The Second Achmed Abdullah Megapack
Page 1
Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT INFO
A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
THE MEGAPACK SERIES
THE EVENING RICE
THE HATCHETMAN
FEUD
REPRISAL
THE HOME-COMING
THE DANCE ON THE HILL
THE RIVER OF HATE
THE SOUL OF A TURK
MORITURI
THE JESTER
THE STRENGTH OF THE LITTLE THIN THREAD
GRAFTER AND MASTER GRAFTER
THE LOGICAL TALE OF THE FOUR CAMELS
THE TWO-HANDED SWORD
BLACK POPPIES
THE PERFECT WAY
TAO
COPYRIGHT INFO
The Second Achmed Abdullah Megapack is copyright © 2013 by Wildside Press LLC. All rights reserved. For more information, contact the publisher.
* * * *
“The Evening Rice” originally appeared in The Pictorial Review, June 1920.
“The Hatchetman” originally appeared in The Blue Book Magazine, March 1919.
“Feud” originally appeared in The Century Magazine, December 1916.
“Reprisal” originally appeared in Collier’s, January 26, 1918.
“The Home-Coming” originally appeared in Harper’s, May 1917.
“The Dance on the Hill” originally appeared in Harper’s, November 1918.
“The River of Hate” originally appeared in To-day’s Housewife, October 1918.
“The Soul of a Turk” is taken from Alien Souls (1920).
“Morituri” is taken from Alien Souls (1920).
“The Jester” is taken from Alien Souls (1920).
“The Strength of the Little Thin Thread” originally appeared in Collier’s, Oct 5, 1912.
“Grafter and Master Grafter” is taken from Alien Souls (1920).
“The Logical Tale of the Four Camels” originally appeared in
“The Two-Handed Sword” originally appeared in Collier’s, May 11, 1918.
“Black Poppies” originally appeared in Telling Tales, November, 1921.
“The Perfect Way” originally appeared in Telling Tales, September 1921.
“Tao” originally appeared in The Century, April 1920.
A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
Achmed Abdullah is one of my favorite pulp writers…probably third or fourth on the list. (My #1 favorite is Arthur O. Friel. #2 is harder—but I’d probably go with Johnston McCulley, creator of Zorro.) If you’ve picked up this volume, you may already be familiar with Abdullah’s work from the first volume, The Achmed Abdullah Megapack. If not, no harm done; both Megapacks contain short stories which can be read in any order. The real difference is that Volume 1 contains quite a few supernatural stories, and Volume 2 focuses more on contemporary life in exotic locales, like the Middle East, China, and New York City (primarily Chinatown). Crime is frequently touched upon; many also qualify as mysteries.
Note for the squeamish: Some of these stories are not “politically correct” by today’s standards. Please keep in mind that Abdullah was writing in a different age, with different standards of propriety. The world has changed a lot in 100 years.
And most of all—enjoy!
—John Betancourt
Publisher, Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidepress.com
ABOUT THE MEGAPACK SERIES
Over the last few years, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”
The Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Mary Wickizer Burgess, Sam Cooper, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, Robert Reginald. A. E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!).
A NOTE FOR KINDLE READERS
The Kindle versions of our Megapacks employ active tables of contents for easy navigation…please look for one before writing reviews on Amazon that complain about the lack! (They are sometimes at the ends of ebooks, depending on your reader.)
RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?
Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the Megapack series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://movies.ning.com/forum (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).
Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.
TYPOS
Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.
If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at wildsidepress@yahoo.com or use the message boards above.
THE MEGAPACK SERIES
MYSTERY
The Achmed Abdullah Megapack
The Second Achmed Abdullah Megapack
The Charlie Chan Megapack
The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective Megapack
The Detective Megapack
The Father Brown Megapack
The Girl Detective Megapack
The Jacques Futrelle Megapack
The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack
The First Mystery Megapack
The Penny Parker Megapack
The Pulp Fiction Megapack
The Raffles Megapack
The Victorian Mystery Megapack
The Wilkie Collins Megapack
GENERAL INTEREST
The Adventure Megapack
The Baseball Megapack
The Cat Story Megapack
The Second Cat Story Megapack
The Third Cat Story Megapack
The Christmas Megapack
The Second Christmas Megapack
The Classic American Short Stories Megapack, Vol. 1.
The Classic Humor Megapack
The Dog Story Megapack
The Doll Story Megapack
The Horse Story Megapack
The Military Megapack
SCIENCE FICTION & FANTASY
The Edward Bellamy Megapack
The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack
The Ray Cummings Megapack
The Philip K. Dick Megapack
The Randall Garrett Megapack
The Second Randall Garrett Megapack
The Edmond Hamilton Megapack
The Murray Leinster Megapack
The Second Murray Leinster Megapack
The Martian Megapack
The Andre Norton Megapack
The H. Beam Piper Megapack
The Pulp Fiction Megapack
The Mack Reynolds Megapack
The Science-Fantasy Megapack
The First Science Fiction Megapack
The Second Science Fiction Megapack
The Third Science Fiction Megapack
The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack
The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack
The Sixth Science Fiction Megapack
The Seventh Science Fiction Megapack
The Robert Sheckley Megapack
The Steampunk Megapack
The Time Travel Megapack
The Wizard of Oz Megapack
HORROR
The Achmed Abdullah Megapack
The Second Achmed Abdullah Megapack
The E.F.
