Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  “My God!” groaned the babu. “This is nth impersonation of bad business. In that get-up Charley sahib will exist five minutes — if, perhaps! They will detect him with shut eyes, and beat him to death with lathies!”

  “I fooled all of you except the oxen,” Charley retorted. “Say: what’s the rajah doing anyway? There was talking in one of those elephant stalls. The rajah rode off less than five minutes ago, leading the horse you lent Strange; and he’s left a gang of three men sitting like stuffed idols right next door to where I’ve got the stuff cached. Beards — bald heads — lots of white cotton clothes — might be Hindu bishops at a board-meeting.”

  “Gad! That’s quick!” said Ommony.

  Chullunder Ghose rolled off his perch in front of the cart and hurried to the rear, where Ommony was sitting on the tail.

  “Sahib! Listen! This babu is Codlin, same being friend, not Short! Short is rajah! Atheistic apostate! Too much money is as wine in empty head. This babu knows! That rajah demanded from priests’ reinstatement in circle of sanctified orthodoxy.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Self was intermediary! Self conveyed to him retort discourteous from contemptuous ecclesiastics. Exacerbated rajah now seeks double-cross for all concerned, you, me, and priests included! What is betting? I bet rajah now sends telegram inviting central government to intervene! All is up now! Better leave U.S. plutocrat to stew in juices of annoyed administration! Let us establish alibi!”

  The babu’s panic spread to Charley and Zelmira, both of whom began to fear instantly, if vaguely, on Ommony’s account. He had admitted more than once that a false step would imply the end of his career.

  “What if he does send a telegram?” Zelmira asked excitedly.

  “It will either confirm mine or contradict it. In either case the Government will send Sir William Molyneux, who’ll bring a padre with him! You drive back with Charley to the palace. Charley, I’ll meet you in the tool-hut sometime between now and to-morrow morning. Come on, Chullunder Ghose.”

  “Oh, all inscrutability, what next?” the babu grumbled. But Charley Wear jumped up and took the bullocks’ tails. The cart bumped forward, and the babu was left standing in the dark with Ommony, who called out a final warning:

  “Remember, you’re deaf and dumb, Charley! If you speak, you’ll give the whole game away!”

  Deafness and dumbness had begun. There was no answer. Ommony took the babu by the arm and started leading him toward the rear of the building where Charley had cached his things.

  “Go in and talk to the priests. I’ll go one way; you go the other and make lots of noise; give me a chance to get into the next stall without being heard. You talk, and I’ll listen. Be sure you talk loud enough. When it’s time to bring me a message from them, come out noisily to cover my retreat, and I’ll meet you here. You understand?”

  “I understand. But sahib, am impoverished babu without—”

  “Without any hope of being paid by me! You may leave me to manage this alone, if you’d rather.”

  “Is idealism always eleemosynary?”

  “Always!”

  “Hence materialistic tendency of world, no doubt! An idealist, nevertheless. Sahib, my salaams!”

  The babu waddled off, remembering the order to go noisily, kicking at stones and unchecked rambling vines, singing a song to himself about the love of Krishna, darling of the Gopis, idol of the dreaming maids. In less than five minutes Ommony was squatting cross-legged in impenetrable shadow under an old brick arch, fearful of scorpions, but absolutely still, and listening to secrets in the language of the Gods next door.

  “I ask blessing. I kiss feet. Holiest of fathers, this unworthy babu abjectly salaams. Pray pardon intrusion. Only reverence and devoted attachment to your honours’ interest brings these humble feet to threshold of divinity. This miserable babu found the Englishman, whose name is Ommony, and having with such skill as he possesses tempted the unclean foreigner into conversation, hopes now to render acceptable service with much humility!”

  The answer to that overture was proud and curt.

  “Did you warn the fool to keep his hands off?”

  “No use warning him! Moreover, worshipfuls, the unclean fellow pursues same object as your heavenborn selves. Great wrath obsesses him. He is indignant that the other unclean rogue should buy this place that has been rendered blessed by your honours’ claim to it. I think I could persuade him to give artful assistance in support of the heavenborns’ divinely inspired intentions.”

  “What would he hope to gain by that?”

