The Dark Design

  “I am indeed sorry, but there is little I can do for you. What happened to you is the will of Rushhub.”

  Burton felt like striking the man in his face. Mastering himself, he said, “Three of my people are too injured at the moment to move them very far. Could you at least give us a boat so we could get to shore?”

  Metuael glared with fierce black eyes, and he pointed at the island.

  “There is the shore, and there is a foodstone. I will see that your injured are placed there, and we will give you some dried fish and acorn bread. In the meantime, please do not trouble me with any more requests. I have work to do. We must get our raft back into The River. Rushhub told me that we should not delay our journey for any reason whatsoever.

  “If we take too long, we may find the gates to the land of the gods forever shut. Then we will be left to howl at the gates and repent in vain for our lack of faith and determination.”

  At that moment Burton decided that anything he did would be justified. These people owed him much, and he owed them nothing.

  Metuael had walked away. Now he stopped suddenly, pointing at Monat, who had just come out of the building.

  “What is that?”

  Burton walked up to him and said, “That is a man from another world. He and some of his kind traveled from a distant star to Earth. This was over a hundred years after I died, perhaps four thousand years after you died. He came in peace, but the people of Earth discovered that he had a… drug which could keep people from aging. They demanded that he tell them its secret, but he refused. He said that Earth people had enough problems as it was with overpopulation. Besides, a person should not be given the chance to live forever unless that person was worthy of it.”

  “He was wrong then,” Metuael said. “The gods have given us a chance to live forever.”

  “Yes, in a way. Though, according to your religion, only a very small group, just those on this raft, will become truly immortal. Am I right?”

  “It seems hard,” Metuael said. “But that is the way it is, and who are we to question the motives and methods of the gods?”

  “It is, however, a fact that we only know what the gods desire through human beings who speak for them. I have never met a person yet whose motives and methods I would not question.”

  “The more fool you.”

  “Aside from that,” Burton said, smiling to hide his anger, “the Arcturans, Monat and his people, were attacked by the Earth people. They were all killed, but before he died Monat caused almost all of the Earth people to die.”

  He paused. How could he explain to this ignoramus that the Arcturans had left their mother ship in orbit around Earth? And that Monat had transmitted a radio wave signal to the orbiting vessel and that it had projected an energy beam of such a frequency that only human beings had died?

  He did not really understand it himself, since in his time such things as radio and spaceships had not existed.

  Metuael was wide-eyed now. Looking at Monat, he said, “He is a great magician? He killed all those people through his powers?”

  For a moment, Burton considered using Monat’s supposed magic as a lever. Perhaps he could pry a boat and free-grails out of this man if he threatened him. But, though Metuael might be ignorant, and crazed, he was not unintelligent. He would ask why Monat, if he was such a sorcerer, had not protected the Hadji II from destruction and his companions from hurt. He also might ask why Burton needed a boat, since surely Monat could give them the power to fly through the air.

  “Yes, he did slay them,” Burton said. “And he also woke up on these banks, not knowing how or why. His magical tools were left on Earth, of course. However, he says that he will find the materials to make more tools someday, and he will regain his powers and be as mighty and as deadly as ever. Then those who have scorned and mocked him will have good reason to fear him.”

  Let Metuael chew on that.

  Metuael smiled, and said, “By that time…”

  Burton understood. By then the raft would be long gone.

  “Besides, Rushhub will protect his people. A god is mightier than a man, even a demon from the stars.”

  “Why didn’t Rushhub avert this accident then?” Burton said.

  “I do not know, but I am sure that he will come to me in a dream, and he will tell me why. Nothing happens to the people of Rushhub without a purpose.”

  Metuael walked off. Burton returned to the building to check on his crew. Kazz stepped outside just as Burton was about to enter. He had removed all his cloths except for his kilt, revealing a very hairy, squat, big-boned, powerfully muscled body. His head was thrust forward on a bowed and bull-like neck. His forehead was low and slanting; his skull long and narrow; his face, broad. His supraorbital ridges were thick, bony shelves above shrewd dark-brown eyes. The nose was puggish but had flaring nostrils. The bulging jaws pushed out thin lips. The massive hands looked as if they could squeeze stone to powder.

  Despite his fearsome appearance, he would not have gotten more than a passing glance in the East End of London in Burton’s time if he had been clothed.

  His full name was Kazzintuitruaabemss. In his native language, Man-Who-Slew-The-White-Tooth.

  “What’s up, Burton-naq?”

  “You and Monat come in with me.”

  When he was in the hut, he asked the others how they felt. Alice and Frigate said they could walk but not run. Loghu’s case was evident. She was in no pain because of the dreamgum given her, but she would not be restored to full health for four or five days. It took that long for a broken bone to knit completely. The fantastic speed in healing was due to causes unknown, perhaps something in their food.

  Whatever the reason, bones healed, teeth and eyes regrew, torn muscles and burned flesh were renewed, all with a quickness that had once astonished the Valley-dwellers. Now it was taken for granted.