Benson Megapack
The Second E.F. Benson Megapack
The Algernon Blackwood Megapack
The Second Algernon Blackwood Megapack
The Cthulhu Mythos Megapack
The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack
The Ghost Story Megapack
The Second Ghost Story Megapack
The Third Ghost Story Megapack
The Haunts & Horrors Megapack
The Horror Megapack
The M.R. James Megapack
The Macabre Megapack
The Second Macabre Megapack
The Mummy Megapack
The Occult Detective Megapack
The Vampire Megapack
The Werewolf Megapack
WESTERNS
The B.M. Bower Megapack
The Max Brand Megapack
The Buffalo Bill Megapack
The Cowboy Megapack
The Zane Grey Megapack
The Western Megapack
The Second Western Megapack
The Wizard of Oz Megapack
YOUNG ADULT
The Boys’ Adventure Megapack
The Dan Carter, Cub Scout Megapack
The Doll Story Megapack
The G.A. Henty Megapack
The Girl Detectives Megapack
The Penny Parker Megapack
The Pinocchio Megapack
The Rover Boys Megapack
The Tom Corbett, Space Cadet Megapack
The Tom Swift Megapack
AUTHOR MEGAPACKS
The Achmed Abdullah Megapack
The Edward Bellamy Megapack
The B.M. Bower Megapack
The E.F. Benson Megapack
The Second E.F. Benson Megapack
The Algernon Blackwood Megapack
The Second Algernon Blackwood Megapack
The Max Brand Megapack
The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack
The Wilkie Collins Megapack
The Ray Cummings Megapack
The Guy de Maupassant Megapack
The Philip K. Dick Megapack
The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack
The Jacques Futrelle Megapack
The Randall Garrett Megapack
The Second Randall Garrett Megapack
The Anna Katharine Green Megapack
The Zane Grey Megapack
The Edmond Hamilton Megapack
The Dashiell Hammett Megapack
The M.R. James Megapack
The Selma Lagerlof Megapack
The Murray Leinster Megapack
The Second Murray Leinster Megapack
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack
The Talbot Mundy Megapack
The Andre Norton Megapack
The H. Beam Piper Megapack
The Mack Reynolds Megapack
The Rafael Sabatini Megapack
The Saki Megapack
The Robert Sheckley Megapack
OTHER COLLECTIONS YOU MAY ENJOY
The Great Book of Wonder, by Lord Dunsany (it should have been called “The Lord Dunsany Megapack”)
The Wildside Book of Fantasy
The Wildside Book of Science Fiction
Yondering: The First Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
To the Stars—And Beyond! The Second Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
Once Upon a Future: The Third Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
Whodunit?—The First Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories
More Whodunits—The Second Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories
X is for Xmas: Christmas Mysteries
THE EVENING RICE
Up there in the gray North a great triple tomb thrusts its frowning parapet obliquely into space. On its outer walls, to left and right of the entrance, are bas-reliefs in sea-green majolica, representing five-claw, imperial dragons.
It is the Fu-Ling, the Happy and August Tomb, where lies the T’ai Tzu, the Nurhachi, the Iron-capped Prince, the founder of the Manchu dynasty, who centuries ago swept out of the barren Central Asian wastes at the head of his host of red-skinned, flat-nosed horsemen, and turned placid China into a crimson shambles.
Last year the hereditary keeper of the sacred tomb, a Ch’i-jen, a Manchu bannerman, sold it to a moon-faced Chinese farmer for a lean sack of clipped silver taels. Next year it will house the farmer’s squealing, red-bristled pigs.
And still the Manchu has his sword and the strength of his sword-arm; still the moon-faced coolie is a coward who shrinks at the swish and crackle of naked steel.
Yet, next year, the pigs will dirty the tomb’s yellow imperial tiles. And the pigs, too, are symbolic—and necessary. For what is the evening rice without a few slivers of fried pork?
* * **
The last time Ng Ch’u had seen him had been nearly forty years earlier in the squat little Manchu-Chinese border town of Ninguta, in the hushed shelter of an enameled pagoda-roof that mirrored the sun-rays a thousandfold, like countless intersecting rainbows—endless zigzag flashings of electric blue and deep rose and keen, arrogant, glaucous-green, like the shooting of dragon-flies and purple-winged tropical moths. There had been murder in the other’s, the Manchu’s, eyes; murder in the hairy, brown fist that curled about broad, glistening steel.
But on that day he, the despised Chinese coolie, had had the whip-hand.
