The Opal-Eyed Fan Part 12

How much could she believe Askra? Suppose she was to venture down into this watery cavern, only to have the Indian witch slam the trapdoor on her, trapping her. Persis' hands twitched. She doubted her own courage at this moment. To be down there in the dark -with no one but Askra knowing where she was- Still that same resolve which did not seem a part of the Persis Rooke she thought she knew-that entered into her from the fan dagger. She was conscious of that strange weapon with every move she made, as it impressed its weight and shape, not only physically, but emotionally, against her.

The sound of the voice continued; it might have been a distorted echo from a greater distance. Persis struggled to remember what she had seen on her one trip below-the bathing place. Beyond it the cistern, and also the strange escape tunnel, leading, alongside the turtle pen, out into the ca.n.a.l.

Believing that she was utterly foolish in what she was about to do, but somehow compelled to act, Persis raised her head and once more looked directly at Askra.

"There are the men at the hotel," she said. "If we call them-"

Askra's mouth spread into a wide, malicious grin. With one long-nailed finger she drew a line across her own scraggy throat.

"And before they reach here-what if death comes first? Does white skin live with fear so close to her that it is a cloak she cannot shed?"

She held her head a little on one side, watching Persis with those compelling eyes. "The G.o.ds do not try to govern time-it means nothing to them. Only men live by its bindings."

Persis drew upon all her resolution. She wondered why Askra herself had done nothing to help Crewe Leverett, if the Captain was indeed in danger.

"I serve only the G.o.ds-" The Indian woman straightened to her full height. "Only by their commands must I act. They care nothing for a white skin. Such overthrew their temples, drove forth those who believed in them. If I stepped aside from the appointed path, then would I be powerless-"

That the woman believed in what she said Persis understood. But Askra was continuing: "What I could do, that I have done. Are you not here? For in all this house you were the only one to answer such summoning as I might use." Once more she raised her hands to sketch a deliberate gesture in the air, one which Persis could not understand. "You have seen, you feel. Those who have gone can, in a little, work through you. But that is all I can give you, white skin."

Persis realized that she was nodding as if in agreement. Common sense meant going for help. But she was committed, she realized now, to something the common sense in which she had been drilled all her life could neither answer nor understand. She was forced to do this- and, at the back of her mind, lurked always that strange and eerie feeling that she was under some command, just as Askra averred she herself was. There was no escape now.

The girl swung onto the ladder, the wood under her hands felt wet and beslimed, so she hated the touch of it. But she continued to descend step by hesitating step. When she reached the ledge and faced around she saw that the light came from the left, glimmering dimly from the old escape tunnel.

There was no one in sight and Persis quickly moved back against the wall, so her shoulder sc.r.a.ped along it as that compulsion sent her stumbling ahead toward the tunnel entrance.

"-snug as a weevil in a biscuit."

The words came out of nowhere loud enough for her to distinguish them at last. While the tone was one of malicious amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Don't fret yourself about him, m'dear. We've got what we need, and before they wake up and start hunting we shall be safe. Look at him now-the great Captain Leverett tied up like a prime hog on the way to market!"

"Please, Ralph-we should leave-I don't know how long they'll sleep-"

Lydia! Much of the habitual a.s.surance was gone out of the girl's voice. She sounded on the verge of tears.

"Oh, they'll take a time even after they wake to find their lord and master. And what we've got right here, girl, will end all our problems. I did not think Leverett was such a fool to keep so much cash in hand. But once we're safely married, m'dear, he daren't raise any squeak about it, now can he-seeing as how this we can claim as your marriage portion."

"But that other thing-the portfolio?"

"Don't you fret yourself 'bout that either, m'dear. That's maybe worth more than what we found in the strongbox-to the right people. We might go to Paris, love-what would you say to that? You've been talking how you want to see the world-well, we've got the key to do that right here now."

