Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  “Um-m-m! If you’re killed — or disappear?”

  “That’s my look-out.”

  “As a friend, you’re all right. As an assistant, you’re a disappointing, independent devil!” said McGregor. “You’re as useful as a bellyache to open a can of corned beef with! All right. Dammit. Have your own way. Remember, I shall take you at your word. If you’re ditched, there’s no ambulance.”

  “Splendid! Then here’s where I vanish — pull up by that lamp-post, won’t you? Well — so long, old chap. Nothing personal — eh, Mac?”

  “No, damn you! Nothing personal. I wish I were coming with you. Good luck. Good-by, old chap.”

  They did not shake hands, for that might have implied that there was a dwindling friendship, to be bridged or denied recognition. Diana sprang down from behind and Dawa Tsering followed her. McGregor drove away, not looking back, and the sais — the sole occupant now of the back seat — sat with folded arms, staring straight along the middle of the street. But Ommony took no chances with the sais; he watched until the dog-cart turned a corner before he made a move of any kind.

  Then he walked straight to a door between two shop-fronts and pounded on it. He had to wait about three minutes before the door was opened — gingerly, at first, then after a moment’s inspection, suddenly and wide.

  A very sleepy-looking Jew confronted him — a Jew of the long-nosed type, with the earlock that betokened orthodoxy. He had a straggly beard, which he stroked with not exactly nervous but exceedingly alert long fingers.

  “Ommony! This time of night?” he said in perfectly good English; but there was nothing that even resembled English about his make-up. He wore a turban of embroidered silk and a Kashmir shawl thrown over a cotton shirt and baggy pantaloons. His bare feet showed through the straps of sandals.

  “Let me in, Benjamin.”

  The Jew nodded and, holding a lantern high, led the way down a passage beside a staircase into a big room at the rear, that was piled with heaps of clothing — costumes of every kind and color, some new, some second-hand, some worthy to be reckoned antiques. There were shelves stacked with cosmetics and aromatic scents. There were saddles, saddle-cloths and blankets; tents and camp-equipment; yak-hair shirts from over the Pamirs; prayer-mats from Samarkand; second-hand dress suits from London; silk-hats, “bowlers,” turbans; ancient swords and pistols; match-locks, adorned with brass and turquoise and notched in the butt suggestively. And there was a smell of all the ends of Asia, that Diana sniffed and deciphered as a Sanskrit scholar reads old manuscripts.

  “I will have tea brought,” said Benjamin, setting down the lantern and shuffling away in the dark toward the stairs. The impression was that he wanted time to think before indulging in any conversation.

  Ommony sat down on a heap of blankets and beckoned Dawa Tsering to come closer to the light.

  “Now you know where to find me,” he said abruptly. “When the Jew returns he shall let you out by the back door. Find your way to that house in the courtyard. Tell those Tibetans that unless that letter — you still have it? — is delivered to the Lama, he shall never get that for which he came to Delhi. Do you understand?”

  “Do you take me for a fool, Ommonee? You mean if he receives this letter he shall have the green stone? But that is the talk of a crazy man. Tell him he must buy the stone, and then let me do the bargaining!”

  Ommony betrayed no more impatience than he used to when he was teaching the puppy Diana the rudiments of her education. “I see I have no use for you after all,” he said, looking bored.

  “Huh! A blind man could see better than that. It is as clear as this lantern-light that you and I are destined to be useful to each other. Nay, Ommonee, I will not go away! — What is that? I am not worth paying? Is that so! Very well, I will stay and serve for nothing! — Do you hear me, Ommonee? Huh! Those are the words of a great one — of a bold one — but it is nothing to me that you will not have me thrown into prison if I get hence. — I say I will not go away! — You will not answer, eh? — Very well I will go with the letter and that message. Then we will see! One of these days you will tell me I was right. Where is that Jew bunnia?”*

  Benjamin came shuffling back along the passage, looking like an elongated specter as he stood in the door with the dark behind him. Dawa Tsering swaggered up to him demanding to be let out, and from behind the Hillman’s back Ommony made a signal indicating the back door. Benjamin, very wide awake now and taking in everything with glittering black eyes, picked up the lantern and, leaving Ommony in the dark, led the way into another large room at the rear, out of which a door opened into an alley.

