The Tightrope Men

Thirty-Five

It seemed to Denison that of all the episodes he had gone through since being flung into this hodge-podge of adventures the time he spent in the hut at Sompio was characterized by a single quality — the quality of pure irritation. The five of them were pent up — ‘cribbed, cabined and confined’, as Harding ironically quoted — and there was nothing that any of them could do about it, especially after McCready tested the temperature of the water.

After two hours had gone by he said, ‘I think we ought to do something about this. I’ll just stick my toe in and see what it’s like.’

‘Be careful,’ said Harding. ‘I was wrong about Schmidt — he doesn’t bluff.’

‘He can’t leave his men around here for ever,’ said McCready. ‘And we’d look damned foolish if there’s no one out there.’

He opened the door and stepped outside and took one pace before a rifle cracked and a bullet knocked splinters from a log by the side of his head so that white wood showed. He came in very fast and slammed the door. ‘It’s a bit warm outside,’ he said.

‘How many do you think there are?’ asked Harding.

‘How the hell would I know?’ demanded McCready irritably. He put his hand to his cheek and pulled out a wood splinter, then looked at the blood on his fingertips.

‘I saw the man who fired,’ said Denison from the window. ‘He was just down there in the reeds.’ He turned to McCready. ‘I don’t think he meant to kill. It was just a warning shot.’

‘How do you make that out?’ McCready displayed the blood on his hand. ‘It was close.’

‘He has an automatic rifle,’ said Denison. ‘If he wanted to kill you he’d have cut you down with a burst.’

McCready was on the receiving end for the first time of the hard competency which Carey had found so baffling in Denison. He nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘As for how many there are, that’s not easy to say,’ said Denison. ‘All it needs is one at the front and one at the back, but it depends on how long Schmidt wants to keep us here. If it’s longer than twenty-four hours there’ll be more than two because they’ll have to sleep.’

‘And we can’t get away under cover of darkness because there isn’t any,’ said Harding.

‘So we might as well relax,’ said Denison with finality. He left the window and sat at the table.

‘Well, I’m damned!’ said McCready. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’

Denison looked at him with a half-smile. ‘Have you anything to add?’

‘No,’ said McCready disgustedly. He went over to Diana and talked to her in a low voice.

Harding joined Denison at the table. ‘So we’re stuck here.’

‘But quite safe,’ said Denison mildly. ‘As long as we don’t do anything bloody foolish, such as walking through that door.’ He unfolded a map of the Sompio Nature Park and began to study it.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Harding.

‘Fine.’ Denison looked up. ‘Why?’

‘As your personal head-shrinker I don’t think you’ll be needing me much longer. How’s the memory?’

‘It’s coming back in bits and pieces. Sometimes I feel I’m putting together a jigsaw puzzle.’

‘It’s not that I want to probe into a delicate area,’ said Harding. ‘But do you remember your wife?’

‘Beth?’ Denison nodded. ‘Yes, I remember her.’

‘She’s dead, you know,’ said Harding in an even uninflected voice. ‘Do you remember much about that?’

Denison pushed away the map and sighed. ‘That bloody car crash — I remember it.’

‘And how do you feel about it?’

‘How the he’ll would you expect me to feel about it?’ said Denison with suppressed violence. ‘Sorrow, anger — but it was over three years ago and you can’t feel angry for ever. I’ll always miss Beth; she was a fine woman.’

‘Sorrow and anger,’ repeated Harding. ‘Nothing wrong with that. Quite normal.’ He marvelled again at the mysteries of the human mind. Denison had apparently rejected his previous feelings of guilt; the irrational component of his life had vanished. Harding wondered what would happen if he wrote up Denison’s experiences and presented them in a paper for the journals — ‘The Role of Multiple Psychic Trauma in the Suppression of Irrational Guilt’. He doubted if it would be accepted as a serious course of treatment.

Denison said, ‘Don’t resign yet, Doctor, I’d still like to retain your services.’

‘Something else wrong?’

‘Not with me. I’m worried about Lyn. Look at her.’ He nodded towards Lyn who was lying on her back on a bunk, her hands clasped behind her head and staring at the ceiling. ‘I’ve hardly been able to get a word out of her. She’s avoiding me — wherever I am, she’s not. It’s becoming conspicuous.’

Harding took out a packet of cigarettes and examined the contents. ‘I might have to ration these,’ he said glumly. ‘I’ve also been wondering about Lyn. She is a bit withdrawn — not surprisingly, of course, because she has a problem to solve.’

