Guns of the Gods

T >> Talbot Mundy >> Guns of the Gods

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"I'm so hungry! Oh, I'm hungry! Did you bring the food?"

"I'm ashamed!" Tess answered. "The man set it down outside the
door and I left it there."

But Yasmini gave a little shrill of delight, and Tess turned to see that
another maid had brought it.

"How many of you are there?"

"Five."

"Thank heaven! I've brought enough for a square meal for a dozen."

"We have eaten a little, little bit each day of the servants' rice, washing
it first for hours, until today, when two of the servants were taken sick
and we thought perhaps their food was poisoned too. Oh, we're hungry!"

Hasamurti, Yasmini's maid, opened the basket on the floor and crowed
aloud. Tess apologized.

"I knew nothing about the caste restrictions, but I've put in meat jelly--
and bread--and fruit--and rice--and nuts--and milk--and tea--and wine--
and sugar--"

Yasmini laughed.

"I am as Western as I choose to be, and only pretend to caste when
I see fit. My maids do as I do, or they seek another mistress. Come!"

Hasamurti would have spread a banquet there on the floor, but Yasmini
led them up-stairs, holding Tess by the hand, turning to the right at the
stairhead into a room all cream and golden, lighted by hanging lamps
that shone through disks of colored glass. There she pulled Tess
down beside her on to a great soft divan and they all ate together, the
maids munching their share while they served their mistress. They
devoured the milk, and left the wine, eating, all things considered,
astonishingly moderately.

"Now we ought all to go to sleep," announced Yasmini, yawning, and
then bubbling with delighted laughter at the expression of Tess's face.
"The people outside might wait!"

"Great heavens, child. Do you suppose I can stay here indefinitely?"
Tess demanded. "I must be gone in an hour or my husband will
murder the guard and force an entrance!"

"I will have just such a husband soon," announced Yasmini. "When I
send him one little word, he will cut the throats of thirty men and come
to me through flames! Let us try your husband," she added as an
afterthought--then laughed again at Tess's expression of dissent,
and nodded.

"I, too, will be careful how I risk my husband! Men are but moths in a
woman's hands--fragile--but the good ones are precious. Besides,
we have no time tonight for sport. I must escape."

Evidently Tess was causing her exquisite amusement. The thought
of being an accomplice in any such adventure stirred all her Yankee
common sense to its depths, and she had none of the Eastern trick
of not displaying her emotions.

"Nonsense, child! Let me go to the commissioner and warn him that
you are being starved to death in this place. I will threaten him with
public scandal if he doesn't put an end to it at once."

"Pouf!" laughed Yasmini. "Samson sahib would make a nice clumsy
accomplice! He would send me to Calcutta, where I should be poisoned
sooner or later for a certainty, because Gungadhura would send agents
to attend to that. They would wait months and months for their opportunity,
and I can not always stay awake. Meanwhile Samson sahib would
claim praise from his government, and they would put some more initials
at the end of his name, and promote him to a bigger district with more pay.
No! Samson sahib shall have another district surely, but even he in
his conceit will not consider it promotion! There will not be room for
Samson sahib in Sialpore when I am maharanee!"

"You maharanee? It was you yourself who told me that Gungadhura
has lots of children, who all stand between you and the throne. Do
you mean--?"

Again the bell-like laugh announced utter enjoyment of Tess's bewilderment.

"No, I will kill nobody. I will not even send snakes in a basket to Gungadhura.
That scorpion shall sting himself to death if he sees fit, with a ring of
the fire of ridicule all about him and no friends to console him, and no
hope--nothing but disappointment and fear and rage! I will kill nobody.
Yet I will be maharanee within the month!"

Suddenly she grew deadly serious, her young face darkening as the
sky does when a quick cloud hides the sun.

"What is your husband's contract with Gungadhura? May he dig for
gold anywhere? He is digging now, isn't he, close to the British fort
on the 'island' in our territory--that fort with the flagstaff on it that can
be seen from Gungadhura's roof? He is wasting time!"

"He has found a little vein of gold," said Tess, "that will likely lead to a
bigger vein."

"He is wasting time! Sita Ram, who has a compass, and who knows
all that goes on in Samson sahib's office, sent me word that the little
vein of gold runs nearly due north. In another week at the rate the men
are digging your husband will be under the fort. That is English territory.
The English have nothing to do with Gungadhura's contract. They will
take the gold your husband finds and give him nothing. Then Samson
sahib would be considered a most excellent commissioner and would
surely get promotion! Pouf!"

