Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  So Jim scrambled to his feet again. The iblis looked up at him and laughed.

  “See what is upstairs,” he suggested.

  “Untie my wrists!” said Jim.

  The iblis did it, not troubling to get to his feet but turning Jim around and unknotting the thong with fingers that were strong enough to have unraveled wire. Standing, chafing his wrists to restore circulation and get some of the pain out of the swollen one, Jim realized how utterly helpless he would be if he tried to fight. It was true that he had boots on and could kick, but unless you are very certain of your aim, and equally sure of surprising your adversary, one blow wins no battle.

  So he decided to try the stairs and see. But the iblis sprang across the room in front of him and prevented him by sitting on the bottom step.

  “Not now,” he grinned.

  “Why the change of mind?”

  “Go back to the wall and sit down.”

  Jim went back and leaned against the wall, holding his hot wrist against the cool stone, grateful for any way of gaining time, for time was obviously in his favor. For one thing, Catesby would probably report him missing; and Narayan Singh would certainly not rest until he had found him dead or alive.

  If he could only guess what the iblis’ purpose was in bringing him to that place he would have a great deal more than time in his favor, for the man with definite plans and a nefarious purpose is always at a disadvantage as compared to an equally determined man aware of both plan and purpose and bent on spoiling both.

  He felt his way along the wall to the door and tested the lock while he weighed the situation in his mind. The lock was set into an immensely heavy wooden door and was unbreakable without tools; but a little enlightenment dawned as he watched the iblis, who sat smiling at his futile effort to escape.

  Upstairs there was probably loot — most likely rifles. That would account for the iblis being willing for him to go up there with his hands tied, and unwilling otherwise. Supposing that only five per cent of the loot stolen from the British camp in the last month or two was up there, the iblis certainly would not carry it away alone, and probably would not dare leave it where it was much longer. Therefore it was likely that he was waiting for men, who would come before morning to remove the stuff; nobody would be fool enough to run that risk after daybreak.

  Jim’s spirits began to rise. If his guess was correct, then he was on the trail of something vastly more important than the mere thieves. The ultimate receivers of the loot were worth all risks to bring to book. Certainly the iblis could be nothing more than a mere agent, because a naked dervish trying to dispose of rifles for any purpose or in any market would fall foul of the law within an hour, even if he tried to employ agents on his own account. There was somebody higher up — not a doubt of it.

  It began to seem wisest to play the other fellow’s game and wait patiently, if only because that might force the iblis to move next and show something of his hand. He might be a lunatic like many another pseudo- religious sensation-maker; but it was much more likely that he was a very shrewd expert in human nature, busily applying all the simple principles he knew, after the fashion of a drill-sergeant, or a jailer, or a trainer of wild beasts. His strength was circumstantial and physical; all the conditions were in his favor, as much as if he had deliberately decoyed his prisoner to chosen ground. His weak points were two — vanity and time.

  So Jim sat down. And curiosity took hold of him so completely as to obliterate the pain in his wrists along with all sense of his own danger. Satisfied that the iblis had a definite objective and a motive behind every move, he cared for nothing but to discover what they were.

  The same spirit that had made him study Arabic until he knew the language better than most Arabs did, gripped him in the same way that the laboratory scientist is seized. It would have annoyed him at that moment to be discovered by his friends and rescued.

  “Don’t forget; his two weak points are time and vanity!”

  That thought was like a formula running through the mind of a chemist bending over his retorts.

  Even vanity was not strong enough to blind the iblis to the element of time, although it made him so sure of his own perceptive faculty that he never suspected his prisoner might be other than a local Arab. It was evidently no part of his plan to waste time letting the sense of mystery grow thin.

  “Allah makes all things easy,” he announced again. “I can tell your father’s name and your mother’s, and the name of the village you come from.”

  If Jim’s curiosity had been of a non-scientific turn he would have dared the man to do it; and the iblis no doubt would have side-stepped by refusing to commit himself. He would not have been one step nearer to discovery.

  “Vanity and time — vanity and time — those are his weak points!”

  Time could look after itself, for the minutes go by changeless measure. Jim decided to tickle vanity, which is usually dangerous until well fed.

  “That is indeed a great gift,” he said respectfully. “I remember that you called me by my right name in the tomb tonight. To be able to tell a man’s name, and those of his father and mother, and his village — that is wonderful!”

  “Allah makes all things easy,” smiled the iblis self- complacently. “I not only have gifts, I confer them. I not only have power, I can pass it on to others.”

  There was something vaguely familiar about that statement. Jim had heard it, not exactly in those words, but near enough, in a back room in Boston where an occultist held forth; and again in New York City in a barroom where a political gang-leader held brief sway. Only this man, being half-savage and believing he dealt with another like himself, made his boasts a little bit more definite. Possibly, like the politician and the occultist, he half believed his own assertions.

  “How does a man attain such gifts?” Jim asked him.

  “It is all in the Koran,” said the iblis. “Allah makes all things easy.”

  “They say that all knowledge is written in the Koran,” Jim answered. “But who shall understand it?”

