Gradually Margaret worked herself into an easier frame of mind. She saw in their true proportions the obstacle? she had managed to raise between a single, unassisted man and his desire. If he should succeed, it would be by the merest fluke. She had done her best.
She yawned wearily. How long, she wondered, since she had slept? It felt like bedtime again, anyhow. She loosened her clothes and lay down, looking up at the glowing light. How many years did it take to adapt oneself to this nightless existence? Without day and night as measures, one never seemed fully awake or asleep, but spinning out a monotonous existence somewhere in between the two. Now, to Bast it didn't matter a bit; provided she was fed frequently, she seemed prepared to doze the rest of the time. Margaret wished, not for the first time, that she were like that....
Her eyes were still enviously on the cat when the lids slipped over them....
CHAPTER V
Margaret was awakened by a half-heard sound from the corridor outside. Nothing very unusual in that. Her inability to fit her 'nights' into the pygmy time-scheme had led more than once to Garm's having to wake her for the temple ceremonies. When and where the pygmies slept she did not know, but she suspected that it was in short spells of two or three hours at frequent intervals.
She lay for some moments without moving, her eyes on the entrance; but the old man did not appear. She called out in the pygmy language:
'What do you want?'
There was no answer. She raised herself on one elbow.
'Guards?'
Still no answer. Only a faint sound of movement in the passage. Margaret got up and crossed to look out. Something must be wrong; the guards had never before failed to answer her. The six-foot passage between her cell and the main corridor was empty. But at the end, protruding beyond the left-hand corner, was a naked foot with toes pointing up into the air. She could see all the lower part of the leg as far as the knee, lying motionless. She spoke again, but still there was no reply. Queer, why didn't one of the other guards speak? They wouldn't all be asleep. She stepped forward, keeping her eyes on the foot. She put her head round the corner, and stared down at a body on the floor. It was one of her guards, and he was very dead. His head was savagely battered, a lot of blood and other things had spilt on the floor. Margaret opened her mouth, but before the cry could come, a pressure, rigid as steel, fastened on her throat.
Both her hands flew up, wrenching and scratching at the sinewy fingers which were strangling her. Her nails filled with skin from them, but they did not loosen; her fingers could find no hold to prise them apart. She lowered her right arm, and sent back the elbow in a vicious jab. It met something yielding and brought forth a sudden grunt, the grip was cruelly increased till her head felt as if it would burst from the pressure of pounding blood.
She felt herself whirled round, and forced back to her cell.
On her bed of fungus skin strips she was thrust face down. Only then did the terrible grip on her throat relax. She could not cry out nor struggle; she could do nothing but draw a deep breath into lungs which ached for the lack of it. The respite was brief; a weight—a knee, she guessed—was thrust on the back of her neck, crushing her face among the fibres so that again she could scarcely breathe. Hands groped for her arms; found them, and tied the wrist tightly together with a coarse cord which cut deep. There was a fumbling, followed by a ripping sound as the back of her silk shirt was torn away. Then she was twisted over, and the silk bound tightly over her gasping mouth.
Miguel rose to his feet, and looked down at her. He raised a bleeding hand, and licked clean the scratches her nails had left.
'Wild little bitch!' he said venomously. 'Now it's my turn. Thought you'd finished with me, didn't you? Told the little devils a whole pack of lies about me. I'll make you eat 'em. I'll make you sorry you ever lived to tell 'em—you dirty little double-crosser.'
A faint sound came from the far corner. Miguel spun round to face Bast in the performance of her usual awakening yawn. She looked up at him and mewed.
'Told them I'd spat in its eye, did you? Well, see what I really do.'
He jumped towards it and seized it by the tail. It gave one screech, which was cut short as its head met the wall. Miguel dropped the body and turned back to glare at Margaret.
'And as for what's going to happen to you ... well, you'll see.'
Margaret looked towards the entrance. Where were the other guards? Surely they must come? Miguel saw her look, and laughed.
'No hope there, so you might as well give up. I got all four of 'em. Showed myself up the passage so that two of them chased after me; when I'd finished with them, I came back and tackled the other two. They're easy; silly little runts with brains to fit-'
He stopped suddenly, and tiptoed down the passage. Margaret strained her ears, but could hear nothing. Miguel slipped back, and stood flat to the wall, beside the entrance. Outside came an abrupt, high-pitched exclamation. Garm's voice. He must have found the dead guard. Margaret tried to shout a warning; all she achieved was a muffled grunt. It served the opposite of its purpose. Garm came hurrying in. She saw his eyes widen at the sight of her, then Miguel's fist took him on the chin. The blow lifted him clean off his feet, and his head hit the ground a sickening smash.
'Easy,' murmured Miguel. 'Dead easy.'
He crossed back to Margaret, and produced another length of cord to bind her ankles. Despite his contempt for the pygmies, he had decided that it was time to be going. He picked her up and slung her over one shoulder. After a cautious glance up and down the outside passage, he set off in a direction which would, she knew, take them to the disused caverns.
Her eyes opened to meet his. He was sitting a few feet away from her, devouring a slab of mushroom with large, greedy bites.
'Oh, so you've come round, have you?' he said.
She must have fainted as she hung head downwards over his shoulder. She had no recollection of reaching this place. That it was one of the smaller disused caves was obvious to the first glance. For one thing, the liquid in the globes had dulled to a glimmer, for another, it lacked the cleanliness of the inhabited caves. There was the glisten of slime upon the walls, and the floor was littered with accumulated debris and scummy puddles. There was an odour of dampness and the things which grow in stagnant water. She became aware of her surroundings without thought, the whole conscious surface of her mind was taken up with the hurting of her arms. Both hands were numbed to insensibility, but where the tight cord cut into her wrists began an ache which diffused upwards and about her shoulders in a dull throbbing.
The gag had been removed, but her mouth was strained and stiff, moreover it was parched and dry so that her tongue felt hard and useless. When she tried to speak, her voice was little more than a croak. Miguel hesitated a moment, and then decided to push over a bowl of water. By leaning over she could just bring her lips to it.
'My arms,' she said, 'they're hurting so.'
'And why not? If the pygmies had caught me after your lies, I'd have got more than hurt arms.'
Nevertheless, he crossed to her and untied the cords. She brought her arms slowly and painfully forward; returning circulation in her hands was a new agony. Miguel was taking no chances. He waited just long enough for the first numbness to wear off before he rebound her wrists; in front of her this time, and more loosely, though not less securely. Then he went back and resumed his meal.
'Now, we can talk,' he said. 'And I don't care if you yell—they won't find you here.'
Margaret, glancing round the ten yard square cave, could easily believe him. The pygmies had no maps of their caves; they knew them only from familiarity, and when they were no longer needed, they were forgotten. The present pygmy generation would be as lost in these parts as she herself. She did not respond. Miguel went on: