Part 65 (1/2)
”Your woman, sad to say, is not civilized like you and I, ” Nawpawpay ventured. ”She speaks mud words like that white fish we caught.”
”White fish?” Matthew asked. He motioned for Rachel to remain quiet. ”What white fish?”
”Oh, he's nothing. Less than nothing, for he's a murderer and thief. The least civilized beast I have ever had the misfortune to look upon. Now: can you tell me anything more of the village of Franz Europay?”
”I'll tell you everything I know of that place, ” Matthew answered, ”if you'll tell me about the white fish. Did you... find your present clothing... and your headdress, at his hut?”
”These? Yes. Are they not wonderful?” He spread his arms wide, grinning, so as to better display the gold-striped waistcoat.
”May I ask what else you found there?”
”Other things. They must have some use, but I just like to look at them. And... of course... I found my woman.”
”Your woman?”
”Yes, my bride. My princess.” His grin now threatened to slice his face in two. ”The silent and lovely one. Oh, she shall share all my treasures and give me a hut full of sons! First, though, I'll have to make her fat.”
”And what of the white fish? Where is he?”
”Not far. There were two other fish-old ones-but they have gone.”
”Gone? To where?”
”Everywhere, ” Nawpawpay said, spreading his arms wide again. ”The wind, the earth, the trees, the sky. You know.”
Matthew feared that he did know. ”But you say the white fish is still here?”
”Yes, still here.” Nawpawpay scratched his chin. ”You have a nature full of questions, don't you?”
”It's just that... I might know him.”
”Only uncivilized beasts and dung buzzards know him. He is unclean.”
”Yes, I agree, but... why do you say he's a murderer and thief?”
”Because he is what he is!” Like a child, Nawpawpay put his hands behind himself and began to bounce up and down on his toes. ”He murdered one of my people and stole a courage sun. Another of my people saw it happen. We took him. Took them all. They were all guilty. All except my princess. She is innocent. Do you know how I know that? Because she was the only one who came willingly.”
”A courage sun?” Matthew realized he must mean the gold coin. ”What is that?”
”That which the water spirit gives.” His bouncing ceased. ”Go visit the white fish, if you like. See if you know him, and ask him to tell you what crimes he's committed.”
”Where can I find him?”
”This direction.” Nawpawpay pointed to Matthew's left. ”The hut that stands nearest the woodpile. You will know it.”
”What's he pointing to, Matthew?” Rachel asked. ”Does he want us to go somewhere?” She started to stand.
”Ah, no no!” Nawpawpay said quickly. ”A woman doesn't stand before me in this place.”
”Rachel, please stay where you are.” Matthew rested his hand on her shoulder. ”Evidently it's the chief's rule.” Then, to Nawpawpay, ”Might she go with me to see the white fish?”
”No. That hut is not a woman's territory. You go and come back.”
”I'm going to go somewhere for a short time, ” he told her. ”You'll need to stay here. All right?”
”Where are you going?” She grasped his hand.
”There's another white captive here, and I want to see him. It won't take long.”
He squeezed her hand and gave her a tight but rea.s.suring smile. Rachel nodded and reluctantly let go.
”Oh... one other thing, ” Matthew said to Nawpawpay. ”Might I have some clothing?”
”Why? Are you cold on such a hot day as this?”
”Not cold. But there is a little too much air here for my comfort.” He gestured toward his exposed p.e.n.i.s and t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es.
”Ah, I see! Very well, I shall give you a gift.” Nawpawpay stepped out of his own loincloth and offered it.
Matthew got the thing on with a delicate balancing act, since he was able only to use one arm. ”I'll return presently, ” he told Rachel. Then he retreated from the hut, out into the bright sun.
The hut and the woodpile were not fifty paces from the chief's abode. A small band of chattering, giggling children clung to his shadow as he walked, and two of them ran round and round him as if to mock his slow, pained progress. When he neared the hut, however, they saw his destination, fell back, and ran away.
Nawpawpay had been correct, in saying that Matthew would know the place.
Blood had been painted on the outside walls, in strange patterns that a Christian would say was evidence of the Indians' Sa Satanic nature. Flies feasted on the gore paintings and buzzed about the entrance, which was covered with a black bearskin.
Matthew stood outside for a moment, steeling himself. This looked very bad indeed. With a trembling hand, he pulled aside the bearskin. Bitter blue smoke drifted into his face. There was only a weak red illumination within, perhaps the red embers of a past fire still glowing.
”Shawcombe?” Matthew called. There was no answer. ”Shawcombe, can you hear me?” Nothing.
Matthew could make out only vague shapes through the smoke. ”Shawcombe?” he tried again, but in the silence that followed he knew he was going to have to cross the dreadful threshold.
He took a breath of the sulphuric air and entered. The bearskin closed behind him. He stood where he was for a moment, waiting for his eyes to grow used to such darkness again. The awful, suffocating heat coaxed beads of sweat from his pores. To his right he could make out a large clay pot full of seething coals from which the light and smoke emitted.
Something moved-a slow, slow s.h.i.+fting-there on his left.
”Shawcombe?” Matthew said, his eyes burning. He moved toward the left, as currents of smoke undulated before him.
Presently, with some straining of the vision, he could make out an object. It looked like a raw and b.l.o.o.d.y side of beef that had been strung up to dry, and in fact was hanging from cords that were supported further up in the rafters.
Matthew neared it, his heart slamming.
Whatever hung there, it was just a slab of flayed meat with neither arms nor legs. Matthew stopped, tendrils of smoke drifting past his face. He couldn't bear to go any further, because he knew.
Perhaps he made a sound. A moan, a gasp... something. But-as slowly as the tortures of the inner circle of h.e.l.l-the scalped and blood-caked head on that slab of meat moved. It lolled to one side, and then the chin lifted.
His eyes were there, bulging from their sockets in that hideously swollen, black-bruised, and black-bloodied face. He had no eyelids. His nose had been cleaved off, as had been his lips and ears. A thousand tiny cuts had been administered to the battered torso, the genitals had been burned away and the wound cauterized to leave a glistening ebony crust. Likewise sealed with terrible fire were the hacked-off stumps of arms and legs. The cords had been tied and knotted around those gruesomely axed ruins.
If there was a description for the utter horror that wracked Matthew, it was known only by the most profane demon and the most sacred angel.