The Secret People Read online

  He was relieved when he could see, between the mushroom heads, the grey stone wall only a few yards ahead. A minute or two more, and they stood on the fringe of the vegetation.

  The sound of a sudden scuffle caused them all three to turn sharply. Mark had a glimpse of a man who ran from the wall and disappeared between the trunks to their right. Mahmud, too, saw him. Before the full significance came home to the others, he was in swift, silent pursuit, with the rags of his burnous streaming behind him. Mark opened his mouth, but Gordon raised his hand. The two stood listening.

  Mahmud vanished among the stalks by the track which the other had left. For some moments there was nothing to be heard but the thudding of feet, mingled with the muffled snapping of stalks and tentacles. The fugitive was blundering blindly ahead, trampling the lower fungi underfoot, and turning aside only for the thicker trunks. The slender stalks which he swept from his way broke, not with sharp crack of branches, but dully, like rotten wood. The watchers could follow his trail by the way in which more than one tall, umbrella-like head shook and leaned to subside slowly into the lower growths. A cloud of white spores broke suddenly into the air; they could hear Mahmud splutter and cough as he came to them. A minute later followed a choked cry, a tremendous agitation and threshing amid the trembling stalks. Mahmud and the fugitive had come to grips.

  ‘Come on,’ Gordon said, starting towards the sound.

  ‘Look,’ called Mark, but the other did not hear. He was already away. Mark alone had seen another figure break from the hiding of a mushroom trunk, and speed away up the clear space beside the wall. He gave chase.

  The second fugitive was wiser than the first. He had no intention of tangling himself in stalks; he was depending on speed and a start of thirty yards to carry him safely to an opening.

  Mark pounded along. He was in poor form for violent exercise, and saw that he was barely holding his own. The man ahead glanced over his shoulder, and then put on a spurt. Mark tried desperately to increase his own speed, but his feet felt clumsy and heavy. He scarcely knew why this man must be caught, but the attitude of the others had shown it to be vital. The man had begun to slacken – such violent exercise was not encouraged by life in the caves. But his own rate, too, was falling off, and his heart thumping painfully; he tried desperately to force his lagging feet.

  A pale, fat tentacle defeated him. It had grown out more adventurously than the rest. Mark’s descending boot crushed it into a slippery mess, and he pitched head first into the loam.

  He sat up at once, brushing the dirt from his eyes, but the fugitive had gone, and he himself was too winded to continue. He remained where he was for some minutes recovering, before he rose to walk back to the others.

  He found them in a trampled arena. Mahmud lay on the ground, breathing heavily. Across the other side, Gordon was bending over a still form with a queerly twisted head. As Mark approached, he straightened up.

  ‘Damn,’ he muttered, ‘we might have learned something. What did you want to kill him for?’

  ‘His neck or mine,’ panted the Arab.

  ‘There was another,’ Mark said, sitting down wearily.

  ‘The devil there was. Where is he?’

  Mark explained.

  ‘Damnation. You couldn’t tell who he was?’

  ‘I’d never seen him before.’

  ‘Wish I’d seen him – blast it! Sure to have been one of Miguel’s lot – this chap is. That means that we’ve got to get busy. Come on, Mahmud.’

  The Arab rose unsteadily, still breathing hard.

  ‘Come on,’ Gordon repeated to Mark.

  They followed him back to the fringe of the plantation. Gordon, without hesitation, went up to the wall and inserted all his fingers in an irregular crack. He leaned back, and slightly to the right, with all his weight. A rocky slab before him followed, pivoting slowly. He hustled the two through the space behind it and laid hold of the edge to drag it back into place.

  Mark found himself in a chamber which contained nine or ten men. Among them he recognized one of the party who had visited Smith, and also the Negro, Zickle; the rest were strangers. A small globe in the roof shone dimly, but enough to show in the opposite wall the beginning of a narrow passage leading upward at a severe angle. Gordon wasted no time.

  ‘Miguel’s on to us,’ he said.

  The Negro bared his teeth unpleasantly, otherwise the response was disappointing.

