The Road to Samarcand

by Patrick O'Brian

  “Yes, just about seven li should do it.”

  “The next thing to do is to disable the new machine-guns and the bombs. Do you know what pattern they are?”

  “I am afraid I do not—these things are quite outside my province. But I have the blue-prints here, if they would be any use to you.”

  “That will be as good as seeing the actual machines,” said Ross, unfolding the plans. “Derrick, keep an eye open through the crack of the door.”

  Ross, who knew more about machinery than all the rest of them put together, looked closely at the plans. “They have got some important new ideas here,” he said. “Any government would give a pretty penny to see these plans. I dare say they are trying them out here as a test under war conditions. We’ll keep these. Look here, Professor, do you see this locking-pin? And this tension nut above it? If you loosen these thoroughly, the gun will jam after the first few rounds, and in all likelihood the whole thing will explode, blowing the gun and the gunner to—to wherever Communist bandits go.”

  “I see,” said the Professor, poring over the blue-print. “This object is to be loosened, and this nut also. Turned to the left, I take it? Derrick, you had better inspect the plan too, in case I make a mistake. I recall that I did so once, with a plan of a mechanical excavator. It buried the foreman and seventeen undergraduates, as well as the umbrella of my colleague Bloom. He was disproportionately vexed: he said that the umbrella had belonged to his father, the expert on Middle European Hebrew symbolism, you know, and——”

  “Forgive me if I interrupt, Professor,” said Sullivan, “but what about the bombs?”

  “What bombs? Oh, yes, the bombs. Dear me, I was almost forgetting the bombs. Here is a full description of them. Nasty, ugly, dangerous machines, in my opinion.”

  “This is a cinch,” said Sullivan. “You see the variable fuse, Ross?”

  “Yes. Set that to zero and they’ll blow every man-jack to pieces the minute he tries to use them.”

  “It’s a cinch,” repeated Sullivan. “Look, Professor, you must unscrew the cap here, and set the marker to the figure nought. Then put on the cap again and leave the bombs strictly alone. In no circumstances touch this pin, or you will be blown up.”

  “Oh,” said the Professor, uncertainly. “Blown up?”

  “Blown right up sky high, so have a care.”

  “I will, I assure you. This is the pin that is not to be touched. Derrick, come and look at this pin, and if you see me touching it, remind me that I should not touch it, then walk—no, run—quickly off.”

  Derrick was looking at the plan, and Ross was pointing out the vital pin, when Dimitri Mihailovitch walked silently in. He saw the blue-print in Ross’s hands, and an expression of intense suspicion shot across his ugly face. He swung to Professor Ayrton and opened his mouth to speak, but Sullivan had been gliding sideways through the shadow towards him, and before a sound came out of his mouth Sullivan leapt on him, covering his face with a large and powerful hand. There was a momentary struggle: the Russian was bent violently back; they heard a strangled cry, a crack like the breaking of a stick, and Sullivan put the inert body gently down.

  “I’m afraid I had to break his neck,” said Sullivan. “If he had fired that would have been the end of us all.”

  “That complicates things,” remarked Ross quietly, pocketing the Russian’s revolver.

  Derrick was tough: he had seen death before: but now he felt pale and sick with horror. The Professor could hardly speak.

  “Take a drink,” ordered Sullivan, passing the vodka.

  “You must excuse my agitation,” said the Professor in a trembling voice, wiping his spectacles nervously. “I am unused to . . . dear me . . .” his voice trailed off into silence.

  “Now, to continue,” said Sullivan, “when you have done those things, you will have to remain with Shun Chi’s army until they reach the gorge in the hills, or they will get suspicious. You must keep on the extreme right, and at the first shot you lie down dead. We will have men there and ready to take care of you.”

  Ross suddenly looked at him with a question in his eyes.

  “Yes. We’ll be there,” said Sullivan. “We are going to tie you up, Professor, and take your clothes and the Russian’s. Derrick will have two horses ready untied behind. When we have been gone an hour Derrick will come in and find you tied up and will give the alarm. There will be no suspicion of a plot with this dead Russian here. Then you will arrange the machine-guns and the bombs. Repeat what you have to do.”

