Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 35

He cleared his throat, pulled his pipe from his pocket, filled it, and lit it. The unsteady light of his pipe that alternately flared up and grew feeble threw sharp fleeting shadows across his face. At last he said slowly and pensively: “One thing is clear: we can’t side with Dorbatay and the priests. Neither can we embrace the cause of Skolot who differs but little from his brother. Both of them want to manipulate us in their own interests. We must side with the ordinary Scythians who have been duped by the soothsayer and with the oppressed slaves.

“I think we should take the measure of Varkan. He has revealed but a fraction of what he could. I’m not saying it in reproach — it’s quite natural to want to know the people you’re dealing with better before you trust them, and he hasn’t had much of a chance to get to know us. But, my friends, I believe that he and the likes of him — young Scythians, low-born hunters and warriors, could be of some help to us. But all of them seem to be adherents of Skolot, which means that at least for the time being, we’ll have to gamble on this group, and consequently on Skolot…”

A tactical move, Ivan Semenovich?” Artem chuckled.

“Well, in such a dangerous and complicated situation as ours, something can be gained, I believe, only through a crafty tactical move,” the geologist said. “But I know for sure that we’ll get the best of Dorbatay, tomorrow and in the days to come. The old rogue has committed a huge blunder: he showed his hand and now we know his cards, but he doesn’t know ours! Excellent! Let’s use it to our own advantage.”

“Oh, but mustn’t Dmitro Borisovich and I be let in on your secret plans?” remarked Artem.

“That’s what I’m going to do. All the more so that the main part in the show I’m planning will go to you, Artem. Now, move closer. I’ll tell you what my stratagem is…”

The short pipe of Ivan Semenovich remained the only source of light flickering in the utter darkness. Dmitro Borisovich and Artem were listening very eagerly, trying not to miss a single word. Once in a while, Dmitro Borisovich pulled his beard out of habit, and sometimes he rubbed his hands nervously. Artem was enthralled with the geologist’s plan and had no doubt it would work. What a pity Lida was sleeping and unable to hear it! But on the other hand, it’d be all the more thrilling for her to watch! Or maybe he should tell her when she woke up? All right, he decided to wait and see. But for now — he had to listen, listen attentively!

Artem had his eyes riveted on the geologist almost in rapture.

There was yet another pair of eyes that were fastened on Ivan Semenovich, and there was readiness in them to fulfil any command that the geologist deigned to issue. The eyes were half-closed, the gaze seemed languid, and the reflection of the light from the pipe could hardly be seen in them. But these eyes saw everything very clearly, and even though Diana did not understand what it was that Ivan Semenovich was telling his friends, she must have felt only too well the tension throbbing in this strange night so fraught with danger, with even greater anxiety growing as the dawn drew nearer.

CHAPTER FOUR

The explorers wake up to face the messenger from Dorbatay, refuse once again to accept Dorbatay’s conditions, and are escorted to the site where the sacrifice is to take place; Artem comes out a winner in the confrontation with Dorbatay, and Skolot invites the explorers to be his guests of honor; Ivan Semenovich makes a bold and subtle move and gets what he wants.

Artem had a dream which featured a Young Pioneers’ Gamp he had been to several times as a child. He dreamed about the time everybody was allowed to do what he pleased, and the boys and girls all wandered off in different directions, but then the drum began calling them back. The drumbeat permeated the camp, sounding very urgent. But the Young Pioneers were in no hurry to get back. The drumming continued, persistent and urging, driving Artem mad; the beat drew nearer, grew louder as though the drummer were looking specifically for him. The drummer was definitely bent on waking Artem up with his irritating drumming. Artem opened his eyes and looked around.

The strange, nagging, drumming sounds did not cease and Artem realized it was not in fact the drumbeat he had heard in his sleep. It was something else which sounded like tambourines and flutes played simultaneously, and they did possess some annoyingly persistent quality. Now, some other high-pitched sound joined in, as though a simple melody were being played on fifes. He could also hear some movement outside the kibitka, as though many people were rushing hither and thither. Artem got up.

