The Vizier of the Two-Horned AlexanderStockton, Frank R.
Science
The Vizier of the Two-Horned Alexander
Stockton, Frank R.
Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction; Immortalism -- Fiction
"At this question my blood ran cold. I had had enough of speaking Spanish.
I was trying to get away from Spain and everything that belonged to that
country; but I thought it safest to speak the truth, and I answered that
I understood the language. The emperor now beckoned to one of his
officers, and ordered him to talk with me in Spanish. I had been in Spain
in the early part of the preceding century, and I had there learned to
speak the pure Castilian tongue, so that when the officer talked with me
I could see that he was surprised, and presently he told the emperor that
he had never heard any one who spoke such excellent Spanish. The emperor
fixed his eyes upon me. 'You must have traveled a great deal,' he said.
'You should not be wasting your time with stones and mortar.' Then,
turning to the officer who had spoken to me, he said, 'He understands
Spanish so well that we may make him useful.' He was about to address me
again, but was interrupted by the arrival of an orderly with a despatch.
This he read hastily, and walked toward the officers who were waiting for
him; but before he left me he ordered me to report myself at his tent,
which was not far off in the field. He then walked away, evidently
discussing the despatch, which he still held open in his hand.
"Now I was again plunged into the deepest apprehension and fear. I did not
want to go back to Spain, not knowing what might happen to me there. Every
evil thing was possible. I might be recognized, and the emperor might not
care to shield any one claimed by the law as an escaped thief. In an
instant I saw all sorts of dreadful possibilities. I determined to take
no chances. The moment the emperor's back was turned upon me I got over
the broken part of the wall and, interfered with by no one, passed quietly
along the road to the house of the man who had employed me to do his
mason-work, and seeing no one there,--for every window and door was
tightly closed,--I walked into the yard and went to the well, which was
concealed from the road by some shrubbery. I looked quickly about, and
perceiving that I was not in sight of any one, I got into the well and
went down to the bottom, assisting my descent by the well-rope. The water
was about five feet deep, and when I first entered it, it chilled me; but
nothing could chill me so much as the thought that I might be taken back
into Spain, no matter by whom or for what. I must admit that I was doing
then, and often had done, that which seemed very much like cowardice; but
people who can die cannot understand the fear which may come upon a person
who has not that refuge from misfortune.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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