"But Persis-"

"Persis Rooke, m'dear, hasn't the faintest hope of getting what that old fool dragged himself down here to grab. A silly woman made a silly will. And the breaking of that, aided by the disappearance of these papers, that is as easy as dipping your hand in this water and flipping off the drops. Kind of him-and her-to keep it all in hand, making the lifting so easy. It's a duty really, an honest duty to see that will broken. These high and mighty Rookes had it in for Amos. But, you'll notice, they weren't so high and mighty that they did not come nosing around for what was never theirs in the first place!"

There was no amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice now. Instinctively Persis' hand went to the fan case. Light as Ralph Grillon's tone remained, there was that in it which added to the cold gnawing in her ever since she had awakened in that seemingly deserted house.

"All right, girl, we're heading out. Rest well, Mend-" There was a faint splashing sound and then Lydia cried out: "Don't, Ralph, you nearly upset the canoe then! Stop it!"

"Did you ever think, Lydia, what might happen if this brother of yours was to die? You'd be a pretty important heiress, wouldn't you? Here-what are you doing, you little fool!"

"You needn't try to grab me, Ralph. I know you're only funning. But you leave Crewe alone. We got what we want-stop playing games, I don't like it!"

Ralph Grillon laughed. "All right, m'love, you have the saying of it. I'm not a greedy man, leastways not too greedy. We've done well enough over this night's work. Get along into the other dugout now and mind you keep well down. I'll take us out. Wearing this hat and all they'll think me that old red witch Crewe makes a house pet of. We'll be able to get to the south of the island and set up the flares then."

"What if those are seen, Ralph?"

"They won't be. I found a place where the rocks cut off the light except seaward. Now-move!"

"What if they find Crewe before your boat comes?"

"No chance of that. I've planned this well, m'dear, very well. It's my big chance-yours, too, of course. Think about Paris, Lydia, and lie still, and all is going to be just as I promised."

Persis heard noises which she thought came from paddles slipped into the water and out again. The light dimmed and went out. She pushed one fist hard to her mouth. The ledge ended here except for a narrow ridge which in the dark she could not see. To venture along that, slime encrusted as it was, single footed-she could not. But she had to!

In the end she felt her way by inches, hunching along rather in a froglike position, sweeping one guiding hand in the water. She had guessed from Ralph's words that Crewe had been left helpless in a dugout. But was that moored, or was it drifting free away from her?

Then she barked her knuckles against wood so hard that the blow made her gasp with pain. She felt along what she had discovered-the edge of a canoe, side against the very narrow ledge on which she crouched. But-there was water inside it, too!

With horror Persis plunged her throbbing hand deeper, felt sodden cloth, a body under it. Ralph-Ralph must have known that the dugout would fill-that his victim had been left to drown!

With her other hand the girl jerked free the blade of the false fan, feeling along the wet body with her right. Her fingers met a tangle of wet rope. Not knowing how much time she had, she sawed away at that with the dagger edge. Was Crewe's head underwater-could he have already drowned?

The body was quiet, cold. But suddenly there was movement, an upflung arm nearly sent her spinning from her perch.

"Please," she found her voice at that sign of life, "lie still until I can get you free."

But the arm moved away from her and a moment later there came a hoa.r.s.e, croaked whisper as if from a throat which had not been recently in use.

"This craft is going to settle in a minute. Get me a handhold-"

Persis waved her hand through the dark, found and caught at a well-muscled forearm which she drew toward her.

"The ridge here-it's very narrow-" she cautioned.

"I know. But just let me hold on. I think that I can kick off the rope now."

Splashing sounds suggested that he was doing just that. Then she heard what could only be a sigh of relief.

"That's done. But with this shoulder I can't pull myself up-we'll have to go out the ca.n.a.l entrance."

"I can get back-find help-" Persis resheathed the dagger, and got to her feet.

"I'm afraid," though there was no note of fear in his voice when he answered her, "that I can't hold out that long. If we can swing the dugout over, it may float and support me down to the outside. Only trouble is that I do not think Grillon will be ready to leave until he has made very sure of me."

"But Lydia would never let him-" Persis began in protest.

