Derrick promised, but with the mental reservation of deciding for himself just how dangerous the situation could become.
They left Li Han in the camp, with orders to return to the walled city, and the Professor entrusted him with his notes on the stelae, which, he said, were already worth the whole trouble of the expedition. Hsien Lu rode with them to the foot of the hills on the way to Liao-Meng and the rebels’ camp. When he parted from them he wished them good fortune and stood watching them for a long while as they followed the winding road up into the hills. Once Derrick looked back, and far down the road beyond the Tu-chun he saw a toiling figure mounted on an ass.
By nightfall they were at the top of the hills, and in the morning they looked down into the province of Liao-Meng. It was just before the rising of the sun that Derrick stood there looking down into the unknown land: he was wondering where in all that stretch of country his uncle lay when he was startled by the braying of an ass. He whipped round, and saw a donkey tethered with the horses. There was a little fire sending up a straight pillar of blue smoke in the still air, and beside it squatted a familiar figure. It was Li Han, brewing the Professor’s early morning tea.
“Please excuse pertinacious disobedience,” said Li Han, bringing forward the steaming bowls, “but I conceived cunning and lovely stratagem for discomfiture of rebels.”
“Hotcha,” said the Professor, and then in Chinese. “Speak freely, worthy sea-cook.”
“Have prepared several hundred lumps of sugar,” said Li Han, bowing, “each one inscribed with Chinese characters for Good Fortune, Long Life, Fertility and Victory. These, if inserted into petrol of mechanical transport belonging to ignominious rebel Shun Chi, will cause practically instantaneous and insuperable carbonization of working parts.”
“Is that really so, Li Han? Where did you find that out?”
“Magnanimous engineer of trampling steamer imparted said information at Hong Kong when he required my unworthy aid in sabotaging car belonging to evilly disposed one-eyed merchant who had acquired engineer’s wages by means of felonious trick. We dissolved one lump of best refined sugar in petrol tank, and lo, automobile un-mobile in five minutes, with incapable roarings of disabled engine and violent explosions from long pipe, accompanied by unpleasantly smelling clouds of smoke.”
“What a beautiful idea,” said Derrick. “But how can we get it into Shun Chi’s gas?”
“Now for best part of stratagem,” replied Li Han. “Ignorant and superstitious soldiery will buy inscribed sugar-lumps as charms to increase potency of petrol. They will insert said lumps themselves, to their ultimate confusion and downfall. I shall also realise three thousand per centum profit on prime cost of sugar,” he added, in a tone of rather hollow cheerfulness.
As they continued along the downward road into Liao-Meng their guide became more and more uneasy. At last he pointed to a distant clump of pines, told them that the rebels’ camp was just beyond it, and turned about.
“We are well rid of him,” said the Professor, looking after his disappearing figure. “The only men of any use to us are brave men.” He nodded to Li Han, who bowed repeatedly, grasping the mane of his little ass.
Some way out of the rebel encampment they separated, and Li Han went forward to peddle his lucky charms to the soldiers. The Professor took a last look through the Russian’s papers. “Yes, they are all here,” he said, folding them up. “I think the first part should be easy enough. How do I look?” He looked a strange sight in his tall sheepskin hat, with the incongruous horn-rimmed spectacles under it, and at another time Derrick might have been amused. But now he answered quite seriously, “Quite all right, sir. But perhaps you should look more sinister if you could manage it. You have rather a mild expression, you know.”
“Ah, I must remember that,” said the Professor, with a savage leer. “And you must not forget your part. You are a dull, taciturn young Mongol servant; you speak neither Chinese nor Russian, and you know nothing about anything.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” said Derrick, with a faint grin. “And if anybody speaks to me in Mongol I can answer a few words convincingly enough. I can pretend to be an Usbeg or a Kazak: they won’t have any of them here.”
