by K. G. McAbee
Nathanial shifted carefully in the shaky chair. Blast Jericho and his ridiculous attention to Annabelle!
The small camp was really quite comfortable, he had to admit, with rubberised tents against the endless damp, and all the other comforts they had floated down the cliffs in a small balloon tethered nearby. Game was plentiful and some of the native fruits and vegetables were delicious.
They were perhaps a mile from the top of the Victoria plateau, on what was called the lower or second escarpment. The plateau settled by the British did not drop off cleanly on all sides, but instead had slopes where the cliffs had fallen away, to form lower, smaller plateaus which ringed the upper huge one, much like a necklace of pearls around a lovely woman’s neck. These lower escarpments gave easier access to the lowland swamps, while also adding a protective barrier in spots to the British settlements above.
Their guide, Simon O’Ryan, strolled up from the direction of the swamps below. The man had an uncanny ability to appear and disappear, which made Nathanial rather suspicious. Annabelle would not hear a word against the man. Nathanial suspected she was somewhat enamoured of the man.
“Now, then, what would the loveliest lady on Venus like to do after supper?” he asked, his white teeth blazing in his sun-darkened face.
Annabelle blushed. Nathanial would never have believed it possible, but he had seen it recently and more than once. He did not understand her attraction to the bounder, though to be honest, the man was certainly well-muscled and quite handsome, bursting with health and animal spirits…
Nathanial stood up, just managing not to knock his chair over backwards. “Well, I suggest that, after we’ve dined, we spend what’s left of the daylight getting packed up. Tomorrow morning would be an excellent time to head back to the plateau. What do you say, Jericho?”
Jericho nodded eagerly. “Absolutely, my dear chap. We’ve got enough time to make it back well about the time my governor should get his supplies, and we can be on hand to assist with the repairs. Miss Annabelle, have you seen enough of the lowlands?”
Annabelle pouted just a bit. “Well…I have seen the lower escarpment, and quite interesting it is. But Mister O’Ryan has been telling me about a curious and charming little native village, just half a day’s travel from here and in the actual boundary of the German settlements. Not to mention, it’s in the swamplands. You must admit, gentlemen, we can hardly return without engaging in a trip to the real, true Venus: the swamps. Why,” she said, looking soulful, her hands clasped to her bosom, “think of it. The romance, the excitement…”
“The stinking mud, the poison lizards, the giant reptiles.” Nathanial snorted. “Really, Annabelle, I think you must agree: I have been quite patient with you. We have wasted—” he stopped when she glared at him and continued in a more conciliatory tone, “—we have enjoyed a most interesting excursion. You have shot another lizard. I have eaten rather more of it than I feel is quite conducive to my health. Please, can we not get back to civilization before Mister Forbes-Hamilton leaves us all and heads back alone?”
Annabelle turned to O’Ryan. “Well, I suppose he’s right, Simon,” she said, though she was shaking her head as if she did not truly agree.
Simon? When did the man become “Simon” to Annabelle, Nathanial thought in some alarm.
O’Ryan nodded. “Certainly, certainly. No need to go further down. After all, it can be quite frightening for some, the true face of Venus.” He settled into a wicker chair, which creaked under his weight. “It’s been a pleasure and a delight, but all good things come to an end, do they not?”
“Well, I am glad you have seen reason at last!” Nathanial could not help but rub his hands together at the thought of a hot bath, a soft bed and rather less mud about his person.
Thymon appeared with a steaming pot in one hand. Annabelle moved her holster and he set it in the middle of the table. “Sssupper.”
“Ah, Thymon, my dear sir, this looks delicious,” Annabelle said.
Nathanial eyed the stew dubiously, but he had to admit, the lizard-man was a passable cook. He had learned, however, not to inquire too closely as to the ingredients he used.
After they had all eaten their fill, Thymon disappeared into the jungle, as was his nightly custom, to do the washing up in a nearby stream. He seldom reappeared until morning. Nathanial had no idea where the lizard-man slept.
Giles Jericho stretched his arms above his head. “Well, an early bed for me, especially if we’re heading back in the morning.”
