by Harold Lamb
There was something languid and indolent in the aspect of Tala stretched on the silks of the divan; there was indifference and lack of purpose in the slow movements of her eyes.
Her face, under the kohl and crimson stain, was lax. Yet it was young and wistful.
"Allah be good to thee," whispered the youth fervently, glancing anxiously over his shoulder as he spoke. "Thy beauty is like the moon and thy lips are flower petals. Happy the man who owns them!"
Tala stirred, as if trying to arouse herself to consciousness of something forgotten.
"Why am I kept waiting? When will I go forth from here, Hossein?"
"Soon, soon."
"Sometimes I walk on the bottom of the tank and see the stars, Hossein."
"Thine eyes outshine the stars, Tala, little flower-delight of my life."
She put out her thin hand and touched his tunic, and the heart of the thug swelled within his chest.
"Once, Hossein, I thought I heard my father speak-far above. He was crying pardon to Nag for killing a snake that had come out of the tank. Why are there snakes here, and why does not my father, Rawul Singh, come down? He is a brave man."
Hossein moved uneasily, dragging his eyes from the girl's face.
"No one comes where the snakes are, Tala. Soon, inshallah, you will go up to your father. But do not talk of that to him-" Hossein motioned along the passage-"who is yonder."
Lightly he touched the girl's hand and was gone. But at the curtain at the end of the passage his swagger left him and he hesitated, feeling the chit that he grasped in his hand.
"Enter, Hossein," came a voice from behind the curtain.
The youth stepped into a poorly lighted chamber in which the air was very stale and cool. This was of more recent construction than the tank or the recess that was Tala's abode. Sun-dried brick formed the walls, which were bare. A pallet and table occupied one corner and by the table squatted a hunched figure of a man who smoked a hookah.
Into the mobile, handsome face of Hossein came a look of great respect. The man on the rug lifted a hairless face the color of old ivory. His mouth was a slit, and his eyes were very large and prominent.
He held out his hand. Hossein placed in it the letter that had been written by Malcolm.
Although the light from the single candle was dim, the man on the rug seemed to have no difficulty in reading the message. His face did not change as he laid it aside.
"You had no trouble?" he asked in Turki.
"No, jemadar, not at all. Warning reached us from Bhir of the approach of the big buffalo with the message. So we went out from Agra to meet him and persuaded him to read the Koran to us. That was because I played the part of a dead man, and I-"
"Enough of yourself." The man on the rug had a very shrill voice. "What are they doing in Agra?"
"They are talking together and holding council like a lot of old wives at a dewan, jemadar. They have sent couriers to Bhir-the thugs in the village cared for them, of course-and they are worried at the sahib's silence. Cunningham sahib is getting together a detachment of red-coated farangi-"
"When will he come?"
Hossein smiled.
"In a week. Master, your servant took care to learn all that before we left Agra to intercept the messenger from Bhir. Aye, we of the Bhundulkhand band accompanied the khitmatgar of Cunningham sahib into the native bazaar by the Jumna bank. We buried him in the mud. But first we put a sack of hot ashes over his head and beat it until his throat was seared and his lungs were half full-"
"Enough of your deviltries! I care not to hear of them."
"Cunningham sahib comes in a week-as soon as the passage of the rains and the decline of the river make the road fit for his farangi devils. We promised the khitmatgar that we would leave him in peace if he told us. And so we did leave him-under the mud of the river."
"How many soldiers will come?"
"Tenscore of sepoys-may their beards be defiled-and twoscore farangi troopers. Is it true, jemadar, that they breathe fire when they are angry and put a charm on their bullets?"
"Peace, parakeet!" The yellow man rose and Hossein saw that his dingy black cloak hung down to his ankles. The man was very lean, and his bones were small as a child's. Yet the wrinkles in his skin proclaimed him old. "You are very shrewd, Hossein, but you have not yet killed a dozen men and you know naught of the English. When they come they must find the castle of Bhir empty, without a trace of the sahib and his Rajput."
"Is the sahib-magistrate still alive?" Hossein was surprised.
