Shadow Play (17 page)

Chapter Eight

The canoes cut quietly through the river, the silence disturbed only by the murmur of the oars driving through the water. As the river narrowed, the trees overhead became a
canopy of foliage that might have been spectacular had it not seemed so forbidding. Rising hundreds of feet toward the sky, the limbs were laden with creepers and vines that climbed to the tops of the highest bows in their quest for sunlight.

High and higher the sandbanks grew, like massive but inadequate dikes. Along those tenuous boundaries grew an array of trees that could supply the entirety of London with fine wood for a lifetime. There were palms, laurels, rose- woods, and mahoganies. There were cedars, steelwoods, figs, and acacias, all of which boasted giant bouquets of flame-colored orchids that drooped sixty feet toward the ground. As Sarah regarded it all with wonder, a spray of parakeets exploded out of the foliage and fluttered noisily across the river. Butterflies, disturbed by the birds' belligerent chattering, poured forth from the trees in such pro- fusion that she cried aloud in surprise.

At any other time the splendor of it all would have thrilled Sarah, but she was still fuming over the fact that Morgan and Henry had attempted to desert her in Santarem. Had she not been awakened by an odd dream of Morgan kissing her, she would surely be stranded there now. She glared at Morgan's back throughout the day, speaking only when spoken to, doing her best to focus on her irritation and not on the alluring width of his shoulders or the black hair that curled lazily around his nape and behind his ears.

Yet time after time her thoughts drifted and she discovered herself comparing Morgan with Norman—as if there could be a comparison. The idea seemed almost laughable. Nor- man was so staid, so predictable, so... safe. The moments spent in his company were never charged with tension. Her stomach didn't flutter each time he turned his pale blue eyes on her.

She tried concentrating on the floresta, taking mental notes and wishing for her diary so she might jot down the vivid images before they escaped her. Norman would adore her descriptions of the butterflies and birds. He might even look at her with some respect as she detailed the terrifying ordeal on the
Santos.
.
.
and how Morgan Kane had saved her life.

No matter what topic she tried to concentrate on, her thoughts always came back to Morgan. Morgan, the hero, the
boto,
the man who, with one glance of those odd silver eyes, made her feel as if she were the only woman left alive on the face of the earth. For the love of God, she was staring death in the face, marching through Satan's back door, and all she could think about was how wonderful she'd felt when he kissed her, how deliriously wicked the sensations he'd aroused in her had been.

Then he'd tried to desert her.

It was late afternoon when the Indians moved their canoes alongside Sarah's. She noted their eyes scanning the water, then she saw the alligator approach. Kan, who sat abow in the boat to her right, warned the creature away by slapping the water with the face of his paddle. With a flourish of its tail the beast sank into the river, only to resurface yards away, where it was joined by others. Soon the water near the marshy banks was swarming with the giant monsters; their grunts and roars drowned out the piercing

cries of the birds and monkeys.

Morgan turned and looked at Sarah's face, his own void of emotion. "You all right?" he surprised her by asking.

"Of course," she replied a bit more sharply than she had intended. "Did you expect me to lapse into hysteria at the prospect of being capsized by alligators, Mr. Kane?" Her eyes widened as a bull gator glided toward them and, just at the paddle's end, disappeared beneath the surface, then bumped the bottom of their boat. She grabbed the sides of the canoe as it wobbled. "I—I asure you, I'm aware that you're capable of handling the situation," she added in a higher-pitched voice.

"You are, huh?" Leaning over to look at Henry, he said, "Are we capable of handling this situation, Longfellow?"

"They're only giving us a warning, old man. We're trespassing, you know. They don't usually react aggressively unless they're threatened... or hungry. And they don't usually go for anything so large as a man. Monkeys will do in a pinch, or a dog. I once read an account by a man called Bates who said that a gator came into his camp one evening and made off with a poodle that belonged to one of his companions."

Morgan's brows drew together. "Is that supposed to make us feel better, Henry?"

"Would you rather I describe to you how an entire expedition, aside from one terrified Indian who lost a foot and both hands, was once set upon by a lot of hungry alligators and devoured within minutes of—"

"No!" both Sarah and Morgan interrupted.

