A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, April 1950 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

THE NINTH LIFE 87 him in Amenti. “The last priest of Sekhmet,” “Then—you will be free.” “T shall be free,” she assented quietly. “Then—”’ he began, and did not end it. She reached up, grasped the hand he had withdrawn, and again laid it on her head. “For every day that you remember, I have known ten times a thousand days,” she said. “I have stored knowledge grain by grain, as a man might store corn against a time of need. And I know—from the day when I stood before Nitocris the beautiful to this hour, through all the ages I have known, the spirit that is man has lifted itself no higher above the beasts than it was when I first saw altars in Abydos.” “A hard saying,’ Gees said. ““But what of it?” “A thought, no more, That when I was a child kings went out to conquer and bring back slaves, and today the whole world stores arms for no other purpose. In all the ages between they have learned nothing. A thought, no more. And though I have stored knowledge, though I am old - in all the ways of life, and have experi- enced all things, I have found no. greater good than this I know now.’ care. and a hand laid on my head.” They sat in silence, while thoughts came and passed in his mind: if Saleh, who, she had said, would not see tomorrow; of Tony Briggs, driving back to London per- plexed and with a sense of the useless- ness of his effort; of Tott, determined and practical; of this woman who, twice dur- ing this long silence, nestled more closely to him and once reached up to lay her hand over his on her head. She rose to her feet with effortless grace, and turned to face him. Abruptly leaned, laid beth hands on his shoulders, and drew him toward her to kiss him on the forehead. “For the last time,’ she sme time of all.”’ “But—I want to ask you—”’ She shook her head. “Nothing—no ~ more, I shall see you no more. Time—a very little time—will tell all you ask.” She drew back from him and motioned with her head toward the door. He wanted to question, to protest, but found There is no escaping.” he said. “The last that he could not even speak. Her eyes were all darkness, all tenderness, yet they compelled him to turn away from ed and go out. PREYOND 1 the bridge across the moat he choked the car, realizing that he had not seen Saleh, that Kefra had told him nothing of all he would have learned. But then he drove on. Some force, per- haps emanating from her, compelled him to. And her words—“I shall see you no more,”’ went with him, unquestionable and final. People were coming out from Hedling- ton Village Hall as he passed on his way toward the inn. He felt unaccountably tired; there would be time for tea before the fire at the Rest And Be Thankful, and then he could set out for London. . Waiting outside the village hall, In- spector Tott saw Perry emerge, and moved forward to fall into step with him, going toward the inn. “YT wouldn’t come inside, because . of that worm Drake,” he said. “He’s got it in his mind that {’m in this case with you, and I want to discourage him.” “He can forget it,” Perry said. “There isn’t any more case, after that verdict. Though he bustled off as if he thought there might be, directly he’d got the ver- dict. Gone to see where the body was found, by the look of him.” “How do you get back home?’ Tott inquired. “There's a bus every half hour—it stops outside the Rest And Be Thankful,” Perry answered. “One's: just gone, but if we catch the next it’ll get us to my home before dark. I can put you up for the night, if you like, or you can come back here or go on to Cheltenham.” ‘ “Cheltenham, I think—many thanks for the offer, all the same.”’ “That's a fine car your Mr. Green runs.” They were abreast of the car, outside the inn, as Perry made the comment. “Yes,” Tott admitted reflectively, “but he’s not my Mr. Green. If he were, I 7 might l’arn him a few things.” He paused in the doorway of the inn to look back at the car. “We've got plenty of time,” Perry re- marked. “More than two hours of day~ light, yet, and half an hour for the bus.” boo (E() -GOmic S