“I somehow feel, darling,” he told her, “this whole expedition is a terrible mistake. As much as I want to see Jack, and as much as I love the jungle, this idea of chaperoning a lot of people around in surroundings with which they are not familiar doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “Still,” Jane pointed out, “you gave your word.”

  He sighed. “Yes. I know. Young Burke-now there’s a fair example. Allowed me to read his dispatch to London, about me. Us. We’re slaveholders, Jane, according to him, in the finest tradition of the cotton plantations of your native land!”

  “He did that?” Jane was incredulous.

  “Indeed. By the way, my dear, he had some information-which he’d twisted all around, of course-that certainly couldn’t have come from anyone other than myself or you. Have you talked with him at any length?”

  “No. No, not with Arthur. Patricia and I have had some fairly long discussions, though. She seemed so interested in … oh, no!” Jane placed the back of her hand across her mouth in shock. “John, she simply couldn’t have … she wouldn’t do a thing like that!”

  Lord Greystoke smiled. “Come, come, my dear. It isn’t all that bad. No doubt the boy feels he’s perfectly within his rights to report anything as he sees it, and if it’s any consolation to you, he told me not half an hour ago that she strongly disapproved of the story he was going to file. At any rate, this is all beside the point. I doubt that anything very dreadful is going to happen to us as a result of this rather immature type of reporting. No, I just have a bad feeling about this expedition. I heartily wish I hadn’t been brought into it. I heartily wish that I’d had the moral courage to say ‘no’ to the idea, although I must confess it seemed an excellent one at the time I was approached. Ah, well, I daresay we shall live through it all. We generally manage to survive, don’t we? By the way, no report from Freddy’s plane as yet. I’m a bit concerned, although it’s possible, I suppose, that some geographical fault between here and Kilimanjaro could blank out the wireless . .” A knock on the door interrupted the English lord.

  He opened it. It was Arthur Burke. “Yes?” Tarzan’s voice was colder than he’d meant it to sound.

  “I’m sorry. Lord Greystoke. I thought you’d like to know. I’ve finally picked up Freddy on the wireless. He’s standing by. Would you care to have a talk with him?”

  “By all means. Right with you, and thank you very much. excuse me, darling. Now perhaps we’ll learn something.” Tarzan strode rapidly to the radio room, seating himself before the console, and pressed the “talk” switch. “Hullo, Freddy. Greystoke here.” He released the switch, pressed an earphone tighter. Keys-Smythe’s voice came in faintly, amidst much popping and crackling. The words were almost indistinguishable. Tarzan shook his head impatiently, pressed the “talk” switch once more. “Say again. Say again. We do not read you.” He released the switch, and this time, apparently in mid-sentence, Freddy’s voice rang out clarion clear.”

  “… so you see, we’re quite all right. A bit chilly, but nothing we can’t handle until tomorrow. We’re in the cabin, of the plane that is, and it’s quite cold but quite tight. If you could fly down so that you could get here tomorrow, and drop us off some supplies of a rather substantial nature. I’m sure we can make our way out of this. Don’t try to land here. I repeat, do not try to land here. We’ll have smoke going for you by daylight so you can spot us, and then perhaps you can find a suitable landing place not too awfully far away, and we’ll make our way to you. Over.”

  Tarzan took a moment to consider. If he left in three hours, say, he should just about be there by daylight. Ample time to service his own small plane, rig up some parachute drops of fuel and food and medical supplies. “Consider it laid on,” he said. “See you bright and early, then. My regards to Al and Charley. Watch out for things that go ‘bump’ in the night. Any further requests or information? I take it you’re north of Kilimanjaro?”

  “Yes. On a plateau at no more than eight thousand feet. You’ll find us easily. Hold on a moment. Al wants a word with me.” Tarzan could hear some excited conversation, and Freddy came back on the microphone. “Al and Charley have just spotted four strange figures approaching the plane. Wait, I’ll just ‘rub this window… ah, yes, there are a couple of them. Weird-looking devils. Whatever could be out on a night like this in a blizzard and forty-below weather? Wait, wait … one of them’s at the door to the ship! My God, the metal’s actually bending. Fantastic strength. Al-Al, get the rifle. Right through the door. That’s it.” Tarzan heard a rifle shot. He sat glued to his chair in fascination. “Quick, Lord Greystoke, get this down. They’re at least eight feet tall, and they have pointed heads. And their strength … I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh, oh … there goes the door, and now …” The message broke off, abruptly. Even the carrier beam was silent. It seemed likely that one of the strange beings had ripped loose a jury-rigged antenna.

