Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  The dragoman agreed to take him to a respectable rooming-house much frequented by Copts of the better class. When they had arrived there, Kāra’s guide made a mystic sign to the proprietor, who promptly charged his new guest double the usual rate, and obtained it because the Egyptian was unaware he was being robbed. The room assigned him was a simply furnished, boxlike affair; yet Kāra had never before occupied an apartment so luxurious. He examined the door with care and was pleased to find that it was supplied with a stout bolt as well as a lock and key.

  “Now,” said the dragoman, “it is yet early; we have barely crossed the edge of the evening. I will take you to the theatre to see the dancing girls, and later to a house where they wager money upon a singular and interesting game of red and black. We can afterward eat our supper at a restaurant and listen to a fine band composed of Hungarian gypsies. How will that suit you?”

  “Not at all,” replied Kāra, coldly. “I am going to bed. Be here to receive my orders at seven o’clock in the morning.”

  Tadros fairly gasped with astonishment.

  “Seven o’clock is too early,” he said, a little sullenly. “The city is asleep at that hour.”

  “When does it awaken?”

  “Well, the shops are open at about nine.”

  “Come to me, then, at nine. Good night.”

  This summary dismissal was a severe disappointment to the dragoman, yet he had no alternative but to take his leave. Strange that Kāra had refused the dancing girls and the game table; but perhaps he was really tired. Tadros must not expect too much from his innocent at first.

  At nine o’clock the next morning he found that the young Egyptian had breakfasted and was impatiently awaiting him.

  “Take me to the leading jeweler in town,” said Kāra.

  The dragoman frowned, but presently brightened again and took his employer to a second-rate shop, where his commissions were assured.

  “Not here,” said Kāra. “I have seen much better shops.”

  Tadros tried again, but with no better success; so he altered his plans and took Kāra direct to Andalaft’s, trusting to luck to exact a commission afterward.

  “Now, then,” said he, briskly, “what shall we examine first?”

  But Kāra ignored him, asking to see the proprietor in private. Mr. Andalaft graciously consented to the interview, and when the Egyptian entered the great jeweler’s private room Tadros was left outside.

  Kāra laid a splendid ruby upon the merchant’s table. The latter pounced upon it with an eager exclamation.

  “It is very old,” said the Egyptian. “Tell me, sir, is there any one in Cairo who can recut it in the modem fashion?”

  “But it will be a shame to alter this exquisite gem,” protested Andalaft. “It is the square, flat cutting of the ancients, and shows the stone to be absolutely pure and flawless. Such specimens are rare in these days. Let it alone.”

  Kāra shook his head with positiveness.

  “I must have it recut,” said he, “and by the best man obtainable.”

  “Ah, that is Van der Veen, the Hollander. He does all my important work. But Van der Veen will himself argue against the desecration. He is a man of judgment.”

  “Where can I find him?” asked the prince.

  The merchant reflected.

  “I will give you a letter to him,” said he. “If the stone must be recut, I want Van der Veen to do it himself. He has three sons who are all expert workmen, but no one in the world can excel the father.”

  He wrote the note, addressed it, and gave it to Kāra. Then he again picked up the ruby and examined it.

  “If you would but sell it,” he suggested, with hesitation, “I could secure for you a liberal price. The Khedive has placed with me an order for a necklace of the ancient Egyptian gems; but in two years I have been unable to secure more than three stones, none of which compare with this in size or beauty. Allow me.”

  He opened a drawer and displayed the three antique stones — two emeralds and an amethyst. Kāra smiled, and putting his hand in a pocket underneath his burnous, he drew out five more rubies, but little inferior in size to the one he had first shown.

  “Tell me,” said he, “what price you will pay for these, to add to the Khedive’s necklace.”

  Andalaft was amazed, but concealed his joy and eagerness as much as possible. Carefully he examined the gems under a glass and then weighed each one in his scales.

  “I will give you,” said he, after figuring a little, “four hundred pounds for the five stones.”

  Kāra shrugged his shoulders and picked up the rubies.

