Doc Ardan: The Troglodytes of Mount Everest

by Guy d'Armen

  “I knew it!” said a loud voice suddenly coming out of the darkness.

  It was Alexandroff and six of his Cossacks.

  “I knew you were a traitor, Chernov! When I assigned you to guard the prisoners, it was a trap to test your loyalty—and you fell right into it!”

  “You’re the traitor, Alexandroff!” shouted Chernov. “And you’re a bandit—a murderer!”

  “Take him away,” ordered the Chekist, “and fetch Ivan.”

  Ardan tried to beg for mercy for Chernov, but Alexandroff only laughed:

  “Shut up! You’ll watch his punishment. Let that be a lesson for you, thief!”

  They were taken to a small area, brightly lit by torches; a dais had been set up in the middle, with three chairs on it. The two prisoners were tied into two of these, while Alexandroff sat in the middle chair.

  “Christ between the two thieves,” he laughed.

  The unfortunate Chernov was dragged by two Cossacks and forced to kneel before the dais. Then two men brought a copper basin filled with water. They set up a fire beneath the basin and, when the water was boiling, one of them dropped two handfuls of salt in it.

  In the meantime, another Cossack—a true colossus—had come out, holding a willow stick, which he plunged into the boiling salt water.

  Then, Ivan—for it was he—began to whip the back of the unfortunate Chernov, whose shirt had been removed by the other two Cossacks.

  “For his punishment, he will receive a hundred blows,” explained Alexandroff, “but I doubt he’ll survive more than sixty.”

  After fifteen blows, Chernov’s back had turned into a bleeding wound. The poor man’s cries had turned into a long, continuous death howl that froze the blood in Ardan’s veins.

  “More strength with your blows, Ivan,” shouted Alexandroff. “Are you trying to spare this vermin? Stronger, or you’ll be next!”

  Ivan redoubled his efforts, and Chernov mercifully passed out, then died.

  “You can stop now,” ordered the Chekist. “No point in beating a corpse. Still, take him and tie him to a tree outside. If he ever wakes up, it’ll be in the afterlife! Ha! Ha!”

  He then turned to Ardan.

  “Your turn now. I heard back from my boss, who told me to do as I thought best. So here is what I decided. Your companion is a Tartar You probably abused her naivety, so her life will be spared, but I’ll keep her here to work at the camp,” he said with a leer that left no doubt as to what kind of “work” he meant. “As for you,” he continued, “you said you were looking for copper. I could make you ingest paper-thin sheets of copper; the Chinese are known to have killed people by forcing them to swallow gold leaves. But we have neither gold nor copper, so the mode of your execution will have to be simpler: you’ll be sown into a canvas bag and at dawn, we’ll throw you into the Yenisei River!”

  CHAPTER XIV

  Into the Yenisei

  Ardan let no emotion show on his face as he and Suleyma were taken back to the cave. He did not want to give the sadistic Alexandroff the satisfaction of seeing him beg for his life.

  The thought that the young woman would soon become the Chekists’ plaything bothered him more than the prospect of being put to death.

  He knew that, at that point in its course, the Yenisei river was full of rapids and fast current that would make escaping his fate nearly impossible. Also, he couldn’t reasonably hope that another of Alexandroff’s men would betray his boss to try to save him.

  This time, it truly seemed as if there was no escape.

  He searched every inch of the cave, and luck smiled on him. He found an old knife that might have been left by a previous prisoner, who had used it to carve his name on the rock, perhaps hoping that news of his fate would someday reach his loved ones. It was the first time since he had been disarmed by the Kunghuz that he held a weapon in his hand.

  The knife alone was not enough to enable him to escape—there were too many Chekists and he had to think of Suleyma—but it could mean the difference between life and death later.

  He lay down and slept restfully, until he was brutally awakened at 6 a.m.—just as the first rays of dawn had begun to shine outside—by two burly Chekists.

  “Wakey, wakey! Or have you forgotten that today is the day of your baptism ceremony?” joked one of them.