  The Professor was correct in every detail.

  “Derrick,” said Sullivan, after a moment’s thought, “give me the bearings of the camp again. Right: that’s plain. As a precaution you must send Li Han off with the message as well. Now is everything clear? Good. Then I’ll trouble you for your clothes, Professor, and the blue-prints. Derrick, get the horses ready. Do not stand by them—walk clean away, and come back here to give the alarm in one hour. Got it? Right. Professor, I am going to jam this gag into your mouth, so if there is anything that is not quite clear, say it now.”

  “I have it all plain in my mind,” said the Professor. “Good luck and God-speed.” He opened his mouth for the gag, and lay still while they bound him.

  “Go on, Derrick,” said his uncle, softly, patting him on the shoulder, “you can take it, can’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Derrick. “Good luck.”

  He sauntered out: the guards were rolling dice at some distance from the door, and they did not even look up as he passed. He turned the corner of the house and came to the place where the horses stood. He quickly chose the best and untied them: he noticed that his hands were trembling, but he forced himself to remain calm. He lengthened the stirrups to suit the long legs of his uncle and Mr. Ross, and he tightened the girths. While he was doing this he became aware that someone was watching him from behind. Cautiously he sidled round the horse and peered under its belly. It was only Li Han. He gasped with relief, gave the girths a final pull, left the reins hanging through the loop and turned away. He gave Li Han a jerk of his head, and the Chinese followed him.

  Derrick went slowly to the place where he knew that Li Han had left his ass, and there, pretending to be examining the little creature’s hooves, he murmured his news and the message. Li Han nodded, mounted his donkey and rode slowly out of the rebel encampment.

  Now Derrick had to pass the next hour somehow. He marked the position of the sun and walked about as easily as he could. He listened with all the force of his being for the shots at the gate which would mean that Ross and Sullivan had been detected—shots either at the house or at the gate of the camp. But when ten minutes had passed he was almost sure that he would not hear them now. He knew he must not go round by the stone house to see if the horses were gone, as that might possibly give the game away, but he longed to know for certain, and the next long wait was the most anxious that he had ever passed in his life. At last the sun had moved an hour’s space across the sky, and Derrick, walking hurriedly, as if he had a message, went to the stone house. The guards were still playing dice as he passed them. He paused for a second on the threshold, smiled at the Professor, and then let out a yell that echoed throughout the camp.

  The guards came rushing in with their rifles at the ready. For several minutes there was a confused hurly-burly, with everyone shouting at the tops of their voices. The din attracted Shun Chi himself; he came stamping through the crowd with his Russian advisers, knocked the guards out of his path, and on hearing the news that his prisoners had escaped, he foamed at the mouth. When he could speak he swore that he would have the head of every sentry at the gate if they had let the prisoners through. In a moment the report came that the sentries, seeing two Europeans dressed like Russians, had let them through without thinking twice about it. In another five minutes heads were rolling outside the camp, and the guards who had been outside the house had melted away into hiding. The officer who was supposed to be in charge of the men who s
hould have been guarding the horses brought the news that two were missing: Shun Chi shot him where he stood.

  Meanwhile the Russians were untying the Professor, and as soon as the gag was out, the Professor cried, “That fool Dimitri. I will have him shot, liquidated, sent to Siberia. Put him under arrest at once. The fool, he would insist on having the prisoners untied to question them. He said they would not answer to harsh treatment. I told him that it would be better to flog the answers out of them. Where is the son of a yellow dog? This is sabotage. He was in the pay of the capitalists. I’ll know who paid him! I’ll flog the answers out of him. Bring him here!”

  “They seem to have killed him, Ivan Petrovitch,” said one of them apologetically.

  “So much the better,” growled the Professor. “They have saved me the trouble.” He turned to Shun Chi. “Well, Tu-chun,” he snapped, “this is a pretty piece of work. They will be half-way to Liao-Meng by now, taking the south road to avoid Hsien Lu’s army. If they are not caught before sunset, someone will have to answer for it.” He glared about him impressively and caught sight of Derrick. “Here, you,” he shouted, falling upon him with a rain of blows, “why weren’t you here to protect your master, idle, worthless dog.” He kicked him out of the house, and after a little more cursing and stamping about, he cried, “I said that the machine-guns were to be ready for inspection. Where are they?”