‘Oh? What’s her problem? Apart from the problems we all have here?’

Harding lit a cigarette. ‘It’s personal. She talked to me about it — hypothetically and in veiled terms. She’ll get over it one way or another.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘What do you think of her?’

‘She’s a fine person. A bit mixed up, but that’s due to her upbringing. I suppose the problem has to do with her father.’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Harding. ‘Tell me; what was the difference in age between your wife and yourself?’

‘Ten years,’ said Denison. He frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Nothing,’ said Harding lightly. ‘It’s just that it could make things a lot easier — your having had a wife so much younger than yourself, I mean. You used to wear a beard, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Denison. ‘What the he’ll are you getting at?’

‘I’d grow it again if I were you,’ advised Harding. ‘The face you’re wearing tends to confuse her. It might be better to hide it behind a bush.’

Denison’s jaw dropped. ‘You mean... Diana said something... she can’t... it’s imposs...’

‘You damned fool!’ said Harding in a low voice. ‘She’s fallen for Denison but the face she sees is Meyrick’s — her father’s face. It’s enough to tear any girl in half, so do something about it.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Talk to her, but go easy.’ He went to the other end of the room and joined McCready and Diana, leaving Denison staring at Lyn.

McCready organized watches. ‘Not that anything is likely to happen,’ he said. ‘But I’d like advance notice if it does. Those not on watch can do what they like. My advice is sleep.’ He lay on a bunk and followed his own advice.

Harding wandered off into the storeroom and Denison resumed his study of the map of Sompio. From time to time he heard scrapings and bangings as Harding moved boxes about. Diana was on watch at a window and she and Lyn conversed in low tones.

After a couple of hours Harding came back looking rumpled and dishevelled. In his hand he carried what Denison took to be a gallon paint can. ‘I’ve found it.’

‘Found what?’

Harding put the can on the table. ‘The powder.’ He prised the lid off the can. ‘Look.’

Denison inspected the grainy black powder. ‘So what?’

‘So we can shoot the punt gun. I’ve found some shot, too.’

McCready’s eyes flickered open and he sat up. ‘What gun?’

‘The punt gun I was telling you about. You didn’t seem interested in it at the time.’

‘That was when we had guns of our own,’ said McCready. ‘What is it? A shotgun?’

‘You could call it that,’ said Harding, and Denison smiled.

‘I think I’d better look at it,’ said McCready, and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. ‘Where is it?’

‘I’ll show you.’ Harding and McCready went out, and Denison folded the map and went to the window. He looked out at the unchanging scene and sighed.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Diana; ‘Bored?’

‘I was wondering if our friends are still around.’

‘The only way to find out is to stick your head outside.’

‘I know,’ said Denison. ‘One of us will have to do it sooner or later. I think I’ll have a crack at it. It’s three hours since McCready tried.’

‘No,’ said Lyn. The word seemed to be torn out of her involuntarily. ‘No,’ she said again. ‘Leave that to the... the professionals.’

Diana smiled. ‘Meaning me? I’m willing.’

‘Let’s not argue about it,’ said Denison peaceably. ‘We’re all in this together. Anyway, it’s a sure cure for boredom. Keep your eye on those reeds, Diana.’

‘All right,’ she said as he walked to the door. Lyn looked at him dumbly.

He swung open the door slowly and waited a full minute before going outside, and when he did so his hands were above his head. He waited, immobile, for another minute and, when nothing happened, he took another step forward. Diana shouted and simultaneously he saw a movement in the reeds on the edge of the marsh. The flat report of the rifle shot coincided with a clatter of stones six feet in front of him and there was a shrill spaaang as the bullent ricocheted over his head.

He waved both his hands, keeping them over his head, and cautiously backed into the hut. He was closing the door when McCready came back at a dead run. ‘What happened?’

‘Just testing the temperature.’ said Denison. ‘Somebody has to do it.’

‘Don’t do it when I’m not here.’ McCready went to the window. ‘So they’re still there.’

Denison smiled at Lyn. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he assured her. ‘They’re just keeping us in a pen.’ She turned away and said nothing. Denison looked at McCready. ‘What do you think of Harding’s gun?’

‘He doesn’t think much of it,’ said Harding.

