Little God Ben Page 16

  ‘When will you return?’

  ‘The moment I can, but it won’t be for a bit. Tell me exactly where you left Ardentino?’

  Haines described the spot. Oakley nodded.

  ‘Thanks. Well, I’m off,’ he said. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Whoa! Wait a minute!’ exclaimed Medworth. ‘You can’t go like that! Aren’t we to know anything?’

  ‘You’ll know all you want when I come back,’ retorted Oakley.

  ‘Yes, but suppose—I mean, these other black fellows—suppose they turn up here?’

  ‘There you are!’ cried Smith. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Hit ’em,’ said Oakley, and vanished.

  ‘That chap’s a fool, if there ever was one!’ muttered Smith, staring at the opening which now yawned with a terrible new significance.

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to try and pick up some of his folly,’ suggested Haines curtly. ‘I don’t suppose it occurs to you that, without him, we’d be done for?’

  ‘Nothing occurs to a vacuum,’ said Cooling softly, ‘beyond a permanent impulse to preserve its space. We should undoubtedly be done for without Mr Oakley. Though, frankly, I think we have a very good prospect of being done even with him.’

  ‘Dear me!’ exclaimed a long-forgotten voice.

  It was Miss Noyes. She had wakened up suddenly with a start, and was flushing with shame.

  ‘I—I think I must have dozed off for a moment,’ she murmured muzzily. ‘Has anything happened?’

  Cooling smiled grimly.

  ‘Now is your chance to make yourself really useful, Mr Smith,’ he remarked. ‘Tell Miss Noyes our bedtime story.’

  Meanwhile Oakley was running. He had not run for years, and his indignant legs rebelled, as previously his brain had rebelled, against unaccustomed exercise. But, in spite of protests from both ends, he continued to slog his legs and his brain, and he reached the Chief’s hut in record time.

  He did not enter. He merely stooped to the spot where he had deposited the gong before following the High Priest and his captives to the Temple, picked it up, and then resumed his journey.

  His next halt was at the Chief’s annexe. Here, at long last, he sounded the delayed summons back to normality and activity. The Chief soon appeared, stretching his stout, stiff limbs. He was obviously pleased that the enforced siesta was over, but his beam faded at Oakley’s first word.

  ‘Choolooka,’ said Oakley.

  ‘Huh?’ exclaimed the Chief.

  ‘Choolooka,’ repeated Oakley. ‘Oomoo loto domo. Choolooka, choolooka!’

  The Chief rolled resigned eyes, turned, and went back into the annexe. He had been informed that the god Oomoo desired utter solitude, and wished to occupy the Chief’s main palace entirely by himself until the morrow.

  Then Oakley sped back to the main palace, sounding the gong as he sped. He found Ben in an earthly mood, doing exercises. The particular exercise he did as Oakley suddenly appeared was a back leap towards the seat.

  ‘Lumme, give us a bit o’ warnin’!’ he gasped, when he realised that the back leap had not been necessary.

  ‘Sorry,’ smiled Oakley. It was not the time to smile, but Ben always upset logic. ‘Doing your daily dozen?’

  ‘I thort they’d loosen me up like,’ answered Ben. ‘Tork abart stiff. Got any news?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve come to tell you. The island’s being invaded.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Invaded.’

  ‘I’m blowed! ’Oo’s doin’ it? The Old Country?’

  ‘You’d hear if it were.’

  ‘Not afore the Hultimitium.’

  ‘Shut up! Listen. Some other blokes have landed from another island. It’s our ruin or salvation, Ben. Probably the former. But there’s just a chance, if—’ He paused. ‘Well, there’s no time to talk now. I only dropped in to report and to tell you to sit tight. Back presently.’

  ‘Oi!’ exclaimed Ben. ‘Aincher goin’ ter stop ter tea?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So’m I! Wotcher goin’ ter do?’

  ‘Have a look round.’

  ‘And wot ’ave I gotter do?’

  ‘I’ve told you. Sit tight.’

  ‘My Gawd! Ain’t I bin doin’ it? I’ll ’ave it wrote on me grive-stone! Wot ’appens if one o’ the black blokes pips me with a poisoned arrer? Do I still sit tight?’

