Sebastian Darke: Prince of Explorers (7 page)

The two of them went out into the open, where Max was waiting for them. They gazed towards the chief's hut, where the thunder of drums was steadily rising to a crescendo. 'We'd better get this over with,' said Sebastian apprehensively. 'What are we supposed to do exactly?'

'Perhaps you could try them with a few highlights from your old jester's routine,' suggested Max. 'It went down a storm in Keladon.'

'Oh, very amusing,' snarled Sebastian.

'Actually, no, that was the problem.'

'Stop bickering, you two,' snapped Cornelius. 'And wherever possible, leave the talking to me. Just try and look regal, Sebastian . . . and as for you' – he glanced at Max – 'keep your lip buttoned! Come on.'

They walked the short distance across the village, the thudding of the drums getting louder at every step.

As they drew closer, they could see the huge carcass of a rusa boar sizzling over the fire. Around it, several male and female dancers, wearing carved and painted wooden masks, were leaping and jerking to the primitive beat. A short distance beyond them, in front of the chief's hut, they saw a figure that could only have been Maccan. He was seated on an ornate wooden throne and dressed in elaborate regalia made from what looked like leaves and quills and woven reeds. He had a beautifully carved wooden crown on his head; beneath it, his face was dark and weather-beaten, and his long hair was decorated with animal teeth and shells. His deep-set brown eyes regarded the three latecomers expressionlessly as they approached.

On his left side sat Keera, wearing a long gown of roughly woven blue cloth, her hair tied up in an intricate arrangement of decorative plaits. The colour of her cheeks and lips had been artificially accentuated with some kind of pigment and she looked beautiful. She regarded Sebastian demurely from beneath lowered lashes, and though a smile plucked momentarily at her lips, she managed to keep it in check.

On Maccan's right side sat the stick-thin, white-bearded figure of the shaman, Danthus, whom Sebastian had not seen since the old man had pulled the arrowhead out of his chest. Sebastian smiled and nodded but Danthus gave no indication that he had even noticed the gesture. His thin, almost cadaverous face remained expressionless, his pale grey eyes staring straight ahead, his blue-veined hands resting on the handle of a rough-hewn stick.

Sebastian supposed that there would once have been a wife sitting on Maccan's right side, but Keera had told him that her mother had died years ago from a fever and that her father had never sought another partner.

The three friends walked round the fire and came to a halt a respectful distance from the chief. He sat there regarding them for a few moments, then raised his arms and clapped his hands together once. As if by magic, the music came to an abrupt halt, the dancers stopped in their tracks and Sebastian had an immediate impression of this man's incredible power over the village. Clearly he demanded – and received – complete obedience. When he spoke, his voice was deep and full of authority.

'The Chosen One and his companions are most welcome in our village,' he said. 'Please' – he indicated a couple of vacant seats beside his daughter – and a pile of fresh straw that had been thoughtfully left for a buffalope to recline on – 'take your places beside us. You honour us with your presence.'

Sebastian smiled and was about to do as he was told when he felt a surreptitious jab in the side from Cornelius's elbow and realized he was supposed to respond. He bowed his head.

'On the . . . contrary, Great Chief, it is we who . . . are honoured,' he insisted. 'And we humbly . . . thank you and the people of the village for the . . . the help you have given us.'

He looked back up at Maccan but the chief was still gesturing to the empty places, so he went and sat next to Keera. He glanced at her nervously and was rewarded with a fleeting smile. Cornelius took his seat and then Max, trying his very best not to knock anything over, lowered his prodigious bulk into the available space. Glancing around, Sebastian saw that the men, women and children of the tribe were arranging themselves cross-legged on the ground. Every pair of eyes was staring directly at him and he began to feel extremely nervous, particularly when he noticed Cal a short distance away, a superior sneer on his face.

There was a long silence, broken only by the snapping of twigs in the fire. Then Maccan spoke.

'My daughter has told me of your quest to find the lost city.'

Sebastian nodded. 'It was our main reason for coming here,' he admitted.

'My daughter also spoke of the mighty pool of water upon which you have travelled?'

'Oh yes, Great Chief, the ocean! We have travelled upon the waters in a vast ship and had many adventures. We have fought pirates and kelfers – terrifying sea beasts with great snapping jaws – and escaped to tell the tale.'

'I should like to see this mighty water for myself,' said Maccan.

'Well, unfortunately it's a great distance from here – many moons of travel away.'

Maccan nodded gravely. 'Still,' he said, 'perhaps one day something could be arranged?'

There was a long silence.

'Er . . . why not?' said Sebastian. 'I'm . . . I'm sure something could be sorted out. A kind of . . .'

