Т. C. Бриджес
Приключенията на Мартин Крузо (16)

T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (16)

Мартин действа сам

В продължение на няколко секунди само свистенето на газовия гейзер нарушаваше тишината. Мартин втренчено гледаше неподвижния Одън, върху чието животинско лице играеше победоносна усмивка.

Пръв заговори Хаймер.

— Огнената пръчка! — властно каза той на ухото на Мартин. — Убий го! Само така можем да се спасим.

Мартин мушна ръка в джоба си — или по-скоро там, където трябваше да бъде джобът му, защото беше забравил, че не е със собствените си дрехи. Вместо сивото сукно на костюма ръката му усети мекия плат на лемурската туника.

— Не е у мен — каза той. — Останала е в другите ми дрехи.

— Тогава с ножа.

Без да се колебае, жрецът извади острата си бронзова кама и се спусна към Одън.

За миг бунтовникът се поколеба, обхванат от неувереност, че ще успее да надвие стария си неприятел в ръкопашен бой. После се обърна и побягна. Беше невъзможно да го стигнеш. Хаймер високо вдигна ръка. Стоящият зад него Мартин видя как камата блесна на светлината на лампата и профуча във въздуха. Като мълния удари Одън между раменете и падна със звън на земята. Не можа да пробие бронята.

Хаймер спря запъхтян. Не можеше повече да тича. Мартин взе ножа от земята и се спусна след беглеца.

Одън беше изчезнал зад един завой. Мартин успя да види само отражението на позлатената му броня. Въпреки това продължи да тича, докато попадна в пълна тъмнина. Мартин чуваше шума от тежките стъпки и продължи след тях. Изведнъж се спъна в нещо, политна и се просна върху каменната настилка на прохода.

— Изчезна! — отчаяно произнесе Хаймер, като настигна Мартин.

— Но как е влязъл?

— Не знам. Страхувам се да не са ни предали. Възможно е да е подкупил някой от прислужниците в храма.

— Не можем да направим нищо, ако е избягал — каза Мартин, който вече се беше успокоил.

Причиненото от падането зашеметяване бавно преминаваше. В тъмнината той напипа наметалото, което Одън бе захвърлил.

— Това е улика срещу него.

— О, англичанино, ти нищо не разбираш! — каза Хаймер.

По тона на гласа му Мартин разбра колко безизходно е положението, в което се намираха.

— До днес държахме в ръцете си медноцветните само благодарение на тяхното суеверие. Сега Одън ще им обясни, че сме ги мамили. Яростта им ще бъде ужасна.

— Няма как, ще трябва да се защитаваме!

— Да се защитаваме ли? — тъжно каза жрецът. — Стотина срещу хиляди? Как можем да направим това?

Мартин за първи път виждаше енергичния Хаймер в подобно състояние. Но след малко тежките клепачи на жреца се вдигнаха.

— Ще действаме, както кажеш ти. Има начин да смажем това куче.

За няколко минути Хаймер бе загубил самоувереността, но не и енергията си. Те се върнаха в храма и той прати вестоносци във всички посоки, събра силите си, заповяда да заключат големите врати и постави стражи. Извика няколко занаятчии, опитни в леярството, и по указанията на Мартин им каза как да направят бомби.

Те се заловиха за работа, а младият англичанин заедно с няколко души отиде да търси селитра. Сярата и дървените въглища бяха готови и всичко потръгна както трябва. Мартин се захвана с правенето на барута и с промиването на селитрата. Работниците около него умееха чудесно да стриват сярата на прах и да приготвят дървени въглища. Цяло щастие бе, че си спомни точната технология. Използва 79 процента селитра, 18 процента въглища и 3 процента сяра.

Тази нощ никой в храма не спеше. Времето беше точно пресметнато. Те не знаеха какво подготвя Одън.

