Dope

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XIV. IN THE SHADE OF THE LONELY PALM

  Persian opium of good quality contains from ten to fifteen percentmorphine, and chandu made from opium of Yezd would contain perhapstwenty-five per cent of this potent drug; but because in the act ofsmoking distillation occurs, nothing like this quantity of morphinereaches the smoker. To the distilling process, also, may be duethe different symptoms resulting from smoking chandu and injectingmorphia--or drinking tincture of opium, as De Quincey did.

  Rita found the flavor of the preparation to be not entirely unpleasant.Having overcome an initial aversion, caused by its marked medicinaltang, she grew reconciled to it and finished her first smoke withoutexperiencing any other effect than a sensation of placid contentment.Deftly, Mrs. Sin renewed the pipe. Silence had fallen upon the party.

  The second "pill" was no more than half consumed when a growing feelingof nausea seized upon the novice, becoming so marked that she droppedthe ivory pipe weakly and uttered a faint moan.

  Instantly, silently, Mrs. Sin was beside her.

  "Lean forward--so," she whispered, softly, as if fearful of intrudingher voice upon these sacred rites. "In a moment you will be better.Then, if you feel faint, lie back. It is the sleep. Do not fight againstit."

  The influence of the stronger will prevailed. Self-control and judgmentare qualities among the first to succumb to opium. Rita ceased to thinklongingly of the clean, fresh air, of escape from these sickly fumeswhich seemed now to fill the room with a moving vacuum. She bentforward, her chin resting upon her breast, and gradually the deathlysickness passed. Mentally, she underwent a change, too. From an activestate of resistance the ego traversed a descending curve ending inabsolute passivity. The floor had seemingly begun to revolve and wasmoving insidiously, so that the pattern of the carpet formed a seriesof concentric rings. She found this imaginary phenomenon to be soothingrather than otherwise, and resigned herself almost eagerly to thedelusion.

  Mrs. Sin allowed her to fall back upon the cushions--so gently and soslowly that the operation appeared to occupy several minutes and toresemble that of sinking into innumerable layers of swansdown. Thesinuous figure bending over her grew taller with the passage of eachminute, until the dark eyes of Mrs. Sin were looking down at Rita froma dizzy elevation. As often occurs in the case of a neurotic subject,delusion as to time and space had followed the depression of the sensorycells.

  But surely, she mused, this could not be Mrs. Sin who towered so loftilyabove her. Of course, how absurd to imagine that a woman could remainmotionless for so many hours. And Rita thought, now, that she had beenlying for several hours beneath the shadow of that tall, graceful, andprotective shape.

  Why--it was a slender palm-tree, which stretched its fanlike foliageover her! Far, far above her head the long, dusty green fronds projectedfrom the mast-like trunk. The sun, a ball of fiery brass, burneddirectly in the zenith, so that the shadow of the foliage lay like acarpet about her feet. That which she had mistaken for the ever-recedingeyes of Mrs. Sin, wondering with a delightful vagueness why they seemedconstantly to change color, proved to be a pair of brilliantly plumagedparrakeets perched upon a lofty branch of the palm.

  This was an equatorial noon, and even if she had not found herself tobe under the influence of a delicious abstraction Rita would nothave moved; for, excepting the friendly palm, not another vestige ofvegetation was visible right away to the horizon; nothing but an oceanof sand whereon no living thing moved. She and the parrakeets were alonein the heart of the Great Sahara.

  But stay! Many, many miles away, a speck on the dusty carpet of thedesert, something moved! Hours must elapse before that tiny figure,provided it were approaching, could reach the solitary palm.Delightedly, Rita contemplated the infinity of time. Even if the figuremoved ever so slowly, she should be waiting there beneath the palm towitness its arrival. Already, she had been there for a period which shewas far too indolent to strive to compute--a week, perhaps. She turnedher attention to the parrakeets. One of them was moving, and she notedwith delight that it had perceived her far below and was endeavoring todraw the attention of its less observant companion to her presence. Formany hours she lay watching it and wondering why, since the one birdwas so singularly intelligent, its companion was equally dull. When shelowered her eyes and looked out again across the sands, the figure hadapproached so close as to be recognizable.

