Jenny thought Lady Cheshire deserved the praise. She herself admired people who thought well on their feet. Perhaps the desire to live up to Lady Cheshire’s example was what sustained Jenny when she again turned forward and saw looming before them, not water, not river bank, but what at first seemed a huge tunnel, its reddish pale interior framed by four white curving fangs.
“Ahead,” Jenny called, and was pleased to find her voice steady. “Folks, we’ve reached Apophis.”
22
Apophis
Neville swung around at Jenny’s words, and nearly dropped his rifle when he saw the size of the waiting snake.
“Snake” was hardly a fair term for the monster that awaited them. Apophis was so huge that a man could slip down its throat without it even bothering to swallow. The Boat of Millions of Years would give it a bit more trouble, but then the boat wasn’t what Apophis wanted. Apophis wanted one passenger. Apophis wanted Ra.
For one moment of pure panicked honesty, Neville considered giving Ra over. After all, the strange being wasn’t really the sun. Couldn’t be. Everyone knew that the sun was some sort of giant furnace in the sky. Hadn’t the Egyptians themselves been a bit confused about whether Ra was really the sun or just rode on the same boat?
“Rifles ready,” Neville called, speaking quickly, afraid he’d say something else. “Fire on my order.”
He was aware of Ra and Rashid reducing sail, letting the boat be pulled away from Apophis’s, gaping maw by the current.
“Fire!” he shouted.
Four explosions occurred almost simultaneously. Neville could have sworn that Apophis shuddered slightly from four distinct impacts, but otherwise the enormous snake seemed unaffected. Certainly no blood welled forth within the cavern of its mouth.
Sarah Syms called out, “We’re moving backwards. Do you think it will come after us?”
Neville envied Mrs. Syms the composure of her madness, but only said, “I fear so. Ready to fire again…”
But Apophis wasn’t waiting for them to fire. It worked its mouth slightly, its tongue flickering rapidly as it did so, determined not to lose their scent.
Rehinging its jaw, Neville thought. It’s given up on the idea of swallowing us whole. So why don’t I feel better?
Now Apophis, a powerful coil of black, his head adorned with horns like those of the vipers that had assaulted the boat earlier, could be seen in his might and glory.
The snake reared up and back, the vast extent of its coils still blocking the river. Although not a cobra, Apophis shared the cobra’s strength, holding a great length of its body high above the water as it cast about, swaying slightly. Head reared back, tongue flickering, it tasted the air.
“Drop to the deck and cover yourselves!” Ra yelled, the words mingling a man’s voice and a falcon’s shriek.
Neville obeyed, hearing the thud of the others hitting the deck alongside him, followed by a terrific flapping sound. There was an angry hiss and a sharp, acrid odor. Something wet misted against the thin band of exposed skin at the back of Neville’s neck, and where it touched, it burned.
Ra’s voice came again. “Rise, quickly now,” he commanded. “Apophis cannot try that trick again. He will not have sufficient venom for such a mighty spray.”
Neville scrambled to his feet.
“Venom!” Stephen was saying, looking up at the steaming holes in the sail. “Apophis spat his venom at us…”
“More like acid than venom,” Eddie said, looking down at where his sleeve was perforated with dozens of tiny holes. “If Ra hadn’t released the sail…”
“Yet I did so, and the cloth intercepted most of the spray,” Ra interjected, “though the canvas is ruined. Apophis will not wait long before trying something new. Even now, he must be considering what to do.”
Apophis had dropped back, as a man might after firing a shot, uncertain whether he had hit his target, and waiting to assess the damage before trying a new assault.
Jenny cut in. “Is anyone hurt? I have a salve that should ease the burning.”
Lady Cheshire answered, “Over here. Rashid is hurt. He left his forearm bare while restraining Mischief.”
Neville took a quick glance over to where Rashid knelt on the deck, cradling his arm. The wounded limb bore several large white blisters, looking as if hot ash had stuck to the skin. Rashid bore what must have been terrific pain bravely. In fact, now that Neville paused to consider it, ever since they had entered this strange river valley, the mute youth had been behaving with extraordinary poise and intelligence.
