Alec looked up from the book, staring ahead in the dim light from the lamp. Might this not be true of Ziyadah? Was it possible that Abd-al-Rahman wanted the Black because he was Ziyadah’s fastest son and a proven sire? Were all the pieces of this crazy jigsaw puzzle falling into place at last?
Alec read further: “Black Arabians have always been rare and sheikhs want them for their exclusive use if they are fortunate enough to breed one or steal one.”
Ziyadah was a chestnut, according to Tabari, his coat of burnished copper “so highly polished that it reflected the sun’s rays,” she had said. The Black was coal-black, as black as tar, as black as night itself. Was this another jigsaw piece falling into place? Did Abd-al-Rahman want the Black for himself?
The room seemed much warmer. Or was it only the dim light from the lamp that made him think so? Alec’s eyelids felt very heavy and he blinked his eyes in order to stay awake.
Just one more page, he promised himself, then if the Sheikh hadn’t returned he’d go. It said here … but he’d known … he’d known this part all along … “Through their long history Bedouins have treated choice foals like their own children, often taking them into their tents to sleep and becoming an integral part of their household. Such a relationship has made the Arabian horse the most intelligent …” Alec’s eyes blinked sleepily, “… of its race. It will come at call. It will fight in defense of its master. It will …”
The boy’s head nodded and his eyes closed. A moment later he was fast asleep.
It was the sound of a rising wind that awakened him. Still half asleep he listened to its lonely wail and then he remembered where he was. How did the wind get into this small closed room? He looked at the narrow stained-glass windows which flanked the fireplace. They were tightly shut. The fireplace. Of course! The huge chimney was filled with the night wind.
He wondered what time it was and how long he’d slept. The open book lay before him and he was about to close it and leave the room when he remembered the strange dream he’d been having.
It was of an old Arab chieftain and his most prized stallion. The horse, like Ziyadah, was a golden chestnut and he slept on a great white fur rug at the foot of the chieftain’s bed.
Alec half-smiled at his mental picture of the old man and his horse, and shut the book. Then it occurred to him that his dream might not have been so ridiculous after all. A rich Arab sheikh might easily keep his horse in such luxury, close to him, for fear of his being stolen.
Alec’s hand brushed against his nose as he returned the book to its proper place. He stood up. The odor of the liniment he’d used on the Black was in the room. It was faint but his sense of smell was keen and there was no mistake about it. He raised his hands, sniffing them, and smelled only bath soap. Then he sniffed his clothes, thinking he might have spilled some of the liquid on them. No, they were free of the odor. He sat down again, trying to shrug off his interest in the faint odor of the liniment. After all, what difference did it make where it came from or for what reason? It wasn’t from the Black, who was locked safely in his stall. Any number of horses might have it on their legs. But why did he smell it here in this room?
He remembered what he’d read of the close relationship between the Arab and his horse—and he recalled his dream.
He got to his feet, believing his thoughts to be even more fantastic than his dream had been. And yet … Was it the flickering light that accounted for his sudden dizziness? Or was it because of what he was going to do?
He walked across the room slowly and quietly and stopped in front of the huge fireplace. He smelled rust from the screen and gate, the dampness of the stone. Stronger than ever, too, was the odor of the liniment. It seemed to be coming from the chimney. Could it be coming from below? But was it so strange to keep a horse hidden in a fortress-like pile of ancient stone such as this? Couldn’t it be expected of old Barjas ben Ishak that he would have built secret stalls in his cellars in order to insure the safety of his prized horses? And might not Ziyadah have as much use for the leg liniment as the Black after last night’s chase?
BLACK DEPTHS
19
Alec left the room. No noise now, he warned himself. There was only a dim light burning in the long gallery, and when he reached a window from where he could see the lighted stableyard clock he discovered it was after three o’clock. He’d slept much longer than he’d realized. But it was just as well, he told himself, for there was less chance of waking anyone now.
He went from hall to hall, softly turning knobs and listening for the faintest of sounds. But the house was very still with only an occasional crackle and pop from a dying fire. Despite his stealth Alec hurried for he intended to cover a lot of ground. He didn’t waste any time going upstairs but searched the bottom floor for doors and stairways that would take him to the cellars. He was certain the area below would be immense, for the main floor, reached by the two flights of outside steps, was more than fifty feet above the ground.
Toward the back of the house he found what he was after. Sliding back the bolts of a door off the kitchen, he stopped before a steep stairway. For a moment he hesitated, thinking he could smell danger in the intense blackness of the passageway. But although there was a clammy, musty odor about the place he could not smell the liniment.
He would not have gone down if he hadn’t found the light switch. It meant that kitchen help used these stairs. There was nothing to fear but his own uneasiness. He shut the door before flicking on the switch. The lights were not as bright as he would have liked but he had no trouble finding his way. He sniffed the air constantly for the sharp, familiar odor of the liniment but smelled only the clamminess of old earth.
When he came to the bottom of the steps he stopped, his eyes moving slowly over cases of stored furniture.