  ‘Well, what about it?’ asked one of the men. ‘He can’t do much, and we can croak him if he gets rough.’

  ‘Not so simple,’ said Gordon. ‘Go on, Mahmud; tell them about it.’

  Mahmud gave once more his report of Miguel’s pact with the pygmies.

  Some of the faces in the group began to look serious; others, including that of the one who had suggested ‘croaking’ Miguel, remained unimpressed. From the latter’s next remark, it became obvious that he had not grasped the situation.

  ‘There aren’t so many pygmy prisoners. They can’t give us much trouble.’

  Mahmud explained afresh:

  ‘It’s not only the prisoners – he’s made a pact with the pygmies in the outer caves.’

  ‘How? They never come in here.’

  ‘I don’t know how the pact was made – I only know that it was. If he helps them to stop our tunnelling, he gets the run of the outer caves. Don’t you see?’

  ‘But how are they going to stop us. They never come –’

  ‘Damn it, man,’ Gordon broke in. ‘Use your brains. I know we’ve never seen the pygmies in here except as prisoners – but they can invade us any time they like. We’re not strong – a hundred and fifty at most. They’ll have Miguel and his lot, most of the pgymy prisoners and the “natives” with them. The rest of the prisoners we can’t be sure about. They may join up for the sake of a bit of excitement, but I think most of them will be neutral. Anyhow, we’d better be ready for them. Where’s Smith?’

  The other tilted his head towards the back of the cave.

  ‘Up the tunnel.’

  ‘At the end?’

  ‘No. He hasn’t been gone long.’

  ‘Well, somebody go and fetch him – tell him it’s urgent.’

  One of the younger men scrambled to his feet and made for the entrance. Gordon looked over the group again.

  ‘You, Zickle, get all our men you can find, and tell them to come here quick.’ As the Negro rose, he added, ‘And look out for Miguel – he might try an ambush.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Zickle. He seemed not unpleased by the prospect.

  The stone door swung back after him, and the rest of the men faced Gordon expectantly. He started to speak, and then shook his head.

  ‘No, better wait for Smith. This is more in his line.’

  5

  During the enforced wait a change crept over the group. Some of that lethargy which, despite all their efforts, had touched every one of them in greater or less degree, sloughed away. Time began to mean something. Even those who were sceptical of the real seriousness of Gordon’s warning became more alert. Whether the danger were actual or not, here was an occurrence to create a moment of interest in the monotony. Apathy was broken by a fidgeting and shuffling which told of increasing tension. A few discussed the situation as far as they knew it. Their eyes brightened. The flaccidity of planless dreaming which had dulled each face disappeared as expressions became active. Mark marvelled at the change much as a short time ago Gordon had marvelled at a similar change in him.

  He let his gaze roam round the stone chamber. It was a bare place, furnished only with benches and seats of hewn rock, and a few bowls containing water or fungus spirit. In one corner lay a few makeshift chisels, hammers and other tools, among which he recognized long, thin French bayonets ground down by use. He wondered idly how the heavier tools had been acquired; iron and steel must be precious and rare in the caves. The accumulation of years, he supposed, collected from incoming prisoners. A problem occurred to him: how was the rubbish and d
etritus disposed of? Of the many tons of rock gouged out year after year, there was no sign, yet enough must have been removed to form a small mountain. He put the question to Gordon, who explained:

  ‘Every now and then we come across fissures and faults into which the rubbish can be tipped. Some of them are narrow and not very deep, so that they are quickly filled up; others seem practically bottomless, and have to be bridged. We get across and continue the tunnel, sending the rubbish back to be dropped down the cleft behind until we strike another fault, then the same thing happens again.

  ‘But in the beginning? When they made this place, for instance?’

  Gordon shrugged.

  ‘I suppose they had to carry it all away until the first fissure was struck. It must have been heavy work for the poor devils. I’m glad –’

  A sudden scraping of the stone door interrupted him. He jumped up and seized a jagged piece of stone. The rest followed his example, standing with arms drawn back, ready to let fly. The door continued to turn ponderously upon its stone hinges. A streak of light from the fungus cavern appeared. The arms of the waiting men grew tense. A tousled, bearded head appeared; its owner grinned broadly at the sight of them.