‘For God’s sake!’ said McCready. ‘It’s not a shotgun — it’s a light artillery piece. Even if you could lift it — which you can’t — you couldn’t shoot it. The recoil would break your shoulder. It’s bloody useless.’

‘It’s not meant for waving about,’ said Harding. ‘It’s designed for use on the punt, like a 16-inch gun on a battleship. You don’t find many of those on land because of the difficulty of absorbing the recoil — but you can put half a dozen on a ship because the recoil is absorbed by the water.’

‘Just my point,’ said McCready. ‘It’s as useless as a 16-inch gun would be if we had one. The powder is something else; maybe we can do something with that.’

‘Like making hand grenades?’ queried Denison sardonically. ‘What do you want to do? Start a war?’

‘We have to find a way of leaving here.’

‘We’ll leave when the Czechs let us,’ said Denison. ‘And nobody will get hurt. They’ve fallen for your fake treasure map, so what’s the hurry now?’ There was a cutting edge to his voice. ‘Any fighting you do now will be for fighting’s sake, and that’s just plain stupid.’

‘You’re right, of course,’ said McCready, but there was an undercurrent of exasperation in his voice. ‘Your watch, Harding; then Denison and then me.’

‘You don’t mind if I mess about with the gun while I keep watch?’ asked Harding. ‘It’s of personal interest,’ he added apologetically. ‘I am a wildfowler.’

‘Just don’t cause any sudden bangs,’ said McCready. ‘I don’t think my heart could stand it. And no one goes outside that door except on my say-so.’

Denison stretched his arms. ‘I think I’ll try to sleep for a while. Wake me when it’s my watch.’ He lay on his side on the bunk and for a while regarded Harding who had struggled in with the punt gun. He had some paper and appeared to be making small paper bags.

Denison’s eyelids drooped and presently he slept.

He was awakened by Harding shaking his shoulder. ‘Wake up, Giles; your watch.’

Denison yawned. ‘Anything happening?’

‘Not a thing to be seen.’

Denison got up and went to the window. Harding said, ‘I think I’ve figured out the gun. I’ve even made up some cartridges. I wish I could try it.’ There was a wistful note in his voice.

Denison looked about the room. The others were asleep which was not surprising because it was midnight. ‘You’d better rest. When we move we’ll probably move quickly.’

Harding lay on his bunk and Denison inspected the view from the window. The sun shone in his eyes, just dipping over the horizon far over the marsh; that was the lowest it would set and from then on it would be rising. He shaded his eyes. The sun seemed to be slightly veiled as though there was a thickening in the air over the marsh, the slightest of hazes. Probably a forest fire somewhere, he thought, and turned to the table to find the results of Harding’s handiwork.

Harding had made up six cartridges, crude cylindrical paper bags tied at the top with cotton thread. Denison picked one up and could feel the small shot through the paper. The cartridges were very heavy; he bounced one in his hand and thought its weight was not far short of two pounds. A pity Harding could not get his wish but, as McCready had pointed out, firing the gun was impossible.

He bent down and picked up the punt gun, straining his back and staggering under the weight. He cradled it in his arms and attempted to bring the butt to his shoulder. The muzzle swung erratically in a wild arc. It was impossible to aim and the recoil as two pounds of shot left the barrel would flatten the man who fired it. He shook his head and laid it down.

An hour later the view from the window was quite different. The sunshine had gone to be replaced by a diffuse light and the haze over the marsh had thickened into a light mist. He could still see the boathouse where the punt lay, and the reeds at the marsh edge, but farther out the light was gone from the water and beyond that was a pearly greyness.

He woke McCready. ‘Come and look at this.’ McCready looked at the mist thoughtfully, and Denison said, ‘It’s been thickening steadily. If it keeps to the same schedule visibility will be down to ten yards in another hour.’

‘You think we ought to make a break?’

‘I think we ought to get ready,’ said Denison carefully. ‘And I think we ought to find out if our friends are still there before the mist gets any thicker.’

‘We meaning me,’ said McCready sourly.

Denison grinned. ‘It’s your turn — unless you think Harding ought to have a go. Or Diana.’

‘I suppose I volunteer — but let’s wake up the others first.’

Ten minutes later it was established beyond doubt that the besiegers were still there. McCready slammed the door. ‘That bastard doesn’t like me; I felt the wind of that one.’

‘I saw him,’ said Denison. ‘The range is a hundred yards — not more. He could have killed you, but he didn’t.’

‘The mist has thickened,’ said Diana. ‘Even in the last ten minutes.’