The sound out of the dark which answered that might have been a laugh but it was far from expressing any amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Lydia will soon discover that she is nothing whatever to Ralph Grillon once she has served his purpose. He may make some pretense of a plausible story to appease her, say that the dugout had a leak he did not realize. But he wants me dead just as much as if he faced me with a primed pistol in his hand!"

Persis knew, with a growing fear, that she could not hope to support Crewe in any climb out of the water. She simply did not have the strength. Guiding his good hand to the edge, she could feel the tension of the grip as his fingers closed upon the slippery stone there.

"Now if you can turn over the dugout," he ordered. His tone was as even as if he had asked her to draw a curtain or light a candle. Persis knelt, her hands running along the side of the rough native craft. It was hardly above water now. Obediently she jerked and exerted what strength she might from such a cramped position. The wood of the side she held was slippery so she could not get a good continuing hold on it, but still she tugged almost wildly.

The splashing her efforts caused sounded very loud to her. She could only hope that Ralph was well enough away not to hear them.

"He won't trust entirely to this little trap," Crewe spoke out of the dark in that same meditative fashion, as if he were an onlooker and not the victim of this attempt at long-distance murder. "He can't be sure he has succeeded until he knows I am dead."

Persis felt a rising anger, not at Ralph Grillon, not yet, nor at Crewe, but at the unwieldy craft which stubbornly resisted her efforts to master it. She gave a last fierce tug, unmindful of her own precarious perch, and, by some miracle, the edge of the waterlogged craft she pulled moved at last. There was a great splash. At the price of two torn nails and a hand sc.r.a.ped raw she had made the dugout turn bottom up. Her fingers touched two holes in the wet surface bobbing there.

"It's over," she said, with a catch of her breath. "But won't it sink now anyway? There are two holes-at least-cut in it."

"Perhaps." Crewe Leverett did not sound alarmed. "But I think it will support me to the turtle pen. There are the stakes set upright there, a better chance to wedge somehow with my head above water-unless the tide-"

Persis nursed her sc.r.a.ped hand against her breast. "The tide!" She had not thought of that. And the very mention of the turtle pen made her flesh crawl.

"Why can't you hold on to the dugout and let me pull that back to the house pool? Then I can get the men-"

Again Crewe laughed until she hated the hollow echo of that sound.

"Do not underrate Grillon," he returned. "He will have the house watched. Do you think that you would be allowed to reach the quarters?"

"Askra is there-in the kitchen. She was the one who told me they were doing this thing-"

"Askra will not lift a hand to help. Why should she? To her all our race are interlopers and murderers. She lives in a past which is hers alone and will not be dragged out of it. And I cannot climb that ladder with one hand."

"Then how did you get down?" Persis was reluctant to surrender what she believed was the most sensible solution to their difficulties.

"Oh, they lowered me by ropes, I think. I'm not too clear-minded about that. Seems that Lydia was very busy today. Concocting a potion which reduced everyone to a state in which they could be easily handled if the need arose. The little fool! I ought to let her go, she'll discover soon enough that Grillon is not the hero she dreams of. He's filled her with his own version of affairs and promised her the moon, with all the nearer stars thrown in. And she's weakminded enough to believe him!" That was bitter.

"She would not let him hurt you," Persis protested. "I heard her-"

"Just showing a trace of squeamishness when it is too late to matter," Crewe returned. "But now-if you can edge the canoe nearer-"

"It's slippery, you can't hold on to it! Wait-"

Before she had time to fear what she knew must be done Persis lowered her own body from the ridge, throwing her left arm across the upturned canoe. The dugout bobbed and sank, spattering water into her face. But it did not go entirely to the bottom, and she found that it did offer support enough so that her head and the top of her shoulders were above water.

"What are you doing?" Crewe Leverett demanded harshly.

"Hold on." She began to kick her feet slowly, edge the damaged craft along so she could hear it grate against the side of the wall. Then, to her surprise and growing confidence, she discovered her clumsy efforts did work! She could force the nearly waterlogged boat closer to where she knew the Captain clung.

