Black Mischief (4 page)

‘But, major,
only this evening I gave you two hundred rupees. Do you hear, captain, I gave
him two hundred rupees. You can’t treat me like this. I shall tell His Majesty
everything.’

‘We had
better search his luggage.

The
trunk was opened and the contents spread over the floor. The two officers
turned them over with interest and appropriated the few articles of value it
contained. The minor possessions were tossed to the corporals. At the bottom,
wrapped in a grubby nightshirt, were two heavy objects which, on
investigation, proved to be the massive gold crown of the Azanian Empire and an
elegant ivory sceptre presented to Amurath by the President of the French Republic.
Major Joab and the captain considered this discovery for some time in silence.
Then the major answered the question that was in both their minds. ‘No, ‘ he
said, ‘I think we had better show these to Seth.’

‘Both
of them?’

‘Well,
at any rate, the sceptre. It would not be so easy to dispose of. Two hundred
rupees,’ said the major bitterly, turning on Ali, ‘two hundred rupees and you
proposed to walk off with the Imperial regalia.’

From
the inner room Mr Youkoumian listened to this conversation in a mood of sublime
contentment; the sergeant had given him a cigarette out of a box lifted from
the shop at the time of his arrest; the captain had given him brandy —
similarly acquired — of his own distillation; a fiery, comforting spirit. The
terrors of the gallows were far behind him. And now Ali had been caught
red-handed with the crown jewels. Nothing was required to complete Mr Youkoumian’s
happiness, except a calm sea for their crossing to the mainland; and the gentle
night air gave promise that this, too, would be vouchsafed him.

It was
only a matter of a few words for Major Joab to report the circumstances of
Ali’s arrest. The damning evidence of the sceptre and the soiled nightshirt
was laid before Seth on the table. The prisoner stood between his captors
without visible interest or emotion. When the charge had been made, Seth said,
‘Well, Ali.’

Until
now they had spoken in Sakuyu. Ali answered, as he always spoke to his master,
in English. ‘It is regrettable that this should have happened. These ignorant
men have greatly disturbed the preparations for your majesty’s departure.’

‘For
my
departure?’

‘For
whom else would I prepare a boat? What other reason could I have for
supervising the safe conduct of your majesty’s sceptre, and of the crown which
the officers have omitted to bring from the guard-room?’

‘I
don’t believe you, Ali.’

‘Your
majesty wrongs himself. You are a distinguished man, educated in Europe — not
like these low soldiers. Would you have trusted me had I been unworthy? Could
I, a poor Indian, hope to deceive a distinguished gentleman educated in Europe?
Send these low men out and I will explain everything to you.’

The
officers of the guard had listened uneasily to these alien sentences; now at
Seth’s command they withdrew their men. ‘Shall I make preparations for the
execution, Majesty?’

‘Yes …
no … I will tell you when. Stand by for further orders below, Major.’

The two
officers saluted and left the room. When they had gone Ali sat down opposite
his master and proceeded at his ease. There was no accusation or reproach in
the Emperor’s countenance, no justice or decision, trust or forgiveness; one
emotion only was apparent in the dark young face before him, blank terror. Ali
saw this and knew that his case was won. ‘Majesty, I will tell you why the
officers have arrested me. It is to prevent your escape. They are plotting to
sell you to the enemy. I know it. I have heard it all from one of the corporals
who is loyal to us. It was for this reason that I prepared the boat. When all
was ready I would have come to you, told you of their treachery and brought you
away safely.’

‘But,
Ali, you say they would hand me over to the enemy. Am I then really beaten?’

‘Majesty,
all the world knows. The British General Connolly has joined Prince Seyid.
They are there on the hills together now. Tomorrow they will be in Matodi.’

‘But
the Tank?’

‘Majesty,
Mr Marx, the distinguished mechanic who made the tank, fled last night, as you
well know.’

‘Connolly
too. Why should he betray me? I trusted him. Why does everyone betray me? Connolly
was my friend.’

