Т. C. Бриджес
Приключенията на Мартин Крузо (18)

T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (18)

Мъдростта на изтока

Този стон отекна в скалистия свод и замря в безмълвните дълбини на пещерата. Мартин стигна до скалата, а ехото още не беше стихнало.

Той спря лодката, завърза я за една издатина и седна на най-високото място на скалата.

Тълпата от брега не издаваше никакъв звук. Чуваше се само пукането на факлите, които осветяваха с червеникава светлина втренчените любопитни лица.

Чакането беше мъчително. Мартин знаеше, че опасността ще дойде от дълбините на езерото. Но нямаше представа какво го очаква.

Минутите едва се влачеха. Внезапно по гладката повърхност на водата се появиха големи мехури, които се пукаха и изчезваха. Светлината на факлите ги оцветяваше. След това се появиха малки вълнички, които постепенно се разширяваха и се разбиваха в скалата.

Мартин гледаше мястото, откъдето излизаха. Пред смаяния му поглед водата бавно се разтвори и се показа една отвратителна глава.

Наистина чудовището от езерото на Изгубения остров беше страшно, но това беше още по-страшно. Наподобяваше крокодил. Главата му беше дълга шест стъпки, челюстите му приличаха на грамадна птича човка. Зъбите му бяха остри като игли и дълги около една педя. Големите му очи с големина на човешка глава, бяха полузакрити от клепачи с рогови плочки.

Чудовището впи хищен поглед в плячката си.

Върху рибообразното му тяло имаше един израстък, покрит с люспи.

Най-отвратителен беше цветът му — матовобял от устата до опашката, която се движеше бавно във водата.

Мартин разбра, че пред него стои плезиозавър, животно от предисторическите времена, по чудо оцеляло в тази пещера.

Страшното животно заплува бавно към скалата.

Загледан във втренчените зеници на влечугото, Мартин за миг забрави тези, които го следяха със затаен дъх. Той стоеше като вкаменен, докато страшният му неприятел приближаваше. Деляха ги едва десетина метра един от друг. Мартин не мърдаше, беше хипнотизиран като птица от змия.

Сигурно чудовището щеше да го довърши, ако не беше една факла, която загасна и с продължително свистене падна във водата.

Мартин скочи на крака. Ръката му инстинктивно потърси бомбите и светкавично извади една. Тъй като нямаше запалително вещество, той ги беше свързал с фитили, които горяха само четири-пет секунди. Щеше ли да успее да запали фитила, преди животното да достигне до него?

Въпреки опасността ръката му не трепна и той извади огнивото.

Фитилът се запали и се разхвърчаха искри. Мартин вдигна високо ръка. В същия миг чудовището се надигна. Грамадната му глава се подаде от водата. Челюстите му се разтвориха и пред Мартин зейна пастта му, широка три стъпки.

В този миг Мартин хвърли бомбата между острите зъби на чудовището. Челюстите се затвориха с трясък. Животното се поколеба за момент, който на Мартин се стори цяла вечност.

То отново се надигна. Мартин не отстъпи. Той знаеше, че всичко е безполезно, и искаше да покаже на Одън и шайката му как умира един англичанин.

Чу се глух пукот. Вдигна се черен дим и обезглавеното чудовище падна във водата.

Макар и мъртво, тялото продължаваше да се гърчи във водата. Конвулсиите на чудовището бяха страшни. То биеше по водата с грамадните перки и тежката си опашка. Подземното езеро беше цялото в пяна. Вълните се разбиваха в брега като по време на буря. Разнесе се силен тътен из цялата пещера.

Вцепенен, Мартин наблюдаваше ужасната агония. Чудовището бавно потъна във водната бездна. Коленете на Мартин се подгънаха. Пещерата заплува пред очите му като в мъгла. Със свръхчовешко усилие той надви слабостта си и се обърна към Одън и свитата му.

Великанът и белите стояха неподвижни, а медноцветните бяха легнали по корем.