O’Ryan slapped his forehead. “And here I was forgetting my surprise!”
“Surprise, Simon?” asked Annabelle, dimpling at him.
The guide rose and dashed to his tent, then came back with a bottle and four tiny glasses. He set the glasses down and poured them full of a ruby liquid.
“A toast,” he said, grinning at Annabelle, “to the most delightful trip I’ve taken since I arrived on Venus.”
Annabelle sniffed her glass, then sipped it. “Oh, this is delightful! What is it?”
“A brandy made from a kind of grape here on Venus,” Jericho said, tossing his own glass off.
Nathanial shrugged and tasted his. Not bad, to his surprise. He drank his down.
O’Ryan immediately refilled the glasses. “And to Professor Stone, brilliant designer!”
They drank.
“And to Venus.”
They drank again.
“And to new friends.”
Nathanial felt a bit of a tingle in his arms. “I say, this is rather potent.” He covered his glass with one hand. “No more for me, I think.”
O’Ryan shook his head. “Oh, no, sir. We cannot stop until we drink the health of our lovely companion here, and then our gracious queen.” He filled the glasses again; the bottle was nearly empty.
“Yes, Nathanial,” said Annabelle. He noticed her voice sounded a bit slurred.
Oh dear, he thought, blinking his eyes as he tried to clear away the veil which seemed to have covered them, Annabelle is tipsy. She’ll have a headache tomorrow.
Then she slumped down bonelessly in her chair, the empty glass falling from her hand. It hit the ground and broke cleanly in two.
Nathanial sat up in concern. Or at least, that was his intention. He found that he could barely move; his head was inexorably falling to his chest. Just before his eyes closed, he saw Jericho slide from his chair, a silly grin plastered on his face…
* * *
“Nathanial. Nathanial! Wake up!”
What in the world, Nathanial thought blearily, was Annabelle calling him so early? Surely it was the middle of the night? Why, it was still dark, wasn’t it? He opened his eyes.
Blazing sunlight cut into his vision like heated razors. He squinted and turned his head away.
“Nathanial!” Annabelle shook him. The movement made his head hurt.
“Please,” he begged, “don’t do that.”
“Nathanial Stone, will you please wake up?” The insufferable girl shook him again.
“All right!” he snapped angrily, raising an arm to push her away.
Or at least, he tried to raise an arm. Something seemed to be preventing him from doing so.
Nathanial opened his eyes again. What he had at first thought was brilliant sunlight subsided to the usual dull cloudiness and he looked around him. He seemed to be lying inside some sort of native hut, much like the ones he’d seen on the outskirts of Fort David. The walls were of close-set upright wooden poles set into the soft ground, and the roof was a loosely woven lattice with a round hole in the centre. He could just see a wide door to his left.
“What in the name of all creation is going on, Annabelle?” he said, struggling to sit up but failing.
“Keep still.” Annabelle stood up and tiptoed to the door, laid her ear against it and came back as quietly. She squatted down and leaned over him.
Her face was pale and dirty, and he was amazed to see—was that fear in her eyes?
“Annabelle,�
� he said, seriously concerned now. “I beg you. Tell me where we are.”
Annabelle ignored him as she pulled her skirt up over her knees and unbuttoned the top of her sturdy boot; he closed his eyes in embarrassment.
“Oh, don’t be so prim, Nathanial,” she said. “You can be as silly as a milk-fed miss.” She pulled out her small pocketknife and rebuttoned her boot, then turned towards Nathanial’s feet and began sawing away at something out of his view. He heard her curse softly under her breath; it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time before she turned to face him.
“Now, that takes care of your feet.” Annabelle tried to look cheerful but failed. “Now just let me get those vines off your arms. Hold still now; my knife is rather sharp and I would truly hate to cut you.”
“Until this moment,” Nathanial said, keeping as still as he could, “I had nothing but concern about you carrying a pocketknife. Forgive me for my doubt.”
As soon as the last word was out of his mouth, the constricting feeling about his chest fell away.
