Suddenly he closed with King and hugged him until the stout ribs cracked and bent inward and King sobbed for breath among the strands of the Afridi's beard. He had to use knuckles and knees and feet to win freedom, and though he used them with all his might and hurt the old savage fiercely, he made no impression on his good will.
“After my own heart, thou art! Spirit of a cunning one! Worker of spells! Allah! That was a good day when she bade me wait for thee!”
King sat down again, panting. He wanted time to get his breath back and a little of the ache out of his ribs, but he did not care to waste any more minutes, and his eyes watched the faces of the other four men. He saw them slowly waken to understanding of what Ismail meant by “worker of spells” and “magic in the bag” and knew that he had even greater hold on them now than Yasmini's bracelet gave him.
“Ma'uzbillah!” they murmured as Ismail's meaning dawned and they recognized a magician in their midst. “May God protect us!”
“May God protect me! I have need of it!” said King. “What shall my new name be? Give ye me a name!”
“Nay, choose thou!” urged Ismail, drawing nearer. “We have seen one miracle; now let us hear another!”
“Very well. Khan is a title of respect. Since I wish for respect, I will call myself Khan. Name me a village the first name you can think of--quick!”
“Kurram,” said Ismail, at a hazard.
“Kurram is good. Kurram I am! Kurram Khan is my name henceforward! Kurram Khan the dakitar!”
“But where is the sahib who came from the fort to talk?” asked the man whose stomach ached yet from Ismail and Darya Khan's attentions to it.