На другия ден градът беше спокоен и тих. След закуска Мартин започна да прави фитили, но непрестанно се тревожеше за самолета-амфибия. Един отряд верни войници беше получил заповед да пази хангара. Те обаче можеха да бъдат подкупени или нападнати с настъпването на нощта.

Колкото повече мислеше за това, толкова повече се безпокоеше. „Летящата риба“ беше единствената връзка с Изгубения остров, с Англия и Америка. Той с нищо не можеше да я замени. Конструкцията на машината можеше да бъде възстановена, но моторът…

Чакането ставаше все по-мъчително. Часовете отлитаха един след друг без каквото и да било известие. На свечеряване Мартин се изкачи на върха на големия купол, където имаше наблюдателен пост. Далеч на запад грамадният диск на слънцето потъваше зад черната ивица водорасли, а пурпурните лъчи оцветяваха водата на пристанището в кървавочервено.

Край хангара беше пусто. Нямаше жива душа нито на пристанището, нито в околностите. Мартин си помисли, че караулите са напуснали поста си, и тази мисъл го накара да вземе внезапно решение — да отиде да потърси своята машина. Знаеше, че в големия двор на храма има езеро, където можеше да кацне.

Мартин имаше бегла представа за плана на голямото здание. Известно му беше, че малка вратичка води до някакъв път с големи дървета от двете страни. Оттук царят отиваше на пристанището.

Мартин влезе в стаята си, пъхна в дрехите си две бомби и револвера, след това се отправи към малката врата, покрай която стояха пазачи, каквито имаше пред всички изходи на двореца. Те видяха Мартин, поздравиха го и му направиха път. Когато стигна до оградата, слънцето беше залязло и нощта се спускаше над острова.

Пътят изглеждаше пуст. Нямаше жива душа наоколо. Въпреки това Мартин не искаше да рискува напразно. Той тръгна по средата на пътя, като внимателно се вглеждаше в тъмнината.

Само прилепите нарушаваха тишината. Въздухът беше натежал от упоителната миризма на портокаловите дръвчета и магнолиите.

Мартин вървеше бързо и за няколко минути стигна до кея. Той спря и отново се огледа — Лемурия приличаше на мъртъв град.

Младият англичанин събра кураж и тръгна право към хангара. Ослуша се. Никакъв шум.

— Така си и мислех — прошепна той. — Тези страхливци са се изплашили и са офейкали. Какво щастие, че дойдох!

Англичанинът слезе по стълбата. Вратата на хангара беше отворена. В тъмнината той едва различи очертанията на „Летящата риба“, която се полюшваше във водата.

— О, хубавице моя! Скоро ще те закарам на сигурно място. Дори старият жрец няма да посмее да ми се кара, когато види моята „Рибка“ в езерото край храма.

Той стъпи на мостика и се наведе да развърже въжетата. Ненадейно и безшумно нещо меко и тежко падна върху главата му и две яки ръце го стиснаха през кръста.

Той се мъчеше да се освободи, като бесен риташе с крака, искаше да извика, но дебелото вълнено покривало заглушаваше вика. Пъшкаше, без да може да си поеме дъх.

Почувства, че губи сили, и престана да се съпротивлява. Последното нещо, което чу, беше един дрезгав, див смях. После изгуби съзнание и се строполи на мостика като сноп.

XVI. Martin Plays a Lone Hand

For seconds that seemed like minutes the silence of the deep tunnel was broken only by the shriek of the spouting gas. Martin’s eyes were glued upon the face of Odan, who stood as motionless as himself, still with that smile of cruel triumph on his great, beast-like face.

Hymer broke the spell. His lips were close to Martin’s ear.

“Your fire-shooter,” the priest said urgently. “Kill him. It is our only chance.”

Martin knew it. Like a flash his hand dropped to his pocket—or rather to where his pocket had been. For the moment he had completely forgotten his change of clothes. Instead of the rough tweed of his Norfolk jacket, his hand met the soft stuff of his Lemurian tunic. “I haven’t got it,” he answered dully. “It’s in my other things.”

