Rah the Righteous
Hardly had the courier left when I hastily dictated a letter:
"To His Abysmal Excellency
Rah the Righteous
Dictator of Zu
"Whereas our army has been maneuvering for wakes on the outskirts of Nullnull, and has been unable to find any of your followers to turn over, we conclude that your citizens are too craven to join us in battle, and therefore demand that you cede the whole of Nullnull to us immediately and unconditionally. Otherwise, beware!
"Belligerently yours,
Luma the Illustrious,
Prime Dictator and High Potentate of Wu."
This letter was, of course, duly written on the official stationery in the handwriting of the court scribe, and was in the common language used by both Wu and Zu. But underneath the formal message, to which I affixed my signature with a flourish, I added the following words in English:
"For God's sake, Phil, is it you? If so, let's get together! Frank."
Knowing that these words would convey no meaning unless the new Dictator of Zu were my old friend, I hurriedly delivered the letter to a messenger who, carrying the pink badge of neutrality, was allowed to travel through enemy territory unmolested.
Within a few hours, Rah the Righteous would have the communication; hence it was with the utmost impatience that I waited. Meanwhile copies of my message were sent to the Blare and the Screamer, which printed it conspicuously, with laudatory comments on my "firmness" and "courage" in dealing with Zu.
Before the "wake" was over, the reply was in my hands:
"To His Abysmal Excellency
Luma the Illustrious Dictator of Wu
"Whereas I have just received your missive, and have read it with astonishment at your effrontery, I refuse unqualifiedly to accept any of your terms, and demand that you, for your own good, cede the whole of Nullnull to us.
"Defiantly yours,
Rah the Righteous,
Dictator Supreme and Sovereign Commander of Zu."
It was with an amused smile that I read the above message. But what a leap my heart gave, how I paused in startled delight and almost cried out for joy at a little postscript, scribbled in English, in a well-known handwriting:
"Thank heaven, Frank, it's you! I'd given you up ages ago! Meet me the beginning of tomorrow wake at the end of gallery C 341, at the northeast end of Nullnull. Better come disguised. Phil."
Still unable to overcome my astonishment at the prospective reunion with my old friend, whom I had long lamented as lost, I passed a sleepless night; and hours before the brightening camp-lights had announced the beginning of the new "wake," I had risen from bed, disguised myself by means of a steel helmet and a long flowing black robe, and slipped away silently through the wilderness of galleries that tunneled the borderland of Nullnull.
I well knew that the adventure was not without its perils; nevertheless, the hope of seeing Clay again more than sufficed to overcome my fears. Guided by a flashlight, I kept on at a steady pace through the darkness, until at length a welcome sign, stamped in the rock of the cavern wall, informed me that I had reached gallery C 341.
Down this thoroughfare, which wound tortuously, I proceeded at an increasing pace, while my eyes explored the shadows in the hope of encountering a well-known figure. But it seemed as if I had traveled miles before finally the gallery came to a dead end just ahead, and I stopped short, dismayed and baffled. My friend was not to be seen!
Then, as I paused, removing my helmet for the sake of comfort and wondering whether to retrace my steps, a vague shape withdrew from the dimness behind a shelf of rock. At first, amid the blackness of the cavern, illuminated only by my flashlight, the newcomer seemed more like a ghost than a human being; while, startled by his eerie appearance, and by his head and shoulders muffled in a heavy cape, I hesitated to speak.
But, even at that instant, a well-known voice rang through the air: "Frank!"
"Phil!" I called back; and, the next moment, we were gripping each other's hands in a fervent clasp.
I do not know how long we lingered there, bound in that delighted handclasp, or clapping each other on the shoulders with affectionate glee; while, overcome by emotion, we were too greatly stirred for coherent speech.
"Well, old fellow, let's have a look at you!" at last ejaculated Clay, pulling out a flashlight and casting the rays full upon my face. "Say, how you've changed! You're looking like your own grandfather!"
"Years have gone by, you know," I returned, not pleased by this compliment. "Now let's take a glance at you!"
Clay pulled down the mantle that had half hidden his features, and I saw that his red locks were as abundant as ever—in fact, had grown long as those of a bobbed-haired girl. He had also sprouted a full red beard, which greatly added to his impressiveness, while his face had subtly, unmistakably changed, and deeply graven lines along his cheeks and brow bore evidence of recent suffering.
"Say, old pal, I never expected to see you again this side of Saint Peter's gate!" declared Clay, while I was examining his changed features. "I thought the lightnings had got you long ago, in the battle cavern, when we both ran for dear life!"
