The Quest of Julian Day

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘We’re in luck,’ she said. ‘Since last winter he has been storing some tents for a party of excavators and they have not returned here yet. It was a little difficult to avoid offending the old man by saying we would rather not sleep in his house but I insisted that, rather than inconvenience him, the tents should be set up outside the village for us.’

  ‘Thank God!’ I murmured. ‘What a marvellous break. My ankles are beginning to itch already where the inhabitants are biting me and I was trying to resign myself to being eaten alive here.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with that for a bit,’ she shrugged. ‘He is having his fatted calf cooked and we shall mortally offend him if we don’t remain here to eat it.’

  It was abominably hot in the low, fusty room as there was a fire on the floor near the doorway and no other ventilation for the smoke, which made our eyes smart horribly. The Sheik left us to give orders about erecting the tents and for three-quarters of an hour we had to put up with the heat and stench as well as we could while the meal was being prepared.

  When it arrived the ‘fatted calf’ turned out to be a large dish of pigeons. There were no plates, knives or forks and the big, round platter was just set down in the centre of the room, while Oonas, the Sheik, his eldest son—a wall-eyed man of about forty whom he had introduced to us—and myself squatted round it. The dish was served by the simple expedient of the Sheik’s placing his hand in the centre of it and presenting us with a pigeon apiece, which we proceeded to tear limb from limb with our teeth and fingers.

  I was a little leary of the flat slab of bread which was handed round for us to tear pieces off as I had so often seen similar loaves being prepared in the dirt outside native huts where they were smothered with flies and where all the filth near by got blown onto them; but I avoided eating the crust and found the inside unexpectedly good, although unleavened bread is terribly filling and, after a few mouthfuls, I had to give it up for fear I should not be able to do justice to the rest of the food provided for us. As it was, one pigeon would have been ample for my requirements but three apiece were pressed upon us and I knew enough of native customs to realise that our host would consider himself insulted if we did not gorge ourselves to the limit.

  The pigeons were followed by a dish of tiny hens’ eggs and sweet corn which we sopped up with the unleavened bread, all dipping into the dish as hard as we could go; then came goat’s-milk cheese and a sticky, undefinable sort of sweetmeat. More coffee was served, after which Oonas belched politely and bowing to the Sheik said, ‘Mahbruk!’ meaning, ‘Congratulations on the excellent meal you have provided.’ As she did so she nudged me slightly so I promptly followed suit and our hosts demonstrated their satisfaction in a similar manner.

  The old boy then clapped his hands loudly and that seemed to be the signal for which the entire population of the village had been waiting. In a second the room was filled by natives of all ages scrambling for the remains of the feast, with excited cries and hectic laughter, while our host led us outside.

  The fresh night air was like perfumed wine after the noxious odours in the Sheik’s living-room and I sucked in great, deep breaths of it as we followed the old man along the bank to a spot about forty yards above the river, where the tents had been pitched among a grove of palms.

  There were two of them; an ordinary, bell-shaped, Army tent and a spacious-looking marquee. I assumed at once that the former was for me and I was immediately relieved of an uneasiness which had been growing in me for the past hour. As I was not supposed to know Arabic I had been unable to inform the Sheik that Oonas and I were not related; so I had feared that if she too had failed to inform him of that fact the sleeping arrangements made for us might prove extremely embarrassing.

  In normal surroundings I would have felt that Oonas was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and therefore fair game if I could get her; but being thrown together for the night like this was quite a different matter so I had made up my mind that I ought to do the decent thing and suppress any impulse to take advantage of the situation. I’m not saying that my resolution would have held if it had been suggested that we shared a tent and she had showed no objection, but now it seemed that the cup of temptation was to be removed some thirty feet and two thicknesses of canvas from me. Of course, there was always the chance that Oonas might find it necessary to come and borrow some matches from me during the night but, even at the risk of disappointing her, I had no intention of thinking of an excuse for paying her a visit.

