Текст книги "Leopard Hunts in Darkness"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
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It had been during his-first year as an undergraduate at the University of Rhodelia. He had gone home to spend the long vacation with his grandfather. Gideon Kumalo was the assistant headmaster at Khami Mission School, just outside the town of Bulawayo.

"I have a great treat for you," the old man had greeted him, smiling through the thick lenses of his spectacles. He still had a little of his eyesight left, though within the following five years he would lose the last vestiges of it.

"We are going on a journey together, Vundla." It was the old man's pet name for him. VundLa, the hare, the clever lively animal always beloved by the Africans. The slaves had taken him with them in legend to America in the form of Bret Rabbit.

The two of them took the bus northwards, changing half a dozen times at lonely trading, stores or remote crossroads, sometimes waiting for forty-eight hours at a stop, when their connection was delayed. However, the delay did not rankle. They made a picnic of it, sitting at night round their camp-fire and talking.

What marvelous stories old grandfather Gideon could tell. Fables and legends and tribal histories, but it was the histories that fascinated Tungata. He could hear them repeated fifty times without tiring of them: the story of Mzilikazi's exodus from Zululand, and the umfecane, the war with the Boers, and the crossing of the Limpopo river.

He could recite the names of the glorious imp is and the men who had commanded them, the campaigns they had waged and the battle honours they had won.

Most especially, he learned from the old man the history 0 f the "Motes who burrowed under a mountain', the impi that had been founded and commanded by his great grandfather, Baro the Axe. He learned to sing the war songs and the praise songs of the Moles, and he dreamed that in a perfect world he would himself have commanded the Moles one day, wearing the regimental head-band of mole-skin and the furs and the feathers.

So the pair, the greybeard with failing eyesight and the stripling, travelled together for five leisurely companionship-filled days, until at the old man's request, the rackety, dusty old bus set them down on a rutted dirt track in the forest.

"Mark this spot well, Vundla," Gideon instructed. "Here, the water-course with the fall of rock, and the kopje over there shaped likea sleeping lion this is the starting point.

*I "They set off northwards through the forest, following a Succession of landmarks that the old man made him recite in the form of a rhyming poem. Tungata found he could still recite it without hesitation: The beginning is the lion that sleeps, follow his gaze to the crossing place of the e rant-" It was another three days" travel at Gideon's reduced "pace before he toiled up the steep hillside with Tungata handing him over the worst places, and they stood before the tomb of Lobengula at last.

Tungata remembered kneeling before the tomb, sucking blood from the self-inflicted cut on his wrist and spitting the blood on the rocks that blocked the entrance and Yrandfaffier the terrible oath -of secrecy after hisL repeating guardianship. Of course neither the old man nor the and oath had mentioned diamonds or treasure. Tungata. had merely sworn to guard the secret of the tomb, passing it to his chosen son, until the day when "The children of Mashobane cry out for succour , and the stones are burst open to free the spirit of Lobengula, and it shall come forth like fire Lobengula's fire! After the ceremony the old man had lain down in die shade of the ficus tree that grew beside the entrance, and, exhausted by the long joupey, had slept until nightfall.

Tungata had remained awake examining the tomb and the area around it. He had found certain signs that had led him to a conclusion that he did not confide to his grandfather, not then nor during the journey homewards.

He had not wanted to alarm and disturb Gideon, his love for him was too great and protective.

Peter Fungabera's voice intruded on his reverie, jerking him back to the present.

"In fact, we are privileged to have with us at this very moment an illustrious member of the Kumalo clan, and the present guardian of the old robber's tomb, the honourable Comrade Minister Tungata Zebiwe." The white man's pale, cruel eyes riveted him, and Tungata stiffened on the hard wooden bench. Tungata tried his voice, and found that even the small quantity of water that he had taken had eased his throat. His voice was deep and measured, only slightly ragged at the edges.

"You delude yourself, Fungabera." He made the name in to an insult, but Peter's smile never slipped. "I know nothing of this nonsense that you have dreamed up, and even if I did-" Tungata did not have to finish the sentence.