По лицето на Одън се четеше яд, съмнение и страх. За него, който никога не беше виждал взрив с изключение на един гърмеж от Мартиновия пистолет, за него, който нямаше представа за свойствата на барута, това бе истинско чудо.

Мартин тържествуваше. Моментът беше благоприятен и трябваше да се действа, преди да се е разпръснало впечатлението от чудото. Той влезе в малката лодка и бързо стигна до брега.

Скочи на земята и тръгна към Одън.

— Искам да изпълниш обещанието си! — извика той, като го гледаше право в очите.

Грамадното тяло на Одън трепереше от гняв и страх. Дясната му ръка стоеше върху дръжката на меча. Ако Мартин проявеше и най-малка уплаха, Одън щеше да го насече на парчета. Но нито един мускул не трепна по лицето му — той гледаше великана спокойно, като че ли имаше цял полк зад себе си.

Одън с мъка изръмжа:

— Ти спечели, магьоснико! Аз държа на думата си! Можеш да си вървиш!

Мартин кимна с глава. Той презрително погледна изплашените лемури, взе една факла и решително тръгна по дългия проход.

Трябваше да побърза. Той познаваше жестокостта на Одън и не можеше напълно да му се довери.

Спомни си, че пет мили го делят от храма, където щеше да бъде в безопасност. Това разстояние трябваше да извърви пеша. Преди да стигне града, Одъновите хора можеха да се съвземат и насъскани от главатаря си, да го настигнат.

Мартин стигна първия завой на прохода и ускори ход. Скоро забеляза светлото кръгче на входа. Затича се и едва не извика от радост.

До входа го чакаха четиримата носачи с носилката. Като го видяха, те паднаха на колене. Мартин побутна най-близкия до себе си.

Човекът скочи на крака. Другите го последваха. Мартин се настани в носилката и посочи града.

Хората веднага тръгнаха. Мартин погледна назад към входа на пещерата. Там стояха и го наблюдаваха Одън и шайката му.

Носачите подтичваха. След един час щеше да стигне до града. Мартин беше сигурен, че в този момент Одън убеждава хората си да го последват.

— Ех, да беше тук „Летящата риба“! — промърмори Мартин и внезапно се изправи.

Погледна в далечината. Вдясно се намираше пристанището. Той видя една пътечка, която водеше право там.

— Оттук! — властно каза той, като посочи с пръст пътеката.

Послушни като роби, хората тръгнаха към пристанището. Той погледна зад себе си. Одъновите хора бяха напуснали пещерата и се бяха пръснали като мравки по полето.

„Не се и съмнявах — каза си Мартин, — че Одън ще иска да си отмъсти.“

XVIII. The Wisdom of the East

The sigh, caught by the vault of rock high in the darkness overhead, went whispering through the stillness of the cavern in a hideously uncanny fashion; and as Martin reached the rock the soft echoes were still murmuring through unseen depths of gloom.

Martin stepped out of his boat, tied the boat firmly to a projecting point of rock, and seated himself upon the highest point of the crag, which was something less than his own height above the water.

After that first sigh dead silence had fallen again on the crowd of watchers who stood on the shore of the subterranean lake. It seemed to Martin that they hardly breathed. The only sound that broke the stillness was the slight crackle of the torches which blazed steadily, flinging a blood red light upon the strained faces of the men and upon the ebony surface of the water.

The suspense was abominable, Martin knew by this time that the peril, whatever it was, would rise from the depths beneath him, yet even he was not prepared for the horror that was to come.

A minute dragged by—two. Each seemed an hour. Then Martin saw large bubbles rising to the surface of the smooth water. They shone iridescent in the torch glare, broke and vanished.

Next, ripples broke the jet-black mirror, and rolled slowly away to the edge, lapping, with a hollow sound, against the surrounding rocks.

Martin fixed his eyes upon the point from which they started, and almost at once the surface broke, and out of the abyss rose a head hideous beyond the wildest nightmare.