  ‘OK. You can can your phoney pineapples,’ he remarked cryptically. ‘It’s me and the boys.’

  The threatening arms were lowered, and the held breaths released. The door swung wide enough to admit a man’s body. The speaker entered, followed by ten or more companions of assorted races and nationalities.

  ‘What’s the big idea?’ he demanded. ‘That crazy nigger Zickle’s talkin’ like the Day of Judgment’s comin’. He gone nuts?’

  ‘No, he’s all right. We sent him. It’s Miguel that’s the trouble –’

  ‘Trouble? What, that lousy wop? Gees, you ain’t gotta get a whole bunch o’ guys jest to beat him up. He’s yeller; his whole gang’s yeller. What’s he been pullin’, anyway?’

  Gordon began to explain once more. Before he was halfway through, Smith came clattering out of the tunnel, demanding information. Mahmud was required to tell his tale for the third time.

  Smith looked serious, and listened in silence. He frowned when Gordon completed the report by telling of the spies in the fungus caves.

  ‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘We’ve got to get busy. Mahmud’s yarn mightn’t have meant a lot by itself, nor might a couple of guys snoopin’ around here. But the two together … Well, it just means things are moving.’ He turned to the latest comer. ‘Is Zickle getting the rest, Ed?’

  Ed looked doubtful, and scratched his beard.

  ‘I guess he’s doin’ his best, but mostly they’re razzin’ him. Me and the boys thought there might be somethin’ to it, so we came around.’

  ‘Well, you and some of the boys better get right back and tell ’em to stop razzin’ that nigger, or it’ll be the last razzin’ they’ll do. Get me? Bring ’em here damn quick, and no maybe.’

  ‘OK, I getcha.’

  The massive Ed and four of his followers went out, leaving the door open behind them. Smith resumed:

  ‘Now, we’ve got to hustle. If Mahmud’s right, the pygmies’ll start to move just as soon as Miguel hands them the low-down on this tunnel. The time we’ve got depends on how long it’ll take them to get the news round and mobilize themselves. What we’ve got to do is to hold them off, and keep on working the tunnel. We’ve done a hell of a lot of work, and I’m damned if we’re going to let it go for nothing now. It can’t be much farther to the top – we might be through any time now. The point is, where’ll we hold them?’

  After discussion, the obvious course of blocking the main passages had to be abandoned, albeit reluctantly. There were, as Smith pointed out, too many side turnings for safety. The sprawling network of ways would, in spite of the greatest care, leave opportunities for flanking movements and rear attacks. There was, moreover, the possibility that the pygmies might dig downward from caves existing above, and outmanoeuvre the defenders in that way.

  The safer course, although more onerous, would be to fight the battle nearer home. The fungus cave in which the tunnel entrance was situated could be reached only by three openings at the farther end, and it was Smith’s plan to build a rampart across the narrowest part of the cavern. This, he pointed out, would secure for themselves about two-thirds of the place, and therefore an ample supply of food for some time. The rampart itself would be built from the growths on the other third, thereby denuding that part of cover for the attackers.

  With the plan decided, he began to assign duties:

  ‘Mahmud and two others to take the three tunnels and act as scouts. One man to go up and fetch all those who can be spared from the tunnelling – but don’t let the work slack off. The rest to build the rampart.’

  Mark was given a sharp-edged rock flake and instructed to fell giant fungi at the far end of the cave. Despite the unhandiness of such a tool, he found that he made good progress at first. The serrations cut saw-like into the soft fibre and pulp more easily than he had expected, and it was possible to topple the mushrooms over when one had cut little more than halfway through the stem. The great heads were wrenched loose from most as they fell; those which still adhered were worked off by leverage. Each white trunk was seized by two other men and rolled away, while Mark went on to the next.

  But the work quickly became tedious; it was not long before his right arm began to ache with the effort of wielding the cutting stone. The men to either side of him were making better progress. Their muscles were in harder condition from their work in the tunnel; moreover, they were not recently off a sick bed; nevertheless, he continued with a desperate determination while the ache spread from his arm across his shoulders. He must, he thought, have laid low over twenty thick trunks before an interruption occurred.