They went on, on and on to the clump of trees: they passed a few pedlars with baskets of fruit for the soldiers, and as the road led round the trees they came to a well-fortified camp, surrounded by barbed wire and guarded by sentries. The Professor rode boldly up to the main gate: the sentries saluted, obviously expecting him, and they passed through the barbed wire. Derrick followed the Professor, looking neither to the right nor the left: he felt his heart hammering, but he kept his face expressionless and dull.
In a moment they were past the sentries, and an orderly ran to take the Professor’s reins. He dismounted, gave Derrick a pack to carry, and asked in a loud, surly voice where Shun Chi was to be found. Before the soldier could answer a group of men came from a nearby hut, and Derrick saw that four of them were Europeans and two Chinese. The Professor blinked nervously: the men greeted him in Russian, and after a fit of coughing he replied hoarsely, holding his handkerchief up to his mouth. There was a general shaking of hands, and the orderly began to lead the horses away. Derrick was at something of a loss; he could not understand what the Professor was saying, and he did not know what to do. The Professor took no notice of him, but walked away with the men towards the hut, speaking much more confidently as the minutes went by: Derrick stood for a moment, then followed the orderly to the horse-lines and watched him bring their fodder. To the remarks of the Chinese he shrugged his shoulders and replied gutturally in Mongol. The man did not trouble with him any further, and Derrick wandered nonchalantly into the rebel camp.
Presently he came to the flattened, greasy space where the lorries were lined up, and at the far end of the lorries he saw three tanks, with a group of men crowded round them. He went slowly towards them, and from the middle of the crowd he heard a well-known voice extolling the powers of the charms that were for sale. Wriggling in among them, he saw Li Han standing on a box of ammunition, holding up his lumps of sugar. He saw Derrick, gave him an imperceptible nod, and looked significantly towards a stone house in the middle of the camp.
Derrick made no motion of reply, but slipped backwards out of the crowd, and walked in an oblique direction towards the middle of the camp. There were many soldiers about, but they took no notice of him: he looked for all the world like a Mongolian horse-boy, not a rare object in those parts. Only his face was out of character, for he could not put on the high, jutting cheekbones or the wide-set, slit-like eyes of a Mongol; but there was little of that to be seen under the grease and his pulled-down hood. He walked with his legs stiffened and bowed, rolling in his gait; he chewed a piece of straw, and appeared to take little interest in anything around him. Slowly he approached the stone house and took its bearings: it was at the far end of the horse-lines, and there were a dozen ponies tethered to rings in its outer wall. On the side of the ponies there was a small square window, but none on the other sides. In the front of the house, on the side away from the window, there was the iron-studded door, and in front of that several armed guards lounged in the sunshine, smoking and playing dice. It seemed that the place had once been a shrine to one of the local deities, but Shun Chi had strengthened it out of all recognition.
Derrick went twice round it, getting the geography of the camp well into his mind; then he strolled along under the window. He waited until no one was by, and leaning against the wall he whistled the first tune that came into his mind, whistling very softly. It was Annie Laurie that he chanced upon, and he had hardly drawn breath before the answering song came back in a loud Scots voice. “I’ll lay me doon and dee,” sang Ross inside the stone house, “I’ll lay me doon and dee—if you don’t come very soon, I’ll lay me doon and dee.” He sang with very little melody, but with immense conviction.
With a quick glance round, Derrick vaulted on to the saddle of o
ne of the tethered horses: standing on tip-toe on its back he could just see through the window. His uncle and Ross lay on the ground, tied hand and foot, and one of the guards was busy checking the song with his rifle-butt.
The horse moved uneasily, but just before Derrick fell he thought he saw Sullivan wink at him. It was fortunate that he fell when he did, for just then a party of soldiers came round the corner of the house. Derrick walked away: it would not do to arouse suspicions by staying there. The window was too small to get through, he reflected, even if it had no bars; but at least he knew that they were alive, and he felt very much happier. He went round the camp and then wandered to the place where the Professor was engaged with Shun Chi and the Russians. On his way he passed Li Han, who gave him a faint nod to show that all was well, but went by quickly without a word: Li Han’s face was a queer, greenish colour.
