The Abode of the Terror.
Through the whole of the following day, and the night after, we travelled; and on the next morning, before the son had arisen, we came upon a large kraal. The land lay enshrouded in heavy mist, and the hoarse barking of many dogs sounded thick and muffled. Armed men sprang to the gate to inquire our errand, but one word from my slave, Jambúla, caused them to give us immediate admission. This was the kraal of Maqandi-ka-Mahlu, the chief over the workers in iron, in whose midst the horror named the Red Death had broken forth.
As I strode across the centre space—the domes of the encircling huts looming shadowy through the mist—Maqandi himself came forth to meet me. Yet although showing me this mark of deference, I liked not his manner, which was sullen, and somewhat lacking in the respect due from an inferior and disgraced chief towards one who dwelt at the right hand of the King, and who was, moreover, the second in command of the King’s army. But it seemed to me that fear was in his mind, for he could not think that an induna of my rank would arrive alone, attended by one slave, and I think he expected every moment the signal which should bring my followers swarming into the kraal to put him and his to the assegai and his possessions to the flames.
“What is the will of the Great Great One, son of Ntelani?” he said, as we sat together within his hut alone. “Hau! I am an old man now, and troubles grow thick on every side. I have no people, and am but taskmaster over a set of miserable slaves—I, who fought with the assegai and led warriors to victory at the Place of the Three Rifts, even as you did yourself, Untúswa. Yes, troubles are upon me on every side, and I would fain sit down at rest within the Dark Unknown.”
I looked at Maqandi, and I pitied him. He had, indeed, grown old since we had fought together in that great battle. His face was lined and his beard had grown grey; and his hair—which, being in some measure in disgrace, he had neglected to shave—seemed quite white against the blackness of his head-ring. Yet with all his desire to sleep the sleep of death, there was in his eyes a look of fear; such a look as may be descried in the faces of those to whom the witch-finder’s rod draws very near. Yes, I pitied him.
“The will of the Great Great One is not with thee for the present, Maqandi,” I said, desiring to reassure him. “Now, hearken, and give me such aid as I need, and it may be that the head-ring of the son of Mahlu may yet shine once more in its place among the nation.”
“Ha! Sayest thou so, holder of the White Shield?” he answered quickly, a look of joy lighting up his face. “Is not all I have at the disposal of the second induna of the King?”
“That is rightly said, Maqandi,” I replied. “For never yet did I fail those who did well by me. And now we will talk.”
I unfolded my plan to the chief over the ironworkers, and as I did so his face grew sad and heavy again—for I could see he doubted my success in ridding the land of this terror—and then would not he, too, be sacrificed to the anger of the King? But I enjoined upon him silence and secrecy—telling him that his part lay in strictly obeying my orders and supplying my need. This, so far, lay in requiring two of the slave ironworkers to be in attendance upon me at sundown, for I intended proceeding to the Valley of the Red Death that very night.
Food was brought in, and tywala, and we ate and drank. Then I lay down and slept—slept hard and soundly throughout the heat and length of the day.