The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  “Why are you confiding this to me?”

  “Aren’t you the gardner or something? How soon do you think Faye will be back? Her father didn’t seem to know.”

  “She may not be back at all,” I said. William Oleander caught the tension in my voice. His slightly giddy manner suffered a chill.

  “What do you mean, she may not—”

  “She was kidnapped off a bus near Ruklah about two hours ago. I found out from the bus driver, putting two and two together. So far as I know, it hasn’t been reported to anybody. That’s why I—”

  “Did you say kidnapped?”

  “The bus driver was a dumb-bell. The kidnapper was clever enough to get away with his goods without the passengers realizing—”

  “Kidnapped! But why? I don’t understand—”

  “You go back and play tennis, laddie,” I said. “I’m on the way to tell her father.”

  “Two of us!” He tossed his racket to the verandah hammock and was off with a bound. I followed.

  A lucky break at last, I thought. Bill Oleander could crash the sanctum of Sir Morrison Landreth’s domicile much easier than I. For he was, in every detail of appearance, manners, and speech, an English agent’s idea of what a vivacious blonde daughter deserved. Moreover, he wasn’t encumbered with any pet monkeys.

  Within ten minutes, the three of us were flying to Ruklah in a small monoplane—Sir Morrison Landreth, Bill Oleander, and I. The pilot made a bee line for Ruklah.

  On the way, what little prestige I had gained with Bill Oleander slipped away from me. Bill, not used to the castes of India, had been ready to accept me as a friend. But Faye’s stern, thin-faced father eyed me skeptically through his monocle. His pointed mustaches twitched with disdain. He saw me as a stranger, an Afghan with tiger-fierce eyes—not a person to be trusted. My hint of an invasion of

  Scarlet Swordsmen left him cold. He was disturbed about his daughter, all right, but her turned a deaf ear to my allusions to a wider danger.

  “How do you happen to be concerned about my daughter?”

  When Morrison Landreth froze me with this question I should have known it was a mistake to try to confide anything.

  “I feel a concern for any innocent person who is in peril,” I said.

  “Faye is always getting herself into scrapes. You’re probably leading us on a wild goose chase.” He turned to Bill. “You’d just as well know these things before you marry her, my boy. She’s adventurous. I’ll declare I could spend half my time keeping her out of jams. But ten times out of ten she doesn’t need my help.”

  Bill didn’t have any comment.

  I said, a bit sarcastically, “Bill will teach her to play tennis. That will solve everything.”

  “I resent that remark.” Bill flared into a temper.

  Mr. Landreth went on with his acid worrying. “I’m a good father. But she tries my patience. You never know but what she may drive that car of hers away out in the desert to pay a visit to some fool monkey trainer—not that she would ever fall for any such low-bred person—”

  “What’s wrong with a monkey trainer?” I cut in savagely.

  Both Landreth and Oleander gave me the cold stare. It was the young hot-blood who spoke:

  “Who are you? What’s Faye Landreth to you?”

  “Maybe I’m her best friend,” I said. “She doesn’t associate with you Afghanistans,” said Sir Morrison Landreth.

  “Very well,” I said. “But you can’t stop me from thinking. If I were a member of your race and religion, who knows? I might be the very man she’d want to marry.”

  “Why, you!” Bill Oleander’s bad temper made away with him. He turned in his seat and swung at me with his open hand. The slap grazed my whiskered face. I smiled, daring him silently. Then my smile faded and we glared at each other hatefully. Sir Morrison Landreth’s eye shifted to the dagger at my side. He gave Bill a restraining pat on the shoulder.

  “Careful, Oleander. Careful. We don’t know this man.”

  The pilot of the plane snapped an order. We were about to land at Ruklah. We’d better cut the rough stuff and belt ourselves in our seats.

  I was smiling to myself. This fierce face I wore was a most deceiving mask. I had not the slightest intention of coming to blows with Bill Oleander. But I had to add one jealous thrust to our verbal clash.