  “That may be the price for ordinary gems,” he remarked; “but their age and cutting give these an added value. I am holding them at eight hundred pounds.”

  The merchant smiled.

  “It is easy to understand,” said he, with politeness, “that you are a connoisseur of precious stones; but, because you love the antique, your partiality induces you to place an undue value upon your rubies. Come! let us say six hundred.”

  “I will not bargain,” returned the Egyptian; “nor do I urge you to buy. If you cannot afford to pay my price I will keep the rubies,” and he made a motion to gather them up.

  “Stay!” exclaimed the jeweler. “What does it matter? The Khedive wishes them, and I must make the sacrifice for his pleasure.”

  With a hand he vainly endeavored to render steady he wrote a check for the sum demanded, and Kāra took it and went away. Andalaft had made an excellent bargain; yet the Egyptian, for all his cleverness, did not know that he had been victimized.

  At the house of the diamond-cutter, on a quiet side street at the lower end of the Mouski, Kāra had a long interview with Van der Veen and his three sons. As a result they agreed, after examining the magnificent diamonds shown them, to devote their exclusive services to Prince Kāra for a full year, he promising to keep them busy with the work of recutting his collection of ancient gems.

  Afterward he sent Tadros with notes to Gerald Winston and the banker, informing them of his temporary address, as he had promised. Then he had an excellent luncheon and smoked a Cuban cigar. In the afternoon he followed his imploring dragoman into several shops where he made simple purchases, and returned early to his hotel to find Winston impatiently awaiting him.

  “You must accompany me at once to see my friend Professor Daressy, with whom I am already disputing concerning the new papyri. He is much interested in your method of interpreting the manuscripts, but requires a better proof of its accuracy than I can give him. Will you come?”

  “It will give me pleasure,” answered Kāra — he drove with Winston to the curator’s house. His knowledge of the hieroglyphics was well founded, and he was not averse to an argument with the two savants. Indeed, they found his explanations so clear and concise that they were equally amazed and delighted.

  The Egyptian dined with them in a private room, where the discussion could not be interrupted, and it was late in the evening when he returned thoughtfully to his own humble lodging.

  “Tadros,” said he, “find me a comfortable house in a good part of the city. Something like that of Professor Daressy will do.”

  “It will cost a lot of money,” objected the dragoman. “Never mind; I will pay the price,” returned the prince, haughtily.

  So the next day Tadros rented a furnished house near the Ezbekieh Gardens for twelve hundred piastres a month, and charged Kāra two thousand piastres for it. The prince moved in, and for three or four weeks devoted himself to watching the Van der Veens recut his treasures, to long conversations with those Egyptologists who were spending the heated term in Cairo, and to a study of the collection of ancient relics in the great museum which Maspero had founded under Said Pasha. Incidentally he observed the social life and manners of those with whom he came in contact, and acquired a polish of his own in a surprisingly short period.

  At the end of the month he returned to Fedah, taking his dragoman with him. Tadros went without
protest, for he was making excellent profits from his old-time friend and had perfected a system of robbery that almost doubled Prince Kāra’s expenses.

  They traveled by train and crossed the river in a boat, arriving in the evening at the tiny village. Tadros carried Kāra’s large traveling case and walked behind him, as was fitting in a paid retainer.

  And so they entered the narrow street of the village, where all the dozen or so inhabitants stood in their doorways to stare and nod gravely at their returned fellow-citizens.

  Kāra bade his dragoman leave the luggage in his own dwelling and seek a lodging for himself with old Nefert or Amenka. He then walked on to where Sĕra and her daughter awaited him.

  He pinched Nephthys’ fat cheeks, felt of her round bare arms, and finally kissed her lips, declaring that she was steadily improving in condition and would put to shame many of the women of Cairo.

  Nephthys allowed the caresses listlessly, her eyes only brightening slightly when the gaily dressed dragoman came near and stood watching the proceedings. He wore a green jacket with gold embroidery to-day, and the girl observed it with evident approval.

  “I sold her too cheaply, Kāra,” remarked the dragoman, stroking his thin mustache reflectively.

  “In that I do not agree with you,” answered Kāra.