  “Nothing. He is personally essence of unthriftiness. Idealism, much mistaken doubtless since he is alien ignoramus, burns in his unclean bosom. And he fears lest the other brute, who has bought the Panch Mahal, may aquire the forest too. More-over, he knows the rajah may not be trusted. I think he would eagerly subserve your honours’ interests rather than be defeated by the other two.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At a little distance, cudgelling his brains.”

  “He who allies himself with fools must eat the offal of their folly!”

  “True, most worshipfuls. Yet this babu is not a fool. A humble person, totally unworthy to stand in the heavenborn presence, but endowed by the Creators with an intellect. In this babu’s unworthy hands, that foreign ignoramus might be trusted.”

  “We make no bargains with such people!”

  “Nay! But with this subservient babu as go-between, much might be managed.”

  There was whispering, which the babu may have heard, but Ommony did not. Then:

  “Let no offer of alliance seem to come from us. There is no treaty — no contract — no given undertaking. Go to him and find out what he wishes. Then report to us again.”

  The babu backed away, making such a noisy protest of his reverence and full obedience, and stumbling so awkwardly over a heap of fallen bricks, that Ommony had no trouble at all to escape unheard. There was no risk of being seen. The Indian night had shut down like a black dome pierced with diamonds. He and Chullunder Ghose met again in the road where they had parted company.

  “Offering advice to sahibs is like touching high-tension wire with monkey-wrench,” said the babu.

  “Nevertheless, your advice is?”

  “Ahsti! Steady the Buffs, by Krishna! Keep priests waiting! Likewise lord of dollars in Panch Mahal, where loneliness roars like lions! Let us sit down. Smoke a pipe, sahib!”

  So they sat, in mid-road, face to face, each able to watch half of the mysterious horizon; and Ommony smoked a whole pipe out before he offered a suggestion. Then:

  “Why was the last rajah — this man’s uncle — allowed by the priests to use the Panch Mahal undisturbed?” he asked.

  “Because he submitted to initiation, thus acknowledging the priests as superior to himself, and virtual landlords,” said the babu.

  “And this man?”

  “Would like to be initiated; but is such religious apostate and renegade that the priests will have nothing to do with him. He has applied, but they refuse, suspecting he would only turn tables on them, thereafter setting people against them, instead of their making a monkey of him on all public occasions, as now happens. Oh, yes, invariably.”

  “Is there any other reason why this rajah has had to keep his hands off the Panch Mahal?”

  “No other reason, sahib. First he tried to live in it with many women. They say that two women went mad, and one killed herself.”

  “How was that done?”

  “Apparitions! Thefts! Noises in the night! Flesh creeps to think of same! Tunnels! Accomplices can accomplish. Dur — r — rrh! Have heard tales.”

  “They plan, of course, to treat Strange the same way?”

  “Why not?”

  “Have they started on him?”

  “They are not here for nothing.”

  Ommony chuckled, and then thought of Jeff Ramsden, which made him chuckle more.

  “There’ll be heads broke
n,” he said; and the babu twitched his bare toes in the sand, comprehending disadvantages.

  “Not good,” he remarked.

  “Excellent!” corrected Ommony. “Strange’s nerves will be on end, and the priests will reconsider agenda. Both sides will need advice and assistance. That’s where we some in.”

  “Self being sahib’s co-conspirator!”

  The babu preened himself. Every atom in his being seemed to tingle with pride at the thought. He leaned forward, laying a finger on Ommony’s knee by way of celebrating partnership. But what he was starting to say died stillborn.

  “Get away from here! Go and scheme for the other side,” said Ommony, seizing the upper hand instantly, at any cost. He knew his babu.

  “Betray me all you want to. I’ll manage this alone.”

  “This babu is mud beneath sahib’s feet! Am co-nothing — but coincidence! Am subventitious aspirant for eleemosynary service! My excruciated salaams! Only send me not away!”

  “Keep your proper place, then! Now: go to the priests, and suggest to them something like this: They’re not really owners of this Panch Mahal, but they’re as good as owners if they can haze the life-tenant into a proper attitude toward them. Isn’t that the idea?”