  “Ah!”

  The iblis chuckled from the depths of his immense conceit.

  “There is no profit in ignorance. But there is wisdom in obeying those who understand.”

  “And you understand? Shall I obey you?”

  “You must obey me. I could kill you here — now — with these fingers.”

  That was probably perfectly true. Jim did not choose to dispute it; he would have had as much chance against a gorilla.

  “I could let you go and cause you to drop dead within fifty paces,” continued the iblis. “I, who know your name, and your birthplace, can curse them all and—”

  “No, no!” Jim protested. It was just as easy to pretend terror as to laugh. “Don’t do that! In the name of Allah, Lord of Creatures, don’t do that!”

  “Then obey me.”

  “I must. What else can I do? You have made me afraid,” said Jim, wondering just how many superstitious potential thieves had been initiated in that room.

  “If you disobey in one thing you shall turn to worms — in one day — in two days — in three days — according to the measure of disobedience.”

  That was clever. Every victim was sure to disobey in some particular, but delay in fulfillment of the overhanging threat could only be held to qualify the disobedience, and the fear would remain.

  “For disobedience you shall turn to worms. Your roof shall fall in. Your relatives shall die of want.”

  “But what if I obey?” Jim asked him.

  “Ah!”

  The iblis chuckled again, as if reviewing in his mind the wondrous list of prizes.

  “Those who are obedient have protection. Provided with protection they may help themselves. Allah makes all things easy!”

  “Why do you pretend to be a leper?” Jim asked suddenly and at that the iblis flew into such a rage that every muscle in his huge frame trembled.

  His eyes blazed. His lips, thrust outward like an
ape’s, uncovered yellow teeth that could have crushed a forearm. Fingers strong enough to pluck out a victim’s sinews one by one twitched with desire, and his long toes kept time with them. Suddenly he spat, writhing up his face into hideous contortions, and hissing as he had done in the cave.

  “Cursed dog of an unbelieving fool!” he snarled. “Son of sixty dogs and a cesspool! Impudent, insolent, abominable lump of earth about to perish! Bloodless, loveless, senseless, hopeless pig! Eater of worms and dung! Idiot!”

  Foam bubbled through his teeth and ran down on his chin in slime. It was not difficult to be afraid of him.

  “Come and touch me! Come and see how soon I can make you a leper!”

  Not to obey, of course, was disobedience. On the other hand, to obey would be to call the bluff, which might oblige the iblis to take some unimaginably desperate course. There was no guessing what tricks he had in store, so Jim played safe.

  “No, no!” he begged. “In the name of Allah the compassionate, not that!”

  “I can make abras (leprous) whom I will!”

  That was Jim’s cue to do a little sensational acting. Plainly the purpose was to make him thoroughly afraid, so to get at the motive behind the purpose he would have to seem afraid; and he set to work to do that. Most of Jim’s successes had been won by keeping his head in emergencies; he had not much experience of the outward effects of terror on himself. He had to risk overacting the part, putting in practice all he could remember of the symptoms of Arab panic.

  His teeth stubbornly refused to chatter, and he could not make the cold sweat come; but he could slobber and mutter Koran text and beg for mercy, throwing himself forward to beat on the floor with the palms of his hands and call the iblis such names as “prince of wizards — lord of potent curses — father of terrors and captain of calamities,” names which pleased the iblis very much indeed.

  After that he flew into a panic, making believe he thought the iblis would rush at him. He scrambled to his feet and hugged the wall like an animal trying to escape, then beat on the door with his fists, and finally came to a stand with open mouth and glaring eyes as if hope were gone and he could only await the inevitable.

  The iblis appeared to consider himself a judge of such symptoms, and was not quite satisfied yet. He, too, seemed to await the inevitable, as if fear always ran an appointed course and he preferred to see the thing complete.

  Jim, aping abject terror, stood and wondered what the — the man expected more. What should an Arab in fear of witchcraft do in proof of utter lack of self-control? He had it! He sprang at the candle and stamped out the light with his foot, screaming instantly in added terror of darkness and scrambling around the wall to the door again to bear on it and shout for help.

  At last the iblis appeared satisfied. It was time to turn the last trick.

  “Allah makes all things easy. I can find you in the dark!” he boomed.

  In answer Jim groaned and muttered enough to satisfy the very hellions who stoke the fires of Eblis.

  “I can make you abras without touching you!”

  “Oh no, no, no! Shi mamkut! Mnain hashshakawi! (That is abominable! How could you be so wicked!)”

  “Or I can spare you if I will.”

  “Spare me then, father of afflictions!”

  “Or I can spare you for a little while, and reach you with my curses at a distance if you disobey me.”

  “Damn him, I wish he’d hurry up,” thought Jim. “I’m getting tired of this.”

  But he managed to keep up a pretty good semblance of terror; and either the iblis was getting tired, too, or else time began to press.

  “Be still. I will spare for the present.”

  “Ilham’dillah!’ (God be praised!)

  Jim collapsed into a squatting posture on the floor, moving his head this and that way to try and see the other in the dark; but the iblis’ black skin made that impossible. Apparently, however, the iblis could see Jim and guessed his purpose.