‘Majesty,
consider the distinguished general’s position. What would he do? He might
conquer Seyid and your majesty would reward him, or he might be defeated. If he
joins Seyid, Seyid will reward him, and no one can defeat him. How would you
expect a distinguished gentleman, educated in Europe, should choose?’

‘They
are all against me. All traitors. There is no one I can trust.’

‘Except
me, Majesty.’

‘I do
not trust you. You, least of all.’

‘But
you must trust me. Don’t you understand? If you do not trust me there will be
no one. You will be alone, quite alone.’

‘I am
alone. There is no one.’

‘Then
since all are traitors, trust a traitor. Trust me. You must trust me. Listen.
It is not too late to escape. No one but I knows of the boat. The Armenian
Youkoumian is dead. Do you understand, Majesty? Give the order to the guards to
let me pass. I will go to where the boat is hidden. In an hour I will have it
here, under the sea wall. Then when the guard is changed you will join me.
Don’t you understand? It is the only chance. You must trust me. Otherwise you
will be alone.’

The
Emperor stood up. ‘I do not know if I can trust you. I do not think there is
anyone I can trust. I am alone. But you shall go. Why should I hang you? What
is one life more or. less when all are traitors. Go in peace.’

‘Your
majesty’s faithful servant.’

Seth
opened the door; again the scamper of the retreating spy.

‘Major.’

‘Majesty.’

‘Ali is
to go free. He may leave the fort.’

‘The
execution is cancelled?’

‘Ali
may leave the fort.’

‘As
your majesty commands.’ Major Joab saluted. As Ali left the lighted room he
turned back and addressed the Emperor.

‘Your
majesty does well to trust me.’

‘I
trust no one … I am alone.’

The
Emperor was alone. Faintly on the night air he heard the throbbing of drums
from the encamped army. Quarter-past two. Darkness for nearly four hours more.

Suddenly
the calm was splintered by a single, shrill cry —.a jet of sound, spurting up
from below, breaking in spray over the fort, then ceasing. Expressive of
nothing, followed by nothing; no footsteps; no voices; silence and the distant
beat of the tom-toms.

Seth
ran to the door. ‘Hullo! Who is there? What is that? Major! Officer of the
guard!’ No answer. Only the inevitable scuffle of the retreating spy. He went
to the window. ‘Who is there? ‘What has happened? Is there no one on guard?’

‘A long
silence.

Then a
quiet voice from below. ‘Majesty?’

‘Who is
that?’

‘Major
Joab of the Imperial Infantry at your majesty’s service.’

‘What
was that?’

‘Majesty?’

‘What
was that cry?’

‘It was
a mistake, your majesty. There is no cause for alarm.’

‘What
has happened?’

‘The
sentry made a mistake. That is all.’

‘What
has he done?’

‘It is
only the Indian, Majesty. The sentry did not understand his orders. I will see
to it that he is punished.’

‘What
has happened to Ali? Is he hurt?’

‘He is
dead, your majesty. It is a mistake of the sentry’s. I am sorry your majesty
was disturbed.’

Presently
Major Joab, the captain of the guard, and Mr Youkoumian, accompanied by three
heavily burdened corporals, left the fort by a side door and made their way
out of the town along the coast path towards the disused sugar mills.

And
Seth was alone.

Another dawn. With slow
feet Mr Youkoumian trudged into Matodi. There was no one about in the streets.
All who could had left the city during the darkness; those who remained lurked
behind barred doors and barricaded windows; from the cracks of shutters and
through keyholes a few curious eyes observed the weary little figure dragging
down the lane to the Amurath Café and Universal Stores.

Mine
Youkoumian lay across the bedroom doorstep. During the night she had bitten
through her gag and rolled some yards across the floor; that far her strength
had taken her. Then, too exhausted to cry out or wrestle any further with the
ropes that bound her, she had lapsed into intermittent coma, disturbed by
nightmares, acute spasms of cramp and the scampering of rats on the earthen
floor. In the green and silver light of dawn this bruised, swollen and dusty
figure presented a spectacle radically repugnant to Mr Youkoumian’s most
sensitive feelings.