Dreadful as had been the monster of the lake in Lost Island, this was a thousand times worse. Shaped somewhat like that of a crocodile, the head was at least six feet in length but the jaws resembled rather the beak of a monstrous bird than those of the lizard tribe. They were solid bone, and were set with hundreds of teeth sharp as lancets and about three inches long.

Behind the teeth and set on each side of the vast scaly skull was a pair of eyes, each as large as a man’s head and protected by a series of bony plates. These eyes were fixed on Martin with a pitiless glare. It flashed across him that their owner considered him as much its own as a parrot would a hemp seed in its tray.

Behind the head stretched a fish-like body, with a scaled crest down its monstrous back.

But the horror of the thing was its color. It was dead white—white as chalk, from the tip of its long, beak-like jaws to the tail waving slowly under the dark waters. If Martin had had time to think, he would have found this natural enough; all cave creatures who live their lives shut away from the sun are albino.

Even if he had thought of this, it would not have lessened the horror of the sight. This much he did realize—that the creature was a plesiosaurus, a relic of earth’s early ages, strangely preserved in this forgotten ancient land.

Slowly and deliberately the horror swam towards the little pinnacle of rock. There was not the slightest hesitation about its movements, nor any hurry. With a thrill of horror Martin felt that it was accustomed to be fed in this dreadful fashion, and he vaguely wondered how many unfortunates had stood where he was standing, waiting for the inevitable end.

His eyes were fixed on the great staring, expressionless orbs of the lizard, and for the moment he had forgotten the watchers and every thing else. He stood as if frozen to stone while his hideous enemy came steadily towards him.

The creature’s beak was within a dozen yards, and still Martin did not move. Though he himself did not know it, he was hypnotized by the stony glare of the plesiosaurus’s eyes; fascinated just as a bird is by the snake which glides upon it.

So he would have remained till the monster snatched him from his pinnacle, but for a mere chance. A torch burnt out, and fell hissing into the water.

It was enough. Slight as the sound was, it broke the spell, and Martin wrenched himself into life again. Instinctively his hand flew to his bombs. Quick as light he pulled one out. Having no fulminate, Martin had fitted these bombs with a slow fuse, a very short one, reckoned to burn no more than four or five seconds. The question flashed through his brain whether he would have time to light it before the brute was upon him.

Urgent as the peril was, his hand did not shake as he pulled out his match and lit the fuse.

It fizzed up, with a small red glow, throwing out a little shower of hissing sparks. Martin raised the bomb above his head in his right hand, and, as he did so, the monster also rose.

Its vast pale head shot up out of the lake with the water streaming off it; its beak-like jaws opened, gaping a yard apart.

In a flash Martin saw his chance and took it. With all his force he flung the little bomb straight in between those double rows of knife-like teeth.

With a clang like the slamming of a steel door the jaws closed. For an instant the brute seemed to hesitate. An instant only, yet to Martin it was an age of agony. If his home-made fuse failed him his last chance of life was gone; there would be no time to prepare the second bomb.

The head was darting forward again. Martin did not move. He knew it was useless, and at any rate he would show Odan and his brutal crew that he knew how to meet death.

Then—then a thud. Not a loud explosion but something more like the sound made by a dynamite cartridge exploding under the stump of a tree.

A puff of dark smoke, and as it rose, the monster, headless, fell back into the lake.

Down crashed that ponderous body, flinging the spray high as Martin’s head. But though the dreadful creature was to all intents and purposes dead, yet the slow lizard life within it caused it to lash the water fearfully.

Its struggles were a fearsome sight. Like a whale in its death flurry it thrashed the water with its fish-like fins and its long tail. The whole of the great underground lake boiled and foamed, and waves beat upon the shore as in a storm. The crashes and splashings sent echoes booming and thundering through all the vast cavern. They beat back from the rock dome high overhead with a deafening, appalling clamor.