“Your knife, then.” And without an instant’s pause the priest drew his own, a dagger of bronze with a broad, leaf-shaped blade, keen as fine steel and very nearly as hard.

Dagger in right hand, lamp in left, Hymer made a quick rush at Odan.

For an instant Odan seemed to hesitate, to be making up his mind whether to hold his ground, and meet his old enemy face to face. But only for an instant. Then he turned, and was off up the tunnel with such strides as made pursuit seem hopeless.

Hopeless so far as Hymer’s short square frame was concerned, and he knew it. Martin, close behind him, saw the priest raise his hand above his head and caught the gleam of the lamplight on the yellow blade of the dagger as it whizzed through the air. Like a flash of golden fire it struck Odan true and straight between his vast shoulders, but only to fall ringing from his armor to the floor.

Hymer stopped short. He could run no more. Martin heard the panting breath wheeze from his lungs as he himself shot past. He had found his knife, and, reckless of consequences, ran fiercely on the trail of Odan, resolved to stop him or to perish in the attempt.

Next moment Odan had vanished round a bend in the passage. Martin caught the flash of his golden armor as he thundered round the curve. Still he followed, but only to find himself in pitch darkness. Hymer had the lamp. Once out of the radius of its light, the passage was black as a starless night.

But he could still hear the heavy clank of the giant’s metal-shod feet, and he pressed on blindly in pursuit.

Suddenly his foot caught in something lying on the floor across his path, he pitched forward, and fell with stunning force upon the stone floor of the passage.

Hymer’s anxious voice roused him.

“N-no. It—it’s nothing,” said Martin thickly. “A bit bruised, and all the breath knocked out of me. W-where’s Odan?”

“Gone,” answered Hymer in a tone of angry despair. “And with him have gone all our hopes for the future.”

“How on earth did he get in?” asked Martin.

“I cannot tell. I fear treachery. Some of the palace or temple servants may be secretly in his pay.”

“Well, if he has gone, it can’t be helped,” said Martin quietly. He was beginning to recover from the stunning effects of his fall which had been caused by Odan’s cloak cunningly dropped across Martin’s path. “What we have to do now is to repair the damage as best we may.”

“You do not understand,” said Hymer, and his voice more than his words made Martin understand how desperate was the case. “Our one hold over the brown men has been their superstition. As Master of the Fire, they feared even if they hated me. By this time Odan is telling them how they have been tricked. Their rage will be terrible.”

“We shall have to fight for it!”

“Fight!” repeated the priest bitterly. “How can we fight? A few score against thousands!”

Martin looked hard at Hymer. He had never seen the strong-faced priest in such despair. It did not seem to him that matters were any worse than they had been a couple of days earlier. Personally, he had no idea of taking it lying down.

“Cheer up!” he said. “You are forgetting that we can make gunpowder; that ought to be as good magic as anything else. Let’s get back and set to work. I don’t fancy these brown men will stand before bombs.”

Hymer lifted his heavy eyes.

“Boy,” he said quietly, “you put shame upon me. Let us do as you suggest. There may yet be a chance to defeat this evil one.”

If Hymer had seemed for the moment to lose heart, Martin soon found that he had not lost his energy. Once back in the temple he sent messengers this way and that. He collected his forces, and had the gates closed and guarded. Next he brought together a score of workmen, including several who were skilled in smelting metal.

To these he interpreted Martin’s directions as to making the metal receptacles for bombs. Having seen them started, Martin took others and went down into the tunnel to collect saltpetre.

The sulphur and charcoal had already been prepared, and before night everything was under way. Martin himself undertook the making of the gunpowder. Saltpetre has first to be washed so as to free it from chloride. This Martin had to do himself. But the men under him were, he found, quite capable of powdering the sulphur and of distilling the charcoal. He used the brown, or “red,” charcoal, which makes a very high explosive, much too powerful for use in a gun-barrel. As he had no books to consult it was fortunate that he had the exact proportions fixed in his memory. He used seventy-nine parts of saltpetre, eighteen of charcoal, and three of sulphur.