  “Take a tip or two, Bill. When you marry Faye you’ll do well to buy her a pair of pet monkeys. You can train them to play tennis. And she’ll enjoy them for company.”

  “Tend to your own business.”

  “And another thing: that temper of yours may cost you, if you don’t learn to control it.” This was rash talk, but I was in a caustic humor. All the good will of my Val Roman nature had been fouled.

  The plane landed at the eastern edge of the village. A few officials and curious townsmen and a gang of wide-eyed children came trailing out to met us. They were full of questions. For what reason would a special plane be landing at Ruklah in the middle of an otherwise peaceful day?

  A two-wheeled carriage was provided for Landreth and Bill. There would have been room for me, too, but they had had about enough of my company. However, I followed along with the crowd, making myself as inconspicuous as possible, but getting in on all the talk.

  Sir Morrison Landreth preferred to ask his own questions. Had his daughter been seen? Where was her car? Didn’t anyone here know her? What was this rumor about a band of Scarlet Swordsmen lurking in this neighborhood?

  You never saw such a lot of blank faces. From the village marshal down to the open-mouthed urchins of the lower castes, no one knew of any skulduggery.

  Landreth threw a scornful look back at me and turned to Bill Oleander. “I told you this would be a wild goose chase.” Then to the city marshal, “I suppose you’ll say there isn’t even such a man as Ben Addis living here.”

  “Ben Addis! He is one of our most prominent citizens,” said the marshal. All the onlookers added their enthusiastic comments: Yes, Ben Addis was the new merchant prince who was bringing all the trade into the village. He was a man to be respected. He was a cripple who rode in a fine palanquin. He was planning a fair for the display of India’s finest gems. Dealers would come from far and wide.

  “Then he isn’t a kidnapper or a Scarlet Swordsman?” Landreth asked.

  This brought a storm of laughter. A Scarlet. Swordsman! A kidnapper! Ridiculous. Where did the English agent ever get such a mistaken idea?

  Landreth turned his accusing glare on me. There was anger in the twitch of his pointed mustaches. He tapped his monocle against his hand.

  The marshal saw me, then, and he erupted with a surprise greeting.

  “Well, well! Here is the man we need. Here, your honor, this man can tell you all about Ben Addis. This is Alashee, the personal attendant of the merchant prince.”

  “Impossible!” said Landreth. “He is the one who warned me—”

  “Don’t argue with the marshal,” I cut in. “I am the lieutenant of Ben Addis.

  “Ugh? Hey,” The proud Landreth had probably never been so confused in his life.

  “Forget about me,” I added hastily. “You came here in search of your daughter.”

  “He’s crazy . . . crazy!” Landreth muttered half under his breath.

  The market place was just ahead of the avenue of trees through which we were walking. From the clamor it was evident that some exciting news had just struck the town. A party of tradesmen, just arrived by camel, were gathering a crowd.

  At once a native came running down toward us, calling at the top of his voice. He wanted the marshal. Something dreadful had happened.

  “They’ve found a murdered man!” he cried. “It was the man with the monkey circus. Someone had stabbed him in the back.”

  Bill Oleander, Sir Morrison, the marshal, and the whole crowd around them, caught breathless by this news, hurried forward to get in on all the particulars. I wasn’t so interested, owing to the fact that I had been present
at the murder, on both the giving and receiving ends. It was my chance to fall back; for now, if ever, the trap was closing around me.

  “Get out of this,” I said to myself. “There’s nothing more to be done for Faye’s father. You gave him all the information he would take. It’s time to save your own hide.”

  So I dropped back of the crowd and looked for an easy escape. It was there, and a more convenient set-up I couldn’t have asked for. Three Scarlet Swordsmen on horseback were riding along just beyond the bank of trees, keeping an eye on me. You see, they had been on the lookout for me ever since my horse strayed back to camp. They weren’t going to let an old-time lieutenant like me fall into the wrong hands.

  A moment later I was riding back with them, around the hills and into the tunnel that led to the rear of Ben Addis’ headquarters.