  “That one not only has a stink, he has a devil! Beware of him, Ommony!” he said, returning and sitting down on the blanket pile, making no bones about it, not waiting for an invitation. He and Ommony were evidently old friends. “My daughter will bring for us tea in a minute. Hey-hey! We have all grown older since you hid us in that forest of yours — where the ghosts are, Ommony, and the wolves and the tigers! Gr-r-r-agh! What a time that was! Our own people lifting hands against us! None but you believing us innocent! Tch- tch-tch! That cave was a place of terrors, but your heart was good. I left my middle-age in that cave, Ommony. Since fifteen years ago I am an old man!”

  The daughter came, carrying another lantern and a brass Benares tray, — a large-eyed woman with black hair, plump and the wrong side of forty, dressed in the Hindu fashion, her big breasts bulging under a yellow silk shawl. She made as much fuss over Ommony as if he were a long-lost husband but embarrassed him hardly at all, because she did not use English and the eastern words sounded less absurd than flattery does in any western tongue.

  “The son-in-law? Aha!” said Benjamin, “Mordecai does well. He is in Bukhara just now; but that is a secret. He buys Bukhara pieces from the Jews who became poor on account of the Bolshevism. Tay-yay! It is a long way to Bukhara, and no protection nowadays. We win or lose a fortune, Ommony!”

  The daughter poured tea into China cups that had once been a rajah’s and the three drank together as if it were a sacred rite, touching cups and murmuring words that are not in any dictionary. Then the daughter went away and Ommony, leaning back against the wall, with Diana’s great head on his lap, discussed things with Benjamin that would have made McGregor’s ears burn if he had had an inkling of them.

  “Yes, Ommony, yes. I know which way the Lama travels. How do I know — eh? How was it you knew that a she-bear had a young one with her. Because she ground her teeth — wasn’t that so? Well, I didn’t know that, but I know a little about the Lama. Let me think. There is danger, Ommony, but — but—” (Benjamin’s eyes shone, and his fingers worked nervously, as if they were kneading something concrete out of unseen ingredients) “ — you love danger as I love my daughter! — You remember the time when you secured the costume business for me in the Panch Mahal in Pegu — when the rajah married and spent a fortune in a week?”

  Ommony nodded. Together he and Benjamin had done things that are not included in the lives of routine loving mortals — things that are forbidden — things that the orthodox authorities declare are not so. And there is mirth in memories of that kind, more than in all the comedies at which one pays legitimately to look on. Benjamin cackled and stroked his beard reminiscently.

  “Did the rajah ever learn that you and I were actors in that play? Heh- heh-heh! Did the priests ever discover it? Teh-teh-teh-heh-heh! Oh, my people! Eh-heh! You remember how the nautch-girls* were inquisitive? Ommony, you had the key to the temple crypts in your hand that minute! What actresses they were! What incomparable artists! And what children! The half of them were in love with you, and the other half were so devoured by curiosity — ach, how they wriggled with it! — they would have betrayed the chief priest at a nod from you! And didn’t they dislike me! I haven’t your gift, Ommony, for getting into the hearts; I can only see behind the brains. And what I see — but never mind. What times! What times! Did you never follow that up? Did you penetrate the c
rypts? Did you now?”

  “No time. Had to get back to work.”

  “Ah, well — you wouldn’t tell me, I suppose. But why not once more be an actor? Ommony, you know all the Hindu plays. I have seen you act Pururavas* and — well — believe me — I sat and pinched myself — I am telling you the truth! — and even so — but listen: the Lama Tsiang Samdup is planning to take a company of actors North for certain reasons!”

  It would have been hard for anyone who did not know him intimately to believe that Ommony, as he sat there against the wall in an ultra-conservative English dinner jacket, could act any part except that of an unimaginative Englishman. There was not one trace of Oriental character about him, nor a hint of artistry. The only suggestion that he might be capable of more than met the eye was Benjamin’s manifest affection — admiration — half-familiar, half-obsequious respect.

