Country of the Falcon Read online

  The wrangle continued, but Alexandra turned her attention to the river. In truth, it looked very little different today than it had done the day before, but for all his obesity and his disgusting affair with Maria, she trusted Santos more than the wizened Vasco. She half wished it was he, and not the other man, who was to escort her on the final leg of her journey.

  Eventually Vasco went away muttering to himself but apparently persuaded that the waters were subsiding. Santos sat, smiling and nodding, and when Alexandra looked at him, he said:

  ‘You will go now, Mees Tempest. Santos will see you on your way.’

  ‘You mean—we’re leaving today?’ Alexandra was surprised to find how little enthusiasm this aroused in her now that the moment had actually come. Although perhaps after her anxiety earlier she could be forgiven for losing the determination with which she had initially begun this journey.

  ‘Is right,’ agreed Santos, lighting another cigar from the stub of the first. ‘Santos will see that you have everything you need.’

  Alexandra got to her feet. ‘I’d better get my things—–’

  Santos yelled for Maria, and when she came he told her to go and collect the senhorita’s cases from her hut. Alexandra began to protest that she was perfectly capable of getting her own things, but Santos interrupted her, saying:

  ‘Maria will do it. Leave her. The Indians like to serve. Hadn’t you noticed?’

  Alexandra made no response to this. If she had she might have been tempted to tell Santos exactly what she thought of the kind of servitude in which he held Maria, and she had no wish to make enemies here. So she merely smiled and walked to the edge of the landing, looking down in to the amazingly clear waters of the Velhijo. She could see the sandy bottom lying beneath the water, the bleached rocks and curious dark red tinging of the water in places which from a distance made it appear almost black. She realised it was the mineral deposits in the river, swept down by the force of the elements, and it was mostly iron which gave it its curious colour. On the opposite bank, what had appeared to be a log moved, and she saw to her horror that it was one of the grey alligators, called caymans, which she had seen from time to time on the river-bank on her journey to Los Hermanos. Its narrow beady eyes and raised nostrils which enabled it to swim almost completely submerged sent a shiver of apprehension up her spine and she took an involuntary step backward. What would they do if they encountered something like that as they tramped past the rapids? She had little confidence in Vasco’s protection.

  But by the time the boat was loaded with sleeping bags and extra blankets, cans of water and supplies, and two rifles had been added to the pile of equipment in the bottom of the boat, she felt a little more relaxed. The two Indians who were to accompany them seemed cheerful enough, although Alexandra had to avert her eyes from their apparent disregard for clothing of any sort. They sat together in the prow of the boat, chewing the tobacco which had blackened their teeth, and talking in some language of their own. She tried not to think about the fact that apart from Vasco’s, theirs were to be the only other human faces she was likely to see for two whole days. She had too much imagination, she decided.

  Santos waved them off. He had shown little surprise at her adventurous journey to see her father, and Alexandra could only assume that like the Indians he considered all white people slightly eccentric. And, too, he had displayed little interest in her destination, and she hoped this was not because he never expected her to reach it.

  A bend in the river hid the trading post from view and the boat’s small motor chugged steadily upstream. There was a canvas canopy rigged at the rear end of the craft and Alexandra sat beneath this, glad of the respite from the glare of the sun which was just beginning to make the heat unbearable. In fact, it was a little better on the river. There was a slight breeze as the boat moved through the water, and Alexandra fanned herself with her sunglasses.

  Well, she thought, trying to be philosophical, she was at least moving again, and who knows, maybe in less than forty-eight hours she would see her father again. It seemed an unreal supposition.

  They didn’t stop at lunch-time, but Vasco chewed a hunk of the mandioca bread and drank some beer while Alexandra opened a tin of Coke and peeled two bananas. The fresh fruit was infinitely more delicious than any she had tasted in England, and if the Coke was a little warm, it couldn’t be helped. The Indians had nothing to eat, but grabbed the tins of beer Vasco threw to them with eager fingers, tearing open the tops and drinking greedily, the liquid dripping out of the corners of their mouths in their haste. Alexandra tried not to watch them, aware that her interest might be misconstrued, but their behaviour both repelled and fascinated her.

