“Are you still going in for castration?” Martha asked, standing where she was.
“Heavens, no! Surely the transformation which I have undergone is sufficiently apparent to you, Mrs.
Greybeard? Crude trickery has no part in my make-up. I want to show you a genuine sample of the Second Generation.” He lifted a drape from a window in the door, and motioned them to look through into the next room.
Greybeard caught his breath. His senses rose up in him like music.
On a bunk, a young girl was sleeping. She was naked, and a sheet had fallen back from her shoulders, revealing most of her body. It was smooth and browned, moulded most delicately. Her arms, folded under her, cradled her breasts; one knee was tucked up so that it almost touched her elbow, revealing the scut of pubic hair between her legs. She slept with her face into the pillow, her mouth open, her rich brown hair in disarray, scowling in her sleep. She might have been sixteen.
Martha pulled the curtain down quietly over the glass panel and turned to Jingadangelow.
“Then some women are still bearing… But this child belongs to none of those you have aboard?”
“No, no, how right you are! This one is just a poor old prophet’s consolation, as you might say. Your husband looks moved. May I hope that after this evidence of my potentialities we may welcome him into the fold of the Second Generationists?”
“You sly devil, Jingadangelow, what are you doing with this girl? She’s perfect – unlike those rather sad creatures we saw in Oxford. How did you get hold of her? Where does she come from?”
“You realize you’re hardly entitled to cross-question me in this way? But I may as well tell you that I suspect that there are a lot more creatures as pretty as Chammoy – that’s her name – lurking up and down the country. You see I have something tangible to offer my followers! Now, why don’t the two of you throw in your lot with me?”
“We are making a journey to the mouth of the river,” Martha said.
He shook his head until his cheeks wobbled. “You are becoming the mouthpiece of your husband in your old age, Mrs. Greybeard. I thought when we met so many centuries ago that you had a mind of your own.”
Greybeard grabbed the front of his toga.
“Who’s that girl in there? If there are more children, then they must be saved and treated properly and helped – not used as whores for you! By God, Jingadangelow -”
The Master staggered backwards, grasped his hand bell, rang it violently, and struck Greybeard over the side of the face with it.
“You’re jealous, you dog, like all men!” he growled.
Two priestesses came in at once, screamed at the sight of the scuffle, and made way for the two men who had been sitting at the stern of the ship. They seized Greybeard’s arms and held him.
“Tie him up and throw him overboard!” Jingadangelow ordered, tottering back into his chair. He was panting heavily. “Let the pike have a go at him. Tie the woman up and leave her on deck. I will speak with her when we reach Hagbourne. Move!”
“Stay where you are,” Pitt said from the door. He had an arrow notched at his bow and aimed at Jingadangelow. His two remaining teeth gleamed behind the feathered Right. Charley stood by him, watching the corridor with his knife in his hand. “If anyone moves out of turn, I’ll shoot your Master without one second’s hesitation.”
“Get hold of their guns, Martha,” Pitt advised. “You okay, Greybeard? What do we do now?”
Jingadangelow’s henchmen showed no disposition to fight. Greybeard took their two revolvers from Martha and put them into his pockets. He dabbed his cheek on his sleeve.
“We’ve no quarrel with these people,” he said, “if they are prepared to let us alone. We will go on to Hagbourne and leave them there. It’s doubtful if we shall ever meet them again.”
“Oh, you can’t let them go like that!” Pitt exclaimed. “Look what a chance you’re passing up. Here’s our opportunity to get hold of a perfectly good boat. We can ditch this mouldy crew at the nearest bit of bank.