Had coming into this place somehow made him smarter, even as it had robbed Mrs. Syms of her sanity? Or had Rashid’s stupidity been an act all along? Neville did not have time to pursue that line of thought, beyond feeling grateful that for whatever reason Rashid was turning out to be an asset rather than a liability.
Ignoring her own small blisters, Jenny hurried to Rashid’s side, cleaned the remnants of acid from his skin before smoothing ointment onto the blisters. Mischief sobbed over Rashid’s injury, shrilling small notes of sympathy to his master and stroking the youth’s face with his slim, black fingers. He paused only to shriek defiance at Apophis.
Neville couldn’t help but grin. The little monkey wouldn’t even make a tidbit for the enormous snake.
“Thoughts as to what we should do next, anyone?” he said.
Eddie replied immediately. “The way to kill a snake is to cut off its head. Thing is, our rifle shots didn’t seem to do much good. Will we do any better with a blade?”
“We don’t have much choice but to try, do we?” Captain Brentworth said gruffly. “The boat’s drifting back, and I don’t fancy getting trapped between the turtles and that snake. I say we lay into it with our rifles, then finish it with the machete I saw in your gear.”
“Good thing,” Eddie said, a trifle sarcastically, “if we can get it to hold its head politely down for us.”
Jenny rose to her feet, cocked her head back, and examined the towering snake with a fair facsimile of fearlessness.
“Eddie, we got any more of that good rope we brought with us? The smooth, strong stuff we were going to use for climbing.”
“We have most of it,” Eddie replied. “It’s with the rest of the gear.”
Jenny burrowed through the heap until she came to the rope, then she started fashioning a loop at one end.
“I’ll reckon,” she said, her American accent becoming thicker by the minute, “that I can lay myself a line right around that varmint’s neck. It don’t have much in the way of a head, mind, but those scales are so big and coarse I fancy the rope’ll find purchase. Think you hombres can rassle him down if I do?”
Neville nodded slowly.
“We can try cinching the line around the mast,” he said. “That will give us better support. Brentworth, you’re by far the strongest of us. Can you serve as anchor?”
Brentworth was already down from the rudder platform. “Strangest game of tug of war I’ve ever played,” he said.
Jenny had prepared her loop and was twirling it slowly, getting a feel for the rope’s flexibility and play.
“I’ve lassoed broncs and bulls,” she said. “Even lassoed a buffalo cow once on a dare, but I never caught me any giant snakes.”
Ra’s voice spoke from beneath the canopy, but his words were addressed to Mozelle.
“No, little hunter, you cannot go and chase that rope,” he said, and Neville saw that “rope” the kitten was apparently fascinated with was not the lasso but the gigantic snake. Sitting still on Ra’s knee, the kitten arched her back and hissed.
The snake noticed the tiny feline’s challenge and emitted a ferocious hiss of its own, sounding like a train’s boiler releasing pent-up steam. Then the triangular wedge of its head plunged down in attack, cutting through the air like an arrow released from a bow.
“Yee-haw!” Jenny shouted. Whipping her loop over her head several times, she let it fly. The lasso dropped neatly over the snake�
�s head, falling several yards down the sinuous length of its body before she drew the loop tight.
Apophis felt the strangling coil tighten and drew back, forgetting Mozelle in this new distraction.
Neville had already wrapped the length of the rope around the mast, and now he grabbed hold of the line. He smelled a whiff of flowers and realized Lady Cheshire was behind him. Stephen came behind her. Rashid joined in last, though hauling against the line must have made his blistered skin burn anew.
Mrs. Syms gaped at the writhing mass of giant snake before hurrying to take a place behind Rashid.
“Tug of war! How marvelous! This really is the most fascinating cruise.”
Ra had risen and now joined those holding the line. Apophis pulled so hard that the mast creaked, then cracked—a long fissure running end to end, but not snapping the well-seasoned wood. The thrashing of Apophis’s lower body smashed the rails along the prow, finishing the destruction the hippopotamus had begun. Only the fact that the snake was straining back, resisting the rope’s pull, kept the weight of its body from pulling the front of the boat underwater.