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Beheading Knife

  Ben Addis is waiting for you in his room,” Mobovarah said to me. “Here is the beheading knife. I’ve taken care of removing the rust. You’ll find it as sharp as a razor.”

  “Very kind of you. Where is the victim?”

  “In the cell on the left. I’ll send her in when you’re ready.”

  Mobovarah watched me closely as I weighed the long tool in my hands.

  “Anything wrong?” he asked. “It weighs not one ounce more nor less than when you constructed it.”

  “It’s all right,” I said.

  The handle-end was of some tough, light-weight wood. Toward the blade-end it was weighed with metal to give added impact to the stroke. The four-foot handle offered tremendous leverage. It was as gruesome a death-dealer as I ever hope to see. The blade was curved like a sickle, a three-inch width of fine steel, tapering to a point.

  “It’s all right,” I repeated. “What happened to our plan to send her over the embankment?”

  “Complications and delays,” said Mobo, sauntering down the hall with me. “In the first place, none of us wanted to cheat you out of the pleasure you asked for. So, after we saw you boarding the bus and we succeeded in rescuing her, I insisted to Ben Addis that we wait for your return—so there’d be no taunts or complaints from you.” I took it that he meant the blame should fall on me for our failure to carry out the original plan. Certainly I had earned it.

  “Go on,” I said coldly.

  “In the second place,” Mobovarah gave me the suspicious eye, “you were gone for three hours or more, no one knows where. You know Ben Addis. If he feels the slightest suspicion toward any one of his men, he immediately puts that man to a test. I suspect he’ll be more than pleased to see you perform this little execution before his eyes.”

  “Thank you, Mobo,” I said. “Remind me not to be sarcastic with you this week.”

  Alone I entered the room of Ben Addis—the jungle lounge, as he called it, with the matted floors and the bamboo walls.

  Ben Addis lay on the cot, his shriveled legs covered by the blue robe. Strangely, I wondered for the first time whether he was able to walk, and whether he did not make the most of his crippled condition. He was a master at giving orders and demanding all the personal attentions that any completely helpless person might crave.

  He looked up at me slowly. He was, to all appearances, the master of himself and of me. I stood at attention. My hands trembled on the handle of the beheading knife.

  “Are you quite ready?” he said quietly.

  “No. I think you’re making a mistake.”

  He lurched forward, struck speechless by my unprecedented defiance. He breathed cold fury for a moment, studying me out of his keen dark eyes. He settled back on one elbow.

  “A soft streak in you, Alashee? I had begun to suspect it.”

  “She’ll be worth more alive than dead, Ben Addis. Let’s talk it over.”

  “You couldn’t talk fast enough to break the policy that has put us where we are today, my dear Alashee. The most successful rule in our business is to let no witnesses live. Hear that clamor out in the streets? They’ve found the body of the monkey trainer. Soon they’ll knock at our door to ask what we know.”

  “What do we know?”

  “Nothing—as long as there’s no danger of that screeching blonde doing us in. But if they caught one wail of her voice—”

  He broke off abruptly, for Faye Landreth herself was entering. Mobovarah had been impatient to get his part of the performance over with. He closed the door on the three of us.

  Faye was as white as chalk. Her lips betrayed the awful tension of trying to control her fright. Her glance took in the beheading knife with its four-foot handle. She looked from Ben Addis to me. It struck me with horror that she was not in the least surprised that I should be the person holding the knife.

  Overcoming a choked throat, she spoke to me, “I should have known you’d catch up with me. But I am surprised to realize that the great Ben Addis stoops to this sort of sport.”

  “I have thrived on this sport,” said Ben Addis. “Step this way, please.”

  She obeyed. She stood in the center of a thick brown mat. It was a wide floor. There were no objects of furniture between Ben Addis’ cot and the bamboo walls.

  The master scowled at me. “You usually begin by swinging the knife for a warm-up.”

  I stood as motionless as Wonder, my donkey, might have done in his most stubborn mood.

  “Alashee!” Ben Addis snarled.

  “I’m not going to do it,” I said.