There was little sleep for any of them that night. Haste was everything. They had no idea what Odan was about, but he might attack at any minute. Martin snatched a nap while the powder was drying, a process which takes about three hours. He had no thermometer, but felt safe in leaving the explosive in charge of the priest who was keenly interested in the whole process.

Next morning the town still seemed quiet, and after breakfast Martin set to making fuses. The Lemurian workmen had finished several score of neat bomb cases of different sizes.

One thing Martin was desperately anxious about. This was his flying boat. As Hymer had promised, a guard of Royalist troops had been set over her, where she lay in the boat-house. They were believed to be still there; but Martin was afraid that when night came they would be rushed or lured away.

The more he thought, the more anxious he became. The Bat was his only link between these lost islands and America. If anything happened to her he could never build another. He might build the frame, perhaps, but not the engine.

As the hours went by the suspense grew worse and worse. Hymer had begged him to lie down and rest, but, tired as he was, he was too restless for that. At last, late in the evening, he went up to the look-out post on the roof of the vast dome. The great ball of the sun was dipping behind the black barrier of weed far in the west, and its crimson light shone slantingly over the town, and turned the calm water of the harbor to the color of blood.

He stood there, staring in the direction of the boat-house. He could see no one. There did not appear to be a soul on guard, or anywhere near the boat-house. The idea came to him that the guard had deserted, and on the heels of that thought followed a sudden resolve. He determined to go and fetch the Bat. There was a lake within the Temple grounds on which he could alight.

He turned quickly and hurried down the winding stair.

By this time Martin knew his way about the vast building. He had learned that there was a side door opening on to a road bordered by thick trees. It was the way by which the King went to the harbor.

Martin did not go straight to this door. First he visited his room and hid two bombs and his pistol in his clothes. Then he went quietly to the door, which he found guarded like all the other doors, but the guards, seeing Martin in his royal dress, simply saluted and made no attempt to stop him. By the time he had got outside the sun was down and the darkness falling swiftly.

The road appeared to be deserted. But though Martin’s whole mind was set upon the Bat, he was not taking unnecessary risks. He walked in the centre of the road and kept a sharp look-out on all sides.

He saw no one. The silence was uncanny. There was not a sound except a curious low booming made by the nightjars swooping in pursuit of night-flying insects. The quiet air was heavy with the scent of orange and magnolia.

Walking quickly, it was only a few minutes before he reached the point where the road opened on the broad quay. Here he stopped again, and looked to right and left. But for any movement, Lemuria might have been a city of the dead.

Taking courage, Martin walked straight to the boat-house. He paused outside and listened. Not a sound came.

“As I thought,” he said to himself. “The beggars have got the wind up and cleared. It’s lucky I came.”

He walked down the steps. The door was open. In the fast thickening gloom he could just catch the outline of the Bat lying motionless on the smooth water.

“Ah, you beauty!” he said. “It won’t be long before I have you safe. And even old Hymer won’t find it in his heart to blame me when he sees the Bat inside the temple grounds.”

He stepped down on to the floating pontoon, and stooped to loosen the mooring ropes. He was in the very act of untying the first knot when, without the slightest sound or warning, something thick and soft dropped over his head, and at the same instant a pair of powerful arms gripped him round the waist.

He struggled furiously, kicking out with all his might. He tried to shout, but the thick folds of the blanket-like stuff cut off all sound. He gasped for breath, but could not fill his lungs.

His head seemed to swell to the size of a balloon; his struggles ceased. The last thing he was conscious of was the sound of a harsh, cruel laugh which penetrated faintly to his dazed brain. Then his senses left him, and he collapsed limply on the boards of the pontoon.