Voices in the Night Part 49

The memory of kindness received was almost too much for him, he paused, unable to go on.

John Ellison looked the other way as he sat down at a respectful distance, and began to scatter sugar-drops to the monkeys. Then he cleared his throat elaborately.

'Like as you saved me, I expect, sir, from breaking my neck over them blamed stairs last night, sir. One good turn deserves another, as the sayin' is, so we're about quits. Not,' he went on, as if to make a diversion, 'that I was, so to speak, onnecessary drunk, sir, for it was a case o' gettin' tight or killin' a chap as cut me out, fair an'

square, with my fancy. So, it bein' fair an' square, I chose the better part an' drowned my sor'rers in the flowin' bowl. It's surprisin',' he continued, with the affable defiance with which he always alluded to his own lapses from grace, 'wot a teeny drop o' whisky will drown 'em; don't it, sir?' As he scattered the sugar-drops he sang the chorus of a drinking-song with great gusto.

They were an odd couple those two, the alien feeding the sacred monkeys, the native watching him silently, and both conscious of a bond of fellowship between them.

'I suppose so,' replied Chris, after such a lapse of time that the remark seemed almost irrelevant, 'but I never tried it. I'm a teetotaller.'

'Deary dear!' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jan-Ali-shan sympathetically. It was really the only remark he could think of in such an extraordinary connection.

'It doesn't last, though, does it?' asked Chris after another long pause. 'And it gives you a headache next morning, doesn't it?'

Jan-Ali-shan's fluency returned to him. 'Lor' love you, no, sir! Not if you's used to it; special if kind friends put you to by-bye proper.' He broke off, then turned to Chris and shook his head--'Now you, sir, if I may make so bold, looks as if you 'ad one. You takes things too dutiful, sir, I expec's. It's 'ard on the 'ead, sir, is duty.'

Even _so_ much sympathy drove Chris to hiding the mist in his eyes by watching the monkeys. They were jostling and hustling, as ever, over the prize; but the sight for a wonder had brought few spectators, and such as they were stood far off, more curious than amused.

Jan-Ali-shan, looking towards them, raised his eyebrows and nodded carelessly. 'Got the 'ump to-day, 'as you, Ram-sammy? Well, keep it, sonny! It don't make no odds to me or 'Oneyman. Do it, siree?'

Apparently none, for the h.o.a.ry old sinner, out and away the tamest there, was pouching sugar-drops as fast as he could from the loafer's hand.

'Ellison,' came Chris Davenant's voice at last, with a note of decision in it, 'what would you do if you found yourself in--in such a tight place that you couldn't--yes, that you couldn't possibly get out of it?'

'Do?' echoed the other slowly, as he shook out the crumbs and tore the paper into fragments. 'W'y, kill the chap as put me there, if it was John Ellison 'imself as done the job! That's what I'd do, sir.'

Chris rose, and the note of decision was stronger. 'Thanks,' he said briefly, 'I think you're right.'

But Jan-Ali-shan had risen also, and now stood facing his superior officer with an expression of kindly tolerance and mournful respect.

'Not, sir, as there ever is sich an almighty tight place, as a chap can't get out of by leavin' a h'arm or a leg or a bit of hisself generally to be cast into 'ell fire, as it say in 'Oly Writ; for there ain't nothin' impossible, if you've enough of the devil in you--that's 'ow it comes in, sir; here he paused, doubtful, perhaps, whether Holy Writ contained this also, then went on easily, 'for it ain't no manner of use, sir, reachin' round for things as you can't catch no real holt of--you must jes' take wot comes 'andy, though it mayn't be much to be proud of--such as cuss words an' kicks and that like. But they give a powerful grip sometimes, sir, as you'd find, savin' your presence, if you was to give 'em a fair try.' He paused again, looked at Chris tentatively, then smiled a perfectly seraphic smile full of pity, wisdom, almost of tenderness. 'If I might make so bold, sir, w'ot a man you an' me 'd make if we was mixed up! H'arch-h'angels wouldn't 'ave a look in! And w'ot's more, I shouldn't 'ave to clean d.a.m.n myself keepin'

them _Kusseye_ coolies from sneakin' the cold chisels; an' a good name too for the lot, though it is cuss-you as I make it in general.'

'_Kuzai?_' echoed Chris quickly. 'What! are those fellows from the butcher's quarter giving trouble--and I only put them on out of charity? Why didn't you tell me before?'