  Tarzan leaped to his feet, thrust the headset to the startled Burke, and ordered in a tone that brooked no interference: “Stay on it. See if you can raise them again. I’ll check with you in ten minutes. This is serious.”

  “Tarzan raced out to the native compound, ordered the first sentry he saw to locate Basuli and Teemu and bring them to him within five minutes, ready to travel.

  He went to his own quarters, rapidly changed into his favorite gear, which was, quite simply, loincloth, bow and arrows, spears and the knife that had been given to him by his father. He went into the bedroom. Jane was sleeping quietly. He placed a tender kiss on her brow, then went back into the radio room. Burke looked at him in astonishment. “Where’s the masquerade?”

  “This is my hunting gear,” Tarzan said. “Now here’s what you’re to do. The gear arrives in the morning. The lorries are all set to roll. Transfer the material. Tell Lady Greystoke that I’ve gone on ahead, and to make all speed. Tell her I’m taking Basuli and the Sherpa with me, and that we’re going as far as we can go by airplane. Freddy’s in serious trouble. I have Waziri scouts ahead, and I’ll try to rejoin the safari as soon as possible. Got all that?”

  “Yes, but …” Burke stammered.

  “That’s all, then. Better turn in, get as much sleep as you can. You have a rocky road ahead of you.”

  Tarzan turned on his heel and swung out the door, trotting across the yard. As he reached the shadows surrounding the compound, he heard the snuffling growl of a great ape, and whirled in his tracks. He received a formal greeting, one he really had no time for.

  “I am Jedak,” came the challenge, “I kill!”

  “I am Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle and of all mangani and tarmangani within it. I kill!”

  The giant figure advanced from the shadows, pounding its feet upon the ground in a simulated rage. Often, such simulated rages turned into the real thing. Ceremonially, Tarzan pounded his feet upon the ground, and growled, fiercely. Jedak dropped to all fours, strutting in a circle on his knuckles, muttering curses, and Tarzan did the same. Formalities over, the pair straightened. Jedak wiped a clumsy paw across his snout. “I needed to see you, Tarzan. Now, I do not know why.”

  Jedak was ailing with the curse that had kept the great apes at their stage of civilization for thousands of years; an overwhelming curiosity and a faulty memory. Tarzan was struck with an idea. “I go to make war against a strange enemy. He is said to be stronger than any mangani, any bull.”

  Jedak went into a chattering rage, stomping about in great circles, ripping up clumps of grass. “No beast can stand against the mangani,” he boasted, thumping his chest in a fashion that threatened to collapse his ribs. “I, Jedak, mightiest of the mangani, say this! Where is this beast? Take me to him. I will tear him to shreds before your eyes!”

  “You would have to go,” Tarzan said, “in the silver bird.”

  Jedak paused in his boasting for a split second. “The silver bird? Me? Never!”

  Tarzan made a “tcha” of disgust. “Go back to your shes and your pups, Jedak. You grow old. Too old, perhaps, to fight. Perhaps you can kill a dik-dik tomorrow, and stomp and boast about it.”

  “Wait! I am Jedak. I do not know fear. I got”

  “Good. Come along. We leave at once. There will be two others with us. Basuli, my Waziri chieftain, and a strange one, with a most peculiar smell. But needful to us. He is a tracker of such game.”

  Tarzan turned and walked away. After a moment, Jedak followed. Truthfully, the great shaggy ape had no fear in his heart, but the silver bird … well, if Tarzan could do it, so could Jedak. Puzzled, the great ape wondered what had driven him with a compulsion to this spot on this night for driven he surely had been!

