Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  The syrup which had tasted of aniseed must have been a potent cordial, for it made Bill’s brain very quick. He guessed in a moment what had happened. The kidnappers believed that they had scared the Prince into a flight which had ended in a fall from the roof, and had fled incontinent. The soldiers were now looking for his body among the rocks of the gorge. That was the meaning of the torches.

  Bill stole down the staircase until he reached the first angle, whence he could see the hall below. There was no one there, but the great door stood open, and he saw torches flickering in the windy night and heard the confused talk of men.... He ventured a little farther and presently was in the hall itself, where the ashes of a fire still smouldered on the cavernous hearth. His object was to get out of doors to see what the soldiers were doing; but he had not taken two steps across the hall before he pulled up.

  Some of them were coming back. There were two — one in the uniform of a common soldier, but the other a smarter fellow wearing a sword. They looked haggard and anxious and their eyes blinked in the bright light of the hall. They saw Bill and stopped, staring, in their tracks.

  Then Bill became inspired. He waved his stick and from his lips there came a wail of such bloodcurdling poignancy that it almost frightened him. It certainly frightened the two soldiers, for they babbled like men demented and dropped on their knees.

  Bill sped up the stairs again and at the top he encountered Mother Linda. He thought that she held out her arms to him, but he had no time to wait, for he realised that he must be off. With another eldritch wail he twirled the stick, and the old woman and the two terror-stricken soldiers found themselves staring into vacancy.

  Anatole was still on the beer barrel, but he had sunk into the hollow between it and the wall and was sound asleep.

  ‘‘You can’t go back to Mamizan,” Bill told him, when he was fully awakened. “They think you’re dead. They took me for your ghost, so I made a bit of a row and I left them praying like billy-o. We have got to decide on your next move. Why can’t you stay here? This is your grandfather’s house.” The boy shook his head sadly. “My grandfather is old and weak and cannot protect me. If I were found in the Palace, I would only be sent back to Mamizan.”

  “Well, haven’t you any friends in Grachovo? The papers said there was a party behind you. You talked yourself about friends....”

  The boy exclaimed. “Most certainly I have friends. There is, above all, Prince Zosimo, who is the leader of the loyalists, and who is the cousin of my mother. I will go to him and he will hide me.” Bill had dropped from the barrel and was stamping about with excitement.

  “Hide you be blowed! Don’t you see you have got your chance? Kuno will give out that you have met with an accident and are dead, and that will mean that people will be sorry about you. Then you will suddenly appear, and people will be glad and come over to your side. That is the way things happen in history. It will be a knock-out blow for the republicans, and old Kuno will be in the soup. What is the phrase, ‘hoist by his own Packard’?” Anatole followed Bill off the barrel. “That is good counsel. Give your orders, please. We will go to the palace of Prince Zosimo, which is only a quarter of a mile from here. We will go to the Prince’s private cabinet.”

  A stout man with close-cropped grizzled hair was writing at a table. He was in dressing-gown and pyjamas, for he had been about to go to bed, but had remembered a letter which should be written at once. He lifted his eyes from the paper and saw before him two strangely dressed boys. One of the boys carried in his hand a walking-stick.

  Prince Zosimo was a man of action. He took two steps and locked the door; then he folded Prince Anatole to his breast.

  “We will speak English,” said Anatole a minute later, “which His Excellency completely understands. Do not ask me how I have escaped, for that must still be a secret. This is my English friend who has helped me. For the present call him Beel. Now I will tell you the events of this night.”

  Anatole told the story well, and Prince Zosimo listened in growing excitement.

  ‘‘It is miraculous,” he cried. “I will not ask questions, but how, by all the holy saints, you contrived to get here from Mamizan in an hour or two I do not comprehend.... But let that be. These pigs of republicans are in a cleft stick. They must announce your death, my dear Anatole, and who will believe their tale of an accident? We must work upon the suspicions of the people, who do not approve of the murder of children.... Then we must have an epiphany — a resurrection. In six days falls the festival of St. Lampadas, when the King, your grandfather, receives in state the notables of Gracia. That will be the fitting occasion.... But let us speak no more of it. I will think — think, and the two of you must go to bed, for you are like wraiths from fatigue. In the morning we will summon our friends and make a plan.”