“A Manchu you are!” he had said; and his eyes had glistened triumphantly through meager almond slits. “A Manchu indeed! A Pao-i bannerman, an aristocrat—sloughing your will and your passions as snakes cast their skin, brooking no master but yourself and the black desert thunder! And I am only a mud-turtle from the land of Han.” He had sucked in his breath. “But—” he had continued; had slurred and stopped.
“But?”
“But—there is one thing, perhaps two, which the Huang T’ai Hou, the Empress, the Old Buddha, does not forgive—not even in a Manchu, an iron-capped prince!”—and a few more words, sibilant, staccato, and at once Yang Shen-hsiu had sheathed his dagger with a little dry, metallic click and had walked away, while Ng Ch’u had returned to his home.
There he had kowtowed deeply before an elderly peasant woman with bound feet, gnarled hands, and shriveled, berry-brown features.
“Mother,” he had said, “I am going away today. I am going away now. I—and the Moon-beam!”—pointing into the inner room at a lissome, blue-clad form that was bending over the cooking-pots.
“Why, son?”
“There is Yang Shen-hsiu, the Manchu!”
“But—I thought—”
“Yes. I know. But a Manchu never forgets. And someday—perhaps tomorrow—his passion and his hatred, since he is a fool, will vanquish his fear. On that day—by Buddha and by Buddha—I shall not be here. Nor shall the Moon-beam!”
Nearly forty years earlier—and now he saw him again.
For just the fraction of a second, the unexpected sight of those glittering, hooded eyes—for he was conscious of Yang Shen-hsiu’s eyes even before he saw the rest of the face: the thin nose beaking away bold and aquiline, the high cheekbones that seemed to give beneath the pressure of the leathery, ruddy-gold skin, the compressed, sardonic lips brushed by a drooping Mandarin mustache, and the flagging, combative chin—for just the fraction of a second, the unexpected sight of those sinister eyes, rising quickly like some evil dream from the human maelstrom that streaked down Forty-second Street, threw Ng Ch’u off his guard. It conquered in him the long habit of outward self-control which he had acquired in a lifetime of tight bargaining, of matching his algebraic Mongol cunning against the equal cunning of his countrymen.
He stopped still. His round, butter-yellow face was marked by a look of almost ludicrous alarm. His tiny, pinkish button of a nose crinkled and sniffled like that of a frightened rabbit. His pudgy, comfortable little hands opened and shut convulsively. His jaw felt swollen, out of joint. His tongue seemed heavy, clogging, like something which did not belong to him and which he mu
st try to spit out. Little blue and crimson wheels gyrated madly in front of his bulging eyes.
Ng Ch’u was a coward. He knew it. Nor was he ashamed of it. To him—a prosy, four-square, sublimely practical Chinese—reckless, unthinking courage seemed incomprehensible, and he was too honest a man to find fascination or worth in anything he could not understand.
Still it was one thing to be afraid, by which one lost no face to speak of, and another to appear afraid, by which one often lost a great deal of face and of profit, and so he collected himself with an effort and greeted the Manchu with his usual, faintly ironic ease of manner.
“Ten thousand years, ten thousand years!”
“And yet another year!” came the courtly reply; and, after a short pause, “Ah—friend Ng Ch’u!” Showing that recognition had been mutual.
They looked at each other, smiling, tranquil, touching palm to palm. They were carefully, even meticulously, dressed: the Chinese in neat pin-stripe worsted, bowler hat, glossy cordovan brogues that showed an inch of brown-silk hose, and a sober shepherd’s-plaid necktie in which twinkled a diamond horseshoe pin; the Manchu in pontifical Prince Albert and shining high hat with the correct eight reflections. Both, at least sartorially, were a very epitome of the influence of West over East.
* * * *
In that motley New York crowd, nobody could have guessed that here, in neat pin-stripe worsted and pontifical Prince Albert, stood tragedy incarnate: tragedy that had started, four decades earlier, in a Manchu-Chinese border town, with a girl’s soft song flung from a painted balcony; that had threatened to congeal into darkening blood, and that had faded out in a whispered, sardonic word about the Huang T’ai Hou, the Empress, the Old Buddha, and a coolie’s stupendous Odyssey from a mud-chinked Ninguta hut to a gleaming Fifth Avenue shop; tragedy that, by the same token, had started four centuries earlier when red-faced, flat-nosed Tatars, led by iron-capped Manchu chiefs, had poured out of Central Asia, to be met by submissiveness—the baffling submissiveness of placid, yellow China—the submissiveness of a rubber ball that jumps back into place the moment you remove the pressure of your hand—the submissiveness of a race that, being old and wise, prefers the evening meal of rice and fried pork to epic, clanking heroics.
For a moment Ng Ch’u wondered—and shivered slightly at the thought—if Yang Shen-hsiu’s perfectly tailored coat might hold the glimmer of steel. Then he reconsidered. This was New York, and the noon hour, and Forty-second Street, youthful, shrill, but filled with tame, warm conveniences, and safe—sublimely safe.