‘Krikor,
Krikor. Oh praise God you’ve come … I thought I should never see you again….
Blessed Mary and Joseph…. Where have you been? … What has happened to you?
… Oh, Krikor, my own husband, praise God and his angels who have brought you
back to me.’

Mr
Youkoumian sat down heavily on the bed and pulled off his elastic-sided button
boots. ‘I’m tired,’ he said. ‘God, how tired I am. I could sleep for a week.’
He took a bottle from the shelf and poured out a drink. ‘I have had one of the
most disagreeable nights of my life. First I am nearly hanged. Will you believe
it? The noose was actually round my neck. Then I am made to walk out as far as
the sugar mills, then the next thing I know I am alone, lying on the beach. My
luggage is gone, my boat is gone, the damned soldiers are gone and I have a
lump on the back of my head the size of an egg. Just you feel it.’

‘I’m
tied up, Krikor. Cut the string and let me help you. Oh, my poor husband.’

‘How it
aches. What a walk back. And my boat gone. I could have got fifteen hundred
rupees for that boat yesterday. Oh my head. Fifteen hundred rupees. My feet
ache too. I must go to bed.’

‘Let me
loose, Krikor, and I will attend to you, my poor husband.’

‘No, it
doesn’t matter, my flower. I’ll go to bed. I could sleep for a week.’

‘Krikor,
let me loose.’

‘Don’t
worry. I shall be all right when I have had a sleep. Why, I ache all over.’ He
tossed off the drink and with a little grunt of relief drew his feet up on to
the bed and rolled over with his face to the wall.

‘Krikor,
please … you must let me loose … don’t you see? I’ve been like this all
night. I’m in such pain …‘

‘You
stay where you are. I can’t attend to you now. You’re always thinking of
yourself. What about me? I’m tired. Don’t you hear me?’

‘But,
Krikor —‘

‘Be
quiet, you slut.’

And in
less than a minute Mr Youkoumian found consolation for the diverse fortunes of
the night in profound and prolonged sleep.

He was
awakened some hours hater by the entry into Matodi of the victorious army.
Drums banging, pipes whistling, the soldiers of Progress and the New Age passed
under his window. Mr Youkoumian rolled off the bed, rubbing his eyes, and
peeped through the chink of the shutters.

‘God
save my soul,’ he remarked. ‘Seth’s won after all.’ Then with a chuckle, ‘What
a pair of fools Major Joab and the captain turn out to be.’

Mine
Youkoumian looked up from the floor with piteous appeal in her dark eyes. He
gave her a friendly little prod in the middle with his stockinged foot. ‘Stay
there, that’s a good girl, and don’t make a noise. I’ll come and see to you in
a minute or two.’ Then he lay down on the bed, nuzzled into the bolster, and
after a few preliminary grunts and wriggles, relapsed into slumber.

It was
a remarkable procession. First in tattered, field grey uniforms came the brass
band of the Imperial Guard, playing
John Brown’s Body.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the
Lord;

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes
of wrath are stored;

He has loosed the mighty lightning of his terrible
swift sword;

His truth is marching on.

Behind
them came the infantry; hard, bare feet rhythmically kicking up the dust,
threadbare uniforms, puttees wound up anyhow, caps at all angles, Lee-Enfield
rifles with fixed bayonets slung on their shoulders; fuzzy heads, jolly
nigger-minstrel faces, black chests shining through buttonless tunics, pockets
bulging with loot. Dividing these guardsmen from the irregular troops rode
General Connolly on a tall, grey mule, with his staff officers beside him. He
was a stocky Irishman in early middle age who had seen varied service in the
Black and Tans, the South African Police and the Kenya Game Reserves before
enlisting under the Emperor’s colours. But on this morning his appearance was
rather that of a lost explorer than a conquering commander-in-chief. He had a
week’s growth of reddish beard below his cavalry moustaches; irregular slashes
had converted his breeches into shorts; open shirt and weather-worn white topee
took the place of tunic and cap. Field glasses, map case, sword and revolver
holster hung incongruously round him. He was smoking a pipe of rank local
tobacco.