  ‘He won’t—’

  ‘’Owjer know? Lumme, I do like islands! Oh, I see, yer mean ’e wouldn’t shoot a gawd. Yus, but s’pose these new ’uns don’t know I’m a gawd? I better pint meself up a bit. Wot abart blue rings rahnd me eyes? Or trihangles, eh? They’d look more ’orrerble—’

  ‘Shut up, shut up!’ interrupted Oakley. ‘That wasn’t my reason. What I meant was that the attack hasn’t actually started yet, and I don’t think it will for a bit. I’ll bring you more information when I get it. Meanwhile, don’t worry.’

  ‘Corse not,’ answered Ben. ‘Me ’eart’s goin’ pitter-patter with ’appiness!’

  ‘Well, keep it pitter-pattering,’ said Oakley, turning.

  ‘It does that without my tellin’ it,’ retorted Ben as he disappeared.

  The village had come alive again as Oakley walked through it. It was alive with sound as well as with movement. The hive-shaped huts emitted a strange buzzing, as though bees were actually in occupation, but many of the bees had issued into the road and were producing their queer music in little groups. They were performing the overture to a concert that would last for many hours—unless there were some unforeseen interruption—and that would culminate in the grand finale at the Temple.

  Some of the natives were squatting on the ground, beating small drums. Others were merely squatting and swaying. Others were chanting, while others were on their feet executing a dance that, to the uninitiated observer, had no form, but that had been danced in exactly the same way for countless generations. When the dancers grew tired they squatted on the ground, and others rose to take their place. The proportion of drummers, swayers, chanters, and dancers always remained approximately the same.

  One hut was silent. Oakley obeyed an impulse to pause and peer in. A woman and an old man were sitting side by side, staring at the opposite wall.

  ‘Yaala toree,’ said Oakley.

  They turned to him, with solemn, submissive faces.

  ‘Oomoo kim Yaala,’ said Oakley.

  The old man raised his head sharply, and the woman murmured:

  ‘Kim?’

  ‘Hyaya,’ nodded Oakley. ‘Kim. Oomoo kim Yaala.’

  They stared after him as he left them, and then at each other. If Oomoo required the sacrifice of Yaala, how could he be, as they had just been told, Yaala’s friend? Of course, to be sacrificed was a great honour, provided the person sacrificed did not belong to an enemy tribe, like these white folk. It ensured eternal joy in the life to come, cleansing the soul of sin … Yes, the Low Priest must have meant that. He was reminding her. Mothers were apt to forget.

  ‘Oomoo kim Yaala!’ chanted the woman, with tightened lips.

  ‘Oomoo kim Yaala!’ cackled the old man.

  Oakley passed through the village and beyond it. When he was out of sight of the last hut he began running again. He kept his eyes skinned while he ran, and presently, when he neared his destination, he decreased his pace once more to a walk.

  He knew the geography of the island thoroughly. He knew the tracks to take, and the tracks to avoid. He knew that he was now in a region that was taboo, the region he called the Priest’s Preserve, and which included at its extremity the private, cliff-bounded bay and the precipitous path up to the Temple. The only other land route to the bay was through the densely overgrown forest path he was now traversing, and which Ardentino had traversed before him. The fact that he met none of the invaders on this path confirmed his certainty that their sole objective was the Temple.

  The end of the path was almost blocked by bushes. One could just slither one’s body through them. Before performing thi
s prickly act he paused and peered at the clearing beyond. The clearing was bounded on one side by rock, and on the other by the last trees of the great woods that sloped up to the Temple and through which the Temple track ascended. Satisfied that none of the invaders were about, he parted the bushes and emerged into the clearing. He looked towards the beach.

  A head peeped cautiously over the rock, then disappeared precipitately. It was not a native head. Oakley marked the spot, took one more glance in the opposite direction, and made for it. Climbing over the rock he peered into the darkness of a cave.

  ‘Mr Ardentino at home?’ he inquired softly.

  The head reappeared. It looked like a wraith half-developed in black shadows. As the wraith did not answer immediately, the visitor continued:

  ‘I’m Oakley.’

  ‘Er—yes,’ murmured Ardentino. ‘So I gather. But—where are the others? Couldn’t they get away?’

  ‘They’re still in quod.’

