Black Hand Gang (24 page)

As the path curved gently he was able to look over the edge of the basket and see another caterpillar beast ahead of them. It crawled along on stumpy legs with an elegance and agility that belied its bulk. A rider sat behind its head on a howdah, guiding the thing with a series of reins. It cleared the trail before them, crushing undergrowth and boughs in it way or eating its way through overgrown vegetation. Another larval beast of burden brought up the column to the rear; this one slightly shorter and covered in sharp spines. It was purple-black in colour with fearsome looking yellow markings on its face. Whether this was just defensive colouring or not, Jeffries couldn't tell, but it definitely looked more warlike than did its pale, plodding cousin.

Around him, the small cheerless khaki-clad band of warriors sat hunched in groups under the ever-watchful eyes of their captors. Some Tommies glanced back with glowering, baleful and resentful stares, others with fear and anxiety, some muttered amongst themselves about 'the Chatts'. Jeffries could only assume they meant their captors and not the lice that infected their clothes. A snort of derision escaped his nostrils. It was a suitably derogatory term. However, where they felt beaten and defeated, he experienced a curious sense of self-confidence he had not felt since he arrived here on this world. He sat with the rest of the prisoners, although he never for one moment considered himself one of their number. He felt buoyed. He had wanted to talk to the Khungarrii and here they were. Of course, those great insects, walking upright in a dark chitinous mockery of man, didn't talk to him, but then he deduced they were merely soldiers. Soldier ants.

Peculiarly, with every peristaltic ripple that took him further and further from the entrenchment and the possibility of it returning to the Somme without him, Jeffries began to feel increasingly free.

Ahead, in another cradle, he could see Captain Grantham slumped, head bowed, defeated. The man was a joke. A weak insipid leader whose mind could barely take the brunt of war, let alone this magnificent world. He had long ago exceeded the limits of his comprehension. The nurses sobbed, cried and comforted one another; the apparent repugnance of their captors reducing them to the emotional imbecilic wrecks their gender inevitably devolved to under stress.

The soldiers weren't tied or chained and several decided to leap over the side of their cradle and made a break for freedom into the surrounding jungle to the encouraging cheers of their less opportunistic fellows. The vicarious victory didn't last long, brutally quashed as it was by the subsequent roars and screams from the undergrowth that, to Jeffries amusement, muted his fellows enthusiasm; there was no need for shackles when their captors knew the environment would seek to kill them at every turn.

There were about eighty of the Khungarrii, some riding in cradles, some stood on the backs of the caterpillar beasts, others walking alongside them. If they fell behind, they would use their powerful legs, bounding ten or twenty feet at a time until they caught up. Jeffries made sure to keep Napoo close to him. He was his best source of information right now and, for the moment at least, that made him valuable. He asked low whispered questions out of the side of his mouth.

"Where are the Khungarrii taking us?"

"To Khungarr," replied Napoo. There was no doubt the Urman might escape and indeed survive, but he obviously had mixed feelings and felt some loyalty to the soldiers.

"Are all Khungarrii like these?"

"No, these are Scentirrii. Soldier caste. You can tell by their armour. It is thicker and heavier than those of the Worker or Anointed castes. They spit a burning spray."

From behind came the irritating mumbles of that sham priest, muttering his feeble invocations and prayers. A sneer curled Jeffries' lip as he listened and he shook his head in disbelief.

Some of their captors held hollow lances attached to clay packs on their backs. Some sort of gun? Occasionally they would threaten the captives with them, chattering unintelligibly through gnashing mandibles in their harsh, guttural language.

"There!" hissed Napoo, grabbing Jeffries' arm and pointing. Through brief gaps in the canopy, Jeffries caught sight of a huge mound-like edifice. It must have been hundreds of feet high. Its colour was the same dark cinnamon upon which the caterpillar beasts walked, flecks of mica bound into its walls reflecting the sunlight in a myriad places and directions. Jeffries realised that this must have been what had seen from the aeroplane.

Jeffries' heart sank. He had been hoping for something more...
civilised
, that would belittle everything the British Empire had to offer. Nevertheless, the brief glimpse afforded him by the aeroplane couldn't do justice to the enormous scale of the structure. This was a feat of engineering on a par with that of the ancient pyramids of Egypt. Its sheer height and bulk dwarfed many of the great and noble British Institutions, although it could not match them for grandeur.

