CHAPTER IX.
There are times when it is inexpedient, if not actually immoral, to kill the bediamonded clerk of a caravansary.—Manco Capac.
Kayenna was at first deeply incensed on reading those advertisements, and would fain have invoked the assistance of the King of Nhulpar to punish the culprit; but Shacabac sagely counselled her, saying: “Let it be. If the people of Nhulpar believe in this two-headed Snake, all the more will they reverence thee who art supposed to own others of the kind; and meanwhile the terror of thy name shall be spread throughout the earth. But [he added to himself] I would that I had the knave who defrauded me of my trusty yataghan, or knew the secret whereby he made his cards fall as he willed. Great is Philosophy, and marvellous is Science; but miraculous is this thing which the Giaours call ‘Luck.’ Methinks it hath more to do with Science than with Philosophy. Would that the knave had stayed with me long enough to explain the strange mutations of that mysterious game which he calleth Po-kah!”
But ere this had come to pass, and while the caravan was crossing a sandy, waterless stretch of desert, Kayenna summoned the Sage to her side, and, smiling in a knowing way, asked, “Hast thou, in thy long experience, ever heard of a more difficult problem than that which confronts us, or a device whereby such a grave difficulty might be overcome?”
Shacabac had by this time conceived a profound respect for the genius of Kayenna; yet he could not imagine any stratagem by which she might extricate herself and him and the fortunes of Ubikwi and Kopaul from the impending dilemma. “Nay,” he answered modestly, “I have heard of many, but of none so intricate as this. And I own that my heart weighs heavier with every step of our journey. Will not your Highness deign to tell her meanest slave how she purposes to carry us in safety to Nhulpar and home again, with our heads on our shoulders?”
“O Shacabac,” laughed Kayenna, “thou art only a man, after all, and a bachelor at that. Hast never heard of even a man’s outwitting another, not to speak of the endless resources of his superior, Woman?”
A little piqued at this sally, Shacabac replied: “Truly, I have known of some such; but they were all as child’s play compared with this coil. There was the case of the Ameer of Khali-Mazu, who, being secretly envious of the great Sultan Djambhori, sought to compass his ruin by a gift of twoscore large and healthy elephants, the bare feeding of which for one twelvemonth would have emptied the royal exchequer. To have sold or given away the animals would have been a grave discourtesy.”
“That was rather a pretty dilemma,” admitted Kayenna. “How did Djambhori escape it?”
“He escaped it,” replied Shacabac, “by having the animals quietly despatched, and their tusks made into keys for twoscore grand pianos, the which he sent as presents to the wives of the Ameer, thus nobly revenging the wrong that had been done him. The Ameer, struck with remorse on perceiving the magnanimity of his foe, committed suicide shortly after the arrival of the pianos, and while the harem yet resounded with the practice lessons of his devoted wives. The incident,” added Shacabac, “attracted much attention at the time, and led to the strict laws since passed against the importation of elephants and pianos into Khali-Mazu.”
“Verily, the device was ingenious,” commented Kayenna; “but it hardly matches what is required of us in a few days hence. Hast thou ever heard of a youth so situated that he could not fill any office in the land, yet rising to the highest, and that, too, without awakening the hostility of a single human being, notwithstanding the fierce jealousy which assails even those of lofty rank when they aim for rank yet higher?”
“Never,” answered Shacabac, “unless [bethinking himself of one remarkable exception]—unless it be that of Dar-Khos, a slave who once attained by a single stroke to boundless wealth, high rank, and length of days, merely by refusing to obey the commands of his master, the great Sultan Al-Kali.”
“That sounds interesting,” said Kayenna; “and how did it happen?”
“In this wise,” responded Shacabac. “The Sultan and his slave, travelling without escort, came to a deep and wide river; and the Sultan ordered Dar-Khos to go forward and ford the stream. ‘Nay,’ answered the slave, with great humility, ‘the dog followeth his master.’ Being pleased with which reply, the Sultan plunged into the stream, and presently sank in a quicksand, so that naught of him was visible save only his turban, in which he had hidden, for greater security, the crown jewels and other valuables. These, with great difficulty, did Dar-Khos rescue, and by judiciously investing them was enabled to secure the nomination and election to the vacant sultanship. And the moral thereof is, A drowned man dreadeth the water, but a wise one shunneth it from the beginning.”
“Thy tale is amusing,” commented Kayenna, “and the moral is as irrelevant as a moral should be; but both are far and wide from the purport of my question: How is a poor, weak woman to soothe the chagrin and placate the anger of two mighty monarchs, when they find that nature hath been greater than herself and they together?”
But Shacabac had naught to answer; for, indeed, the same problem had been puzzling his head for many days, and making that head seem to fit very loosely on his shoulders. It was a sad business all round; and he cursed the hour in which he had been tempted from his scholarly seclusion to aid in the wild schemes of a desperate woman; saying to himself, “A bird on toast is worth two on a bonnet,” which indeed is a truth that any child might comprehend.