A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, December 1949 — page 97: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CREEP, SHADOW! suspicion in the world. Nor was I entirely acting; I did have a heady sense of ela- tion; somewhat like that of a fighter who has lost round after round with an op- ponent whose style has been devastatingly unfamiliar, but who suddenly gets the key to it and knows he can meet it. The Demoiselle was standing beside the fireplace, switching at her boots with her quirt. De Keradel was still at the table’s head, scrunched down a bit, more stolid than I had seen him. The bowl of sacrifice was nowhere in sight. The Demoiselle was rather like a beautiful wasp; de Keradel a quite small Gibraltar repelling stings. I laughed as that comparison came into my head, Dahut said, “You are gay.” I said, “Indeed I am. Gayer than”—I looked at de Keradel—‘“‘than I have been for years.” She did not miss that look, nor his faint answering smile. She said, “Let us go, You are sure you will not join us, my father?” De Keradel shook his head. much to do.” We went out to the stables. She took the same leggy bay, and I the roan. Fora time she rode a little ahead of me, silent; then dropped back. She said, “You are as gay as though you rode to meet a loved woman.” I said, “I hope to meet her. But not on this ride, Dahut.”’ She whispered, “Is it—Helen?” “No, Dahut—although Helen has many of her attributes.” “Who is she?” “You don’t know her very well, Dahut. She wears no clothes, except a veil over her face. Her name is Truth. Your father has promised me to lift her veil.” She reined closer; grasped my wrist. “He promised that—to you?” » I said casually, “Yes. And he rather more than intimated that he need not call you in to assist.” | “Why do you tell me this?” Her fingers “T have _ tightened on my wrist. “Because, Dahut, I am_ exceedingly anxious to meet this lady Truth with no veil over her face. And I have a feeling that unless from now on I answer all ques- tions with perfect candor our meeting will be delayed.” 97 She said dangerously, “Do not play with me. Why did you tell me that?” “I am not playing with you at all, Dahut. I am only being bluntly honest. So much so that I will give you my secondary reason.” “And that?” “Divide—and rule.” She stared at me, uncomprehendingly. “They tell a story in India,” I said. “It is one of their jatakas or animal fables. Tiger Queen and Lion King could not agree. Their enmity upset the jungle. At last they made a bargain. They were to sit on the pans of a balance suspended just. over a pool filled with crocodiles. Tiger < Queen and Lion King sat on the scales. Fach weighed exactly the same. But an — ant had hidden himself mid-beam with a grain of sand in his mandibles. ‘Ho,’ he cried. ‘Who bids? And what is bid?’ Thus he cried, this humble ant, to Tiger Queen and Lion King. And a grain of sand in his mandibles was life or death to one of them.” Dahut asked breathlessly, “Which lived?” I laughed. “The story does not say.” She knew what I now meant, and I watched the color creep into her cheeks and the sparks dance in her eyes. She dropped my wrist. She said: “My father is truly pleased with you, Alan,” “I think you told me that once before, Dahut—-but no gayety followed.” She whispered, “And I seem to have heard you speaking like this before .. . and there was no gayety thereafter for me.” Again she grasped my wrist. “But T am not pleased, Alan.” “T am sorry, Dahut.” She said, “Despite his wisdom, my father is rather ingenuous. But I am not.” “Fine,” I said, heartily. “Nor am I. I loath ingenuousness. But I have not as yet observed any naiveté about your father.” Her grip upon my. wrist tightened. “This Helen—how much does she resem- ble the veiled lady of your quest?” My pulse leaped. I could not help it; she felt it. She said sweetly, “You do not know? You have had no opportunity, I take it, - for—comparison.” ans wacmhaa grate a emN RUT Rutan INT TRONS AT RD Rg ERE POL CREAR PRDIAZ PPL cEomichbook