The 92nd Tiger (23 page)

‘Hugo,’ said Tammy. ‘If you’re just putting on this act to cheer me up, don’t do it. I’m not in a fit state to be cheered up. If I get really mad, I might use this bar on you. I’d regret it afterwards, I don’t doubt.’

‘Let’s see the colour of your money.’

Tammy sighed. ‘All right.’ she said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ She tipped the contents of her purse into Hugo’s cupped hands. ‘It’s mostly small change I had over from when I was in England.’

‘English money is the best in the world. The strongest and the most reliable. Let’s see. A penny. A twopenny looks the best bet.’ He fitted the coin, endways on, into the mouth of the hollow bar. ‘A fraction too big, which is just what the doctor ordered. Hold the bar upright whilst I get my shoe oil again.’

Using the heel of his shoe as a hammer he banged the coin down into the tube until its lower rim was resting firmly on the packed brick dust and only its upper semi-circle was projecting from the tube.

‘I’m beginning,’ said Tammy, ‘to get the big idea. Ow! That was my finger if you don’t mind. Won’t it tip over when you start to use it?’

‘It might, if we let it. But we won’t. Here’s where we want those wood splinters. The very small ones first.’ He drove in half a dozen of them, using the silver pencil as a rammer and tamping them down with his shoe. ‘Now a larger one for the other side. That one will do the trick, I think. There she is. The Greest home-made screwdriver, mark one.’

Tammy, who was sucking the tips of her fingers, said, ‘I hope we don’t need a mark two. Do you think it’ll work?’

‘It’s got to,’ said Hugo soberly. He was wrapping his handkerchief round the cross-bolt which ran through the flattened end of the bar. ‘We can get a lot of leverage with this. Hold the lighter so that I can see the enemy.’

Hugo fitted the edge of the coin into the slot of one of the big screws which held the lock mechanism of the door in place. He was annoyed to find that he was trembling so much that he needed both hands to keep it steady. Then he gripped the cross-bolt and exerted pressure. For an agonising moment, nothing happened. Then he said, ‘It’s shifting. We’ve got the bugger.’

‘Glory be,’ said Tammy.

The two screws on the right of the lock came out without too much difficulty. The third, which was the bottom one on the left, stuck fast. Either it had been driven into a knot of the wood, or it had rusted in with particular firmness.

Hugo refixed the handkerchief, gripped the cross-bolt even more firmly, and twisted. The sweat was pouring down his neck and arms. He felt a slight movement, and hope flickered. Then he realised that it was the coin, not the screw, that was shifting.

‘So near,’ he said, ‘and yet so bloody far.’ He was panting so that he could hardly get the words out. The big muscles in his arms had started to go back on him and his hands were shaking badly.

‘Hold off a minute,’ said Tammy. She was watching him anxiously. ‘I got an idea. It’s that third bastard screw that’s stopping us. Right?’

‘Right,’ said Hugo. He was getting his breath back. The sweat on his neck and arms was cooling.

‘Then what do you say you leave it alone and try the fourth one?’

‘I could. But why?’

‘If it comes out, there’ll just be one last screw holding the whole thing. Right? The lock will be pivoting on that screw. So you give it a smack with the bar and it’ll start to twist. That’ll soon bring it loose, you see.’

‘Tammy,’ said Hugo, ‘you’re a genius. And I’m an idiot.’

The fourth screw came away without difficulty. Hugo clouted the lock twice and it started to move. A few more cracks and the final obstinate screw gave up the unequal struggle. The whole of the lock mechanism came away in Hugo’s hands and the door swung open.

They peered out into the passage. It was empty and dark. Until this moment it had not occurred to either of them to consider what they were going to do next.

‘Where now ?’ said Tammy, speaking very softly.

‘No good going back up the stairs,’ said Hugo. That comes out in the main gateway. It’s bound to be guarded. We’ll try the other way and see what happens.’

‘I guess it’ll just lead to more cellars.’

‘We can find somewhere to hide up.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Tammy.

‘Come on, then.’

‘Hold it a moment.’

They stood in silence. Then Hugo heard what Tammy’s sharper ears had picked up already. It came from the next cellar. It was something between a gasp and a groan, a muted sound, disturbing by implication; a cry muttered, a scream suppressed.

‘Poor devil,’ said Hugo. ‘I wonder who it is?’

