The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

“Your language says much in a few words.”

“The tongue of my people is not forked.”

And God forgive me for that remark, Burton thought.

Though the Shawnee did not say what he meant to do, it was evident to Burton that he would be planning a raid in force. Perhaps for that very night.

Burton called the others into his hut.

“Don’t look so gloomy. I think we’ll have grails after all, lose our beggar status. However, we must act tonight. How about it, Loghu, Pete, Alice? Do you feel up to some action? Some perhaps vigorous action?”

The three replied that they could walk. Running was as yet out of the question.

“Very well. Here is what we’ll do, if you have no objections. If you do, we’ll do it anyway.”

20

They ate their evening meal, fish and bread which disgusted them before they put it in their mouths. The Ganopo, however, were kind enough to give them a few cigarettes and as much of the lichen-alcohol as they wanted. Before going into his hut, presumably to retire for the night, Burton walked around the beach. The Babylo­nians were either in their huts or talking in small groups before them. They were tired after three days of hard and frustrating labor and would soon be asleep. All, that is, except for the guards stationed along the edge of the raft. They would light pine torches soaked in fish-oil and pace back and forth under their illumination, waiting for their reliefs.

The largest groups were at the forward end. Metusael had placed them there to make sure that Burton’s people did not try to sneak aboard to steal their goods. The little dark-skinned men watched him closely as he sauntered along. He grinned and waved at them. They did not return his greeting.

Having checked the situation, Burton walked back to his hut. On the way he passed the Ganopo chief, who was sitting before his hut and smoking one of the little briar pipes the grails offered once a year.

Burton squatted down by him.

“I am thinking, O chief, that tonight the raftspeople may be in for a big surprise.”

The chief removed his pipe and said, “What do you mean?”

“It is possible that the chief of the people on the north bank may be leading a raid upon the raftspeople. Have you heard anything about that?”

“Not a word. The great chief of the Shaawanwaaki does not confide in me. However, I would not be surprised if he and his warriors did not resent the injuries and the insults which we Ganopo, who are under his protection, have suffered from the eagle-noses.”

“If they did make this raid you suggest, when would they be likely to do it?”

“In the old days, when the Shaawanwaaki warred against the people on the south bank, they would cross the River just before dawn. The clouds are still duck then, and they could not be seen approaching. But soon after they had landed, the sun would come up and the clouds would burn away under its heat. Then the Shaawanwaaki could see to strike.”

“That is what I thought,” Burton said. “However, one thing troubles me. It is an easy matter to cross a river or even a small lake in the fog and find me other side. This is a small island which would be difficult to find in the clouds. It is true the rock tower is very high, but the raiders would be in the fog and could not see it.”

The chief tamped down the coals in his pipe, and he said, “That is no worry of mine.”

Burton said, “There is a ledge on the spire. It faces the north bank, but an outcropping of rock would prevent the raftspeople from seeing it. It would also prevent them from seeing a bonfire. A bonfire which anyone on The River north of the island might see even through the fog. Is that why some of the Ganopo have been busy all day carrying bamboo and pine up to this ledge?”

The chief grinned. “You have the curiosity of a wildcat and the eyes of a hawk. However, I promised the Shaawanwaaki chief not to say a word about this business.”