“There, now,” Annabelle said in satisfaction. “Now, drink as much of this as you can.” She handed him a gourd that gurgled pleasantly. He tipped it up and sucked at the contents greedily, for he was enormously thirsty. It wasn’t water, but some thin green liquid which seemed to cut his thirst at once.
“Now, if you’re through guzzling, come and see if you can help me awaken Mister Jericho. Softly now! There are guards.” She moved carefully in the opposite direction to the door.
Nathanial rolled over, barely managing to stifle a groan. His head was pounding, his arms ached and his legs were numb. It took him some time before he was able to crawl in the direction Annabelle had gone.
As he moved towards her in a crawl, a bit of feeling returned to his legs, though his various aches and pains did not lessen. He managed to reach Annabelle at last. She was squatting beside a supine body, which he recognised as Jericho. Annabelle was busily engaged in sawing away the thick vines wrapped around his ankles.
Nathanial laid his ear against Jericho’s chest. “Alive, thank God!” he whispered.
“Well, of course he’s alive!” Annabelle had finally finished cutting the vines around Jericho’s boots and moved up to the ones that held his arms against his body. “Do you think I’d waste my time trying to free a dead man?”
Nathanial sat down with a thump. He would never grow used to Annabelle’s outspokenness!
He felt a bit helpless and still terribly weak, but he could do nothing but watch Annabelle as she finally got all the bonds off Jericho. The visible side of Jericho’s face was red and his eyelids gave a brief flutter, but he did not awaken.
“Help me, please, Nathanial,” Annabelle ordered. “While my knife is useful, it is rather small. My derringer is missing; we must look for weapons.”
“Whatever for?”
She turned and gave him the glare she saved for when she thought him particularly obtuse. Obtuse was precisely how he felt, his mind still foggy as if it had been drugged.
“Drugged!” he said in sudden enlightenment.
“Yes, of course we were,” Annabelle said flatly. “And if you hadn’t been quite so greedy, you’d have awakened before me and not frightened me by being so, so…still.” She sniffed as the last word ended in a quaver, a definite quaver, to Nathanial’s surprise. “But never mind that now. It’s a good thing I didn’t like that nasty brandy as much as I said I did, or we’d all be in the soup. Well, in hotter soup than we are now, at any rate.”
Jericho snorted and groaned. He began to shake his head, but stopped at once.
Nathanial understood. His own head felt as if it were stuffed with nails, all pointing outward.
“There, my dear fellow.” Annabelle leaned close to Jericho’s face. “Don’t move about for a while. I’m sure you have a bit of a headache. I know I did when I awoke.”
Nathanial was bursting to know more about their situation, but Annabelle ignored his increasingly impassioned whispers as she reached up and took another small gourd hanging on the wall by a braided cord. She tipped a few drops of the pale green liquid into Jericho’s slack mouth. He coughed and tried weakly to push the gourd away, but Annabelle, being Annabelle, persevered.
“Here,” she said, handing the gourd to Nathanial, “make sure he drinks the rest. It seems to help counteract the effects of the drug in the brandy.” She stood up and, as Nathanial clumsily poured the liquid into Jericho’s mouth, Annabelle began to examine their prison.
Jericho sputtered but drank down the potion. Finally, he was able to sit up.
“What the bloody hell?” His pale face went red. “Oh, sorry, Miss Somerset.”
She came to his side, squatted down and smiled grimly. “Pray, do not mention it. And, indeed, what the bloody hell is going on?”
Nathanial felt his heart sink. “You mean, you do not know either?”
Annabelle glared at him. “My dear Nathanial! Look about you.” She waved her hands. “It is obvious we are in a native hut. The door is locked; I tried it first thing upon awakening, at least directly after I had managed to get out of my bonds.”
“Good gad, you were tied up too? What bounder would do that to a lady?” Jericho said, a bit more strength in his voice than before.
Annabelle shrugged. “Well, they were rather loose. And really, there is only one choice of villain, is there not? Who gave us the drugged brandy?”
“O’Ryan,” Nathanial said.
“Actually, sirs and lady, the last name’s O’Rourke, though do continue to call me Simon, my dearest Annabelle,” said a cheerful voice.
