Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Martians -- Fiction; Science fiction
I do not know what prompted the reply. For a moment I was completely
at a loss what to say to this very obvious question, and then all on a
sudden, remembering they held me to be some kind of disembodied spirit,
by a happy inspiration, fixing my eyes grimly on the king, I answered,
"What would I do? Why, I WOULD HAUNT YOU!"
It may not seem a great stroke of genius here, but the effect on the
Martian was instantaneous. He sat straight up, his hands tightened,
his eyes dilated, and then fidgeting uneasily, after a minute he
beckoned to an over-dressed individual, whom Heru afterwards told me
was the Court necromancer, and began whispering in his ear.
After a minute's consultation he turned again, a rather frightened
civility struggling in his face with anger, and said, "We have no wish,
of course, stranger, to offend you or those who had the honour of your
patronage. Perhaps the princess here was a little roughly handled,
and, I confess, if she were altogether as reluctant as she seems, a
lesser maid would have done as well. I could have wooed this one in
Seth, where I may shortly come, and our espousals would possibly have
lent, in the eyes of your friends, quite a cheerful aspect to my
arrival. But my ambassadors have had no great schooling in diplomacy;
they have brought Princess Heru here, and how can I hand her over to
one I know nothing of? How do I know you are a ghost, after all? How
do I know you have anything but a rusty sword and much impertinence to
back your astounding claim?"
"Oh, let it be just as you like," I said, calmly shelling and eating a
nut I had picked up. "Only if you do not give the maid back, why,
then--" And I stopped as though the sequel were too painful to put into
words.
Again that superstitious monarch of a land thronged with malicious
spirits called up his magician, and, after they had consulted a moment,
turned more cheerfully to me.
"Look here, Mister-from-Nowhere, if you are really a spirit, and have
the power to hurt as you say, you will have the power also to go and
come between the living and the dead, between the present and the past.
Now I will set you an errand, and give you five minutes to do it in."
"Five minutes!" I exclaimed in incautious alarm.
"Five minutes," said the monarch savagely. "And if in that time the
errand is not done, I shall hold you to be an impostor, an impudent
thief from some scoundrel tribe of this world of mine, and will make of
you an example which shall keep men's ears tingling for a century or
two."
Poor Heru dropped in a limp and lovely heap at that dire threat, while
I am bound to say I felt somewhat uncomfortable, not unnaturally when
all the circumstances are considered, but contented myself with
remarking, with as much bravado as could be managed,
"And now to the errand, Ar-hap. What can I do for your majesty?"
The king consulted with the rogue at his elbow, and then nodding and
chuckling in expectancy of his triumph, addressed me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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