  A sudden hubbub down the narrow end of the cave caused all the men to pause in their hacking. Their hands changed the grip on their stones. They stared at the barrier of stems before them, ready to hurl the sharp flakes at the first pygmy form which should show. Somebody ahead, perhaps one of the scouts, anticipated them. There was the clatter of a stone against a rock wall. It was followed by the bellow of a familiar voice.

  ‘Blast your eyes. It’s me and the boys.’

  The burly Ed came crashing his elephantine way among the stalks. He seemed to be rejoicing that it was no longer necessary for him to move traillessly. Smith called from behind, where he was superintending work on the barricade.

  ‘Got ’em all, Ed?’

  ‘OK, the whole bunch. What do we do now?’

  Mark thrust his cutting stone towards one of Ed’s followers.

  ‘You get on with it,’ he suggested. ‘I’m all in for the present.’

  He walked back a little, and sat down to rest where he could watch the progress of barricade building. In places the wall was already several feet high, and difficulties in raising the fat, pulpy logs were increasing. For the first time he saw how handicapping a lack of wood may be. With poles for use as levers the trunks could have been handled easily. With planks they could have made a ramp up which to roll them. If the cutting flakes could have been set in hafts they would have been ten times more efficient. Even neolithic man, he thought bitterly, was better equipped with tools than they were, and as for weapons … With wood they could have made spears, and, with the right kinds of wood, bows and arrows. There could have been clubs, both plain and headed with stone. But without wood they were practically weaponless – bits of rock and fists …

  The arrival of Ed and his reinforcements had given a great spurt to the work. The majority of the hundred and fifty which Smith had called ‘workers’ were now employed at clearing, rolling the trunks and building the wall. The task promised to be shorter than Mark had expected. Smith had chosen the position well. The floor-plan of the cave was shaped roughly to a figure eight, of which the lower half was twice the size of the upper. At the waist the opposite walls approached within fifty yards of one another, and it
was across this comparatively narrow space that he was erecting his defences. If they could succeed in clearing all the ground on the lesser side before the attack arrived, the pygmies would have the unpleasant task of crossing it without cover.

  A short rest was enough to revive Mark considerably. He had not been exhausted, but suffering from the rebellion of muscles lately unused and now put to a sudden strain. He rose and walked towards the barricade. Smith saw him from his supervising position on the top, and beckoned him up.

  ‘Come and give these fellows a hand,’ he directed.

  On the defenders’ side of the wall he found a group, including Gordon, industriously working with coarse cord. The cord itself had been made by plaiting narrow strips of the tougher fungus skins, and then shrinking them either by natural drying, or by careful smoking above a slow fire. He watched them carefully for a while. A conveniently shaped stone was selected, and a number of lengths of cord tied round it. The depending ends of the cords were gathered together and bound tightly for a distance of twelve or fourteen inches from the stone head. Another tight binding was then superimposed upon this. The result was a short club with a handle which, though by no means rigid, was not too flexible for use. The finished weapon, save for the bulging stone head, appeared not unlike one of those hanks in which clothes’ line is sold. Mark picked one up, and swung it experimentally. The balance was poor, and the pliability made the stroke awkward. Nevertheless it could be nasty for close fighting, far nastier than a mere fist, or a stone held in the hand. He dropped it back among the dozen or so already completed, and sat down to do his share.

  The barrier was all but complete. A white wall of stacked mushroom logs, twelve feet high, stretched from side to side of the cave with only one break of a couple of yards. The top of the wall was sloped down on the inner side to give cover for the defenders. The outer part had been faced with a buttress of the circular mushroom heads, ranged in rows like huge shields. Seen from the now almost bare end of the cave it resembled an immense testudo, or the carapace of a fabulously armoured beast. Smith strode through the remaining gap and turned to survey the work with satisfaction. It was doubtful whether the mushroom heads would long stay in position, but they certainly ought to defeat the first charge. It would be impossible even to attempt to climb the wall until those smoothly curving plaques had been removed.