The overall height of the nearest tower was about sixty feet. In appearance, the nearest analogy I can draw is that of a huge, elongated pin, for the tower consisted of a thin central pillar, surmounted by a circular enclosed platform. This description is itself misleading, for there was not one central pillar, but three. These were built very closely together, though, and ran parallel to each other up to the platform they supported, so it was only as we walked beneath the tower that Amelia and I noticed this. These three pillars were firmly buried in the soil but staring up at them I noticed that the platform was capable of being raised or lowered, for the pillars were jointed in several places and made of telescopic tubes.
The platform at the top was perhaps ten feet in diameter, and about seven feet high. On one side there was what seemed to be a large oval window, but this was made of dark glass and it was impossible to see beyond it from where we stood. Beneath the platform was a mechanical mounting, rather like gimbals, and it was this that enabled the platform to rotate slowly to and fro, thus causing the sun’s reflection to flash at us earlier. The platform was moving from side to side now, but apart from this there was no sign of anyone about.
“Hallo up there!” I called, then after a few seconds repeated the call. Either they could not hear me, or my voice was weaker than I had realized, but there was no reply from the occupants.
While I had been examining the tower, Amelia had moved past me and was staring towards the weed-bank. We had walked diagonally away from the vegetation to visit the tower, but now I saw that the bank here was even further away than I would have expected, and much lower. What was more, working at the base of it were many people.
Amelia turned towards me, and I could see the joy in her expression.
“Edward, we’re safe!” she cried, and came towards me and we embraced warmly.
Safety indeed it was, for this was clear evidence of the habitation we had been seeking for so long. I was all for going over to the people at once, but Amelia delayed.
“We must make ourselves presentable,” she said, and fumbled inside her bag. She passed me my collar and tie, and while I put these on she sat down and fussed with her face. After this she tried to dab off some of the worst weed-stains from her clothes, using her face-flannel, and then combed her hair. I was in dire need of a shave, but there was nothing that could be done about that.
Apart from our general untidiness, there was another matter that was troubling us both. Our long hours exposed to the hot sunshine had left their mark, in the fact that we were both suffering from sunburn. Amelia’s face had gone a bright pink—and she told me mine was no better—and although she had applied some cold-cream from a pot in her bag, she said she was suffering considerably.
When we were ready, she said: “I will take your arm. We do not know who these people are, so it would be wise not to give the wrong impression. If we behave with confidence, we will be treated correctly.”
“And what about that?” I said, indicating her corset, all too evident between the handles of her bag. “Now is the time to discard it. If we wish to appear as if we have been enjoying an afternoon stroll, that will make it clear we have not.”
Amelia frowned, evidently undecided. At last she picked it and placed it on the soil, so that it leaned against one of the pillars of the tower.
“I’ll leave it here for the moment,” she said. “I can soon find it again when we have spoken to the people.”
She came back to me, took my arm and together we walked sedately towards the nearest of the people. Once again the clear air had deceived our eyes, and we soon saw that the weeds were farther away than we had imagined. I glanced back just once, and saw that the platform at the top of the tower was still rotating to and fro.
Walking towards the people—none of whom had yet noticed us—I saw something that rather alarmed me. As I wasn’t sure I said something about it to Amelia, but as we came closer there was no mistaking it: most of the people—and there were both men and women—were almost completely unclothed.
I stopped at once, and turned away.
“I had better go forward alone,” I said. “Please wait here.”
Amelia, who had turned with me, for I had grasped her arm, stared over her shoulder at the people.
“I am not as coy as you,” she said. “From what are you trying to protect me?”
“They are not decent,” I said, very embarrassed. “I will speak to them on my own.”
“For Heaven’s sake, Edward!” Amelia cried in exasperation. “We are about to starve to death, and you smother me with modesty!”
She let go of my arm, and strode off alone. I followed immediately, my face burning with my embarrassment. Amelia headed directly for the nearest group: about two dozen men and women who were hacking at the scarlet weeds with long bladed knives.
“You!” she cried, venting her anger with me on the nearest man. “Do you speak English?”
The man turned sharply and faced her. For an instant he looked at her in surprise—and in that moment I saw that he was very tall, that his skin was burned a reddish colour, and that he was wearing nothing more than a stained loincloth—and then prostrated himself before her. In the same instant, the other people around him dropped their knives and threw themselves face down on the ground.
Amelia glanced at me, and I saw that the imperious manner had gone as quickly as it had been assumed. She looked frightened, and I went and stood by her side.
“What’s the matter?” she said to me in a whisper. “What have I done?”
I said: “You probably scared the wits out of them.”
“Excuse me,” Amelia said to, the people, in a much gentler voice. “Does any one of you speak English? We are very hungry, and need shelter for the night.”
There was no response.
“Try another language,” I said.
“Excusez-moi, parlez-vous français?” Amelia said. There was still no response, so she added: “¿Habla usted Español?” She tried German, and then Italian. “It’s no good,” she said to me in the end. “They don’t understand.” I went over to the man whom Amelia had first addressed, and squatted down beside him. He raised his face and looked at me, and his eyes seemed haunted with terror.
“Stand up,” I said, accompanying the words with suitable hand-gestures. “Come on, old chap… on your feet.”
I put out a hand to assist him, and he stared back at me. After a moment he climbed slowly to his feet and stood before me, his head hanging.
“We aren’t going to hurt you,” I said, putting as much sympathy into my words as possible, but they had no effect on him. “What are you doing here?”
With this I looked at the weed-bank in a significant way. His response was immediate: he turned to the others, shouted something incomprehensible at them, then reached down and snatched up his knife.
At this I took a step back, thinking that we were about to be attacked, but I could not have been more wrong. The other people clambered up quickly, took their knives and continued with the work we had interrupted, hacking and slashing at the vegetation like men possessed.
Amelia said quietly: “Edward, these are just peasants. They have mistaken us for overseers.”
“Then we must find out who their real supervisors are!”