Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  It was possible she had removed the leggings to make running easier. I had noticed how the things caught on the backs of her boots when she walked, and the lower edge of the one we had found was worn shiny with the friction. But why the hat?

  “She and I had a misunderstanding,” I said, hating to refer to it but forced, in order to make my meaning clear. “She may have felt so piqued that she has decided to make her own way back to the border.”

  “Nay, sahib, for she left the hat and leggings on a stone beside the way where we might see them. That is proof that she wished to be followed.”

  The Sikh’s argument seemed fair enough, and yet I found it unconvincing. I recalled a woman who had once deliberately wandered off for the sake of causing trouble, knowing well that I, whom she detested, would feel compelled to search for her and bring her back. Such memories do crop up when they can do the most harm. I saw a mental vision of Joan Angela in hiding near by, chuckling at the thought of my disgruntlement. But that unpleasant idea vanished when I remembered that we had heard more than one voice as we came downhill. I began to hunt about for tracks, but might as well have looked for a subway entrance, there in the dark, on those dry rocks.

  “There be two ways,” said the Sikh, “for we know she is not in the sangar up behind us. If she left the hat and leggings for us to see, I think she will have left another sign to show which way she took. Let us try the likeliest first.”

  So we strode side by side in the dark, along the righthand fork that curved around the Gibraltar rock, and came presently to the outcrop, where I suddenly remembered we had left a horse standing. I had forgotten all about the beast, and believe Narayan Singh, too, had forgotten, until that instant. The beast’s droppings were there in a heap, and warm, for he had stood still patiently. I struck a match at last, sheltering it between my hands. There was the mark of a man’s sandaled foot imprinted plainly in the dung and pointing along the track, away from the corner behind us.

  That proved not much yet. There was nothing likelier than that a lurking hill-thief had come and stolen the horse. I could see no sign of Joan Angela’s footprints. But Narayan Singh scouted forward, and at the end of about a minute stood and waited for me. When I reached him he showed me a hairpin stuck into a rolled-up piece of soiled white cotton cloth — the sort of stuff the Hindus use for making turbans. The hill-women don’t use hairpins — not of that sort, at any rate — nor do they pin a piece of cloth so neatly, nor would they have dropped such a long piece and left it, as a bandage, or a tape to tie bundles with; it would have been too valuable.

  “That is her sign, sahib. We go forward,” said Narayan Singh.

  So forward we went in a hurry, with our choice between making a noise and being waylaid, or going too slowly to have any hope of catching up, and making some noise in the bargain; for it was impossible to move silently in the dark on that rough track. We broke into a run at intervals, and at the end of about a mile of up and down hill scrambling we had to pause for breath.

  “I am thinking of that prisoner you let go, sahib. What was his name? I mean the man whose hands were tied with the reins from off the second horse,” said Narayan Singh when he had breath enough to speak.

  “Akbar bin Mahommed,” I answered louder than was necessary, because the thought spurred emphasis.

  “Aye! Akbar bin Mahommed!” said a voice from a ledge up above us, and we both jumped nearly out of our skins.

  I took aim at the sound, seeing nothing, not meaning to shoot, but by way of instinctive precaution. But Narayan Singh pushed my rifle up.

  “Not so, sahib,” he said quietly. “We are two, against we know not how many. Oh...Akbar bin Mahommed!” he called out, pitching his voice to an almost falsetto note, to make it carry.

  There was no answer; only the echo and re-echo, wailing away and away into the distance. He called again, but only more echoes, and then silence, punctured by the distant crack of a skirmisher’s rifle.

  We climbed up on the ledge, and it took us ten minutes of strenuous scrambling, hauling each other up in turns, since we could not find even a goat-track. There was nothing on the ledge, and nobody, although we found a way down that led to a spot fifty yards beyond where the track we had been following before forked. So we followed the new direction, throwing caution to the winds. It was no use trying to go silently. Whoever lay in wait for us had an easy task in any event. We did better to save time and husband strength by striding at ease, if the phrase can be made to fit, stumbling through stone-strewn shadow.