"I thought they had got you! I never heard a word of you again till yesterday!"
"Nor I of you! By the devil—we're going to have a good time hearing of each other's troubles! I've had my share, Frank! And you look as if you've had yours!"
"Oh, I've been all right," said I. "Let's hear your story first!"
"No, yours first!" he insisted, and seemed so bent on having his way that I yielded. Both of us took seats on a rocky ledge amid the obscurity, and for the next twenty minutes I recited the highlights of my recent adventures.
"Jumping snakes, old fellow, but you've had a time of it!" exclaimed Clay, when I had finished. "Ought to put it in a book when you get back! But, at that, I don't think you've got me beat one whit!"
"No? What happened to you?"
Clay settled back on the ledge, as if seeking a more comfortable berth; and it was a moment before he spoke. Meanwhile it seemed to me that I saw, from behind a bend in the gallery, a sudden flutter of light, and a suspicious shadow moving. But thinking this no more than a sentinel on his rounds, I tried to dismiss it from my mind.
"Well, old pal, let's go back to when we parted," Clay began his narrative, with a reminiscent drawl. "Both of us were pretty much in a hurry, with lightning bolts flashing all around and likely to knock us to the other side of tomorrow. I remember scampering down the main gallery, with the lightning just about missing me on every side; then I dashed off down a side-gallery, where the lightning couldn't hit; but I was so mightily scared that I ran till my legs gave out. Then suddenly I noticed that you were gone, and it came to me that you had either been hit, or else had dashed off down another side-gallery. So I started back and lost my head so completely that I cried out, 'Frank! Frank!' at the top of my voice. Well, I had to pay for that folly! It wasn't a minute before I was surrounded by white-faced savages, whooping like wild Indians; and they lost no time about tying me with wire and carting me away. Later I learned, that they were war-scouts from Zu, spying on their dear old enemies of Wu.
"They bore me to their own country and threw me into a dungeon as a prisoner of war. Once or twice they were on the point of executing me, but my red hair interested them so much that they changed their minds just in time to save my neck. Finally they decided to exhibit me in a circus as a 'Wild man from Poko'—the name they give to the center of the earth, where they thought I hailed from. But one day, owing to my ability to see close at hand, I managed to pick the circus lock and escaped. I turned my hair white by means of some stolen dye and whitened my face also—then played highwayman, waylaying an obliging old gentleman and forcing him to change clothes with me—so that I could now pass as a native. By this time I had learned a good deal of the language and was able to start life as a Third Class citizen, after being sponsored by an agent of the Department of Public Unemployment, who arranged to have me swallow the Oath of Fidelity and take a regular job, in return for signing over my wages for the first hundred wakes."
"So, after all, Zu doesn't seem very different from Wu," I commented.
Clay laughed. "From all I can make out," he observed, "they're as much alike as the two halves of a split orange. Guess that's why they hate each other so heartily."
"Guess so," said I, while, as Clay settled back to resume his story, I thought, for a second time, that I could see that mysterious light and that strange shadowy form flitting across the darkness far down the gallery.
"My new work," continued my friend, "was as an employee of the Synthetic Capsule Producers, who manufacture all the country's food. By heaven!—how I loathed that job! All I had to do all day was to mix vitamins in the bread-capsules, making sure that they got just the right proportion of every vitamin from A to X. I didn't stick at that long, however; being able to see close at hand, I made myself so useful that I was promoted time after time, and after about a year became a Second Class citizen. All the while I was looking for a way to escape to the Overworld, but couldn't find any; also, I made a thousand inquiries about you, but no one had ever heard of any gray-eyed man like you. So I kept on working for the Capsule Producers, who still kept promoting me, until at last I was General Distribution Manager—which means that I had pretty much the freedom of the works, without anything much to do except draw my pay. Then it was that I started the Great Salt Revolt."
"Great Salt Revolt?"
"Yes, haven't you heard of it? About the biggest thing that ever happened in Zu! All began through an accident, too, or rather, through experiment. You see, it had struck me that these chalk-faces didn't put salt enough in their food, and you know how I've always liked salt; so one fine wake, when no one was looking, I emptied a few kegs of good old sodium chloride into a batch of dough being made into capsules for the whole country. The results were excellent, I thought—for the first time since reaching Zu, I could eat dinner with relish. But the natives didn't agree. You ought to have seen the faces they made when they tasted those capsules. Some of them grew deadly sick—suffered acute indigestion, convulsions, and other severe symptoms, for they had been so long with only a bare pinch of salt that their systems couldn't stand the added dose. I tell you, I never saw such wild times. There was riot, insurrection, almost civil war! The people thought they'd been poisoned, and they stormed about the Dictator's palace, crying, 'We want better food, better food, better food!' It was the funniest thing I ever saw."
