Adventure stories; Boys -- Fiction; India -- Fiction; Irish -- India -- Fiction; Lamas -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Spy stories
'It was forfeit to me,' said Kim, with deep relish, 'in Umballa, when
thou didst pick me up on the horse after the drummer-boy beat me.'
'Speak a little plainer. All the world may tell lies save thou and I.
For equally is thy life forfeit to me if I chose to raise my finger
here.'
'And this is known to me also,' said Kim, readjusting the live
charcoal-ball on the weed. 'It is a very sure tie between us. Indeed thy
hold is surer even than mine; for who would miss a boy beaten to death,
or, it may be, thrown into a well by the roadside? Many people here and
in Simla and across the passes behind the Hills would, on the other
hand, say: "What has come to Mahbub Ali," if he were found dead among
his horses. Surely too the Colonel Sahib would make inquiries. But
again,'--Kim's face puckered with cunning,--'he would not make overlong
inquiry, lest people should ask: "What has this Colonel Sahib to do with
that horse-dealer?" But I--if I lived--'
'As thou wouldst surely die--'
'It may be; but I say, if I lived, I, and I alone, would know that one
had come by night, as a common thief perhaps, to Mahbub Ali's bulkhead
in the serai, and there had slain him, either before or after that thief
had made a full search into his saddle-bags and between the soles of his
slippers. Is that news to tell to the Colonel, or would he say to me--(I
have not forgotten when he sent me back for a cigar-case that he had not
left behind him)--"What is Mahbub Ali to me?"'
Up went a gout of heavy smoke. There was a long pause; then Mahbub Ali
spoke in admiration: 'And with these things on thy mind, dost thou lie
down and rise again among all the Sahibs' little sons at the madrissah
and meekly take instruction from thy teachers?'
'It is an order,' said Kim blandly. 'Who am I to dispute an order?'
'A most finished son of Eblis,' said Mahbub Ali. 'But what is this tale
of the thief and the search?'
'That which I saw,' said Kim, 'the night that my lama and I lay next thy
place in the Kashmir Serai. The door was left unlocked, which I think is
not thy custom, Mahbub. He came in as one assured that thou wouldst not
soon return. My eye was against a knot-hole in the plank. He searched as
it were for something--not a rug, not stirrups, nor a bridle, nor brass
pots--something little and most carefully hid. Else why did he prick
with an iron between the soles of thy slippers?'
'Ha!' Mahbub Ali smiled gently. 'And seeing these things, what tale
didst thou fashion to thyself, Well of the Truth?'
'None. I put my hand upon my amulet, which lies always next to my skin,
and, remembering the pedigree of a white stallion that I had bitten out
of a piece of Mussalmani bread, I went away to Umballa perceiving that a
heavy trust was laid upon me. At that hour, had I chosen, thy head was
forfeit. It needed only to say to that man, "I have here a paper
concerning a horse which I cannot read." And then?' Kim peered at Mahbub
under his eyebrows.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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