by Don Wilcox
“I don’t think she’ll do it,” said Thelma. “She’s stubborn, you know. She thinks she’ll get her suitcase back eventually if she holds out.”
“Her suitcase be damned,” Hefty growled. “We have too much at stake to worry about a suitcase.”
A few minutes later they overtook Gypsy. Hefty had to talk fast. It wasn’t easy to argue against a headstrong person like the cook.
“Please, friend, please! You know how much this means to Stupe and all of us. We’re not heading for a dead end now. We know that there is an undersea world. We have Stupe’s letter to prove it. And the girl—I saw her with my own eyes. Are we going to let the whole game fall through just to help you get your revenge for a lost suitcase?”
“It vass a brand new zootcase,” Gypsy said sadly, “but if you say so—”
“That’s a pal, Gypsy, turn the little fellow loose—anything to get rid of this band of wingmen. Then we’ll be free to go down to the sea . . .”
It all sounded so simple, so easy. Little Gooyay’s parents were waiting for him outside, no doubt. If he would fly off to them, then the party of attackers would disband. Or would they?
But there was one tiny flaw in the plan. The little winged rascal had out-distanced the rest of the earth party in his chase down through the tunnels.
“Vare iss he?” Gypsy asked one of the others.
“Gone on ahead,” said Jake Fiddle in a sour voice.
“I’ll try to find him,” Thelma said.
Hefty followed along with her, combing the walls with his flashlight. Their voices echoed back to them as they called. The other members of the party gathered into one of the dark chambers from which several smaller passages branched outward in a fan-like formation. Thelma spread a blanket to catch a few moment’s rest. Frenchy served sandwiches after dividing them with his knife.
“Vare iss he?” Gypsy wailed.
The flashlight beam searched the floor and revealed a small, orange feather pointing toward one of the passages.
“He went that way,” said Hefty.
“Playing games, iss he?” Gypsy waggled her head to express her disappointment in her adopted son.
There was nothing to do but follow the blind trail. A few minutes later they came upon another feather. The little fellow was playing a game all right, stripping his wings to make a trail for them.
“The rest of you had better go on back,” said Hefty. “I’ll find him and be back soon.”
Thelma agreed that that was best. “If we get a chance we’ll let his parents know.” There was worry in her voice. “I do hope everything will be all right.”
And Gypsy Brown added with a note of terror, “Do be careful, Hefty. If yob go lost, dot vould be awful. Come back soon or ve’ll vollow you.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Beneath the amber light Stupendous Smith studied the pages of the aged book. Its hand-written script was at first mystifying to him, but with the key which Zaleena-Zaleese explained to him, he was able to read. The bright black letters glinted with edges of gold as he bent the thick pages in his hands.
Ancient mysteries . . . the heritage of some half forgotten deity . . . the forecast of innumerable faiths . . . the prediction of a sinking city . . .
“I shall leave you to study these pages,” said the goddess.
The hours passed swiftly. In his mind’s eye Stupe saw many pictures. He was not sure how much of his vision was evoked by the words on the printed page or how much was the drifting of his own imagination. Around him the purple lights glowed softly. Overhead the concentric circles of amber became dimmer and dimmer. The page was no longer visible. Before his eyes there passed a succession of figures—the long, long trail of Venusian humanity. Strange creatures, different breeds of animals and men. Some of the finest human specimens that could be imagined, walking tall across the plains of Venus; some malformed, wretched and misshapen, being lost at the end of the trail.
As he watched their timeless progress, he listened to the whisper of the Spirit which guided their destiny.
At first he was scarcely aware of its presence. It was like a steaming cloud, drifting high above them. They, the forebears of the present generation of Venusians, were being protected by this overhanging “cloud.” Then, to his amazement, he saw that their lines were divided at the upper reaches of a valley so that one group followed toward the crest of the mountain. Wings appeared on the backs of these creatures, tiny at first, then expanding in breadth until a race of wingmen emerged from the summit and took flight. Another group moved along the bank of the river, stopping to build villages—crude at first, then more complicated until the supreme achievements of modern civilization began to emerge.
There were other branches from the unwinding stems of animal life. Some seemingly unfortunate creatures were doomed to crawl. They accumulated a hardness of texture that would protect them against the stones of the mountainside. Their backs formed into shells. They were sluggish, snail-like creatures larger than men but without the direction of any human intelligence.
As this pageant unfolded before Stupe’s half closed eyes, he was fascinated by the guiding hand of the Spirit. Cloud that it was, it was evidently a thing omniscient. To each it gave according to the individual’s ability to receive. The touch of its steamy fingers blessed all creatures as they passed. But as this Spirit reached down from the sky, it bestowed one gift more precious than all the others. This gift was a tangible thing—a jeweled object which Stupe saw to be a harpoon. This picture so fascinated him that he attempted to draw it closer. He himself seemed to be moving in space toward it. It grew larger and larger, its rubies and emeralds shining through the misty cloud until it was immediately before him.
Then he saw a hand reach up to accept this precious gift. He recognized the hand—that of Zaleena-Zaleese.
