They returned to the village just before dark, as the natives were milling about and preparing for the evening's service. The villagers waved cheerfully, welcoming them back from the perpetual darkness of the jungle. Some of the children ran up to Akan and offered him a sweet mashed root, carefully and attractively placed on a crude handmade plate. The giant accepted the gift with a smile and scooped the mash with his fingertips into his mouth.
"Careful with that smile," whispered Huxley. "You wouldn't want to give the impression that you like this place."
"You're just jealous that they don't treat you with the same respect," sputtered Akan, mash clinging to his mouth and fingers.
"You call that respect? That's fear, my friend. You're enormous, if you haven't noticed, and maybe you've forgotten, but you're supposed to be mute. So keep your voice down. Anyway, they probably think you're some sort of god."
"Need I remind you that they are Christians?"
"Yes, well... converted. Still, don't tell me you don't feel even the slightest bit of concern for these people."
"And what if I do? Is it really worth so much trouble to force me to admit it?"
"Yes. Yes, it is."
Akan was preparing a reply laced with several horrible expletives and terrible insults concerning Huxley's mother and the validity of his father's identity when Virginia approached, making all of his efforts a complete waste of his time.
"There you are," she said with a cheerful smile. "And what dark corners have the two of you been exploring today?"
"Ah, we were up near the river," said Huxley, "west--"
Akan interrupted and corrected him by pointing a long finger off to the east.
"East--thank you--of the village. I have a sketch of the loveliest flower I must show you sometime."
"That sounds wonderful," said Virginia, "but it will have to wait until after services. Would you care to walk me to the chapel, Mr. Huxley?"
Huxley wavered at the sudden intense look Akan gave him, one that wordlessly warned him to hold true to the promise he had made and abandon all romantic intentions with the lovely, young missionary.
"I'd be delighted, Ms. Pear," he said politely, offering his arm and returning a furtive glance to his partner, who could only shake his head in perpetual disappointment. Thus the two began stepping lightly across the dusty ground, crossing the village to the snickering and staring of the younger native inhabitants and leaving the towering partner to return to the camp alone.
"How much longer will you be staying with us?" asked Virginia.
"Not long. Only a few days more, and then we must move on, seeking out other unmapped regions and their hidden flora and fauna to be sketched and cataloged. It's a pity, though."
"Why is that?"
"It's such a lovely village you have here, and I find it so hard to call all I've done here work when it feels much more like a holiday."
"Ah, well, I'm afraid you haven't taken a deep enough look into our troubled little land. It isn't the plants and animals you should be worried about here. It's the people."
"Really? I haven't given them much thought, to be honest. Good heavens, they aren't cannibals, are they?" Huxley asked, suddenly peering at the villagers around him with a certain degree of paranoia.
"Not these people. Other white men, Mr. Huxley. They travel down from Europe with sweet words on their tongues, but they seek only to plunder."
Huxley's heart began beating slightly faster, and the perspiration on his brow, which he claimed came only from a day's worth of hard work and wandering through the jungle, began streaming down his face at a much greater pace.
"Is that so?"
"Not you, of course. Forgive me. I didn't mean to sound so accusing. I'm talking about slavers, Mr. Huxley. We've been hearing stories from the surrounding villages about camps of white men springing up in the jungle and innocent men and women disappearing from their huts."
"That's terrible," said Huxley with a sincerity that surprised even himself. "What do the other missionaries have to say about this?"
"Other missionaries?"
"That's right."
"Mr. Huxley, there are no other missionaries in this area. There is only me."
Huxley meditated on this carefully, wondering if Akan had actually seen that boat on the river. "These slavers--I'd imagine they would travel by steamboat, yes? They would have to navigate the rivers to move quickly through the area."
"Almost certainly. Why do you ask? Have you seen a boat?" she asked with a sudden urgency.
"No, I haven't."
"My, that's a relief," she sighed. "Now if you'll excuse me, Mr. Huxley, I must prepare my sermon."
After parting ways at the chapel door, Huxley's demeanor took on a chilling darkness, and he marched quickly back toward the camp, meeting Akan along with the other members of the expeditionary party as they made their way across the village for the evening service. He tried to pull his partner to the side for a quick word when Westmoreland appeared at his side.
"Good evening, sir."
"Westmoreland."
"Any luck today, sir?"
"Oh, yes, I've made some wonderful sketches."
"That's brilliant, sir, but may I ask you a question? Aside from that one, of course."
"Go ahead."
"It's just that we haven't had much to do these last few days," said the small porter in a somewhat reluctant voice, "and, well, the men are getting a bit restless, and they tend to turn a bit unbearable when they become restless. So I must ask: is there anything that you need us to do?"
"Like what?"
"Like anything, sir. I'd just like to keep them busy, is all. I was wondering if you needed any help, what with your plotting and sketching and all."
"No, I believe we have that covered, Westmoreland. Thank you."
"Ah, in that case: is there any chance that we'll be moving along sometime soon?"
"Yes, actually," Huxley said, drawing Akan's attention with a particularly grave look in his eyes. "We're leaving a bit sooner than anticipated."
"How soon, sir?"
"Tonight, if possible. Tomorrow morning at the latest."
"Brilliant, sir. I'll spread the word at supper tonight."