“Neville,” Eddie called. “It won’t hold for long. Here!”
Feeling the rope holding firmly despite Apophis’s struggles, Neville let go of it and took the machete Eddie thrust out to him. Together they hacked at the snake’s neck where it narrowed slightly, just behind the swelling of the head. Jenny joined them, wielding the axe they had brought for cutting firewood. The axe was smaller than the machetes, but the heavy wedge of its solid iron head broke the scales and gave the machetes softer ground in which to work.
Thick and viscous, the snake’s red blood began to wash the planks. Apophis’s lashing motion became erratic as it increased its attempts to break free. Neville slipped on the sodden deck, his weak ankle giving in the uncertain footing. He was struggling to stand up, groping for his machete, when Captain Brentworth shoved in and took his place.
The big man grabbed the machete in both hands, striking down with all his strength, putting the weight of his body behind each blow as neither Neville nor Eddie, hampered by their injuries, had been able to do.
Apophis’s body was thicker than the barrel of a big horse, but Captain Brentworth slashed into it with concentrated violence. Bone, tendon, and flesh gave before him, but Apophis continued to thrash, apparently unimpaired. Neville took the axe and rejoined the fray, coordinating his strokes with Brentworth’s. Jenny and Eddie moved well out of the way.
There was chanting in the background, Stephen and Lady Cheshire, doubtless, trying one of their spells to defeat the snake. Neville heard the sound as he heard the thudding of his heart, background noise without meaning but with tremendous intensity.
“Back!” Brentworth grunted. “I… have… it.”
The last three words were staccato, one to each outflowing of tormented breath as the captain’s blows grew wilder and more powerful. Neville obeyed, exhausted despite his terror, wanting nothing more than to lean against the rail and rest. His ankle throbbed with fresh pain, but he balanced himself and readied his rifle, checking that snake blood and spray hadn’t ruined his charge.
Then Brentworth’s machete flew up in a final, high arc, a motion that shouted that it contained every ounce of strength remaining to the captain. There was a dull thud as the last bit of thick, scaly hide parted and the machete bit into the wood of the deck.
Apophis’s head parted from his body and dropped down onto the deck amid a shower of thick, red blood that tasted foul where it splattered against Neville’s lips. Writhing still, but without direction or strength, the serpent’s body smashed down onto the deck, then slid off across the broken railings and into the water.
The head continued to spasm, jaws snapping open and shut, tongue lashing out. Everyone scrabbled clear, even Ra, for the head seemed to move with purpose. The curving fangs might not carry enough poison to spray the entire deck, but they surely carried enough to kill a human being.
Yet it was not the fangs, but the tongue that snared Captain Brentworth as he turned away, heading for the rudder platform, the good soldier resuming his post when the battle had ended.
The forked tongue hit him with the force of a battering ram, a fleshy one, but even at its narrowest parts enough to topple a man—even one as big as Captain Brentworth, caught unaware as he was. The captain staggered, trying to regain his balance.
Neville lurched forward to assist him, but he was too far away, and the deck was slick with blood. He slipped and fell forward, catching himself on his hands. Brentworth fell, too—backwards and into Apophis’s gaping maw, impaled upon a curving white fang as he toppled. He couldn’t even scream before he died.
Blood mingled with venom spurted from the wound, burning as it fell. Then Stephen yelled: “The snake’s growing a new body! It can’t! A new skin, but not a new body…”
Ra started to say something, but, unthinkably, someone interrupted the god.
Mozelle had leapt to the remaining rail when Apophis’s head fell on the deck. Now she jumped down, lightly, and with the arrogant grace that even a very small cat can summon at need.
Neville’s head swam. Mozelle seemed suddenly very large. Certainly, she did not seem smaller than the snake’s head, yet she must be. Its size was not in doubt, not with Robert Brentworth’s corpse still impaled on one fang. He knew, despite the evidence of his eyes, that Mozelle was just a tiny kitten.