  “If you will come with me, comrade,” said one of the Russians, “I will show them to you. They are all ready. We have explained the working mechanism to the soldiers.”

  By the side of a long row of wooden crates the machine-guns stood, all neatly aligned.

  “You have explained them thoroughly?” asked the Professor, looking at them blankly.

  “Oh, yes, comrade, very thoroughly,” said the Russian. “They understand them very well. My interpreter learnt in less than a morning.”

  “Your interpreter? Don’t you speak Chinese?”

  “Why, no, Ivan Petrovitch. You know that none of us speaks Chinese except the dead capitalist spy, Dimitri Mihailovitch.”

  “Of course. I remember. Who is your interpreter? How many are there here?”

  “There were only two, comrade. A Chinese clerk who deserted last week, and the officer of the guard who lost his head just now.”

  “And you have made no effort to learn Chinese in all this time? You are content to be here now, unable to instruct the soldiers or to communicate with the Tu-chun?”

  “But you know what our orders were, and what our work is, Ivan Petrovitch,” said the Russian, excusing himself; but there was a certain wondering tone in his voice that the Professor did not like.

  “Nevertheless,” he said, “I think that a little more zeal—however, let us get on with the inspection. These are all the guns?”

  “Yes, comrade. Perhaps you can solve a little difficulty for me, Ivan Petrovitch. I find that when they get heated, the stop-pawl sometimes refuses its function. What is the best way of disengaging the return-spring without removing the condenser?”

  “Well,” said the Professor, “I think I will go on with the inspection now. It would take time to show you, and I have none to spare just now. We will talk about it in the evening.”

  “But if you pointed it out on the blue-print, comrade, I would see in a moment.”

  “I have not got it with me.”

  “But, comrade, excuse me. I saw you put it in your pocket.”

  “Later, later,” cried the Professor, feigning to be absorbed in the machine-gun before him.

  The Russian looked at him for a moment, and then said, “Do you think I should detach the draw-bolt?”

  “Yes,” said the Professor. “Now I want you to go and tell the others that I want a report from all of you immediately on the—on the rate of fire in the hands of inexperienced recruits, and on the difficulties you have met with in training the men. I want them at once, together with a return of breakages. You can be doing that while I look over these.”

  “Very well,” said the Russian, leaving them.

  When he was well away, the Professor sat down on the ground by the first machine-gun. It looked very unlike the blue-print.

  “I believe the locking-pin and the tension nut are under this casing,” he said. “Of course, they would not leave such delicate parts exposed. Pass me that spanner.” He worked at the nuts. “Yes, here we are,” he said, removing the casing. “Now we turn to the left here, and again here, and the deed is done.” He looked up with a smile, wiping his forehead with a greasy hand.

  “Don’t look round, sir,” murmured Derrick, “but there’s something rather odd behind. The Russians are standing by their hut, and they are watching you through their binoculars.”

  “Are they, indeed? Confound their impertinence. I am very much afraid that that fellow who was here is growing suspicious. I could not altogether avoid his technical questions, and I probably answered stupidly. However, I have a petard on which to hoist them if they provoke me.” He seemed to Derrick extraordinarily calm.

  “They are getting excited,” said Derrick. “One is coming our way now.”

  “I suppose I have done something very unprofessional with this machine,” said the Professor, peering thoughtfully at a piece of metal.

  The Russian came up, affecting to stroll idly. “It is getting very hot, comrade,” he remarked, looking sharply at the dismantled gun.

  “I don’t find it so,” snapped the Professor. “Have you prepared your report?”

  The Russian did not reply directly. He said, “You seem to be having some difficulty with that interruptor.” There was a false, cunning note in his voice.

  The Professor threw down his spanner and stared menacingly at the Russian, who dropped his eyes and muttered, “Don’t be offended, Ivan Petrovitch, I’m not criticising . . . I will go and write my report at once.”

