Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Speak!” said the latter, sternly.

  “To the monastery of Takkatu is three days’ journey — three days, at least,” he said, hesitatingly. “And for Prince Ahmed to return will require three more. Seven days — a week — with fast riding.”

  “Then,” said the Khan, calmly, “they must ride fast.” He turned to the Persian. “Can you fight Death so long?”

  The Persian nodded. The pluck of Burah Khan aroused his admiration.

  “I will fight Death so long,” said he, gravely.

  “And the sirdars?” asked the sick man, once more turning to his vizier.

  “They can be assembled in five days,” answered Agahr, after a moment’s reflection. “Three are already here.”

  “Good!” declared the Khan. “Let Dirrag ride within the hour.”

  “For the sirdars?”

  “For Ahmed.”

  He fell back again, and a man rose from the group behind Agahr and with an obeisance toward the divan glided swiftly from the courtyard.

  The physician, noting the action, turned to the vizier.

  “Dirrag?” he enquired.

  “Dirrag,” responded the other, mechanically.

  The Persian gave his patient a sharp scrutiny, and drawing a phial from his bosom placed it to the now colorless lips of the Khan.

  “Clear the place,” he commanded Agahr, and without awaiting a response himself stepped quickly through the outer arch.

  Outside Dirrag was mounting a strong Arabian mare. The Persian arrested him with a gesture.

  “The Prince must be here in six days,” he said, in a low but commanding voice. “Six days, or — ”

  “I understand,” said Dirrag, and put spurs to the mare.

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE DAUGHTER OF THE VIZIER

  Upon a stone gallery overlooking the courtyard of a handsome dwelling not far from the palace of the khan reclined a girl, beautiful with that mysterious Eastern beauty that has been for ages the despair of poets and artists and which attains its full charm only in the Orient. She was scarcely seventeen years of age, yet her rounded outlines, her graceful poise, her sedate demeanor, all proclaimed her a maiden on the verge of womanhood. Her eyes, round and soft as those of a fawn, were absolutely inscrutable; her features in repose held the immutable expression of the Sphynx. When she smiled sunbeams danced in her eyes and a girlish dimple showed in her chin. But she rarely smiled. The composed, serious, languorous expression dominated her exquisite face.

  The girl was richly dressed. Her silken gown was of finest texture; pearls of rare size were twined in her dark hair; a golden serpent whose every scale was a lustrous diamond spanned her waist; upon her breast glittered a solitary blood-red ruby of historic fame, known in song and story for generations.

  For this maiden was Maie, only daughter of Agahr, Grand Vizier to the Lion of Mekran and to his father before him — the terrible Keedar Khan.

  Next to Burah himself in rank, virtually directing all the civic affairs of the nation, responsible to none save his stern master, Agahr was indeed a personage of vast importance in the realm. The sirdars of the nine fighting tribes of Baluchi, the main support of the Khan, might look upon the vizier scornfully; but they obeyed his laws and avoided any interference with his civic functions.

  Maie was the daughter of Agahr’s old age, his only companion and his constant delight. To her he confided many of the problems that from time to time confronted him, and often a quiet word from the girl’s lips showed him the matter in a new light and guided him in his actions. The old man had discovered a store of common sense in the dainty head of his daughter; the inscrutable velvet eyes were wells of wisdom from which he drew solace and counsel in all difficulties.

  On the evening of this eventful day came Agahr to the gallery where his daughter reclined. And as he sat beside her she turned her eyes upon his face and seemed to read it clearly.

  “The Khan is worse,” said she, quietly.

  “He is dying,” answered the vizier. “The Persian physician has come from Kelat, and he says there is no hope.”

  “We shall be making history soon,” remarked the girl, in soft tones. “The Khan will pass away, and Kasam is here.”

  The vizier moved uneasily on his seat.

  “Kasam is here; yes,” said he. “But no one knows the secret save us. No one knows who our Kasam is.”

  “They will know soon,” returned the girl in a calm, expressionless voice. “Our cousin Kasam is rightful heir to the throne — when the Lion’s eyes are closed in death.”