  “I’m ready for anything,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “The question is—”

  “Do you dare! That is the question. Hah! You have the courage of a Jew! Dare you act all parts, Ommony? Oh-oh, but the risk is — Listen! There is a troupe of actors—”

  Benjamin’s long fingers began to knead the air excitedly, but Ommony sat still, staring straight before him, frowning a little — aware that Benjamin was itching to divulge a confidence.

  “Their director, Ommony, is a man named Maitraya — His best male actor died — He will have to act the leading roles himself unless—”

  “I don’t see the advantage,” Ommony objected. But he did — he saw it instantly.

  “Listen, Ommony! No bargain is a good one unless all concerned in it are gainers! Maitraya owes me money. He cannot pay. He is honest. He would pay me if he could. I hold his hundis.* I could ruin him. He must do as I say! Now listen! Listen! — there would be a solution of his difficulties, and — I might even be willing to advance just a little more money for his needs. He would not need much — just a little. And he must do as I say you understand! He must take you if I say so. The Lama commissioned me to engage the actors—”

  “But won’t he want to know all about the actors?” Ommony asked guardedly. He knew better than to turn down Benjamin’s proposals point-blank.

  Benjamin grew suddenly calm, shot one keen glance at Ommony — and changed his weapon, so to speak, into the other hand. It began to be clear enough that Benjamin had irons of his own to heat.

  “Of course, if you ask me, Ommony — if you were to ask my advice — as a man to a man of business — I would ask you, why not go straight to Tilgaun, and there wait for the Lama? He is searching you say for a piece of jade, which is in your possession. Will he not follow you to Tilgaun, if you go straight there? How much trouble you would save! How much risk you would avoid!”

  “And how much information I might lose!”

  “Show me the jade, Ommony.”

  “Can’t. I’ve sent it to Tilgaun. The Lama doesn’t know that. He thinks I’ve got it with me.”

  “Well? Then if you go to Tilgaun, won’t he follow you?”

  “Undoubtedly. But I prefer to follow him. It’s this way: you and I, Benjamin, have been friends for fifteen years, haven’t we? If you have anything you want to keep from me — I don’t doubt there are lots of things — you tell me point-blank, and I’m careful to shut my eyes and ears. If I stumble on anything by accident, I dismiss it from mind; I forget it. If you tell me a secret in confidence, I keep it a secret — take no advantage of you. I know you treat me in the same way. But the Lama is supposed to have been my friend for twenty years, although I’ve never met him to speak to — never saw him until yesterday. He has always managed not to meet me, without ever giving any reason for it; and he has conveyed the impression that he is keeping some great secret from me, without having the courtesy to ask me to restrain natural curiosity. Now comes this piece of jade, with all sorts of mysterious side-issues. He traces it into my hands. Instead of asking me for it, and asking me, as one friend to another, not to follow up the mystery, he spies on me — deliberately counts on my honesty and courtesy — and keeps out of sight. He plans to meet me at Tilgaun, where his arm might be lots longer than mine. I used to consider him a wise old Saint, but lately he has made me suspect him of deep mischief. His spying on me is an open invitation to me to spy on him. I propose to find out all I can about him. If he has been using me as a stalking-horse all these years—”

  “You could begin at Tilgaun, Ommony, just as easily as here,” said Benjamin, stroking his beard. His eyes were glittering eagerly, but friendship apparently imposed the obligation to find fault with a plan if possible before helping to carry it out.

  “No. He wants me to go straight to Tilgaun. I don’t propose to play into his hands. The place to begin to unravel a mystery is at one or the other end of it.”

  “He may have traced you to my place, Ommony. If you should go with Maitraya, the Lama will know it. If he thinks you have the stone in your possession, he will—”

  “Probably try to steal the stone. I’m hoping he will exhaust his ingenuity. I can create a mystery on my own account; he’ll be puzzled. He won’t dare to have me murdered until he knows for certain where the stone is. For fear of losing track of it altogether, he’ll have to do everything possible to preserve my life and to save me from exposure.”

  “If he is clever, he will go straight to Tilgaun!” said Benjamin. “That is what I would do in his place. Then you would have to follow him.”

  “If he does that, well and good. But if my guess is right, he has a whole network of intrigue to attend to. He proposed to have me cool my heels in Tilgaun while he attended to business on the way.”