"Perhaps my husband can make a separate bargain with the English."

"Pouf! Samson sahib is an idiot, but he is not fool enough to give away
what would be in his hands already! I myself, hidden beneath your
window, heard him give you clear warning on that point! No, there must
be another plan. Your husband must dig elsewhere."

"But, my dear, Gungadhura knows already that my husband has found
a 'leader.' He is all worked up about it, and goes every day to watch
the progress."

"Surely--knowing as well as I do that the vein is leading toward the fort.
He goes afterward to the priests, and prays that the vein of gold may
turn another way and save him from bankruptcy! Listen? I speak truth!
I speak to you woman to woman--womb to womb! I will count myself
accursed, and will let a cobra bite me if I tell you now one word that is
not true! Do you believe I am going to tell you the truth?"

Tess nodded. Yasmini, by her own admission, would lie deliberately
when that suited her; but the truth tells itself, as it were, and there is
no mistaking it, except by such as lie invariably, of whom there is a
multifarious host.

"If your husband continues digging near the fort he will get nothing,
because the English will take it all. If he digs in a certain other place
he will get a very great fortune!"

"But, my dear, supposing that is quite true, how shall he convince
Gungadhura, after all the outlay and expense of the present operations,
that it's best to abandon them and begin all over again in another place?"

Yasmini lay back on the cushions, drew something out from under one
of them, and laughed softly, as if enjoying a deep underflow of
secret information.

"Gungadhura himself shall insist on it!"

"What? On starting again in a new place?"

Yasmini nodded.

"Only do as I say, and Gungadhura himself shall insist."

"What do you wish me to do?"

Tess was beginning to feel alarmed again. She knew to a rupee how
much Gungadhura had been obliged to pay out for the digging. To
make herself
responsible even in degree for the abandonment of all that outlay would
be risky, even if no other construction could be placed on it.

"Has Tom Tripe been told to search your house?"

"Yes, so he says."

"Do you know the cellar of your house?"

"Yes."

"It is dark. Are you afraid to go there?"

"No. Why?"

"Is there a flat stone in a corner of the cellar floor that once had a ring
in it but the ring is broken out?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then Sita Ram did not lie to me. Take this." She gave her a
little silver tube, capped at either end and sealed heavily with wax.
"There is a writing inside it--done in Persian. Hide that under the stone,
and let Tom Tripe search the cellar and find it there; but forbid him
to remove it."

"If I only knew what you are driving at!" said Tess with a wry smile.

A clumsier conspirator might have lost the game at that point by
over-emphasis, for Tess was wavering between point-blank refusal
and delay that would give her time to consult her husband. But Yasmini,
even at that age, was adept at feeling her way nicely. Again she lay
back on the cushion, and this time lit a cigarette, smoking lazily.

"The stake that I am playing for--the stake that I shall surely win," she
said after a minute, "is too big to be risked. If you are afraid, let us
forget all that I have said. Let us be friends and nothing more."

Tess did not answer. She recognized the appeal to her own pride,
and ignored it. What she was thinking of was Gungadhura's beastliness--
his attempts to poison Yasmini--his treatment of women generally--
his cruelty to animals in the arena--his viciousness; and then, of how
much more queenly if nothing else, this girl would likely be than ever
Gungadhura could be kingly. It was tempting enough to have a hand
in substituting Yasmini for Gungadhura on the throne of Sialpore if the
chance of doing it were real.

Yasmini seemed able to read her thoughts, or at all events to guess them.

"When I am maharanee," she said, "there will be an end of Gungadhura's
swinishness. Moreover, promises will all be kept, unwritten ones as
well as written. Gungadhura's contracts will be carried out. Do you
believe me?"

"Yes, I think I believe that."

"Let Tom Tripe find that silver tube in your cellar then. But listen! When
Gungadhura comes to your husband and insists on digging elsewhere,
let your husband bargain like a huckster! Let him at first refuse. It may
be that Gungadhura will let him continue where he digs, and will himself
send men to start digging in the other place. In that case, well and good."

"I would prefer that, said Tess. "My husband is a mining engineer.
I think he would hate to abandon a true lead for a whim of some one's else."

Yasmini's bright eyes gleamed intelligence. She was only learning in
those days to bend people to her own imperious will and to use others'
virtues for own ends as readily as their vices. She recognized the
necessity of yielding to Tess's compunctions, more than suspecting
that Dick Blaine would color his own views pretty much to suit his wife's
in any case. And with a lightning ability peculiar to her she saw how to
improve her own plan by yielding.