Henry threw back his head and laughed.

Again and again their boats were bumped, and repeatedly Sarah told herself that everything was going to be all right. She was with Morgan and Henry and Kan, and they could handle themselves in any circumstance. Yet looking toward the bank where more of the reptiles were sliding into the river and approaching their boats, she realized that if only one of the beasts decided to capsize their canoe, the helpless occupants would not stand a chance of surviving.

They drifted, no longer daring to paddle for fear that the commotion would rouse the alligators' ire.

"They're curious," Henry kept assuring them.

"They look damn hungry to me," Morgan snapped.

"We need a diversion," the pygmy said, looking around and overhead, as if by a miracle something might fall from the sky.

"Yeah?" Morgan raised one eyebrow. "Why don't you jump in, Longfellow, and draw their attention while we escape? We'll pick you up on the return trip."

"Morgan, you're such a wit. What would we do without your sense of humor?"

Their boat was hit again, harder this time, making Sarah cry aloud and reach for Morgan, who had thrown his paddle into the bottom of the canoe and was reaching for a rifle.

"No!" Henry and Kan called out in unison.

"What the hell do you mean,
no?"
Morgan shouted.

⁴
"The last thing you want to do is threaten them.'' Henry, whose round face no longer carried any hint of his earlier amusement, gripped his own oar as if it were a bludgeon. "We need a diversion," he repeated.

"Well, in case you failed to notice, we don't have—"

"Wait!"

Everyone stared at Sarah as she pulled up her skirt, frantically tugged on the ties of her petticoats, and began to shimmy them down her hips, legs, and finally her ankles. She looked up to find Morgan's gaze riveted on her calves, which were covered with filmy,
white
silk stockings. De- spite the fear that brought about such a desperate act, she felt a tingling of thrill and satisfaction. She allowed the skirt to slide back down her legs, her mouth curving in a smile as his eyes came back to hers. "Really," he said, "this is neither the time nor the place,
chere."

"Give me your paddle," she responded.

"My what?" He grinned.

"Paddle." She reached for it, drawing it across her lap as she forced herself to keep her mind on her task, and not on the way he could make her blush with the sensuous richness of his voice. He was mostly facing her now, one knee pressed against her leg as he regarded her from beneath the brim of his hat.

"You want a diversion, Mr. Kane. Here it is." Having tied the petticoats snugly about the paddle, she thrust it toward him. "Throw it in and see what happens."

He looked at Henry, who nodded. "What do we have to lose?"

Morgan took the oar in both hands, studied the frilly petticoats for a long moment, then cautiously began to stand. As the canoe rocked perilously, Sarah threw her arms around his thighs to steady him, her face pressed to a part of his anatomy that might have made her swoon in any other circumstance.

He flung the oar as hard as he could. It sailed through the air like some huge flapping

bird, then landed with a plop and a splash on the river. Seconds ticked by as they watched the petticoats spread and float. Then, with a thrashing of their monstrous tails, the alligators moved toward the disguised oar.

"Quickly!" Henry yelled. "Let's get the blazes away from here!"

Morgan dropped to his seat while Henry plunged his own paddle into the water and propelled them up the river. They looked back in time to see the first alligator strike the object and drag it beneath the surface. A shudder passed through them at the sight, and as Sarah watched the last trace of white sink from view, the realization that that could just as easily have been her struck with horrifying clarity.

They traveled another half hour before choosing a wide, sandy strand on which to camp. As she stood to one side, the men hurried to secure the boats, fetch wood for a fire, and set up a canvas tent in which she was to sleep. In truth, she couldn't imagine enveloping herself in such a claustrophobic contraption. Breathing the air was difficult enough; at times she felt as if she were suffocating in the intense humidity and heat. Every thread of cloth on her body was drenched, and her hair, from roots to ends, was damp and clinging to her neck and shoulders. Repeatedly she glanced toward the canoe with her belongings, waiting for her trunk of clothes to be unloaded so she might change into her cooler nightgown for sleep. Yet the trunk was not unloaded, and she was informed in no uncertain terms by Morgan that this was not a hotel. She would sleep in her clothes unless she wished to be eaten alive by mosquitoes.