  Benjamin began to pace the floor between the heaps of assorted clothing. He seemed to be torn between personal interest and desire to give Ommony the soundest possible advice. He muttered to himself. His arms moved as if he were arguing. Once he stood still with his back toward Ommony and bit his nails. Then he walked the floor again three or four times, almost stopping each time as he passed Ommony. At last he stood still in front of him.

  “If I tell you — things that I should not tell — what will you think of me?” he asked.

  Ommony laughed abruptly. “Suppose I tell you first what I think you have in mind!” he said. “You old simpleton! Why do you suppose I came straight to you at this hour of the night?” (He glanced up at the wall behind him.) “You didn’t get that devil-mask in Delhi! It’s hanging there to inform some sort of Tibetans that they’ve come to the right place. I’ve known for more than nine years that you’re the business agent for a monastery in the Ahbor country. However, it’s your secret — you don’t have to tell me a thing you don’t want to.”

  Benjamin stared at him — a rather scandalized, a rather astonished, a rather sly old Benjamin, with his turban a little to one side and his lower lip drooping. There was a hint of terror in his eyes.

  “How much else do you know? You? Ommony!” he demanded.

  “Nothing. That is — no more than a blind man who knew you intimately couldn’t help knowing. Shut up, if you want to. I don’t pry into my friends’ affairs, and you’re not like the Lama. You’ve kept nothing from me I was entitled to know.”

  “Not — not like the Lama! Ommony — if you knew!” Benjamin began mumbling to himself in Spanish, but there were Hebrew words interspersed with it. Ommony, knowing no Hebrew or Spanish, let him mumble on, frowning as if busy with his own thoughts. There was still an hour before dawn, when the stirring of a thousand other thoughts would inevitably break the chain of this one — plenty of time for Benjamin to outpour confidences — nothing to be gained by urging him.

  “Tsiang Samdup the Lama is good — he is better than both of us!” Benjamin said at last emphatically. He seemed to be trying to convince himself. “God forbid that I should play a trick on him! But — but—”

  Not a word from Ommony. To all appearance he was brown-studying over something else, twisting Diana’s ear, staring into the shadows beyond the lante
rn, so intent on his own thoughts that he did not move when a rat scurried over his feet. Benjamin burst into speech suddenly:

  “Fifteen — nearly sixteen years, Ommony, I have been agent for the Lama Tsiang Samdup! You would never believe the things he buys! Not ordinary things! And he pays with bullion — gold bars! Wait — I show you!” He unlocked a safe in the corner of the store and produced three small bars of solid gold, giving them to Ommony to weigh in the palm of his hand. But there was no mark upon them; nothing to identify their place of origin.

  “I have had dozens like those from him — dozens!” But Ommony could not be tempted to ask questions; he knew Benjamin too well — suspected that Benjamin was too shrewd an old philosopher to engage in nefarious trade; also that he was itching to divulge a confidence. If you scratch a man who itches, impulse ceases. Besides, he was perfectly sincere in not wanting to pry into Benjamin’s private affairs. To listen to them was another matter. Benjamin came and sat down on the pile of blankets — laid a hand on Ommony’s shoulder — thrust his chin forward, and screwed his eyes up.

  “If he should know I told—”

  “He’ll never learn from me.”

  “Girls! Nice — little — young ones!”

  Ommony looked startled — stung. There was the glare in his eyes of a man who has been scurvily insulted.

  “Little European girls! Little orphans! Seven! Eh, Ommony? Now what do you think? And all the supplies for them — constantly — books — little garments. Ah! But they grow, those young ones! Stockings! Shoes! Now, what do you think of that?”

  “Are you lying?” Ommony asked in a flat voice.

  “Would I lie to you! Would I tell it to any other man. First to get the girls — and such a business! Healthy they must be, and well born — that is, nicely born. And the first was a little Jewess, eight years old at that time, from parents who were killed in Stamboul. That was not so very difficult; a Jew and his wife whom I knew intimately brought her as their own child to Bombay; and after that it was easy to dress her as a Hindu child, and to pretend she was a little young widow, and to smuggle her northward stage by stage. And once she reached Delhi there was the Middle Way, Ommony, the Middle Way! Hah! It was not so difficult. And the profit was very good.”