"That is settled, then," she said lazily. "Your husband shall continue to
dig near the fort, if he so wishes. But let him show Samson sahib some
specimens of the gold--how little it is--how feeble--how uncertain. Be
sure he does that, please. That will be the end of Gungadhura. And
now it is time to escape from here, and for you to help me."

Tess resigned herself to the inevitable. Whatever the consequences,
she was not willing to leave Yasmini to starve or be poisoned.

"I'm ready!" she said. "What's the plan?"

"I shall leave all the maids behind. They have food enough for the
morning. In the morning, after it is known that I have escaped, word
shall be sent to Samson sahib that the women in this palace have
nothing but poisoned food to eat. He must beard Gungadhura about
that or lose his own standing with the English."

"But how will you escape?"

"Nay, that is not the difficulty. Your husband and Tom Tripe are waiting
with the carriage. My part is easy. This is the problem: how will you
follow me?"

"I don't understand."

"I must wear your clothes. In the dark I shall get past the guard, making
believe that I am you."

"Then how shall I manage?"

"You must do as I say. I can contrive it. Come, the maids and I will
make a true Rajputni of you. Only I must study how to walk as you do;
please walk along in front of me--that way--follow Hasamurti through
that door into my room. I will study how you move your feet and shoulders."

Looking back as she followed Hasamurti, Tess witnessed a caricature
of herself that made her laugh until the tears came.

"It is well!" said Yasmini. "This night began in hunger, like the young
moon. Now is laughter without malice. In a few hours will be bright
dawn--and after that, success!"

Chapter Eight

An Elephant Interlude

Watch your step where the elephants sway
Each at a chain at the end of a day,
Hurrumdi-didddlidi-um-di-ay!
Nothing to do but rock and swing,
Clanking an iron picket ring,
Plucking the dust to flirt and fling;
Keep et ceteras out of range,
Anything out of the way or strange
Suits us elephant folk for change -
Various odds and ends appeal
To liven the round of work and meal.
Curious trunks can reach and steal!
Fool with Two-tails if you dare;
Help yourself. But fool, beware!
Whatever results is your affair!
We are the easiest beasts that be,
Gentle and good and affectionate we,
You are the monarchs; we bow the knee,
Big and obese and obedient--um!
Just as long as it suits us--um!
Hurrumti-tiddli-di-um-ti-um!

(Unfortunately at this point Akbar's attention was diverted to another
matter, so the rest of his picket-song goes unrecorded.)

"They're elephants and I'm a soldier. The trouble with you is nerves,
my boy!"

There was brandy in the place that Tom Tripe knew of--brandy and
tobacco and a smell of elephants. Dick Blaine, who scarcely ever
touched strong liquor, having had intimate acquaintance with abuse
of it in Western mining camps, had to sit and endure the spectacle
of Tom's chief weakness, glass after glass of the fiery stuff descending
into a stomach long since rendered insatiable by soldiering on peppery
food in a climate that is no man's friend. He protested a dozen times.

"We may need our wits tonight, Tom. Suppose we both keep sober."

"Man alive, I've been doing this for years. Brandy and brains are the
same in my case. Keep me without it, and by bedtime I'm an invalid.
Give me all I want of it, and I'm a crafty soldier-man."

Dick Blaine refilled his pipe and watched for an opportunity. He had
heard that kind of argument before, and had conquered flood and fire
with the aid of the very men who used it, that being the gift (or whatever
you like to call it) that had made him independent while the others drew
monthly pay in envelopes.

It was a low oblong shed they sat in, with a wide door opening on a side
street within four hundred yards of Yasmini's palace gate. It was
furnished with a table, two chairs and a cot for Tom Tripe's special
use whenever the maharajah's business should happen to keep him
on night duty, his own proper quarters being nearly a mile away.
Alongside the shed was a very rough stable that would accommodate
a horse or two, and the back wall was a mere partition of mud brick,
behind which, under a thatched roof, were tethered some of the maharajah's
elephants. There were two windows in the wall, through which one
could see dimly the great brutes' rumps as they swayed at their pickets
restlessly. The smell came through a broken pane, and every once in
a while the Blaines' horse, standing ready in the shafts outside with a
blanket over him, squealed at it indignantly.

Tom's horse dozed in the rough shed, being used to elephants.

Dick got up once or twice to peer through the window at the brutes.

"Are they tethered fore and aft?" he wondered.

"No," Tom answered. "One hind foot only."

