Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  Drake felt a beaded rim of sweat break on his forehead. This certainly wasn’t according to plan. These advancing Nubians hardly looked like messengers from Tana.

  “Ali Baba!” he hissed.

  “What is it?” Ali Baba whispered.

  “Take a peek over the top. I think we’re in for trouble.”

  Dimly he saw Ali Baba’s head emerge from the top of the barrel and he heard the sudden, sharp intake of his breath.

  “Allah aid us! We have been betrayed!”

  Ali Baba’s hoarse whisper sent a chill racing down Drake’s spine.

  The next instant Ali Baba sprang from the barrel, gleaming sword in hand.

  “Arise, my men!” he shouted. “We have been tricked. The Caliph’s guards are here. Slay the great brutes. Arise, men, and fight!”

  There were astounded shouts from Ali Baba’s men and a great roar from the Nubians as they rushed forward, swinging their great scimitars with vicious, destructive strokes.

  Drake leaped from his barrel and was almost decapitated on the spot by the swishing stroke of a gleaming blade. He ducked low and the knife cut air with a vicious screech, not an inch above his head.

  He drove his knee into the groin of the huge black and heard the man gasp in pain. Still crouched, he smashed two hard blows into the black’s stomach that were backed with every atom of his weight and strength.

  The giant fell backward, crying out in a stricken voice and sobbing for breath. His great blade dropped to the floor with a clatter.

  A hand grasped his arm and Ali Baba’s voice was in his ear.

  “Come with me. It is useless to stay and fight. We have not a chance.”

  Drake glanced quickly down the line of fighting, struggling men and he saw that what Ali Baba said was true. Most of his men had been caught without a chance. Before they could climb from the barrels and free their arms, the giant blacks were upon them, slaying them mercilessly with their slashing scimitars. Those who had managed to get out of the barrels were being helplessly forced backward by the superior weight and numbers of their giant adversaries.

  A BLACK entered from a doorway carrying a huge flaming torch, and instantly the wild scene was bathed with flickering, ghostly illumination.

  And by that illumination Drake saw Tana enter and regard the massacre with cold hard eyes. She wore a great crimson cloak and with her white cruel face, fathomless eyes and gleaming black hair, thrown into relief by the flaming torch, she looked like the wife of Satan.

  She stood in the doorway, a slim, cold, unmoved figure, watching the savage carnage with a hard, mocking smile on her face, and a flicker of ironic amusement in her deep eyes.

  And Drake knew then who the traitor had been; but he didn’t know why this cold terrible woman had betrayed them.

  Ali Baba tugged at his arm again.

  “Follow me!” he cried. “It is death to stay.”

  Drake needed no more urging.

  He darted after Ali Baba toward another door. He heard Tana’s cold voice rise over the tumult, and a glance over his shoulder showed two of the blacks charging after them, eating the ground with their giant strides.

  Ali Baba tugged frantically at the door.

  “It is stuck!” he gasped. “Allah save us! We are lost.”

  “Keep trying,” Drake snapped. He wheeled to face the three charging giants. He knew he would stand no chance of saving himself from death, but even a second’s delay might give Ali Baba a chance.

  He ducked the first savage blow of the leading giant and dove at the man’s legs. His hip struck the black’s knees squarely and the huge creature sprawled forward, his own momentum and weight smashing him to the floor with bone-shattering force. The second guard tried to check his speed and, failing, sprawled over the prostrate form of his companion.

  Drake was numb from the waist down because of the terrific impact. He tried to crawl to his feet, but before he could even get to his knees, the blacks had regained their feet with the agility of great cats and were upon him—bearing him to the floor under their weight.

  They seized his wrists and jerked him to his feet. He didn’t bother to struggle. In their terrible hands he was helpless as a baby.

  One of the blacks raised his fist and brought it down against his temple and all sound and light faded from his brain into a morass of blackness . . .

  CHAPTER VIII

  WHEN Drake felt consciousness filtering back to him he was first conscious of a terrible ache in his head, and then a dragging bumping sensation as if he were being hauled between two horses over a bumpy road.