Yet the snake seemed to feel threatened. It worked the short, fat length of body grown from the bloody stump behind its head, and Brentworth’s body was shaken clear. Then, amazingly, it hissed and began to wriggle backwards.
Mozelle stalked forward, her fur standing up along her spine, her back slightly arched. She meowed deep in her throat, a threatening noise, completely unlike her usual shrill mew.
Is the kitten grown large or the snake small? Do either of these terms apply? Neville shook his head again, trying to clear it, and only feeling himself grow dizzy.
Mozelle leaped up onto the roof of Ra’s canopied pilot’s cabin, and stood poised, one paw raised. Then she sprang, deftly avoiding the slash of Apophis’s fangs, the lash of his tongue. This can’t be the same kitten I saw falling over her own feet just last night, can it? Neville thought, but he knew that somehow it was.
With suddenly leonine jaws, Mozelle grabbed Apophis behind the swell of his head, clamped tightly and shook. The snake wriggled and lashed, but could not break free. Mozelle’s tail switched back and forth. Then she sprang up onto the rail, bounded from there to the shore, and vanished into the brush, her prey still wriggling in her jaws.
They had hardly had time to collect their wits when Mozelle returned, looking very satisfied with herself. She leapt onto Jenny’s shoulder, purring and rubbing herself against the thick mass of the young woman’s hair.
“I wonder if she ate him?” Jenny asked, her voice awed and hushed.
“I don’t think so,” Stephen said, in a poor imitation of his usual pedantry. “Snakes are symbolic of reincarnation. Apophis will be back.”
Lady Cheshire picked her way across the deck to Captain Brentworth’s dead and mangled corpse.
“Is he dead?” she asked Ra. “Really and truly dead?”
Ra bent his hawk’s head in solemn assent.
“He is dead. Really, truly, and finally dead.”
They had sailed past the place where they had battled Apophis. As if to mock them for their grief and shock, the Nile now carried them through surroundings that were as lovely as the place where they had first met Ra. The lush green soothed them, seemed to suggest nothing would be harmed by their taking a rest, but the substitute crew of the Boat of Millions of Years had been through too much to give in to this Lotus Eater lure.
Jenny, reeling with shock and fatigue, was the first to realize that although none of Apophis’s minions opposed them, still the boat was not sailing easily up the Nile.
“The sail!” she said, staring upward, aghast. “Look at the sail—
and the mast!”
Every pair of eyes, including the gold-rimmed hawk eyes of Ra, looked up. Only the hawk-features, immobile by human standards, did not show shock and dismay.
The broad sail that had carried them so far was in tatters, burnt by the acid of Apophis’s venom. Tiny pinpricks spread into gaping holes as they watched, leaving the sail a cobweb that could hardly hold itself together, much less catch the wind. The mast was riven from top to bottom. Even if they could rig a new sail, there was no way the mast could carry it.
“We’re drifting backward,” Eddie warned. He hopped up onto the rear platform and shifted the rudder so the Boat of Millions of Years drifted sideways, slowing slightly.
“Backward?” Lady Cheshire asked. “To Apophis?”
“To Apophis,” Ra agreed. “Even if he remains incapacitated when we reach him, his minions will still be there—and very angry, I fear, for they will have once more suffered the shame of defeat.”
“All but the hippo,” Stephen said bravely. “He should be glad to see us.”
Neville had grabbed one of the remaining oars.
“We’ve no choice but to row,” he said. “Gentlemen, if you each will take an oar… Eddie, your arm won’t let you row, but you may be able to manage the rudder. Ladies, I hate to ask…”
“I can row,” Jenny said stoutly, though in truth she didn’t know how long she could hold out.
“Are we going sculling now?” Mrs. Syms asked brightly. “What an interesting outing this is turning out to be. Don’t you think so, Mr. Ray?”
Ra cocked his head to one side, very birdlike, but accepted the oar Neville thrust at him.
“I may honestly say that it is among the oddest voyages I have experienced in very many voyages on this river.”
“Let’s see if we can get the boat straightened out first,” Neville began, but Lady Cheshire cut him off.
The Buried Pyramid Page 42