"You will find my patience inexhaustible Peter promised him. "The diamonds have lain there ninety years. A few more weeks will not spoil them. I have brought with me a doctor to supervise your treatment. We will find " just how much you can bear before your Matabele courage fails you. On the other hand, you have the option at any time to make an end to this un leasantness. You can elect to P take us to Lobengula's burial site, and immediately after you have done so, I will arrange to have you flown out of the country to any destination of your choice-" Peter Paused before adding the final sweetener to his proposition and with you will go the young woman who so gallantly defended you in the courtroom, Sarah Nyoni." This time there was a flash of emotion behind the contemptuous mask of Tungata's features.

2, "Oh yes," Peter nodded. "We have her safely taken care of." "Your lies need no denial. If you had her, you would have used her already." Tungata forced himself to believe that Sarah would have obeyed him. She had read and understood the hand, sign that he had flashed to her across the courtroom as he was being led away. "Take cover! Hide yourself. You are in danger!" he had ordered her and she Ld acknowledged and agreed. She was safe, he had to leve that, it was all he had to believe in.

"We shall see," Peter Fungabera promised.

Not that it matters." Tungata had to try and protect her, now that it was clear that the Shana were hunting for Sarah. "She is a mere woman do what you will to her. It will mean little to me." Fungabera raised his voice. "Captain!" The guard commander came immediately. "Take the prisoner back to his quarters. His treatment will be ordered and supervised by the doctor. Do you understand?" When they were alone, Colonel Bukharin said quietly, "He will not be easy. He has physical strength and something else beyond that. Some men simply will not bend, even under the most extreme coercion."

"It may take a little time, but in the end-"

"I am not so certain," Bukhariri sighed morosely. "Do you v indeed have the woman you spoke of, this Sarah Nyoni?" Peter hesitated. "Not yet. She has disappeared, but again, it's only a matter of time. She cannot hide for ever."

"Time," Colonel Bukharin repeated. "Yes, there is a time for everything, but your time is passing. This thing must be done soon, or not at all."

ics'l

"Days only, not wee Peter promised, but his voice had become thin and Colopel Bukharin, the consummate hunter of men, sensed his Advantage.

"This Zebiwe is a hard man, I am not sure he will respond th to the treatment at our clinic. I do not like is business of a diamond treasure. it smacks too much of a story for young boys. And I do not like the fact that you have let this Matabele woman elude you. This whole business begins to depress me."

"You are unduly pessimistic everything is going well. I need just a little time to prove it to you."

"You already know that I cannot remain here much longer, I must return to Moscow. And what must I tell them there that you are digging for treasure?" Bukharin threw up both hands. "They will believe that I am turning senile."

"A month," Peter Fungabera said. "I need another month."

"Today is the tenth. You have until the last day of the month to deliver both money and the man to us "That is cutting it too fine," Peter protested.

"On the first of next month, I will return. If on that date you cannot deliver, I will recommend to my superiors that this entire project be aborted." he adder was almost six feet long and seemed as gross as a pregnant sow. It was coiled upon itself in a corner of the mesh cage, and the patterning of its scales was in soft purples and golds, in russet and madder, all the colours of autumn enclosed in perfect diamonds each of which was outlined in the black of mourning.

However, the colours and patterns were not sufficiently Spectacular to divert attention from. the creature's hideous head. It was the size of a Poisonous gourd, but shaped like the ace of spades, flattening and tapering to the snout with its nostril slits. The adder's eyes were bright as beads of polished jet and its tongue was bifurcated and feathery light as it slipped in and out between the grinning lips.

"I can claim no credit for this," said Peter Fungabera.

"The good doctor is responsible for this little entertainment." He smiled at Tungata. "It is many days since last we spoke, and frankly, your time is up. So is mine. I must have your agreement today or else it does not matter. After today you are expendable, Comrade Zebiwe." Tungata was strapped to a sturdy chair of red Rhodesian teak. The mesh cage stood on the table before him.

"You were once in the Game Department," Peter Fun, gab era went on.

"So you will recognize this reptile as bit is gabonica, the Gaboon adder. It is one of the most venomous of African snakes, its toxicity exceeded only by the mamba.

