‘I don’t like brandy,’ she said.
‘Ramon is right. You’d better like it. You need it.’
Ramon poured a generous measure. She tasted it, coughed, screwed her eyes shut and emptied the cup in two gulps.
‘Good girl,’ Hamilton said.
‘Awful,’ she said. She looked at Ramon. ‘But thank you. I feel better already.’ She glanced across the clearing and fear touched her eyes again. ‘That hammock—’
‘You’re not going back to that hammock,’
Hamilton said. ‘It’s safe enough now, of course, it was just sheer bad luck that the anaconda was up the tree when your hammock was slung, but we can understand your not wanting to go back there. You’re in Ramon’s sleeping-bag and on a ground-sheet. You’ll stay just where you are. We’ll keep a big fire going all night and one of the three of us will keep an eye on you till the morning. Come the dawn, I promise you not even a mosquito will have come near you.’
Slowly she looked at the three men in turn then said huskily: ‘You are all very kind to me.’ She tried to smile but it was only a try. ‘Damsel in distress. Is that it?’
‘Perhaps there’s a little bit more to it than that,’ Hamilton said. ‘But now’s not the time to talk about it. Just you try to sleep—I’m sure Ramon will give you a night-cap to help you on your way. Oh, hell.’
Smith, who obviously felt that he had maintained his distance long enough, was approaching, his whole attitude manifesting his resentment of Maria’s close proximity to the three men. As he dropped to his knees beside her, Hamilton rose, looked at him, turned and walked away, the twins following.
Ramon said: ‘Senor Hamilton.Quiexada, piranha, anaconda, a sick girl and a villain. To pick so divine a resting spot in such unique company is a gift not given to many.’
Hamilton just looked at him and moved off into the forest to retrieve his load of firewood.
Early in the morning Hamilton led the others in single file through the rain-forest and across firm ground, firm because the terrain was gently rising and the water table was now well below them. After about two hours’ walking Hamilton stopped and waited until the others gathered round him.
‘From here on,’ Hamilton said, ‘no talking. Not one word. And watch where you put your feet. I don’t want to hear as much as the crackle of a broken twig. Understood?’ He looked at Maria, who looked pale and exhausted, not so much from the rigours of the walk, for there had been none, but because she had not slept at all: the previous night’s experience, as Ramon had said, had been something more than traumatic. ‘It’s not much further. Half an hour, at most, then we’ll have a rest and carry on during the afternoon.’
‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’m beginning to hate this rain-forest. I suppose you’ll be telling me again that no-one asked me to come.’
‘A snake on every tree, is that it?’ She nodded. ‘No more worry,’ Hamilton said. ‘You’ll never again spend a night in the forest. That’s another promise.’
Tracy said slowly: ‘I take it that that can mean only one thing. I take it that we’ll be in the Lost City tonight.’
‘If things go as I hope, yes.’
‘You know where you are?’ ‘Yes.’
‘You’ve known ever since we left the hovercraft.’
‘True. How did you know?’
‘Because you haven’t used your compass since.’
Half an hour later, exactly as he had forecast, Hamilton, finger to his lips, stopped and waited for the others to come up to him. When he spoke, it was in a whisper.
‘On your lives. Not a sound. Stay hidden until I tell you otherwise. On your hands and knees then lie prone until I give the word.’
And so on hands and knees they advanced in total silence. Hamilton dropped forward and eased himself slowly ahead, using elbows and toes. He stopped again and waited until the others had joined him. He pointed forward, through the trees. Irr a lush green valley below them they could see an Indian village. There were dozens of large huts and, in the centre, a very large communal hut, which looked as if it could accommodate at least two hundred people with ease. The place seemed to be deserted until suddenly a small copper-coloured child appeared carrying a flint axe and a nut which he placed on a flat stone and proceeded to belabour. It was like a scene from the Stone Age, from the dawn of prehistory. A laughing woman, statuesque and also copper-coloured, emerged from the same hut and picked up the child.