  “I will pay double the price for her return,” said Tadros.

  “The girl is not for sale. And see here, my man, keep your hands off her while you are in Fedah, or I will be obliged to kill you.”

  “Never fear; I know my duties,” replied the dragoman, turning on his heel. It would not be wise to offend Kāra just now. The bone was not yet picked.

  Nephthys put on her spangled gown and sat upon Kāra’s knee, while her mother brought cakes and milk for their refreshment. Kāra threw a chain of beads over the girl’s head, and she laughed for very pleasure. Sĕra felt of the beads and counted them. They were blue, and had cost five piastres, but the two women were delighted with them and would enjoy their possession for many days.

  It was late when Kāra left Sĕra’s hut.

  “In the winter,” said he, “I will doubtless come for the girl and take her to Cairo. Then you shall have the rest of your money. Meantime, here is backshish to console you.”

  He gave her a piece of gold — the first she had ever possessed — and went away to his dwelling.

  “Nephthys,” said the mother, “I am proud of you. You have made us both rich!”

  CHAPTER VIII.

  HIS GRANDMOTHER’S MUMMY.

  When Fedah seemed asleep, Kāra took the lamp and the bronze dagger from their hiding place and swung back the stone in the rear wall, passing through into the mountain cavern. Then, replacing the stone, he made his way along the crevice, through the circular rock door into the arched passage, and down the latter to the mummy chamber.

  Here he removed the lid of Hatatcha’s mummy case and carefully dusted the interior. The forty days were ended. The case might have its occupant before morning.

  Within the splendidly carven casket Kāra found an oblong green stone, with polished flat surfaces. On one of these surfaces was the cartouche of Ahtka-Rā, as follows:

  The Egyptian examined this relic carefully and placed it in his pocket. It was the emerald that Hatatcha had promised the dwarf Sebbet in payment for embalming her body. How Andalaft’s eyes would sparkle could he but see this wonder!

  But this thought reminded Kāra that he was loitering. He picked up his lamp and went to the mummy of Ahtka-Rā, sliding back the slab of malachite and descending through the opening to the treasure chamber hidden below.

  His first act was to inventory carefully the contents of the twelve great vases that stood upon their alabaster pedestals. From these vases he abstracted choice specimens of emeralds, sapphires, diamonds and rubies, filling with them several small leathern sacks he had brought concealed upon his person. Perhaps he had taken a fortune in this careless manner; but so vast was the treasure that the contents of the vases seemed scarcely disturbed.

  In one of the numerous jars resting upon the granite floor, and which had doubtless been added to the hoard at a much later period than that of Ahtka-Rā, the Egyptian found a quantity of pearls of a size and quality that rendered them almost peerless among the treasures of the world. The jar contained a full quart, and Kāra took them all. At the moment he did not comprehend their value, although Hatatcha had told him that a single one of these pearls would be sufficient to ransom a kingdom.

  The gems he had already secured were enough to weigh heavily upon his person; but Kāra was greedy. He examined the contents of many jars and vases, choosing here and there a jewel that appealed to his fancy, and adding to his selection a number of exquisite ornaments of wrought gold; but at last he was forced to admit that he had taken enough from the treasure chamber to answer his present purposes, and so he reluctantly returned to the vault above.

  As he closed the slab, his eye fell upon a strange jewel set in the mummy case of Ahtka-Rā. It was surrounded by a protecting band of chased gold, and sparkled under the rays of Kāra’s lamp in a manner that distinguished it from any of the thousands of other gems that literally covered the mummy case of the great Egyptian; for at first this odd jewel had a dark steely lustre, which changed while Kāra’s eyes rested upon it to a rich transparent orange, and then to an opal ground with tongues of flame running through it. A moment later the color had faded to a dull gray, which gradually took on a greenish tinge.

  Kāra set down the lamp and pried the stone from its setting with the point of his dagger, placing it afterward in a secure inner pocket of his robe. As he did so, a golden bust of Isis that stood upon the mummy case toppled and fell to the pavement, and from a hollow underneath the bust rolled a small manuscript of papyrus. This Kāra took also, and replaced the bust in its former position. His nerves must have been of iron, for the uncanny incident had not even startled him.