Westmoreland shuffled away, leaving Akan and Huxley alone to stare in silent contemplation, and without the use of words, Akan understood that something was about to happen. His intuition had been right all along.
"Careful with that smile," whispered Huxley. "You wouldn't want to give the impression that you like this place."
"You're just jealous that they don't treat you with the same respect," sputtered Akan, mash clinging to his mouth and fingers.
"You call that respect? That's fear, my friend. You're enormous, if you haven't noticed, and maybe you've forgotten, but you're supposed to be mute. So keep your voice down. Anyway, they probably think you're some sort of god."
"Need I remind you that they are Christians?"
"Yes, well... converted. Still, don't tell me you don't feel even the slightest bit of concern for these people."
"And what if I do? Is it really worth so much trouble to force me to admit it?"
"Yes. Yes, it is."
Akan was preparing a reply laced with several horrible expletives and terrible insults concerning Huxley's mother and the validity of his father's identity when Virginia approached, making all of his efforts a complete waste of his time.
"There you are," she said with a cheerful smile. "And what dark corners have the two of you been exploring today?"
"Ah, we were up near the river," said Huxley, "west--"
Akan interrupted and corrected him by pointing a long finger off to the east.
"East--thank you--of the village. I have a sketch of the loveliest flower I must show you sometime."
"That sounds wonderful," said Virginia, "but it will have to wait until after services. Would you care to walk me to the chapel, Mr. Huxley?"
Huxley wavered at the sudden intense look Akan gave him, one that wordlessly warned him to hold true to the promise he had made and abandon all romantic intentions with the lovely, young missionary.
"I'd be delighted, Ms. Pear," he said politely, offering his arm and returning a furtive glance to his partner, who could only shake his head in perpetual disappointment. Thus the two began stepping lightly across the dusty ground, crossing the village to the snickering and staring of the younger native inhabitants and leaving the towering partner to return to the camp alone.
"How much longer will you be staying with us?" asked Virginia.
"Not long. Only a few days more, and then we must move on, seeking out other unmapped regions and their hidden flora and fauna to be sketched and cataloged. It's a pity, though."
"Why is that?"
"It's such a lovely village you have here, and I find it so hard to call all I've done here work when it feels much more like a holiday."
"Ah, well, I'm afraid you haven't taken a deep enough look into our troubled little land. It isn't the plants and animals you should be worried about here. It's the people."
"Really? I haven't given them much thought, to be honest. Good heavens, they aren't cannibals, are they?" Huxley asked, suddenly peering at the villagers around him with a certain degree of paranoia.
"Not these people. Other white men, Mr. Huxley. They travel down from Europe with sweet words on their tongues, but they seek only to plunder."
Huxley's heart began beating slightly faster, and the perspiration on his brow, which he claimed came only from a day's worth of hard work and wandering through the jungle, began streaming down his face at a much greater pace.
"Is that so?"
"Not you, of course. Forgive me. I didn't mean to sound so accusing. I'm talking about slavers, Mr. Huxley. We've been hearing stories from the surrounding villages about camps of white men springing up in the jungle and innocent men and women disappearing from their huts."
"That's terrible," said Huxley with a sincerity that surprised even himself. "What do the other missionaries have to say about this?"
"Other missionaries?"
"That's right."
"Mr. Huxley, there are no other missionaries in this area. There is only me."
Huxley meditated on this carefully, wondering if Akan had actually seen that boat on the river. "These slavers--I'd imagine they would travel by steamboat, yes? They would have to navigate the rivers to move quickly through the area."
"Almost certainly. Why do you ask? Have you seen a boat?" she asked with a sudden urgency.
"No, I haven't."
"My, that's a relief," she sighed. "Now if you'll excuse me, Mr. Huxley, I must prepare my sermon."
After parting ways at the chapel door, Huxley's demeanor took on a chilling darkness, and he marched quickly back toward the camp, meeting Akan along with the other members of the expeditionary party as they made their way across the village for the evening service. He tried to pull his partner to the side for a quick word when Westmoreland appeared at his side.
"Good evening, sir."
"Westmoreland."
"Any luck today, sir?"
"Oh, yes, I've made some wonderful sketches."
"That's brilliant, sir, but may I ask you a question? Aside from that one, of course."
"Go ahead."
"It's just that we haven't had much to do these last few days," said the small porter in a somewhat reluctant voice, "and, well, the men are getting a bit restless, and they tend to turn a bit unbearable when they become restless. So I must ask: is there anything that you need us to do?"
"Like what?"
"Like anything, sir. I'd just like to keep them busy, is all. I was wondering if you needed any help, what with your plotting and sketching and all."
"No, I believe we have that covered, Westmoreland. Thank you."
"Ah, in that case: is there any chance that we'll be moving along sometime soon?"
"Yes, actually," Huxley said, drawing Akan's attention with a particularly grave look in his eyes. "We're leaving a bit sooner than anticipated."
"How soon, sir?"
"Tonight, if possible. Tomorrow morning at the latest."
"Brilliant, sir. I'll spread the word at supper tonight."
Westmoreland shuffled away, leaving Akan and Huxley alone to stare in silent contemplation, and without the use of words, Akan understood that something was about to happen. His intuition had been right all along.
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