Page:Weird Tales Volume 8 Number 3 (1926-09).djvu/77

 taste the other liquid" (here he removed the stopper of the remaining phial) "you will wish to be back in the tortures of the first poison. The first poison is merciful, in comparison with the latter. For two whole months, Messer, you will live upon a rack. Everything you touch will seem like hot coal; everything you eat will taste like putrefied flesh—but enough of my inadequate description. You shall see for yourself."

Messer Como seemed to have shrunk in his clothes; for he sat immobile, staring at the marmoset that had defeated his purpose.

The magician was advancing toward him, the phials containing the fatal poisons grasped firmly in his hands. But at that moment the wizard's pet leapt away from the door. With a hoarse cry Messer Como flung himself into the court without.

Calmly the magician poured the water in the phials out upon the flagstones at the threshold. He stood in the doorway and chuckled exultantly to himself, the marmoset clinging to his doublet, as he watched Messer Como run swiftly down the street. It was simple, he reflected, so simple to play upon this man's imagination. He had come to murder him, had he? The wizard laughed. Poison! He had none in his residence, for that very day the Duke di Medici had purchased his entire stock. He laughed again and stared after Messer Como, almost out of sight down the long street.

But the fury of Messer Como was too much for him to contain; so he halted, half turned, and saw the magician standing in the doorway. In the space of a second Messer Como had formulated a plan. He left the center of the street and melted into the shadows on the side. He grasped the stiletto in his bosom. The blade of this tool had been poisoned. So Messer Marri would poison him, eh? Well, he would show him; he would give him a generous taste of his own medicine. Hidden by the shadows he crept toward the magician's house.

He was close enough now; he could easily reach the wizard with his weapon from where he stood. He drew his stiletto from his doublet, and, raising his arm, threw it with all his strength; then turned and fled fleetly down the street. There was a brilliant flash in the moonlight, a shrill, piercing scream, and the magician crumpled to the flagstones before his house.

For days afterward people wondered at the significance of the cold body of the magician with the stiff marmoset impaled to his breast by the long-bladed stiletto.