The Secret People

'If necessary.'

She looked hard at him.

'I don't believe you would.'

'You're going back on it? Because if you are-'

She shuddered. 'No—no. I'll tell you. You've beaten me—broken me. I'll tell you.' She lay back, weeping from sheer weakness, not bothering to hide her face.

Miguel watched the tears. He could not stand this sort of thing much longer.

'Tell me where it is, and I'll go.'

'I can't.'

'You can't?' He raised his hand. 'If you-'

'No. I mean, I can show you the way, but I can't describe it.'

Miguel thought. He should have realised that a description of the way would be impossible. She was right, he must be shown.

'All right, we'll go.'

'And I am coming on the Sun Bird.'

He paused at that. 'But-'

'It doesn't matter much if you kill me or not now. I've done all the harm I can—and there might be a chance.'

There would be climbing, M'guel reflected. Alone, he might make it, but if he were encumbered with her, it would be more than doubtful. However, that could wait until the Sun Bird was found—it would be easy enough to leave her.

'Put on your clothes,' he said.

Margaret wept again.

'I can't. My hands-'

He was forced to do it for her. He completed the task by tying the strip of silk over her mouth once more.

'Not taking any risks,' he explained. 'We've got to go through pygmy tunnels. Now, march.'

She took two tottering steps. It was plain he would have to carry her. This time she was not slung across his shoulder, but held in his arms.

Miguel halted at the crux of two, well-lighted passages.

'Which way?' he asked, in an undertone.

Margaret nodded her head to the right. Miguel looked down at her in anger.

'So that's the game, is it? I happen to know that that way leads to Bast's temple. How many times have you played that trick, you damned little snake? I've a good mind to go back with you to the disused caves.'

Margaret's eyes widened with terror and pleading. She shook her head violently, and then nodded in the forward direction.

'All right.' Miguel strode on. 'But if you lead me into a trap, God help you—no one else will.'

They emerged into the fungus cave where she and Mark had first encountered the pygmies. There was not much farther to go now. Margaret resigned herself to helplessness. The luck had run all Miguel's way. They had not encountered a single pygmy to give the alarm, and her pathetically futile plan to lead him into trouble had been detected at its inception. At the back of her mind she knew that he had no intention of taking her with him. Why should he embarrass himself with her? As to what he would do with her, she wondered very little— it did not seem to matter much now.

Miguel started to cross the cave by a beaten path through the fungi. After a few steps he thought better of it, and retraced his way to the wall. Not only would one side thus be safe from attack, but an ambush springing from the fungi must give him a few seconds grace as they crossed the intervening open space. He was becoming uncomfortably suspicious that something unusual was afoot. They had come thus far with never a sign of a pygmy. What could they be up to now? He believed he would have been easier if one or two had put in an appearance. Then he would at least have had the active satisfaction of a fight, and a knowledge of what he was up against, whereas he was feeling distinctly nervous. It had gone too easily....

Part way round the wall, he stopped dead. From somewhere in the big cave had come the murmur of a voice. He looked round, listening and trying to place it. It was not easy, for the rock walls flung echo at echo, and both at original. He could tell no more than that it was in the cave, and growing louder. But, with a shock, he noticed that it was deep and full—no pygmy had ever spoken in such a voice as that. Without hesitation, he made for the great growths. In a well-hidden spot he laid Margaret down, and stood over her, straining his ears.

The sound came nearer. An eerie rumble of speech, still confused into unintelligibility by the echoes. At last, he caught a phrase:

'—And I'm dead certain I'm right this time.'

Miguel could not recognise the distorted voice. The answer made him jump violently.

'Sure, buddy, but you were just as dead certain the other three times, and they were flops.'

Smith's voice. How, in hell's name, had he got here?

'You wait a bit. I know this is the place.'

A muffled cry came from the girl. She had no doubt of Mark's voice. Miguel pounced on her, thrusting one hand fiercely over her mouth, and holding the other clenched in a threatening fist, close to her face.

'What was that?'

'Didn't you hear something? Sounded like a voice.'

'One of them durned pygmies, I guess—let 'em be, unless they ask for trouble, and they've had a bellvfull of that by now. Now, just where is this tunnel of yours? If this ain't the right cave. I'm through. I'm gonna climb one of the blifterin' air shafts.'

'And probably find the water pouring in on vou when you get half-way up.' Mark said scathingly. 'I tell you, from where we left the Sun Bird, the river runs north, and that means under the mountains. It may be a longer climb when we find a hole, but at least there won't be the water above us.'

'Sure. But how do we know we're gonna find a hole? Seems to me-'

But Miguel waited to hear no more. He had recognised Smith's voice and Ed's; he knew now that the other must be Mark's. How many more there might be in the party he didn't know, and didn't care. The important thing was that they were searching for the Sun Bird, and he must get there before they did. He was tempted to leave Margaret where she was, and trust to luck for the rest of the way, but the risk was too big. Instead, he picked her up again, putting her across his shoulders in a less impending fireman's lift, and set off among the fungi.

Miguel had a good sense of direction, and he needed it. Progress between the thick trunks, and over ground littered with twining tendrils was difficult and seemed snaillike, but he managed, at length, to intersect with the middle pathway. Once there, the going became easier, save for the heaviness of the loam underfoot. He hurried on, panting from his own efforts and the weight of the girl. The possibilities of ambush were forgotten; he had only one ambition—to reach the far end of the cave before Smith and his lot. They were not hurrying, and they were taking the longer route by the wall. If he could only get into the opposite tunnel without being seen____

Years of lethargy in the prison caves were not good training for this kind of thing. His lungs laboured painfully; he developed an agonising stitch in his side; sweat trickled down his forehead into his eyes, from his temples into his beard. His breathing seemed loud enough to be heard all over the great cavern. At last, when he had all but despaired of keeping up his speed any longer, the end of the path came into sight.

Behind the last great mushroom trunk, he paused to reconnoitre. The others were not in view, but he could hear their voices not far away. There was the open space to be crossed before he could be safe in the tunnel. If only he could risk leaving the girl ... but it might mean missing the way at the very last. He gathered himself for the effort, and then burst from the growths, sprinting like a hare for the tunnel mouth....

And he made it. No shout followed him. His bare feet had been silent in the soft loam. He had been so sure of detection, that for a moment he failed to realise his luck; then exhilaration poured fresh life into him. He'd beat 'em yet. When they got to the cave it would he just in time to see him drifting away in their precious Sun Bird. He'd have the laugh of them in the end. He set off along the passage in a long, swinging stride.