He gazed, and the amber light above him grew stronger and his eyes opened. The goddess was indeed beside him and in her hand was the harpoon.
“Oh, have you been waiting?” Stupe asked. “I must have dozed. I was dreaming.
The goddess smiled, “It is always like a dream when you read from this ancient book. Did you see the Spirit?”
“You mean the cloud that reached down with steamy fingers?”
“That is the Spirit which bestowed upon me the gift of a beautiful life.” She closed the book gently, and took his hand. “Now that you have read, there are many more things that I can tell you. Come.”
They walked leisurely to the balcony, past the throne where the Old Man was dozing, and stopped at the railing to look down upon the star-shaped city.
“There are two kinds of deities, you know,” she said quietly, and waited for his response.
“Two kinds?” he echoed, and his hand automatically tightened over her fingers. If there were other goddesses in this realm, he would feel an instinctive jealousy toward them. To be close to Zaleena-Zaleese was having a deep effect upon him. With every passing hour this attraction for her had grown, and likewise his reverence of her. He had met her as a person, but gradually he was coming to accept her as a deity.
“Two kinds of gods?” he repeated.
“There are the gods which men create,” she said, “and they are very useful too. You have only to turn and glance at the throne to see what I mean.”
Stupe turned his eyes toward the sleeping old man, head bowed, long white beard spread thin over the front of his blue coat, hands drooping over the arm of his throne.
“Are you aware that the people have made a god of him?” the goddess asked. “After his grandfather’s death, he became a symbol. His grandfather made the walls. Now he keeps watch over them. The people firmly believe that no flood will ever destroy this city as long as the Old Man is alive.”
“A god of eternal safety,” mused Stupe.
“That is what they believe. But if the Old Man should die, I fear their religion will suffer a cruel shock.”
Stupe looked at her searchingly. “What do you believe?
”
She did not answer directly. Something was worrying her, and he waited for her to explain these mysteries in her own way.
“Do you remember something I whispered to you in your dreams?” she asked.
“I remember something pretty terrible,” he said. “You once whispered that you were supposed to become the wife of the Old Man, or something like that.”
“Understand me, please,” she said slowly. “This is neither his idea nor mine, but the wish of the people. They wish it because it would promise them eternal safety.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have been given the rarest gift which the Spirit has to offer. I am a goddess because of that gift. The greatest deity of Venus, the guiding hand of our creation, has appointed me. This,” she indicated the jeweled harpoon, “is the symbol of my gift.”
“And the gift?”
“Is youth eternal. Upon me and upon the White Stallion that bears me through the waters has been bestowed the blessing of eternal youth!”
Stupe felt his throat tighten. He was keenly aware of the magnetism that played into his hand from the touch of her fingertips. In awe he drew away from her. How did he dare to share the slightest intimacy with her if, indeed, she were a person charmed with such a blessing?
“Now you know how it is,” she said, “that I can ride through fire and water with no fear of death . . . My people know . . . They depend upon me to use my birthright in their behalf. This much I am willing to do.”
Stupe sensed a reservation in her statement. Were they asking her for favors beyond her power to give?
“They believe, however,” she went on, “that I have the means to share my gift with the ones I choose for a mate. Now do you see their plan for me?”
Her glance toward the sleeping Old Man made her meaning clear.
“You mean—” Stupe looked from the throne to the stone-glass wall.
“Yes. For their safety they wish him to live on forever. They believe that if I marry him-”
She stopped abruptly, and turned her face away from him. She was suddenly walking away and he knew that she was weeping.
“Dudu!” he called, “Dudu, come back to me.”
She stopped, and turned, her eyes smiling through the mist of tears.
“We’ll not let this happen, Dudu,” he said, taking her in his arms. She looked up at him questionably, waiting for him to say more. His thoughts flashed back through the weird course of events that had brought him here. “I’ve come a long, long way, Dudu,” he said, kissing her eyelids tenderly, “I must have come for some purpose.”
She clung to his arms, and spoke in the imploring voice of eternal youth.
“Take me back with you . . . Wherever you came from, take me back to your land . . . Soon, please . . . Will you? . . . Will you promise?”
CHAPTER XXXIX
The committee which assisted Zaleena-Zaleese-Ocella-Dudu in governing the city under the sea had grown impatient with her delays. They had expected to stage a beautiful pageant in honor of the Old Man and his many years of guardianship over their safety. They had urged Zaleena that, in the interests of perpetuating the present idyllic state of affairs, she should make this celebration memorable by marrying the man they honored.
By one device or another, Zaleena had succeeded in delaying them.
“We should first find a foreigner to offer as a sacrifice,” she had once suggested, “in order to follow the dictates of the ancient ritual of . . .” and she had quoted long passages from the ancient volume of mysteries in support of her argument.
This subterfuge had been good for many days of delay. But the appearance of Stupe Smith had led her to regret the remark. Stupe had come, and she had fallen in love with him at once. He was young, strong and handsome. He was an interesting talker, full of marvelous ideas about some remote world. His numbers did not stop at ten but went all the way up to sixty thousand and even farther, he said.
