Seahorse in the Sky

CHAPTER TWENTY

IF ELECTRIC LIGHTING, modern furniture, glassware and twentieth-century clothing had astounded the people from a medieval culture, it completely terrified the two Stone Age people who now found themselves in surroundings totally beyond their comprehension. They had been taken into the lounge of the Erewhon Hilton where they were being inspected by thirteen terrestrials and three warriors from Keep Marur.

Their hands and legs were still tied, but they had been arranged as comfortably as possible in two easy chairs. They were, perhaps, even more afraid of the chairs than of the other fantastic items with which they were surrounded. Possibly they suspected the chairs of being some kind of seats of sacrifice, or contrivances that would eventually swallow their victims whole.

Pathetically, they tried to draw close to each other and comfort each other. Interpreting their fruitless attempts correctly, Russell had the chairs placed side by side.

“I-not-run, you-not-run, I-you-see-not-hurt, not-cold-hurt,” growled the man bravely.

“I-not-cold-hurt,” whimpered the woman. “Cold-hurt-come. No-run, no-eat, no-touch-hold-close. Cold-hurt-come.”

He tried to put his arm round her, remembered that he couldn’t, then tried to lick her face. He couldn’t make it. But he did manage to get his forehead on to her breast. The touch seemed to soothe her.

“No-cold-hurt-come,” he mumbled without much conviction. “No-cold-hurt-come. I-you-laugh-eat. No-cold-hurt-come.”

Russell had been listening and watching intently. It was easy enough to get into their way of speaking, because the thought processes were so simple. Cold-hurt obviously meant death.

“No-cold-hurt-come,” he said experimentally. “You-she, no-cold-hurt-come.”

The man jerked up, blinked and snarled, baring his teeth like an animal. The woman whimpered.

“You-she stay still, rest,” went on Russell soothingly. “No-hurt. You-eat, she-eat, no-hurt.”

Again the man growled, but with less conviction. He looked hopelessly at the sea of faces surrounding him, then blinked once more at the electric lights, and shivered.

“The poor bastard is absolutely shattered by it all,” said Russell to no one in particular. “There are far too many of us, and the lights are hurting him. Have we got any candles? At least he will understand what a flame is.”

“I, too, would like a simple flame better than the burning spheres,” said Absu solemnly. “You magicians are enough to discountenance cultivated people, Russell, as well as these wretched brutes.”

Marion Redman produced four candles which were then lighted. At the same time Robert Hyman switched the electric lighting off, and the sudden change caused the two Stone Age people to rock and whimper, straining at their bonds. But after a moment or two, they seemed to calm down.

“Absu, Anna, stay with me,” said Russell. He turned to the others. “But I would be glad if the rest of you would go and have a drink, or something. There will be time enough to inspect our captives, if we can manage not to frighten them to death.”

“Lord Absu,” said Farn zem Marur, “is it your wish that I and Grolig, your liegemen, should wait apart?”

Absu nodded. “Rest within calling distance, my children. I doubt that I shall need your blades.”

“Russell, do you think we should fix some food for them?” asked Simone.

“Perhaps… But it had better be simple stuff. Some kind of cooked meat, and plain water, I would imagine.”

Presently, Absu, Anna and Russell were left alone with the prisoners.

“Not-hurt,” said Russell. “We-you-not-hurt.” He turned to Absu. “Cut the cord round the woman’s hands, and let us see what she does.”

When the man saw Absu take his poniard and approach the woman he thrashed about like one demented. Russell made soothing noises to no avail. As Absu was cutting through the cords that bound the woman, her companion managed a curious jackknife kind of movement and succeeded in sinking his teeth into Absu’s arm.

Absu dropped the poniard and, with his free arm, delivered a mighty flat-hand blow that must have rattled the teeth in the Stone Age captive’s head. Then he picked the poniard up and finished sawing through the bonds.

The woman whimpered, looked at her mate, then began to stroke his head. Seeing that her arms were now free and that she had not been attacked, the man glared at his captors less malevolently.

“Not-hurt,” repeated Russell. “We-you-not-hurt. Make-hands-move. Not-hurt.”

Absu leaned over the Stone Age man and sawed away with his poniard. The man growled again, but remained still until his arms were free. Then he suddenly grabbed the blade of the poniard, roared, let go, and gazed wonderingly at the blood on his hand.

“Christ!” said Russell. “It’s going to be a long, hard night.”