Marzak hung his head; slowly he moved to the divan and flung himself down upon its pillows; there he lay prone, his hands cupping his chin, his heels in the air.
“What can I do?” he asked at last.
“That is what I most desire to know. Something must be done, and soon. May his bones rot! If he lives thou art destroyed.”
“Ay,” said Marzak, with sudden vigour and significance. “If he lives!” And he sat up. “Whilst we plan and plot, and our plans and plots come to naught save to provoke the anger of my father, we might be better employed in taking the shorter way.”
She stood in the middle of the chamber, pondering him with gloomy eyes “I too have thought of that,” said she. “I could hire me men to do the thing for a handful of gold. But the risk of it....”
“Where would be the risk once he is dead?”
“He might pull us down with him, and then what would our profit be in his death? Thy father would avenge him terribly.”
“If it were craftily done we should not be discovered.”
“Not be discovered?” she echoed, and laughed without mirth. “How young and blind thou art, O Marzak! We should be the first to be suspected. I have made no secret of my hate of him, and the people do not love me. They would urge thy father to do justice even were he himself averse to it, which I will not credit would be the case. This Sakr-el-Bahr—may Allah wither him!—is a god in their eyes. Bethink thee of the welcome given him! What Basha returning in triumph was ever greeted by the like? These victories that fortune has vouchsafed him have made them account him divinely favoured and protected. I tell thee, Marzak, that did thy father die to-morrow Sakr-el-Bahr would be proclaimed Basha of Algiers in his stead, and woe betide us then. And Asad-ed-Din grows old. True, he does not go forth to fight. He clings to life and may last long. But if he should not, and if Sakr-el-Bahr should still walk the earth when thy father’s destiny is fulfilled, I dare not think what then will be thy fate and mine.”
“May his grave be defiled!” growled Matzak.