The Sun Is God (27 page)

You hear his breathing. You hear
everything
. You are alive in the rich tropical night among the vampire bats and moths and flying squirrels and tree kangaroos and army ants. You are alive and you too are part of the web of life and death. You too are a predator.

You feel a cough rising in your throat.

But you are not afraid.

Once you lived in fear, but no longer.

You crawl out from under the bed.

And cough.

Christian Weber does not look up. He appears to be dozing.

“Christian!” you whisper to be sure.

He does not reply.

You walk to the entrance and look outside. Engelhardt and Harry are walking across the clearing. They stop at the old well to discuss something and then disappear into the jungle.

Yes your senses are awake to everything now. The wind. The distant sea. In the other huts: motion, conversation, laughter. Everyone is excited. This new ceremony of Engelhardt's will shortly begin.

And time is pressing and the high tide will not come again for twelve more hours.

You stand in the doorway. No one is watching the beach.
You
could escape easily. Attempting to get Will away could even be construed as a form of suicide. Like the Light Brigade—a foolish, gallant act.

You step outside and walk briskly to the Malagan.

“Excuse me, ladies,” you say, stepping over Helena and Fräulein Schwab. You take a long, bone-handled, ivory knife from the feet of the Malagan.

“What is that?” Fräulein Schwab asks.

“It's just the knife, darling,” you tell her, holding it up in the moonlight.

“Come here,” she says in English. “Join us.”

“I'm rather busy.”

“You are afraid,” Helena says.

“Perhaps that too,” you say and walk quickly back across the clearing.

In the hut Will is awake now. A little more cognizant than he was before. Unlike laudanum, the heroin in its raw form apparently peaks and dies off quickly. “Will, are you all right?” you ask him.

“Water,” he says.

You look around the hut. “Will, there's no water. Now please stay still, I need to cut your—”

“The well, please, I'm dying,” he replies.

“Let me cut your ropes first.”

The sharpened ivory blade slices through the bonds. He rubs his wrists and groans with relief.

“Can you stand?” you ask.

“Water,” he insists.

“Yes, yes,” you tell him.

You put your hand under his elbow and pull him to his feet. The blood rushes from his brain and he sways there like a young sapling.

“Come, we must go. Now.”

“I need water,” he says.

“I'm going to get you water,” you assure him. You help Will to the entrance and peer outside.

The moon. The trees. You lead Will a few steps but it's like dragging a corpse. You can't possibly do this all the way to the canoe.

“Wait here, Will, I shall bring you the water,” you tell him and sit him at the bench in front of the hut.

You run to the well and lift the grating and plunge the bucket into the water. You fill it and as you are bringing it back you notice Engelhardt walking to a large pile of sticks at the other side of the camp. You follow him with your gaze and you realize to your horror that the bundle of sticks is a pyre with a stake in the middle of it. You duck behind a hut. Engelhardt doesn't see you and he fusses for a moment by the pyre then disappears into the jungle to gather more kindling.

When you get back to the hut, Christian Weber is outside, staring stupidly at Will.

“I must raise the alarm!” he tells you.

You quickly grab a long, broad palm-frond from the side of the hut and shove the stem end hard into his face, so hard it almost certainly breaks his nose. He staggers back against the hut but before he can raise the alarm you strike him again in the temple knocking him off his feet. He falls heavily to the ground with a loud grunt. You check the piazza, but no one has seen you. Not yet.

“Let us go, Will,” you say, pulling him vertical.

“I want to sleep now.”

You set him down again, lift the water bucket, and empty it on his face. You force his mouth open, making him drink. He blinks and shakes his head.

He looks at you with recognition.

“Will?”

“I'm all right,” he says.

He seems more lucid.

“Then we shall go,” you say, and help him up again.

“Where?” Will asks.

“We're leaving here,” you whisper.

“When?”

“Right now. I believe that they are going to do you mischief, Will. Killing Bethman has unhinged the Sonnenorden from good sense. We must get out of here.”

