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civilized men. In
England a circle of chipped stones, Stonehenge, are replicas of a race almost
as old. In the caves of France and Spain, far underground, are drawings of
animals, scratched by men hardly removed from the beasts they hunted."
She drew a deep breath. "But your cities, your civilization are they different
from ours?"
Joe put on a judicious expression. "Naturally they are different. No two
planets are alike. Ours is an old stable culture mellowed, kindly. Our races
have merged I am the result of their mingling. In these outer regions men
have been blocked off and separated and have specialized once again. You
Druids, who are very close to us physically, correspond to the ancient
Caucasian race of the
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Mediterranean branch."
"But do you have no Great God no Tree of Life?"
"At present," said Joe, "there is no organized religion on Earth. We are free
to express our joy at being alive in any way which pleases us. Some revere a
cosmic creator others merely acknowledge the physical laws controlling the
universe to almost the same result. The worship of fetishes, anthropoid,
animal or vegetable like your Tree has long been extinct."
She sat up sharply. "You you deride our sacred institution."
"Sorry."
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She rose to her feet, then sat down, swallowing her wrath. "You interest me in
many ways," she said sullenly, as if justifying her forbearance to herself. "I
have the peculiar feeling that you are known to me."
Joe, on a half-sadistic impulse, said, "I was your father's chauffeur.
Yesterday you and your husband were planning to kill me."
She froze into unblinking rigidity, staring, mouth half-open. Then she
relaxed, shuddered, shrank back. "You are you "
But Joe had caught sight of something behind her on a night-shelf over her
bunk
 a potted plant, almost identical with the one he had left on Kyril.
She saw the direction of his gaze. Her mouth came shut. She gasped, "You know
then!" It was almost a whisper. "Kill me, destroy me, I am tired of life!"
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She rose to her feet, arms out defenselessly. Joe arose, moved a step toward
her.
It was like a dream, a time past the edge of reason, without logic, cause,
effect.
Her eyes widened, not in fear now. He put his hands on her shoulders. She was
warm and slender, pulsing like a bird.
She pulled away, sat back on her bed. "I don't understand," she said in a
husky voice. "I understand nothing."
"Tell me," said Joe in a voice almost as husky. "What is this Manaolo to you?
Is he your lover?"
She said nothing; then at last gave her head a little shake. "No, he is
nothing. He has been sent to Ballenkarch on a mission. I decided I wanted
release from the rituals. I wanted adventure, and cared nothing for
consequence. But Manaolo frightens me. He came to me yesterday but I was
afraid."
Joe felt a wonderful yeastiness around his heart. The image of Margaret
appeared, mouth puckered accusingly. Joe sighed regretfully. The mood changed.
Elfane's face was once more that of a young Druid Priestess.
"What is your business, Smith?" she asked coolly. "Are you a spy?"
"No, I'm not a spy."
"Then why do you go to Ballenkarch? Only spies and agents go to Ballenkarch.
Druids and Mangs or their hirelings."
"It is business of a personal nature." Looking at her he reflected that this
vivid
Priestess Elfane had gaily suggested killing him only yesterday.
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She noticed his scrutiny, tilted her head in a whimsical harlequin grimace the
trick of a girl aware of her appeal, a flirtatious trick. Joe laughed stopped,
listened. There had been a scraping sound against the wall. Elfane followed
his gaze.
"That's my cabin!" Joe rose to his feet, opened the door, bounded down the
balcony, threw open the door to his cabin. Erru Ex Amma, the young Mang
officer, stood facing him, a wide mirthless grin on his face, showing pointed
yellow teeth. He held a gun which was directed at Joe's middle.
"Back up!" he ordered. "
Back
!"
Joe slowly retreated out on the balcony. He looked over into the saloon. The
four
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Mangs were at their game. One of the civilians glanced up, muttered to the
others and they all turned their heads, looked up. Joe caught the flash of
four citron-yellow faces. Then they were back to their game.
"Into the she-Druid's cabin," said Ex Amma. "
Quick
!" He moved his gun, still smiling the wide smile that was like a fox showing
its fangs.
Joe slowly backed into Elfane's cabin, eyes flicking back and forth between
the gun and the Mang's face.
Elfane gasped, sighed in terror. The Mang saw the pot with the bit of plant
sprouting from it. "Ahhhh!"
He turned to Joe. "Back against the wall." He gave his gun a little forward
motion, grimaced with anticipation and Joe knew he was about to die.
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The door behind slid open; there was a hiss. The Mang stiffened, bent backward
in an agonized arc, threw up his head, his jaw strained in a soundless scream.
He fell to the deck.
Hableyat stood in the doorway, smiling primly. "I'm very sorry that there
should have been this disturbance."
VI
HABLEYAT'S EYES went to the plant on the shelf. He shook his head, clicked his
tongue, turned a reproachful gaze on Joe. "My dear fellow, you have been
instrumental in ruining a very careful plan."
"If you had asked me," said Joe, "if I wanted to donate my life to the success
of your schemes I could have saved you a lot of grief."
Hableyat bleated his laugh without moving a muscle of his face. "You are
charming. I am happy that you are still with us. But now I fear there is to be
a quarrel."
The three Mangs were marching in belligerent single-file along the balcony,
the old officer, Erru Kametin, in the lead, followed by the two civilians.
Erru
Kametin came to a stiff halt, bristling like an angry cur. "Lord Hableyat,
this is sheer outrage. You have interfered with an officer of the Reach in his
duty."
" 'Interfered'?" protested Hableyat. "I have killed him. As to his
'duty' since when has a rakehelly Redbranch tag-at-heels been ranked with a
member of the
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Ampianu General?"
"We have our orders direct from Magnerru Ippolito. You have no slightest
supercession "
"Magnerru Ippolito, if you recall," said Hableyat smoothly, "is responsible to
the
Lathbon, who sits with the Blue-water on the General."
"A pack of white-blooded cravens!" shouted the officer. "You and the rest of
the
Bluewaters!"
The Mang woman on the main deck, who had been straining to glimpse the events
on the balcony, screamed. Then came Manaolo's metallic voice.
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"Miserable dingy dogs!" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]