The Adventure MEGAPACK ®. Уильям Хоуп Ходжсон

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СКАЧАТЬ in which he was permitted to exist, there were no tall trees, smooth of trunk, or covered with thick green verdure, whence he might rear his mighty head to survey his domain—the jungle. He loathed with a murderous hatred the white men who held him captive. He longed to enfold them within his gigantic coils, and crush their bones and flesh into one mass. Most of all he detested the wrinkled little yellow man who stole on tiptoe past his cage, shrinking from the infuriated glare of his eyes.

      * * * *

      Today, as a sailor came to his cage to feed him, Mazpa reared his ugly head with a threatening hiss, his fangs darting wickedly from his open jaws, his eyes fiendish. The sailor, overcome with sudden terror, rushed from the cage, leaving it open. Mazpa rolled forth in stately coils, rolled sedately to his freedom—rolled in quest of a tree.

      Yen Sing bent his head, and the pigtail flopped over his shoulder and hung down; Yen Sing blinked. Fascinated, trembling, he looked the length of the mast to the deck below.

      There, rearing upward, quite at his ease, as though he were scaling a tree in his native jungles, was Mazpa. Everywhere, it appeared, was Mazpa. Yen Sing closed his eyes; opened them. The vision remained. Came the paralyzing realization that the snake was no hallucination, but a reality.

      In a cold sweat of terror, Yen Sing understood. The devil of his gods was ready to carry out their will. Who but a god or a devil would have released the heavy bars and bolts of Mazpa’s cage?

      The huge flat head reared itself up the mast, diamond hard eyes fixed brilliantly on his. Behind the flattened head lay coil on coil of scales, shining in the sunlight, twisted about the smooth mast like a bracelet on a virgin’s arm.

      Yen Sing opened his lips to call for help. No sounds issued from them. He gagged with terror. A tremendous fascination drew his eyes to those of the serpent.

      Slowly, silently, the snake made his persistent, relentless advance, his forked tongue darting from his scarlet fangs. The Chinaman’s body shook, then stiffened. He began to regard his enemy with a stare as glassy as its own. His body, his limbs, his vocal organs were completely paralyzed, it seemed. An age of inertia, and then, very slowly but very surely, he began to move down the mast. Inch by inch he edged nearer, inch by inch Mazpa crept up.

      Below, on the deck, the crew were searching for Mazpa, searching with a silent speed that proved how unwelcome a guest Mazpa was, unfettered. The sun still shone, and the waters still danced, but there was a chill in the sunshine, and a threat, a mocking, in the dancing. Sally, his red hair rumpled by the fingers of the breeze, remembered that nature was man’s age-old enemy. His lips were tight over his uneven teeth. Through his brain seethed strange thoughts. He thought of Mazpa’s mighty coils crushing out the life of a man as easily as he could break a soda-water straw; he wondered what had become of the little yellow Chink. Then he coupled the two thoughts and shuddered.

      Below was the blue water, above was the blue sky, with white gulls speeding through its color. His eyes followed their flight mechanically as he straightened a moment to wipe the perspiration from his freckled face. The birds disappeared behind the mast. Sally’s mouth fell open, his head jerked back; his eyes widened, his face became a mask of horror.

      Up the mast undulated the giant snake; down the mast, a man in another world, edged Yen Sing. While one might have counted ten, the sailor stood like a man in a trance, his gaze riveted on the gently swaying mast.

      Then he leaped to action. He summoned the rest of the crew. But what could they do? What could any of them do? Powerless to move, they stood, silent, head upturned, watching, watching. Finally Sally, his body shaking, in a sweat, managed to rouse himself somehow from the coma of terror. He shouted.

      The little Englishman appeared from below the deck, a gun under one arm. He followed the mesmerized gaze of the sailors upward. Years in the jungle had taught him self-reliance, self-control He brought his gun slowly to his shoulder, aimed it. But he didn’t fire.

      A shout from Sally halted his finger on the trigger. A whispered conclave, and Sally disappeared below decks; the Englishman, his hand on his gun, took up a position behind the sailors. His face was troubled, but he was alert, eager—for what? Still the serpent rolled his sickening coils up; still Yen Sing, his pigtail jerking on his shoulder as the boat dipped to the waves, crept slowly downward.

      Of the turmoil on the deck, Yen Sing knew nothing. His consciousness was limited to one vivid sensation against a background of unfathomable black—two fiery bits of light, now pin-pricks, now balls of menacing flame, dissolving again into the black of nothingness. He had forgotten that Mazpa was a devil, forgotten his loves, his hatreds, his fears. His whole world lay in those two compelling beacons.

      Through the blankness, coming from another planet, pierced a sound, a shrill, thin, wailing sound.

      This was the second devil, Flute. Mazpa could not do the trick alone, he needed help. For one brief second, Yen Sing was conscious of a darting, brief-lived, poignant triumph. At least he was not succumbing tamely. It took two devils—two chief devils—to master his stubborn soul.

      He loathed the whining voice of Flute, who lived in a black reed, but his bosom swelled with pride. If only he could tear his gaze from those points of flame, he might fool them both. But his momentary return to awareness was gone. Impelled by a power he could not resist, he was forced to watch the pin-pricks. Sound faded from his consciousness. The world vanished. He was alone in space with beacons of light, which he must reach. But his legs would not hasten, nor stop moving. He could deviate neither to the left, nor the right.

      * * * *

      On the deck, one or two of the crew tore their gaze from the significant silhouettes on the mast, and buried their faces in trembling hands. Their strength was gone. They could no longer watch. The face of the little Englishman was wooden in expression. His fingers played nervously over the barrel of his gun. Drops of perspiration rolled unheeded down his cheeks.

      Mazpa, scales shining, calmly proceeded on his journey. Once more he was happy—seeking his prey on a smooth, tall tree.

      The song of the flute rose in the air, sure, unwavering, gaining strength with every precious moment. It soared above the deck, clear, confident, wheedling. It wailed, sighed, cajoled. Never had Sally so played before. Never, probably, would he so play again, for now he was playing for the tremendous stake of a human life. Through the black reed he begged and called. The song was seductive—a beautiful woman begging a favor, a lover wooing, persuasive, tender. Mazpa’s flat ugly head swayed in time to the music, but his beady eyes remained fixed on the Chinaman, so near him now. The fangs darted against the sky in a fine forked thread of black. The flute sobbed and pleaded. Mazpa’s head swayed slowly, lazily. The flute never ceased to beg. Mighty, ceaseless undulations—a shrill soft voice, wheedling, caressing—coils gleaming, flashing as they moved along the shining mast in the light of the sun, deliberately, inch by inch, scaly arch by scaly arch, giant coil by giant coil—still the seductive voice, the wheedling cajolery.

      * * * *

      A moment pregnant with suspense, teeming with hope, with fear—cessation of motion, climax of sound—awful silence—a moment brief, yet measured by aeons. Again the undulations; the shrill, sweet summons.

      Yen Sing, two tiny points light suddenly flashing from his consciousness, pitched into the blankness they had left. The sailors, swiftly galvanized into action by sharp, almost hysterical orders from the fat Englishman, who threw his gun clattering onto the deck to help them, caught the yellow man in a blanket and rolled him onto the deck.

      A shudder convulsed the thin frame—and then another. His hands were icy, inert. One of the sailors СКАЧАТЬ