Derrick went on and squatted in the shade outside the hut: he looked quite natural there, and nobody took any notice of him. From where he sat he could see the line of tanks and lorries. The soldiers were busy round their petrol tanks, unscrewing the caps and putting in the inscribed charms. And inside the hut Derrick could hear the Professor’s voice, strong, firm, and apparently quite confident: he felt happy that the Professor had everything well in hand.
But if he could have understood what they were saying, Derrick would have been far less cheerful. The Russians would keep talking about the machine-guns, their rates of fire, their cooling-systems, their spare parts—all things of which the Professor knew nothing whatsoever. He was as non-committal as possible, but he was dreading the moment when they would ask him a direct question that could not be evaded. He tried desperately to turn the conversation; he talked of the weather, of some recent archaeological discoveries near Kiev, of the museums in Moscow, of anything except machine-guns and mortar bombs.
“Tell me, Ivan Petrovitch,” said one of the Russians to him, “what is the news from Aksenova?”
“Quite inconclusive so far,” replied the Professor warily, wondering whether Aksenova were a person or a place. “Very inconclusive indeed.”
“Still? I thought it would have been settled long ago. But speaking of Aksenova reminds me, Tovarich, we have a present from there, have we not, comrades?”
“Ha, ha,” replied the comrades, while the Professor sweated with apprehension, “indeed we have.”
“And here it is, Ivan Petrovitch,” cried the first man, rising from the box on which he had been sitting and opening the lid. “Vodka, little brother! This will make you feel at home, I believe, comrade.”
“Yes, I suppose it will,” replied the Professor unhappily, watching him pour it into the tea-bowls.
“To the brotherhood of man!” cried the Russian.
“To bigger and better bombs,” answered the Professor, raising the bowl. The fiery spirit nearly made him choke, but he got it down, gasping like a stranded fish.
“Why, one would think you had never drunk vodka before, little uncle,” said one of the Russians, and they all laughed heartily. The Professor laughed too, but rather later than the others. He felt the vodka burning inside him, and he wondered how his digestion, always a troublesome creature, would care for it. After a few minutes he began to feel better, much better. He grasped the bottle and poured himself another stiff drink. He tossed it off in one gulp, to the toast of “Confusion to evil men,” which they all repeated.
His brain seemed to be working excellently now, running on oiled wheels, “Now, comrades,” he said, in a loud, firm voice, ringing with authority, “I have something to say to you. I have been sent here with two missions. One you know. But there is another. It is believed that one of you here, one at least, has been acting in a subversive manner, and I am going to investigate the matter,” he cried, banging the table with his fist to suddenly that they all jerked in their seats. “I shall make a confidential report. And you all know where that will go.” He paused for a moment, hoping that they did know, for he certainly did not. The Russians looked thoroughly ill at ease. He continued, after an ominous silence, “My report will, of course, depend upon what I see of your behaviour while I am here. And there is another matter which a man whose name I need not mention has asked me to look into. Two Europeans have been captured. I wish to interrogate them.”
“Certainly, Ivan Petrovitch,” said one of the men placatingly. “If you will come with me, Ivan Petrovitch, I will show you the way. This way, comrade.”
The Russian led the way to the stone house: his manner had suddenly changed; he spoke fawningly and humbly. The other three watched them go in a downcast silence. “Dimitri Mihailovitch will try to put him against us,” muttered one of them.
“I can assure you, comrade,” said Dimitri, putting his hand on the Professor’s sleeve, “that my conduct has been most conscientious, whatever faults the others may have committed. If you could see your way to mentioning my name favourably, I have a little money. . . .”
The Professor directed a stern and impressive look upon the wretched Dimitri Mihailovitch, who wilted as he stood, and wished that his tongue had been cut out before he had tried to bribe one of the incorruptible higher authorities.
“What nationality are these prisoners?” asked the Professor, without any reference to the Russian’s last remark.
“One American and one British, comrade. They are very violent, and——”
“Do you speak English, Dimitri Mihailovitch?”
“No, comrade.”
“What ignorance!”