However, its sting is more agonizing than either mamba or cobra. It is said that the pain drives men mad before they die. "stick He touched the cage with the tip of his swagger and the adder struck at him. The coils propelled the monstrous head across the cage in a liquid blur of movement, half its gross body serialized by the power of the strike; the jaws gaped to expose the butter-yellow lining of the throat, and the long recurved fangs were gleaming white as polished porcelain, as it crashed into the wire mesh with a force that shook the table. Even Peter Fungabera. jumped back involuntarily, and then chuckled apologetically.

"I cannot stand snakes," he explained. "They make my flesh crawl.

What about you, Comrade Minister?"

"Whatever you are planning, it is a bluff, Tungata answered. His voice was weaker now. Since their last meeting, he had spent many days at the wall in the sun.

His body seemed to have shrunk until it was too small for his head. His skin had a grey tone, and looked dusty and dry. "You cannot afford to let that thing sting me. I expect you have removed the poi " sacs." won "Doctor." Peter FuRgabera turned to the regimental doctor who sat at the far end of the table. He rose immediately and left the room.

"We were quite fortunate to find a specimen of the Gaboon," Peter Fungabera went on conversationally. "They are really rather rare, as you know." The doctor returned. He now wore thick gloves that reached to his elbows, and carried a large striped bush rat the size of a kitten. The rat squealed piercingly and struggled in his gloved hands.

Gingerly the doctor opened the door in the top of the mesh cage, dropped the rat through it and immediately snapped the sprung door closed. The " little animal scampered around the cage, testing the mesh walls with its nose and whiskers until suddenly it saw the adder in the corner. It leaped high an,l landed on stiff legs and then retreated into the opposite corner and crouched there, staring across the cage.

The adder began to uncoil, its scales glowing with al unearthly loveliness as it slid silently over the sanded floor.

towards the cornered rat. An unnatural stillness overcame the small animal. Its nose no longer twitched and wriggled.

It sank down on its belly, fluffed out its fur and watched with mesmeric fascination as repulsive death slid inexorably towards it.

Two feet from the rat the adder stopped, its neck arched into a taut "S" and then, so swiftly that the eye could not record it, it struck.

The rat was hurled back against the mesh, and immediately the adder withdrew, its coils flowing back upon itself Now there were tiny droplets of blood on the rat's russet fur, and its body began to pulsate rapidly. The limbs twitched and jumped without coordination and then, abruptly, it squealed, a shrill cry of unbearable agony, and rolled over on its back in the final convulsion of death.

The doctor lifted the carcass out of the cage with a pair of wooden tongs and carried it from the room.

"Of course," said Peter Fungabera. "You have many times the body mass of that rodent. With you it would take much longer." The doctor had returned and with him were the guard captain and two troopers.

"As I said, the doctor has designed the apparatus. I think he has done excellent work, given the limited materials and shortage of time." They lifted Tungata's chair and placed him closer to the cage. One of the troopers carried another smaller mesh cage. It was shaped like an oversized fencing helmet, and it fitted over Tungata's head, closing snugly around his throat. From the front of the encompassing helmet protruded a mesh tube that resembled the thickened and shortened trunk of a deformed elephant.

The two troopers stood behind Tungata's chair and forced him forward until the open tube of mesh aligned WIth the door of the adder's cage. Dexterously the Shana doctor clipped the tube of Tungata's helmet and the cage together.

"When the door of the cage is raised, you and the Gaboon will be sharing the same livin space." Tungata stared down the mesh tube to the door at its extremity.

"But we can stop this at any time you say the word."

"Your father was a dung-eating Shana hyena," said Tungata softly.

"We will induce the adder to leave its cage and join you in yours by applying heat to the far wall. I do advise you to be sensible, Comrade. Take us to bid Lobengula's tomb."

"The king's tomb is sacred-" Tungata broke off. He was weaker than he had realized. It had slipped out. Up to now he had stubbornly denied the existence of the tomb.

"Good," said Peter happily. "At least we have now agreed that there is a tomb. Now agree to take us there, and this will all end. A safe flight to another land, for you and the woman–2

"I spit on you, Fungabera, and I spit on the diseased whore that was your mother."

"Open the cage, "ordered Fungabera.

It rattled up in its runners and Tungata stared down the tube as though down the barrel of a rifle. The adder was coiled on the far side of the cage, staring back at him with those bright black eyes.

"There is still time, Comrade."

Tungata did not trust his voice to speak again. He J steeled himself, and stared into the adder's eyes, trying to dominate it.