  So Bill found himself conducted by a tall manservant to a room which was as warm as a greenhouse with hot pipes, and in which two camp-beds stood side by side, each covered with alamb-skin quilt. Next door was a bathroom, and on the toilet table was laid out a selection from Prince Zosimo’s brushes.

  “I must be off home,” said Bill, when the servant had gone. “Rumple my bed as if I had slept in it, and do not let yourself be called before nine o’clock. I’ll be back by then. Goodnight, Anatole. Sleep sound.”

  It was half an hour after midnight when Bill crawled between the sheets in his lonely bedroom at Farover. He felt hungry, so he finished the sugar biscuits from the Grachovo larder with which he had filled his pockets.

  CHAPTER XVI. THE SECOND ADVENTURE OF MAMIZAN.

  BILL did not wake up until half-past eight, and even then Backus, the butler, had to shake him. After that things went badly. His grandmother summoned him to her presence, and he had to listen for twenty minutes to her enquiries about his family. Backus was slow in getting his breakfast, and the sandwiches which he asked for, announcing that he proposed to go for a long walk and not be home until tea, were slow in appearing. Also, he had to write to his mother, as he had promised, and penmanship for Bill was a lengthy business. Happily the weather was fine, inclining to frost, so his day’s plans were accepted as reasonable. But it was nearly half-past ten before, in a corner of the shrubbery, he twirled the staff.

  He had asked to be taken to the bedroom in Prince Zosimo’s palace. The room was empty, his bed-clothes had been rumpled according to his instructions, but there was no sign of Anatole. Outside the air seemed to be dark with snow-flakes.

  Bill thought that he remembered the way to Prince Zosimo’s cabinet, but he was wrong. Very soon he was lost in a labyrinth of passages, and when he found a stair it was only a side one, and took him into the back parts of the house. He stumbled upon a knot of servants who were gossiping on a landing, and his arrival produced a sensation. They surrounded him and questioned him in a tongue which he could not comprehend, and all he could do was to utter the word “Anatole” in the way in which Prince Zosimo had pronounced it the night before. The servants looked scared and nervous, and he could not make them understand him. But the situation was saved by the appearance of the footman who had first conducted him to his bedroom. He had clearly had his orders, for he said something peremptory to the others, bowed to Bill, and beckoned him to follow.

  He led him through further labyrinths until they reached the main staircase, where Bill recognised his whereabouts. There seemed to be a great many servants about, stationed at every corner, and he observed that they were all armed. “Queer people, the Grachs!” he reflected. “They let the Prince be shut up in a castle by his enemies and do nothing, but when they get him again they guard him like the Bank of England.” The footman stopped at the door of the private cabinet, knocked and entered, while Bill remained outside. When he returned he opened the door for Bill, making another low bow.

  There were seven people in the room besides Prince Zosimo and Anatole. Anatole was sitting in a big chair of state, and his feet did not quite reach the ground, while the Prince was at his desk with p
apers before him. The others were mostly elderly men with pleasant faces, and one must have been a soldier, for he had a great scar on his forehead. There was only one young man, who looked rather like Uncle Bob, his skin was so bountifully sun-burnt.

  A stool was provided next to Anatole, where Bill very self-consciously sat himself. Prince Zosimo had raised his eyebrows at his appearance and shaken his head, but he did not look cross.

  For what seemed hours Bill sat on that stool, till his legs cramped. The men talked in their own tongue and he could not understand one word. It was a funny discussion, for everyone seemed to speak at once, and they shrugged their shoulders and spread out their hands and sometimes rose to their feet in their excitement. Now and then Prince Zosimo would call for silence and say a few words very slowly and solemnly. Anatole did not speak at all.

