Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

224 The emperor’s fool capered about at will, provoking gusts of uproarious mirth and earning not a few languor- ous glances from the younger wives. And, like a butterfly beating fragile wings helplessly against the black en- tanglement of a web, the woman they called Little Fire fluttered through dances of such grace and beauty that Basil’s heart ached with joy and pity of it. She smiled at him and danced around him while he held his belled puppet like a guitar and plucked imagi- nary strings, singing a dance song for her steps. ‘Then, when she came close, he found a chance to whisper: “Lady, will you help a fool—then tell her who is of your own pale fair- ness and white race to delay her com- ing on some pretext or other until I manage to have a word at her door.” She laughed in silver tones and danced down the hall. Basil watched covertly until she disappeared, then ran to the musicians and made fun of their tunes. “Ts this the best you can do, Sir Leader, to stir the blood of these lords. Faith, I could teach you your own trade. ‘The night is all too stale. Fast- er, louder, merrier, I pray you.” The antics of the musicians’ leader resembled those of a clown, but he grinned good-naturedly at Basil, not understanding his talk. The music continued at a stately march tempo, and the reason of it was apparent when, led by Petit Feu, came the Mar- quis de Tourraine with Violette lean- ing on his arm. Basil’s heart seemed to pause, then race, as their eyes met, and he read in her glance both fear and love. She advanced to the throne, inclined her fair head, then moved toward chairs that had remained unoccupied. Sit- ting there, she was white and still. The marquis, whose mind seemed to Basil to have returned to childhood, either did not notice or refused to ad- mit the menace of the situation. He ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. spoke to drunken black lords at each side, and replied to the emperor. An old courtier himself, he seemed to enjoy this return to royal prodigal- ity, although as the evening went on and the fun grew more boisterous, he resented the familiarity of manner shown him. The hours dragged endlessly. Basil tried to keep near Violette, but Little Fire, who danced in and out of the hall, circled him and kept him serving as a sort of maypole about which she whirled and tossed her flame-colored draperies, then presently caught his hand, and with him danced toward the end. ‘““A more comical fool than you makes fun alone to-night,” she said. “IT saw him gaping and tongueless, and rolling a great ball through the shadows. Come and see, my fool.” Basil looked toward the throne, where Christophe, sated with wine, sulked moodily. Then he darted to- ward the door and caught his breath, for coming down that corridor was Gefondo, a whip-lash in his hand, and he snapped it over the bent, naked back of a man who laboriously rolled a huge ball that Basil recognized as the strips of tapestry he had cut that afternoon. The few loungers looked on or merely glanced and paid little atten- tion. Some laughed as the man who shoved the ball winced at the whiplash, but Basil’s faith in the hunchback top- pled about his ears. He saw Gefondo as a traitor who brought evidence of his plan to escape to Christophe. knowing that the life of Violette, honor that was more than life, hung in the balance, he darted down and caught the lash from Gefondo. ‘“ Fiend,” he snarled, ‘how could you so far-forget your color and race —1I meant only to help—her.”’ And Gefondo, with teeth set and his lips drawn in an animal rage, leaped at Basil, and both twisted and strug- gled for mastery while the other man shoved the great ball near a door that (E00) .OO AMI <S (E@)