  Now he made his way back to the entrance and along the passage, finally emerging with his treasure into the room that had been his former dwelling-place. All was silent and dark. A mild bray from the blind Nikko’s donkey was occasionally heard, and at times the faraway hoot of a desert owl; but those within the village seemed steeped in slumber.

  Kāra divided his burden by placing the greater part in his traveling case, which he locked securely. Then he reclined upon the rushes and was about to compose himself to sleep when the mat across the archway was thrust aside and Sebbet entered.

  “I am here, most royal one!” he announced.

  Kāra sat up.

  “And my grandmother?” he inquired.

  “Here also, my prince. Ah, how natural is Hatatcha! You will be delighted. It is a skilful and almost perfect piece of work, even though I praise my own craft in saying so.”

  With these words the dwarf led in the donkey. Upon its back was the form of a swaddled mummy, which was bound to a flat plank to hold it rigidly extended.

  “I will show you the face,” continued Sebbet, in an eager tone, as he lifted the mummy and placed it upon the ground.

  “Do not trouble yourself,” said Kāra. “I will look upon my grandmother at my leisure. The night is waning. Take your price and go your way.”

  He handed the dwarf the emerald, holding the lamp, which he had relighted, while Sebbet examined the stone with great care.

  “Yes; it is the great emerald with the cartouche of Ahtka-Rā,” said the embalmer, in a low, grave voice.

  “Osiris be praised that at last it is my own! Hatatcha was a wise woman, and she kept her word.”

  Kāra extinguished the light, but the moon was shining and sent some of its rays through the arch to relieve the gloom.

  “Good-night,” said he.

  The dwarf stood still, thinking deeply. Finally he said, glancing at the mummy:

  “Where will my old friend repose?”

  “It is her secret,” returned the prince, brusquely. “She trusted you not to ask questions.” />
  “And yourself? Will you not wish to be mummified when your course is run?”

  Kāra laughed.

  “Ah, my Sebbet, are you immortal?” he asked. “Do you expect to live to embalm all the generations? You made a mummy of my great-grandmother and of my grandmother. Your hairs are now white. Be content, and think upon your own future.”

  “That has already occupied my mind,” answered the dwarf, quietly. “Farewell, then, prince of a royal line. Your ancestors thought first of the tomb, then of the life preceding it. You are indulging in life, with no thought of the tomb and the resurrection. It is the new order of things, the trend of a civilization that forgets its dead and hides the silent ones in the earth, that they may putrify and decay and become mere dust. Very well; the age is yours, not mine. May Osiris guide thy life, my prince!”

  He turned to his donkey and led the ghost-like animal out into the night. Kāra stood still, and in a moment he could hear their footsteps no longer.

  Then he secured the mat before the arch and for a second time swung back the stone in the wall. This done, he felt in the dusk for the mummy of Hatatcha, and lifting it in his arms, bore it through the opening and replaced the stone. The body was heavy, and he panted as he paused to light his lamp.

  It was nearly an hour before Kāra, weary and perspiring, finally deposited the mummy of his grandmother beside its elaborately constructed case. He then unfastened the straps that bound it to the board, and by exercising great care succeeded in placing the body in its coffin without breaking or injuring it. Next he removed the outer strips of linen that swathed the head until the outlines of Hatatcha’s face showed clearly through its mask of tightly drawn bandages. Then he stood aside, and holding up the lamp, gazed long and earnestly upon the calm features.

  “I promised,” he murmured, “here to repeat my oath: That I will show no mercy to any one of Lord Roane’s family; that I will hunt them down, every one, as a tiger hunts his prey, and crush and humble them in the eyes of all men; that not one shall finally escape my vengeance, and that all shall know in the end that it was Hatatcha who destroyed them. So be it. By men-Rà, the Sun-God who gave me being; by Ahtka-Rā, whose blood now courses through my veins; by my hope of peace on earth and in the life to come, I swear that Hatatcha’s will shall be obeyed!”