After all, this was just another ancient home in the mountains, he told himself reassuringly. There were many of them in Europe, just as old and just as big. He listened to a distant hum. It was only a dynamo, supplying electricity. There was the sound of a pump, too, hoisting water five stories high and probably to the stables as well.
Then why did he start at the slightest noise? Was it because he felt he was being watched? But that, too, was silly. There was no one down here but himself.
The cellar was a maze of intricate passageways where anyone could have been hidden. On either side of the long corridors were barrel-shaped vaults which in their day could have been used to stable horses but now held old furniture and pictures, stoves and fixtures of all kinds including bathtubs and kitchen sinks. There was nothing to get excited about at all, nothing to fear.
Alec walked up and down the wide corridors, knowing he had found what he’d sought, the emergency stables which Barjas ben Ishak had built so many centuries ago. But they held no horses now, only unused furniture and appliances.
He stopped before one of the round, massive pillars that supported the cellar roof. Was the unused fireplace in the small, bare room directly above this? It might be. The great pillar probably helped support the chimney as well as the cellar roof. But he still smelled only clamminess in the cellars. Where had the odor of liniment come from? Outside?
Returning to the main floor, he bolted the cellar door again and stole softly down the hall. There was no sound of anyone moving through the big house, and he no longer felt, as he had below, that someone was watching him. He wanted to find out if the bottle of liniment was in the tack room where he had left it. Also, he could make certain the Black was safe. But even if he had had the key to the front door he couldn’t have slipped the heavy bolts without awakening the household.
From outside came the rumble of thunder. From a window Alec could see that the sky was heavily clouded, the full moon emerging occasionally to spread a milky-white glow over the darkened gardens. It was now close to four o’clock by the stableyard clock and dawn would be breaking before very long. If he planned to search further, he decided, he’d better do it now under the cover of darkn
ess.
He opened the window and, leaning out, saw that there was a ledge under the window that went all the way to a corner of the house (where he knew the kitchen area to be), and beyond it.
It was wide enough for a good foothold. He wouldn’t have any trouble reaching the corner and from there he’d be able to drop into the stream. He’d made dives from such a height plenty of times. But why do it? Why even get wet? What had he to gain if he found the bottle of leg liniment missing from the tack room? What would it prove? Only that someone else was using it. But where? And was the Black safe in his stall?
He raised the window higher. His hands groped along the outer wall until he’d found a good hold, then he pulled himself onto the ledge and began inching toward his objective.
If, as he believed, Ziyadah was stabled here and not running free in the mountains, another piece in this whole crazy jigsaw fell into place. But who tended Ziyadah? Who opened and closed the big gate, sending him into the mountains?
And what about Angel González and María? What part did they play in this? Had they really returned to make certain he and Henry were all right? Or were they in some way connected with last night’s appearance of Ziyadah?
The moon came out and Alec stopped moving, afraid that he might be seen in its light. Somewhere a dog barked. Alec could hear the splashing of the fountains below.
There was only one question he needed to have answered: If Ziyadah was here, where was he stabled? If not in the cellars, could he be somewhere in the barns themselves?
A heavy cloud shrouded the moon and Alec went on. Reaching the corner of the building, he looked down. He knew that the water below was dark and deep, but this was no time to hesitate or turn back. He sat down on the ledge, pushed himself clear of the building and dropped.
A moment later he pulled himself out of the stream, having learned abruptly that the water was extremely cold in addition to being deep. He favored his right ankle, which he had twisted upon hitting the water. The injury wasn’t serious but it slowed him down.
Shivering, he skirted the stableyard and climbed the knoll to the stallion barn. To add to his discomfort it started to rain. As he bent his head into the dark and sluicing downpour he slipped on the wet grass, hurting his ankle even more.
The Black heard him and snorted. “Go back to sleep, black horse,” Alec said outside the closed door. “I’m the only one who would have picked such a night to go swimming. But I’m glad you’re safe. I was worried.”
His teeth chattering, Alec went to the cabinet in the tack room where he had left the liniment. The bottle was there, just where he had put it, and the level was the same. He took it down and then, still feeling cold and miserable, went into the stall that had once belonged to Ziyadah. He sat down in the deep, clean straw.
“You dream too much,” he told himself. “Worse still, you let your imagination run wild. There is no Ziyadah hidden here. He runs free in the mountains. You chased him yourself, so you should know. Tomorrow you’ll pay for all this, for you can’t get back in the house without waking everybody up.”
The rain whirling outside seemed to make his head spin, and it occurred to him that perhaps he had hurt his ankle even more than he had thought. Taking off his shoe and sock, he rubbed on some of the liniment in the belief that what had helped the Black’s leg would help his. His eyes and nose smarted from the strong fumes, and he was reminded again of the cellar stables.
Now if he had been old Barjas ben Ishak and had been building this place, what provision would he have made for his most prized stallion in case of an unexpected raid?