‘Ought we to find out?’

‘Maybe we ought. If you’ll tell me how we’re going to break down the door.’

‘I suppose that’s right,’ said Tammy. She went over to the grating in the door to listen. Then she turned the handle gently, and pushed. The door swung open.

The moon lit up the inside of the cellar, and they saw Prince Hussein. He was fastened, by a shackle round his left wrist, to a chain which ran up to a staple in the wall. The chain was so short that it held his arm above his head.

‘We’ll soon have the boy out of that,’ said Hugo. It was only when he came closer that he saw there was something wrong with the arm.

Hussein said, ‘It’s broken.’

They stared in blank disbelief.

‘You mean to say,’ said Tammy, ‘they’ve hitched him up by his broken arm. For God’s sake.’

Hugo looked at the boy. His face was drained of colour. He guessed that he must be very near to passing out. The thought of what would happen, if he did faint, and put all his weight on the broken bone, turned Hugo’s stomach.

He said, ‘We can get him out, but it’ll have to be done very carefully. We’ve got to avoid any pressure on that arm. What I’m going to do is lift the boy up in my arms until the chain is quite slack. You then push the thin end of the bar through the staple in the wall, put all your weight on that flat end – wrap this handkerchief round the cross bolt, it’ll give you a firm grip – and put your weight on the bar.’

It was a good idea. What was wrong with it was Tammy’s weight.

After a long minute she said, ‘It moved a little. I’ll swear it did. I doubt if I’ll ever get it out, though.’

‘All right. We change places. You’ll have to hold Hussein. Not in your arms. I don’t think you’re strong enough. I’m going to put him piggyback on your shoulders.’

‘I’m all right,’ said Hussein faintly. ‘A little jerk on my arm won’t kill me.’

‘It won’t be necessary. Kneel down, Tammy. That’s right. I’m going to put his legs over your shoulders. Get hold of his ankles. Then I’m going to lift him whilst you straighten up. Right?’

‘Right,’ said Tammy. It came out like a gasp.

When they were in position, Hugo picked up the bar and pushed it right through the staple until the flat end was resting on the wall. Then he got one foot against the wall, gripped the other end of the bar in both hands, and heaved with all the considerable strength of his shoulder muscles. The staple came out like a cork out of a bottle.

Hugo picked himself up off the floor. He said, ‘The next thing is to make some sort of sling. We’ll have to use a piece of Hussein’s robe. Have you got that nail file?’ He worked the point into the cloth, tore out a long strip, knotted it round Hussein’s neck, and eased his left arm into the fold. ‘We can’t do much about the chain. Tuck it inside your shirt. Let’s get moving.’

As they were walking across to the door Hussein said, ‘Thank you, Mr. Greest.’

‘You can thank me when we’re out of here,’ said Hugo. ‘We’ve a long way to go.’

‘We will get out now. It will not be too difficult. I will show you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I will show you the way.’

At the cellar door he turned left, away from the stairs they had come down. As soon as they left the area of the door they were in blackest darkness.

‘It will be better if we keep hold of each other,’ said Hussein. Hugo held the back of his shirt. Tammy grabbed Hugo’s arm. They went forward very slowly. They turned a corner. A long time afterwards they turned a second corner. They seemed to be going downhill.

Hugo felt his feet slipping and saved himself by grabbing Tammy’s arm with his free hand.

Hussein said, ‘It is damp. You must walk carefully.’ And a little later, ‘The smell will not be good. I am sorry.’

‘No need to apologise,’ said Hugo.

There was an inch of slime underfoot now. The smell was far from good.

Hussein had stopped. He seemed to be feeling the wall with the fingers of his right hand. He said, ‘When I was a young boy, I knew all these cellars and passages. My father did not like me getting out of the Palace. There were five or six ways I could get out. He had them all blocked up. But this one he never found.’

‘I don’t really blame him,’ said Hugo. Would it be safe to use a light?’

‘You have a torch?’

‘I’ve got a cigarette lighter.’

‘That, no. A flame might ignite the gas. No matter, I have found what I want. We go ten paces forward from here. We may sink down a little. It will be better not to breathe too much.’

Ahead of them was a faint greyness. It was hardly a light, more a shading of the dead blackness in which they moved. As they went forward Hugo felt himself sinking, first to his calves, then to his knees in the indescribable filth which had accumulated at the bottom of this sump.