  Long ago we were out of all reach of our friends, and whatever King’s and Grim’s predicament might be, we were pretty surely now cut off from hope of reaching them. The dawn was beginning to announce its coming, cold-grey in the east. The wind changed and blew more chill. I felt hungry and wondered what Joan Angela might have to eat, supposing she were really still alive; tired, and wondered whether she were not exhausted, even though she had the horse; hopeless, because of the absurdity of going further with all those ragged hillsides swarming with ambushed men, and daylight due.

  “That man Akbar called to us for some good reason, sahib,” said Narayan Singh. But I did not answer. There was no use in saying what I thought. We were enough discouraged. I remembered tales of how those hillmen will decoy a man until he stands exactly where it suits them best to murder him. We were easy marks, at the end of our tether, leg-weary, beginning to grow thirsty, and without supplies. I sat down, and the Sikh chose a rock beside me.

  “Akbar bin Mahommed!” a voice croaked from a ledge again above us.

  I turned swiftly, and this time, because the dawn was brightening, I caught sight of a man’s head in a notch between two boulders. It was there for a second and then gone again. Narayan Singh got to his feet.

  “Sit down again,” I said. “If he’s an enemy we’re easy prey. If he’s a friend he’ll watch and see we’re not coming, and call to us again.”

  So we sat still, nervously alert for sounds. But we sat for at least ten minutes, and the sun rose in a sea of color, tipping the hills with gold, before anything happened. Then the same voice called again from the same place, and I saw Akbar bin Mahommed’s face between the rocks, with a thin wisp of smoke blowing along the wind behind it.

  “In the name of Allah, the All-merciful, the Lord of all this way! I am thy friend, Ramm-is-den!” he cried out. “May my offspring eat me if I lie!”

  “Are you alone?” I called back.

  “Nay, since He who sees all is everywhere! But when ye come we shall be three men.”

  “And a woman?”

  “Nay!”

  Hope, that had sprung in an instant, was dashed again. However, the smoke suggested breakfast. We began to climb, Akbar directing us at intervals from overhead, counseling caution and warning us to keep our heads low.

  “For, though I am a friend, there be those who are not!” he explained, as if he were announcing something new.

  At last he reached over the ledge and seized me by the hands, helping me to swarm the ten-foot scarp. And then the two of us hauled up Narayan Singh.

  There was a cave at the back, and thence the smoke came. The opening was two-thirds blocked by a boulder, but it was a draughty hole, shaped roughly like a curved gourd, full of the acrid smoke from a small fire of dung and sticks and litter, on which, of all unexpected things, tea was stewing in a battered enameled iron kettle.

  “Where is the sahiba?” I demanded.

  “God knows,” he answered naively.

  “You know!” I said, seizing his arm and giving him a jerk to make him face me.

  “Who knows the way of a woman?” he retorted. “The animals — the rocks — the wind — men’s hearts — a man may understand. But not women. Allah forgot to make them comprehensible.”

  “He made me easy to understand!” I assured him, backing him against the wall. “I’m going to learn from you where the sahiba is, or kill you.”

  “Then thou art a wizard, Ramm-is-den! Read my
heart! Tell me what is written there that I myself know not!”

  “Tell me first what you do know,” I demanded.

  “Be seated then, sahibs. Who am I that I should not tell truth? And see, I have tea that I stole from the fattest bunnia in Dera Ghazi Khan — very good stuff indeed, and stewed thoroughly. Moreover, eggs, behold them! Nine chupatties...lo, three apiece! A woman will be beaten presently because her man lacks food. I gave her the tea not long ago, and she was beaten for not saying whence she had it. Such is life, inshallah! Women are whores and men cuckolds. Bellies ache for food. None but Allah knoweth whence a meal comes. Sahibs, it is pleasanter beyond the fire where less smoke is. So, with your honour’s good permission, eggs! Three eggs apiece — a hen’s best effort, in the name of the All-wise! We must drink tea from the kettle, having no cups. It is hot. Beware of it! I tried to steal cups, but there were none.”

  He paused with his mouth full of eggs and chupattie.

  “Where is the sahiba?” I repeated.

  “Ah! She? God knows! I was telling what I know with your honour’s favour, when your honor interrupted. Sahib, I am thy man. We are friends forever. None shall thrust a feud between us. I went forth with swollen wrists to find a set of garments, is it not so?”

