlight.
“Well, well, my young friend,” said Mula-ay, with a heavy, liquid chuckle. “And what are you doing here at this time of night?”
Bill had had a chance to collect his wits. As it had in the moment at the foot of the cliff when he first found himself facing Bone Breaker, his mind was racing swiftly, turning up conclusions rapidly as it went.
“Why, I was just out,” said Bill, panting slightly in spite of his attempts to appear calm, “for a little sport rock-climbing. Suppose you tell me what you’re doing here.”
Mula-ay laughed again.
“Why, of course I could tell an untruth just like you, my young friend,” replied the Hemnoid, “and say I just happened to be out for a moonlight stroll. But people like myself are always truthful—particularly when the truth hurts—and I’ll tell you the truth. I was out here looking for you, and, behold, I have found you.”
“Looking for me?” queried Bill. “What made you think you might find me here? Particularly, what made you think you might find me here at this time of night?”
“I thought it likely you would want to visit your female confederate down there in the valley before long,” chuckled Mula-ay thickly. “And I was right.”
Bill looked into the round moon-face narrowly. What Mula-ay said made sense—but only up to a certain point. His galloping mind seized upon the hole in the Hemnoid’s statement.
“You might’ve been expecting me to try to get in to the valley and see Miss Lyme,” said Bill bluntly, “but how would you know that I would try to get in by climbing down the cliffs—and how would you know just where on the cliffs I’d choose to climb down?” His gaze narrowed further. “You’ve got a robot warning system set up around this valley, haven’t you? And that’s in violation of the Human-Hemnoid agreement.”
He pointed a finger at Mula-ay.
“The minute I report this,” he snapped, “your superiors will have to pull you from your post here on Dilbia!”
“If you tell them, don’t you mean, my young friend?” murmured Mula-ay comfortably. “I seem to remember something about your not being able to reach your superiors off-planet. And if you did, it would simply be your word against mine.”
“I don’t think so,” retorted Bill grimly. “Any efficient warning system would require power expenditure, and good detection equipment would be able to find traces of power expenditure in this area, once they knew where to look—which they would, as soon as I told them how you had been warned by my entering the valley down the cliff. You must have a sensory ring set up all around the valley.”
“And if I have?” Mula-ay shrugged. “And if detection equipment actually could find traces? There’s still the question of your telling them about it.”
These last words were said in the same light and careless tone in which Mula-ay had been conversing from the beginning. But something about them sent a sudden chill through Bill. He was abruptly aware of the position in which he stood.
This isolated spot at the cliff’s edge, closely and thickly hemmed in by bushes, was now proving to work its former advantages to his present disadvantage. Directly before him, the gross and inconceivably powerful heavy-gravity form of the Hemnoid blocked Bill’s only direct route of escape into the nighttime woods. Behind him was the cliff, where one step backward would send him plunging down through emptiness. To right and left the thickly grown bushes formed flanking walls, through which a Dilbian or a Hemnoid might be able to push by brute force, but which would slow down a human like himself, so that he could easily be caught by someone like Mula-ay.
These bushes grew almost to the very lip of the cliff. Only perhaps half a foot of crumbling, overhanging turf separated the last of them from the vertical drop. Bill was as neatly enclosed as a steer in a slaughter pen at a meat-packing company. Only his reflexes, which would be faster than the heavy-gravity being facing him—just as they were faster than the Dilbians’—because of his smaller size, remained in his favor. And he did not at the moment see how faster reflexes could help him here.
“You aren’t—” he began and hesitated, “you aren’t such a fool as to think of actually doing something to me yourself? There’d be bound to be an investigation, and the investigation would be bound to turn up the fact that you were responsible.”
Mula-ay shook his head.
“I?” he said, and his smile broadened. “Who’d bother to push the investigation in my direction, when it will be plain that your Dilbian postman left you off here for the express purpose of climbing down the cliff? And when your body is found at the very foot of the rope down which you climbed, with every indication that your grip upon it failed so that you fell to your death?”
Mula-ay chuckled, and, withdrawing his hands for their sleeves, flexed their thick, wide fingers.
“Oh?” demanded Bill, on what he hoped was a convincing note of scorn, “if that’s really what you mean to do, why haven’t you just done it, instead of standing around talking to me about it?”
Mula-ay chuckled again, continuing to flex his fingers.
“Aren’t you forgetting,” he replied cheerfully, “that we Hemnoids enjoy the suffering of our victims?” He chuckled. “And mental suffering is so much more delicately satisfying than gross physical discomfort. I wanted to thank you—before pushing you over the cliff, for being so obliging as to put yourself in this exposed and compromising position after you were so lucky as to be rescued from the little execution I arranged for you at the hands of Grandpa Squeaky—”
“All right, Hill Bluffer,” interrupted Bill swiftly, looking over Mula-ay’s right shoulder. “He’s admitted what I wanted him to say. You can grab him now.”
Mula-ay chuckled again.
“You didn’t think you could fool me by saying something like that—” he began. But as he did so, his eyes flickered for a second backward over his right shoulder. And in that second, Bill acted.
Spinning on his heel, he dashed off to his lef
t along the narrow strip between the end of the bushes and the cliff edge. He felt the ground giving under his feet as his weight came upon it—but then he was past, veering into the darkness of the forest beyond and the solid footing farther back. Behind him, he heard Mula-ay’s muffled shout, followed by the crashing of the bushes as the tremendously powerful, heavy-gravity body of the other bulldozed through them in pursuit. But without pausing, Bill ran on, taking advantage of every open spot and break in the undergrowth that he could find.
He covered perhaps seventy-five or a hundred yards this way. Then, winded, he stopped. Listening, he heard—quite some distance behind him now—the sound of the Hemnoid blundering and tearing his way through the undergrowth. Panting, and with sweat running off him in rivulets, Bill stood still and kept quiet.
After a few seconds, the sound of the Hemnoid’s pursuit also stopped abruptly. Bill could imagine Mula-ay standing, listening, waiting for some sound to tell him in which way Bill was trying to escape. But Bill knew better than to give him that clue. Bill continued to stand still, and for the long, drawn-out space of perhaps two and a half minutes nothing but night silence held the cliff-top forest.
At the end of that time, Mula-ay moved again. He was evidently trying to move quietly, but sound of his passage, of leaves rustling and branches being swept aside by his passage, came clearly and unmistakably to Bill’s ears. After perhaps half a minute of this, it must have become obvious to Mula-ay as well that he could not move anywhere near as quietly as Bill—nor could he find Bill in the darkened forest this way as long as Bill chose to hide. Amazingly and unexpectedly, the almost ghostly chuckle of the Hemnoid floated through the moonlit undergrowth and trees to Bill’s ear. And the voice of Mula-ay came quite distinctly, although muted by distance.
“Very good. Very good indeed, my young friend…” The ghostly chuckle came again. “But there will be other opportunities and other ways. Good-bye for now—and pleasant dreams.”
The Right to Arm Bears (dilbia) Page 28