  ‘Oh! I’d hoped—’

  ‘They might have got away if Miss Sheringham had been with them, but she isn’t, and of course it’s a case of all or none.’

  ‘Well, naturally—’

  ‘I’m glad you agree, Mr Ardentino.’

  Ardentino frowned.

  ‘Meaning?’ he inquired.

  ‘Afraid there isn’t time to exchange personal opinions,’ replied Oakley.

  ‘Or, apparently, to form them correctly!’ retorted Ardentino warmly. ‘I know perfectly well what you meant! But if I’d been fool enough to be caught with the rest, how could I have done my—er—scouting work?’

  ‘We’ll leave it at that,’ said Oakley. ‘Anything happened here since Haines left you?’

  ‘I’m not keen on your tone, Mr Oakley,’ snapped Ardentino.

  ‘A good scout doesn’t waste time,’ answered Oakley. ‘Anything happened?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Seen nothing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Heard nothing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They went up that track there, didn’t they?’

  Oakley pointed towards the Temple path.

  ‘I believe so. I didn’t see—yes, I think they must have.’

  ‘Any idea how many there were?’

  ‘Not the slightest.’

  ‘Fifty thousand?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘Two thousand?’

  ‘No. Just two.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot.’

  ‘Between two and fifty thousand. Might we say a hundred?’

  ‘About that, I should think.’

  ‘Good. We’re getting on. Now see if you can give me the next information more quickly. Know where the boats are?’

  ‘Somewhere round that jut over there.’

  ‘I wonder if they’ve left a guard round the jut, too,’ murmured Oakley. ‘I’d better go and see.’

  ‘My God, be careful!’ whispered Ardentino.

  ‘Who isn’t careful sitting on a bomb?’ retorted Oakley. ‘But if you sit too long you go up!’

  He fell on his face and began to crawl away. Ardentino watched him till he vanished round a boulder.

  ‘Damn my leg,’ muttered Ardentino. ‘I wish I could go with him!’

  The insincerity of the wish hit him in the middle. He saw himself with painful clearness, and the sight was so unpleasant that he actually made an effort to follow Oakley. The next instant he sat down promptly. His injured leg had given under him.

  Oakley returned in five minutes. He looked grim.

  ‘Find the boats?’ asked Ardentino.

  ‘And the guard,’ replied Oakley. ‘Luckily there was only one guard.’

  ‘Was?’ repeated Ardentino, noting Oakley’s tone.

  ‘Was,’ nodded Oakley.

  Ardentino gave a little gulp.

  ‘I—I tried to follow you,’ he muttered, thanking heaven that he had.

  ‘Good man,’ said Oakley. ‘I apologise.’

  He held out his hand. Ardentino took it. It gave him a novel sensation.

  ‘How did you do it?’ murmured Ardentino, suddenly wondering whether the hand that gripped his had last gripped a neck.

  ‘I found the fellow asleep,’ answered Oakley, ‘but fortunately he woke up.’

  ‘Fortunately?’

  ‘Well, killing always seems to me a fairly sickening business at the best of times, but to kill a chap while he’s dreaming must be quite nauseating,’ explained Oakley. ‘He heard me coming, sat up just before I reached him, and whipped out a knife. He missed me by half an inch, and when I got hold of the knife I aimed better … Well, the battle’s begun, Mr Ardentino, so my next step is to do a bit more scouting after the main army. Your leg’s bad, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve got one left,’ replied Ardentino.

  ‘You’ll need to keep that to hop to the boat with later on. So long. See you later—perhaps.’

  ‘Wait a moment!’ exclaimed Ardentino, grabbing his sleeve. ‘Look here, this isn’t our war! Why not let them get on with it?’

  ‘By all means let them get on with it,’ said Oakley, ‘provided we can get out of it. There’s something you don’t know. That track they’ve gone up leads to the Temple, and also to the spot where Miss Sheringham is—so I’ve got to go and see what they’re up to, haven’t I?’

  ‘But—my God—you can’t—’

  ‘Kill the lot? I’m not D’Artagnan. But I can do a bit of good old British spy work to confirm my impression of the position—which is, and has been all along, that the Big War won’t commence till to-morrow. Yes, Mr Ardentino, and if my impression is right, and if the plan I am hatching is right, we shall escape from this island under conditions more astonishing than any film you’ve ever figured in.’