  It was that of Mrs. Sin. Rita appreciated the fitness of her presence,and experienced no surprise, only a mild curiosity. This curiosity wasnot concerned with Mrs. Sin herself, but with the nature of the burdenwhich she bore upon her head.

  She was dressed in a manner which Rita dreamily thought would have beeninadequate in England, or even in Cuba, but which was appropriate in theGreat Sahara. How exquisitely she carried herself, mused the dreamer;no doubt this fine carriage was due in part to her wearing golden shoeswith heels like stilts, and in part to her having been trained to bearheavy burdens upon her head. Rita remembered that Sir Lucien had oncedescribed to her the elegant deportment of the Arab women, ascribing itto their custom of carrying water-jars in that way.

  The appearance of the speck on the horizon had marked the height of hertrance. Her recognition of Mrs. Sin had signalized the decline of thechandu influence. Now, the intrusion of a definite, uncontorted memorywas evidence of returning cerebral activity.

  Rita had no recollection of the sunset; indeed, she had failed toperceive any change in the form and position of the shadow cast by thefoliage. It had spread, an ebony patch, equally about the bole of thetree, so that the sun must have been immediately overhead. But, ofcourse, she had lain watching the parrakeets for several hours, and nownight had fallen. The desert mounds were touched with silver, the skywas a nest of diamonds, and the moon cast a shadow of the palm like abar of ebony right across the prospect to the rim of the sky dome.

  Mrs. Sin stood before her, one half of her lithe body concealed by thisstrange black shadow and the other half gleaming in the moonlight sothat she resembled a beautiful ivory statue which some iconoclast hadcut in two.

  Placing her burden upon the ground, Mrs. Sin knelt down before Ritaand reverently kissed her hand, whispering: "I am your slave, my poppyqueen."

  She spoke in a strange language, no doubt some African tongue, but onewhich Rita understood perfectly. Then she laid one hand upon the objectwhich she had carried on her head, and which now proved to be a largelacquered casket covered with Chinese figures and bound by three hoopsof gold. It had a very curious shape.

  "Do you command that the chest be opened?" she asked.

  "Yes," answered Rita languidly.

  Mrs. Sin threw up the lid, and from the interior of the casket which,because of the glare of the moon light, seemed every moment to assume anew form, drew out a bronze lamp.

  "The sacred lamp," she whispered, and placed it on the sand. "Do youcommand that it be lighted?"

  Rita inclined her head.

  The lamp became lighted; in what manner she did not observe, nor wasshe curious to learn. Next from the large casket Mrs. Sin took anothersmaller casket and a very long, tapering silver bodkin. The first caskethad perceptibly increased in size. It was certainly much larger thanRita had supposed; for now out from its shadowy interior Mrs. Sin beganto take pipes--long pipes and short pipes, pipes of gold and pipes ofsilver, pipes of ivory and pipes of jade. Some were carved to representthe heads of demons, some had the bodies of serpents wreathed aboutthem; others were encrusted with precious gems, and filled the nightwith the venomous sheen of emeralds, the blood-rays of rubies and goldenglow of topaz, while the spear-points of diamonds flashed a challenge tothe stars.

  "Do you command that the pipes be lighted?" asked the harsh voice.

  Rita desired to answer, "No," but heard herself saying, "Yes."

  Thereupon, from a thousand bowls, linking that lonely palm to the remotehorizon, a thousand elfin fires arose--blue-tongued and spirituous. Greypencilings of smoke stole straightly upward to the sky, so that lookwhe
re she would Rita could discern nothing but these countless thin,faintly wavering, vertical lines of vapor.

  The dimensions of the lacquered casket had increased so vastly as toconceal the kneeling figure of Mrs. Sin, and staring at it wonderingly,Rita suddenly perceived that it was not an ordinary casket. She knew atlast why its shape had struck her as being unusual.

  It was a Chinese coffin.

  The smell of the burning opium was stifling her. Those remorselessthreads of smoke were closing in, twining themselves about her throat.It was becoming cold, too, and the moonlight was growing dim. Theposition of the moon had changed, of course, as the night had stolen ontowards morning, and now it hung dimly before her. The smoke obscuredit.