  “Core of the belly of truth, sahib! Most explicit!”

  “There’s nothing religious about it — nothing Brahminical.”

  “Rather the contrary. Initiation has always been most scandalous. There are tales—”

  “Never mind. Why not initiate Strange? Suggest that to them.”

  “Tee-hee!” The babu’s fat sides began to shake. “Tee — hee! Has the sahib ever witnessed an — hee-hee! — initiation?”

  “I’ve been told. We might get it modified.”

  “Tee-hee-hee! Temple nautch-girls! Mu-mu-moderation! Tee-hee!”

  “Suggest it to the priests. Meet me here later. I’ll see Strange.”

  “Khee-hee-hee! Salaam, sahib! Oh, my ribs! Dee-licious, very! Genius! My God, yes! oh, hah-a-hah! Kuh-scuse it, sahib, please! your humble servant! He-hee-hee-hee-hee! I go, I go, I go — no, no, no — no kick! I—”

  The babu waddled off, aheave with irrepressible emotion. What Ommony had only heard of, he had seen. His great bulk shook as long as he was in sight; he almost seemed to be dancing as the darkness swallowed him, and the hugeness of his amusement gave Ommony pause. He would hardly be willing, even for the forest’s sake, to overdo the scandal. He decided to commit the priests, and then interview them personally. However, Strange first.

  He went and hammered on the wooden gate until it shook and the arch above it echoed; then waited several minutes. No answer, so he beat again. Then he heard Jeff’s heavy footstep approaching, and gave another knock or two.

  “That’s enough!” Jeff roared in Urdu. “If I have to open that gate I’ll loose off both barrels at you! Go to the devil, and leave that gate alone!”

  “This is Ommony.”

  “Oh!” The bolts began to rattle. “Sorry, old man. Come in.”

  Jeff stood in pyjamas and bare feet, with the shotgun ready cocked.

  “I meant business!” he announced gruffly. “Strange is nearly off his head with rage. Did you hear me shoot ten minutes ago?”

  “No.”

  “This place swallows noise and shoots it out in the way deep mines do,” Jeff grumbled. “We thought you’d hear the shot ‘way off down the road and come back.”

  “What did you fire at?”

  “Lord knows! There! Look at that damned thing!”

  They were under the arch, looking inward across the first courtyard, where Zelmira had sat in a god’s lap. Across the court on the far side was a verandah covered by a tiled roof, and above that were rows of shuttered windows. Along the tiles there crawled, or seemed to crawl, a thing like a snake, thirty or forty feet long, moving itself in corkscrew coils, and glowing as if drenched in phosphorus. It had eyes, for they shone and were moving; and it was solid, or semi-solid, for the tiles were invisible through it. Jeff raised the shotgun and fired twice. The pellets rattled on the roof and brought a loose tile away, but nothing else happened. The thing like a snake continued on its way, and disappeared — it seemed into the wall at the far end of the roof.

  “Have you seen that before?” asked Ommony.

  “No, that’s a new one.”

  “What else have you seen?

  “The thing I fired at looked like a naked fakir dancing in a corner of the big assembly-room, when Strange and I were trying to get some sleep. The crittur had horns and a beard like a goat’s.”

  “Did you hit him?”

  “You bet I did! But he didn’t even trouble to stop dancing till I started across the room. Then he disappeared. There isn’t a hole in the floor or the wall thereabouts.”

  “How does your servant like it?”

  “Bolted! Can’t find him anywhere.”

  Strange, in pyjamas too, came to the wide door of the assembly-room, that opened on the courtyard.

  “Have you caught someone?” he shouted.

  “Ommony!”

  “Huh! Are you responsible for this?” He came to meet Ommony barefooted, looking more than half-inclined to hit him. “If I catch the imbecile who’s playing these tricks, I’ll jail him or know why!”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Jeff advised quietly. “Let’s see if Ommony can explain it.”

  They entered the assembly-room and sat on Strange’s cot. It was a huge place, like a modern theatre, without seats or stage, but with rows of columns down either side supporting a wide balcony, which was grilled up to the ceiling, so that women could watch unseen whatever might transpire below. The other furniture consisted of gilded, upholstered divans, and six tall mirrors in panels against the wall at the farther end.