  He opened his eyes and when he was able to focus them he realized that he was in the grip of the two Nubians who had captured him and was being dragged across the rough floor of the storeroom.

  The blacks carried him through an open door, across the drafty black courtyard, and finally, after an interminable trip through the mazes of the palace they halted at the great golden doors which he remembered led to the Caliph’s throne room.

  The gates were swung back and the guards started forward again, dragging him unceremoniously across the luxurious marble floor of the throne room and finally releasing him before the great throne of Zinidad. Drake almost collapsed when they took their hands from him, but he forced himself to straighten and stand erect before the throne.

  Zinidad was sprawled on his great silken pillow, regarding him with wrathful expectancy. At his side stood Tana, tall, proud, cold, her white face as devoid of emotion as a marble statue.

  “Drake!” a soft, anxious voice beside him said. “Are you all right? Look at me, please!”

  Drake turned his aching head with an effort. Sharon was standing at one side, several feet away. He noticed dully that her arms were bound behind her back. She wore a long, flowing white gown buckled at her waist, and her hair fell to her bare shoulders in disarray. Her face and eyes were anxious.

  “Please,” she said again, “are you all right, darling?”

  “I guess so,” Drake muttered. He shook his head and some of the cobwebs disappeared. “I feel all right.”

  “That is fine.” Zinidad interrupted their conversation with a soft chuckle. “I am very glad you are feeling all right. I am glad both of you feel all right, because in a little while you will not be feeling so good. You will know then how unwise it is to cross the kind Caliph, Zinidad.” He turned and smiled affectionately at Tana. “If it had not been for my little Tana your clever plot might have succeeded. But Tana is loyal; Tana is grateful for the many things I have done for her. And I will not forget this new evidence of her loyalty.”

  Tana inclined her head slowly.

  “I am happy serving you, O generous Caliph.”

  Drake understood then the reason behind Tana’s betrayal. She had never intended to sponsor a genuine revolt against the Caliph. She had simply engineered one and then, by informing Zinidad of what was to happen, had earned his undying gratitude. She had sacrificed Ali Baba, his men, and Sharon and him, so that she gained again a position of influence close to the Caliph.

  And it looked as if her clever, ruthless plan had succeeded completely.

  DRAKE looked at her with blazing contempt. She returned his gaze calmly, mockingly with the merest hint of a scornful smile at the edges of her thin, curving lips.

  “I am surprised at my little story teller,” Zinidad said sadly, regarding Sharon and wagging his fat head slowly. “I did not think she would join my enemies to betray me.” He pursed his soft, lecherous lips and smiled gently. “As much as it pains me, I must see that you share the same fate as the others.” He turned languidly to Drake. “And you, my clever friend, I must ask you where the thieving scoundrel Ali Baba is.”

  This was the first indication Drake had that Ali Baba had escaped.

  “I don’t know where he is,” he said. “We will find him wherever he is,” Zinidad murmured. “And now you two unfortunate people must pay for your crimes.” He clapped his soft hands together. “Take them to our p
leasant torture chamber and make them comfortable,” he said to the guards who stepped to Drake’s side. “But,” he added, with a roguish shake of his finger, “don’t be too hasty with the procedure. We want our guests to enjoy themselves for several days.”

  The guards bowed impassively, took Drake’s arms in their huge hands and led him toward the door. Sharon followed behind him, escorted by two more guards . . .

  DRAKE and Sharon were led to a room deep in the bowels of the palace, which, judging from the unpleasant looking instruments and racks that adorned the place, was used as the Caliph’s private torture chamber.

  They were shackled to walls, hands above their heads, facing each other about eight feet apart. The guards withdrew then, closing and locking the heavy, barred door after them.

  The position was not particularly uncomfortable, but, Drake realized it would become very monotonous as the hours passed.

  “This looks like the end,” he said bitterly. “We haven’t got a chance of getting out, now.” He tugged desperately, futilely, at the iron gyves that secured his wrists. “It’s no use. I don’t give a damn about myself, but thinking about you almost drives me out of my head.”