  “I can be invisible whenever I choose.”

  “O father of darkness, what do you want with me?”

  “Ah! What do I want with you? What but to make of you a wizard like myself. I recognize the spirit of obedience, but there must be a test.”

  “Father of terrors, I have been too much tested!”

  “Malaish. (No matter.) There is another. Fail in this and you shall see the leprosy seize you in an hour.”

  Having exhausted all the outward forms of fear he could think of, Jim sat still.

  “My servants will come presently,” said the iblis. “They are not such as you, fit to become wizards, but servants — mean men — dogs. They will take things away from here to another place. Go with them, but say nothing to them. Answer no questions. Watch where they put the things. Then return and bring word of it to me.”

  “I obey, father of happenings,” Jim answered meekly.

  It was almost the hardest thing he ever did to keep a note of triumph from his voice that minute.

  “Speak one word to them — answer one question — and the curse shall rot the carcasses of you and yours!”

  “I am silent — silent!”

  “Then be silent!”

  For another half hour Jim and the iblis faced each other in darkness, Jim on the floor with his back against the wall and the iblis on the bottom step. What with headache, hunger, pain in his wrist and general weariness Jim almost fell asleep; but just as the first false light before dawn brightened the narrow window there came a stealthy, subdued knocking on the door that brought the iblis to his feet. He crossed the room, put on his brown cloak, produced an enormous key, went to listen at the door, and after a backward, precautionary glance in Jim’s direction opened it.

  CHAPTER IX

  “The butcha speaks wisdom.”

  CATESBY and Narayan Singh had no more matches; and Suliman had none, for they searched him. They tried to fathom the cave’s recesses in the dark, but gave that up as hopeless; even the Sikh’s eyes could not penetrate the Stygian darkness that began where the faintly reflected starlight ceased, a yard or two from the entrance hole.

  So they climbed out, and with Suliman disconsolate on Narayan Singh’s knees held a consultation. Catesby, of course, began it.

  “Which shall we do? Return to camp and report Major Grim missing, or hunt about and try to find him?”

  But Suliman spoke next, being only a stickler for etiquette when he could score by it.

  “I will not go back to camp! If that iblis has eaten Jimgrim, then Narayan Singh must kill the iblis and cut his belly open and let Jimgrim out.”

  Catesby laughed, but Narayan Singh knew better. It is not only the children in that land who believe in goblin stories.

  “If we go back to camp without him, sahib, half the camp will call us liars and the other half will believe henceforth all the tales about the iblis, and twice as many more tales of their own invention. Moreover, my orders are to bring that Jimgrim back to Jerusalem alive.”

  “But where to look?” wondered Catesby.

  There was cactus-covered sandy hill and dale in every direction. They might chance on footprints, but likely enough it would be easier and quicker work to follow rumor through Jerusalem city than such a trail by moonlight.

  “Let us ask the butcha,” said Narayan Singh, preferring to be charged with talking nonsense rather than seem to rebuke an officer.

  Etiquette in his case was something only to be broken in a pinch.

  Catesby produced a cigarette, and swore, remembering he had no matches. Narayan Singh, with mutiny in mind if Catesby should insist on going back to camp, proceeded after a fashion of his own to draft a proposition.

  “Now Suliman-jee, son of the warrior Rustum, how much have you learned from Jimgrim?”

  “Everything.”

  “That is a very great deal. Tell me some of it. Where would thieves sell loot, for instance?”

  “In the suk (bazaar).”

  “That might be. But if they
feared to go into the suk, what then?”

  “They might run away over the hills to Hebron.”

  “In that case we cannot follow them tonight. But if they were going to the suk, would they go by night?”

  “No.”

  “Why not, father of ready answers?”

  “They would be shot. None but thieves enter a town by night.”

  “And if they had loot with them, would they wait to be caught with it?”

  “They would bury it, or hide it somewhere.”

  “And then — what then?”

  “One or two would go into the town at daybreak. Later a cart would come, or a camel, or an ox; and the loot would be taken to the suk by daylight, covered up. That is how all the thieves behave.”

  “Father of good scouting! And would they hide the loot on this side of the railway track, or beyond?”

  “That is a foolish question. If they hid it on this side, whoever came afterward to fetch it would have to carry it across the track by daylight, and the track is always watched.”

  “True, father of knavery! Whereas between the track and the town — ?”

  “Who would search a cart or a camel between the town and the railway line? The car leaves town and returns; that is nothing. It is carts and camels crossing the track that are always searched.”

  “True. True. At night thieves could cross the track unseen—”

  “Easily.”

  “But they could not enter the town unseen. That is so. And if we should watch the open land between the railway and the town at daybreak, we might learn something. Do you hear him, sahib? The butcha speaks wisdom.”

  Catesby yawned, and then laughed.

  “All right, Narayan Singh. I see your mind’s set on not going back to camp. Suits me. Better a night in the open than a lame tale for General Jenkins! Besides, I like your kind of guts. Come on, we’ll head for the railway line.”