  “And to bring a holy youth to me, alive,” I reminded him.

  “Ah! That one! Such a simpleton he is! Take another egg, sahib — none save Allah knoweth whence a meal comes. Let the hen not have labored in vain! Lo, I went forth with swollen wrists. Is the smoke offensive? Let us tread the fire out. It is cold, but the sun is rising. Sons of evil mothers might observe the smoke. In the name of Allah, no more bloodshed than is necessary. If they come here we must kill them, and the hills are full of dead already. So. Lo, I have a sheepskin. It was warm when I took it, for a woman slept in it. I will lend it to your honor until the sun gets high. Thereafter it will serve for pillow for the three of us, inshallah.”

  He tossed the sheepskin over my shoulders and sat down again. I sat closer to Narayan Singh to let him share it, for the whistling wind was keen. Akbar bin Mahommed resumed his tale.

  “So I went forth with swollen wrists to do your honour’s bidding, we being friends whom none shall separate. Who am I that I should not tell truth? God witnesseth. There is a village on the shoulder of the hill that men call Iskanderan, none knoweth why. Thither I went bearing in mind your honour’s wishes, much exercised with wonder how this cunning purpose might be accomplished, yet hopeful, since Allah knoweth all — aye, even the unlawful ways of women! So I came in great haste to the village on the humped-up shoulder of Iskanderan, my wrists still hurting. And I lay, praying Allah for cunning and courage, in the shadow of the stone wall that surrounds the evil-smelling place. God witnesseth. He heard me.

  “Lo! The house of the man whose wife I am witness has more than once deceived him, stands thus, at the corner of the wall, with a flat roof, and thereon a breastwork — easy to defend and hard to enter. Had the man been there we three were not in this place now. But Allah, who is All-wise, put a hope of loot into the fool’s head, and he was one of those who prowled the hills last night to strip the slain — a very jackal. May his eyes drop out! May he learn in good time what his wife is, and eat mockery! The dog!

  “All earth is full of wonders. It happened his wife had obeyed him, and lay within, behind a locked door, snoring, for I heard her. There was none else in the house. To right and left the wall is lower, and I chose the darker side, leaping the wall and descending silent-footed in the piled cowdung. None heard me. Allah is my friend. I went to the shed where they keep the hens, and wrung a hen’s neck lest she make an alarm. Beneath her were ten eggs. The hen is yonder, sahibs, in the corner. I cut her throat before the life left. Those I hid where I could find them presently, and then crept to the woman’s door. But I dared not beat on it, and she slept like a bear in winter.

  “None the less, it was dark, for the peak above the shoulder of the hill shut off the moon — an unwise situation for a man’s house, whose wife and Um Kulsum are one! And a beam projected. Moreover, there are crannies in the stone into which a man’s toes may be thrust. Allah is my friend, I reached the roof, whereon was a trap-door opening outward — by the favour of God, unlocked. I opened and descended.

  “Whereafter, after a while the woman gave me tea and this kettle, and chupatties that were waiting against her man’s return. Those I hid beside the eggs and hen, returning to have further word with her, she having unlocked the door that admits to the yard, in fear of me who might so easily betray her, and in greater fear of neighbours to the right and left. An evil conscience, sahibs, is by Allah’s favour a good man’s opportunity. Lo, I practiced on her fears.

  “The crazy youth who preaches new politics, wearing fine clothes and the white turban of an uleema since he went to school in Samarkand, slept — so she told me — in a house on the far side, and alone that night, since all who had the courage were on foot in the hills in search of loot. He has no wife. I bade her go bring him on any pretext. She is very fair to look at. She refused. But her husband had left his second knife — lo, this one! — hanging by its girdle from a rafter. I showed her the edge of it.

  “By and by she brought the youth, he much enamored — yet presently much more afraid of me, and of the point of the knife at his belly. A simpleton, though full of politics! Clean-shaven like a fool, though old enough for a beard a foot long. Brave with long words, but as fearful of cold steel as a camel is of ghosts. And in love with the woman.