"Ali." The man in the cloak smiled wryly. "It is strange that he is. He survived his first encounter with the idiot of a Rajput who was meant to slay him, and he was warned of the poison in the air of the castle."
"So, the sahib who took your place was not to be frightened away?"
The yellow man frowned, as if he could not understand that fact, and in his frown was something wild and vacant. A gleam of supreme cunning flashed into his dark eyes.
"It is better so. The higher powers, the wisdom of Kali Bhwani, has ordained that the farangi usurper will not die until the revenues he has collected from the district and the countryside beyond Bhir-until all that store of silver and gold is at the castle. Thus will we be rewarded for slaying the man."
Hossein bowed. He was thinking that it would be good booty.
"Within four days will Malcolm sahib have completed the toll and gathered the revenues together," he assented. Then, in an altered voice, "But what of Tala?"
"She will have her part to play when we strike against the sahib."
The man had answered with complete indifference, and Hossein's eyes widened.
"Tala, the Rajput flower, must not be placed in peril! Dom Gion, I will give-"
The breath of the yellow man hissed in the face of the boy. His thin hands clutched at the other's throat and fear leaped into the eyes of Hossein.
"That name!" Dom Gion's voice trembled with rage. "You dare to speak it? Have I not said to you that I am jemadar of the Jumna thugs, and master of Bhir-no more?"
The boy's sturdy strength easily pried loose the lean fingers of his assailant, and at this evidence of his own power Hossein's fear was displaced by a veiled cunning. He watched the old man as a dog will eye a snake about to strike.
"To no one else have I said your name," he responded smoothly. "Am I not your servant?"
Under the mask of complaisance he was measuring the old man's intelligence and craft as a strong young wolf of the pack will study the strength of the old leader. Dom Gion was jemadar-chief-of the Jumna band of half a thousand thugs; Hossein was the most youthful of the bhutotes-stranglers.
Dom Gion held the mastery of Bhir in his hand; he took toll of the wealth of its merchants, yet he gave wealth of merchandise to them-merchandise that was the spoil of the thugs' bands upon the highway.
And the countryside held him in fear as being a demon incarnate. This was because Dom Gion, who took pains not to let them see him face to face, talked to himself in a tongue that they did not know, and because the snakes of the ruins were friendly to him. Likewise his wisdom was more than theirs.
"Come, come," snarled the old man. "Indeed you are my servant and the bonds of thuggi hold you. The vengeance of Kali would blast you and bar you from paradise did you lift hand against me, or the thugs, your comrades. Go, and bring report to me when the revenues are complete. Think not of Tala. She is not for you."
Hossein departed, outwardly humble, yet as he went he cast a sidelong glance at the form of the girl sleeping upon the divan.
And, sleepless himself, he paced the jungle paths for many hours that night, his desire hot in his veins and his brain in a tumult. Hossein had taken from life what he coveted, and now he longed to possess Tala, who was ordained for other things by the master of the thugs.
While Hossein walked the jungle Dom Gion retired to his closet behind his bed. There, it was said by the thugs who waited on him, he prayed to his image of Kali, and after pray
ing he often came forth in the form of a snake to glide among their feet and listen to what they said. And as proof of this they pointed out that Dom Gion, the jemadar, had no fear of snakes, nor had the cobras any dread of him.
But there was no image in the closet. Layer upon layer were placed squares of gold bullion and boxes of silver. Jade statuettes-spoil from itinerant Chinese caravans in Kashmir-jeweled rings and gems taken from inlaid weapons-for Dom Gion wore no weapon himself-strings of pearl that had been on the throats of women of Rajasthan before they were strangled to death-all in all the treasure of Dom Gion was a goodly store. And with the treasure were many dusty lease deeds made out on his behalf.
He knew every item of it. Although the closet in the rock was almost dark, he lifted necklaces of pearls and touched the shimmering balls gently with his fingertips. For Dom Gion was a miser.
Long residence in the half-light of underground had accustomed his eyes to the dark. In large measure he had the ability of animals of the cat family to see in the night.
