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Strangman's chagrin they had long since rusted into place. The main entrance
of the dome was at the original street level, too far down to be visible, but
a preliminary reconnaissance had revealed that they would be able to enter
without difficulty.
As the sunlight rose across the water Kerans gazed down into the green
translucent depths, at the warm amnionic jelly through which he swam in his
dreams. He remembered that despite its universal superabundance he had not
fully immersed himself in the sea for ten years, and mentally recapitulated
the motions of the slow breaststroke that carried him through the water while
he slept.
Three feet below the surface a small albino python swam past, searching for a
way out of the enclosure. Watching its strong head swerve and dart as it
evaded the harpoons, Kerans felt a momentary reluctance to entrust himself to
the deep water. On the other side of the lake, behind one of the steel
grilles, a large estuarine crocodile was wrestling with a group of sailors
trying to drive it off. Big Caesar, his great legs clamped to the narrow sill
of the boom, kicked savagely at the amphibian, which snapped and lunged at the
spears and boathooks. Over thirty feet long, it was well over ninety years
old, and measured six or seven feet in chest diameter. Its snowwhite
under-belly reminded Kerans that he had seen a curiously large number of
albino snakes and lizards since Strangman's arrival, appearing from the jungle
as if attracted by his presence.
There had even been a few albino iguanas. One had sat on his jetty the
previous morning, watching him like an alabaster lizard, and he had
automatically assumed that it bore a message from
Strangman.
Kerans looked up at Strangman, who stood in his white suit in the bows of the
vessel, watching expectantly as the crocodile thrashed and slammed against the
grille, almost toppling the giant negro into the water. Strangman's sympathies
were all too obviously with the crocodile, but not for any reasons of
sportsmanship or from a sadistic desire to see one of his principal
lieutenants gored and killed.
Finally, amid a confusion of shouts and curses, a shotgun was passed to Big
Caesar, who steadied himself and discharged both barrels into the hapless
crocodile below his feet. With a bellow of pain, it backed away into the
shallows, its tail smacking the water.
Beatrice and Kerans looked away, waiting for the coup de grace to be
administered, and
Strangman swarmed along the rail in front of them, eager for a better vantage
point.
"When they're trapped or dying they smack the water as an alarm signal to each
other." He put a forefinger on Beatrice's cheek, as if trying to make her face
the spectacle. "Don't look so disgusted. Kerans! Damn it, show more sympathy
for the beast. They've existed for a hundred million years, they're among the
oldest creatures on the planet."
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After the animal had been dispatched he still stood elatedly by the rail,
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bouncing on the balls of his feet, as if hoping that it would resuscitate
itself and make a come-back. Only when the decapitated head was hoisted away
on the end of a boathook did he turn with a spasm of irritation to the
business of the dive.
Under the supervision of the Admiral, two of the crew made a preliminary dive
in aqualungs. They climbed down the metal ladder into the water and glided
away towards the sloping curve of the dome. They examined the fanlight, then
tested the semicircular ribs of the building, pulling themselves across the
dome by the cracks in the surface. After their return a third sailor
descended, with suit and line. He clumped slowly across the cloudy floor of
the street below, the thin light reflected off his helmet and shoulders. As
the lines wound out, he entered the main doorway and disappeared from view,
communicating by telephone with the Admiral, who sang out his commentary for
all to hear in a rich fruity baritone. "in de pay-box. . . . now in de main
lounge.
. . . Jomo says de seats in de church, Captain Strang', but de altar gone."
Everyone was leaning over the rail, waiting for Jomo to reappear, but
Strangman was slumped back moodily in his chair, face clamped in one hand.
"Church!" he snorted derisively. "God! Send someone else down. Jomo's a bloody
fool."
"Yes, Captain."
More divers descended, and the first champagne cocktails were brought round by [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]