The Works of Rudyard Kipling: One Volume EditionKipling, Rudyard
General
The Works of Rudyard Kipling: One Volume Edition
Kipling, Rudyard
English fiction; English poetry; Short stories, English
“That's more like,” said Carnehan. “If you could think us a little more
mad we would be more pleased. We have come to you to know about this
country, to read a book about it, and to be shown maps. We want you to
tell us that we are fools and to show us your books.” He turned to the
bookcases.
“Are you at all in earnest?” I said.
“A little,” said Dravot, sweetly. “As big a map as you have got, even
if it's all blank where Kafiristan is, and any books you've got. We can
read, though we aren't very educated.”
I uncased the big thirty-two-miles-to-the-inch map of India and two
smaller Frontier maps, hauled down volume INF-KAN of the “Encyclopaedia
Britannica,” and the men consulted them.
“See here!” said Dravot, his thumb on the map. “Up to Jagdallak, Peachey
and me know the road. We was there with Robert's Army. We'll have to
turn off to the right at Jagdallak through Laghmann territory. Then we
get among the hills--fourteen thousand feet--fifteen thousand--it will
be cold work there, but it don't look very far on the map.”
I handed him Wood on the “Sources of the Oxus.” Carnehan was deep in the
“Encyclopaedia.”
“They're a mixed lot,” said Dravot, reflectively; “and it won't help
us to know the names of their tribes. The more tribes the more they'll
fight, and the better for us. From Jagdallak to Ashang. H'mm!”
“But all the information about the country is as sketchy and inaccurate
as can be,” I protested. “No one knows anything about it really. Here's
the file of the 'United Services' Institute.' Read what Bellew says.”
“Blow Bellew!” said Carnehan. “Dan, they're a stinkin' lot of heathens,
but this book here says they think they're related to us English.”
I smoked while the men poured over Raverty, Wood, the maps, and the
“Encyclopaedia.”
“There is no use your waiting,” said Dravot, politely. “It's about four
o'clock now. We'll go before six o'clock if you want to sleep, and we
won't steal any of the papers. Don't you sit up. We're two harmless
lunatics, and if you come tomorrow evening down to the Serai we'll say
goodbye to you.”
“You are two fools,” I answered. “You'll be turned back at the Frontier
or cut up the minute you set foot in Afghanistan. Do you want any money
or a recommendation down-country? I can help you to the chance of work
next week.”
“Next week we shall be hard at work ourselves, thank you,” said Dravot.
“It isn't so easy being a King as it looks. When we've got our Kingdom
in going order we'll let you know, and you can come up and help us
govern it.”
“Would two lunatics make a Contrack like that?” said Carnehan, with
subdued pride, showing me a greasy half-sheet of notepaper on which was
written the following. I copied it, then and there, as a curiosity.
This Contrack between me and you persuing witnesseth in the name of
God--Amen and so forth.
(One) That me and you will settle this matter together; i.e., to be
Kings of Kafiristan.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account