  Strange started to speak, but as he opened his mouth foreknowledge of something about to happen checked him. It was the sort of silence that precedes a bomb explosion, and his mouth stayed open wide.

  Suddenly, three times repeated, a breeze several degrees cooler than the surrounding atmosphere struck them in the face. There was a sound like the flapping of a punkah — even the squeak of the cord through a hole in a wall that pulled it — but no punkah visible. The wind was real, for it blew the lamp out.

  Then, through the ensuing darkness, came a scream that chilled the marrow of the listeners’ bones. It increased and waned in spasms. They could almost see a rack being tightened in jerks, and a woman stretched between the rollers.

  “I’m going to kill someone!” Jeff announced, and struck a match. A breath of wind blew instantly. He struck another.

  By its light they saw a headless corpse hung by one leg, apparently from a hook between two mirrors on the wall that faced them. And between the next two mirrors was the corpseless head, hung by a nail driven into the mouth, and seeming to have been pulled off, for there were shreds of flesh and sinew hanging down from it. The match burned Jeff’s fingers. He swore, dropped it and struck another. The corpse and the head were gone. But again came the cool wind, and the scream of atrocious agony. There were no Words to it. It was pain and fear beyond the power of speech.

  “Good God!” Strange exploded. “What kind of place is this anyhow?”

  Ommony found the lamp, relit it, and sat down. By its light Jeff exchanged the shotgun for a rifle. The breeze blew out the lamp, and there was silence, broken only by a click as Jeff tested the breech-bolt action in the dark. Then new horror, unseen, unheard at first, and indescribable, but there; some sort of presence, and a musky smell. Presently footfalls, slow, irregular, and almost too secretive for the ear to catch.

  Ommony sniffed twice. “Tiger!” he said curtly. There was no sound from Jeff. He was ready.

  “My God! A tiger in here? Strike a match!” said Strange, groping vainly for the pockets of his suit on the chair beside him.

  “Shut up!” Ommony commanded, sotto voce.

  “No matches!” Jeff growled. “You’ll dazzle me.”

  The
cot creaked under his weight as he leaned forward, peering along the rifle-barrel. The creak was too much for Strange’s nerves. He jumped off the cot, upsetting Ommony, and seized the chair, the only weapon within reach, then stepped back until he felt the wall behind him.

  “Now, by God, I can defend myself!” he gasped.

  Ommony lay still. Jeff never moved, bent forward, peering along the rifle-barrel. They could hear the soft footfalls more distinctly, as if a beast were exploring the floor in widening arcs.

  Then a tiger coughed. That was unmistakable. Jeff’s rifle belched light — twice — three times, with a din that filled the place and drowned the answering snarl.

  “Got him!” he said.

  “You fool, you’ve — Jesus! Here he is!”

  A leg cracked off the chair as Strange raised it and struck the wall behind. Then he hit something with a thud that shivered the chair to pieces, and groped for the cot, backwards. The backs of his knees touched it, and he collapsed, lying still, with his knees curled up under his chin. Ommony, down on the floor, struck a match at last.

  “I thought I got him,” Jeff said pleasantly. “See twice. The first one missed, but the flash showed his eyes.”

  A big male tiger lay within a yard of where Strange had stood — shot twice through the lungs. Blood flowed from the open mouth. The claws were extended in his effort to struggle close and slay before life left him.

  “Stone dead,” said Ommony. Then the match went out.

  “Don’t light the lamp yet,” Jeff whispered.

  There were decencies to be attended to, best managed in the dark. He groped for Strange and shook him by the arm.

  “Come on,” he said, “you’re all right.”

  Strange sat up, trembling, grateful for Jeff’s strong grip on his arm.

  “Just nerves, that’s all,” Jeff said quietly. “You did well for us. When you moved you startled him. He coughed, and that gave me the cue.”

  “But I hit him with a chair! I broke a chair on him!” Strange stammered.

  “I know you did. Are you all right now? Light the lamp, old man.”

  Ommony lit the lamp and held it so that the yellow glow shone full on the tiger, and the stripes appeared to move a little as the flame danced in the chimney.