too late yet.' Peter Fungabera unbuckled the % flap of his holster and drew his pistol. He placed the muzzle against the wire, only inches from the adder's head. 'Say the word, and I will blow its head off.'
'Damn You to your own stinking Shana hell,' whispered Tungata. He could smell the adder now, not a strong odour, a faint mousy sweetness tinged with corruption. It nauseated him. He felt vomit rise and scald the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and began to struggle against the straps that held him. The cage shook with his efforts, but the two troopers h8d his shoulders, and the great adder, alarmed by his movements, hissed again and arched its neck into the 'S' of the strike.
Tungata stopped struggling and forced himself to remain still. He could feel his sweat pouring down his body, trickling coldly down his flanks and puddling under him on the seat of his chair.
Gradually the adder uncocked its neck, and crept forward towards his face. Six inches from his eyes, and Tungata sat still as a statue in his own sweat and loathing and horror. It was so close now that he could not focus on it. It was merely a blur that filled all his vision and then the adder shot out its tongue and explored his face with feather-light strokes of the black forked tongue.
Every nerve in Tungata's body was screwed up to snapping point, and his weakened body was overdosed with adrenalin so that he felt he was suffocating. He had to cling to consciousness. with all his remaining strength or he would have slipped over the edge into the black void of oblivion.
The adder moved on slowly. He could feel the cool slippery touch of coils across his cheek, under his ear, around the back of his n%k, and then, in a final orgasm of horror, he realized th4 the huge reptile was throwing coil after coil of its body about his head, enveloping him, covering his mouth and his nose. He dared not scream nor move, and the seconds drew out.
'He likes you,' Peter Fungabera's voice had thickened with excitement and anticipation. 'He's settling down with you Tungata swivelled his eyes and Peter was on the periphery of his field of vision, blurred by the fine mesh of the cage.
'We can't have that,' Peter gloated, and Tungata saw his hand reach out towards the charcoal brazier. For the first time Tungata noticed that a thin steel rod, likea poker, had been thrust into the burning charcoal. 'When Peter drew it out, the tip glowed red hot.
'This is your absolutely final chance to agree,' he said.
'When I touch the creature with this, it will go crazy.' He waited for a reply. 'You cannot speak, of course. If you agree, just blink your eyes rapidly.' Tungata stared fixedly at him through the mesh, trying to convey to him the universe of hatred that he experienced.
''Ah well, we tried,' said Peter Fungabera. 'Now you have only yourself to blame.' He slipped the point of the glowing poker through the mesh and touched the adder with it. There was a sharp hiss of searing flesh, a tiny puff of stinking smoke and the adder went berserk.
Tungata felt the coils enfold his head, pumping and swelling, and then the great body whipped and slashed, filling the confined space of the cage with crazy uncoordi, noted convulsions. The cage banged and jarred and clattered, and Tungata lost control, he heard himself screaming, as terror engulfed him.
Then the snake's head filled his vision. Its jaws flared open, and its bright yellow throat gaped at him, as it struck into his face. The force of the strike stunned him. It hit him in the cheek below the eye, a heavy punch that jarred him so his teeth clashed together and he bit through his own tongue. Blood filled his mouth and he felt the long curved fangs snag into his flesh like fishhooks tugging and jerking, as they spurted jets of deadly toxin into his flesh and then, mercifully, darkness took him and Tungata slumped unconscious against the straps that held him. -V, ou've killed him you bloody idiod' Peter Fungo, hera's voice was s I brill and petulant with panic.
'No, no.' The doctor was working quickly.
With the help of the troopers, he pulled the mesh helmet off Tungata's head. One of the troopers hurled the maimed adder against the wall and then crushed its head under the butt of an AK 47. 'No. He's passed out, that's all. He was weak from the wall.' Between them they lifted Tungata. and carried him to the camp-bed against the far wall. With exaggerated care they laid him on it, and swiftly the doctor checked his pulse.
'He's all right.' He filled a disposable syringe from a glass ampoule, and shot it into Tungata's sweat-slicked upper arm. 'I've given him a stimulant ah, there! The doctor's relief was obvious. 'There! He is coming round already.' The doctor swabbed the deep punctures in Tungata's cheek from which watery lymph was oozing.