  ‘Suppose your impression isn’t right?’ queried Ardentino.

  Oakley raised his eyes and glanced towards the towering forest, at the invisible crest of which stood the Temple of Gold.

  ‘Suppose my impression isn’t right,’ he murmured. ‘Well, in that case, we’d never have had any chance anyway, so we needn’t feel responsible. And, in that case, I may not be coming down again.’

  ‘Look here!’ exclaimed Ardentino, as Oakley disengaged his arm. ‘You’re not going up there alone!’

  ‘Why—can you come with me?’ asked Oakley.

  ‘I can have a shot?’

  ‘And what good’ll you do? Just hamper the retreat. No, you stay where you are, and if you hear an unholy row going on, hobble to a boat and paddle quietly back to Hollywood. So long.’

  Ardentino stared after his departing figure. Oakley was quite beyond his comprehension. But so, for that matter, were his own emotions.

  If Oakley had been cautious before, he proceeded now with trebled caution, moving up the Temple track like a creeping though somewhat solid shadow. The few sounds he made were no louder than the sounds of birds or of a breeze gently stirring branches. After he had covered about a third of the distance to the top he paused. The path had grown narrower and steeper, as though already struggling to shake off the lower forest region and to prove its supremacy before its time. Its final victory however would not occur till it had lost its gradient over the edge of its present horizon, straggled across a tangled space of unexpected flatness, and conquered the dense upper forest region beyond.

  It was in the tangled flat space that Oakley expected to find the enemy, and his surmise was correct. He did not prove this by continuing along the track to where it tipped over into the plateau. He proved it from a tree. The enemy had established its camp on the flat, sheltered ground, and was performing preliminary manœuvres which Oakley watched with an experienced eye. The manœuvres were silent but warlike. In the middle of a ring of warriors were six giants who struck belligerent attitudes and donned ferocious expressions. They were rehearsing war, and gaining enthusiasm by the rehearsal. Their utter silence, which was itself a military precaution, added to the horrible grotesque
ness of the scene.

  But Oakley’s eyes were not interested merely in the men. He noted, also, stacked spears and stores, and preparations for a meal. Neither did his vision, developed to almost painful keenness, miss a carved wooden pedestal on the top of which grinned a bright red effigy. Near the effigy stood an old man with a long beard.

  He had seen all he needed. Slipping down from the tree, he crept back to the track, and descended swiftly to the bottom. Ardentino’s face registered relief as Oakley clambered over the rock.

  ‘I thought you were never coming back!’ he said.

  ‘I warned you I mightn’t,’ answered Oakley. ‘But, you see, I have.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘Just what I hoped—and expected. Unless I’m a mug, which is always possible, there won’t be any fighting till sunrise tomorrow.’

  ‘Then we’ll pray you’re not a mug. But—did you come upon them?’ Oakley nodded. ‘Then how do you figure it out?’

  ‘Item, they’re in camp. They wouldn’t be in camp if this was a rush attack. Item, they’re war-dancing. That’s a lengthy proceeding. Item, they’ve brought one of their gods, which implies a religious ceremony. Don’t forget, I’m a nut on signs. A religious ceremony before a fight is another lengthy proceeding. Item, these two lengthy proceedings will take them till dusk. Item, they won’t attack in darkness. Item, they won’t go back in darkness. They prefer to do their navigating in the daylight. Item, because of this, sunrise is the most popular time to attack a neighbouring island. It gives the attackers the longest stretch of daylight for the return home afterwards.’

  ‘That sounds good logic,’ agreed Ardentino. ‘I hope it’s as good as it sounds.’

  ‘Yes, but there’s another item,’ said Oakley. ‘I’ve recognised the tribe. I recognised it—knew my guess was right—the moment I spotted that bloke by the boats. They paint large red squares on their chests. Two of the tribe drifted here in a storm about four months ago. They were taken to the Temple, and one of ’em was boiled in hot water at sunrise. The other escaped. Get me?’

  Ardentino shivered slightly.

  ‘Perhaps I do,’ he replied, ‘but I’m not as good at guessing as you are. What happened to the chap who escaped?’