  She fell asleep after lunch. She had not intended to do so, but she slept so fitfully at night that it was almost impossible to stay awake during the heat of the day. She was awakened by the sound of an aircraft overhead, but by the time she had pulled herself together it had disappeared. At least the intense heat had lessened somewhat, and she had been long enough in the river-basin to know that at night it could be bitterly cold. She yawned and stretched her legs, turning up the trouser cuffs to allow the air to get at her bare legs, and then rolled them down again at the awareness of having an audience.

  Late in the afternoon, Vasco turned off the boat’s engine and secured the craft to the jutting stump of a long dead tree by the means of a thick rope. ‘We stay,’ he announced, mainly for Alexandra’s benefit. ‘Go on—amanha.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Alexandra licked her dry lips. ‘Couldn’t we go a little further today?’

  Vasco shook his head. ‘Rapidos, senhorita. Nao caminho!’

  Alexandra wished she had a Portuguese phrase book. She had the distinct suspicion that Vasco knew more English than he let on. It made it simpler for him if she couldn’t argue with him.

  Now she was forced to acquiesce, and watched with astonishment as the two Indians dived over the side to swim and play in the water. Alexandra was almost sure there were piranhas in the river and she waited in horror for something terrible to happen. But nothing did. The two Indians swam to the river-bank, climbed ashore, and soon began gathering twigs to make a fire.

  Dragging her attention from them, Alexandra became aware that Vasco was rigging up a kind of fishing line. He dangled it over the side, and before too long he caught an enormous fish, hauling it in and killing it mercilessly.

  ‘Tucunare!’ observed Vasco, with evident satisfaction. ‘You like?’

  Alexandra shook her head vigorously. ‘No, thank you,’ she declined politely. A tin of beans or corned beef might be less appetising, but definitely safer. Even so, when Vasco started a fire in a kind of brazier and barbecued the fish he had caught, the smell was irresistible. It was almost dark by this time, and the towering trees around them seemed to be pressing in on them. Alexandra felt very much alone, and when Vasco again proffered some of the fish she found herself accepting.

  It was absolutely delicious, and Alexandra ate ravenously, enjoying it more than anything she had had since leaving Manaus eight days ago. Licking her fingers afterwards, she looked towards the river-bank and saw the glow of the fire the Indians had lighted. Seemingly they did not find the forest frightening, and were equally capable of providing for themselves when it came to food.

  Vasco doused the fire and lighted a lamp. Then he sat cross-legged in the bottom of the boat, poking his teeth with a sliver of wood. Alexandra wished he would stare at something else instead of her all the time, but as he had been kind enough to provide her with a delicious supper perhaps she ought to try and behave naturally.

  ‘Do—er—do you have any children, Vasco?’ she ventured tentatively.

  The wizened face grimaced. ‘Filhos? Nao, senhorita.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Me? Me—repugnante! Who like Vasco?’

  Alexandra felt a surge of compassion. ‘Why—why, that’s nonsense, Vasco. I—I’m sure there are lots—of girls who would be—be proud to marry you.’

  Vasco
’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You theenk so?’ he asked, shuffling a little nearer to her.

  Alexandra quelled the urge to shift her legs from out of his reach. ‘I—I’m sure of it.’

  ‘And you, senhorita? You have muitos namorados, sim?’

  Alexandra understood what this meant. ‘I—I have boy-friends, yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘Naturalmente, the senhorita esta muita formosa!’

  Alexandra gave what she hoped was a deprecatory smile and forced a glance towards the camp-fire glowing among the trees on the bank. ‘The—the—er—Indians seem quite at home in the forest, don’t they?’ she said hurriedly.

  ‘Is their home,’ replied Vasco, without interest. ‘Tell me, senhorita, tell me about your boy-friends, sim? Do they—touch you? Do they—make love to you?’

  Alexandra was revolted by the perversion of his curiosity. Pressing her lips together, she said coldly: ‘Where are you going to sleep, senhor?’

  Vasco was unperturbed. ‘Where would the senhorita like Vasco to sleep?’