"What's to stop them from turning round and breaking down this rotten wall?"

"Nothing--except that they're elephants. They could break their picket
chains if they were minded to, same as I could break Gungadhura's
head and lose my job. But I won't do it, and nor will they. They're
elephants, and I'm a soldier. The trouble with you is nerves, my boy.
Have some brandy. You're worried about your wife, but I tell you she's
right as a trivet. I'd trust my last chance with that little princess. I've
done it often. Brandy's the stuff to keep your hair on. Have some."

The bottle had only been three parts full. Tom poured out the last of
it and set a stone jorum of rum in readiness on the table over against the wall.

"Wish we had hot water handy," he grumbled.

"Which of the elephants are tethered here?" asked Dick. "That big
one that killed a tiger in the arena the other day?"

"Yes. Did you see that? Akbar was scarcely scratched. Quickest
thing ever I saw--squealed with rage the minute they turned 'stripes'
loose--chased him to the wall--downed him with a forefoot and crushed
him into tiger jelly before you could say British Constitution!"

"I guess that tiger had been kept in a cage too long," said Dick.

"Don't you believe it. He was fighting fit. But they'd given old Akbar
a skinfull of rum, and that turns him into a holy terror. He's quite quiet
other times."

Dick looked at his watch. Tess had been in the palace about three hours,
and he was confident she would come away as soon as possible, if
for no other reason than to put an end to his anxiety. She was likely
to appear at the gate at any minute. At any minute Tom Tripe was likely
to attack the jorum, and if present symptoms went for anything, it would
not take much of it to make him worse than useless. At present he
was growing reminiscent.

"Once old Akbar had a belly-ache and they gave him arrak. They didn't
catch him for two days! He pulled up his picket-stake and lit out for
the horizon, chasing dogs and hens and monkeys and anything else
be could find that annoyed him. Screamed like a locomotive. Horrid sight!"

"Where does this road outside lead to?" asked Dick.

"Don't lead anywhere. Blind alley. Why?"

"Oh, nothing."

Dick was examining the wall between the shed they sat in and the
stable-place next door. It was much stronger than the mud affair between
them and the elephants. Tom Tripe had nearly finished his tumbler-full,
and there was madness in the air that night that made a man take awfully
long chances.

"Do you suppose a man could lose his way in the dark between here
and the palace gate?"

"Not even if he was as drunk as Noah. All he'd have to do 'ud be hold
on to the wall and walk forward. The road turns a corner, but the walls
are all blind and there's no other way but past the palace. You sit here,
though, my boy. No need to try that. Your wife's all right."

"Well, maybe I'd better stay here."

"Sure."

"Do you suppose I could back the dog-cart into the shed where your
horse is? I hardly like to leave my horse standing any longer in the open,
yet he's better in the shafts in case we want him in a hurry."

"Yes, the door's wide enough."

"Then I'll do it."

"Suit yourself. But take some of that rum before you go outside. The
night air's bad for your lungs. Help yourself and pass the bottle, as
the Queen said to the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"All right, I will."

Dick poured a little on his handkerchief, thrust the handkerchief through
the broken pane and waved it violently to spread the smell. It was
cheap, immodest stuff, blatant with its own advertisement. Then he
set the jorum down on the end of the table farthest from the wall, to
the best of his judgment out of reach from the window.

"Come along, Tom," he said then. "Help me with the horse."

"What's your hurry? Take a drink first."

"No, let's take one together afterward."

He took Tom by the shoulder and pushed him to his feet.

"The horse might break away. Come on, man, hurry!"

Over his shoulder Dick could see a long trunk nosing its way gingerly
through the broken pane and searching out the source of the alluring
smell. He pushed Tripe along in front of him, and together they backed
the dog-cart into the stable-place, making a very clumsy business of
it for three reasons: Tom Tripe was none too sober: the horse was
nearly crazy with fear of the uncanny brutes just beyond the wall; and
Dick was in too much hurry for reasons of his own. However, they got
horse and cart in backward, and the door shut before the crash came.

The crash was of a falling mud-brick wall, pushed outward by the shoulders
of a pachyderm that wanted alcohol. The beast had had it out of all
sorts of containers and knew the trick of emptying the last drop. The
jorum was about his usual dose.