  “You forget that Burah Khan has also a son,” said the old man, harshly. “Even now Dirrag is riding full speed to the Sunnite monastery at Takkatu to bring hither the Prince Ahmed.”

  “That he may be acknowledged successor to the throne by the assembled sirdars of the Nine Tribes?”

  “Yes.”

  “But the Khan is dying. The Prince cannot arrive in time.”

  “Perhaps not. Yet that accursed Persian has promised to prolong the Khan’s life for seven days. If he succeeds — ”

  The girl bent forward suddenly.

  “He must not succeed!” she exclaimed, in a clear voice.

  Agahr shrank from the intentness of her gaze.

  “Hear me!” she continued. “Kasam is our kinsman; the throne is his by right. Most of our citizens and many of the members of the Nine Tribes secretly favor his claim. A crisis approaches, and we must take advantage of it. The Lion of Mekran must not live seven days. If his son Ahmed, who has been secluded for twenty years in a monastery, and is said to be devoted to Allah, is not here to be recognized as the successor to the throne, the people will acclaim Kasam their khan. It is all very simple, my father. The Lion of Mekran must not live seven days!”

  “What, plotting again, cousin?” cried a cheery voice behind them. Agahr gave a sudden start and wheeled around with a frown, meeting the smiling face of Prince Kasam, but the girl moved not even an eyelid.

  “Pardon me, uncle, for startling you,” said the young man, coming forward and taking a seat beside the vizier. “I arrived in time to hear cousin Maie doom Burah Kahn to an early death, as if the dark angel fought on our side. What a wonderful little conspirator you are, my Maie!”

  She looked into his face thoughtfully, not caring to acknowledge the compliment of his words or the ardor of his gaze. But Agahr said, gruffly:

  “The conspiracies of women cost many men their heads.”

  “Very true, uncle,” replied Kasam, becoming grave. “But we are in sore straights, and a little plotting may not come amiss. If the son of the old Lion — who, by the way, is also my cousin — is acknowledged by the sirdars, he is liable to make a change in his officers. We may lose our vizier, and with the office more than half our power with the people. In that event I can never become kahn.”

  “The son of Burah must be a weakling and a dreamer,” said the girl, thoughtfully. “What can be expected of one who for twenty years has associated with monks and priests?”

  “Twenty years?” exclaimed Kasam; “then my cousin Ahmed must be nearly thirty years of age.”

  “And a recluse,” added Maie, quietly. “You, Prince, are not yet twenty-five, and you have lived in the world. We need not, I am sure, fear the gentle son of Burah — even though he be acknowledged by his father and the sirdars of the tribes.”

  “Which will surely happen if the Khan lives seven days. Is it not so? But if Allah calls him sooner, and my friends are loyal — why, then, I may become khan myself, and much trouble spared. The English have an injunction to ‘strike while the iron is hot.’ We may safely apply it to ourselves.”

  Maie glanced at her father, and there was a glint of triumph in the dark eyes.

  “It is what I have said,” she murmured. “The Lion of Mekrari must not live seven days.”

  “Do you know, fair one,” remarked Kasam, lightly, “that only yesterday I bewailed the approaching fate of the usurper, and longed to have him live un
til we could secure England’s support?”

  “England!” she cried, scornfully. “What is that far-away nation to our Baluchistan? It is here that history will be made.”

  Kasam laughed merrily.

  “What a logical little head you have, cousin!” he answered, laying his hand upon her own, caressingly. “To us, indeed, Ba-luchistan is the world. And England’s help is far away from us in this crisis. Tell me, Maie, what is your counsel?”

  “It is your duty, Prince, to prevent Burah Khan from living until his son arrives to be acknowledged his successor.”

  Kasam’s face became suddenly grave.

  “My duty, cousin?” he replied. “It is no man’s duty to murder, even to become khan. But perhaps I misunderstood your words. I am practically a stranger in my own land, and can do little to further my own interests, which naturally include the interests of my friends. If Burah Khan fails to live until his son’s arrival it will be through the will of Allah, and by no act of mine.”