Alec had no ready answer to this question. And just then the rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The moon came out briefly and the dogs began barking again. In the fields the crickets chirred and the wind howled. The liniment felt good on Alec’s bare foot. He shoved it into the straw and covered it completely for added warmth and comfort. Then he took off his other wet shoe and sock and stuck that foot into the straw too, wishing he could remove his wet clothes as well. Why not, if he got old Nazar’s blanket from the chair outside? He started to get up, his bare feet pressing deep into the bottom of the straw. Cold metal brushed against his right foot and, thinking it something that had been dropped there, he bent down to pick it up. But he couldn’t budge it. Leaning over for a closer look, he discovered that it was a large ring, made of gold and fastened to the floor. He pulled it again, wondering why it was there.
Suddenly a soft hum filled the stall, as if some mechanism had started. Then with a faint grinding of gears the straw floor dropped, taking Alec down slowly. The last thing he saw as he descended was the ghostly light of the moon coming through the stall door.
BLACK WORLD
20
The long drop and the darkness all around gave Alec the feeling he had been descending for an eternity. The faint hum seemed to have become a hideous roar of grinding, chattering iron teeth and wheels. Slowly, heavily the lift went down, down … and if Alec had had a chance to do it over again he never would have touched the gold ring without first having gone for Henry.
Suddenly a dim light penetrated the darkness and only then did Alec realize that the lift mechanism wasn’t making as much noise as he had thought. Instead, it was turning smoothly, almost softly, and he could smell the heavy oil that lubricated it. Finally the vibrations ceased altogether and the lift came to a stop.
Alec saw a small, bare bulb burning on a rocky wall outside the lift. There was a narrow opening in the wall and the air coming from it was clammy. The opening led to a passageway and Alec had no doubt that many horses had passed through it.
The way was pitch-dark and he had no desire to travel it without a light. Yet he stepped from the straw floor into the opening and stared into the blackness. It was as silent as a grave. Turning back, he noticed for the first time that there were two switches set in the wall next to the electric light bulb. One or the other must operate the lift. He pulled the top one. But instead of the whir of a motor, there was a sudden lighting of bare bulbs every thirty feet or so along the passageway. Quickly Alec turned the lights off, afraid that already he had warned someone of his presence. For many minutes he listened but there were no footsteps on the stone, no sound of any breathing but his own.
When he was certain no one was coming, he pulled the lower switch. The faint hum of a working mechanism started again and the straw floor began to rise. He stopped it, even though common sense told him to take it to the surface at once and let Henry know what he had discovered.
He stared into the dark passageway, breathing the air that smelled of old earth and stone. Carried on the damp air too was the odor of liniment … and it was not from the liniment on his ankle. Slowly, ever so slowly, he made up his mind, listening only to a reckless inner voice that told him to find out what lay at the end of the tunnel. He threw the switch that lit the passageway and went forward quickly, his bare feet making no noise on the stone floor.
He walked beneath the dim white lights, finding it far more difficult to accept this tunnel-like passage than the lift that had brought him down. Such raising and lowering mechanisms had been in use long before the time of Barjas ben Ishak. In fact, the Romans had used such lifts, cranked by men, to raise wild animals to the arena from underground pens! But here in the bowels of the rock the ancient stone floor of the tunnel was smooth beneath his feet and on the walls were sculptured figures of horses. Alec had no doubt that this underground shaft had been hand-hewn by many hundreds of men over a long period of time. It was no work of nature. For further proof he had only to look at the arched roof and the cylindrical borings that ran upwards for ventilation.
The strong odor of liniment floated toward him, carried from the distant regions of the tunnel. He hurried along, sometimes breaking into a half-run as one might do when going home late on a semi-lighted street and feeling very much alone. Finally he came to a heavy wooden door. It was wide open!
But if the open door was inviting the
darkness beyond was not. Alec looked in but could see nothing. He had gone far enough, he told himself. He should go back and get Henry.
But might not Ziyadah’s stall be on the other side? Or had Abd-al-Rahman’s quest of the golden stallion been just a ruse to acquire the Black?
Alec turned away from the door, his thoughts in a turmoil. Then he saw a switch on the wall. If he pulled it, would it light the room on the other side of the doorway? Would he see Ziyadah, the sire of the Black? He could feel his heart pounding like a hammer. He pulled the switch.
The lights in the tunnel went out and he stood motionless in complete darkness. He could easily have thrown the switch back on again but he didn’t. Instead he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the lack of light. After a few minutes he was able to detect a faint glow on the other side of the door. The skin on his throat tightened as, contrary to his better judgment, he slipped through the doorway.
It was not a room which he had entered but a long and wide corridor, at the end of which burned the remains of a dying fire. This was the glow he had seen. He went toward it slowly, one step at a time, feeling his way cautiously. Unlike the passage he had just left the walls here were of smooth mortar. He believed that he was somewhere beneath the cellars he had searched only a short while ago. Barjas ben Ishak, it was clear, had not been content with his cellar stables any more than he had been with those outside the house. So he had built these secret chambers to which he could take his most highly prized stallions whenever danger threatened.
Alec had taken thirty-one steps down the corridor, counting as he went along. Then his hand touched wood instead of stone. He stopped and ran his fingers over the surface. It was a paneled door, probably made of oak. Suddenly Alec froze. There was a horse on the other side of the door!
The Black Stallion Mystery Page 13