was a burly young white man, with a suntanned face and curly hair. He
shouted above the engine rumble in an indeterminate colonial accent
Australian, New Zealand or South African, 'Are you
Lij Mikhael?' The Prince shook hands briefly with Vicky before jumping
down. With his sham ma fluttering wildly in the slipstream from the
propeller, he hurried to the aircraft and climbed into the tiny
cabin.
The pilot was watching Vicky with a lively interest through the side
window and when she caught his eye he pursed his lips and made a circle
with thumb and forefinger in the universal sign of approval.
His grin was so frank and boyishly open that Vicky had to grin back.
'Room for one more!' he shouted, and she laughed and shouted back,
'Next time, perhaps.'
'it will be a pleasure, lady,' and he gunned the motor and swung away
lining up on the short rough-surfaced runway.
Vicky watched the Puss Moth climb laboriously up towards the mountain
crests. As the busy buzzing of its engine faded, a feeling of terrible
aloneness fell over her and she glanced around apprehensively at the
hordes of swarthy horsemen who surrounded the armoured car. Suddenly
she realized that not one of all these men could speak her language,
and that now there was a small cold cramp of fear at the base of her
belly to go with the aloneness.
Almost desperately, she longed for some contact with the world which
she knew, rather than these savage horsemen in this land of wild
mountains. For an instant she thought of checking the telegraph office
for a reply to her despatch, but dismissed the idea immediately. There
was no chance that her editor would yet have received, let alone
replied to her communication. Now she looked around her and identified
the knot of men and horses that comprised Lij Mikhael's bodyguard, but
they seemed very little different from the greater mass of Gallas.
Little comfort there, and she climbed quickly down into the driver's
hatch of the car and engaged the low gear.
She bumped over the rough ground and found the track that led down
along the river towards the tall grey stone portals of the gorge. She
was aware of the long untidy column Of Mounted men that followed her
closely, but her t mind leapt ahead to her arrival at the foot of the
gorge, to her reunion with Jake and Gareth. Suddenly those two were
the most important persons in her whole existence and she longed for
them, both or either of them, with a strength that showed in the white
knuckles of her hands as she gripped the steering-wheel.
The descent of the gorge was a more terrifying experience than the
ascent. The steeper stretches fell away before Vicky with the
gut-swooping feel of a ski-run, and once the heavy cumbersome car was
committed to it, its own weight took charge and it went down bucking
and skidding. Even with the brakes locking all four wheels, it kept
plunging downwards, with very little steering control transmitted to
the front wheels.
A little after noon, Vicky had come more than halfway down the gorge,
and she remembered that this final pitch was the truly terrifying part,
where the track clung to the precipice high above the roaring river in
