Adventure Magazine Cover — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

THE WOLF MASTER 25 “Good! It was decided to slay the false Tsar. You see, messieurs, it is an easier matter to prove a dead man an impostor than a living man a fraud. And the army, except for the palace guards and the Mos- cow sérelsui or militia, was in the steppes chasing some Cossacks. A fool’s mission. ‘And Dmitri died like the reckless fool he was. Sound asleep. His gossip Basmanof was awake. ‘Tatikof stabbed Basmanof in a gallery leading to the quarters of the Tsar. Then the boyare entered the sleeping chamber of the false Dmitri, and now the impostor lies dead—”’ “Name of a dog!’ shouted the captain. “Dmitri, I do not believe he was a pre- tender!”’ “My dear captain, he was a consummate and daring liar. In all the world, where will you find such another? Saint Denis—he had himself proclaimed emperor, and took a wife of the blood from Poland!”’ “But, do you believe the conspirators, with their skeleton?” Bertrand glanced at Kirdy covertly and took snuff. “My dear Margeret,” he said under his breath in French, “‘what the do you or I know? I believe the Muscovite princes because they have the upper hand.” ‘“We took oath to—”’ “Be loyal to this Dmitri? Eh, well, he is now dead. I can admire his spirit, but I condemn his lack of wisdom. If he had not made a mock of the churches and said his prayers to a ribald mask he would not have made enemies of the stiff old boyare. He gave his soul to the devil for a stake to gamble with.” Margeret, who had been tearing the cov- erlet between strong fingers, shook his head impatiently. “But the palace guard!”’ ‘Some of your sheep-headed archers were cut down. Be grateful, my friend, that you were not on duty. Saint Denis! I believe your dinner was tampered with!” “The militia—” “Slept and snored, but now has been won over by the boyare. It guards the gates and scratches its thick head. Meanwhile the boyare are hunting down the followers of the false Dmitri.” Going to the window, he gazed with some curiosity at bodies of halberdiers and mount- ed nobles passing through the square at the end of the street. Smoke was rising from different points in the city, and veiling the clear light of early morning. “T must go,” he said thoughtfully, “to pay my respects to the victors, at the palace.” “And I,” Margeret muttered, “to my men.” “Impossible! Your ailment is_ provi- dential. Even if you could stand, you were better between the sheets. Margeret, you are an excellent soldier but an execrable diplomat.” . “God’s thunder! If my archers are to be put to the point of the sword—”’ “Content you! I saw them penned in barracks. The boyare know the worth of your fire-eaters. Lie perdu until I can bring you fresh news.”’ Weakness rather than conviction forced Margeret to stretch himself on the bed again; but when Bertrand bowed and moved to the door Kirdy stepped to his side. “Merchant, take me with you!” Bertrand tapped his snuff-box reflective- ly and pursed his lips. “Ah, my ez Kitaisqui,* worthy people will avoid the streets this day. Why would you come?” Kirdy swept his arm toward the rising sun. “Thence rode I to set eyes on the great lord of the Muscovites. If I may not be- hold him in life, I would see him in death.” After a second glance at the placid-ap- pearing Mongol, the Frenchman bowed assent, rather grudgingly. He was a judge of character and he discovered in Kirdy’s eyes a certain smoldering eagerness that puzzled him. Ts: two took their way over the trampled snow, seeing much and saying little, each occupied with his own thoughts. Kirdy reflected that a passport written and signed by the Captain Margeret would be worse than useless, now, to Nada. He wasted no time in surprize over the end of the false Dmitri; it had happened and now he meant to see for himself the body of the impostor, so that he could say to the Cos- sacks without any shadow of doubt that the traitor who had cost the lives of thousands of the brothers was dead. So thinking, he paid little heed to the bodies that lay in the narrow streets. At * Kniaz Kitaisky—Cathayan prince. COmiclboooks.c©