  Suddenly the conversation passed into French, and everybody spoke in low tones, with sidelong glances at the door. Bill did not understand much of that either, but now and then he picked up a word. They all seemed to be talking about “bouleversements” and “degringolades” and “émeutes,” and the phrase “coup d’état” often cropped up.

  Then they began to steal away, one by one. They looked at the windows, outside which the snow was falling thick, and the weather seemed to give them comfort. Bill guessed they were anxious that their presence there should not be known, and that they counted on the snowfall to protect them. Prince Zosimo went out with the last man, and as he passed Bill he smiled and patted him on the shoulder. The two boys were left alone.

  Anatole tumbled off the big chair and seized Bill’s hand. He was rather pale, but his eyes were glowing.

  “I thought you had failed me,” he said. “Why were you so late? What happened?”

  Bill explained the cause of his detention at Farover. “I’m most awfully sorry I was late. Prince Zosimo isn’t suspicious?”

  “He is very suspicious, but I have told him that I cannot answer questions yet awhile. This morning I had to tell many lies. I said that you were weary and must not be disturbed, and I would let no one into the room. I waited until ten o’clock before I obeyed my cousin’s summons — he was almost angry, I think — and I have not yet had breakfast. Presently there will be déjeuner. I have told him that your health is delicate and that you are still weary. But I beg of you, dear Beel, to tell me of yourself and how you came here.”

  So Bill told him the whole story of the magic staff. Anatole accepted it simply. “It is a gift of God,” he said, “sent to make you the saviour of Gracia. But it would be well that Prince Zosimo should not know it, for old men are unbelieving.”

  “It’s your turn to tell me what these men were talking about.”

  Anatole laughed. “It appears that I am dead. The papers are full of it. I fell last night from a high window at Mamizan. The press of our own party has black borders to-day. My body, when it is found, will be brought to Grachovo and buried in the royal chapel in the Cathedral. I do not know what they will put in the coffin. A dog perhaps.. Kuno always desired for me the death of a dog.”

  “Will people believe that yarn?”

  “Some will, but not, I think, many. My death is too convenient for friend Kuno’s plans. My people will busy themselves in sowing the seeds of suspicion. They will spread ugly stories, and in Parliament Kuno will be asked many questions. Presently most people will believe him a murderer.... But there is more than that. It seems that I was to be kidnapped and hidden in the mountains, and that this very week there was to be a rising in Grachovo, when he would proclaim the republic and force my grandfather to abdicate. My death makes that impossible just yet, and gives us time. He would have hushed up the whole thing, but Mother Linda was beside herself with grief and talked to the peasants, and already the tale runs like wildfire. So we are given a little time to prepare our plans. At the Festival of St. Lampadas I will return to life.... And then — we shall see.”

  The boy spread out his thin hands, just like Prince Zosimo.

  Bill was thinking hard. He was beginning to realise the amazing power which the staff gave him if he handled it properly. This boy trusted him, and Bill knew that he must rise to the occasion. He felt himself very old and very powerful, so powerful that he was almost frightened.

  At luncheon Prince Zosimo talked to him in beautiful English, and he did his best to conduct himself well. It was rather like school, when you went to breakfast with the Head Beak. He was aware that the Prince was burning to ask him questions, but that Anatole had forbidden it. One piece of news interested him deeply.

  “I learn,” said the Prince, “that Kuno goes to Mamizan this afternoon in spite of the weather. He intends, no doubt, to inform himself about the situation there and to cover his tracks.”

  “Can’t you have him kidnapped?” Bill asked innocently.

  Again the Prince spread out his hands. “Would that we could! But we can command no force which could match his guards. Were he but removed from Grachovo for the next week, our plans would march fast.”

  The two boys were alone for a moment after the meal.

  “I’m off,” said Bill. “I’m going to Mamizan to see what Kuno is up to. I can’t come back to you to-day, for I have to have tea with my grandmother. I’ll be back to-morrow morning, and I’ll try to get here by ten. You must say I have gone to bed, and you must keep the key of the door in your pocket. Tell the Prince you insist. Dash it all, Anatole, if you’re going to be king some day, you have a right to your own way.”