As they neared the edifice, the trees grew thinner and the path along which they travelled grew wider. They left the forest and entered a huge, well-managed clearing that spread for hundreds of yards around the earthen edifice. The sight drew gasps and groans of despair from the others in marked contrast to the seemingly excited clicks and chittering from the Chatts alongside them. Huge asymmetrical buttresses rose up the sides of the tower to varying heights as if shoring up the earthen mound. Small balconies could be seen dotted about the shell of the edifice, each occupied by an insect.

As the great caterpillar beasts undulated across the clearing, Jeffries noticed lines of other arthropods filing from various forest paths towards apertures in the base of the mound. They were of a different genus to their captors, less well armoured with smaller heads and shorter antennae. As they approached, Jeffries saw that men - Urmen - were among their number, carrying baskets or dragging litters, transporting food and materials to the edifice under the watchful eyes of the accompanying Khungarrii.

In the cradle ahead of him, Jeffries could hear those damn women wailing at the sight. And from behind came the throttled voice of the Padre, "Oh Lord, we are delivered into bondage."

As they passed into the shadow of the edifice, a large archway gaped before them and they entered into a great cathedral-like space. There the larval beasts were drawn to a halt against raised jetties, berthed there like boats so that the passengers, guards and captives alike might make an efficacious exit from the cradles. They were then led up sloping passages, before coming to a circular portal.

The door seemed to be made of tough, fibrous plant material, covered with sharp, close-set thorns. One of the Chatts hissed at the door, expelling a spray from its mouth. The portal recoiled from the chemical mist, dilating open. Once the last man was ushered through, the door sealed behind him. Twenty-five soldiers, Napoo and three nurses found themselves incarcerated in a circular cell.

Jeffries looked around their gaol. He noted that this side of the door was also bristling with close set thorns. Dim light filtered down from small windows high in the wall of the chamber. Also high up in the wall was a hole, from which could be heard a profusion of clicks and pops and from which proceeded a draught of air. A ventilation system, Jeffries thought. There was another source of light coming from a small hole in the floor at the far side of the room. Jeffries, suspecting what it was, peered over it gingerly. Through the hole, he could see the side of the tower plunging vertiginously away. The hole was a
garderobe
of sorts, a primitive toilet. Well, that was something, he supposed. He looked around the rest of the chamber. In places, the rough cinnamon-coloured walls were shiny, having been worn smooth over time by previous occupants, presumably. Captain Grantham sat against the wall, all pretence gone now, his authority all but evaporated. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he kept muttering. Jeffries, on the other hand, felt entirely calm and was quite content to wait.

He waited some hours and amused himself watching a group of Tommies commandeer one of the nurse's white aprons and push it down out of the garderobe, to hang like a signal flag for any potential rescuers to see.

It was several hours before the membranous plant-like door dilated open again. A few of the Tommies, who had been muttering together, suddenly rushed the aperture; no doubt in the hope of escape.

"No!" cried Napoo, but it was too late. Crackling blue bolts of electrical energy met them as two Khungarrii Scentirrii discharged their lances. The soldiers jerked spasmodically for a moment before the light died and they crumpled to the floor. One of the nurses let out a scream, though the involuntary twitching of the fallen bodies showed that they were still alive. The two guards then stood to either side of the doorway, holding their lances.

Three more arthropod creatures entered the chamber. One was tall and slender and wore a light cloak with a cowl over its head, covering its antenna. Its chitin was smooth and off-white, like bone china. Other than its eyes, maw and antennae, the dermal bone of its head was a featureless ovoid. Beneath the cloak, the creature wore a long length of tasselled white cloth wrapped over its right shoulder and down across its thorax, through which stunted, vestigial middle limbs tipped with single claws protruded.

Hunched with subservience, the second Chatt was of a similar build. It wore no cloak but it did wear the same manner of cloth, though it had fewer tassels. Was that a rank thing? Jeffries realised its antennae were broken off, leaving little more than stumps.

The third Chatt was more thickly built and heavily armoured than its companions, its faceplate flatter and broader with a suggestion of horns or antler nubs. It was similar in build and stature to the Khungarrii warriors behind it but for the surcoat of scarlet cloth it wore over its heavily armoured form, which did little to hide the bony protuberances rising from its armour.

