Adventure Magazine Cover — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

28 HAROLD LAMB CHAPTER VII THE REFLECTIONS OF MONSIEUR BERTRAND m}OGHRUL’S almost soundless tread roused Kirdy, and he grasped at his sword hilt before he saw the old man squatting near him, waiting to be noticed. “The khanum says to thee, O Kazak,” the servitor began at once, “it is better to lie hidden than to walk in the eyes of men. It is much better to wait than to seek reckless- ly. So wilt thou abide her coming. The horses are fed.” ‘“‘Hlas she gone forth again?” Kirdy was disappointed and a little vexed, though he did not show it. ‘fAye.”’ “There is fighting. I must talk with her.”’ *“‘When she wills.” “She is safer behind walls.” Kirdy thought of the boyarin who had been lashed by her whip, a certain Tatikof who had promised to seek her out. Toghrul pondered, and made response gravely. ‘“‘When the end appointed by the unal- terable decree has come, life is then lost, and for all there is an end ordained. What avail, to go thither or sit here? She will not be harmed, now!”’ ““How long have I slept?” “The sun was sinking, O Kazak—night came and now the sun has risen.” With an exclamation the young warrior sprang to his feet. He had slept for eighteen hours, and there was much to be done. After plunging his head and hands in a basin of cold water brought by Toghrul, he made a hasty meal of mutton and wine, and learned that Nada intended to ride from Moscow that night. The guards, it seemed, had been removed from the gates, to deal with a conflagration that had broken out at the other end of the city. “See to the horses, Toghrul. be looting.” “Aye. The khanum has said that thou wilt ride forth with us.” And all at once it seemed to Kirdy that nothing in the world could be finer than to ride with Nada and her men of the steppe. Whither? What matter? He was restless and uneasy here in the city, like an unbrok- en colt penned in with strange horses. “T can not do that,” he said slowly. Toghrul did not seem convinced. There will ‘Allah khanum yok—khanum Allah bir tzee,”’ he muttered cryptically. ‘Allah said no to the woman—the woman said yes to Allah.” ‘‘What words are these?” “O Kazak, I said I shall water the horses and groom them, against thy need, this night.” Still afoot, still alone—he had left Karai, perforce—and still deep in moody reflection, Kirdy fared forth into the mud and the snow and the anger of the streets. He went first to the imperial stables behind the Terem, looking for all the world like a Cathayan noble with an interest in fine horse-flesh. So acute was his curiosity that he asked if all the emperor’s beasts were in the stalls. As he did not stint gold pieces, he learned at length that the illustrious Tatikof had led out a half dozen Arab-breds, and that three Turkish racers had been missing since the night before last. This matter he pondered, remembering the riders he had seen when the moon was setting that same night. From the stables he made his way leisure- ly toward Bertrand’s quarters and discov- ered that the worthy merchant was not at home. Upon this, he sought out Mar- geret’s tavern, but contented himself with a table in the tap-room instead of seeking out the sick captain. Here he sat, apparently lost in the contemplation of the intelligent Asiatic, sipping wine occasionally, until the afternoon wore on and Bertrand did not ap- pear. He climbed the stairs and passed an hour listening to Margeret’s roared-out comments on the madness that had seized the boyare. At the end of the hour he had what he de- sired—a more or less detailed account of the false Dmitri’s daily routine, habits, and es- pecially his manner of exercising his horses. He had taken his leave, ceremoniously, of the captain, when he ran into Bertrand at the foot of the stairs. The merchant coughed, bowed, and would have passed on up, but Kirdy put a hand on his arm. “Good sir, you think I am not—a Ca- thayan. Perhaps you are right. Will you honor me by sitting at table with me? They serve a Wallachian wine that is light and healthful.” Bertrand drew back into the shadow and tried to gaze into the lowered eyes of the young warrior. ‘““A plague on’t! What are you?” COmiclboooks.c©