There is always risk of infection from these bites,' the d doctor explained anxiously. 'I will inject an antibiotic.' Tungata moaned arid muttered, and then began to struggle weakly. The troopers restrained him, until he came fully conscious and then they helped him into a sitting position. His eyes focused with difficulty on Peter Fungabera, and his confusion was obvious.
'Welcome back to the land of the living, Comrade.' Peter's voi nc ce was o O? more smooth and richly modulated.
'You are now one the privileged few who have had a glimpse of the beyond.' The doctor still fussed over him, but Tungata's eyes never left Peter Fungabera's face.
'You do not understand,' Peter said, 'and nobody can blame you for that. You see, the good doctor hM removed the creature's poison sacs, as you suggested he might have.' Tungata shook his head, unable to speak.
'The rat!' Peter spoke for him. 'Yes, of course, the rat.
That was rather clever. Whilst he was out of the room the doctor gave it a little injection. He had tested the dosage on other rodents to get the correct delay. You were right, my dear Tungata, we aren't ready to let you go just yet.
Maybe next time, or the time after that you will the ver know for certain. Then of course, we might miscalculate.
There might, for instance, have been a little residual tori-.
in that adder's fangs-' Peter shrugged. 'It's all very delicatu this time, next time who knows? How long can yot, keep it up, Comrade, before your mind snaps?'
'I can keep it up as long as you can,' Tungata whispered huskily. 'I give you my oath on that.'
'Now, now, no rash promises,' Peter scolded him mildly.
'The next little production that I am planning involves my puppies you have heard Fungabera's puppies, every night you have heard them. I am not sure how we can control them. It will be interesting you could easily lose an arm or a foot it only takes one snap of those jaws.' Peter played with his swagger-stick, rolling it between his fingers. 'The choice is yours, and of course it only takes one word from you to end it all.' Peter held up one hand. 'No, please don't tax yourself. There is no need to give an answer now. We'll let you have another few days at the wall to recuperate from this ordeal, and then-' t unga. a had lost track of time. He could not remember how many days he had spent at the wall, how many men he had seen executed, how many nights he had lain and listened to the hyena.
He found it difficult to think further ahead than the next bowl of water. The doctor had judged the amount required to keep him alive with precision. Thirst was a torment that never ceased, not even when he slept, for his nightmares now were filled with images of water lakes and running streams which he could not reach, rain that fell all around him and did not touch him, and raging, intolerable thirst.
Added to the thirst, Peter Fungabera's threat of delivering him to the hyena pack festered in his imagination and became more potent for every day that it was delayed.
Water and hyena they were beginning to drive him beyond the borders of sanity. He knew that he could not hold out much longer, and he wondered confusedly why he had held out this long. He had to keep reminding himself that Lobengula's tomb was all that was keeping him alive. While he had the secret, they could not kill him. He did not entertain for even a moment the hope that Peter Fungabera would keep his promise of sending him to safety once he led them to the tomb.
He had to stay alive, it was his duty. As long as he lived, there was still hope, however faint, of delivery. He knew that with his death his people would sink deeper into the tyrant's coils. He was their hope of salvation. It was his duty to them to live, even though death would now be a blessing and a release, he could not die. He must live on.
He waited in the icy darkness of pre-dawn, his body too stiff and weak to rise. This day they would have to carry him to the wall, or to whatever they had planned for him.
He hated that thought. He hated to show such weakness in front of them.
He heard the cam A guards, the orders i sound of blows and the cries of a prisoner in the adjoining cell being dragged to the execution wall.
Now soon they would come for him. He reached out for the water bowl and his disappointment hit him in a cold gust as he remembered that the previous evening he had not been able to control himself. The bowl was empty. He crouched over it and licked the enamel likea dog, in case a drop remained of the precious fluid. It was dry.
stir. The march of the less violence, the The bolts shot back and the door was flung open. The day had begun. Tungata tried to rise. He lurched up onto his knees. A guard entered and placed a large dark object on the threshold and then quietly withdrew. The door was bolted again and Tungata was left alone.
This had never happened before. Tungata was stupefied and uncomprehending. He crouched
