Little God Ben Page 13

  Smith wiped his brow.

  ‘Whew!’ he gasped. ‘That gave me a start!’

  ‘So I gathered, Mr Smith,’ observed Cooling dryly. ‘If you are not enjoying yourself, perhaps you had better go back.’

  As Smith reddened, Medworth came to his aid. He had received a shock himself.

  ‘It was a bit unexpected,’ he pointed out.

  ‘It was certainly unexpected,’ answered Lord Cooling, with a noticeable crispness in his tone which may have provided the key to his own secret mood, ‘and it will also be unexpected if we suddenly encounter the High Priest, or a native executioner, or a gorilla guarding the gold. Do I take it that you will meet such emergencies in a similar way—by leaping into the air and falling on your noses? If so, I anticipate most valuable assistance.’

  Now Medworth reddened.

  ‘No need to be sarcastic,’ he muttered.

  ‘There is every need to be sarcastic,’ retorted Cooling, ‘if no other means exist of bringing you back to your senses. It will be time enough to howl when we are hurt.’

  ‘And then I expect you’ll howl as loudly as either of us!’ snapped Medworth.

  ‘Possibly even louder,’ answered Cooling. ‘I dislike being hurt intensely.’

  The conversation having taken an unsatisfactory turn they proceeded for a while in silence, but as they neared their goal they forgot their differences in the strange, compelling sight that unfolded. They had seen as they climbed the rocky wall beyond which the Temple rose. Sometimes they had lost sight of the wall as some more immediate prominence obscured their upward view, but every time they saw it again it increased in size and revealed more details. Now, as they entered their last short lap, it reared its face with sharp, forbidding distinctness. The brilliant sunlight accentuated the shadows, making the rock’s uneven surface appear pocked with deep black holes and velvet cracks. The wall was a natural structure, thrown up in a past age by volcanic action, and it was a fitting preliminary to the grim glory that lay behind.

  An archway, which may also have been natural, led through it, but it was blocked by a heavy wooden door. The door swung on large wooden hinges, and though a civilised carpenter might have laughed at it, it was cleverly contrived. Normally it was bolted on the inside, but since locks and keys were unknown on the island, it could only be secured against intruders when there was somebody inside to secure it. Now it was slightly ajar.

  ‘D-do we go in?’ whispered Smith.

  ‘You bet we go in,’ answered Medworth. ‘That’s what we’ve come for, isn’t it?’

  ‘The door is rather too obligingly open,’ murmured Cooling. ‘Still, as Mr Medworth points out, this is what we have come for. Who’s first?’

  ‘I am,’ said Medworth, and gave the door a shove.

  It swung inwards. They peered through into a space that had the atmosphere of a ruin without being one. It was a kind of outer chamber that led to another wall of rock, but now the sides were walled as well, and only a roof was missing. In the farther second wall was another archway, and another door.

  They passed into the space, and became enclosed in a stifling atmosphere. It seemed to require a wind to clear it. The blue sky baked above them.

  ‘Do we all go on?’ asked Smith, ‘or does one of us stay here—you know, to keep a watch?’

  ‘It sounds to me,’ replied Cooling, ‘as though one of us stays here.’

  ‘I will, if you like,’ said Smith with desperate obtuseness. He was wishing hard he had not joined the party. The compound had been bad enough, but this was worse. ‘Then I can let you know if anyone comes.’

  ‘Provided the anyone who comes permits you to let us know,’ added Cooling. ‘Well, Medworth?’

  Medworth frowned. He was thinking, with some justification, ‘If we leave this chap here alone, he’ll probably get the jim-jams and run away!’ Aloud he said, ‘I think it might be wise if we all stuck together, eh?’

  ‘Oh, just as you like, just as you like!’ growled Smith, quite aware of what Medworth was thinking. ‘I was only trying to help. Tactics, you know.’

  Cooling turned and examined the door they had just come through. It had a stout vertical wooden bar on the inside. Closing the door, he swung the bar from vertical to horizontal, and an end came down and fixed itself into an open-topped groove in the rock.

  ‘Voilà!’ said Cooling. ‘Now the anyone cannot come!’

  ‘By Jove! There you are!’ exclaimed Smith with a spasm of relief.