  Bill had asked to be taken to the alcove on the grand staircase. This time it was as dark as a tomb, for there were no lights in the hall, and when he peeped out he saw only a great dimness, since the heavy snow was blanketing the windows.

  Bill had a long time to wait, and it was very cold. He thought pleasantly of the warm fires at Farover, where he was due in an hour or two. He could not afford to be late, for his grandmother would be alarmed, and he must excite no suspicion in that household. Every now and then he popped out from the alcove to get light by which to consult his watch. It was twenty minutes past three before there was a stir below, and a ringing of the great bell and the sound of loud voices.

  Bill had made up his mind as to his course, but he started out on it with a quaking heart. He stole to the staircase head and looked down on a posse of soldiers, in the midst of whom was a tall man in civilian clothes and a big ulster with a fur collar. He had taken off his fur cap, and revealed a long lean head and a face as sharp as a hawk’s. He was giving orders, and Bill waited until he saw him begin to ascend the staircase. Another civilian accompanied him — his secretary, perhaps — a fellow in a frock coat.

  Bill went slowly down to meet them, keeping his eyes fixed on Kuno and his stick firm in his right hand. At the sight of him the ascending party halted, and the secretary cried out something. Kuno was staring with eyes which even in the gloom seemed very bright and terrible.

  Bill was now only two steps above him. “Mon Général,” he said and saluted.

  The grim figure looked mystified and then suddenly wrathful. He seemed about to lay hands on Bill, but Bill anticipated him. He made himself slip, and in falling clutched with his left hand at the belt of Kuno’s ulster. Then he twirled the stick and spoke a word.

  That word was St. Kilda.

  CHAPTER XVII. THE KIDNAPPING OF THE KIDNAPPER.

  A WIND like a knife cut Bill’s cheek, and the next second a whiff of salt spray blew in his face. He was among the shingle of a beach, close to a rough stone jetty, and the Prime Minister of Gracia was grunting beside him like a seal on a skerry.

  Bill had read a lot about St. Kilda in the papers — how it had been deserted by its inhabitants and was rarely visited by ships, least of all in the winter time. He also remembered from his excursions in Scottish history that it had been used as a place of exile for undesirable people. He had decided on going there during his meditations in the alcove, but he was a little staggered by the reality now that he had reached it.
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  For in the fading light of the January afternoon it was the wildest and savagest spot that Bill had ever dreamed of. A grey sky hung lowering over a grey shore and a tumultuous sea. Behind him rose a steep hill, with at its foot what seemed to be a huddle of old stone cottages, but no kindly smoke rose from their chimneys. On both sides cliffs hemmed in the bay, and a sheer conical rock stuck out of the yeasty waters. Sea birds hung in a cloud over the forsaken jetty, and their eldritch cries mingled with the howling of the wind. It was very cold, for a south-easter blew straight into the little harbour, and the breakers thundered on the beach like falling mountains.

  There was no time to be lost. He had got the most dangerous man in the Balkans as his sole companion on an island fifty miles from anywhere. Kuno was still grunting and rubbing spindrift from his eyes. He rose to his feet blindly like a sleep-walker, and balanced himself unsteadily against the gale.

  Bill stealthily withdrew a few paces behind him. He had better get out of it, he thought, before his victim realised his presence. The sea-gulls were the only safe company for General Kuno, who a minute ago had been the autocrat of a considerable state.

  After the Hebridean tempest the library at Farover looked very cosy. Bill had not been a minute there before Backus came in to see to the fire. He was in a good-humour, for he asked Bill about his day’s walk.

  “You’re taking tea with her ladyship, Master Bill,” he said. “You’d better tidy yourself up. I’ll be sending up tea in half an hour.... Hadn’t you better leave that stick of yours in the hall? Her ladyship don’t like the rooms cluttered up with outdoor things.”