  “Let’s don’t give up yet,” Sharon said. “Something may turn up yet. And stop worrying about me.” She threw her shining red hair back from her forehead with a toss of her head. “I’m not going to give them any satisfaction.”

  “That’s the spirit, honey,” Drake said. He was silent a moment, thinking of Tana. “That witch!” he finally said explosively. “She certainly sold us down the river in neat style.”

  “It’s too bad it happened just when it did,” Sharon said moodily. “I had the Caliph right under my thumb. He was so intrigued with the stories I told him that he was willing to do anything for me. If Tana hadn’t turned rat on us I might have talked him into letting us go.”

  “Well, there’d still be the problem of getting back to our own time,” Drake said. “The wizard, Humai, controls the time machine and he was getting ready to use it himself to get away from the Caliph. I wonder if he’s gone yet.”

  “No, he’s still around,” Sharon said. “I’ve seen him several times. He was very respectful to me because he knew I was the Caliph’s favorite.” She smiled ruefully. “Queen for a day, that’s me.”

  The bolts on the heavy door suddenly rasped; Drake glanced warningly at Sharon.

  The door swung open and Tana, tall, cold and imperious, walked into the room and faced them, her thin face hard and expressionless. The door closed behind her.

  She flicked her eyes from Sharon to Drake; a mocking smile touched her lips.

  “Comfortable?” she asked, amusement in her voice.

  “As comfortable as possible,” Drake said, “considering the company.”

  TANA glared angrily at him, her reserve shattered for an instant. She breathed hard and spots of color touched her pale cheeks.

  “You won’t be quite so spirited in a few more hours,” she said harshly.

  “Is that what you came here to tell us?” Drake asked sarcastically.

  Tana smiled. “As a matter of fact, no. I came here again to bargain with you. You are in even a worse position now than you were on the first occasion.”

  “But I have the benefit of experience,” Drake said. “I know that bargaining with you is a profitless business. Whatever the deal, the answer is no.”

  “A pity,” Tana said calmly. “I was prepared to help, not you but the girl, for your cooperation, but since you are obstinate—” She shrugged and moved toward the door.

  “Wait a minute,” Drake said quickly. “I’ll do whatever I can if it will help Sharon.”

  Tana turned back, smiling mockingly.

  “I shouldn’t give you another chance,” she said, “but I am preparing to be merciful. For information concerning the whereabouts of Ali Baba I will see to it that the girl dies quickly.”

  “But I don’t know where he is,” Drake said desperately.

  “You must do better than that,” Tana said. “You and he attempted to escape together. You were caught; he got away. You must have an idea where he was going.”

  “I swear I don’t,” Drake said. “He grabbed me by the arm and led me to the door. I haven’t the faintest idea what he had in mind.”

  Tana shrugged.

  “Obviously then we can’t bargain. I would have been willing to spare the girl the unpleasantness of being tortured to death, but since you can’t help me I have no recourse but to order the royal torturers to proceed.”

  She was standing with her back to a large, massive pillar and as she turned to leave a brown arm appeared from behind the pillar, whipped swiftly about her throat and closed inexorably.

  Tana’s reaction was instinctive and ferocious. Every muscle in her lithe, steel-strong body contracted in a wild effort to break the strangling pressure of the arm against her throat.

  Drake’s heart pounded with a sudden hope as he watched the woman’s frantic struggle.

  Her face reddened and her eyes bulged horribly. Her mouth opened like a wide, red wound as she fought to draw breath into her laboring lungs.

  But her struggles were futile. The arm tightened slowly and finally her body slumped with the suddennes of a taut wire snapping.

  FROM behind the pillar stepped a lean, wiry man with brown face and snapping dark eyes. He released his arm from Tana’s throat and stretched her on the floor.

  He looked up then and smiled at Drake.

  “I did not forget you my friend,” he said.

  “Ali Baba!” Drake cried incredulously. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  Ali Baba looked reproachful.