  ‘Yes, but wait a moment,’ retorted Medworth. ‘What you mean is that someone can’t get in. He can come all right, and find the door fastened—and that’ll give him the tip that we’re inside! Wouldn’t it be better to leave it as it was—and to keep our eyes and ears peeled.’

  ‘Quite right,’ sighed Cooling. ‘I prefer my idea, but yours is sounder.’

  He swung the bar back to its vertical position and opened the door a crack. Smith’s momentary happiness vanished in a cold draught.

  ‘And now, onward, Christian soldiers,’ said Cooling.

  They began to cross the space. Their feet made a dull clatter on the hard ground. In the middle of the space Smith suddenly stopped and wheeled round.

  ‘My God, what’s that?’ gasped Medworth.

  He and Cooling turned, also, and joined Smith in staring at the door. Nothing happened. Cooling regarded Smith with frank contempt.

  ‘Nerve-storm?’ he inquired politely.

  ‘Well, damn it, this isn’t a picnic!’ jerked Smith. It was the first time he had ever been rude to a man with a title. ‘I thought I heard something!’

  ‘I’ll find out if you did,’ replied Cooling and ran back to the door.

  Reaching the door he poked his head out cautiously, then brought it back again, and returned.

  ‘Nothing,’ he reported. ‘Try to improve, Smith. Nerves are catching, and we don’t want a panic.’

  ‘Yes, come on, come on,’ grunted Medworth.

  ‘This place smells dead!’

  Their feet resumed their soft, dull clattering. The second door was reached. Like the first door, it was ajar.

  ‘Will you walk into my parlour?’ murmured Lord Cooling and gave it a push.

  The next moment they stopped dead and stared.

  The Temple of Gold was no longer a phrase; it was a reality. Even Lord Cooling, who imagined he had complete control of his emotions, gaped like a schoolboy. From the roof, from the sides, from everywhere, gold exuded a strange unnatural light with an effect that was mentally numbing and physically stifling, and in the reflection of that light, which was relieved only by glimpses of sky blue that picked out a number of slits round the walls, the beholders seemed to turn yellow themselves. Their souls certainly did.

  The floor was not gold. That was of rock worn smooth by centuries of grim worship. But it glowed with the prevailing colour, and the ornaments, the effigies, the seats, the vacant thrones, and an enormous pot of unbelievable dimensions, were formed out of the metal that has made monarchs and madmen and that has ruled the world with its ironic, specious value.

  ‘My God!’ muttered Medworth at last.

  ‘Look at it!’ gasped Smith.

  ‘We seem to be doing so,’ said Cooling.

  Suddenly Medworth began to laugh. As suddenly he stopped. He had the sense to save himself, in the nick of time, from frenzy. The next remark of Cooling helped to sober him.

  ‘We haven’t got it yet, you know,’ remarked Cooling.

  ‘No, but we’re going to get it,’ replied Medworth thickly. ‘Or a slice of it!’

  ‘How?’ asked Smith.

  ‘In the absence of a removal van, the question is pertinent,’ answered Cooling. ‘A pity the articles are so large. I think the one I would like to see removed first is that pot.’

  ‘What do you suppose it’s for?’ faltered Smith.

  ‘If my memory serves me aright, hot quomogee,’ said Cooling.

  ‘Quomogee?’ queried Smith.

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p; ‘Water,’ replied Cooling. ‘But we will not inquire what the hot water might be for.’

  Although he was discouraging curiosity, his own proved too great for him, and he walked towards the pot. Descending steps curved round behind it, he stood at the top, gazing down.

  ‘See anything interesting?’ inquired Medworth.

  ‘Yes, very interesting,’ replied Cooling. ‘These steps appear to descend to a recess beneath the pot where a fire can be lit. The bottom of the pot is evidently of some other metal.’ He paused. ‘I wonder how all this gold got here? If there’s a mine, they must have exhausted it.’

  ‘Some of it may be spoils of war,’ suggested Medworth.

  ‘Very possibly,’ nodded Cooling. ‘But it is the gold’s future, not its past, that concerns us.’

  ‘You bet!’ grinned Medworth. Looking at the grin, Cooling noticed for the first time the yellow reflection illuminating it. ‘What a waste this stuff is here!’