  “You are a coward,” said the girl, scornfully.

  “Yes,” he answered, coldly; “I am afraid to become a murderer.”

  “Peace, both of you!” commanded the vizier, angrily. “You are like a pair of children. Do you think that I, who have been Burah’s faithful officer for thirty years, would countenance treachery or foul play while he lies upon his death-bed?

  I long to see Prince Kasam seated upon the throne, but it must be through honest diplomacy, and by no assassin’s stroke.”

  “Right, my uncle!” cried Kasam, seizing the vizier’s hand in a hearty clasp. “Otherwise, were I khan, you should be no officer of mine.”

  Agahr and his daughter exchanged a quick glance, and the girl said, languidly:

  “I was doubtless wrong, urged on by the intensity of my feeling and my loyalty to the Tribe of Raab. But a woman’s way is, I think, more direct and effective than a man’s.”

  “Even if less honest, cousin?” retorted the young man, playfully pinching her cheek. “Let us bide our time and trust to the will of Allah. This evening I must set out on my return to Quanam. What answer shall I take to my foreign friends who await me?”

  “Tell me, Kasam; why do they wish to cross our territory — to visit our villages and spy upon our people?” asked Agahr, suspiciously.

  “It is as I told you, my uncle. They are people of great wealth, from the far western country of America, and it is their custom to penetrate to every part of the world and lay rails of iron over which chariots may swiftly speed. We have no such rails in Baluchistan.”

  “Nor do we desire them,” returned the vizier, brusquely.

  “But they would bring to us all the merchandise of that wonderful western world. They would bring us wealth in exchange for our own products,” said Kasam, eagerly.

  “And they would bring hundreds of infidels to trick and rob us. I know of these railways,” declared the vizier.

  “I also,” answered Kasam, lightly. “I have been educated in Europe, and know well the benefits of western civilization.”

  “But the Baluchi do not Our own high and advanced civilization is enough for us.”

  The young man smiled.

  “It is not worth an argument now,” he remarked. “The present mission of this party of infidels is to examine our country and consider whether a railway across it would be profitable. All that I now require is a passport and safe conduct for them. It will benefit our cause, as well, for only as the guide to these foreigners dared I return to my native land. If I am permitted to depart tonight with the passport I can easily return in time for the crisis that approaches. Then perhaps our American friends will be of service to us, for no one will suspect their guide of being the exiled heir to the throne.”

  The vizier hesitated.

  “But the railway — ”

  “Bother the railway!” interrupted Kasam, impatiently. “That is a matter of the future, a matter for the new khan and his vizier to decide upon, whoever they may chance to be.”

  “Here is the passport,” said Agahr, reluctantly drawing a parchment from his breast. “Burah Khan was too sick to be bothered with the request of the infidels, so I made out the paper and signed it by virtue of my office.”

  “Ah, and affixed the great seal, I perceive,” added Kasam, taking the document. “I thank you, uncle Agahr. We shall get along famously together — when I am khan.”

  He bade them adieu the next moment, embracing the vizier and kissing his cousin’s hand with a gallantry that brought a slight flush to the girl’s cheeks. And soon they heard the quick beat of his horse’s hoofs as he rode away.

  Maie and her father looked into each other’s eyes. Presently the old man spoke, slowly and thoughtfully.

  “You will share his throne, my child.”

  The girl nodded and fanned herself.

  “The life in Europe has made Kasam foolish,” said she. Then, leaning forward and regarding the vizier earnestly, she added in a whisper:

  “Nevertheless, Burah Khan must not live seven days!”

  CHAPTER V.

  THE PERIL OF BURAH KHAN

  Three days had passed. The khan remained sunk in a stupor caused by the medicines administered by the Persian physician, who hovered constantly around the bedside of his patient. Burah now lay in a well aired, high vaulted chamber. The musk-scented cushions had been ostracised, the dancing girls dismissed. Quiet reigned throughout the vast palace.

  Occasionally Agahr would thrust his head through the curtains draping the entrance, as if seeking to know that all was well; but the Persian merely gave him a reassuring nod and motioned him away.