‘Let’s get everything packed,’ said McCready.

They started to repack their gear, all except Denison who went to the window to stare out over the marsh. Fifteen minutes later McCready joined him. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘Visibility down to fifty yards,’ said Denison. ‘I wonder what would happen if someone went outside now.’

‘If Johnny is still in those reeds he wouldn’t see.’

‘What makes you think he’s still in the reeds? If he has any sense he’ll have closed in. So will the others.’

‘Others?’

‘Logic says there are at least four-two to watch back and front, and two to sleep.’

‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said McCready. ‘It’s only theory.’

‘Try climbing out of the back window,’ said Denison drily. He rubbed his jaw. ‘But you’re right in a way; it doesn’t make sense, does it? Not when Schmidt could have put two men right here in the hut with us. He’d have saved two men.’

McCready shook his head. ‘He’s too wise a bird to fall for that. When you have a rifle that’ll kill at a quarter mile you don’t guard at a range of three yards. Guards that close can be talked to and conned into making a false move. We can’t talk to these jokers outside and they talk to us with bullets.’

He tapped on the glass. ‘But Schmidt didn’t reckon on this mist. It’s thickening rapidly and when the visibility gets down to ten yards I think we’ll take a chance.’

‘Then you take it on your own,’ said Denison flatly. ‘If you think I’m going to go stumbling around out there when there are four men armed with automatic rifles you’re crazy. They might not want to kill us by design but they could sure as hell kill us by accident. I don’t go — nor does Lyn. Nor does Harding, if I have any say.’

‘A chance like this and you won’t take it,’ said McCready disgustedly.

‘I’m not in the chance-taking business, and in this case it doesn’t make sense. Tell me; suppose you leave this hut — what would you do?’

‘Head back to Vuotso,’ said McCready. ‘We couldn’t miss it if we skirted the edge of the marsh.’

‘No, you couldn’t,’ agreed Denison. ‘And neither could the Czechs miss you. You’d be doing the obvious. Come over here.’ He walked over to the table and spread out the map, using Harding’s cartridges to hold down the corners. ‘I’m not recommending leaving the hut at all — not the way things are now — but if it’s necessary that’s the way to go.’

McCready looked at the way Denison’s finger pointed. ‘Over the marsh! You’re crazy.’

‘What’s so crazy about it? It’s the unexpected direction. They wouldn’t think of following us across there.’

‘You’re still out of your mind,’ said McCready. ‘I had a good look at that marsh from up on the mountain. You can’t tell where the land begins and the water ends, and where there’s water you don’t know how deep it is. You’d stand a damned good chance of drowning, especially if you couldn’t see ten yards ahead.’

‘Not if you took the punt,’ said Denison. ‘The two girls and one man in the punt — two men alongside pushing. Where the water becomes deep they hang on and are towed while the people in the punt paddle.’ He tapped the map. ‘The marsh is two miles across; even in pitch darkness you could get through in under four hours. Once you’re across you head west and you can’t help but hit the main road north from Rovaniemi.’ He bent over the map. ‘You’d strike it somewhere between Vuotso and Tankapirtti, and the whole journey wouldn’t take you more than seven or eight hours.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ said McCready. ‘You’ve really been working all this out, haven’t you?’

‘Just in case of emergency,’ said Denison. He straightened. ‘The emergency hasn’t happened yet. We’re a bloody sight safer here than we would be out there. If there was a life and death reason for getting out of here I’d be in favour of it, but right now I don’t see it.’

‘You’re a really cool logical bastard,’ said McCready. ‘I wonder what it takes to make you angry. Don’t you feel even annoyed that we’re being made fools of by those Czechs out there?’

‘Not so annoyed as to relish stopping a bullet,’ said Denison with a grin. ‘Tell you what — you were so keen on the democratic process when you were stringing Schmidt along, so I’ll settle for a vote.’

‘Balls!’ said McCready. ‘It’s either the right thing to do or it isn’t. You don’t make it right just by voting. I think you’re right but I don’t...’

He was interrupted by a single shot from outside the hut and then there was a sustained rapid chatter of automatic fire. It stopped, and McCready and Denison stared at each other wordlessly. There was another report, a lighter sound than the rifle fire, and a window of the hut smashed in.

‘Down!’ yelled McCready, and flung himself flat. He lay on the floor of the hut and then twisted around until he could see Denison. ‘I think your emergency has arrived.’