About two minutes later, while Dick and Tom Tripe between them held
a horse in intolerable durance between the shafts, and Tom's horse
out of sympathy kicked out at random into every shadow he could reach,
the door and part of the wall of Tom's shed fell outward into the pitch
dark street as Akbar, eleven feet four inches at the shoulder, strode
forward conjecturing what worlds were yet to conquer. The other elephants
stood motionless at their pickets. A terrified mahout emerged through
the debris like a devil from bell's bunkers, calling to his elephant all the
endearing epithets he knew, and cursing him alternately. The horses
grew calmer and submitted to caresses, like children and all creatures
that have intimate contact with strong men; and presently the night grew still.

"D'you suppose that brute swiped my liquor?" wondered Tom Tripe.
"You mind the horses while I look."

But suddenly there was a savage noise of trumpeting up-street, followed
by a bark and a yelp of canine terror.

"God!" swore Tom. "That's Trotters coming to fetch us! Akbar's chasing
him back this way! Hang on to the horse like ten men! I'll go see!"

He was outside before Dick could remonstrate. Between them they
had lashed the dog-cart wheels during the first panic, but even so Dick
had his hands full, as the trumpeting drew nearer and the horse went
into agonies of senseless fear. It was a fight, nothing less, between
thinking man and mere instinctive beast, and eventually Dick threw him
with a trick of the reins about his legs, and knelt on his head to keep
him down. By the grace of the powers of unexpectedness neither shafts
nor harness broke.

Outside in the darkness Tom Tripe peered through brandied eyes at
a great shadow that hunted to and fro a hundred yards away, chasing
something that was quite invisible, and making enough noise about it
to awake the dead.

"Trotters!" he yelled. "Trotters!"

A moment later a smaller shadow came into view at top speed, panting,
chased hotly by the bigger one.

"Trotters! Get back where you came from! Back, d'ye hear me! Back!"

Within ten yards of his master the dog stopped to do his thinking, and
the elephant screamed with a sort of hunter's ecstasy as he closed
on him with a rush. But thought is swift, and obedience good judgment.
The dog doubled of a sudden between Akbar's legs and the elephant
slid on his rump in the futile effort to turn after him--then crashed into
the wall opposite Tripe's dismantled shed--cannoned off it with a grunt
of sheer disgust--and set off up-street, once more in hot pursuit.

"That brute got my good rum, damn him!" said Tom, opening
the stable door. "Hello! Horse down? Any harm done? Right-oh!
We'll soon have him up again. Better hurry now--Trotters came for us."

Chapter Nine

So many look at the color,
So many study design,
Some of 'em squint through a microscope
To judge if the texture is fine.
A few give a thought to the price of the stuff,
Some feel of the heft in the hand,
But once in a while there is one who can smile
And--appraising the lot--understand.
Look out,
When the seemingly sold understand!
All's planned,
For the cook of the stew to be canned
Out o' hand,
When the due to be choused understand!

"It means, the toils are closing in on Gungadhura!"

Within the palace Tess was reveling in vaudeville In the first place,
Yasmini had no Western views on modesty. Whatever her mother
may have taught her in that respect had gone the way of all the other
handicaps she saw fit to throw into the discard, or to retain for use solely
when she saw there was advantage. The East uses dress for ornament,
and understands its use. The veil is for places where men might look
with too bold eyes and covet. Out of sight of privileged men prudery
has no place, and almost no advocates all the way from Peshawar to
Cape Comorin.

And Yasmini had loved dancing since the days when she tottered her
first steps for her mother's and Bubru Singh's delight. Long before
an American converted the Russian Royal Ballet, and the Russian Royal
Ballet in return took all the theatre-going West by storm--scandalizing,
then amazing, then educating bit by bit--Yasmini had developed her
own ideas and brought them by arduous practise to something near
perfection. To that her strength, agility and sinuous grace were largely
due; and she practised no deceptions on herself, but valued all three
qualities for their effect on other people, keeping no light under a bushel.

The consciousness of that night's climactic quality raised her spirits
to the point where they were irrepressible, and she danced her garments
off one by one, using each in turn as a foil for her art until there was
nothing left with which to multiply rhythm and she danced before the
long French mirrors yet more gracefully with nothing on at all.

Getting Tess disrobed was a different matter. She did not own to much
prudery, but the maids' eyes were over-curious. And, lacking, as she
knew she did, Yasmini's ability to justify nakedness by poetry of motion,
she hid behind a curtain and was royally laughed at for her pains. But
she was satisfied to retain that intangible element that is best named
dignity, and let the laughter pass unchallenged. Yasmini, with her Eastern
heritage, could be dignified as well as beautiful as nature made her.
Not so Tess, or at any rate she thought not, and what one thinks is after
all the only gage acceptable.

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