"Proceed," said Peter, and one of the troopers placed a small charcoal brazier on the table. Tungata could feel the heat from it even where he sat. Slowly the soldier pushed the glowing stove closer to the far mesh of the cage, and the adder hissed explosively and uncoiled its body. To escape the heat, it began to slither towards the opening of the mesh tube.

"Quickly, Comrade," Peter urged him. "Say you will do it. There are only seconds left. I can still close the door." Tungata felt the sweat prickle as it burst out on his forehead and slid down his naked back. He wanted to shout a curse at Peter Fungabera, to consign him to a fate as horrid as this, but his pulse was pounding in his own ears, deafening him.

The adder hesitated at the mouth of the tube, reluctant to enter.

"There is still time," Peter whispered. "You do not deserve such a loathsome death say it? Say you will do id" Tungata had not realized how huge the adder was. Its eyes were only eighteen inches from his, and it hissed again as loudly as a punctured truck tyre, a vast exhalation of air that dinned in his eardrums. The trooper pushed the glowing charcoal brazier hard u against the mesh, and the adder thrust its head into the opening of the tube and its belly scales made a dry rasping sound against the wire.

"It's not too late yet." Peter Fungabera unbuckled the % flap of his holster and drew his pistol. He placed the muzzle against the wire, only inches from the adder's head. "Say the word, and I will blow its head off."

"Damn You to your own stinking Shana hell," whispered Tungata. He could smell the adder now, not a strong odour, a faint mousy sweetness tinged with corruption. It nauseated him. He felt vomit rise and scald the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and began to struggle against the straps that held him. The cage shook with his efforts, but the two troopers h8d his shoulders, and the great adder, alarmed by his movements, hissed again and arched its neck into the "S" of the strike.

Tungata stopped struggling and forced himself to remain still. He could feel his sweat pouring down his body, trickling coldly down his flanks and puddling under him on the seat of his chair.

Gradually the adder uncocked its neck, and crept forward towards his face. Six inches from his eyes, and Tungata sat still as a statue in his own sweat and loathing and horror. It was so close now that he could not focus on it. It was merely a blur that filled all his vision and then the adder shot out its tongue and explored his face with feather-light strokes of the black forked tongue.

Every nerve in Tungata's body was screwed up to snapping point, and his weakened body was overdosed with adrenalin so that he felt he was suffocating. He had to cling to consciousness. with all his remaining strength or he would have slipped over the edge into the black void of oblivion.

The adder moved on slowly. He could feel the cool slippery touch of coils across his cheek, under his ear, around the back of his n%k, and then, in a final orgasm of horror, he realized th4 the huge reptile was throwing coil after coil of its body about his head, enveloping him, covering his mouth and his nose. He dared not scream nor move, and the seconds drew out.

"He likes you," Peter Fungabera's voice had thickened with excitement and anticipation. "He's settling down with you Tungata swivelled his eyes and Peter was on the periphery of his field of vision, blurred by the fine mesh of the cage.

"We can't have that," Peter gloated, and Tungata saw his hand reach out towards the charcoal brazier. For the first time Tungata noticed that a thin steel rod, likea poker, had been thrust into the burning charcoal. "When Peter drew it out, the tip glowed red hot.

"This is your absolutely final chance to agree," he said.

"When I touch the creature with this, it will go crazy." He waited for a reply. "You cannot speak, of course. If you agree, just blink your eyes rapidly." Tungata stared fixedly at him through the mesh, trying to convey to him the universe of hatred that he experienced.

""Ah well, we tried," said Peter Fungabera. "Now you have only yourself to blame." He slipped the point of the glowing poker through the mesh and touched the adder with it. There was a sharp hiss of searing flesh, a tiny puff of stinking smoke and the adder went berserk.

Tungata felt the coils enfold his head, pumping and swelling, and then the great body whipped and slashed, filling the confined space of the cage with crazy uncoordi, noted convulsions. The cage banged and jarred and clattered, and Tungata lost control, he heard himself screaming, as terror engulfed him.

