The two soldiers set the stubby weapons on the floor and backed away, the corporal joining them. Freeborn’s hands fluttered imploringly against the backs of Snook’s legs, like huge anxious moths.
“Lie down behind the bar,” Snook said to the retreating men.
Murphy picked up one of the discarded guns. “Gil, there’s a liquor storeroom behind the bar.”
“That’s even better. We’ll need the keys to the jeep, as well.” Snook turned to Prudence who was re-tying her blouse with trembling hands. “If you’d like to go outside, we’ll be with you in a minute.”
She nodded without speaking and ran towards the exit. Still maintaining the fierce grip of his arm on Freeborn’s neck, and keeping the fork in place, Snook led the lieutenant to the storeroom. Murphy had just finished bundling the three soldiers into the cramped space. He was carrying the machine gun with an unconscious ease which suggested he had experience with similar weapons. Freeborn was forced to shamble like an ape as Snook brought him behind the bar and backed him into the store with his men.
“We’d better have this, Gil.” Murphy opened the flap of Freeborn’s holster and took the automatic pistol from it. Freeborn was swearing under his breath in a kind of rhythmic chant as Snook gave him a final shove and slammed the heavy door. Murphy turned the key, flipped it into a far corner of the room, ran out from behind the counter and gathered up the two remaining submachine guns.
“Do we want those?” Snook said doubtfully.
“We need them.”
Snook clambered over the bar and joined Murphy. “Won’t it change things if we steal Army weapons? I mean, up to now all we’ve done is defend Prudence from gang rape.”
“It wouldn’t matter if we’d been defending the Virgin Mary.” Murphy smiled briefly over his shoulder as he led the way out to the jeep, past the watchful barman. “I thought you knew this country, Gil. The only thing which will keep us safe—for a little while, anyway—is that Junior Freebom daren’t go to his uncle and report that he and three Leopards were tackled and disarmed in a public place by one unarmed white man. The loss of the weapons makes the humiliation complete, because it’s the most shameful thing a Leopard can do.”
Murphy threw the guns into the jeep’s rear seat and climbed in after them. Snook squirmed into the driving seat, beside Prudence, and got the vehicle into motion.
“Another thing is that the colonel is a black racialist. He’s even been known to criticise the President for occasionally preferring a white girl—so young Curt will be treading on eggs for a while.”
Snook swung the jeep into the main street. “You mean he won’t take any action over this?”
“Grow up! All I mean is that the action won’t be official.” Murphy looked around him with the air of a general considering tactics. “We should leave the jeep here, so there’ll be no reason for any of the military to go near your house. I’ll put the guns under the back seat.”
“Right.” Snook brought the vehicle to a halt and they got out, ignoring the curious stares of the few passers-by.
Prudence, who had not spoken once during the whole encounter, was still pale, though she seemed to have recovered her composure. Snook tried to think of something to say to her, but was unable to find a sufficiently neutral form of words. As they were crossing the main street a sports car sliced past them, being driven too fast, and Snook instinctively caught Prudence’s arm. He expected her to snatch it away, but to his surprise she sagged against him until he was supporting most of her weight. They crossed the road in that manner and he steered her into the entrance of an empty store, where she leaned against the wall and began to sob. The sound was painful to Snook.
“Come on,” he said awkwardly, “I thought you were supposed to be a tough character.”
“It was horrible.” She tilted her head back against the postered wood, rolling it from side to side, and he saw the clear lacquer of tears on her cheeks. “That lieutenant…he was only a boy…but he left me with nothing …”
Snook gazed helplessly at Murphy. “I think we all need a drink.”
“I was being dissected,” she whimpered. “Pinned out and dissected.”
“I’ve got coffee or gin,” Snook said in a matter-of-fact voice. “In your case I would recommend the gin. What do you say, George?”
“The gin is very good,” Murphy responded in similar tones. “Gil should know—he practically lives on it.”
Prudence opened her eyes and looked at both men as though seeing them for the first time. “I thought you were going to be killed. You could have been killed.”
“Nonsense!” Murphy’s brown face was incredulous. “What nobody back there realised was that plastic forks are only a part of Gil’s armament.”
“Really?”
Murphy lowered his voice. “He carries a stainless steel fork as well—in a special shoulder holster.”
Snook nodded. “It used to be the jawbone of an ass, but I couldn’t stand the smell.”
Prudence began to chuckle, Murphy joined in, Snook gave a shaky laugh, and within seconds they were reeling in the doorway like a trio of drunks, weeping with cathartic laughter as the tension left their bodies. On the way up the hill to the bungalow, still intoxicated with relief and the heady joy that comes with the finding of friends, they made dozens of jokes which had only to contain certain key words like ‘fork’ or ‘jawbone’ to be regarded as wildly hilarious. There were fleeting moments during the walk when Snook felt a sense of dismay over the unnaturalness of their behaviour, but he was determined to remain high for as long as possible.
“I’ve got to say something before we go in,” Prudence said when they reached the bungalow’s front steps. “If I don’t thank you now it’ll get more and more difficult for me. I’m not the easiest of people to…”
“Forget it,” Snook said. “Let’s have that drink.”
Prudence shook her head. “Please. I haven’t laughed so much in years—and I know why you made me laugh—but it wouldn’t have been at all funny if Boyce hadn’t sent you after me.”
Murphy opened his mouth to speak, but Snook silenced him with a barely perceptible shake of his head.
“We’d better go inside,” he said. “Boyce will be glad to see you.”
At noon a reduced party—consisting of Snook, Ambrose, Prudence and Quig—drove to the Commodore Hotel in Kisumu for a meal. Ambrose also needed to make some telephone calls there, because it had been discovered that the line to Snook’s house had developed a fault. Prudence was sitting beside him in the front seat, occasionally leaning her head on his shoulder. Bright-hued shrubs and trees, many with great trusses of flowers, streamed past the car’s windows like a continuous light show. Snook, who was in the rear seat with Quig, allowed the varicoloured display to hypnotise him into a mood of sleepy carelessness in which he was not required to think too deeply about his situation. Barandi had become a dangerous place for him and yet, instead of cutting the bonds and slipping away, he was allowing himself to become even more deeply enmeshed.
“I don’t like the way things are working out here,” Ambrose said, echoing Snook’s thoughts. “Even without what you’ve told me, I can feel a definite hostility in the air. If we hadn’t been so lucky in other respects I’d be tempted to pull up stakes and go to one of the other countries where the Avernians have been sighted.”
“Is it really worth hanging on here?” Snook said, sitting upright as his interest kindled. “Why not move on?”
“It’s mainly a question of geometry. Avernus is like a wheel rolling within a wheel at this time, and the point of contact is constantly moving around its equator. It means that the Avernians who were sighted in Brazil are a different lot to the Avernians who appear here—and we’ve had this fantastic stroke of luck in getting you together with Felleth. That’s the big attraction in Barandi. That’s what has given me the lead on all the others.”