Hussein stopped. He was staring upwards at what was clearly an air vent. The opening was level with their heads, and it sloped upwards and outwards at a sharp angle. The top, they could see now, was blocked by a grid.

Hussein said, ‘I drove in small pieces of iron. You can feel them with your hands. It is quite easy to climb. When you reach the top you will find the grating unfastened.’

Quite easy to climb, thought Hugo. For someone with two good arms that might be true. But what about Hussein? He put that problem on one side for the moment.

Once he had started, it was not difficult. He simply felt for the next hand-hold and foot-hold and hoisted his way up. When he reached the grating he got his shoulders under it, and heaved. It was held down only by the weeds and small bushes which were choking the outlet, and pivoted open.

Hugo extracted himself cautiously. He had surfaced behind the Palace, and some fifty yards from it. The moon was three parts of the way through its nightly orbit, fading in glory now, but still strong enough to pale the stars.

Hugo took three deep, slow breaths, and then turned to the problem in hand.

It was clear that Hussein would have to be lifted out, and that his left arm would have to be disturbed as little as possible during the operation. Reduced to these essentials, the only possible answer presented itself. Hugo went back down the way he had come. He said to Tammy, ‘First we will get Hussein on to my shoulders. Then you go ahead up the slope and stop, lying on your face. Your feet should just about be level with this end of the pipe. We’re going to use your body as a sledge, if you follow me. I shall provide the motive power from behind. If I keep Hussein tilted over on his right side, he can use his good arm to latch on to you – you’d better put it round her neck, Hussein.’

‘I cannot put you to such trouble, Mr. Greest. Better for me to stay here whilst you fetch help. ‘

‘Either we all stay or we all go,’ said Hugo. ‘And if we stay here we shall be asphyxiated in five minutes. So stop arguing. I’ll crouch down, and you hoist him Up, Tammy. But for God’s sake be quick, my mouth’s almost in this muck.’

They got Hussein up somehow. Tammy climbed into the pipe, and the ascent began. It was agonisingly slow, but not impossibly difficult. Hugo heard Hussein gasp once as his broken arm scraped the roof. Then they were all out, and lying on the sand.

‘Not much more than an hour of darkness,’ said Hugo. ‘We’ve got to move.’ He wondered if Tammy felt as tired as he did. Hussein must have been in great pain, but he was giving no sign of it.

‘I’m going to put this grating back, and clear up the mess a bit. Then we’ll circle round until we hit the road. We’ve got to find our boat before it gets light.’

It took them half an hour to find the road, moving very cautiously and keeping out of sight of the Palace battlements. When they reached the road there was no sign of movement, but they decided against using it.

‘If a truck did come along,’ said Hugo, ‘we’d never get into the ditch in time. Hussein’s in no shape for gymnastics. We’ll have to move off the road, parallel to it, and keep our eyes open for that track.’

Keeping their eyes open was becoming disturbingly easier. The dawn was coming up fast.

‘If we don’t strike it soon,’ said Tammy, ‘I guess we’d better get into the bush any old way. I’m beginning to feel a mite exposed.’

‘Push on a bit,’ said Hugo. ‘I think we’re coming to it.’

There were a number of gullies leading down towards the shore, all choked with bushes and scrub, and looking very like one another.

‘The path we came up by,’ said Hugo, ‘ran along the top of quite a steep ridge. A sort of hog’s back. And there was a clump of palm trees where it came out on to the road. I think this is it.’

‘If you say so,’ said Tammy doubtfully.

They made their way along the path for some distance. Hugo had one arm round Hussein, holding him up. Tammy went ahead, forcing a way through the lacing undergrowth. They all felt happier to be clear of the main road.

The path kept to the crest of the ridge, but dipped steadily. They had made about a quarter of a mile and Hugo was beginning to wonder if he had been right when Tammy stopped. It was quite light now.

She said, ‘Bang on, boy scout. This is where we climbed up. I’m sure of it. You can see the scrapes we left.’

‘Fine,’ said Hugo. ‘I’ll go down first. Hussein can slide over on his stomach and I’ll help him down from below. It’s only the first piece that’s steep.’

When he got down he found even clearer proof that they were in the right spot. He could see the marks left in the sand by his own shoes.

‘Not far now,’ he said.