Jane (42 page)

I had long dreaded our leave-taking from the parrots with whom we shared our tree—the only of our friends that could not be made to understand our absence. Indeed, I owed Mr. Grey an enormous debt of gratitude, as it had been he who had sounded the alarm when Kerchak had abducted me. It was while Tarzan was feeding the birds some of their favorite pawpaw seeds that I understood his unspoken anxiety about leaving the only home he had ever known. To look at the man, such a strong and heroic figure, one would naturally assume the wider world to be his oyster, exploration and feats of daring the everyday occurrence. But I had sung a lullaby to the tender little boy who still lived within him. He might never again show fear to another human being, but beating inside that strapping chest was a bruised and wary heart.

Indeed, it was an overlong good-bye with our feathered friends, and I saw Tarzan’s jaw clench as he climbed for the last time over the lip of his nest.

“You take good care of each other,” I told the parrots, “hatch many
balu,
” and followed Tarzan down.

We were climbing to the ridgetop of the Enduro Escarpment, as I’d wished to view the whole of Eden one last time. Each of us carried one of the bags holding Kerchak’s bones, so the upward passage was slow. We’d nearly reached the summit when the forest air erupted into sound.

Distinctive and unwelcome sound.

I have been such a fool,
I thought in sudden panic.
Such a bloody fool.

Conrath

There was no need to explain the calamity to Tarzan. He’d already set down his bag and was scrambling to the highest vantage point. I did the same.

The scene below us was hard to make out from so great a height. Only a fraction of the village was visible and a mere slice of the central clearing. But it looked as if the tribe’s population was gathered in a tight group at one side of it. No Waziri weapons were in evidence. Their postures suggested cowering.

We would have to move closer.

It was a silent scramble down the rock into the canopy and from there to the outskirts of the village. Tarzan leaped down to the thatched rooftops first and I followed. In this way we moved undetected toward the central clearing.

Without warning, the racket of rapid-fire explosions rent the air again. When it was silenced, I could make out the sounds of screaming. Children wailing in terror. Tarzan grasped my arm and pointed below. Hiding behind the men’s house was a pair of tribesmen armed with spears who had somehow evaded capture. Tarzan made the call of a bird, and they looked up at us at once. He signaled that they should continue stealthily forward along with us.

We arrived at the hut closest to the clearing and, dropping to our bellies, peered down. Now we could see the whole central square, the place where we had feasted with the Waziri and watched them dance around the fire. All of their spears, bows, and arrows had been tossed in a pile. Two dozen white men, some tough and wiry, others large and brawny, were spread about the clearing. They were European mercenaries, two who manned the still-smoking Gatling gun and the others, skittish, standing at rigid attention with their rifles aimed at the villagers. Before them were the bullet-ridden bodies of fifteen tribesmen. One of the soldiers lay dead with an arrow stuck in his eye. It appeared an attempt had been made to charge the invaders.

“Ulu is there,” Tarzan whispered. “I cannot see Chief Waziri.”

The charm doctor stood in the center of his people, giving no indication of his status to the captors. But the grey-haired leader was not to be found in the congregations of the living or the dead. Nor could I see Ral Conrath. I could hear his voice, though. He was right below us, under the thatch overhang.

“Damn savages,” he snarled.

Now striding across the clearing came Paul D’Arnot, red faced and raging. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

Conrath finally appeared below the lip of the hut. The sight of him made my stomach churn.

“Defending your pathetic ass from unprovoked attacks like that.” He jutted his chin at the dead mercenary.

“I was making progress with the chief … till this,” D’Arnot said.

“What do you call progress?”

“There is enough Bantu in their language so he understands you wished to go to the source of the necklaces—Sumbula. Of course he resisted at first, but with time…”

“Who said we had time?”

“Well, now you have nothing.”

“McKenzie!” Ral called out. “Bring him over here!”

On the far side of the clearing, a red-haired giant with his rifle dug into Chief Waziri’s back pushed the old man toward Ral Conrath. The headman’s face was expressionless, but his eyes fixed on the corpses bleeding out into the sacred ground.

“I have had enough,” D’Arnot spat. “I will not be a party to killing these people.”

“What’s this bleeding heart act all of a sudden?” Ral went toe to toe with the Frenchman. “I saw the look on your face when I told you what your cut would be. You would have slit your own mother’s throat for it. Don’t tell me now you didn’t know what you were getting into.”

D’Arnot glared at him. “How many more are you willing to kill to bring out this treasure?”

Ral smiled jauntily. “All of ’em eventually.” He appeared pleased by the horrified look that twisted D’Arnot’s face. “You know something, Paul? You haven’t been thinking straight. Did you really imagine the Waziri were going to let us waltz into their gold mine anytime we wanted?” He put a threatening hand around his interpreter’s throat. “But in the meantime, you’re going to tell the chief here I need a little guided tour—him and me and ten of his strongest men. And you’re going to make him understand that if we don’t all come out alive, everybody else dies—men, women, children.”

“I will not.”

“You will not?”
Conrath looked genuinely shocked. “Well, I guess that’s that, then.” Ral released D’Arnot, who turned away.

I felt my heart leap to see the Frenchman, finally, after all this carnage, do an honorable thing.

“D’Arnot,” Ral called to him.

Paul turned back with a hopeful look. Perhaps Ral had come to his senses. But in the next instant Conrath drew a pistol from his belt and with the most placid look fired into D’Arnot’s gut. Paul staggered backward, as surprised as he was agonized. He stood staring at his employer, covering the gushing wound with both hands, then collapsed faceup into the dirt.

That was all I could stand. I took aim at the subhuman beast with my arrow.

Tarzan stayed my hand. “Wait,” he whispered.