  Burton had no sooner explained the situation to them than twelve armed men appeared. Their captain said he had orders to escort them to the island. Two men put Loghu on a stretcher and carried her out. Frigate, supported by Monat and Kazz, limped after them. They made their way, with some difficulty, over the wilderness of logs and onto the shore. Here they were met by the Ganopo, all angry but helpless.

  Loghu was taken into a hut, and the guards left. Not, however, before their captain cautioned Burton that he and his crew must stay away from the raft.

  “And if we don’t?” Burton said loudly.

  “Then you will be thrown into The River. Perhaps with a stone tied to your legs. Almighty Rushhub has told us not to spill blood except in self-defense. But he said nothing about drowning our enemies.”

  Shortly before the midday grailstone discharge, a store of dried fish and acorn bread was delivered to Burton.

  “Metuael says that this will keep you from starving until you can catch more fish and make more bread.”

  “I’ll save my thanks to deliver in person to him,” Burton said to the captain. “He may not like its form, though.”

  Monat said, “Was that empty bluster or do you plan on some sort of revenge?”

  “Revenge isn’t my dish,” Burton said. “I do intend, however, to see that we do not go grailless.”

  Two days passed. The front part of the raft was still beached. The log jam had been cleared away, and the raft had been pushed back toward the water several meters. This was a tedious, backbreaking job. The entire population of the raft, their leader excepted, pried away at the front end with small thin logs as levers. From sunup until sunset, the Babylonian words for “Heave! One, two three, heave!” bellowed from hundreds of mouths.

  Every mass effort only succeeded in pushing back the immensely heavy raft a millimeter or so. Often, the stones wedged between the rock of the beach and the front edge of the raft would slip a little, and the raft, urged by the current, would move back onto the beach. Several times, the wedges were knocked out, and all gains were lost.

  Since the wind blew from downRiver, the sails on th
e masts were unfurled. Metuael hoped that the upstream wind would give the heavers an advantage. The theory would have worked if it had not been that the rock spire blocked off most of the breeze.

  By the morning of the third day, the raft had been pushed back about a meter. At this rate, it would take seven more days to free it.

  The Ganopo were busy meanwhile. Unable to borrow a boat from Metuael, they sent four strong swimmers out. These got to the right bank, where they explained the situation and were loaned a small sailboat. They returned with a fleet of twenty boats manned by the chiefs of the local state and the best fighting men. The head chief, a tall Shawnee, looked around and then conferred with the Ganopo. Burton and Monat sat in on the meeting.

  There was a lot of talking, complaints from the Ganopo, various counsels offered, and a speech by Burton. He told them of the large store of goods on the raft, omitting mention of the free-grails, and suggested that perhaps the Babylonians would part with some of their stores if the locals loaned enough men to help free the raft.

  The Shawnee thought this was a good idea. He talked to Metuael, who was polite but said he did not need any help.

  Disgruntled, the Shawnee returned to the island.

  “Those eagle-noses do not have much sense,” he said. “Don’t they know that we can take everything they have without giving anything in return? They have wrecked the boats and the docks of the Ganopo and offered nothing in restitution. They have wrecked the strangers’ vessel, which took a year to build and cost them much tobacco and booze in trade for the wood with which to build it. They have caused a crewman to die. They have also caused the loss of the strangers’ grails. A person might as well be dead as not have a grail.

  “And what do they offer as payment? Nothing! They mock the Ganopo and the strangers. These are evil people, and they should be punished as such.”

  “Not to mention the valuable goods the chief and his chums will obtain,” Burton murmured in English to Monat.

  “What did you say?” the chief said.

  “I was telling my friend, the man from the stars, that you have great wisdom and know what is right and wrong. That what you do to the eagle-noses will be right and just, and the great spirit will smile upon you.”

  “Your language says much in a few words.”

  “The tongue of my people is not forked.”

  And God forgive me for that remark, Burton thought.

  Though the Shawnee did not say what he meant to do, it was evident to Burton that he would be planning a raid in force. Perhaps for that very night.

  Burton called the others into his hut.

  “Don’t look so gloomy. I think we’ll have grails after all, lose our beggar status. However, we must act tonight. How about it, Loghu, Pete, Alice? Do you feel up to some action? Some perhaps vigorous action?”

  The three replied that they could walk. Running was as yet out of the question.

  “Very well. Here is what we’ll do, if you have no objections. If you do, we’ll do it anyway.”

  They ate their evening meal, fish and bread which disgusted them before they put it in their mouths. The Ganopo, however, were kind enough to give them a few cigarettes and as much of the lichen-alcohol as they wanted. Before going into his hut, presumably to retire for the night, Burton walked around the beach. The Babylonians were either in their huts or talking in small groups before them. They were tired after three days of hard and frustrating labor and would soon be asleep. All, that is, except for the guards stationed along the edge of the raft. They would light pine torches soaked in fish-oil and pace back and forth under their illumination, waiting for their reliefs.

  The largest groups were at the forward end. Metuael had placed them there to make sure that Burton’s people did not try to sneak aboard to steal their goods. The little dark-skinned men watched him closely as he sauntered along. He grinned and waved at them. They did not return his greeting.

  Having checked the situation, Burton walked back to his hut. On the way he passed the Ganopo chief, who was sitting before his hut and smoking one of the little briar pipes the grails offered once a year.