  “So I promised to betray them both to the woman’s husband unless obedience were the very breath he breathed. And I stripped him naked, rolling his clothes in a bundle, white turban and all. Thereafter I bade him go and hide his nakedness in garments fit for a man, and to return, and to come with me on a certain errand; for I bore in mind your honour’s wish that I should bring him living and unhurt.

  “But he was over-fearful and more evil-minded than the witch who gave him birth! When he had clothed himself, by Allah, it occurred to his treacherous mind that I was alone in the house with the woman, and if he aroused the village she and I could be taken red-handed, he acquiring honour, and we caught like rats in a cess-pit!

  “So he wakened two or three, and they others. And before I knew it, as the Most High is my witness, there were nine men, mostly old ones, but a youth or two, and one in his prime — whom I will slay for his insolence if Allah wills — all beating on the door and demanding entrance.

  “So I whispered to the woman, bidding her say that shaven fool had sought to seduce her and had started this false alarm for vengeance on her because she refused him. Then I left by the roof very silently, closing the trap-door after me and dropping down into the dung, the knife and the kettle clanging together as I fell. But I leapt the wall before they saw me, and they searched in vain, some swearing the clang of the kettle was this thing, and some that, while I lay crouched in a shadow. Allah is my friend.

  “I heard them questioning the woman. And I heard her lie, like the Um Kulsum that she is, first none believing her, then one or two, and then all believing her, because there was no trace of me, and the shaveling lacked an explanation for his change of garments. So they beat him for having wakened them, and drove him home with a threat in his ears that he should make his reckoning with the woman’s husband. And I returned over the wall for the eggs and chupatties and the hen, finding them where I hid them, though an egg was broken where a fool in search of me had set his heel on it, leaving nine.

  “I did up the food in the bundle of clothes, hung the kettle to my belt, and, with the knife held ready, set forth to find your honours, praising Allah, who is Lord of virtue, and my friend. Lo, sahibs, here I am, by Allah’s favour! Yet not without a happening on the way. Not by any means.

  “I set forth. To myself I laughed because the man whose wife had served my purpose is a cuckold, who shall learn it at the proper time and eat shame, and be shot when he picks a quarrel with me. None the less, I wa
s filled with regret because the shaveling I had promised I would bring lay dreading the dawn and the woman’s husband. Allah put a thought into my heart. Lo, consider how He works to preserve His friends! A miracle! It crossed my mind that the shaveling would gladly come away with me, for great fear of the woman’s husband. I turned back, minded to regain the village on the upward side where his house is. So I chose another trail, and as I turned along it, by the grace of the Most High, I heard footsteps!

  “There was a clank of knives and rifles, and the heavy tread of men returning with a night’s loot. I lay behind a rock, and soon I saw moonlight shining on the faces of three men — that woman’s husband one of them. Had I not turned back when Allah put the thought into my heart, it had been I on whom the moon shone! Your honours would not have breakfasted! They had three rifles each, and clothing and some bandoliers, and what not else. I let them pass, though it burned my heart not to possess at least one rifle.

  “When their backs were toward me I set forth again, abandoning hope of the shaveling, but praising Allah, who had brought the fool to mind. And I reached unseen the corner where your honor had befriended me. But the fight was over and I heard stray rifle-shots beyond the sangar; and after considering a while I guessed that your honours’ great valour and cunning had put Kangra Khan to fight. So I approached the sangar and found only dead men lying there.

  “The women had been busy. Women are women, sahibs. The dead were in many pieces, and as for loot, the thieves — may Allah curse them! — had left not so much as a button or a finger-ring. But they had left their own stores unguarded, so I helped myself. Thereafter I went to the watch-tower, where the sacred well is, minded to drink a little of the water that protects a man against red-sickness and the bullets of a foe, inshallah.

  “Sahibs, may the Lord of all forget me if I lie! I was half-way down the ladder when I jumped at one leap to the top! This heart of mine, that is a man’s and beats in one place sturdily, remained there! When I reached the summit it overtook me, and returned into my bosom with a thump, causing every hair of my body to wriggle like a worm! Mashallah! Did a voice from the well not speak to me? And am I the wind or the water, that I should hear such a marvel and not feel terrified? Nay, by Allah, I was flesh, and very nearly decomposed!