'Sightseeing tour,' suggested Max. 'Yes, we could have a jolly trudge all the way back to Ramalat and the chief could take in all the hot spots. The harbour . . . the taverns . . . maybe even a little trip out in a boat.'

'Er . . . yes, why not?' said Cornelius feebly. 'We'll, um . . . have to see how we're fixed.'

Maccan frowned. He glanced at Danthus, who shrugged his narrow shoulders. 'It sounds good,' said the chief.

'You'll love it,' Max assured him. 'It's a fun town.'

Another silence; then Maccan clapped his hands together. 'And now,' he went on, 'a gift for the Chosen One!'

A woman came forward carrying a headdress made from bones and multicoloured feathers. She stopped in front of Sebastian and lowered the thing carefully and respectfully onto his head. She stepped back, bowed and moved away.

Sebastian sat there, feeling vaguely foolish. He glanced at Cornelius. 'How does it look?' he asked.

'Very regal,' said Cornelius; but it was obvious that he was stifling a laugh.

Sebastian glanced at Max. 'Oh yes, young master,' said the buffalope, a little too quickly. 'You look a right . . . Jilith!'

'Thanks very much,' muttered Sebastian.

'And now it's your turn,' whispered Cornelius.

'Huh?'

'The knife, you nitwit!'

'Oh yes.' Sebastian got to his feet, walked across to Maccan and put the dagger carefully into his hands. 'A small token of our respect,' he said.

Maccan grinned and lifted the dagger so that his people could see it. A great cheer went up. Sebastian bowed his head and returned to his place.

'He seems to like it,' muttered Max, sounding genuinely surprised. 'He's easily pleased.'

Now Maccan slipped the dagger into his own belt and clapped his hands a second time. 'Bring my guests some icara!' he commanded.

Immediately tribeswomen appeared carrying jugs and clay cups, one of which was pushed into Sebastian's hand and filled with a dark red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood; but when he sniffed at it surreptitiously, he got the unmistakable aroma of wine. He saw with a sense of misgiving that a big bowl had been placed in front of Max and that it was being filled to the brim.

'This is . . . alcoholic?' asked Sebastian nervously.

Maccan was lifting his own cup to his mouth. 'I do not understand this word, Elf Lord,' he said.

'It makes you . . . happy?'

'And then some,' said Maccan, grinning for the first time. 'So . . . drink!'

'What do I do?' hissed Max, under his breath.

'Drink it,' whispered Cornelius.

'But you said—'

'We can't insult the chief. Drink!'

'All right, but I'm taking no responsibility . . .' Max plunged his snout into the bowl and started lapping enthusiastically.

'Sip it!' said Cornelius through gritted teeth.

Sebastian lifted the cup to his lips and took a generous gulp. At first it tasted deliciously sweet, but this was followed by a sensation of being punched in the stomach; his vision seemed to waver and shimmer as though he'd imbibed several flagons of the strongest ale. He gasped, then disguised it as a cough.

'Wow!' he said. He glanced around at the crowd behind him, who were just sitting there, watching in silence. 'Is nobody else having any?' he asked.

Maccan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Icara is too precious to give to just anyone,' he said. 'It's harvested once a year from a secret grove and then allowed to ferment for many moons before it is ready. You like?'

'Very nice,' said Sebastian. 'Very . . . refreshing.'

'Refreshing? It's sensational!' said Max. 'You must let me have the recipe!' He was licking the last dregs from the bowl as he spoke.

Cornelius rolled his eyes in despair. 'I believe the great chief just told us that it's a very
special
drink,' he said. 'So I don't think he'll want to give you the recipe, will he?' 'Pity.'

Max looked up and caught the eye of one of the serving women. 'Hey, love! A drop more over here, if you don't mind!'

'Max!' hissed Sebastian. He smiled at Maccan. 'You must forgive him, he's . . . very excitable!'

'He's a comical creature,' enthused Maccan. 'He speaks as well as any man. Are there many such creatures where you come from?'

'Not like him,' murmured Cornelius, watching in disbelief as the bowl was filled for a second time. 'For goodness' sake, Max, take it easy,' he whispered.

'Make your mind up,' said Max. 'A moment ago you said—'

'I know what I said!' Cornelius tried to mask his anger with an unconvincing laugh. 'Great Chief, we were talking with Keera the other day about the threat of the Gograth.'

'Ah yes.' Maccan was getting his own refill from one of the women. 'Yes, it's a worry.' He reached out a hand and patted his daughter on the shoulder. 'Keera and the others are valiant in the way they take on those beasts, but we cannot hope to prevail for much longer. They are so savage. I cannot begin to tell you the horrors they have visited upon my people. Warriors slaughtered by the score – even women and children. They are merciless and it seems they are intent on persecuting us to extinction. You promised to help us fight them, but my warriors tell me that you are training them to kick balls around.'