Hothouse - Brian Aldiss [111]
‘And you’re about to suffer the worst one yet,’ Gren said. He was not pleased to see people that he admired like Haris and Lily-yo consorting with flymen. ‘Our enemies gather against us. Time for stories later, friends – and I’ll guess mine is more strange than yours – because a great pack, two great packs, of sharp-furs are nearly on us.’
‘Sharp-furs you call them?’ Lily-yo said. ‘We could see a little of their approach from on top of the traverser. What makes you think they are after us? In this miserable land of starvation they must surely be after the traverser for food?’
To Gren this idea was unexpected; yet he recognized its likelihood. Only the considerable bulk of food the traverser represented would have drawn so many sharp-furs so far so consistently. He turned to see what Yattmur thought. She was not there.
Immediately, he pulled out the knife he had just sheathed and jumped round, searching for her, calling her name. The members of Lily-yo’s band who did not know him fingered their swords anxiously, but he ignored them.
Yattmur stood a short way off, clutching their child and scowling in his direction. She had gone back to where the sodal lay; the Arabler women stood fruitlessly by, gazing ahead. Muttering angrily, Gren pushed by Haris to go to her.
‘What are you doing?’ he called. ‘Bring Laren here.’
‘Come and get him if you want him,’ she replied. ‘I will have nothing to do with these strange savages. You belong to me – why do you turn from me to them? Why do you talk to them? Who are they?’
‘O shades protect me from foolish women! You don’t understand – ’
He stopped.
They had left their escape from the ridge too late.
Moving in an impressive silence, perhaps because they needed their breath, the first lines of sharp-furs appeared over the crest of the hill.
They halted on confronting the humans, but the back ranks jostled them forward. With their mantles standing out stiff about their shoulders and their teeth bared, they did not have the look of friends. One or two of them wore the ridiculous helmets shaped out of gourds on their heads.
Through cold lips, Yattmur said, ‘Some of these were the ones who promised they would help the tummy-bellies to get home.’
‘How can you tell? They are so much alike.’
‘That old one with the yellow whiskers and a finger missing – I’m sure I recognize him at least.’
Lily-yo, coming up with her group, asked, ‘What are we going to do? Will these beasts trouble us if we let them have the traverser?’
Gren made no reply. He walked forward until he stood directly in front of the yellow-whiskered creature Yattmur had pointed out.
‘We bear you no ill-will, sharp-fur bamboon people. You know we never fought you when we were on Big Slope. Do you have the three tummy-belly men who were our companions with you?’
Without answering, Yellow Whiskers shambled round to consult with his friends. The nearest sharp-furs reared upon their hind legs and talked yappingly to each other. Finally Yellow Whiskers turned back to Gren, showing his fangs as he spoke. He cuddled something in his arms.
‘Yip yip yap yes, skinny one, the bouncing-bellies are wiff wiff with us. See! Look! Catch!’
With a quick motion, he threw something at Gren – who was so close he could do nothing but catch it.
It was the severed head of one of the tummy-bellies.
Gren acted without thought. Dropping the head, he flung himself forward in scarlet fury, thrusting out with his knife as he did so. His blade caught the yellow-whiskered sharp-fur in the stomach before he could dodge. As the creature staggered sideways screaming, Gren grabbed his grey paw with both hands. He spun completely round on one heel, and cast Yellow Whiskers right over the edge of the tall