  This summary banishment did not please the vizier. His daughter had assisted him in forming several plans of great political import, and the conduct of the foreign physician prevented their being carried to a successful issue.

  Thus Agahr, appearing again at the entrance, beckoned with imperative gesture the Persian to join him; and, after a careful inspection of his patient, lying peaceful and unconscious, the physician obeyed.

  Together they paced up and down the deserted marble passage, the Persian’s quick eye never leaving the entrance to the khan’s chamber, while Agahr plied him with eager questions concerning his master’s condition.

  “He will live until his son, the Prince Ahmed, arrives,” said the other, calmly. “He will remain unconscious, but he will live.”

  “And then?” asked the vizier, anxiously.

  “Then I will awaken him. He will have full command of all his faculties for a brief period — and then he will pass away quickly.”

  Agahr sighed.

  “Is it not possible for him to pass away during this stupor?” he enquired.

  “Yes, it is possible,” answered the Per-sian. “But I believe I can prevent that My task requires constant vigilance: that is why I dare not leave the Khan’s chamber.”

  “I will send a man to relieve you,” said the vizier. “You can instruct him in his duties and he will be faithful.”

  “No,” returned the Persian.

  An awkward silence followed. Then Agahr stopped suddenly and said:

  “I will be frank with you. The son of Burah Khan is not the rightful heir to the throne of Mekran. It is the exiled Prince Kasam, from whose grandsire Keedar Khan by right of sword wrested all Baluchistan. Therefore it is best for the country that Burah does not live until his son arrives.”

  He paused, wiping the perspiration from his brow and glancing half fearfully into the grave face of the physician. The latter nodded.

  “I understand,” said he.

  Agahr became reassured.

  “The ancestors of Prince Kasam,” he continued, earnestly, “ruled the land for nine generations. Then the Baluchi rebelled and put their Headsman, the fierce Keedar Khan, upon the throne his own brother was forced to vacate. I being at the time vizier, remained Keedar’s vizier, as I have remained vizier to his son. By means of wars and bloodshed these terrible men have for forty-six years
dominated all Baluchistan. It is now time, in the interest of justice and humanity, that the rightful heir should recover the throne.”

  “Did not Prince Kasam’s ancestors conquer this country with the aid of the Afghans, and put to death every member of the then reigning family?” asked the Persian.

  “It is a matter of history,” said Agahr, proudly. “They were my ancestors, these bold conquerors, as well as the ancestors of Prince Kasam.”

  “Yet Keedar Khan made you his vizier, and his son retained you?”

  “Yes; and I have been faithful.”

  “But now, it seems to me, you are speaking treason,” said the physician.

  “Not so,” declared the vizier, indignantly. “Burah Khan, by your own showing, is virtually dead at this moment. I owe no allegiance to his son, whom I have never seen.”

  “How is that?” asked the physician, in surprise.

  “When Ahmed was a child his father, fearing a revolt and that his boy might fall by an assassin’s knife, placed him in the Sunnite monastery at Takkatu for safe keeping. There he has remained ever since. It will be necessary for Burah Khan to officially acknowledge him before the chiefs of the Nine Tribes and to appoint him his own successor, before Ahmed can legally occupy the throne. If this is not done the people, who are weary of the rule of these tyrants, will acclaim Kasam as khan.”

  “But Prince Ahmed will arrive, and be acknowledged. Burah Khan has so willed it, and he is still the master.”

  Agahr faced the Persian with an angry frown.

  “Do you refuse to assist us?” he asked, sharply.

  “I refuse to betray the man whose life I have promised to preserve until his son arrives,” declared the physician.

  “But you are a stranger — a Persian.”

  “Even so.”

  “And you expect a reward, or you would not have hastened to Mekran when summoned by the Khan. Name your price. I will double it, and you shall depart this very night.”

  The Persian smiled.

  “Here, and throughout the world,” said he, “the strongest argument is the clink of gold. Listen well, your Excellency. I have promised Burah Khan life for seven days. I shall keep my promise. Then, if the Prince does not come, I can do no more.”