Talking to him is like chattering to your horse; he doesn't understand the words, but perhaps he gets the tone. He sways forward and then back again like a palace guard on a hot August day.

“Will?”

His eyes close.

“Will! We have to leave immediately!”

He nods and then shakes his head. “I won't go without Klaus.”

You try to explain. “We cannot bring Klaus. The attempt to bring him would be dangerous and I cannot heave the dugout over the sandbar with the two of you on board.”

He pushes away your arm and sits down.

“Will, it is the high tide, we must away,” you say, and you pinch him for emphasis.

He shakes his head.

“The ceremony . . . If they can't kill me, they will kill Klaus.”

“They will murder all of us if we don't leave this instant!”

“Not without Klaus. He is my friend. It is your duty, Miss Pullen-Burry.”

“He is German. He is of their camp.”

“Never! He is with me and I am not going without him. They'll kill him!” Will insists.

There are tears in his eyes.

You take a deep a breath. Smile at him. Nod.

“Very well. Wait here in the shadow, I will attempt to bring Hauptman Kessler. They are holding him now in Bradtke's hut.”

“I'm coming with you.”

“You can barely walk.”

“I'm coming.”

“You are a most vexing person.”

“So are you, Miss Pullen-Burry. That is what's going to save us.”

The pair of you walk to Bradtke's hut, where Denfer is on guard. Will grabs an axe handle and slips into the shadows.

“
Wer ist da
,” Denfer challenges from behind a cloud of blue pipe smoke.

“It is I,” you tell him.

He is still angry that you lie with Schreckengost and not with him.

“Be gone from here,” he says and blows the smoke at you.

Will approaches from the side and hits him with the axe shaft. It is a vicious crack and the man crumples to the ground unconscious. Will almost falls on top of him. The axe handle is cleft in two.

“How about that!” Will says.

“Ssshhh. Quietly now,” you tell him. “Wait behind me, Will. Who knows who might be inside with Klaus?”

You go inside the hut. Kessler is lying in the hammock, drugged, dozing, his hands bound.

Bradtke is sitting next to him, mulling over a position on Anna's chess board.

He lifts his head and is surprised to see you. “Miss Pullen-Burry, I thought you were resting.”

“No.”

“You have put on clothes.”

“Yes.”

“You are carrying a palm tree frond.”

“Yes.”

“Surprise!” Will says, appearing behind you.

You strike Bradtke with the palm frond before he can raise the alarm. You knock him off the chair and hit him hard on the side of the head.

Will slaps Klaus on the face and wakes him.

“We're getting out of here, Klaus, they're going to kill us.”

“There is no way off this death island,” Klaus groans.

You cut his bonds and look into his face. He is conscious but not very alert.

“The redoubtable Miss Pullen-Burry has got the canoe,” Will says, and helps him to his feet. When you exit the hut you see that Denfer's pipe has set fire to a pile of straw bedding. Smoke is billowing from the straw and the side of the hut is beginning to catch fire.

“We must leave!” you say to the men.

“Take Klaus, I'm going to see if I can find that photograph album,” Will says.

“We don't have time!” you hiss at him.

He ducks back inside Bradtke's dwelling just as a sheet of flames rushes up the side of the hut. Helena and Fräulein Schwab wander toward you from the Malagan.

“What are you doing?” Helena asks dreamily.

“It is not your concern,” you inform her.

“You're leaving!”

“Why would you want to leave paradise?” Fräulein Schwab asks.

“We are going to go now. Please do not try to prevent us,” you say.

“Go if you must,” Helena says scornfully.

“We shall,” you tell them.

They walk away, seemingly indifferent.

You almost clobber Will as he appears next to you. “Did you get your book?”

“No. The whole place is on fire. The roof nearly fell on me.”

“Help me with Hauptman Kessler.”

Will takes the German's left arm and you drape his right over your left shoulder. You walk a good twenty-five paces before Kessler stumbles and all three of you fall. You struggle back up. You must keep off the trail at all costs.

