Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur - Страница 63

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her, and she felt a flare of annoyance that he had turned the

conversation so neatly.

"Damn you, Jake Barton. I don't have to answer to you or to anybody,"

she said softly.

"Right," he said. "Quite right. You're a big girl now but just

remember that you're playing with the big boys. And some of them play

very rough."

"Is there any charge, counsellor?" She looked up at him defiantly, and

then she saw the look in his eyes and the anger shrivelled within

her.

"I don't want to fight with you, Vicky," he said softly.

"That's the last thing in the world I want to do." He swallowed the

last of his coffee. "Well," he said, "back to work.

"You give up easily, don't you?" Vicky didn't realize she had spoken

until the words were out, and then she wanted them back but

Jake cocked an eye, at her, and he grinned that big boyish grin of

his.

"Giving up?" Now he laughed aloud. "Oh, lady! If you believe that

then you do me wrong, - a grave injustice." And he moved slowly

towards where she sat and stood over her.

The laughter faded from his voice and from his eyes as he spoke in a

new husky tone.

"You really are very lovely."

"Jake." She held his eyes. "I wish

I could explain but I just don't understand myself" He touched her

cheek and stooped down to her. "No, Jake, please don't-" she said and

made no effort to avoid his lips, but before they touched hers, there

was the -urgent sound of galloping hooves, coming up through the

forest.

The two of them drew slowly apart, still watching each other's eyes and

Gregorius Maryarn rode into the camp on a shaggy little mountain

pony.

"Jake," he called, sliding down off the saddle. "It's war! It's

begun! The Italians have crossed the Mareb. Gareth has just told my

grandfather."

"The timely messenger," murmured Vicky, but her voice was a little

shaky, and her smile lopsided.

"I've come to help you fix my car, Jake. We must be ready to fight,"

called Gregorius, and tossed his reins to the servant who followed him.

"Let's get to work. There is little time my grandfather has called all

his commanders to a war council at noon. He wants you there."

Gregorius turned away and hurried to the gutted hulk of

Tenastelin. For a moment longer Jake stood over Vicky, and then he

shrugged with resignation.

Just remember," he threatened her mildly, "I don't give up, and he

followed Gregorius.

An hour later they had stripped the gearbox and spread its component

parts on a sheet of clean canvas. Jake rocked back on his heels.

"Well, grand pappy has cooked his goose," he said, and Gregorius

apologized solemnly.

"He is a very impetuous gentleman, my grandfather."

"It's getting on towards noon." Jake stood up. "Let's go down and

hear what next he has in store for us, that impetuous gentleman." The

Ras's encampment was set a little apart from the main body of his army,

and housed only his personal entourage. There were at least two acres

of hastily erected tukuLs, made of sapling frames covered with a range

of material from thatch to flattened paraffin cans. Through this

encampment wandered the naked snotty-nosed children and the Ras's

multitudinous female retainers, together with goats, mangy dogs,

donkeys, and camels.

The Ras's tent was set up in the centre of this community. It was a

large marquee, patched so often that little of the original canvas was

visible. His bodyguard was grouped protectively at the entrance.

Beyond the Ras's tent was a large area of open sandy ground,

almost completely covered by rank upon rank of patiently squatting

warriors.

"My God," exclaimed Jake. "Everyone gets to the war council."

"It's the custom," explained Gregorius. "All may attend, but only the

commanders may speak." To one side, separated from the Harari troops

by a small space of beaten earth and centuries of rankling hostility,

were the Galla contingent, and Vicky pointed them out to Jake.

"Pretty bunch," he murmured. "With allies like that, who needs

enemies?" Gregorius led them directly to the Ras's tent, and the

guards stood aside for them to enter. The interior was dark and hot,

redolent with the smell of the rank native tobacco and spiced food. At

the far end of the tent, a knot of silent men squatted in a tense

circle about two figures the Ras, swathed in dark woollen robes, and

Gareth Swales in a light silk shirt and white flannels.

For a moment Jake thought that the two central figures were deeply

immersed in planning the strategy and defence of the Sardi Gorge then

he saw the neat piles of paste, board spread out on the golden

Afghanistan rug between them.

"My God," said Jake. "He took me at my word." Gareth looked up from

the fan of cards he held in his right hand.

"Thank God." His face showed obvious relief. "I only wish it had been

an hour earlier."

"What's the trouble."

"This old bastard is cheating," said Gareth, with barely suppressed

outrage quivering in his voice. "He has caught me for almost two

hundred quid this morning.

I'm utterly appalled, I must say. They obviously have no scruples,

these people-" and here Gareth glanced at Gregorius, no offence

meant,

of course. But I must admit I am staggered." And the Ras nodded and

grinned happily, his eyes sparkling with triumph, as he waved Jake

and

Vicky to a seat on a pile of cushions beside him.

"If he's cheating don't play with him," suggested Vicky, and

Gareth looked pained.

"You don't understand, old girl. I haven't been able to figure how

he's doing it. He's invented a method new to science and the gambling

halls of the world. He might be an absolutely unscrupulous old rogue,

but he must be some sort of genius as well. I've just got to keep on

playing with him until I work out his system." Gareth's doleful

expression became radiant. "My God, when I do Monte Carlo here I

came!" He discarded a six of spades. The Ras leapt upon it with a

cackle of triumph and began laying out his hand.

"Oh my God," groaned Gareth. "He's done it again." The tense group of

counsellors and elders around the game exploded in a delighted burst of

cheers and felicitations, and the Ras acknowledged their

congratulations like a victorious prizefighter. Grinning and snuffling

he leaned across the rug and with a loud cry of "How do you do!" he

punched Gareth's arm playfully, and Gareth winced and massaged the limb

tenderly.

"He does that every time he wins. He's got a touch like a demented

blacksmith I'm black and blue."

"How do you do!" cried the \ Ras again, louder than before, and he

shaped up to punch once more, but

Gareth hastily produced his purse, and the Ras relaxed.

"He keeps punching until I pay." Gareth counted out the coins,

while the Ras and his followers watched in heavy-breathing

concentration, which only broke into smiles and laughter again when the

pile of coins in front of Gareth reached the stipulated amount. "No

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