  “You double-dyed traitor, you’ve gone soft.”

  “I’m no traitor to my own principles, Ben Addis.” I could snarl, too. “I’ll have you know I haven’t changed one bit since the days when I trained monkeys!”

  “Alashee! Have you lost your mind?”

  “I’m not Alashee. I’m Val Roman. I can’t kill this girl. I’m in love with her.”

  Ben Addis drew a pistol from under the blue robe. The black hollow of the barrel faced me.

  “No man is of any use to me, Alashee, if he can’t obey orders. I’ll give you three deunts. Slash her head clean from her body before I count three, or you’re out . . . One . . . Two . . . Three . . .”

  I lifted the knife on three. I crouched to swing. But not at Faye. My shoulders flexed for a swift stroke at the crippled man on the bed.

  Crack! The pistol shot stopped me cold. The bullet leaped squarely through my heart, as if it had been aimed by an electric eye. A sickening sensation charged through me. The beheading knife slipped from my fingers. I had the sensation of falling with it . . . falling . . . falling. I crashed forward to the floor and to black, black realm of sudden death.

  Death to the body of Alashee . . . But in that very moment I became Ben Addis!

  CHAPTER IX

  Contortions of a Charmed Life

  For a second time my charmed life had defied the fates.

  I was lying on the cot, trembling a little. My withered legs beneath the robe were alive with the strange sensation of wanting to dance. To dance a weird dance of the cruelty and the power that Ben Addis wielded over his fellowmen.

  The smoking pistol was in my hand. I was looking down through burning eyes, scowling with hard sullen lips, toward the dead man on the floor. That man was Alashee, Alashee the body, that had held the mind and the soul of Val Roman.

  But now, thanks to the little old Hindu who had once prayed so devoutly for me, I had escaped the death that caught the heart of Alashee. My enemy, Ben Addis, had tried to cut me down.

  And what had happened to him? I had taken possession of his temple of flesh. It was as if his very act of murder had hurled him out of his own body. Be had destroyed himself—and in his place I lived.

  Poor Faye! Poor terrified child! She was looking down at the dead form on the floor, on the very mat where she had been commanded to stand for her execution. And there was compassion in her face for Alashee!

  Once she had despised the very ground upon which he walked. But in these last few moments she had been compelled to see him (that is, me) in
a new light.

  “He would have saved my life.” She spoke slowly, she did not look up. “But why? Why?”

  “Because he loved you.”

  Those were my first words in the voice of Ben Addis. Personally, I didn’t like the voice. It belonged with words of cunning. I tried again, striving for a ring of sincerity:

  “Because he loved you.”

  She raised her head to stare at me.

  “You killed him—because he refused to kill me.” Her words were as cold as steel. “It is so easy for you to kill, isn’t it? He had been your personal servant for years . . . And you—”

  “Don’t misjudge me as you at first misjudged him,” I said. How could I tell her? How could I escape the full impact of her bitterest hatreds. There was no question in her mind that I meant to have her murdered at once, now that I had disposed of her one defender.

  Mobovarah had opened the door, and he and other servants stood in a huddle, gaping at the scene. Faye was again kneeling beside the fallen form, and she touched his brown cheek with her hand. Everything about this person had been beyond her understanding. I knew that she would think back to all his claims to a kinship with Val Roman but she would find no answers to the contradictions and mysteries that surrounded him.

  Mobovarah crowded ahead of the other servants. His face twisted with nervous anxiety to break the silence.

  “You—you found it necessary to kill him?” he asked me. An expression of extreme pleasure lighted his face. “If it had to be done, master, I would gladly have accommodated.”

  “He was a champion swordsman,” I heard one of the servants murmur reverently.

  “He was a great lieutenant,” I said, mustering the dignity and bearing that I thought Ben Addis might have displayed. “He had certain remarkable qualities of character that I will long remember . . . but—there are moments that call for strict obedience. At such times, the servant who hesitates has outlived his usefulness. Do I make myself clear?”

  There was a long moment of stubborn silence.