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Authors: Tom Holland
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screams were terrible to hear as the pace of the statue’s revolutions began to lift them up into the air, for all the world like some grisly fairground ride. There was a stirring from the crowd: everyone pressed forward and then suddenly I caught the flashing of a sword in someone’s hand. It sliced down, and blood was sent arcing in a spray through the air; as it fell the monsters – I could no longer bear to think of them as men – lifted their faces to welcome the shower. Still the statue whirled round and round, and still the hapless victims twisted and screamed. A second blade flashed, and then a third, until soon they were falling like sparks of fire, dyed red by die flames and by living blood.
‘We must go,’ I said, trying to rise to my feet. ‘We must go.’ But still we couldn’t move; we seemed trapped there by some infernal power, watching as the bodies were sliced to ribbons, seeing Compton, our own man – a British rifleman! – washing his face in innocent blood. At least now we could be sure that the wretched victims were dead, for their bodies were starting to disintegrate. A portion of guts slipped out from the Russian’s belly, some sent flying out into the crowd, others caught in the bowls that the statue held. After a while the pace of the machine’s revolutions began to subside; at length it creaked and shuddered, and came to a halt From both hooks there was now suspended only a dripping mess of offal; certainly nothing that resembled a human form. The carcasses were unhooked and slung forthwith into the fire of the abyss. The dishes held in the goddess’s lower arms, however, were removed with the utmost reverence and their contents poured into a giant golden bowl. The dishes were then replaced, and the statue cleaned. In the meantime, two new victims had been chosen from the line of waiting prisoners and were dragged forward, their wrists already bound. ‘No,’ I whispered, ‘no,’ But it was true; it was my soldiers who were being led towards the statue’s waiting hooks.
I heard a footstep behind me, and I turned and looked round. A creature was standing at the foot of the wall. He hadn’t seen us, but he seemed to know that we were hidden there, for he was smelling the air as though expecting to pick up our scent. I remembered the impression I had received of the mind-reader searching for our hiding-place, and I felt certain then – call it superstitious nonsense if you will that our presence had indeed been noted from afar. I pressed myself back against the wall and gestured to my companions to do the same. We lay there frozen, and the creature below us started to shamble away. Then I heard a scream … and a second scream. Despite myself I looked round. I must have gasped at what I saw, for my men were dangling from those infernal hooks and the statue was starting to creak slowly round. I froze again, but it was too late now the creature had seen me. I could see now that he was followed by a veritable pack of his pals and this, I admit, made me feel our time was up. I emptied my revolver and my companions emptied theirs, but still the brutes came shuffling on. I laid one out with my fist and caught a second on the chin, but it was then that I heard the most terrible cries coming from behind my back, and I turned to see my soldiers just a mess of blood and guts, sliced into ribbons and screaming out their last. At the same moment I felt a thud on the back of my head, and I remember wondering if I had just bought it as well. I staggered and collapsed. A gruesome-looking chap stared down at me; he stank abominably and it reminded me of something. Then his image swam. I murmured my dear wife’s name to myself. Then there was a blackness, and oblivion.
Letter, Professor Huree Jyoti Navalkar to Colonel Arthur Paxton.
9 June, 1887.
Colonel,
You must continue your advance with all possible speed. It is imperative – I repeat imperative – that you attack with fire. The
‘We must go,’ I said, trying to rise to my feet. ‘We must go.’ But still we couldn’t move; we seemed trapped there by some infernal power, watching as the bodies were sliced to ribbons, seeing Compton, our own man – a British rifleman! – washing his face in innocent blood. At least now we could be sure that the wretched victims were dead, for their bodies were starting to disintegrate. A portion of guts slipped out from the Russian’s belly, some sent flying out into the crowd, others caught in the bowls that the statue held. After a while the pace of the machine’s revolutions began to subside; at length it creaked and shuddered, and came to a halt From both hooks there was now suspended only a dripping mess of offal; certainly nothing that resembled a human form. The carcasses were unhooked and slung forthwith into the fire of the abyss. The dishes held in the goddess’s lower arms, however, were removed with the utmost reverence and their contents poured into a giant golden bowl. The dishes were then replaced, and the statue cleaned. In the meantime, two new victims had been chosen from the line of waiting prisoners and were dragged forward, their wrists already bound. ‘No,’ I whispered, ‘no,’ But it was true; it was my soldiers who were being led towards the statue’s waiting hooks.
I heard a footstep behind me, and I turned and looked round. A creature was standing at the foot of the wall. He hadn’t seen us, but he seemed to know that we were hidden there, for he was smelling the air as though expecting to pick up our scent. I remembered the impression I had received of the mind-reader searching for our hiding-place, and I felt certain then – call it superstitious nonsense if you will that our presence had indeed been noted from afar. I pressed myself back against the wall and gestured to my companions to do the same. We lay there frozen, and the creature below us started to shamble away. Then I heard a scream … and a second scream. Despite myself I looked round. I must have gasped at what I saw, for my men were dangling from those infernal hooks and the statue was starting to creak slowly round. I froze again, but it was too late now the creature had seen me. I could see now that he was followed by a veritable pack of his pals and this, I admit, made me feel our time was up. I emptied my revolver and my companions emptied theirs, but still the brutes came shuffling on. I laid one out with my fist and caught a second on the chin, but it was then that I heard the most terrible cries coming from behind my back, and I turned to see my soldiers just a mess of blood and guts, sliced into ribbons and screaming out their last. At the same moment I felt a thud on the back of my head, and I remember wondering if I had just bought it as well. I staggered and collapsed. A gruesome-looking chap stared down at me; he stank abominably and it reminded me of something. Then his image swam. I murmured my dear wife’s name to myself. Then there was a blackness, and oblivion.
Letter, Professor Huree Jyoti Navalkar to Colonel Arthur Paxton.
9 June, 1887.
Colonel,
You must continue your advance with all possible speed. It is imperative – I repeat imperative – that you attack with fire. The
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