She did not question why he had come or how long he would stay. He was willing to be received as her guest. That was all she could ask. But because of her earlier statement to the committee, she now lived in hourly fear that his identity as a foreigner would be discovered.
Her servants could be trusted. The Egg Inspector was too stupid to catch on. The gentle Old Man would never reveal a secret that meant new happiness for Zaleena for he loved her dearly.
But now the six committeemen marched across the passage from the Old Man’s throne to her wall-side palace to talk with her.
She met them in the reception room, and asked them to be seated, offering to serve refreshments.
From the next room, Stupe Smith listened. Some of the voices were strident. Things were going badly of late.
“The wall has been patched four times since that unaccountable explosion.”
“I followed the foreigner who escaped our guards,” said Zaleena, trying to soothe their nerves. “He found his way back to the mainland. We will not be bothered by him again.”
The committeemen voiced their doubts. They would feel much safer if they could be sure the Old Man would live on forever.
Then the goddess said something that horrified them. “Must you assume that I will be with you always? Perhaps I have other plans.”
Stupe’s blood froze. He could imagine the surprised reaction. Some of those whispered exclamations were, undoubtedly, blasphemies. How far did a goddess dare go, he wondered, in stirring the wrath of her people?
Stupe wished he could have prepared Zaleena for this emergency. A few rash words might cost her much needless trouble. Such impulsiveness, he thought. She was already paving the way for a trip to his country. But how did he dare plan such a trip?
Always in his mind was the thought of bringing her back to J.J. Wellington. An ugly prospect. “Here you are, Mr. Wellington, an attraction from Venus that will make your night club crowds go wild with delight,” he could hear himself saying. “One million dollars, please, Mr. Wellington. Sign on the dotted line. She and the horse are all yours.”
“I could never do it,” Stupe muttered, half aloud. “But suppose she insists on going with me. Suppose I can’t talk her out of my promise? Could I possibly smuggle her into America without Wellington’s knowing? No, even if we hid away in Europe or South America the word would get out . . .”
Again he listened. The members of the committee were leaving. They were talking loud, not so much in anger as in nervous fear, Stupe thought. The city depended upon them for its welfare. The gods help them if Zaleena-Zaleese failed to give them the protection they needed.
“Let us proceed with the celebration in honor of the Old Man as early as possible,” one of the councilmen said.
“Within three days,” said Zaleena.
“And the wedding too?”
“I shall give you my decision soon,” said the goddess. “Good day, gentlemen.”
“One further point,” said one of the men. “Sometime ago you quoted an ancient ritual that referred to a sacrifice.”
“It may be overlooked,” she said hastily.
The councilman was not to be put off so easily. “I think a sacrificial victim is hiding in our midst. If we do the Old Man more honor by torturing and killing one of his lesser brothers, let us ferret out this foreigner who is among us. Do you agree, Zaleena?”
Stupe waited tensely for the girl’s answer, but one of the other councilmen spoke ahead of her.
“I think we can soon find this outsider. The Inspector’s assistant is said to be a stranger. Someone pointed him out to me. He stands a little straighter than we, and is quicker in the motions of his arms. I shall watch for him.”
“Yes, do,” said the goddess in a tight voice. “Good day, gentlemen.”
They trudged away, talking in hearty voices of their plans for the big public celebration. “A pageant . . . Zaleena on her white horse . . . The basket throne to be lowered . . .”
Their voices faded out of hearing. The goddess hurried back to
Stupe and clutched his hands in hers.
“It’s dreadful,” she said. “I was miserable through every minute of their visit. You heard?”
“Practically everything,” said Stupe.
“Oh, why did the Spirit ever choose to make me a goddess over these people? Was it not foreseen that I would come to this humiliation?”
“Don’t be upset, please, Zaleena.”
“I even threatened to betray them. At least they will think so. But I didn’t mean it that way, believe me.”
Stupe tried to comfort her. She was demonstrating all of the human qualities of any other person. It was not right, Stupe thought, for such a beautiful person to be so unhappy.
“You don’t really mean to desert them in time of need, do you?” he said, leading her into her study.
Her answer was indirect and full of mystery.
“You are very kind, Stupe Smith,” she said. “You are kind to everybody. But you do not understand my motive. You have not read all of the mysteries of this book. If I leave these people—if I go to your land-”
“Yes, go on.”
“Never mind,” she said. “I am not entirely sure you would want me to go. There is some doubt lurking in your mind.”
Stupe took her searching gaze with his steady eyes. He nodded slowly. She was right. He did have misgivings. Here she was a goddess with power over a people who loved her and depended upon her. But if she went back with him to the world of J.J. Wellington, what would she become? “Come,” he said smiling. “Let’s go and talk the whole thing over frankly with the Old Man.”
Zaleena gave a surprised laugh. “I was just going to suggest the same thing.”
Lightheartedly they slipped through the palace and across the elevated path to the throne above the city. Eternal Youth! Zaleena’s Spirit-gift was a contagious quality. Stupe was learning to break from his serious moods into momentary gayety.
“Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best, as we used to say in my land far away,” Stupe said, trying to throw off his self-consciousness.