Because of this, and knowing the plan of the castle as he did, it was possible for him to stalk the two occupants, Malcolm and Rawul Singh, without being cornered.
Dom Gion had not slain them with his own hands because there were two of them and he feared both and they were always together.
On the wall of the closet was a painting done by an Indian artist of a harsh-featured Portuguese merchant. It was clad in the fashion of a century ago. It was, in fact, the grandfather of Dom Gion, who had taken the daughter of the village potail to wife.
And in one of the chests was a firman, or deed, made out to his grandfather to trade in the district of Bhir. Dom Gion-as he was called, after his father-glanced at the parchment and smiled.
V
"Thou seest, Rawul Singh," said John Malcolm, "that all signs point to our friend the demon being a half-caste. I think he is more native than white even though he wears a cloak that has the seeming of a priest's garb."
"The gods know."
"A man of mixed blood always bears in his heart a grievance against the white man. And in the tale of the khitmatgar of Cunningham sahib it was related that the demon of Bhir was kin to the daughter of the village potail. In Agra I made inquiries among the traders of the bazaar and they knew of a Portuguese who owned the district of Bhir during the last war with the English, three generations ago. So this man of Bhir, knowing that his authority over the district is not lawful and nursing his own enmity against my countrymen-he is the one we have to deal with. And I believe that the thugs serve him."
Malcolm frowned into the fire. It was full moonlight without the castle and the wind was damp with the passing of a heavy rain. The two sat close to the embers, muskets at their sides. The collection of the revenues had been completed that day and Malcolm had hidden the money in the wall not three feet away, having removed a stone on the inside to make a niche for it.
It was a sorry treasury, he reflected, and, harassed and spied upon, he was a sorry figure of a king's magistrate. Nevertheless the money was there, the surveys and census completed, and-he and Rawul Singh still held the castle.
"It is the part of wisdom to study thy enemy, Rawul Singh," he nodded, puffing at his long clay pipe. "Now," he went on in English, "I'm not liking this quiet. We are watched. I don't think my chit bearer got through."
"Sahib," observed the Rajput suddenly, "it is in my mind that Tala is near us. Last night my ears heard her song, not so far away. Yet her voice was altered and I could not be sure-fearing a trick I dared not leave thee."
The Scot's eyes grew moody.
"That's a score we must settle," he thought. "This poor chap is waiting for me to give his daughter back to him and I'm blessed if I can see any way to it. We've learned that she is not in the village, nor in the farming districts. God grant she isn't dead."
"If it was a trick," the Rajput pursued the tenor of his thoughts, "it means that our enemies are girding themselves for fight. Aye, it was a warning, perchance. They will only attack us openly when all other ways are proved useless. Aye, they fear that the noise of our muskets and the sight of fighting in the castle-which can be seen plainly from across the Jumna-would bring down retribution from the farangis on their heads."
Malcolm nodded.
"So," he added, "they will try to get rid of us secretly. Aye, we will not be fools enough to leave our fortress. We have food and we will wait until they come, or Cunningham sahib comes."
"As the gods will-it may be that Tala will come, for she is near."
Rawul Singh glanced at the jungle. Malcolm sahib, he thought, might have escaped weeks ago from Bhir. But the farangi was a man without fear. Now it was too late; the net had closed around them, the wiles of the demon of Bhir would be loosed on them secretly so that no word would spread around the countryside that the men of Bhir had slain a sahib. It would be done inevitably as Powell sahib had been disposed of, and the other.
And now, leaning forward the better to listen to the noises of the night, he touched Malcolm on the arm.
"Danger is at hand," he whispered, "for men are coming up the path from the village.
Soon Malcolm noticed what Rawul Singh had observed-a muffled clamor on the highway beneath them. And presently he made out torches advancing up the trail to the castle. The patter of naked feet sounded in the jungle.
He leaned forward to light his pipe with an ember from the fire.
VI
That night the chief of the village had announced that there would be a tamasha at Bhir castle.