  ‘Yes, everything is a waste that we cannot use ourselves,’ agreed Cooling. ‘That happens also to be my own definition of the term. But I expect the High Priest finds it useful. It must add immensely to his influence with the natives. One can well understand their obedience to the ruler of such a Temple. Well—has anybody found the brain-wave?’

  ‘I’ve got one,’ said Smith unexpectedly.

  ‘Let us hear it.’

  ‘We get back to England, tell ’em at home, and annex the island.’

  ‘How simple,’ smiled Cooling.

  ‘Well, I don’t really see any other way, you know.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t even see that way, Mr Smith. How do we get back to England to tell them?’

  ‘We’ve got to do that, anyway,’ retorted Medworth. ‘But my idea is that we’ll take samples.’

  ‘Certainly, Medworth. You take that effigy, I’ll take that throne, and Mr Smith will take the pot.’

  ‘You do love sarcasm, don’t you,’ grunted Medworth savagely. ‘Damn it all, there must be some smaller stuff somewhere! Look, there’s a door up the other end—wonder where it leads to?’

  His companions followed his gaze. The door was at the far end of the Temple, in a shadowed corner. It was smaller than the door they had entered by, but it was more arresting. Hanging from a knob above it was a golden skull.

  ‘Would that be the vestry, do you suppose?’ whispered Smith.

  ‘Go and see,’ answered Cooling. As Smith showed no anxiety to do so, he added, ‘Or shall we toss for it?’

  ‘I expect it’s the Priest’s quarters,’ said Medworth. ‘That blasted fool Oakley told us he lives here. Wonder if there’s any small stuff there?’

  ‘Probably there is,’ replied Cooling. ‘Let us see whether we can find his golden toothbrush.’

  They moved towards the door. Though they trod softly their footsteps echoed with uncanny protest against their intrusion. Their feet should have been bare and silent. Reaching the door, they stopped, and Cooling’s hand rose with grim humour towards the golden skull.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Medworth sharply.

  ‘Don’t we ring or knock?’ inquired Cooling.

  ‘Ha, ha! Very funny!’ gulped Smith.

  But Medworth glared.

  ‘You think this is a game, don’t you?’ he growled.

  ‘That is my earnest endeavour,’ admitted Cooling, ‘as it was of the French aristocrats who jested as they went to the guillotine. I wonder whether we are playing the game intelligently? Shall we hear the second gong while we are in there searching for the golden tooth-brush? Could we even hear it from here?’

  ‘By Jove!’ exclaimed Medworth.

  ‘So you see, Medworth,’ continued Cooling, ‘though I have my playful moments, my brain as well as my nerve remains better than yours. Mr Smith, do you feel inclined to act upon your original suggestion, and to go to the outer gate and scout for us?’

  ‘Eh—scout?’ stammered Smith.

  ‘Scout and listen,’ said Cooling, ‘and if you hear anything, come back and report?’

  Smith hesitated. It had been his original suggestion, but he was not sure that he liked it so much now. To journey back alone did not appeal to him. This was one of the occasions when three were company.

  ‘Er—well, why not?’ he muttered when he could stand Cooling’s cynical eye no longer. ‘Yes, certainly. I—er—yes, certainly.’

  He turned and left them with a palpitating heart.

  ‘Three little sailor boys, feeling rather blue,’ said Cooling, ‘one watched for cannibals, and then there were two. Come along, Medworth. As we haven’t got our visiting cards we won’t knock.’

  The door opened as easily as had the others. They peered through into a dim passage that turned out to be a narrow descending ledge. On the right was an overhanging rocky wall in which was another door. Ahead and on the left were tall tree-tops, those on the left rising many feet above them, shutting out light. They were on the tip of a promontory that dipped through thick forest down to the sea.

  ‘Charming situation,’ commented Cooling. ‘I wonder whether the High Priest lets his villa?’

  He walked forward a little way along the ledge, pausing when it dropped more steeply. Then he turned and regarded Medworth, whose eyes were fastened on the door in the wall.

  ‘Walk in,’ said Cooling. ‘We know our host is out.’

  ‘Suppose somebody else is in?’ muttered Medworth.

  ‘I have made several little fortunes in my time,’ answered Cooling, ‘and none without some personal risk. Your persistent courage, Medworth, shall go down in my autobiography it I am spared to write it.’