  My reactions can be imagined, therefore, when Oonas’ maid suddenly appeared in the entrance of the bell-tent and I saw that she had taken possession of it. Before I could readjust my feelings the Sheik had led Oonas and me into the marquee and, from a remark he made at that moment, it became quite clear that he believed me to be her husband.

  I only just checked myself from disillusioning him in time; as to have done so would have given away the fact that I understood Arabic. Oonas, I noted with mixed feelings of elation and anxiety, ignored his reference to our married state and began rather hurriedly to praise the furnishings of the big tent. I myself was considerably surprised by their opulence because I had always believed that excavators lived hard when they were working on a ‘dig’; but the marquee disabused me of such notions.

  It was divided into two halves by a curtain across its centre; but this was draped back at the moment disclosing a sleeping-apartment in which Oonas’ bags had been stacked and her things laid out for the night. The half in which we stood provided a pleasant anteroom containing a large table and a number of comfortable chairs. Rugs were spread on the ground in both compartments and I noted that the excavators’ surplus stores had also been placed at our disposal, as a selection of civilised drinks had been set out. They even included several bottles of champagne which, I assumed, were ‘overs’ from a stock the archæologists kept for celebrating Christmas, birthdays, etc. Both ends of the marquee were lit by shaded oil-lamps which gave a pleasant subdued light.

  There was no bed in the anteroom and I began to wonder if, as a result of my new-found scruples, I should have to pass an uneasy night in one of the chairs. The old Sheik was salaaming before us. He touched his forehead, then his heart as he murmured:

  ‘Blessed be the name of Allah. May he bring you joy in the darkness and many beautiful children.’

  We bowed in return as he backed out; then, to test the lie of the land, I said to Oonas, ‘What was he muttering about?’

  ‘Wishing me the one thing I don’t want,’ she shrugged. ‘Lot’s of babies.’

  I laughed, a little unconvincingly, I fear; and we fell silent. After having thought of half-a-dozen things most suitable to the situation which I might have said, or done, in slightly different circumstances, I remarked lamely, ‘Well, here we are.’

  ‘Yes, here we are,’ Oonas repeated, a hint of mockery in her lovely blue eyes. ‘What about a drink?’

  We had not dared to touch the water which had been offered in the Sheik’s house as it would have meant certain enteric to Europeans so we had to make do with coffee and I had a first-class thirst. ‘Grand,’ I said, and I opened up a bottle of champagne.

  Oonas was sitting down in one of the chairs by the time I had poured her a glass. Pouring myself another I sat down too. She got up at once and, coming over, perched herself on my knee.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so uncomfortable as I did during the next ten minutes. I’ve always rather prided myself on my technique but now that I did not feel justified in using it I was utterly stumped. What she thought of me, after my fervour in the afternoon, God alone knows. We kissed, but not properly. I simply dared not risk it and I could not find a word to say.

  At last, in sheer desperation, I began to talk Egyptology; but she cut me short by standing up and saying with marked politeness:

  ‘I think I shall go to bed now. I’m afraid, though, you won’t be very comfortable here.’

  ‘Oh, I shall manage,’ I m
uttered. ‘Good night; happy dreams.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled, ‘and—er, the same to you.’ Upon which she disappeared through the curtains and drew them to behind her.

  I suppressed a giant sigh and began to wonder if I was really laying up treasure in Heaven for myself or behaving like the most colossal fool. I derived not an ounce of satisfaction from my self-imposed restraint and where, I suppose, my self-esteem would have risen considerably if I had been a really ‘nice’ man, it had gone right down to zero.

  The final indignity to my manhood came when the curtains parted a few inches and Oonas flung out a pair of my silk pyjamas that her maid had collected for me from the ship.

  Sadly and silently I undressed and put them on. With fury in my heart I drew two chairs together and thought of the wretchedly uncomfortable night I was condemned to spend on account of my own asinine scruples which, at the moment, I felt would have disgraced even the little prig who features as the hero in ‘The Fifth Form at St. Jude’s’.