  “They are not quite sure yet,” said the Professor, when he was out of earshot. “If I knew a few technical terms in Russian—or, indeed, in any language—I could probably keep them off for the few hours that are necessary. But I am very much afraid,” he paused to tighten a nut, “I am very much afraid that they will force me to hoist them before long. Are they still watching?”

  “Yes. All of them.”

  “Humph,” said the Professor, moving on to the next gun.

  “What do you mean by hoisting them?” asked Derrick, in a worried murmur. He could not understand how the Professor could remain so cool right under the gaze of their enemies.

  “I mean hoisting them on their own petard. You have read of the engineer being blasted at the pale-faced moon, have you not? No? Then you must agree with me that school is quite certainly imperative.” He was working steadily on the fourth gun. “I mean that I will double-cross the bum galoots. They suppose themselves to be very wise guys: but they will find that they are deceived, and that we are wiser.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Derrick, hardly able to control his own nervousness.

  “Keep a cool head, my dear boy. I know that this is very trying for you, but endeavour to be calm. I will tell you—it is a scheme worthy of a Greek hero, and it is not wholly un-Greek in its element of treachery. But I will condense it into four or five words. They do not speak Chinese: I do. I hope very much that I shall be able to accomplish my design without bloodshed, but if I cannot, then I must regretfully sacrifice the knaves. Are they still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you are speaking to an older man, Derrick, it is better to say ‘sir.’ Even in times like these one should try to keep one’s self-command, and the little civilities are like so many bulwarks, as I believe the nautical term goes. Now just help me fasten this disagreeably oily piece, and I will go and pay a call on Shun Chi. They are still watching?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then there is no hope for them, the unfortunate knaves. Now the next screw. . . .” It seemed that he would never finish: Derrick watched him go on and on, patiently adj
usting the scattered parts, until he could hardly bear it any longer. But at last the Professor straightened his long and bony frame, wiped his face and said, “Now, Derrick, I want you to stand where you can watch the Tu-chun’s tent. If you see anything unpleasant happening to me, you must give me your word to escape at once, without trying to do anything to help me. I want your word, and I will not go otherwise.” He spoke gently, but Derrick knew that he was in deadly earnest. He gave his word, and the Professor said, “There is, in point of fact, no danger at all. All this is only to make me feel a little more confident.” He smiled, and turned away.

  Derrick watched him walk to the left, out of the Russians’ sight, and then turn sharply to the Tu-chun’s tent.

  THE REBEL LEADER was in a black mood, but he greeted the Professor with as much courtesy as he could manage, which was not a great deal, for he was an ill-conditioned, brutish fellow, who had risen from the gutters of Hu Wan through the various stages of petty thievery, brigandage and banditry to his present position. He was a false, treacherous man, of the kind who can be relied upon to turn against his friends and allies at a moment’s notice if it serves his ambition, or if his fears are aroused.

  “I have some disturbing news for you, Tu-chun,” said Professor Ayrton. “There is treachery in your camp.”

  “What?” cried Shun Chi, grasping his revolver. “Who?”

  “You have had no suspicions?”

  “The sentries this morning?”

  “Worse.”

  Shun Chi went pale. He had been a traitor all his life and he felt treachery all around him.

  “Tell me at once,” he begged. “I will give you . . .”—he looked wildly round the tent—“I will give you a thousand taels of gold.”

  “I want no gold, Shun Chi. The cause I serve needs no gold. When I came here I was told to expect to find four Russians. I found one. He is dead. The others are foreign devils hired by Hsien Lu. They knew that I had detected them, or at least that I suspected them—their papers were stolen or forged—and they were certain that as soon as I inspected the machine-guns and the bombs I should be certain of their treachery, so they hatched a plot with the prisoners—who were almost certainly confederates—to have Dimitri Mihailovitch and me murdered. You had better have them arrested at once, before they bribe the sentries and escape too. But they must not be killed: my chiefs will want to see them. I cannot promise any further support for your army if these men are killed. Now you must excuse me, Tu-chun: if I am to repair the sabotaged machine-guns and the bombs in time for tomorrow’s attack I shall need every minute. Just have them tied and gagged, and let no one near them—they have too many accomplices here already.”