But Jan-Ali-shan had reverted to his affable indifference. 'Trouble,'

he echoed in his turn, 'Lord, no, sir! I has to read the Riot Act summary most days--they get quarrelling with the 'Indoos over some cow-killin' tommy-rot; but w'en it come to sneakin' cold chisels, I 'ad to knock 'arf a dozen o' 'em down. But they don't give no trouble to speak of. Nor won't,' he added significantly, 'if they're spoke to proper.'

'I'll see to it to-morrow,' said Chris, and then, once more, wondered at his own words. This afternoon a frock-coat; to-morrow an inquiry into a workmen's quarrel; and between the two, inevitably, that decision. The rest was all unreal, but that was certain, that must come.

Jan-Ali-shan, however, as--after touching his cap decorously--he moved away, sang

'To-morrow will be Monday'

as if all the foundations of his world were absolutely sure.

And there were others, besides these two, on the river steps that morning whose outlook on the future showed the same divergence. A couple of munic.i.p.al scavengers, armed with the broom and basket which under our rule bids defiance to privilege, prejudice, and privacy, talked with cheerful certainty as they swept up the paper Jan-Ali-shan had torn to bits. The _Sirkar_ would have to employ everybody's relations if the plague went on as it had begun. They were shutting the shops already in the butcher's quarter, the hospitals were full, the bazaars empty. Of a surety there was a good time coming for scavengers!

Two women, however, returning with their waterpots from listening at the temple, agreed that if, as the priest said, _Mai_ Kali had declared there must be blood on her altars ere the plague was stayed, what was the use of amulets? Besides, who could tell if the promise was not a trick; who, briefly, could tell anything except that it was an ill time for virtuous women, and that those were lucky who could stay at home?

So with furtive glances, and keeping close together, they shuffled back to some dim alley, to retail what they had heard.

CHAPTER XXI

RED PAINT

Over on the other side of the city, however, on the wide stretch of sandy waste behind an outlying dispensary which had been turned into a segregation camp, the advocates of certainty and uncertainty had changed places. Here, in the little gra.s.s-screened yard, six feet square, which Jack Raymond's kindliness had secured for the ordinary reed hut to which poor crushed old Auntie Khojee had been brought, it was a scavenger who doubted, a woman who--even amid tears--had faith.

'Lo! brother,' said Khojee in gentle reproof, as she sat on the string bed hiding her grief-blurred face discreetly from the tottering old man who had been sent in to sweep out the premises; an old man bowed, palsied, senile, yet still, as a male creature, claiming that calm perfunctory drawing of a veil an inch or two more over a withered cheek, 'thou shouldst not repeat such tales; they do harm. As I have told thee before, G.o.d knows what happened was not the fault of the _Huzoors_. It was Jehan's, and mine, and Lateef's; if indeed it was ought but G.o.d's will. And lies will not bring her back again! It was lies that killed her, Noormahal, Light of Palaces!'--a sob choked the quavering voice, but she struggled on truthfully--'and the _Huzoors_ were kind in concealing what they could. What use to drag the honour of the King's House in the dust? Even Jehan saw that and held his peace. It is ye--ye of the basket and broom--strangers--not of the house knowing the honour of the house as in old time--who have done ill in talking. And of the girl too. Lo! what thou sayest of her and the pearls may be true; but I know naught of it, and Jehan hath lied ever.

Then for the bracelets! Have I not worn one and cried for death? But death has not come, as thou sayest it comes; though I have worn _this_ these two days.'

She held out her thin arm as she spoke, in order to show the _ram rucki_ which Jack Raymond, in his efforts to rea.s.sure her, had fastened round her wrist.

The old man ceased sweeping to peer at it, then chuckled wheezily.

'Oho! Oho! _bibi!_ and wherefore not, since that is a _ram rucki_ which all know of old! But this other I speak of is new. I tell thee it hath the death-mark on it, and the arrow-head which claims all for the _Sirkar's_ use. Its like none have ever seen before. They sold it deceitfully as safeguard yesterday at Sheik Chilli's fair, and men bought it for their wives and children--_Ala!_ the tyranny of it, the cleverness! who can stand against their ways? So now it is proved a sign of death indeed; all who wear it, all who have worn it, are in the _Huzoor's_ power. When they are wanted, they will die.'

Despite her disbelief--a disbelief founded largely on her own kindly grateful heart--Aunt Khojee felt a cold creep in her old bones. 'How canst tell by now? Some may escape,' she quavered.

The old scavenger waggled his head wisely. 'This I know, _bibi_, that in the _Kuteeks'_ and _Lohars'_ houses--yea! and in others too where the sickness was rife, for, see you, it hath been in the city this fortnight past, though folk held their tongues--all bought these bracelets for safety. All! and it is from these very houses that the dead come! Am I not _Dom_ by craft, though I grow too old and crooked to straighten even dead limbs? Have I not seen? I tell thee, _bibi_, not one of the corpses taken out of the city this morning but had the bracelet on its wrist! Ay! and not one of those carried by force to the _hospitarl_ but had it too!'

