Read Online Doctor Who: Combat Rock by Mick Lewis - Free Book Online Page B

with the missionaries. Julius didn’t care what they said. He had Silla, and he loved her. She loved him too, he knew that.
    He stopped for a brief chat with his brother who was on his way to do some fishing, then continued along the plankway, the constant thumping of the loose boards comforting beneath his feet. He remembered the first time Father Pieter had arrived in Agat, when Julius was no more than a boy. How he had laughed at the look of horror on the missionary’s face when he saw the primitive state of the shanty town with its tin and wood shacks and dangerously unstable walkways – had laughed even more when Father Pieter first tried to walk along the plankways, almost ending up in the swamps below when he trod on a loose board. They had quickly become friends, and Father Pieter had done a great deal for the Papul man. Perhaps sensing a strong natural intelligence in Julius, he had concentrated on teaching him not only English, but also the word of God. Julius had accepted Christianity gratefully, unlike many of his fellow Papuls in the area who had moved to take the hand of the Lord somewhat more grudgingly and suspiciously. He had recognized the need to embrace civilisation, and if a belief in some alien God meant he secured learning and a good job, then Julius was all for it.
    And now of course, he believed. Many of his fellow townspeople were coming round too. Father Pieter and his colleague Father Tomas were very convincing, very persuasive. Julius had even begun to instruct some of the Papul children in the ways of God.
    Agat was not such a bad place to live after all, despite the squalor, and the mosquitoes.
    He unlocked the door of the museum hut, one of the longest buildings in Agat, and one for which Father Pieter and Julius both felt a great deal of pride, albeit for quite different reasons.
    He entered the building, closing the door behind him, and collected his duster from the table next to the window.
    Of course he felt proud of the building’s contents. It housed the relics of a dying belief system, it paraded the heritage of his people, and for all his new-found Christianity, Julius would never feel ashamed of the nobility and courage his forbears had displayed in forging a life out of the hostile swamps and forests, even if that life did revolve around headhunting as an essential element of their culture.
    He also knew why Pieter was proud of the display of obsolete accoutrements of a barbarous age; to the missionary, the museum was an accolade to the victory of reason and organised religion over primitivism; it was a tribute to his and Tomas’s efforts to overcome the savage and warlike people they had been sent in to educate.
    Julius could understand that viewpoint of course. He was a living example of that success story, and very grateful to his missionary friends for giving him the opportunity to advance himself.
    He made his way past the various necklaces of Kassowark feathers and bones worn by warriors as they crept into the night on headhunting missions, and strolled down the aisle between stuffed reptiles and huge, flightless birds. He stopped for a moment next to the bizarre suit of ‘armour’ worn by his wild ancestors in times of village warfare. It was a full body piece made of woven hemp, including a fierce and odd-looking head mask that, when placed over the head and face, imparted a truly frightening aspect to the headhunter wearing it. It always gave him a little thrill of fear, propped there in the shadows of a dusty corner, as if waiting patiently for something, or someone.
    He followed the aisle to the end of the building and readied his duster with a smile of satisfaction. The skulls were waiting for him as they always were. Strangely enough, he had never been frightened of these relics of true barbarism. The skulls were lined along a shelf, the eye sockets stuffed with red wax and seeds, the craniums adorned with straps dotted with the same seeds and tufted with Kassowark