  I positively ached to abandon the crazy attitude I had taken up, dash through the curtains and babble out all sorts of apologetic nonsense as I seized Oonas in my arms. It was a deliberate insult to her beauty that I should remain where I was, acting the part of a tongue-tied fool. Yet, having taken up the line I had I simply could not bring myself to abandon it; and whether that was strength or weakness I have not the least idea.

  I tuned down the lamp to a glimmer and had picked up my coat to put it on, knowing that later the night air would grow chilly, when the curtains parted again and Oonas appeared framed between them.

  Her face did not give the least indication as to whether she was amused, contemptuous or angry. She just said quietly:

  ‘You haven’t done your exercises yet.’

  ‘Aha!’ I exclaimed, utterly taken aback. ‘Exercises!’

  ‘Yes. I do mine every night. Don’t you?’

  ‘Er, no. I’m afraid I don’t,’ I replied a little weakly.

  ‘You should, then; they are excellent for the figure. If we had foils we could fence for a few minutes, as that is the best exercise of all, but as we haven’t, running will serve instead.’

  ‘Running!’ I echoed. ‘But you can’t run here, in the marquee, and …’

  ‘Can’t I?’ she cut me short. ‘You just watch me. Over the chairs, under the table, round and round, bending, jumping, tumbling sideways and running on again. That’s just the thing to keep you fit. Anyhow I’m going to.’

  ‘Well,’ I murmured, utterly amazed at this entirely new side of herself that Oonas was presenting to me. ‘If you feel that way I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.’

  She moved forward, coming right up to me. She had very little on but I was hardly conscious of that as she looked me calmly in the face and said, ‘I’m fitter than you are. I bet you couldn’t catch me.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ I laughed, and I instinctively made a grab at her but she slipped away and dodged round to the other side of the table where I could not get at her.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I challenge you.’

  ‘Right!’ I cried. ‘I’d get you or any woman within two minutes in the confines of this tent.’

  With a little laugh she leaned forward and, blowing down its chimney, put out the lamp. Next moment her voice came mocking and alluring from the far side of the tent:

  ‘Try it! Catch me! Catch me if you can!’

  In all the days of my life I have never experienced greater excitement than in that chase. Perhaps it was the primeval hunting instinct, which is still strong in the roots of every man, coming out in me; but I knew that I had to get her or for ever be dishonoured in my own estimation.

  Oonas was not an athlete; physical exertion is anathema to her type, and I doubt if she had run a mile in the last five years; but she was extraordinarily quick and agile. Again and again I nearly caught her but she slipped through my outstretched hands. There were no corners to the marquee so I could not drive her into one and when she came up against the central dividing curtain she slid under it, so I had to follow her to the other side. She seemed to sense the obstacles in the dark better than I did and I was constantly barking my legs against the chair as I made wild rushes forward. For twenty seconds at a time I would lose her completely and stand trying to hush my panting as I listened for her softer breath, until her mocking voice came from just up against the wall of the tent, but she had evidently pulled off her dressing-gown as she flung it in my face and eluded me while I was struggling to free myself of its folds. A moment later I touched her back and grabbed her nightdress but the flimsy chiffon tore from top to bottom as she wrenched herself away, and I was left with a yard or so of the filmy material dangling from my hand. The whiff of her perfume I got from it nearly drove me insane and I knew that she was now standing there in the darkness only a few feet away from me without a stitch of clothing on.

  Eventually I caught her, although I half-believe she allowed me to in the end, and when I did she turned suddenly, flung herself into my arms and glued her mouth to mine. I could feel her heart hammering in her chest just beneath my own and I crushed her warm, palpitating little body to me. All the scruples I had had were now cobwebs in the wind. Like Jurgen and countless others before me I did the manly thing. Picking her up in my arms I carried her to bed.

  Later I knew that I ought to have suspected something from the beginning. Even if the way in which Oonas had deliberately delayed our return to the boat had not made me think, the handsomely-appointed marquee and the supply of champagne should have done so; but there is no doubt about it that she had practised a mild form of hypnosis on me. I knew quite well that I was not really in love with her, yet her beauty exercised such a fascination over me that in her presence I was capable of thinking of little else.

