So now he knew where he was. The camp of the golden people lay about another six miles away. He struck inland once more, then turned to travel roughly parallel with the coast. Presently, he found the right stream. His progress became slow and cautious. He did not intend being taken by surprise.
Having found the camp, he needed a vantage point from which to observe it. He thought of the cliff that he and Barbara had used; but it was too exposed. Finally, he decided upon a tree.
His vigil proved to be a considerable challenge to the computer that was operating inside his head. For he could see Barbara.
She was, apparently, unharmed. That at least was a relief. But her condition was such as made him want to charge in, tomahawks flying, in an attempt to free her by sheer strength and determination. He had enough determination—but strength? The odds were four to one —or, counting Barbara, four to two. Four golden people versus two human beings. The computer gave its logical answer. He would have to wait. He would have to wait for darkness and surprise. He would have to employ more strategy than strength.
Meanwhile he could only look at Barbara and let the cold rage chum inside him. They had stripped her of all her clothes. They had tied a rope or a thong round one of her ankles and had made the other end fast to a large, heavy stone. She could walk, but she had to carry the stone with her. And she could not go far or move fast.
They were mocking her. She was the new plaything. From the way they were treating her, it was evident that they wanted to reduce her to something half-way between a servant and a pet. Occasionally, one of the men would grab her in passing and play some stupid little trick upon her. At first, she had struggled; but a box or two on the ears, bringing her to her knees and making her half senseless, had demonstrated the futility of struggling. She tried to endure their attentions with indifference. This did not please them greatly, so they had gone to greater lengths to obtain a reaction.
One of them held her while the other, using a brush and some kind of blue dye or paint had made a curious symbol rather like the Greek omega on each of her breasts and her belly. This seemed to amuse them; but the two women who were watching appeared less enthusiastic.
One of them tried to stop the men, but was pushed roughly away.
At the evening meal—which was still in progress—the golden people sat at their table, but Barbara was made to crouch on the ground. One of the women gave her a bowl of water and a platter with some kind of food on it. But when the men noticed this, the platter was taken away. Occasionally, they threw her scraps from the table. Then, since she made no move to eat, one of the men flung a heavy bone from which he had been cutting meat. Barbara was knocked over by the impact. The burst of laughter that greeted this amusing incident drifted across the fading light to Avery as he waited in the tree, praying for darkness.
He tried not to think how Barbara was feeling. He tried to concentrate only on forming an effective plan…. A plan! He had already made and discarded about twenty.
One thing was sure, though, he would have to try to catch the golden people at maximum disadvantage. That meant waiting until some of them had retired for the night. He hoped that only one would remain on watch. Given the element of surprise, he felt he could cope with one of them: two—particularly if they were both men— was a very doubtful proposition.
As the sun went down, they piled more wood on their fire. And it was fire itself that gave Avery an idea. If, when they finally went to sleep, he could somehow get quickly across the moat and start a fire in the doorways of the huts, he would at least be able to imprison temporarily whoever was inside If the fire was big enough But first he had to get into the camp and then he had to deal with the guards.
While the plan was still only half-formed in his mind, Avery climbed quietly down the tree, retreated a hundred yards or so and then began to collect a large armful of dry grass and dead twigs before the light faded completely. As he worked, the scheme crystallized in his mind.
The moat itself was no real problem. At its widest it was, perhaps, three yards. In a running long jump, Avery felt sure he could cover three yards. Whether he could do it with an armful of grass and a couple of tomahawks was, perhaps, a shade more debatable. But he did not have any serious doubts. The anger he felt did not permit him to doubt.
So, if only one man was on watch, the drill would be to take a running leap across the moat, tomahawk the watcher, dip the armful of grass into the fire, dump it in the doorway of one of the huts, slip back to the side of the other hut, then tomahawk the occupant as he or she came out. After all that, he would be able to attend to Barbara…
It was a nice simple formula, he thought cynically. All it needed was good timing, one hundred per cent luck—and the golden people helpfully reacting as per blueprint.
But the computer inside him rejected the cynicism. It told him that the plan was elaborate enough. If he tried anything more elaborate, it would be sure to come unstuck.
When he had collected enough grass and twigs, he went through the material carefully to make sure that it was all really dry. Then he made his way to the edge of the stream that fed the moat, scooped up handfuls of mud and plastered it over his face and body The commando touch—as in all the best war films. He smiled j grimly to himself. He smiled at the thought of exschoolmaster Richard Avery, on an alien planet, tackling four superbeings with an armful of straw and a couple of 1 home-made tomahawks. And then rescuing the traditional damsel in distress.
A year ago, just one short year ago, never in his wildest dreams—but this situation was wilder than anybody’s wildest dreams. It was itself a dream—in three dimensions, with natural colour and full stereophonic sound.
He finished the smear campaign, picked up his armful of incendiary material and made his way cautiously back towards the enemy camp. He did not climb the tree again. There was no need to. Under cover of darkness he circled round the moat a distance of about twenty yards, looking for the best place to jump. When he had found it, he retreated a little, checked that one of the tomahawks and both sheath knives were firmly in his belt, then settled down to wait. He sat cross-legged on the ground. Under his left arm was the bundle of grass and in his right hand was his favourite tomahawk. He might have to wait hours, he knew, but he did not want to put them down. Hunched in the darkness, with mud on his face and body, and a cold anger seething inside him, he felt like a weird malignant gnome. He tried to relax, and couldn’t—which was irritating, because he felt that he was probably in for a long, long wait.
He could see Barbara, crouching close to the camp fire, obviously cold. There were only three of the golden people visible: two men and a woman. They were drinking something from a kind of pitcher. Avery hoped that, whatever it was, it was intoxicating. They certainly seemed to be getting more boisterous. Presently one of the men offered Barbara a drink. He did so with what seemed to be a polite gesture. She refused it. The other man laughed, grabbed her hair and forced her head back. He poured the drink down her throat. She collapsed spluttering and coughing. The sound brought the other woman out of one of the huts. She knelt beside Barbara and appeared to be trying to soothe her. Presently, she gave it up and joined the others. Barbara recovered herself, picked up the stone that was tied to her ankle and edged surreptitiously away from the men.
Avery gripped his tomahawk tightly. There were many accounts to be settled.
Time passed. It passed so slowly that Avery began to be horribly afraid that the golden people were intent upon having an all-night party—perhaps to celebrate their victorious encounter with the inferior race.