Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction, English; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
“Baas,” he hissed, “I have a thought. The Lord Baas wishes to get the
lady dressed like a bird as to her head and like one for burial as to
her body, who is, he says, his wife. But for us to take her from among
so many is impossible. Now what did that old witch-doctor Harût declare
just now? He declared, speaking for his fetish, that by our help alone
the White Kendah can resist the hosts of the Black Kendah and that no
harm must be done to us if the White Kendah would continue to live. So
it seems, Baas, that we have something to sell which the White Kendah
must buy, namely our help against the Black Kendah, for if we will not
fight for them, they believe that they cannot conquer their enemies and
kill the devil Jana. Well now, supposing that the Baas says that our
price is the white woman dressed like a bird, to be delivered over to
us when we have defeated the Black Kendah and killed Jana—after which
they will have no more use for her. And supposing that the Baas says
that if they refuse to pay that price we will burn all our powder and
cartridges so that the rifles are no use? Is there not a path to walk
on here?”
“Perhaps,” I answered. “Something of the sort was working in my mind
but I had no time to think it out.”
Turning, I explained the idea to Ragnall, adding:
“I pray you not to be rash. If you are, not only may we be killed,
which does not so much matter, but it is very probable that even if
they spare us they will put an end to your wife rather than suffer one
whom they look upon as holy and who is necessary to their faith in its
last struggle to be separated from her charge of the Child.”
This was a fortunate argument of mine and one which went home.
“To lose her now would be more than I could bear,” he muttered.
“Then will you promise to let me try to manage this affair and not to
interfere with me and show violence?”
He hesitated a moment and answered:
“Yes, I promise, for you two are cleverer than I am and—I cannot trust
my judgment.”
“Good,” I said, assuming an air of confidence which I did not feel.
“Now we will go down to call upon Harût and his friends. I want to have
a closer look at that temple.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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