“Exactly,” replied Mustapha, “so begin.”
“You must pay me for it—it is worth twenty pieces of gold.”
“Do you presume to make conditions with his sublime highness the pacha?” exclaimed Mustapha. “Why, thou mother of afrits and ghouls, if thou commencest not immediately, thy carcass shall be thrown over the walls for the wild dogs to smell at, and turn away from in disgust.”
“Vizier, I have lived long enough to trust nobody. My price is twenty pieces of gold counted out in this shrivelled hand before I begin; and without they are paid down—not one word.” And the old beldame folded her arms, and looked the pacha boldly in the face.
“God is great!” exclaimed the pacha. “We shall see.” At his well-known signal the executioner made his appearance, and holding up the few scattered grey hairs which still remained upon her head, he raised his scimitar, awaiting the nod which was to be succeeded by the fatal blow.
“Strike, pacha, strike!” cried the old woman scornfully. “I shall only lose a life of which I have long been weary; but you will lose a story of wonder, which you are so anxious to obtain. Strike—for the last time, I say, ‘Time has been’—before time shall be no more!”
“That is true, Mustapha,” observed the pacha. “I forgot the story. What an obstinate old devil; but I must hear the story.”
“If it appears good to your absolute wisdom,” said Mustapha in a low voice, “would it not he better to count down to this avaricious old hag the twenty pieces of gold which she demands? When her story is ended, it will be easy to take them from her, and her head from her shoulders. Thus will be satisfied the demands of the old woman, and the demands of justice.”
“Wallah thaib! it is well said, by Allah! Your words are as pearls. Count out the money, Mustapha.”
“His highness the pacha has been pleased, in consideration of the fear and trembling with which you have entered his presence, to order that the sum which you require shall be paid down,” said Mustapha, pulling out his purse from his girdle. “Murakkas, you are dismissed,” continued the vizier to the executioner, who let go the old woman, and disappeared. Mustapha counted out the twenty pieces of gold, and shoved them towards the old woman, who after some demur, as if imagining that they ought to have been brought to her, got up and took possession of them. She counted them over, and returned one piece as being of light weight. Mustapha, with a grimace, but without speaking, exchanged it for another.