Word had been passed about the bazaar and the outlying districts by the chief's servants that the tamasha would be a very fine one-in celebration of the good harvest that had been gathered in. The leading men of the village, the visitors in Bhir, and the merchants would see a delightful buffoonery.
There would be fiddles and comedy-men and-the devout Muhammadans said it under their breath-a beautiful katchani, a dancing-girl.
All this would be for the pleasure of Malcolm sahib. So said the servants of the village chief. Yet he sent no word to Malcolm. Above all he was insistent that none of his friends should carry weapons, except perhaps knives that could not be seen.
Whereupon the men of Bhir began to gather in the bazaar and with them were the visitor traders, many of them acquaintances, it seemed, of Hossein, for they spoke with him in the alleys and nodded understandingly.
Another order of the chief was that none of their women should accompany them. This, in a Moslem community, was deemed quite fitting. When the slaves and the merchants of Bhir were in motion toward the castle Hossein vanished from the cavalcade.
The young thug slipped aside into a cattle path and ran swiftly up the slope to the castle, picking his way easily in the bright moonlight. Avoiding the bulk of the castle, he threaded the jungle to the side of the old tank that peered up at him from its malevolent shadow.
Here Hossein went more cautiously, keeping an eye out for the giant cobras that lived in the ruin. He did not meet any, however, nor did a sentinel of Dom Gion challenge him. Somewhat surprised, he felt his way into the corridor, calling softly:
"Tala, Tala! It is I, Hossein. I am come as I promised."
Finding that only silence answered him, he knelt, striking steel upon flint and kindling tinder taken from his girdle. Lighting a candle, he surveyed the chamber that had been the prison of the Rajput girl for the past two months.
It was empty.
Hossein muttered under his breath and ran into the quarters of the Portuguese half-caste. He knew that if Tala was absent, Dom Gion must be gone from his room. The jemadar had not loved Tala as Hossein loved her. Rather, Dom Gion had cherished her as he might a favorite snake, as if he were keeping her for some object other than his own desire. Hossein had made sure of this by jealous watching.
Moreover, that afternoon he had found opportunity to whisper to the girl that while the thugs and the men of Bhir were at the castle and the tamasha was in progress he would ta
ke her away, on his horse, from Bhir to Agra where she would have comfortable quarters and jewels and rich silk garments.
It was a risk, but the thug did not weigh that against possession of Tala.
Hossein had mustered up courage to do this. Had he not strangled the boy that had been Tala's brother with his own hand by order of Dom Gion, unknown to her? Had his men not driven away the cattle and sold them in another village? And slain Cheetoo?
This, according to the strict laws of the thugs, gave him a claim upon the woman that Dom Gion had taken for himself. Desire to possess the girl had decided him at last to risk flight from Bhir. Was he not strong and young? True, it was only when under the influence of the bhang that Dom Gion plied her with, that Tala spoke kindly to Hossein. But he fancied that the use of the drug had dulled her memory of her father, and that if he took her from Bhir, she would turn to him.
As for the Rajput, Hossein had no apprehension. Dom Gion would take care of Rawul Singh and Malcolm sahib as well.
But now the nest was empty and the bird had flown. Hossein's dark face twisted with the hot anger of the young Moslem whose desires are his fulfillment of life and whose enmities are his religion. He strode into the chamber of Dom Gion, peering about vindictively, and fearing that the half-caste had harmed the girl.
But the room with the cot was empty. Hossein's eye fell on the curtain that veiled the closet and temptation surged into his breast. No one other than the jemadar knew what was within there. He would look within and see the god to which Dom Gion prayed-a god that was all-powerful, since its servant was all-powerful in Bhir.
Very cautiously he parted the curtain, fearing the snakes that Dom Gion said were there. He saw no snake nor any image of Kali. Instead, Hossein glimpsed vast loot. He had not known that his master, who assumed the aspect of poverty, had treasured so much of the spoils of thuggi.
It did not occur to Hossein to rob his master as he might easily have done. It is one of the ethics of thuggi that the spoils of each member of the clan are inviolate.