Nathanial had been so engrossed in Annabelle’s story that he had not even heard the door on the opposite side of the hut open.
He turned to see the tall figure of their guide, his broad shoulders nearly filling the narrow doorway. He stalked inside, and behind him came two men with rifles.
“You will call me Miss Somerset in future, if you please, and I shall call you nothing but traitor!” Annabelle snapped.
He strolled towards them, the two men keeping close behind him, their guns raised threateningly.
“Now, Miss Somerset me darlin’,” their former guide said, grinning down at her. “We can still be friends, don’t you know. And you, at least, can still get out of all this alive. Your friends, I’m truly sorry to say, cannot.”
Nathanial rose to his feet. O’Rourke’s guards immediately pointed their weapons directly at him. “Now, see here, O’Ryan or O’Rourke or whatever your name is,” he began.
One of the guards took two steps forward, reversed his weapon in a short and highly trained manoeuvre, and raised the stock threateningly.
“Now, now, Hans, no need for that.” O’Rourke shook his head. “No need at all. Yet. Plenty of time. The zepp won’t be here for another couple of days, and we have to keep our guests healthy until then. Healthy and unmarked, mind you, and I’ll be thanking you to remember that.”
Annabelle stood up and moved to stand beside Nathanial. She took his arm and squeezed it gently, and he was surprised at how comforted it made him feel.
“Mister O’Rourke,” she began, then paused. “Sir, what exactly is this? Are we being held for ransom? For I can tell you now, I am an orphan and have no fortune. And Mister Stone and Mister Jericho work for Her Majesty’s government, so you can imagine they are hardly rolling in wealth either. So why don’t you simply take us back to Fort David, and we’ll all agree to say no more about it.”
O’Rourke threw his head back and laughed. “My dear lady, you have been reading far too many penny dreadfuls. Ransom indeed.” He bent over in raucous laughter.
Jericho had struggled to his feet and now joined them, on Annabelle’s other side.
“See here, you bounder, we are citizens of the British Empire!”
Jericho actually seemed to be trembling in righteous indignation, Nathanial saw in some surprise. Or perhaps it was fear; the good Lord knew Nathanial was frightened enough.
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“And as citizens,” Jericho continued, seeming to get warmed up as he talked, “do not doubt that, if you harm us, our government here on Venus will search out and find you. This insult will not be ignored.”
O’Rourke had finished his fit of laughter and now stood, his hand on one hip near the revolver in its holster. The man was a good shot, Nathanial knew from experience, and he suddenly wished Jericho would hold his tongue.
“Well, now,” said O’Rourke in a soft yet oddly menacing tone, “is that a fact? They’ll call out the militia, will they, and hunt me down?” He shook his head. “I’m thinking that will not be, my fine sir. You’re not up on your safe Victoria plateau, now, you know. You’re not even on any of the escarpments. We’re deep in German territory, in the swamplands. Do you think your government,” he said, scorn dripping from his voice, “would risk sending anyone down here? And even if they did have the courage, how would they ever be able to find you? Do you know how big Venus is? Do you know how difficult it is to move through these swamps for someone not familiar with them? Why, not half a mile from here is a lake full of creatures the very sight of which would chill the bones from your body. And the natives! They’re not your tamed and broken tribes of the uplands. Some of these boyos would have your throats slashed and you cut up for the old cooking pot before you could blink. No, there’ll be no tracking down Simon O’Rourke. But you’ll be found, all right. Never fear about that. Sadly, when you are, none of you will be in any condition to tell tales on me. Good day.” He turned on his heel and stalked from the hut, his two guards backing out, their weapons trained on Nathanial and the others. At the door, they slipped out, one at a time.
The door shut. Nathanial could hear grunts and the sound of wood rasping against wood. They’d put a beam or some such across the door.
“Stone, my dear chap,” said Jericho, “what do you think he plans to do with us?”
“He plans to murder us, of course,” Annabelle said briskly. “Now, we need to find some way to keep that from happening. Let’s see if we can find anything to make a weapon from in this hut, shall we?”