Magic

by H. De Vere Stacpoole

III.

This Sikra was only a basket maker and knew only one trade, but for all that he was the wisest man on that island, and the most cunning, and the most evil. And Sikra said to himself, “If these two men kill one another over Kinei and her conduct, all may be discovered openly which is now known only secretly and to a few.”

He went to the lagoon edge, and there, in the shelter of the canoe houses, he sat down, and, with his hands before him, began contemplating the matter, twisting the facts, this way and that, with the fingers of his mind, just as the fingers of his body had been accustomed to twist the plaited grass, this way and that, into the form of his baskets.

He knew that this thing was a death feud, and that by the morrow’s sunset one of the two men would be no longer alive, unless they were separated and one taken clean away from that island. But more than that, he said to himself, “Of what use is there in taking one away, for if Tauti is left he will maltreat my daughter and search more deeply into this matter and bring more confusion upon us. And if I were to kill Uliami to-night in his sleep, as has just occurred to me, would not the deed be put down to Tauti, who, in trying to free himself, might in some way bring the deed home to me? And if I were to kill Tauti, might not the same thing happen?”

Thinking so, his wandering mind crossed the lagoon to the two ships there at anchor—a schooner and a brig—and both due to leave by the flood of the morrow’s dawn. It was then, with the suddenness of the closing of a buckle, that a great thought came to Sikra, making him laugh out loud so that the echoes of the canoe house made answer.

He rose up and, leaving the beach, made through the trees in the direction of Tauti’s house. There, when he reached it, was Kinei, seated at the doorway. He knew, by this, that Tauti was not at home, and so, nodding to his daughter, he withdrew, making along that street toward the sea end where presently he met his man leaving the forge of Tomassu, the smith, who makes and mends in iron things and sharpens fish spears and knives. Tauti had a knife in his girdle, and, noting it, Sikra drew him aside into the lane that goes through the bushes of mammee apple, past the chief trader’s house to the far end of the beach.

Here he stopped, when they had passed beyond earshot of the trader’s house, and, placing his finger on the breast of the other, says he:

“Tauti, what about that knife you were having sharpened just now at the forge of Tomassu?”

“To-morrow,” said Tauti, “I have to kill a pig.”

“You are right,” said Sikra. “He is a pig. I heard you both when you were talking on the path, and I heard the name he gave my daughter, and I saw you strike him. But you will not kill him to-morrow.”

“But why?” asked Tauti.

“Because,” said Sikra, “he has left the island.”

Tauti laughed, disbelieving the other.

“Since when,” asked he, “has Uliami taken wings?”

“An hour ago,” replied Sikra. “I rowed him over to the schooner that lies there in the lagoon; most of the crew were ashore getting fruit, and the rest were asleep, and the captain and his mate were at the club drinking, and the hatch was open and Uliami crept on board and hid himself among the cargo. His lips were white with fear.”

“But Uliami is no coward,” said the other.

“Did he return your blow?” asked the cunning Sikra.

“That is true,” replied Tauti, “but hiding will not save him. I have sworn his death and my hatred is as deep as the sea. I will go on board the schooner now and tell the captain what sort of cockroach lies hidden in his ship; and when they bring him out I will kill him.”

“And then the white men will hang you,” said Sikra. “Child that you are, will you listen to me?”

“I listen,” said Tauti.

“Well,” said Sikra, “you go aboard the schooner now and become one of the crew. They are in need of hands, as, indeed, is also that brig that lies by her. Then in a day or less, when Uliami knocks to be let out, you will be on board and on some dark night, or peradventure at the next port the schooner reaches, you can do the business you have set your heart to.”

Now this counsel fell in not only with Tauti’s desire for blood, but also with his wish to be shut of that island for a while and the wife who had betrayed him.

He thought for a moment on the matter, and then he fell in with the idea of Sikra, and, not even returning to his house, just as he was, let himself be led to the far end of the beach, where Sikra, borrowing a canoe, rowed him to the schooner, whose captain was right glad to have him, being, as Sikra had stated truly enough, short of hands.