  “No, I certainly have not,” replied Ardan coldly.

  “He is a brave one,” said the other Chekist. “You’d be worthy of joining our band.”

  But Ardan remained silent.

  He stepped outside and was immediately surrounded by a bunch of men, one of which carried the bag inside which he was to be sown.

  They put him on a horse and rode east for twenty minutes. They eventually reached a rocky promontory that overlooked the Yenisei. It stood about thirty feet above the raging waters and its top could be reached by climbing a narrow mossy path.

  Two men took Ardan by the arms and led him to the top. The view of the frothing emerald waters rushing down from the snowy peaks and towards the vast plains that lay ahead gave him a shiver.

  The first Chekist, who had wakened him up, noticed it.

  “Ah! You’re not so brave now! But you’re in luck: the waters are warming up now, and besides, you won’t live very long... Step into the bag, now!”

  Without waiting for the young man to obey, the two Chekists shoved him into the bag and sowed the opening shut while making a few abominable jokes.

  Then, the colossal Ivan, who had come along, grabbed the bag and, in a prodigious display of strength lifted it over his head and threw it with a mighty effort into the river below.

  When Ardan hit the water, there was a six-foot high splash, then the river closed upon its latest victim.

  “Bon voyage, Frenchman!” laughed one of the Chekists.

  “The sturgeons will be pleased; food is scarce after the winter.”

  “Let’s get back to the camp and report to Alexandroff,” said a third one.

  During these dramatic minutes, Ardan, however, had not lost his calm.

  When Ivan had lifted him above his head, he had grabbed the knife that he had previously hidden under his shirt, tucked in his belt. Then he had taken a big breath of air.

  When he hit the water, he sank like a stone but had quickly sliced the bag with the knife. Then he had swam ashore, taking care to remain underwater so not to be seen, and aiming to come up just under the promontory, where he would be invisible to those above.

  There, he clung to some roots and waited for the noise of the departing Chekists to abate.

  Where he was, the banks of the river were steep, and virtually impossible to climb. Seeing a tree trunk floating on the water drifting his way, Ardan decided to grab it and look for a safer place to land.

  Clutching the wood with all his strength, he let himself be carried away by the current.

  After a short while, he noticed that the waters were becoming more tumultuous and heavy black clouds had just appeared to the north. A storm was brewing, that would make the Yenisei even more difficult to navigate.

  Fifteen minutes later, strong winds began to blow towards the south, raising waves to more than three feet.

  Ardan knew that he had to get ashore quickly if he wished to remain safe, but it was impossible to stop the rushing tree trunk carried along by ever faster currents.

  He tried to steer the trunk with his legs, but without any results. He was no more than a piece of cork shaken and tossed around by the river.

  He had no choice but to wait for better conditions, such as a sand bank; in the meantime, he slunk down against the tree and hugged it closely, to avoid being shaken loose or offering a bigger target to other debris being carried along by the river.

  Several times, he was almost forced to let go, but knew that if he did, he would likely drown, so managed each time to cling to the tree.

  Suddenly, just ahead, he saw a vision that terrified him.

  About a hundred yards away, a mass of wood and o
ther debris seemed to be caught in some kind of whirlpool, turning and twisting at frightful speed.

  There was nothing Ardan could do to escape that new peril, and in a matter of seconds, he, too, still clutching his tree, was trapped in the whirlpool. He then realized that the cause of the whirlpool was a sudden influx of new water coming from a smaller affluent of the Yenisei, and the whirlpool was located at the point the two streams of water merged into one.

  It seemed as if no power on Earth or in Heaven could save him. As he approached the center of the deadly whirlpool, he anticipated being dragged underwater to either drown or be crushed by the massive flux of debris polluting the river.

  Suddenly, at the very moment when he thought everything was lost, he felt something catch one of his ankles, just as was desperately trying to push the tree in the opposite direction, or at least slow it down its rush towards doom.

  It was as if he was a fish hooked by some invisible fisherman. Indeed, when he turned his head to look at his foot, he saw that it had been caught in a snare, and someone, on the bank, was pulling him out of the water.