  Alexandra gasped. ‘I—I beg your pardon?’

  Vasco got to his knees, grasping her ankles with horny fingers. ‘The senhorita need not be afraid with Vasco,’ he said, his English improving all the time. ‘Vasco will not leave you alone.’

  ‘The senhorita is not afraid,’ snapped Alexandra, struggling to free her ankles, and trying to squash the feeling of panic that was rising inside her. ‘Please let go of me, or— or—–’

  ‘Or what will you do?’ Vasco’s face twisted into the semblance of a smile. ‘Will you shout for help? From whom? Who can hear you here?’ He flicked a contemptuous glance towards the Indians’ fire. ‘They? Nao. They would like to take their turn.’

  ‘You’re—you’re disgusting!’

  Alexandra wrenched her feet out of his hands and lunged to one side. She had no clear idea of what she was about to do. Diving into the river or escaping into the forest were two equally impossible alternatives, but she had to do something or she would scream. She fell against the equipment in the well of the boat and something scraped painfully along her hip. It was a rifle.

  Grasping it like a lifeline, she swung round on her knees pointing the barrel towards Vasco. ‘If—if you move, I’ll shoot!’ she declared in a ridiculously tremulous voice, but Vasco sat back on his heels and roared with laughter. ‘I—I mean it,’ she added fiercely. ‘I have used a gun before.’

  ‘Have you, senhorita?’ Vasco shook his head. ‘Veja—you have me in fear and trembling!’ And he held out one hand and deliberately shook it in front of her face.

  Exactly what Vasco might have done next Alexandra was never to know, because almost simultaneously they heard the sound of an engine throbbing on the still night air. It was a boat coming down-stream, Alexandra thought, and her heart leapt and then subsided again. What now?

  Sounds carried a tremendous distance in the uncanny silence of this watery maze and it was some time before the craft appeared round the bend in the river. There were lights on board and the sound of men’s voices, but it was impossible to tell yet what language they were speaking. Alexandra sat in frozen apprehension, hardly aware of the rifle still in her hands.

  The occupants of the other boat saw them. It would have been impossible for them not to have seen the light of the lamp, and Alexandra tensed as the craft drew nearer. It was a smaller vessel and a tall man was profiled near its bow, standing looking towards them, saying something to the other men in the boat as it drew alongside. Then he hailed Alexandra’s companion:

  ‘Bem, Vasco, tu velho patife, como esta?’

  The boats ground gently together and the other craft’s motor was cut as Vasco scrambled to his feet, completely disregarding the possible menace of the rifle Alexandra was holding.

  A stream of Portuguese issued from his throat as he greeted the stranger, shaking his hand warmly as the other man vaulted into their boat, glancing back at Alexandra and then continuing to talk excitedly.

  Alexandra got unsteadily to her feet, holding on to the rifle. If this man was a friend of Vasco’s, what possible assistance could she expect from him? She stared intently at him. It was impossible to distinguish his features as he was still in the shadows, but his height seemed to negate his being an Indian. He kept turning his head in her direction, however, and she wondered with increasing alarm whether he imagined she was easy game, too.

  Eventually he seemed to take command, for he silenced Vasco with an unmistakable gesture and then stepped across the pile of equipment in the bottom of the boat into the light.

  Alexandra took a step backward, her eyes widening as she realised he looked almost European. He was deeply tanned, of course; no one could be otherwise who lived in this area, and his hair was very dark and longer than Vasco’s, but his lean, harshly arrogant features and thin mouth were almost patrician in cast. Even so, there was a certain sinuous quality about the way he moved that few Europeans possessed, and his eyes were amazingly as pale as blue fire. He was a handsome brute, Alexandra had to concede that, and from the way his eyes were assessing her with almost insolent appraisal he was perfectly aware of it.

  ‘Boa tarde, senhorita!’ he greeted her politely, with a faint but perceptible bow of his head, which went rather oddly with the close-fitting denim pants he was wearing and the denim shirt which was opened almost to his waist. ‘Isn’t that rifle a little heavy for you?’

  He spoke English without any trace of an accent, and Alexandra stared at him in amazement. Her fingers slackened for a moment round the rifle and then tightened again.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded tautly.