"Does this mean I won't be able to bathe?" she asked desperately.

"Bathe?" Teeth clenched around a cigarette, he yelled, "Henry! Get over here and tell the lady why there won't be any servants drawing her bath this evening!"

Henry hurried to explain about piranhas—of which she was already aware—and nasty little creatures called can- dims that were two inches long and covered with swept- back quills. The tiny creatures took great delight in invading a person's body through their private parts. He went on to explain other dangers and diseases one could get from the water, but she barely listened. Her eyes were on Morgan, watching how efficiently he saw to the setting up of their camp, never once glancing toward her. The fact piqued her. He hadn't said so much as a word about her ingenuity with the petticoats. She was quite pleased that she had saved their lives, and he couldn't even manage a "Good show."

No doubt his pride was bruised because he hadn't thought of it.

Morgan disappeared into the jungle with Kan and several Indians. Within minutes the bark of rifles rang out, and the hunters returned with a few dead monkeys. Sarah shuddered, refusing to watch as the Indians hastened to skin and gut the animals, then skewer them over the fire. Soon the pungent aroma of roasting meat filled the air, and the grease spilling into the flames poured a rancid smoke over the camp that made Sarah queasy. When Henry brought her a plate of meat, she refused it. Looking concerned, he told her, "But you haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry. I'd like to go to bed, please. And I'd like my diary from my belongings. Will you get it for me, Henry?" She stood as he nodded, then dropped to her knees and crawled into the tent. From inside she watched Henry walk over to Morgan, who sat alone on the far side of the encampment. She noted that he looked her way only briefly when Henry spoke, then shrugged before going back to his dinner.

She couldn't place the reason for her growing depression. She had never been one to dwell on the unpleasant aspects of life. She had always thought herself capable of anything, but here she felt insignificant and alien. The farther they traveled into Amazonia, the more she felt like an intruder.

It wasn't long before Henry appeared with her diary, fountain pen, and ink bottle. Squatting before the opening of her tent, he said,' 'Morgan says you should get to sleep. And don't forget to take your quinine. He wants to know if it was the monkey meat that put you off, or if you're ill."

"Tell him I'm tired. On second thought, don't. No doubt he'll use anything I say as an excuse to send me back to Santarem."

Henry smiled in understanding. "You'd be safer there, Sarah. You've given us quite a responsibility by coming along. Why won't you allow us to go in alone and return the seeds to you? You must try to understand what sort of situation you're confronting."

"I understand completely," she replied irritably.

After wrapping herself in a mosquito net, as Morgan had instructed, she reclined as best she could, finding that the floor of silt beneath her blanket was not as uncomfortable as she had first imagined. It was the heat that pressed in on her and made her restless.

In the glow of the campfire that spilled through the open- ing of her tent she did her best to fill up the pages of her diary, though the words came harder as she grew more weary. Around her the night sounds intensified, the buzzing, whistling, rasping, and pulsating noises rising to such volume she was forced to throw down her pen and cover her ears in fear that the crescendo might deafen her. Yet a glance out her tent at the others informed her that they appeared to hear nothing at all. Many of the Indians were curled upon the sand fast asleep, while others were grouped together in quiet conversation. Still others, posted around the grounds, gazed out into the night watching for any threatening movement, listening for any suspicious sound that could warn them of impending danger. Sarah wondered how they could hear anything beyond the shrill cacophony; she marveled at their ability to stare out into the pitch-black night and see anything at all.

She attempted to write these thoughts in her diary. Soon, however, the heat and noise drove her to such distraction that she decided to close her eyes. But even her attempt to sleep was unsuccessful. She tossed and turned, becoming so ensnared in the netting that she felt like one of Norman's butterflies, fluttering frantically to escape a finely webbed net. To add to her misery her skin burned with sweat and grime where the high snug collar of her blouse had chafed raw the skin of her neck. Suddenly she thought she would scream if she wasn't allowed to cleanse her face and arms. So she kicked away the