  The pressure on his ankle was painful, but he did everything to help his would-be rescuer to drag him smoothly towards the shore. Despite all his efforts, he could not escape swallowing mouthfuls of water, and he was hit several times by floating debris, including once in the face.

  By the time his body came to rest on a small, pebbly beach, he was severely groggy. In a daze, he saw a man—a Tartar—approach him with a flask, bend over and help him take a few sips of alcohol.

  Ardan sat up and looked at his rescuer. His face was kind and exhibited none of the savagery of the Kunguz he had met earlier.

  The man explained he was a fisherman from a local village. He had seen the young man come by, clutching the dead tree, and had understood his predicament at once. He had fashioned one of his lines into a makeshift lasso and had thus succeeded in saving Ardan’s life.

  The fisherman asked Ardan what had brought him into such dire peril; the young man felt it prudent to not tell him about his misadventures with the Kunghuz and the Chekists, and claimed to be an herbalist looking for gin-seng who had been fishing, but whose boat had capsized because of the recent storm.

  That explanation was accepted without reservation; Ardan thanked the fisherman again, and left, saying he now needed to find his boat and his supplies—if he could.

  In reality, he was eager to try and save Suleyma and was already coming up with several possible plans to rescue the young woman.

  Ardan walked upriver for a few miles, then stopped and hid when he saw a rider appear in the distance.

  He had been right to be cautious because, as the man got nearer, Ardan recognized him: it was Ivan, one of the Cossacks who was part of Alexandroff’s Chekist brigade.

  The rider stopped his horse, got off, sat on a heap of dirt and lit his pipe. He was obviously either looking or waiting for something or someone, but the young man had no idea what.

  The only clue to the Chekist’s presence in this place was that there as a trail nearby that, judging from the many tracks in the mud, appeared to be much frequented.

  Ardan decided to ignore the matter and to concentrate on how to disable the Chekist. He had seen that the horse carried a rifle and the man himself was armed with two pistols. With these, and the horse, he had a chance to rescue Suleyma.

  But unfortunately, he was himself weaponless, having dropped the old knife he had found in the cave after slicing the bag in order to swim and catch the tree trunk.

  To defeat Ivan was going to require stealth—and luck.

  CHAPTER XV

  A Dramatic Rescue

  Ardan started crawling very slowly towards Ivan, making sure to never lose the cover of the tall grass which hid his body. He also made a wide circle in preparation to tackling the man from behind.

  Eventually, he reached a place where the grass stopped, about three feet away from his target. From there, he would have to chance rushing the Chekist out in the open.

  Ivan would hear him coming, but would he have enough time to defend himself effectively? Also, could Ardan hope to subdue him without weapons?

  The young man studied his intended victim carefully. Ivan was much stronger than he, so tackling him in a fair fight was risky at best, and his life wasn’t the only one at stake; he had to think of Suleyma!

  Ardan noted that the Chekist had a long dagger tucked in his belt, the blade of which was slightly protruding from the scabbard.

  If only I can seize that dagger... thought the young man.

  This looked like his best hope.

  Slowly and silently, Ardan stood up. His enemy, who had his back turned to him, and was still watching the road, neither saw nor heard him.

  Quick as lightning, Ardan jumped forward.

  Ivan turned around—but too late!

  The young man grabbed the dagger, pulled it out of the scabbard, and, in one swift move, buried it into his chest. Being a medical doctor, Ardan knew exactly where to strike and Ivan died without having the time to realize what was going on.

  Ivan, the merciless executioner, was dead. The poor Russian, who had tried to help Ardan and Suleyma, had been avenged!

  Despite his elation, Ardan felt inside him that although Ivan undoubtedly deserved death a thousand times, this was not the right kind of punishment. And he made a promise to himself to someday develop some better means to deal with, and perhaps even redeem, criminals such as he.