Dmitro Borisovich was lying on a piece of felt, his head supported on his hand, listening. Ivan Semenovich was pacing to and fro in the kibitka, his hands clasped behind his back, a deep frown on his brow. Lida was still sound asleep.

“Good morning, Artem,” the geologist said, stopping at the young man’s side. “Did you have a good sleep? How’s your mood? It’s time to get ready for the show.”

Artem was jostled into action by these words: there was a lot to do and he had not yet begun! He turned to the bags that had been slipped in by Varkan before dawn. Lida woke up, staring in incomprehension at her friends, at Diana restlessly running around. The light of morning was pouring in through the opening in the top of the kibitka. The girl opened and closed her eyes in rapid succession, utterly bewildered.

“Oh, I’ve not been dreaming!” she said at last. “And I hoped so much I’d wake up to find myself at home…”

“No, unfortunately you’ve not been dreaming it all up,” Artem said, rummaging through the bags. “Get up, very soon we’ll leave to attend a big show.”

“You’ve used the right word, Artem: it’s going to be quite a show with a big audience watching,” Ivan Semenovich said, smiling: Artem’s cheerful mood had to be supported. “Don’t worry, Lida. Artem is well prepared to play the leading role in the spectacle!”

“What show? What are you talking about?” the girl said, completely nonplussed, as she had not heard of Ivan Semenovich’s plans.

“Lida, you’re going to see everything for yourself. I can guarantee it’s going to be a thriller,” Artem said enigmatically, and added: “I’d explain everything to you, but there’s no time for explanations now. I hear them coming to take us to the show!”

In fact, at almost the same moment, the piece of felt over the door to the kibitka was jerked aside by several Scythians armed with daggers, evidently the soothsayer’s henchmen. Two more Scythians entered and stopped at the entrance. The short swarthy man who had acted as an interpreter the previous night slipped into the kibitka, shooting fearful glances at Diana. He bowed and hastily launched his speech, which had apparently been prepared beforehand.

“The strangers must leave the kibitka. They must go without resistance to the place they will be led to. If they refuse to go they will be…”

The archeologist interrupted him angrily: “Unnecessary talk. We’re ready to go.”

The short man bowed again. He seemed to be a little uneasy in the presence of the strangers and stepped back. But there was something else he had to say. He looked the strangers over, and seeing no immediate danger to himself, he said:

“The glorious Dorbatay charged me to remind the strangers of his handsome proposals. The glorious Dorbatay says that…”

“We don’t care to know what Dorbatay says,” Dmitro Borisovich interrupted the short man sharply. “We gave our unequivocal answer yesterday. We’ve got nothing more to add. Let’s go!”

The subdued murmur of a big crowd reached their ears when they emerged from the kibitka. Many armed horsemen were waiting for them to emerge. The crowd was standing at a considerable distance, reluctant to come any closer. About a dozen of the soothsayer’s assistants, dagger points forward, encircled the strangers, and then the riders surrounded them on all sides. The procession began moving. But where to?

“Dorbatay is not anywhere around,” Artem said.

“He’s much too important to walk along with us,” Lida said.

“We’re going to see him, and soon enough at that,” the archeologist said.

The tambourines and flutes resumed their music, and now Ivan Semenovich could see who the musicians were. One of the riders was holding a big tambourine, and two others had smaller ones. Three more riders were blowing long pipes which looked as though they were made of bones.

Dmitro Borisovich was also watching the musicians. He touched the geologist’s shoulder.

“Those pipes, aren’t they something?” he said. “To think only that someone once ran and walked on them.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Oh, it’s very simple. See what they’re made of?”

“What is it?”

“Bone.”

“All right. But what’s so unusual about that?”

“Oh, it’s a human tibia, a shinbone, Ivan Semenovich!”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Similar instruments, once used by the ancient Scythians, were found in excavations. In fact such human tibiae, sawed-off on both sides, polished and hollowed out, have been found in many barrows. Opinions differed as to what purpose they served. Some said they were musical instruments, others — that they were used in milking mares. But now everything has been clarified. They’re pipes, musical instruments! That’s what they are! Pipes made of human shinbones!”