  Chapter 7

  BANQUET OF DEATH

  THE Hon. Freddy Keys-Smythe, together with Al and Charley, had been overwhelmed. There was no other word for it. Overwhelmed. Rifle shots had apparently had no effect upon the great beasts who had captured them. Each had been picked up rather like a rag doll, and the party had started up the snow slope. Struggle was futile. The beasts (Freddy was sure they were yeti) trotted off at a mile-consuming trot. The motion was intolerable, but not nearly so intolerable as the rank, fetid odor given off by their shaggy hides. Freddy shuddered, not so much from the cold or the odor, as from the fact that these brutes had literally peeled away the sides of the aircraft, plucking the adventurers out as if they had been peas in a not particularly difficult pod. Well, he thought, with a certain grim amusement, we found our yeti. You’re a brilliant theoretician, old boy, but something of a clod!

  Time began to be unreal. Had they been moving for ten minutes, an hour, two? The blizzard had stopped, and now only the bitter cold remained. Still the yeti showed no signs of slackening their pace. Now they arrived at what appeared to be a snow-cliff. Without breaking stride, the giant beasts, with their human burdens, climbed an almost vertical path, seemingly without effort. Halfway up the face, the party stopped, while one of the unencumbered yeti passed them on the impossibly narrow trail, and tugged at a hidden boulder. It slid open, revealing a narrow passageway, dimly lit by some sort of light which came from nowhere and everywhere. The party filed in, the lone yeti remaining behind to pull the door shut behind them. Nor was the trip yet’ over. Once again, with the peculiar mile-consuming trot, the party and its captors raced through what appeared to be miles of tunnels hewn from the living rock. Gradually, it became warmer. They turned off into several different branches of the tunnel, until Freddy was completely confused. He was certain that, if he’d been freed at the moment, he could never find his way back to the surface. Finally, after what might have been a good half-hour, the group reached what appeared to be a dead end of the passageway. Here, their captors sat them on their feet, and one of the strange beasts pressed on the door which had been masked by stone. It swung open, and, without further ado, the trio was hustled through. The door closed behind them. They were in a well-lit and luxuriously furnished room. A curiously garbed man faced them. In almost impeccable English, he greeted them:

  “Welcome. I am Ra-Man, servant to her majesty, Queen Ak-Ahmen. We had word of your accident, and sent servants to fetch you. You will find fresh garments in these quarters, drink on yon table. Her Majesty knows of your presence, and invites you to attend a feast in your honor shortly. Within the hour. Please to consider yourselves our honored guests. I will send slave girls to attend to your needs. Baths, unguents, robing.” He bowed, and disappeared through a door near him.

  “I’ll be damned,” breathed Freddy. “I’ll be eternally damned. Who would have even dreamed it?”

  “Not me, that’s for bloody sure and certain,” Al observed. “Slave girls? Lads, I have a feeling we’re prisoners, of sorts, but you must admit it’s a fine way to be a prisoner. I was in a P.O.W. camp during the late, great conflict, and it wouldn’t hold a candle to this treatment. Let’s have a snort of that juice, whatever it is, shall we?” Charley had already picked up one of the bottles, unstopped it and was sniffing cautiously. “Funny sort of smell,” he commented, “but most definitely alcoholic.” He poured out a bit in the cups that accompanied the bottle, raised a drink to his lips, sipped it cautiously. “Ahh. Tasty, in a strange sort of way. Like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. But it must be a hundred proof, at least. Well, lads, cheers!” He downed it at a gulp, shivered. “That’ll take the frost out of your bones, boys!”

  “I’m up,” Al said, and picking one of the cups from the table, drained it. “Arrghl Good-ol Freddy, you’d best tuck a lip about one of these depth-bombs. Make a new man of you.”

  Freddy obliged, shuddering as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. “Shouldn’t drink much of this, fellows. Best to keep our wits about us, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps just one more,” Al suggested, tilting the bottle. “It’s been a hairy night, after all.”

  The trio finished their second drink, and Charley had fished out a packet of Players cigarettes, which he passed around; as they were lighting up, a quartet of scantily attired slave girls entered, giggling and talking excitedly among themselves. One of the girls went to the far wall, opening a door that had not been readily discernible, and pointed. The Hon. Freddy walked over, looked into the next room. He turned around.

  “It’s a bathroom, chaps. Marble, no less, and unless I’ve lost my marbles, the fittings are all ingold. Who’s for a hot bath?”

  Al thought about this. “I could use one. What about these little darlings, though? Are they in for spectator sports, fun and games or what?”

  Charley joined Al at the door, looking over his shoulder. “Lord love a duck, it’s a regular swimming pool. How’s the water, then, Fred?”