  The young man then rolled his enemy’s body into the river, where the current soon swept it away. He then inventoried the contents of the horse’s saddlebags and found himself in possession of a rifle in addition to the two pistols and the dagger he had taken from Ivan, as well as a tin cup and a small petrol lighter in excellent condition.

  Ardan climbed onto the horse and started at a mild gallop. He didn’t know how far he had been carried by the river and his plan was to follow it upstream until he recognized the location from which the Chekists had thrown him into the water.

  It took him the rest of the day to reach the promontory which he had been forced to climb. Night was coming and the grumblings of his stomach told him he was hungry.

  Ardan tied the horse to a tree and started hunting for something to eat. He soon found wild geese and ducks nesting amongst the tall reeds on the river bank. He decided to not shoot them, as the sound of gunfire might attract the Chekists’ attention, but plunder their nests for eggs.

  As he stepped into the shallow water in order to gain access to the sand bank where the birds were flocking, he felt the ground slide beneath his feet.

  He had unwarily stepped into a bog of quicksand!

  He tried to pull himself out, struggling with all his might, but it only made the situation worse. In a matter of minutes, the voracious sand had reached his waist.

  He felt beads of sweat pearl on his forehead, and cursed himself for his carelessness. He knew the stories of people swallowed up by quicksand, whose bodies were never found.

  The only way out was to lay down and literally swim out of the quicksand. Fortunately he was still able to lean forward and slowly pull his legs up behind him so that he would offer a much larger and flatter object to the sand’s attraction.

  Once he was flat on his stomach, he crawled forward like a swimmer doing a butterfly stroke and, after much effort and an agonizing time, he finally reached the sand bank.

  There, he gathered as many eggs as he could carry and, this time testing the ground beneath his feet, managed to regain the riverbank without any more surprises.

  Ardan collected some dried grass and leaves and made a fire. He boiled the eggs in the tin cup and had an excellent dinner.

  He then slept, but only for a few hours, because his plan to free Suleyma relied on his using the cover of darkness.

  Ardan woke up around midnight. The sky was clear and the visibility excellent. Using his prodigious recall, it was child’s play for him to retrace the journey he h
ad been forced to make with his would-be executioners, until he reached the Chekists’ fort, half an hour later.

  All was silent.

  He carefully approached the fort, which looked empty. Indeed, as he cautiously stepped inside, careful to remain hidden in the shadows, he found traces of a fire with embers still glowing, which led him to believe the Chekists must have left soon before his arrival. Needless to say, Suleyma was nowhere to be seen.

  Ardan swore under his breath.

  He had no choice but try to track the bandits. After examining the ground carefully, he found a set of fresh tracks leading into a forest. His sense of orientation told him that the road that Ivan had been watching was likely to continue south and pass on the other side of that hill, and he theorized that the burly Cossack may have been sent to act as a lookout, to alert the Chekists to the presence of a convoy or some kind of transport that they were probably planning to attack.

  This meant that he had to act quickly, before Alexandroff noticed Ivan’s absence. He decided to trust his horse, which seemed to be familiar with the trail taken by the Chekists.

  Fifteen minutes later, he spotted the Cossacks gathered in clearing not far from the main road, around a hastily set up campfire. This time, he saw Suleyma who had been tied on the back of a horse.

  He approached on foot, very slowly and silently, to spy on his enemies first.

  “Maybe we were wrong to throw the Frenchman into the river,” a Cossack was saying. “We could have held him for ransom.”

  “You’re a bad Communist, Dimitri,” grumbled Alexandroff. “He was only another capitalist pig. He deserved his fate.”

  “Still, the French are rich...”

  “So will you be, after we plunder that Chinese caravan en route for Urga. No more pointless talk!”

  Now fully cognizant of his enemies’ numbers and location, Ardan returned to his horse and grabbed the rifle. It was a Colt revolving rifle with a fully loaded five round cylinder.

  Mounting his horse, the young man rode silently to just about thirty yards away from the clearing; then spurring his mount, he started at neck-breaking speed towards the spot where Suleyma’s horse was tied up. Once there, he stood up on his stirrups and shot five times.