Then the snake's head filled his vision. Its jaws flared open, and its bright yellow throat gaped at him, as it struck into his face. The force of the strike stunned him. It hit him in the cheek below the eye, a heavy punch that jarred him so his teeth clashed together and he bit through his own tongue. Blood filled his mouth and he felt the long curved fangs snag into his flesh like fishhooks tugging and jerking, as they spurted jets of deadly toxin into his flesh and then, mercifully, darkness took him and Tungata slumped unconscious against the straps that held him. -V, ou've killed him you bloody idiod" Peter Fungo, hera's voice was s I brill and petulant with panic.

"No, no." The doctor was working quickly.

With the help of the troopers, he pulled the mesh helmet off Tungata's head. One of the troopers hurled the maimed adder against the wall and then crushed its head under the butt of an AK 47. "No. He's passed out, that's all. He was weak from the wall." Between them they lifted Tungata. and carried him to the camp-bed against the far wall. With exaggerated care they laid him on it, and swiftly the doctor checked his pulse.

"He's all right." He filled a disposable syringe from a glass ampoule, and shot it into Tungata's sweat-slicked upper arm. "I've given him a stimulant ah, there! The doctor's relief was obvious. "There! He is coming round already." The doctor swabbed the deep punctures in Tungata's cheek from which watery lymph was oozing.

There is always risk of infection from these bites," the d doctor explained anxiously. "I will inject an antibiotic." Tungata moaned arid muttered, and then began to struggle weakly. The troopers restrained him, until he came fully conscious and then they helped him into a sitting position. His eyes focused with difficulty on Peter Fungabera, and his confusion was obvious.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Comrade." Peter's voi nc ce was o O? more smooth and richly modulated.

"You are now one the privileged few who have had a glimpse of the beyond." The doctor still fussed over him, but Tungata's eyes never left Peter Fungabera's face.

"You do not understand," Peter said, "and nobody can blame you for that. You see, the good doctor hM removed the creature's poison sacs, as you suggested he might have." Tungata shook his head, unable to speak.

"The rat!" Peter spoke for him. "Yes, of course, the rat.

That was rather clever. Whilst he was out of the room the doctor gave it a little injection. He had tested the dosage on other rodents to get the correct delay. You were right, my dear Tungata, we aren't ready to let you go just yet.

Maybe next time, or the time after that you will the ver know for certain. Then of course, we might miscalculate.

There might, for instance, have been a little residual tori-.

in that adder's fangs-" Peter shrugged. "It's all very delicatu this time, next time who knows? How long can yot, keep it up, Comrade, before your mind snaps?"

"I can keep it up as long as you can," Tungata whispered huskily. "I give you my oath on that."

"Now, now, no rash promises," Peter scolded him mildly.

"The next little production that I am planning involves my puppies you have heard Fungabera's puppies, every night you have heard them. I am not sure how we can control them. It will be interesting you could easily lose an arm or a foot it only takes one snap of those jaws." Peter played with his swagger-stick, rolling it between his fingers. "The choice is yours, and of course it only takes one word from you to end it all." Peter held up one hand. "No, please don't tax yourself. There is no need to give an answer now. We'll let you have another few days at the wall to recuperate from this ordeal, and then-" t unga. a had lost track of time. He could not remember how many days he had spent at the wall, how many men he had seen executed, how many nights he had lain and listened to the hyena.

He found it difficult to think further ahead than the next bowl of water. The doctor had judged the amount required to keep him alive with precision. Thirst was a torment that never ceased, not even when he slept, for his nightmares now were filled with images of water lakes and running streams which he could not reach, rain that fell all around him and did not touch him, and raging, intolerable thirst.

Added to the thirst, Peter Fungabera's threat of delivering him to the hyena pack festered in his imagination and became more potent for every day that it was delayed.

Water and hyena they were beginning to drive him beyond the borders of sanity. He knew that he could not hold out much longer, and he wondered confusedly why he had held out this long. He had to keep reminding himself that Lobengula's tomb was all that was keeping him alive. While he had the secret, they could not kill him. He did not entertain for even a moment the hope that Peter Fungabera would keep his promise of sending him to safety once he led them to the tomb.

He had to stay alive, it was his duty. As long as he lived, there was still hope, however faint, of delivery. He knew that with his death his people would sink deeper into the tyrant's coils. He was their hope of salvation. It was his duty to them to live, even though death would now be a blessing and a release, he could not die. He must live on.