Behind you the roof of Bradtke's hut collapses in a deafening clang of corrugated iron. There are cries of panic all over the settlement and someone starts ringing a hand bell.

“How far is the canoe?” Will asks.

“It is only a short way to the beach,” you assure him and lead him on a diagonal through the coconut plantation. You see a long piece of bamboo lying on the ground with a one-inch diameter, about the length of a hockey stick. This will serve even better. You drop the palm frond and pick up the bamboo.

Behind you there are screams and shouts of consternation.

You look back to see embers from the hut streaking into the air. You put your arm under Kessler and help him walk.

“You are doing very well,” you tell him.

You've only gone ten feet more when you see the ursine, startled face of Misha Denfer again. You hook the bamboo stave behind his legs and trip him hockey fashion. He falls backward, banging his head off a coconut palm and crashing to the ground. Before he can attempt a warning you crush the bamboo pole into his temple.

“Well done, Miss Pullen-Burry,” Will says.

“Hurry,” you say urgently.

There is a slight rise and from here you can see the moonlight scattering on the Bismarck Sea.

You are safe now. You feel the cool atramentous sand beneath your toes.

You drag the two men toward the canoe. A commotion comes from behind you.
Faster
, an instinct tells you.

Something whizzes above your head and plunges into the sea.

“The Night Witches!” Will screams.

Another object whistles above you to the left.

You turn to see Engelhardt, Harry, and a revived Bradtke running along the beach toward you. Every few moments, they stop to throw bamboo spears.

“Into the canoe!” you command the men.

All three of you wade into the surf. The salt water stings the cuts on your toes and the undertow pulls you laterally.

You heave Kessler into the canoe. He is not heavy. In his few days here he must have lost a stone. Will attempts to help but slips underneath the hull.

You grab his matted hair and pull him to the surface. “Get in!” you order him.

“They're coming for us,” he says, his eyes wide, his lips ashen, his whole body trembling. “What shall we do?”

“You shan't be able to help me. You will only get in my way,” you tell him and with one almighty shove you push him into the dugout.

“Halt there!” Engelhardt screams. “That is our property!”

“Start paddling if you can,” you tell Will.

“What about you?”

But before you can answer a spear comes hurtling out of the darkness and embeds itself in the side of the outrigger.

“Christ!” Will shouts.

Anna and Helena are walking down from the dunes.

Five of them. Five against one.

You start shoving the canoe into the deep water but with two men aboard it resists stubbornly.

Engelhardt comes running toward you through the waves brandishing his remaining spear. “That is our property, get out of it at once!” he shrieks.

“Stand aside, sir,” you tell him.

“Miss Pullen-Burry, I demand that you return our property immediately!”

He thrusts his spear at you—the long bamboo stave silhouetting against the stars as it flies toward your head.

The way you watched the kendo masters do once in Japan you parry his spear and thrust your own bamboo cane into his throat. Engelhardt drops his weapon and falls backward into the water. He is weak. What the heroin has done to these wretches is appalling.

Harry wades into the surf now, beard bristling, hair wild. He is laughing. He is carrying a machete and a bamboo pike.

“You must give this up, Miss Pullen-Burry,” he says and clumsily swings the pike at you.

You step backward and allow the sharpened bamboo to carry itself in an arc past your body. Bradtke wades toward you with a machete. You cannot deal with both of them at the same time. Harry first. Bradtke does not look that keen to tackle you again.

Before Harry can react you prod him hard in the face with the tip of the bamboo. He screams as you break his nose and in a sideways motion you thrust the bamboo at Bradtke. The old man is too fast, however, and he chops the bamboo with the machete, snapping it in two.

Engelhardt is lying on the water but he is groaning now and he will soon be up.

“You must give it up, madam,” Bradtke says.

Engelhardt fumbles for his weapon.

Harry wipes blood from his eyes.

Three of them.

Three of them in the dark.

Your grandfather—that old hound from Ebbw Vale—told you that in ancient Erin to become a member of the Fianna a warrior had to parry the blows of nine men with spears while flawlessly reciting lines of verse.