  Keys-Smythe bent over, ran a hand through the water. “Hot. Damned hot. Japanese style.”

  “I could do with a splash. Well, ladies of the ensemble, ready or not. I’m shedding my clothing.” Without further ado, Charley started to undress. He stopped midway through. “Should hang onto my watch,” he observed. “Ah, there’s a bit of a shelf.” He took his watch off, noting the time, then finished stripping and splashed into the pool, coming up yowling from the heat. “Hoyl I feel like a bloody lobster.” The slave girls stood about watching with interest, pointing, whispering to each other and giggling. “Ah, what’s all that?” Charley said, splashing them with water. “You’ll see funnier sights than this before the evening’s over, I’ll warrant. Well, fellows, aren’t you joining me?”

  Somewhat more slowly, the other men stripped and jumped into the water. They played about for a few moments, becoming almost torpid. Charley was the first one out, and as he slowly climbed to the edge of the pool, he was greeted with a bucketful of cold water, then a rough towel was wrapped about his body as he was still gasping for breath, and one of the girls began to rub him down thoroughly.

  Fred and Al watched this with interest. “Well, Al?”

  “Well, Freddy? You’re our leader. Set the pace. I don’t mind the rubdown, that bucket of cold water has me a bit stymied. After you. Honorable Keys-Smythe.”

  With sudden resolution, Freddy cried out “Up the Blues!” and sprang from the pool, to be greeted by a buckets of water. Grinning, both Fred and Charley waited for Al. He swam to one end of the pool and back nonchalantly. “Let’s get out of there, boy. We’ve an engagement with her majesty.”

  Al stared helplessly at the resolute slave girl who stood poised with the water bucket. Suddenly, he sprang over the edge of the pool, shouting, ““There I I’ve done you in this … aaagh!”

  “Stiff upper lip, old man,” Freddy advised, between convulsions of mirth. “Don’t you think those blue bumps do something for him, Charley?”

  “Undoubtedly. Looks like a chenille bedspread, doesn’t he?”

  “Um. Well, lads, shall we see what they have ready for us? We’ve an audience with her majesty, you know. I suppose it’ll be some sort of ceremonial robe, something of the sort. I say, are we honored guests, prisoners, or what?”

  “Very funny,” Al commented between chattering teeth. “Still, there’s a certain element of humor. I say, do cither of you men feel that we’re enjoying the traditional last meal of the condemned? This is all too awfully smooth, if you follow me. We did get through to Lord Greystoke, didn’t we?”

  Freddy, being helped into a ceremonial robe by one of the slave girls, frowned. “Yes. Yes, of course we did. I’ve no idea how much of it he heard. The static was ferocious.” He turned, admiring the flow of his silken robe. “I’m sure he knows the approximate location of the plane. I’m equally sure he doesn’t know where we are. I certainly don’t, at any rate. So far, so good, though, wouldn’t you say?”

  Charley, already robed and anointed, was back at the bottle of liquor. He poured himself another. “If I am about to die, let me die happy. That is to say, drunk.” He lifted his mug in a salute, drank the stuff, visibly staggering when it hit bottom. “There’s a fortune in this stuff.”

  Two of the slave girls were helping Al into his robes when the knock came at the door. The girls prostrated themselves upon the floor, and the door swung open to admit the majordomo, prime minister, or whatever he was.

  “Ah,” he said, smiling blandly. “I see you are prepared.”

  “Prepared?” the Hon. Freddy asked. “That’s a poor choice of words, isn’t it? Dressed, one might say, and eager to meet her majesty. Queen Ak-Ahmen.”

  Ra-Man smiled blandly. “Just so. Come then. Music, food, dancing girls await you. You are indeed honored guests. Seldom do our yeti bring us Englishmen. The queen is most pleased to receive you. A special section above the amphitheater has been reserved for you.”

  “Amphitheater?” That was Freddy.

  “Of course. Where we hold the games during dinner. Most enjoyable, most refreshing. Please to follow me.”

  With a shrug and a look at each other, the trio followed the high priest-if that was what he answered to-out the door. Charley cast a glance over his shoulder and winked at one of the slave girls, who giggled and then, unbelievably, winked in return. “I’ll be damned,” Charley muttered under his breath.