"But, certainly, they could recognize the taste of salt!" I objected. "And, besides, chemists could analyze the capsules."
"No, they couldn't recognize the taste!" denied Clay. "They've always had salt in such minute quantities that they don't know what it tastes like. And as for the chemists—of course, they made the analysis, but who would believe them? The people had been so well-trained in thoughtlessness that they couldn't recognize the obvious. So they went right on believing they'd been poisoned."
"Even so," I argued, "what was to prevent the authorities from throwing away the salted food and distributing new capsules?"
"Nothing, nothing at all would prevent it!" Through the darkness, from the ledge of rock where Clay sat, I heard a peal of laughter. "Nothing at all to prevent it, Frank! They did just as you say! But they were reckoning without me!"
"Without you?"
"Yes, without me! You see, I had my own little game to play. It had come to me that whoever controlled the food controlled the country—and I was getting tired of a second-rate position. In my job as General Distribution Manager, it was easy enough to get access to the food vats—and I arranged to have a few more kegs of salt poured into the capsule mixture every time as it was made.
"Then how the sparks did fly! The people, hit in their most vital spot, were in a revolutionary mood; already old Oono Yuno was tottering on his throne. When I felt that it was about time to strike, I circulated an anonymous letter, stating that I, and I alone, knew how to remove the poison from the food—and offering to give a demonstration. I won't weary you now, Frank, with the details; it's enough to say that, when the people found that I could keep my promise and give them unadulterated food, they hailed me as their savior, threw over Oono Yuno and his party, whom they blamed for the bad capsules, and installed me in his place as Dictator, pledged to a policy of 'No salt in the bread!' So here I am! A wonderful sort of Dictator, don't you think?"
Once more Clay's laughter rang merrily through the darkness.
"We're a beautiful pair of Dictators, Phil!" said I, joining in his laughter.
But my mirth was cut short abruptly, for did I not again see a mysterious shadow shifting amid the dimness far down the gallery?
Clay, however, could see nothing, though he strained his eyes in the attempt. Dismissing the apparition as a creature of my imagination, he slapped me heartily on the shoulder, and resumed. "Yes, old boy, we've both struck our gait at last! A lovely couple of dictators! But say, don't you know that we shouldn't meet like this for a friendly chat? We're supposed to be enemies!"
"Yes, deadly enemies!" I laughed, giving him a playful jab in the ribs.
"If we were found together, it would be treason!" he went on, lightly. "Dictators of rival countries aren't expected to be friends! It's against all the rules!"
"Well, I'll tell you, Phil," I urged, coming to the matter that was closest to my heart, "we don't have to keep on breaking the rules. What do you say if we both chuck this dictator job and make a dash for home and the open air? I know all about the ventilation flues, and if we tried the climb, by means of ropes—"
Even through the shadows, I could see my friend shaking his head disapprovingly. "Hold on there, just a minute, Frank! What the devil's getting into you!" he interrupted, a little resentfully. "Here I am, beginning to enjoy myself for the first time, and now you tell me to leave! I've only been Dictator a few wakes, you know. I want to hang on a while and find out what it feels like."
"Oh, you'll find out, all right!" I predicted, remembering my own experiences.
"Besides," he pursued, in a little more somber tone, "don't you think that we both ought to try to settle things down here before making our get-away? I mean, about this war. What it's all about, I don't know—so why not end it? Suppose we fix up a little treaty?"
"A very good idea," I agreed.
"We'll have to split up Nullnull between Wu and Zu about fifty-fifty. Then we'll both claim a glorious victory, and the most thoughtless patriots everywhere will be satisfied. First, of course, you and I will have to conduct some diplomatic negotiations, couched in the deadliest and dullest language. Then we'll meet formally as enemies, and sign the treaty. After that, the war will be over, and everyone will go home happy."
"Splendid!" I approved. Yet already a suspicion crossed my mind that not everything would work out as Clay had predicted.
"Well, old fellow, I suppose I'd better get along back to my followers," remarked my friend, as he rose from his ledge and took my hand in a warm grip. "Might be missed if I stayed away too long. Guess you're in the same boat yourself. Good-bye, old pal! See you again soon!"
How soon he was to see me, and under what distressing circumstances, was a matter still beyond my knowing.
Yet, as I started off again through the black recesses, the sight of a shadowy shape and of a faint swaying light startled me once more like a silent warning.