Chief Waziri was in the line of fire. Ral Conrath was gesturing for several of his men to separate out the required tribesmen and bring them to him.

I could see Ral fingering the gold ornament around the old man’s neck. “Take me there, where these come from,” he said, his voice icy. “I know you know the way. You’ll be my guide. You understand me, don’t you, you dumb jigboo.” He pointed to the Gatling gun, then pantomimed bullets taking down the Waziri tribesmen.

“I love this weapon,” Ral muttered and with his pistol dug into Chief Waziri’s back, led him, ten mercenaries, and an equal number of Waziri out of the village in the direction of the Sumbula peaks.

“We’ve got to do something,” I said.

“Wait until they are gone.” Tarzan’s eyes were following the party out of the village. “Till they cannot hear.” Then he peered down at the two tribesmen below us. “Stay here.” He leaped to the ground with the grace and silence of a cat, and gathered the men with an arm around each of them. He spoke quietly, making a plan.

*   *   *

Our arrows were loosed simultaneously and found their marks at the same instant. The mercenaries manning the Gatling gun were stunned by the projectiles that pierced their necks from behind and came protruding with a gush of blood from their throats. A pair of spears came hurtling from
walla
rooftops, impaling two men, and an instant later the Waziri fell down onto two others and dragged them silently from the clearing. Those who were as yet unmolested turned and began shooting with their rifles at the roofline from where they perceived the attack had come. But no enemy was to be seen. Tarzan and I had run stealthily to another rooftop position and let fly with our arrows. Another pair of men fell dead in their tracks.

The Waziri’s confusion had held them in their places at first. But when Tarzan and I raced into the clearing, Ulu found his voice.

“Jacuma tek gomadi!”
he cried, and all at once the women and children fell back and the tribesmen, unarmed, crossed the clearing and charged the remaining guards, now firing in panic at the approaching mob. The Waziri fell on them in a frenzy.

Their screams as they were beaten and torn were less disturbing than how strangely pleasing the sound was to my ear. Only then had I time to reflect that I’d taken the lives of two human beings. That such an act felt natural and right did alarm me.
Was savagery endemic to my constitution? To anyone’s, given the proper circumstance?

All of Ral Conrath’s men had been violently dispatched. Waziri women were tending to the wounded and wailing over their dead. Though dazed by the carnage, I found myself drawn to the figure of Paul D’Arnot. Mortally wounded as he appeared, he was alive, squirming in pain, his head tossing from side to side.

I knelt beside him and saw his bloodied chest rising and falling. His eyelids were shut, flickering with pain.

“Paul,” I said quietly.

He did not immediately answer, startled by the sound of the familiar and altogether unexpected voice. His eyes fluttered open with difficulty and focused slowly.

“Jane?… Jane?”

“Yes, I’m alive.”

“Auugh … dear God…”

“He couldn’t stay away, could he?”

D’Arnot was silent and still for so long that I feared it was too late. Then forcing a painful inhalation, he began to speak.

“I should never have returned … should have resisted him. But he threatened me with my past deeds and the law … and he lured me with promises … I would have all the money I would need to begin a new life … He had found the Waziri village and the gold mine he sought…”

I cursed my gullibility. Why had I believed Ral when he said he’d not found any gold?

“When?” I demanded. “When did he find the mine?”

D’Arnot’s eyes closed and a thin stream of blood and saliva leaked from the corner of his mouth.

“One day before he went up the mountain … to survey for those Belgians. You and your father were exploring … your ‘Eden.’ He found the Waziri mine … before … augh … before he found this Waziri village … He never came here until today. Belgians’ cash … paid for mercenaries … for bringing out the gold … Waziri … ‘easy to subdue.’” D’Arnot managed a chuckle but choked on his own blood.

“The Belgians,” I whispered urgently, “are they coming?”

“Yes … just south of here. Far enough away from his find.”

But not far enough away from the Waziri,
I thought …
or the Mangani. Leopold’s ravening colonists, American gold miners, European scientists—all of them would lay waste to Eden.
I turned away, unable to look at Ral Conrath’s accomplice. He grabbed my arm with clawlike fingers.

“You don’t understand. There is more.”

“More? More than this … abomination?”

“He found a doorway … a symbol.”

D’Arnot’s voice was growing very weak.
What symbol could he mean?
I bent over him, placing my ear to his lips.

“More famous than Petrie…” D’Arnot whispered.

“Flinders Petrie?”

“New Eeg…” A long sigh escaped D’Arnot and he lay motionless. I shook him less than gently. His color had gone grey, but there was the merest rise and fall in his chest.

Tarzan came and knelt at my side. “Conrath has taken Chief Waziri to lead him into Sumbula. We must follow quickly. Ulu will take us.”

A sound of pain and surrender issued from Paul D’Arnot’s lips, and I felt desperation overtake me. I needed to hear about the last moments of my father’s life. A word, a gesture. Something.
Anything.

But when I turned back to the Frenchman, he was dead, his glassy eyes reflecting the shimmering green of the canopy. I gazed around once more at Ral Conrath’s butchery. There were no words vile enough for what I felt for him. I imagined it was something akin to that which had driven Tarzan to carve the heart from Kerchak’s chest, and wondered what I might indeed be capable of when the man was again fixed in my sights.

I stared down at Paul D’Arnot. What a wasted life. How honorably he had begun in Libreville. Standing firm against the Belgians. Giving all he had for love. But time and circumstance and human cruelty had devoured that which was good in him.

I stood. “We should hurry,” I said.

Following Ulu, we moved swift and silent along the forest floor. The path was narrow and overgrown above, but the earth beneath our feet had been tamped down to the hardness of stone. I followed the charm doctor, Tarzan following me. I felt a fierceness in me, a forward straining in my limbs. I was a hungry hunter, sights set on my prey.