  He returned as he spoke, and prepared to give the door a push, but as he did so scurrying feet caused him to pause. Smith had come back to report.

  ‘They’re outside,’ came his gasping voice. ‘My God! We’re done!’

  19

  A Summons to Oomoo

  The attitude of the High Priest as he stood and regarded Ruth was very different from the attitude expressed in his first visit. Then he had been aloof. Now he was burning with some inner excitement. ‘Something’s happened!’ shot through the terrified girl’s mind, and she tried not to increase her terror by guessing what it might be. No guess was likely to bring her any consolation. But, even if she had faced her guesses, she would have guessed wrong.

  He beckoned to her. She did not move. Then he approached a few paces and beckoned again, more imperiously. Then, as she still hesitated, he whipped out his knife.

  In spite of her terror, Ruth’s mind worked quickly. If he already knew her companions had escaped, she could serve no purpose by refusing to accompany him, especially as the gleaming knife rendered ultimate refusal impossible. Perhaps he was going to take her to them; that, after all, would suit her as well as him. If, on the other hand, he did not know they had escaped, then she must postpone his knowledge as long as possible, and trust that he would believe they were all, with the exception of Miss Noyes, in the hut.

  Miss Noyes was still asleep, enduring dreams which though uneasy were preferable to the reality she would presently wake up to. Did the High Priest want her, also? Ruth turned uncertainly towards the sleeping woman, but as she did so the Priest sprang forward, and now his blade was definitely threatening.

  ‘The beast only wants me!’ thought Ruth. She hoped devoutedly that Miss Noyes would continue sleeping, and that she would not wake up till she returned … if she returned …

  ‘All right, you horrible man!’ she said aloud. Of course he could not understand her, but she wanted to hear her voice. To her gratification and surprise it was quite steady. ‘I’ll come! But you’ll find I’ve got a fist if there’s any nonsense!’

  She moved towards him. He motioned to the exit from the compound, and waited till she was by his side. Then, with the point of his knife almost touching her waist, he moved along with her.

  ‘Sunday afternoon stroll?’ inquired Ruth. ‘We must look a pretty couple of lovers!’ />
  The point pricked her waist.

  ‘I see—mustn’t talk?’

  The point pricked again, answering in the negative.

  Outside the compound Ruth saw the strange sight of prostrate natives viewed earlier by four of her companions, and she was led along the route that three of them had taken. In silence they reached the silent village. Once Ruth paused, but the point of the High Priest’s blade urged her quickly on again.

  Presently the High Priest paused himself. They stopped outside one of the huts, and he motioned her to enter. She did so, wondering whether this was to be her new prison, but a moment later she realised that it was not. She found herself in a dim chamber, in which were three more prostrate natives. One was an old man, another was a woman, the third was a child.

  The Priest approached the child. Now his blade pricked the back of the child’s neck. Ruth gasped, and prepared to spring at him, but before she could do so the blade was withdrawn, and the child had turned.

  The Priest looked at the child, whose large, pretty eyes returned his gaze with tremulous directness. The gaze lasted for several seconds, and Ruth gained the impression that some form of silent communication was in process, and that the child was learning the Priest’s wish. When the Priest stood aside, the child rose, and walked to Ruth. Her eyes were wide and solemn. Ruth quelled an impulse to take her into her arms.

  Now the Priest made another gesture towards the doorway. They were to proceed again. The child moved instantly. Ruth obeyed almost as quickly, rebelling against her obedience, and also against the manner in which she, too, was learning to interpret the Priest’s odious language.

  They left the hut. During their brief visit, the old man and the woman had not moved an inch.

  ‘Where next?’ wondered Ruth.

  They wound through the village and came to the Chief’s hut. Here, for the first time, the High Priest seemed undecided as to his course of action. He stopped them again when they had passed through the encircling wall, and stood gazing towards the hut. Something was on his mind. It was Oakley. He did not want Oakley to be present at the little interview ahead. A disturbing element had entered into the Low Priest’s attitude, and his presence might not assist a delicate situation. Making up his mind suddenly, the High Priest detached himself from his prisoners—for the child seemed as much a prisoner as Ruth—and went into the hut alone.