  Burton squatted down by him.

  “I am thinking, O chief, that tonight the raftspeople may be in for a big surprise.”

  The chief removed his pipe and said, “What do you mean?”

  “It is possible that the chief of the people on the north bank may be leading a raid upon the raftspeople. Have you heard anything about that?”

  “Not a word. The great chief of the Shaawanwaaki does not confide in me. However, I would not be surprised if he and his warriors did not resent the injuries and the insults which we Ganopo, who are under his protection, have suffered from the eagle-noses.”

  “If they did make this raid you suggest, when would they be likely to do it?”

  “In the old days, when the Shaawanwaaki warred against the people on the south bank, they would cross The River just before dawn. The clouds are still thick then, and they could not be seen approaching. But soon after they had landed, the sun would come up and the clouds would burn away under its heat. Then the Shaawanwaaki could see to strike.”

  “That is what I thought,” Burton said. “However, one thing troubles me. It is an easy matter to cross a river or even a small lake in the fog and find the other side. This is a small island which would be difficult to find in the clouds. It is true the rock tower is very high, but the raiders would be in the fog and could not see it.”

  The chief tamped down the coals in his pipe, and he said, “That is no worry of mine.”

  Burton said, “There is a ledge on the spire. It faces the north bank, but an outcropping of rock would prevent the raftspeople from seeing it. It would also prevent them from seeing a bonfire. A bonfire which anyone on The River north of the island might see even through the fog. Is that why some of the Ganopo have been busy all day carrying bamboo and pine up to this ledge?”

  The chief grinned. “You have the curiosity of a wildcat and the eyes of a hawk. However, I promised the Shaawanwaaki chief not to say a word about this business.”

  Burton stood up. “I understand. Many thanks for your hospitality, chief, whether or not I ever see you again.”

  “If not in this world, perhaps in the next.”

  It was difficult to get to sleep. After hours of tossing and turning, he was surprised to find himself being shaken awake by Monat. Burton freed himself of the Arcturan’s three fingers and thumb and got up. Monat, who also came from a planet with a twenty-four-hours’ rotation, had a biological chronometer in his head. Burton had depended upon him to wake the others at the right time.

  They moved around, talking softly while they drank instant coffee. The crystals, a gift from the islanders, provided a boiling heat as they dissolved.

  After going over their plan once more, they moved outside and relieved themselves. The hut was just high enough to be above the mists, enabling them to see a faint glow high up on the spire. The Shaawanwaaki, even though in fog, would be able to discern it as a dim glow. That would be all they needed.

  Frigate and Burton were the only ones who had been wearing a full suit of cloths when the Hadji II had gone down. The others, however, had cloths given them by the Ganopo. Clad from head to foot in these, they walked down into the fog. Burton led, one hand in Alice’s, hers in Frigate’s, and so on down the line. Depending upon an unusual sense of direction, Burton led them to the water’s edge. Now they could see the glow of the torches in the fuzziness.

  Burton took out his flint knife. Kazz had a club he’d fashioned from a stick of pine with a knife he’d borrowed from a Ganopo. Frigate’s knife had been given to the Neanderthal woman, Besst. The rest were unarmed.

  Burton moved cautiously forward until he was at the edge of the raft. There was enough space between the torches ranged along the edge for him to crawl through unseen. He proceeded to do this until he was well out of range of the guards’ vision and hearing. He waited while, one by one, the other
s caught up.

  “This is the easy part,” he said. “From now on we’ll be blind until we come across a torchlight. I have the location of the buildings and the boats in my head, but in this fog… well, follow me.”

  Despite his assurances, he blundered around for a while. Then, abruptly, the huge black figure of the idol, a fire in its hollow belly, was in front of him. He stood for a minute, estimating the probable number of paces from the statue to the building which held the grails.

  Kazz said, “I can just see some lights to the right.”

  Keeping to the right of the torches, Burton led the others until he saw the square walls and conical roof of the storehouse. From the front of the building came the voices of the guards, speaking in low tones, stamping their feet now and then. After going behind the bulding, touching it with a finger to keep contact, Burton stopped on the other side.

  Here he removed from under his cloths a coil of leather rope borrowed from the Ganopo chief, who had not asked him about its intended use. Monat and Frigate also carried coils. Burton tied their ends together to make a single rope. While Alice held one end, he moved out into the darkness with Frigate, Monat, Loghu, and Kazz. He knew that there was a boat-rack on the edge of the raft just opposite the storehouse. This time, he went straight to his target.

  Cautioning them to move slowly and silently, he and the others eased a large canoe off the rack. It could hold ten people and so, though made of light pine and thin fish skin, was heavy.

  After the canoe was in the water and paddles placed in it, all returned except Loghu. It was her job to keep the canoe from drifting away.

  Following the rope, they went swiftly back to the storehouse.

  Just as they returned, Kazz grunted, and said, “Others coming!”

  The flames of four torches became visible.

  “It’s a change of guards!” Burton said.

  They had to move around to the other side of the building since the four armed men were headed toward them.

  Burton looked upward. Was it his imagination or was the fog becoming less dark above?