  It was still early when we had taken possession of the marquee as the rising and setting of the sun is always the signal for waking or sleeping among the native peoples and our meal with the Sheik had been served shortly after sundown. What time I woke I have no idea but the marquee was in pitch darkness so it was evidently still the middle of the night. It must have been Oonas getting up that roused me since I knew at once that she was no longer there by my side, although she had moved so stealthily that she had not betrayed her going by a single sound. Once roused, my brain became instantly alert and, although there was no apparent cause for it, something seemed to tell me that I was in imminent danger.

  I slipped out of bed at once and, striking a match, looked through the curtained division of the marquee. Oonas was not in the outer compartment so I tiptoed softly towards the entrance; just before I reached it I caught the sound of voices. Standing there in the dark, I listened with all my ears. It was Oonas speaking to her maid through the flap of the other tent and it was evident that I must have followed almost on her heels as she had only just succeeded in rousing the woman from her sleep.

  As I could not hear distinctly I moved a few steps forward, but that was my undoing. I tripped over a tent-rope in the dark and fell sprawling on the ground with a terrific bump.

  ‘Who’s that?’ came Oonas’ voice in a quick, excited whisper.

  ‘It’s only me, darling,’ I admitted lamely. ‘I woke up to find you gone and wondered what had happened to you.’

  ‘But I only left you for a moment,’ she protested. ‘Go back to bed, my sweet. I’m just coming.’

  There was nothing for it but to beat a retreat but as I turned away I heard her say hurriedly to her maid in Arabic:

  ‘You understand? I like this Englishman and I will not have his throat cut. I am not afraid of Zakri’s anger and the arrangements for the killing are to be cancelled.’

  This was a jolly thing to hear from one’s paramour in the midst of a night of love. It was flattering and, in the circumstances, somewhat comforting to learn that I had made a sufficiently good impression upon Oonas for her to decide that she would not have me done to death, but my blood literally chilled a
nd little beads of perspiration broke out on my forehead as I thought of the cold-blooded treachery she had evidently contemplated.

  It was clear now that she had known who I was all the time or, at all events, tumbled to it pretty quickly. She must have planned this ruthless betrayal of me in detail during our first evening on the ship and sent instructions to Zakri Bey before we sailed the following morning.

  Her calculations had evidently been based quite correctly on the assumption that two days of her company would be sufficient for her to get me in the state where I should be eager enough to sleep with her. Tel-el-Amarna, which consisted of no more than a miserable village, provided a perfect place for her to arrange matters so that we should miss the ship and have to spend the night together; and Akhen-aton’s tomb was an admirable objective with which to lure me away from the rest of the party. If there had been an hotel in the place my death would have proved far more difficult to account for afterwards; but since she was much too fastidious to sleep in a native hovel she had had the marquee and its furnishings send down by rail; or, more probably, brought by somebody who had given the local Sheik his orders and instructed him in his lies about their being the property of excavators.

  When I thought of the way in which she had even provided champagne with the intention of thoroughly enjoying herself for a few hours before she had me murdered, her cold-bloodedness seemed almost unbelievable, but reconsidering it I saw that the whole thing was absolutely in keeping with the ‘Eastern Queen’ idea, in which rôle she obviously fancied herself.

  It was clear that she just didn’t think on the same lines as a European girl and that her Western culture was merely a camouflage. Mentally she was in the same state as her prototype Cleopatra who, history relates, often abandoned herself to the embraces of a handsome slave but had him strangled the morning after in order that he should not become a nuisance or boast about it afterwards. Evidently I had been cast for the rôle of the handsome slave but as I had done my stuff particularly well I was to be reprieved for the moment; just as the Caliph in the Arabian Nights, who executed his Queens at the rate of one each morning, reprieved the beautiful Scheherazade because she could tell a good story.