Leopard Hunts in Darkness - Smith Wilbur (книга бесплатный формат .TXT) 📗
There is always risk of infection from these bites," the d doctor explained anxiously. "I will inject an antibiotic." Tungata moaned arid muttered, and then began to struggle weakly. The troopers restrained him, until he came fully conscious and then they helped him into a sitting position. His eyes focused with difficulty on Peter Fungabera, and his confusion was obvious.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Comrade." Peter's voi nc ce was o O? more smooth and richly modulated.
"You are now one the privileged few who have had a glimpse of the beyond." The doctor still fussed over him, but Tungata's eyes never left Peter Fungabera's face.
"You do not understand," Peter said, "and nobody can blame you for that. You see, the good doctor hM removed the creature's poison sacs, as you suggested he might have." Tungata shook his head, unable to speak.
"The rat!" Peter spoke for him. "Yes, of course, the rat.
That was rather clever. Whilst he was out of the room the doctor gave it a little injection. He had tested the dosage on other rodents to get the correct delay. You were right, my dear Tungata, we aren't ready to let you go just yet.
Maybe next time, or the time after that you will the ver know for certain. Then of course, we might miscalculate.
There might, for instance, have been a little residual tori-.
in that adder's fangs-" Peter shrugged. "It's all very delicatu this time, next time who knows? How long can yot, keep it up, Comrade, before your mind snaps?"
"I can keep it up as long as you can," Tungata whispered huskily. "I give you my oath on that."
"Now, now, no rash promises," Peter scolded him mildly.
"The next little production that I am planning involves my puppies you have heard Fungabera's puppies, every night you have heard them. I am not sure how we can control them. It will be interesting you could easily lose an arm or a foot it only takes one snap of those jaws." Peter played with his swagger-stick, rolling it between his fingers. "The choice is yours, and of course it only takes one word from you to end it all." Peter held up one hand. "No, please don't tax yourself. There is no need to give an answer now. We'll let you have another few days at the wall to recuperate from this ordeal, and then-" t unga. a had lost track of time. He could not remember how many days he had spent at the wall, how many men he had seen executed, how many nights he had lain and listened to the hyena.
He found it difficult to think further ahead than the next bowl of water. The doctor had judged the amount required to keep him alive with precision. Thirst was a torment that never ceased, not even when he slept, for his nightmares now were filled with images of water lakes and running streams which he could not reach, rain that fell all around him and did not touch him, and raging, intolerable thirst.
Added to the thirst, Peter Fungabera's threat of delivering him to the hyena pack festered in his imagination and became more potent for every day that it was delayed.
Water and hyena they were beginning to drive him beyond the borders of sanity. He knew that he could not hold out much longer, and he wondered confusedly why he had held out this long. He had to keep reminding himself that Lobengula's tomb was all that was keeping him alive. While he had the secret, they could not kill him. He did not entertain for even a moment the hope that Peter Fungabera would keep his promise of sending him to safety once he led them to the tomb.
He had to stay alive, it was his duty. As long as he lived, there was still hope, however faint, of delivery. He knew that with his death his people would sink deeper into the tyrant's coils. He was their hope of salvation. It was his duty to them to live, even though death would now be a blessing and a release, he could not die. He must live on.
He waited in the icy darkness of pre-dawn, his body too stiff and weak to rise. This day they would have to carry him to the wall, or to whatever they had planned for him.
He hated that thought. He hated to show such weakness in front of them.
He heard the cam A guards, the orders i sound of blows and the cries of a prisoner in the adjoining cell being dragged to the execution wall.
Now soon they would come for him. He reached out for the water bowl and his disappointment hit him in a cold gust as he remembered that the previous evening he had not been able to control himself. The bowl was empty. He crouched over it and licked the enamel likea dog, in case a drop remained of the precious fluid. It was dry.
stir. The march of the less violence, the The bolts shot back and the door was flung open. The day had begun. Tungata tried to rise. He lurched up onto his knees. A guard entered and placed a large dark object on the threshold and then quietly withdrew. The door was bolted again and Tungata was left alone.
This had never happened before. Tungata was stupefied and uncomprehending. He crouched in the darkness and waited for something more to happen, but nothing did. He heard the other prisoners being led away, and then silence beyond the door of his cell.
The light began to strengthen and cautiously he examined the object that had been left by the guard. It was a plastic bucket, and in the dawn light the contents shimmered.
Water. A full gallon of water. He crawled to it and examined it, not yet beginning to hope. Once before, they had tricked him. They had doctored his water bowl and he had gulped down a mouthful before he realized that it was heavily laced with salt and bitter alum. The thirst that lowed had driven him delirious and shaking as though fol in malarial crisis.
Gingerly he dipped his forefinger into the liquid in the bucket and tasted a drop. It was sweet, clean water. He made a little whining sound in his throat, and scooped the empty bowl full of the precious fluid. He tilted back his head and poured the water down his throat. He drank with a terrible desperation, expecting that at any moment the oar would crash open and a guard would kick the bucket over.