The cloth they wore seemed to be some form of silk, though whether it was spun by the creatures themselves or farmed from another species Jeffries could not fathom; the garments served no practical purpose that he could see, they were probably more ceremonial, like ecclesiastical vestments, he surmised.

"Who among you speaks for your herd?" the tall, cowled one rasped, the clicking of its mandibles punctuating its dialogue. It spoke with a breathless, hissing vocalisation as if, like a cancer patient struggling to communicate via oesophageal speech, it was forcing itself to use organs for purposes other than for which they had evolved. All eyes turned warily towards Captain Grantham. He looked up with red-rimmed eyes, hardly seeming to comprehend what was happening. Jeffries watched the man struggle briefly with his conscience before remaining seated, stifling sobs. He felt no pity for the broken man. He was half-tempted to stand himself, but he had no idea of the Chatts' intentions. They could merely want to kill the leader. He would wait and see.

After a moment Padre Rand stood and, faltering, cleared his throat.

"I am. These people are under my protection," said the chaplain, his voice cracking as he held aloft his battered leather Bible, "and that of our Lord God, who watches over us."

Jeffries gave the man kudos for that. That was one thing you could say about the Catholic chaplains. They had guts, going up to the Front Line with only a copy of the Bible and their faith for protection. That was what endeared them to the men generally, that and the fact that many of them came from the lower classes and weren't all well-to-do la-de-da-types, like the C of E chaplains.

There was a brief discussion among the Chatts, with some animated waving of antennae, before they turned back to address the Padre.

However, Jeffries did not want this man, this mewling milksop of a shepherd, to speak for him, to assume authority over him. Whatever secrets and confidences these creatures had to share, they were his. He would not give up now. Seeing that it was safe, at least for now, Jeffries rose to his feet and coughed politely. "Thank you, there's no need, Padre," he said. He turned to the Chatts. "I'm next in command."

Padre Rand, unsure, looked at him then down at his Bible. Jeffries put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Sit down, Padre. This is my responsibility."

Padre Rand nodded and sank thankfully to the floor.

Jeffries stepped forward, his arms wide.

"I am Lieutenant Gilbert Jeffries, Number 4 Platoon, C Company, 13
^th
Battalion of the Pennine Fusiliers."

The tall, regal Chatt regarded him, its antennae waving gently in his direction.

"This One is Sirigar, liya-dhuyumirri, high anointed one of the Khungarrii Shura," it said, its mandibles clicking and rubbing together like knitting needles. "That One is Chandar, this one's gon-dhuyumirri olfactotum," it indicated the smaller, submissive Chatt, and then the larger creature. "And that One is Rhengar, Scenturion, njurru-scentirri of Khungarr."

Introductions complete, the creature turned back to the huddled captives. "This One offers you a blessing in the name of GarSuleth," it said. It opened its arms, pulling wide the robe it wore, revealing more clearly the smaller vestigial limbs at its abdomen, also splayed, and then raised its head. From somewhere within its mouthparts it sprayed mist into the air. Jeffries breathed in and, within seconds, recognised the feeling of mild drug-induced euphoria. Keeping eye contact with the round, glassy unblinking eyes before him he inhaled again, slowly, deeply, deliberately.

Edith hugged Nelly and Sister Fenton for reassurance. Some of the men closed ranks in front of them. The horrors of the last few days had begun to numb her, but the sound of the Officer's voice picked at the thick scab of denial that had grown over her recent experiences to the raw emotional wound beneath. There was something about his tone, supercilious and defiant. The insect spoke back. In English. Edith could feel the hairs on the back of her neck bristle with fear. There was a hiss of spray as the creature dosed the air with a vapour from its mouth. Almost immediately, the world seemed to slow down. The fears and terrors of the recent past lifted from her, like dandelion clocks drifting away on her outward breath. A languid sigh escaped her lips as she sank down to the floor with her companions. Senses baffled, a great lethargy overcame her. She looked up. The officer was still standing as the others sank to the floor around him. She was sure she knew his voice but her thoughts had become as thick and slow as treacle and then they ceased to bother her altogether. These creatures would not harm them. She forced her eyes slowly upward and looked at them, feeling content.