  “I do not forget my friends,” he said. He glanced down at Tana’s still form and his face darkened. “Or my enemies.”

  He crossed to Drake quickly and unscrewed the gyves that held his wrists. Drake then, with Ali Baba’s help, released Sharon. She massaged her arms gratefully.

  “What now?” Drake asked tensely. “We’re free, but that’s about all.” He glanced at the still figure on the floor. “Is she—dead?”

  Ali Baba shrugged. “Probably not. She is tough and hard.” He chuckled grimly. “But when the Caliph’s men find her here and it is learned that you have escaped,” he grinned wickedly, “the Caliph will certainly make her wish that, she had never been born.”

  “But how are we to get out?” Drake asked. “The doors are well guarded.”

  “Trust me,” Ali Baba said. “I know another manner of leaving. We will be safe in my cave in another six hours, I can promise you that.”

  “No, we can’t go with you,” Drake said. “We’ve got to find Humai, the wizard, and get back to our own time. Can you help us do that?”

  Ali Baba looked dubious.

  “I can try,” he said. “But let us hurry. His chambers are on the other side of the castle.”

  The approach to Humai’s laboratory was well guarded, but Sharon walked confidently and boldly and the soldiers, who apparently did not know that she had fallen from the Caliph’s favor, bowed deferentially to her with elaborate salaams.

  The wizard was peering into a great emerald ball when they entered his smoky chambers. He was wearing a long white gown, marked with the signs of the zodiac. Steaming beakers filled the high-domed room with aromatic gases and in the midst of these swirling vapors Humai appeared as a fat, smiling gnome.

  He regarded them with a cheerful, benign smile.

  “What an honor,” he said, rubbing his pink hands together. He bowed to Sharon. “I trust you are well and happy?”

  Drake realized that Humai probably didn’t know of recent developments between Sharon and the Caliph. He still thought of her as the Caliph’s favorite. That one fact might save them all.

  “We’re quite well,” Drake answered. “We are here at the orders of the Caliph. He wishes that Sharon be sent back to her own time.”

  HUMAI peered at them, blinking good-naturedly.

>   “Is our Caliph so tired already of his little story teller?” he inquired mildly.

  “His reasons are his own,” Drake said, “and none of our business. But speed is important.”

  “Of course,” Humai murmured. “But we must wait until I talk to the Caliph. There are several things I must ascertain before I can send his story teller back to her own time.” He smiled gently. “How do I know the Caliph wishes her to leave?”

  “You have our word on that,” Drake said.

  “That, I am sorry, is not sufficient,” Humai said.

  “Why do we waste words with the fat fool?” Ali Baba said disgustedly. “Treat rogues like rogues and saints like saints has always been my credo.”

  He grabbed Humai by the front of his cloak and jerked him forward. A knife appeared magically in his other hand and its gleaming point grazed the wizard’s pink neck.

  “Do you need more persuasion?” he growled.

  Humai’s fat face was the color of chalk. His loose lips sagged foolishly and his eyes were wide with terror.

  “Please,” he gasped weakly, “take the knife away. I will do as you wish.”

  “That’s better,” Ali Baba said.

  “I can’t send all of you,” Humai said, breathing a little more easily. “I can send you at the same time, but you will arrive a year apart in the future. My device is graded only at yearly intervals.”

  “That’ll have to do,” Drake said. He turned to Sharon. “You first, honey. And get to the State Department as fast as you can when you get to Washington. Remember, don’t waste a second!” He kissed her suddenly. Wait for me, darling. It will only be a year.”

  “I’ll wait,” Sharon said. She smiled mistily. “If you don’t show up I’m coming back to get you. And remember, I’m a gal who keeps her word. I never told a story in my life.”

  “That’s right,” Drake said. “But—” He stopped abruptly and stared at her, a smile breaking on his face. A dozen facts fitted suddenly together in his mind forming a complete and definite pattern. He started to laugh. “The hell you didn’t!” he said. You’re the greatest story-teller of all time. Why, hell, honey, you’re Scheherazade!”