He waited in the icy darkness of pre-dawn, his body too stiff and weak to rise. This day they would have to carry him to the wall, or to whatever they had planned for him.

He hated that thought. He hated to show such weakness in front of them.

He heard the cam A guards, the orders i sound of blows and the cries of a prisoner in the adjoining cell being dragged to the execution wall.

Now soon they would come for him. He reached out for the water bowl and his disappointment hit him in a cold gust as he remembered that the previous evening he had not been able to control himself. The bowl was empty. He crouched over it and licked the enamel likea dog, in case a drop remained of the precious fluid. It was dry.

stir. The march of the less violence, the The bolts shot back and the door was flung open. The day had begun. Tungata tried to rise. He lurched up onto his knees. A guard entered and placed a large dark object on the threshold and then quietly withdrew. The door was bolted again and Tungata was left alone.

This had never happened before. Tungata was stupefied and uncomprehending. He crouched in the darkness and waited for something more to happen, but nothing did. He heard the other prisoners being led away, and then silence beyond the door of his cell.

The light began to strengthen and cautiously he examined the object that had been left by the guard. It was a plastic bucket, and in the dawn light the contents shimmered.

Water. A full gallon of water. He crawled to it and examined it, not yet beginning to hope. Once before, they had tricked him. They had doctored his water bowl and he had gulped down a mouthful before he realized that it was heavily laced with salt and bitter alum. The thirst that lowed had driven him delirious and shaking as though fol in malarial crisis.

Gingerly he dipped his forefinger into the liquid in the bucket and tasted a drop. It was sweet, clean water. He made a little whining sound in his throat, and scooped the empty bowl full of the precious fluid. He tilted back his head and poured the water down his throat. He drank with a terrible desperation, expecting that at any moment the oar would crash open and a guard would kick the bucket over.

He drank until his empty belly bulged, and pangs of colic stabbed through it. Then he rested for a few minutes, feeling the fluid flowing into his desiccated tissues, feeling them recharge with strength, and then he drank again, and rested and drank again. After three hours he urinated copiously in the toilet bucket for the first time in as long as he could remember.

When they finally came for him at noon, he could stand UP unaided and curse them with fluency and artistry.

r They led him towards the execution wall, and he felt almost cheerful. With his belly sloshing with water, he knew he could resist them for ever. The execution stake had no terror for him any longer. He had stood there too long and too often. He welcomed it as a part of the routine which he understood. He had reached the point where he feared only the unknown.

Halfway across the parade ground he realized that something was different. They had built a new structure facing the wall. A neatly thatched sun-shelter. Under the shelter two chairs were set and a table had been laid for lunch.

Seated at the table was the dreadfully familiar figure of Peter Fungabera. Tungata had not seen him for days, and his new-found courage faltered, weakness came back over him. He felt a rubbery give to his knees and he stumbled.

What had they planned for today? If only he knew, he could meet it. The uncertainty was the one truly unbearable torture.

Peter Fungabera was lunching and he did not even look up as Tungata was led' past the thatched shelter. Peter ate with his fingers in the African manner, taking the stiff white maize cake and moulding it into bite-sized balls, pressing a depression into it with his thumb and then filling it with a sauce of stewed greens and salted kapenta fish from Lake Kariba. The smell of the food flooded Tungata's mouth with I liva, but he trudged on towards so execution stake.

the wall and the There was only one other victim today, he noticed, narrowing his eyes against the glare. He was already strapped to one of the stakes. Then, with a small shock of surprise, Tungata realized that it was a woman.

She was naked a young woman. Her skin had a soft velvety sheen in the sunlight, like polished amber. Her body was graciously formed, her breasts symmetrical and firm, their aureolas were the colour of ripe mulberries, the nipples upturned and out-thrust. Her legs were long and Willowy, the bare feet small and neat. Bound as she was, she could not cover herself Tungata sensed her shame at her naked sex, nestled dark and fluffy in the juncture of her thighs likea tiny animal with separate life. He averted his eyes, looked up at her face and at last he despaired.

It was all over. The guards released his arms, and he tottered towards the young woman at the stake. Though her eyes were huge and dark with terror and shame, her first words were for him. She whi ered softly in Sindebele, SP "My lord, what have they done to you?"