In slow wonderment, Tracy said: ‘That colour? That appearance? Those aren’t Indians.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Hamilton said urgently. ‘They’re Indians all right but they do not come from the Amazon basin. They come from the Pacific.’
Tracy stared at him, still in wonderment, and shook his head.
Suddenly people, scores of them, began to emerge from the communal hut. That they were not Amazonian Indians was obvious from the fact that there were as many women as men among them: normally, in the Amazonian basin, women are banned from the meeting places of elders and warriors. All were of the same copper colour, all possessed of a proud, almost regal bearing. They began to disperse towards their huts.
Smith touched Hamilton on the arm and said in a low voice: ‘Who are those people?’
‘The Muscias.’ Smith turned pale.
‘Goddamned Muscias!’ he said in a vicious whisper. ‘What the hell are you playing at? Head-hunters, you said. Head-shrinkers! Cannibals! I’m off!’
‘Off where, you clown? You’ve got no place left to run to. Stay here. Don’t, don’t, don’t show yourselves.’
The advice was probably superfluous. No-one, clearly, had the slightest intention of showing himself.
Hamilton rose and walked confidently into the clearing. He had gone at least ten paces before he was noticed. There was a sudden silence, the babble of voices ceased, then the chatter redoubled in volume. An exceptionally tall Indian, old and with his forearms almost covered in what were unquestionably gold bracelets, gazed for some seconds then ran forward. He and Hamilton embraced each other.
The old man, who was surely the chief, and Hamilton engaged in an animated, if incomprehensible, conversation. The chief, with an expression of incredulity on his face, repeatedly shook his head. Just as firmly Hamilton nodded his. Suddenly, Hamilton extended his right arm and made a semi-circular motion, bringing his arm to a sudden halt. The chief looked long at him, seized him by the arms, smiled and nodded his head. He turned and spoke rapidly to his -people.
Tracy said: ‘I’d say those two people have met somewhere before.’
The chief finished addressing his people, all of whom had now gathered in the clearing, and spoke again to Hamilton, who nodded and turned.
Hamilton shouted to his waiting companions: ‘You can come now. Keep your hands well away from any weapon.’
Not quite dazedly, but not understanding what was happening, the other eight members of the party entered the clearing.
Hamilton said: ‘This is Chief Corumba.’ He introduced each of the eight in turn. The chief gravely acknowledged each introduction, shaking each in turn by hand.
Hiller said: ‘But Indians don’t shake hands.’
‘This Indian does.’
Maria touched Hamilton on the arm. ‘But those savage head-hunters—’
‘These are the kindliest, most gentle, most peaceable people on earth. In their language they do not have a word for war because they do not know what war is. They are a lost children from a lost age and the people who built the Lost City.’
Serrano said: ‘And I thought I knew more about the tribes of the Mato Grosso than any man alive.’
‘And so you may, Serrano, so you may. If, that is to say, I can take the word of Colonel Diaz.’
‘Colonel Diaz?’ Smith said. He was clearly floundering in deep water. ‘Who’s Colonel Diaz?’
‘A friend of mine.’
Tracy said: ‘But their ferocious reputation—’
‘A fiction invented by Dr Hannibal Huston, the man who found these lost people. He thought that such a reputation might ensure them—what shall we say?—a little privacy.’
‘Huston?’ Hiller said. ‘Huston? You – you found Huston?’
‘Years ago.’
‘But you’ve only been in the Mato Grosso for four months.’
‘I have known it for many years. Remember in the Hotel de Paris in Romono you mentioned my search for the golden people? I forgot to mention that I also met them years ago. Here they are. The Children of the Sun.’
Maria said: ‘And Dr Huston is still in the Lost City?’
‘He’s still there. Come, I believe these good people want to offer us some hospitality. First, however, I owe you a small explanation about them.’
‘High time, too,’ Smith said. ‘Why all the dramatic, stealthy approach to them?’