"I'm moving the canoe toward you," she explained. "And you're right, it will support us-"

"Us!" The word broke from him with the urgency of a pistol shot.

"Us," she repeated firmly. "You cannot manage with one arm-it is foolish to even think of trying so. Now-tell me when-"

Then came a b.u.mp and a bitten-off exclamation. Either the bow or the stern of the dugout had struck him.

"Can you get your good arm across it now?"

She heard splashing, mutters, and then the dugout sank deeper into the water, so that wavelets washed about her neck. But at least her head was still above water.

"Are you all right?" she cried out with foreboding.

"Well enough. But you-get out of this!"

"No." All Persis' stubborn determination built into that one-word denial. "You can't manage alone and you know it. How far is the turtle pen?"

"Not too far." He at least made no more open protests. They advanced at a snail's pace. By a slightly swifter motion of the unwieldly support under them Persis judged that the Captain was also using his feet to help propel the half-sunken craft along the way. Suddenly Persis felt a self-confidence she had seldom tasted in her life. She had done this-she was succeeding. She spat out water which washed unexpectedly into her face, concentrated on keeping their support moving, nudging its way along the wall of the tunnel.

Then she felt a difference in the obstruction which had been their guide so far. Daring to loose one hand from a desperate hold across the dugout, she felt out, to discover that there were stakes here, between which the water flowed in and out.

The pen! She tried not to think of those creatures moving sluggishly beyond that barrier. A moment later Crewe spoke.

"You've found it."

But Persis, exploring farther by touch, was afraid. The stakes, stout as they were, were also slimed. Certainly Crewe could not hold on here for any length of time and the openings between were too narrow to allow him, she was certain, to squeeze himself amongst them for support. Not with his broken shoulder.

"You can't hold on here," she said flatly. "Any more than you could back there."

"I don't intend to," he answered coolly. "We shall have to go through the pen-"

"Through it!" She felt like shuddering, but feared that even such a slight reaction would jeopardize their frail support.

"If Ralph has left any guards, and I do not think he is stupid enough to overlook that, they will expect us in the ca.n.a.l where the escape route comes out. Our only chance is to go through the pen and hope to reach the mound to the north."

Persis set her teeth. She had no idea of what one of the giant turtles she had seen might do to a soft-skinned invader of their prison. But if this was their only chance- "Feel along the stake wall. It has been over a year since that was renewed," Crewe continued. "There ought to be at least one stake which is rotting. I have had to replace two or three such every season since this was built."

Persis moved very cautiously, keeping one hand on the dugout. The fingers of the other she ran around the stakes at a little below water level. To her they all seemed iron fast and completely firm. One-two-three-four-five-at the sixth she could not be sure. Had her now-broken nails sc.r.a.ped wood which was a little spongy? She tried to keep her mind entirely off what lay beyond. If Crewe said this was the only way, then it was. At that moment she was not even aware that she was accepting his p.r.o.nouncement without question.

"Find one?" He did not even sound impatient, yet there was a note in his voice which bothered her. She began to wonder if he was tiring-she must find the way out! If Crewe collapsed here-with all her strength and determination she could not help him then.

Persis felt for the fan dagger. Using only the one hand she drove it point deep, gouging again and again at the stake which had seemed the least resistant. And, after an initial resistance, the wood was giving!

She dug away at it feverishly. The water was washing more and more into her face so she had to strain her neck muscles in order to be able to breathe. Still she battled on. Then holding the dagger in her other hand she explored what she had done. The stake was whittled down.

"One of them-I cut at it-" she said.

But there still remained a tough core she could not break.

"Hold very still," Crewe's voice was somehow heartening. "I am going to move up, so you move back. I will go one small s.p.a.ce at a time. One-"

Persis had sheathed the dagger again. Now she edged a short distance down the dugout. A moment later that heaved under her. She held on with both hands praying that it was not going to completely sink and fail them. Crewe was moving up its length toward the stakes.

"Two-" Again at this count Persis changed position, steadied herself against the resulting bobbing as Crewe advanced. They had then to wait between such changes of position before they dared to try again.