  The stranger cast a mocking glance back at Vasco, and then, while Alexandra was off guard, he stepped forward and twisted the rifle effortlessly out of her hands. ‘That’s better, is it not?’ he enquired, examining the weapon expertly. ‘Now—as to who I am, I suggest you tell me your name first.’

  Alexandra was rubbing her fingers where his determined removal of the rifle had grazed them, and she stared at him a trifle desperately. ‘Look,’ she said unsteadily, ‘I don’t see why I have to tell you anything. I—I—this man here——’

  ‘Who? Vasco?’

  ‘Yes, Vasco. He—he was threatening me.’

  ‘Nao!’ Vasco was openly indignant. ‘I did not have espingarda, senhorita...’

  The stranger ignored the other man’s outburst and went on calmly: ‘With what was he threatening you?’

  Alexandra looked down at her hands. ‘I’d really rather not talk about it.’

  The stranger’s lips twisted sardonically. ‘I see.’ He paused. ‘A woman—or should I say, a girl?—who is prepared to travel unescorted must be prepared to look after herself.’ He tossed the rifle carelessly back to her and she managed to catch it before it fell on the deck at her feet. ‘Look at it,’ he commanded. ‘Not only is it not loaded, but the safety catch is still on.’

  Alexandra looked rather warily down at the gun in her hands. She had never handled a rifle before this evening, not any gun if it came to that, in spite of her vain boast to Vasco. And if this man had known that, Vasco, with his awareness of its lack of bullets, must have known it, too.

  ‘Please,’ she said, suddenly feeling that it was all too much for her. ‘Just go away and leave me alone.’

  The stranger dropped the butt of his cigar over the side of the boat and she heard the faint plop as it hit the water and was extinguished. Then he leant forward and removed the rifle from her unresisting fingers, and stood it against the other equipment beside him.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ he remarked quietly, folding his arms. ‘You see, I came here to find you, Miss Tempest.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  THERE was a minute of complete silence when all Alexandra could hear was the heavy beating of her own heart. She tried to recollect whether she had heard Vasco mention her name in his initial outburst and then decided he must have done, for how else could this man know who she was? And yet he
had said he had come here to find her. It didn’t make sense!

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked at last, unable to find anything more original to say.

  ‘My name is Declan O’Rourke, Miss Tempest. Vasco will vouch for that, I am sure. I live—some distance up-river.’

  Declan O’Rourke!

  Alexandra felt more than ever confused. Apart from the pale blue eyes between the thick black lashes there was little to indicate his Irish heritage.

  ‘But——’ She sought for words. ‘How did you know where to find me? And how did you know I was here?’

  ‘Explanations of that sort can wait.’ He glanced round at Vasco’s expectant face. ‘I will escort Miss Tempest from here. You can go back to Los Hermanos and tell Santos——’

  ‘No! I mean—wait!’ Alexandra bit her lower lip hard. ‘How do I know who you are? I mean, you can’t just come along and—and take me over!’

  ‘Would you rather stay with Vasco?’ O’Rourke’s eyes were mocking. ‘Did I misunderstand that scene I interrupted?’

  ‘No, no, of course you didn’t.’ Alexandra wrung her hands. ‘But—but you can’t expect me to go with you just like that—without any kind of an explanation.’

  ‘I’m afraid you don’t have much choice, Miss Tempest,’ he returned politely, and she stared impotently at the sweat-stained shoulders of his shirt as he turned away.

  Vasco sidled up to him and said something in an undertone and Alexandra wished desperately that she understood Portuguese. She had no liking for Vasco, nor any real trust, but he had brought her this far. How was she to be sure that this man O’Rourke was not some kind of thief or adventurer who, the minute they were out of Vasco’s sight, would ditch her and take what little money and possessions she had brought with her. Her fingers encountered the narrow gold watch on her wrist. Her father had bought it for her sixteenth birthday just over a year ago, and it was insured for almost two hundred pounds. It, at least, was worth stealing. Perhaps even Vasco was in league with him. Perhaps this was some crooked sort of deal they had cooked up between them.