It was an absolutely true statement, even if capable of a more natural explanation.

'But _Rahman-sahib_, the bracelet-brother, did not give them bracelets?' protested Aunt Khojee, falling back fearfully on what still seemed incredible.

'G.o.d knows,' mumbled the superannuated streaker of dead things. 'Mayhap he did not sell them, but it was by order. A Hindoo in the city, Govind by name, hath a paper with the order written on it, and signed by the _Lat-sahib_ and _Wictoria-Queen_. So there is no lie there, _bibi!_'

He pa.s.sed out resentfully, driving the refuse he had swept up, into the world beyond the six-feet-square yard, with a last flourish of his broom.

Khojee, left forlorn, sat looking at her _ram rucki_ doubtfully. Could the tale be true? Could the _Huzoors_ have been capable of such a devilish treachery? Even so, he, _Rahman-sahib_, had not been so. His bracelet had brought safety. Even after two days, Auntie Khojee recognised this. The _daghdar-sahib_ had laughed at her fear of plague; they had given her seclusion of the strictest; a Musulman woman, who had called her 'my princess,' had brought her better food than she had had for years, and even Lateef had been allowed to come during the day and talk to her. Last, not least, the _daghdar_ himself had respected her veil, and sent a miss-_sahiba_ instead--a miss in a curious dress, who had let her cry about Noormahal, and comforted her with cardamoms--real cardamoms. It had almost been a visit of condolence!

Then she was told that in eight days she might go back--though not to the wide dreary house, since it had already been utilised as a hospital. But _Rahman-sahib_ had promised to settle that from the rent of this, Jehan should pay for a more suitable lodging, and also allow her a proper pension.

A bracelet-brother indeed! Yet lying tongues traduced him and she, a bracelet-sister, could do nothing but listen to them! She wept softly over her own ingrat.i.tude, so that Lateefa, finding her thus engaged, attempted consolation on the old, old lines which belong to all faiths, all people, by saying that it was G.o.d's will, that Noormahal was taken from the evil to come, that she was at peace; until, finding his comfort unavailing, and being pressed for time, he told the old lady gently that she must not expect any more of his companionship that day, since, the term of his more rigorous segregation being over he was free to go out, provided he returned by sundown.

Then to his surprise she suddenly ceased her curious whimpering wail, and looked up at him swiftly.

'Thou canst go out! Then thou shalt go to him and tell him of the lies!

Yea! and tell him that I, Khojeeya Khanum, wear his gift, and--and will never forget him, and his beauty, and his kindness!'

'Tell _him?_ echoed the kite-maker, wondering if he stood on his head or his heels when he was asked to take so fervent a message to a man, from so discreet a lady as Aunt Khojee. It did not take long, however, to make him understand; for the old scavenger had swept out the men's quarters also. But, to the dear old lady's disgust, he was inclined to laugh at, and be sceptical over, both her indignation and that of those who had bought the amulet. The tale was not likely to be true. Why should the _Huzoors_ go such a roundabout way to work when they had soldiers and guns? To be sure, these were few in Nushapore at the present moment, and folk were saying that the talk about Sobrai and Noormahal and Dilaram--G.o.d curse the low-born pryers who know not how to keep silence for decency's sake!--had set the _pultan_ (native regiment), which was a high-cla.s.s Mohammedan one, by the ears; but there were plenty of _rigiments_ close by. And, if it _was_ true, what good would a message to _Rahman-sahib_ do? It would only make him angry. And if the tale were a lie, what would he care? Did the _Huzoors_ ever care what folk said? Never! That was why they ruled the land.

But Aunt Khojee was firm; even when Lateef--who had told her everything--protested that he had no time to lose; that if he was to have any chance of getting at the ring, which, he trusted, was still concealed among the kites, it must be before their selection for the flying match. Since, once they were chosen, none might touch them till the 'Sovereignty of Air' was decided. Even now he might be too late for the courtyard, and have to go to the turret, ready to seize his chance during the trials. And what is more--here he gave a glance at the sky--if he knew aught of kite-flying, those with fair ballast would surely be chosen to-day; and therefore, of course, the one which had the ring hidden in the guise of a bit of brick within a little calico bag!

'Then it is safe so far. It will be guarded till evening, and then thou canst see to it,' a.s.serted Aunt Khojee autocratically.