Read Ebook: The night of no moon by Fyfe H B Horace Bowne Orban Paul Illustrator

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Ebook has 226 lines and 9926 words, and 5 pages

"And I can't send any message because I don't know the right spells and incantations to summon any good spirits to carry the message."

Trent and Miss Norsund began to develop glassy stares.

"And finally," growled Guthrie, "they won't let me send a spirit message because they're saving me for the first night with no moon!"

A subdued chattering sprang up among the Skirkhi when they heard his voice rise to a shout. Guthrie controlled his accumulated frustration with an effort. Meeting the girl's shocked glance, he felt a twinge, and knew he had better stop.

"Are they good spirits?" demanded old Thyggar impatiently.

"Ask them, Old One!" said Guthrie, turning on his heel.

He seized the unguarded moment to jab the heel of his hand under the short chin of the nearest Skirkh, propelling the latter against his fellows. Through the narrow way thus cleared, the spacer stalked out of the crowd.

"Thyggar wear sour look," mumbled Polf, trotting doggedly at his heels.

He sounded more respectful than at any time during the day. Guthrie reminded himself to watch out. He seemed to be earning too much admiration; it might be wiser to slack off before it drew retaliation. Through experience, he was learning to keep the score even, but....

Polf somehow managed to trip him as he turned into the doorway of the house assigned to him. He plunged through the low, dark entrance head first, displacing a crude but sturdy bench someone had left in the way.

"Your father was undoubtedly a good spirit who stole your mother's wits with a dream of soft summers," said Guthrie, sitting up just in time to thrust a boot between Polf's ankles.

The Skirkh sprawled in his turn upon the hard-packed floor. The two of them sat there for a long moment, raising both palms in the ritual gesture to the sky spirits and glaring at each other in mutual respect.

On the second morning after the arrival of Trent and Miss Norsund, Guthrie judged the time ripe for a longer talk.

"Sorry I took so long," Guthrie apologized. "There's a certain act you have to put on around here. They been treating you all right?"

He looked at the girl as he spoke, reflecting that a little cleaning up had improved her immeasurably. With the mud off, she displayed a glowing complexion and a headful of chestnut curls; and Guthrie was no longer sure she was too thin. He determined to check the first time she stood up in the short, borrowed dress of Skirkhi leather.

"That's right. Pete Guthrie, currently employed, I hope, by the Galactic Survey. And you two are Trent and Norsund?"

"George Trent and Karen Norsund, yes. But what I want to say is that we find your attitude very strange. How can we expect co-operation from the natives if you throw your weight around the way you do?"

"And what," asked Karen Norsund, turning her big gray eyes on Guthrie, "was that remark about the natives saving you from something?"

He watched that sink in for a few moments, then explained how the system had fallen within the volume of space allotted to him for general survey, how it had never before aroused any great interest beyond being noted in the Galactic Atlas for the benefit of space travelers in just such a situation as theirs.

"I hope your rocket is in good shape," he finished. "Did you land well?"

"Oh ... well enough," said Trent. "What about it? Why not stay here until we think a rescue ship is near, then go back and televise for help?"

"It's not that easy," said Guthrie. "If this ship we're hoping for stops to scout for other survivors, we'll be in a real unhealthy situation."

They looked puzzled.

"The seasons here," he explained, "tend to wild extremes. They have tidal waves you wouldn't believe. In a few weeks, the storms will begin and the Skirkhi will go to the hills to dig in. It's a bad time to be caught in the open."

"Oh, come, man!" Trent snapped. "We shouldn't be here that long."

"It's only two or three weeks. The trouble is that on a certain night shortly before they leave the village to the mercy of the sky spirits, the Skirkhi have a nasty custom--"

"I don't care about your low opinion of the local customs," interrupted Trent. "From what I've seen of you, Guthrie, it is obvious that you are not the sort to represent Terra on the frontiers. Just tell me--if you can't get along with the natives like a civilized being, where do you expect to get?"

"Up to Jhux," said Guthrie.

"Where?"

"Jhux, the largest moon. It has a thin atmosphere. We could pump enough air into your rocket to live on, and wait to signal any approaching ship."

"But why go to all that trouble?"

"Besides," Karen Norsund put in, "I think I've had enough travel in a small rocket for the time being."

"It'll be better than the hurricanes here," Guthrie sighed. "Now, if you'll just let me finish about the Skirkhi--"

Trent screwed up his face in exasperation until his eyes were slits above his cheekbones. He shrugged to Karen in a way that turned Guthrie's neck red.

He waited for the shocked exclamations, the suspicion, then the exchange of glances that agreed to further consideration.

"Until you two came along, I was the goat. Now there are three of us to choose from, but your rocket gives us the means to make a run for it."

They thought that over for a few minutes.

"How do you know they won't ... use ... all three of us?" shuddered Karen.

"The Skirkhi have learned to be frugal. They'll save something for next season. Otherwise, they'd have to raid some other tribe or elect one of them."

"But, before then, either a rescue ship or one from the Survey will have arrived, don't you think?" suggested Trent.

"What are you getting at?"

"Well ... this: assuming that you are not exaggerating your distrust of the natives, if they actually feel it necessary to ... er ... sacrifice to these sky spirits, that will still leave the remaining two of us a good chance."

Guthrie wiped a hand slowly over his face. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Polf and the Skirkhi guards, wondering if they could guess the drift of the conversation.

"And what will your next idea be?" he demanded bitterly. "Want us to draw straws to see which of us goes out and commits hara-kiri for them?"

"Now, now! We must be realistic. After all, nothing serious may come of this. Merely because you and the natives share a mutual antipathy--"

"You make me sick!" growled Guthrie, rising to his feet.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Mr. Guthrie!" exclaimed Karen, jumping up.

"Pardon me! I have to go and commune with the spirits of the sky!"

He pivoted toward the street and bounced off one of the guards who had crept closer to eavesdrop. Automatically, he shoved the Skirkh into the wall.

Behind him, he heard a muttered curse in Skirkhi, then another thud as a thick skull clunked yet again into the wall. He deduced that Polf was following both his footsteps and his example.

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