Patrick O’Brian 3-Book Adventure Collection: The Road to Samarcand, The Golden Ocean, The Unknown Shore. Patrick O’Brian

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      ‘They are not quite sure yet,’ said the Professor, when he was out of earshot. ‘If I knew a few technical terms in Russian – or, indeed, in any language – I could probably keep them off for the few hours that are necessary. But I am very much afraid,’ he paused to tighten a nut, ‘I am very much afraid that they will force me to hoist them before long. Are they still watching?’

      ‘Yes. All of them.’

      ‘Humph,’ said the Professor, moving on to the next gun.

      ‘What do you mean by hoisting them?’ asked Derrick, in a worried murmur. He could not understand how the Professor could remain so cool right under the gaze of their enemies.

      ‘I mean hoisting them on their own petard. You have read of the engineer being blasted at the pale-faced moon, have you not? No? Then you must agree with me that school is quite certainly imperative.’ He was working steadily on the fourth gun. ‘I mean that I will double-cross the bum galoots. They suppose themselves to be very wise guys: but they will find that they are deceived, and that we are wiser.’

      ‘How do you mean?’ asked Derrick, hardly able to control his own nervousness.

      ‘Keep a cool head, my dear boy. I know that this is very trying for you, but endeavour to be calm. I will tell you – it is a scheme worthy of a Greek hero, and it is not wholly un-Greek in its element of treachery. But I will condense it into four or five words. They do not speak Chinese: I do. I hope very much that I shall be able to accomplish my design without bloodshed, but if I cannot, then I must regretfully sacrifice the knaves. Are they still there?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘When you are speaking to an older man, Derrick, it is better to say “sir.” Even in times like these one should try to keep one’s self-command, and the little civilities are like so many bulwarks, as I believe the nautical term goes. Now just help me fasten this disagreeably oily piece, and I will go and pay a call on Shun Chi. They are still watching?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Then there is no hope for them, the unfortunate knaves. Now the next screw …’ It seemed that he would never finish: Derrick watched him go on and on, patiently adjusting the scattered parts, until he could hardly bear it any longer. But at last the Professor straightened his long and bony frame, wiped his face and said, ‘Now, Derrick, I want you to stand where you can watch the Tu-chun’s tent. If you see anything unpleasant happening to me, you must give me your word to escape at once, without trying to do anything to help me. I want your word, and I will not go otherwise.’ He spoke gently, but Derrick knew that he was in deadly earnest. He gave his word, and the Professor said, ‘There is, in point of fact, no danger at all. All this is only to make me feel a little more confident.’ He smiled, and turned away.

      Derrick watched him walk to the left, out of the Russians’ sight, and then turn sharply to the Tu-chun’s tent.

      The rebel leader was in a black mood, but he greeted the Professor with as much courtesy as he could manage, which was not a great deal, for he was an ill-conditioned, brutish fellow, who had risen from the gutters of Hu Wan through the various stages of petty thievery, brigandage and banditry to his present position. He was a false, treacherous man, of the kind who can be relied upon to turn against his friends and allies at a moment’s notice if it serves his ambition, or if his fears are aroused.

      ‘I have some disturbing news for you, Tu-chun,’ said Professor Ayrton. ‘There is treachery in your camp.’

      ‘What?’ cried Shun Chi, grasping his revolver. ‘Who?’

      ‘You have had no suspicions?’

      ‘The sentries this morning?’

      ‘Worse.’

      Shun Chi went pale. He had been a traitor all his life and he felt treachery all around him.

      ‘Tell me at once,’ he begged. ‘I will give you …’ – he looked wildly round the tent – ‘I will give you a thousand taels of gold.’

      ‘I want no gold, Shun Chi. The cause I serve needs no gold. When I came here I was told to expect to find four Russians. I found one. He is dead. The others are foreign devils hired by Hsien Lu. They knew that I had detected them, or at least that I suspected them – their papers were stolen or forged – and they were certain that as soon as I inspected the machine-guns and the bombs I should be certain of their treachery, so they hatched a plot with the prisoners – who were almost certainly confederates – to have Dimitri Mihailovitch and me murdered. You had better have them arrested at once, before they bribe the sentries and escape too. But they must not be killed: my chiefs will want to see them. I cannot promise any further support for your army if these men are killed. Now you must excuse me, Tu-chun: if I am to repair the sabotaged machine-guns and the bombs in time for tomorrow’s attack I shall need every minute. Just have them tied and gagged, and let no one near them – they have too many accomplices here already.’

      For a moment it seemed as if Shun Chi were going to have an apoplectic fit. The veins stood out on his forehead and he gasped for breath. But by a violent effort he mastered himself enough to scream for his guards and to rush out of the tent.

      The Russians were standing by the machine-guns, peering into their works. They started guiltily when they saw the Professor. If the rebel leader had not already been wholly convinced, he would have condemned them in that moment, for they looked like men detected in a crime. ‘Sons of pigs,’ he shouted, ‘you are at it even now. You are dead men.’ He screamed orders to his guards, and in spite of his greed for more tanks and guns his fury overcame him, and in a moment the Russians rolled headless on the ground.

      ‘This is a foretaste of victory,’ said Shun Chi, with an evil smile. ‘Tomorrow I shall do the same to Hsien Lu and every prisoner we take, if only you can get the guns ready in time.’

      ‘Rest assured, Tu-chun: I shall have them fully prepared for you by the hour of the Rat,’ said the Professor, ‘and the bombs, too.’

      ‘Well,’ said Derrick. ‘I never thought it would come off quite like that.’

      ‘I was afraid it would,’ said the Professor, seriously. ‘I did my best for them, but there was no help for it. It was their lives or ours.’

      They worked hard. They soon grew accustomed to the machine-guns, and by nightfall they had successfully wrecked every one of them. The Professor attended to the bombs by the light of a hurricane-lamp, and by midnight the serried racks of bombs were all set to explode as soon as their pins were pulled. The Professor put the last one in its place and got up to stretch. ‘I never hope to spend a more thoroughly uncomfortable evening,’ he said. ‘It quite surprises me that I am still in one piece. Never again shall I permit myself to come into such a position that I am obliged to handle these infernal machines. They are utterly revolting in cause, effect and appearance.’ With these words he lay down and tranquilly composed himself to sleep.

      Derrick listened to his even breathing and wondered how he could possibly sleep. He knew that he would never go off himself, and his mind ran busily over the possibilities of the coming day, the great number of things that could go wrong, and those which might go right. They were to keep to the extreme right of the gorge, he repeated: he must remember that.

      Yet somehow he must have gone to sleep, for there was the Professor shaking him awake. ‘It is the hour of the Rat,’ he said.

      The СКАЧАТЬ