Out of Time's Abyss
the ordinary bird drinking- and bathing-fonts so commonly seen on
suburban lawns. A seat protruded from each of the four sides of the
pedestals--just a flat board with a support running from its outer end
diagonally to the base of the pedestal.
As Bradley entered, some of the Wieroos espied him, and a dismal wail
arose. Whether it was a greeting or a threat, Bradley did not know.
Suddenly from a dark alcove another Wieroo rushed out toward him. "Who
are you?" he cried. "What do you want?"
"Fosh-bal-soj sent me here to eat," replied Bradley.
"Do you belong to Fosh-bal-soj?" asked the other.
"That appears to be what he thinks," answered the Englishman.
"Are you cos-ata-lu?" demanded the Wieroo.
"Give me something to eat or I'll be all of that," replied Bradley.
The Wieroo looked puzzled. "Sit here, jaal-lu," he snapped, and
Bradley sat down unconscious of the fact that he had been insulted by
being called a hyena-man, an appellation of contempt in Caspak.
The Wieroo had seated him at a pedestal by himself, and as he sat
waiting for what was next to transpire, he looked about him at the
Wieroo in his immediate vicinity. He saw that in each font was a
quantity of food, and that each Wieroo was armed with a wooden skewer,
sharpened at one end; with which they carried solid portions of food to
their mouths. At the other end of the skewer was fastened a small
clam-shell. This was used to scoop up the smaller and softer portions
of the repast into which all four of the occupants of each table dipped
impartially. The Wieroo leaned far over their food, scooping it up
rapidly and with much noise, and so great was their haste that a part
of each mouthful always fell back into the common dish; and when they
choked, by reason of the rapidity with which they attempted to bolt
their food, they often lost it all. Bradley was glad that he had a
pedestal all to himself.
Soon the keeper of the place returned with a wooden bowl filled with
food. This he dumped into Bradley's "trough," as he already thought of
it. The Englishman was glad that he could not see into the dark alcove
or know what were all the ingredients that constituted the mess before
him, for he was very hungry.
After the first mouthful he cared even less to investigate the
antecedents of the dish, for he found it peculiarly palatable. It
seemed to consist of a combination of meat, fruits, vegetables, small
fish and other undistinguishable articles of food all seasoned to
produce a gastronomic effect that was at once baffling and delicious.
When he had finished, his trough was empty, and then he commenced to
wonder who was to settle for his meal. As he waited for the proprietor
to return, he fell to examining the dish from which he had eaten and
the pedestal upon which it rested. The font was of stone worn smooth
by long-continued use, the four outer edges hollowed and polished by
the contact of the countless Wieroo bodies that had leaned against them
for how long a period of time Bradley could not even guess. Everything
about the place carried the impression of hoary age. The carved
pedestals were black with use, the wooden seats were worn hollow, the
floor of stone slabs was polished by the contact of possibly millions
of naked feet and worn away in the aisles between the pedestals so that
the latter rested upon little mounds of stone several inches above the
general level of the floor.
Finally, seeing that no one came to collect, Bradley arose and started
for the doorway. He had covered half the distance when he heard the
voice of mine host calling to him: "Come back, jaal-lu," screamed the
Wieroo; and Bradley did as he was bid. As he approached the creature
which stood now behind a large, flat-topped pedestal beside the alcove,
he saw lying upon the smooth surface something that almost elicited a
gasp of astonishment from him--a simple, common thing it was, or would
have been almost anywhere in the world but Caspak--a square bit of
paper!
And on it, in a fine hand, written compactly, were many strange
hieroglyphics! These remarkable creatures, then, had a written as well
as a spoken language and besides the art of weaving cloth possessed
that of paper-making. Could it be that such grotesque beings
represented the high culture of the human race within the boundaries of
Caspak? Had natural selection produced during the countless ages of
Caspakian life a winged monstrosity that represented the earthly
pinnacle of man's evolution?
Bradley had noted something of the obvious indications of a gradual
evolution from ape to spearman as exemplified by the several
overlapping races of Alalus, club-men and hatchet-men that formed the
connecting links between the two extremes with which he, had come in
contact. He had heard of the Krolus and the Galus--reputed to be still
higher in the plane of evolution--and now he had indisputable evidence
of a race possessing refinements of civilization eons in advance of the
spear-men. The conjectures awakened by even a momentary consideration
of the possibilities involved became at once as wildly bizarre as the
insane imaginings of a drug addict.
As these thoughts flashed through his mind, the Wieroo held out a pen
of bone fixed to a wooden holder and at the same time made a sign that
Bradley was to write upon the paper. It was difficult to judge from
the expressionless features of the Wieroo what was passing in the
creature's mind, but Bradley could not but feel that the thing cast a
supercilious glance upon him as much as to say, "Of course you do not
know how to write, you poor, low creature; but you can make your mark."