“But nor do the others, comrade. They do not know a single word, Ivan Petrovitch, little father. Shun Chi knows a little, but he could get no information out of them. They are very worthless prisoners, Ivan Petrovitch. He is going to execute them this afternoon before we move off to attack Hsien Lu tomorrow morning.”
“I see. Just what is the position of Shun Chi as regards authority?”
“He is under our thumb, Ivan Petrovitch. Under our thumb, comrade. Without our help he is like a pricked balloon—pouf!”
“You mean that he takes his orders from us?”
“Well, not exactly, comrade. He requires a little humouring at times, Ivan Petrovitch, when he is fixed on some object.”
They reached the door of the stone house: the guards fell back and saluted. They went in. On the threshold the Professor paused. “Where’s that wretched servant of mine?” asked the Professor.
“There he is, Ivan Petrovitch,” said the Russian, pointing at Derrick, who had been following them. He ran back and seized Derrick by the sleeve. “Here he is, comrade,” he said, hurrying Derrick along.
The three of them went into the stone house. The Professor looked at Ross and Sullivan. “Untie these men, Dimitri Mihailovitch,” he said, “I shall adopt a more conciliatory form of questioning than has apparently been tried. One often gets better results that way.”
“Certainly, comrade. Just as you say, Ivan Petrovitch: I am entirely of your opinion.” The Russian busily untied the ropes, and Derrick bent to help him. Ross and Sullivan glared sullenly at them as they got up and rubbed the circulation back into their cramped limbs.
“Now, comrade,” said the Professor, “you will see how I question people. I shall play the benevolent liberator, and you will see that I get far more out of these men by apparent kindness than any amount of torture. Be so good as to fetch me some tea and a bottle of that excellent vodka. I am thirsty.”
“Surely, Ivan Petrovitch, instantly, instantly. . . .” The Russian hurried away.
“Well, here we are,” said the Professor in English, but still speaking in a loud, authoritative voice for the benefit of anyone who might be listening outside.
“I’m uncommonly glad to see you both,” said Sullivan, straightening himself unsteadily.
“Aye,” said Ross. “If you’d been just a wee bit later, you would have been in time for the execution. It’s due with all due pomp in three hours’ time. It would have been quite a sight: they mentioned boiling
oil and the Thousand Cuts as part of the show.”
“We’ll have to miss it,” whispered Derrick. “We’ve come to get you out.”
“Have you though?” said Sullivan. “I would never have guessed that. Would you, Ross?”
“Why, no. I thought they had come to sell us tickets for the church bazaar.” It was as well that he said this in an angry, whining tone, like a man who refuses to give any information, for a moment later the Russian came in with the vodka, closely followed by the others with pots of tea.
“Thank you, comrades,” said the Professor. “These may be very valuable prisoners. I believe I recognise the villain on the right. It is most important to get all they know out of them, even if it takes some time. You need not wait. While I am busy you may get all the machine-guns ready for inspection. And I shall probably wish to speak with Shun Chi again later—make all the necessary arrangements.”
“Tell me, Professor,” said Sullivan, when they were alone again, “how did you manage it?”
Professor Ayrton gave him a quick outline of the position. “And now,” he said, at the end of it, “I am wondering what to do for the best.”
“Yes,” said Sullivan, thoughtfully. “That is the question. What do we do now?”
CHAPTER SIX
FOR SOME TIME no one spoke. Sullivan drummed his fingers on the floor: at last he said, “I have it. Is Li Han still around?”
“I’m not sure,” said Derrick, “but I think he is.”
“Good. We left the three sons of the Khan at the village of Tu Fu just before we were taken. They will wait for us five days. If Li Han takes a message to them at once, and they ride like the wind to Hsien Lu, they can tell him to bring his men up into the hills where the road leads into Liao-Meng, to the place called the valley of the Three Winds. It is a perfect place for an ambush—plenty of cover and a steep slope—and it is just about there that their engines should give out. I’m right, aren’t I, Ross?”
The Road to Samarcand Page 9