Martin watched, fascinated, during the few moments that the dying agonies lasted. Then slowly the monster sank beneath the waves, and went glimmering down into the unknown depths. And Martin felt his knees like water under him, while the cave and all it contained swam mistily before his eyes.

But the will within him was strong. He knew that now, of all times, he must not show the white feather. With a tremendous effort he pulled himself together and faced Odan and his followers.

Odan and the Norsemen were still on their feet; but as for the brown men, one and all were down on their marrow-bones. Some, indeed, were flat on their faces on the rocks.

As for Odan himself—fury, unbelief, but more than that—fear was written large on his heavy countenance. Never having seen an explosive in his life except a shot from Martin’s pistol, having no idea whatever of the properties of gunpowder, this was to him the greatest miracle of all.

A sudden wave of triumph swept through Martin’s veins. He made up his mind that now was the time to act. He must not wait for the effect to wear off. At once he stepped into the boat, picked up the paddle, and with a couple of strong strokes sent the little craft across to the bank.

Stepping out, he walked straight up to Odan.

“I claim your promise,” he said, looking the giant in the eyes.

Odan’s gigantic frame quivered with rage and fear combined. His great right hand moved towards his sword hilt. If Martin then had shown the slightest sign of fear, Odan would have cut him down. But not a muscle of the boy’s face quivered, and he faced the leader as calmly as though he himself had a regiment behind him.

Odan uttered a curse under his tawny mustache.

“You have won, wizard!” he said savagely. “I keep my word. You can go.”

Martin merely nodded. He glanced scornfully at the mob of terrified Lemurians, then, taking a torch from one of the men, strolled coolly off up the tunnel leading to fresh air and freedom.

Calm as he looked, in reality Martin was far from happy. By this time he knew Odan’s savage mind far too well to trust him. He remembered that he was five good miles from even such safety as the temple afforded, and the only way to cover the distance was afoot. Long before he could return to the capital, Odan’s men would have recovered from their panic, and with Odan encouraging them would be at his heels.

Once round the first curve in the tunnel, he quickened his pace. A moment or two later he caught sight of the circle of bright light which was the entrance to the tunnel. He almost ran, and in spite of his danger could have shouted with joy when he found himself outside the fearsome place, and in the full glare of the hot sun.

He looked round. The litter stood where he had left it, and to his astonishment and relief the four brown men who had carried it were still with it. Boldness, Martin felt, was his best policy. He walked straight across to it.

The faces of the bearers were a study. It was quite certain that they had never expected to see him again, either alive or dead. All four dropped on their knees as he came up to them.

Martin smiled inwardly.

“They must take me for a ghost,” he said to himself.

“Get up!” he said curtly, and as they did not move he administered a gentle kick to the nearest.

The man sprang instantly to his feet and the others followed his example. Martin stepped into the litter and pointed towards the city.

“Get on with you!” he said sharply.

It was his gesture, not his words, that the men understood. They lifted the litter and started off. Martin glanced back in the direction of the tunnel. But there was no sign of Odan and his crew.

“That’s all to the good,” said Martin aloud. “But I wish I hadn’t quite so far to go.”

The bearers went on at a sort of jog-trot, a rate at which they would cover about five miles an hour.

Martin’s brain was working double tides. He was perfectly certain that at that moment Odan was haranguing his men, trying to start them in pursuit.

“If I’d only got my plane,” he muttered.

He started sharply, for an idea had suddenly flashed into his head.

He looked out. A long way off to his right he could see the upper part of the harbor, the calm water lying like a blue mirror under the sun blaze. He saw something else, and that was a road or track running off the one he was traveling in the direction of the harbor. No doubt it was the one along which the salt was carried for shipment.

He leaned over, and pointed out this track to his men.

“That way!” he said sharply.

Obedient as slaves, the men turned down the side road and jogged sharply onwards. Martin glanced back.

Near the cave mouth men, looking like a swarm of ants in the distance, streamed across the plain.

“I thought as much,” he muttered. “Odan’s on the job.”