Bradley seized the pen and in a clear, bold hand wrote: "John Bradley,
England." The Wieroo showed evidences of consternation as it seized
the piece of paper and examined the writing with every mark of
incredulity and surprise. Of course it could make nothing of the
strange characters; but it evidently accepted them as proof that
Bradley possessed knowledge of a written language of his own, for
following the Englishman's entry it made a few characters of its own.
"You will come here again just before Lua hides his face behind the
great cliff," announced the creature, "unless before that you are
summoned by Him Who Speaks for Luata, in which case you will not have
to eat any more."
"Reassuring cuss," thought Bradley as he turned and left the building.
Outside were several Wieroos that had been eating at the pedestals
within. They immediately surrounded him, asking all sorts of
questions, plucking at his garments, his ammunition-belt and his
pistol. Their demeanor was entirely different from what it had been
within the eating-place and Bradley was to learn that a house of food
was sanctuary for him, since the stern laws of the Wieroos forbade
altercations within such walls. Now they were rough and threatening,
as with wings half spread they hovered about him in menacing attitudes,
barring his way to the ladder leading to the roof from whence he had
descended; but the Englishman was not one to brook interference for
long. He attempted at first to push his way past them, and then when
one seized his arm and jerked him roughly back, Bradley swung upon the
creature and with a heavy blow to the jaw felled it.
Instantly pandemonium reigned. Loud wails arose, great wings opened
and closed with a loud, beating noise and many clawlike hands reached
forth to clutch him. Bradley struck to right and left. He dared not
use his pistol for fear that once they discovered its power he would be
overcome by weight of numbers and relieved of possession of what he
considered his trump card, to be reserved until the last moment that it
might be used to aid in his escape, for already the Englishman was
planning, though almost hopelessly, such an attempt.
A few blows convinced Bradley that the Wieroos were arrant cowards and
that they bore no weapons, for after two or three had fallen beneath
his fists the others formed a circle about him, but at a safe distance
and contented themselves with threatening and blustering, while those
whom he had felled lay upon the pavement without trying to arise, the
while they moaned and wailed in lugubrious chorus.
Again Bradley strode toward the ladder, and this time the circle parted
before him; but no sooner had he ascended a few rungs than he was
seized by one foot and an effort made to drag him down. With a quick
backward glance the Englishman, clinging firmly to the ladder with both
hands, drew up his free foot and with all the strength of a powerful
leg, planted a heavy shoe squarely in the flat face of the Wieroo that
held him. Shrieking horribly, the creature clapped both hands to its
face and sank to the ground while Bradley clambered quickly the
remaining distance to the roof, though no sooner did he reach the top
of the ladder than a great flapping of wings beneath him warned him
that the Wieroos were rising after him. A moment later they swarmed
about his head as he ran for the apartment in which he had spent the
early hours of the morning after his arrival.
It was but a short distance from the top of the ladder to the doorway,
and Bradley had almost reached his goal when the door flew open and
Fosh-bal-soj stepped out. Immediately the pursuing Wieroos demanded
punishment of the jaal-lu who had so grievously maltreated them.
Fosh-bal-soj listened to their complaints and then with a sudden sweep
of his right hand seized Bradley by the scruff of the neck and hurled
him sprawling through the doorway upon the floor of the chamber.
So sudden was the assault and so surprising the strength of the Wieroo
that the Englishman was taken completely off his guard. When he arose,
the door was closed, and Fosh-bal-soj was standing over him, his
hideous face contorted into an expression of rage and hatred.
"Hyena, snake, lizard!" he screamed. "You would dare lay your low,
vile, profaning hands upon even the lowliest of the Wieroos--the sacred
chosen of Luata!"
Bradley was mad, and so he spoke in a very low, calm voice while a
half-smile played across his lips but his cold, gray eyes were
unsmiling.
"What you did to me just now," he said, "--I am going to kill you for
that," and even as he spoke, he launched himself at the throat of
Fosh-bal-soj. The other Wieroo that had been asleep when Bradley left
the chamber had departed, and the two were alone. Fosh-bal-soj
displayed little of the cowardice of those that had attacked Bradley in
the alleyway, but that may have been because he had so slight
opportunity, for Bradley had him by the throat before he could utter a
cry and with his right hand struck him heavily and repeatedly upon his
face and over his heart--ugly, smashing, short-arm jabs of the sort
that take the fight out of a man in quick time.
But Fosh-bal-soj was of no mind to die passively. He clawed and struck
at Bradley while with his great wings he attempted to shield himself
from the merciless rain of blows, at the same time searching for a hold
upon his antagonist's throat. Presently he succeeded in tripping the
Englishman, and together the two fell heavily to the floor, Bradley
underneath, and at the same instant the Wieroo fastened his long talons
about the other's windpipe.
Fosh-bal-soj was possessed of enormous strength and he was fighting for
his life. The Englishman soon realized that the battle was going
against him. Already his lungs were pounding painfully for air as he
reached for his pistol. It was with difficulty that he drew it from
its holster, and even then, with death staring him in the face, he
thought of his precious ammunition. "Can't waste it," he thought; and
slipping his fingers to the barrel he raised the weapon and struck