King of the Air; Or, To Morocco on an AeroplaneStrang, Herbert
General
King of the Air; Or, To Morocco on an Aeroplane
Strang, Herbert
Air travel -- Fiction; Morocco -- Fiction
When the voyage had lasted for about an hour the rising moon threw more
light on the scene, lending a weird beauty to the variegated
landscape—bare rugged hills alternating with wooded slopes and dark
valleys. But it was impossible, at the height at which they were
sailing, to distinguish any landmarks; Abdul knew the country
thoroughly, but was quite at a loss in this unfamiliar situation. He had
told Tom that the fastness where the diplomatist was probably held
captive stood on the top of an extremely steep hill, and explained that
the most convenient spot from which to approach it was a small tableland
about a sixth of a day’s journey from it. This was Tom’s objective; but
as it was impossible to make sure of reaching it unless Abdul could
obtain some guidance from prominent natural features, Tom more than once
allowed the airship to sink almost to the ground, so that the Moor might
scan the country.
On one of these occasions, about four hours after they had left the
yacht, Abdul said that he recognized a hill stream whose source was
within a short distance of the sheikh’s stronghold. From the directions
he was now able to give, Tom managed to steer fairly straight for the
tableland, and after once more descending so that Abdul might assure
himself that he had not been mistaken, he finally brought the airship to
rest at the desired spot. It was past three o’clock in the morning; the
sky was already lightening with what Abdul called subhi kázib—the false
dawn which often in these latitudes illumines the sky an hour or so
before the real dawn. The three adventurers were all very tired, and on
Abdul explaining that the tableland was but rarely visited, and that so
far as he knew there were no wild beasts in the neighbourhood, Tom
thought that they might all safely take a few hours’ sleep before
considering the next move. The tableland was not entirely flat; it had
many depressions, and jagged rocks stood up on all sides around the
comparatively clear space on which the airship rested. Only one hill,
and that apparently four or five miles distant, stood higher, and even
the hawk-like vision of the mountaineers was not likely to discover the
airship from so remote a spot.
The real dawn—subhi sadik—was some little while past when the Moor
awoke, first of the three. He had just completed his morning devotions
and ablutions at a little spring when the others roused themselves.
Among the contents of the car were a spirit lamp, a tin of condensed
milk, and materials for making tea; and while they ate their breakfast
Tom discussed with Oliphant the programme for the day.
“The first thing is to find out exactly where Ingleton is imprisoned,”
said Tom, “and what chance there is of getting into communication with
him. That’s a job for Abdul; obviously we can’t help him; we can’t do
better than lie snug here while he goes and gets what information he
can.”
“A pretty dangerous job for him if he’s caught, isn’t it?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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