  But was this smoke obscuring the moon? Rita moved her hands for thefirst time since she had found herself under the palm tree, weaklyfending off those vaporous tentacles which were seeking to entwinethemselves about her throat. Of course, it was not smoke obscuring themoon, she decided; it was a lamp, upheld by an ivory figure--a lamp witha Chinese shade.

  A subdued roaring sound became audible; and this was occasioned by thegas fire, burning behind the Japanese screen on which gaily plumagedbirds sported in the branches of golden palms. Rita raised her hands toher eyes. Mist obscured her sight. Swiftly, now, reality was assertingitself and banishing the phantasmagoria conjured up by chandu.

  In her dim, cushioned corner Mollie Gretna lay back against the wall,her face pale and her weak mouth foolishly agape. Cyrus Kilfane wasindistinguishable from the pile of rugs amid which he sprawled bythe table, and of Sir Lucien Pyne nothing was to be seen but theoutstretched legs and feet which projected grotesquely from a recess.Seated, oriental fashion, upon an improvised divan near the grand pianoand propped up by a number of garish cushions, Rita beheld Mrs. Sin. Thelong bamboo pipe had fallen from her listless fingers. Her face wore anexpression of mystic rapture like that characterizing the features ofsome Chinese Buddhas.

  Fear, unaccountable but uncontrollable, suddenly seized upon Rita. Shefelt weak and dizzy, but she struggled partly upright.

  "Lucy!" she whispered.

  Her voice was not under control, and once more she strove to call toPyne.

  "Lucy!" came the hoarse whisper again.

  The fire continued its muted roaring, but no other sound answered tothe appeal. A horror of the companionship in which she found herselfthereupon took possession of the girl. She must escape from thesesleepers, whose spirits had been expelled by the potent necromancer,opium, from these empty tenements whose occupants had fled. The idea ofthe cool night air in the open streets was delicious.

  She staggered to her feet, swaying drunkenly, but determined to reachthe door. She shuddered, because of a feeling of internal chill whichassailed her, but step by step crept across the room, opened the door,and tottered out into the hallway. There was no sound in the flat.Presumably Kilfane's man had retired, or perhaps he, too, was a devotee.

  Rita's fur coat hung upon the rack, and although her fingers appeared tohave lost all their strength and her arm to have become weak as thatof an infant, she succeeded in detaching the coat from the hook. Notpausing to put it on, she opened the door and stumbled out on to thedarkened landing. Whereas her first impulse had been to awaken someone,preferably Sir Lucien, now her sole desire was to escape undetected.

  She began to feel less dizzy, and having paused for a moment on thelanding, she succeeded in getting her coat on. Then she closed the dooras quietly as possible, and clutching the handrail began to grope herway downstairs. There was only one flight, she remembered, and a shortpassage leading to the street door. She reached the passage withoutmishap, and saw a faint light ahead.

  The fastenings gave her some trouble, but finally her efforts weresuccessful, and she found herself standing in deserted Duke Street.There was no moon, but the sky was cloudless. She had no idea of thetime, but because of the stillness of the surrounding streets she knewthat it must be very late. She set out for her flat, walking slowly andwondering what explanation she should offer if a constable observed her.

  Oxford Street showed deserted as far as the eye could reach, and herlight footsteps seemed to awaken a hundred echoes. Having proceeded forsome distance without meeting anyone, she observed--and experienced achildish alarm--the head-lights of an approaching car. Instantly theidea of hiding presented itself to her, but so rapidly did the bigautomobile speed along the empty thoroughfare that Rita was just passinga street lamp as the car raced by, and she must therefore have beenclearly visible to the occupants.

  Never for a moment glancing aside, Rita pressed on as quickly as shecould. Then her vague alarm became actual terror. She heard the brakesbeing applied to the car, and heard the gritty sound of the tires uponthe roadway as the vehicle's headlong progress was suddenly checked. Shehad been seen--perhaps recognized, and whoever was in the car proposedto return to speak to her.

  If her strength had allowed she would have run, but now it threatened todesert her altogether and she tottered weakly. A pattering of footstepscame from behind. Someone was running back to overtake her. Recognizingescape to be impossible, Rita turned just as the runner came up withher.

  "Rita!" he cried, rather breathlessly. "Miss Dresden!"

  She stood very still, looking at the speaker.

  It was Monte Irvin.