The Temple of the Ten/Chapter 14

EVERN stood at the shore of the mysterious little lake, whose surface no wind ever ruffled, and wondered why Day had been given those bank-notes to carry.

“It was an ironic jest, more than likely,” he concluded. “Probably Esrun guessed that he was looking for treasure—and gave it to him.”

Noon had come and gone. He had waited here an hour, and nothing had happened. The two horses, hobbled, grazed among the lush grasses to the left. Everything was peaceful, hot, still as death itself. By dawn, at the latest, Esrun must have known that Sir Fandi had started for the lake; she would be SO informed by her spies among the horsemen of the Hutuktu. How would she receive the expected Rajput?

Severn had not slept for twenty-four hours. He reclined under the trees and vowed that he would doze only for an hour. He needed sleep, and he could afford to risk that. He glanced at his watch, set the waking-time in his head and slept.

When he wakened, he looked again at his watch; he was correct, almost to the minute. With a breath of relief that he had not overslept, he came to his feet. His eyes fell upon the boat of Esrun, drawn up on shore.

With a start of astonishment Severn whirled about, searching the shore. There was no sign of Esrun—yet the boat had come here while he slept! Had his presence passed unnoted? Very likely. Where, then, was Esrun?

Severn slowly approached the boat, suspecting some trick until he perceived that the rude craft was indeed empty, its paddle lying across the thwarts. He saw something else also—a paper on the forward thwart, weighted down with a stone. Concluding there was nothing to fear, Severn pocketed his automatic, leaned forward and picked up the paper.

Upon this paper was written in flowing Hindustani:

Severn crumpled the paper into a ball, tossed it away and stepped into the boat. He pushed off from shore.

“That message was intended for the Rajput—she won't dream that others could read it!” he reflected. “Therefore, my appearance in the boat will be sufficient guarantee that I am Sir Fandi. Excellent!”

Standing erect in the stern, he paddled the boat toward the crags on the right. He had a good idea of where to seek the opening in the cliffs, since he had seen Esrun come out on the occasion of his former visit to the spot.

He asked himself no useless questions about the matter. He understood perfectly that while he slept Esrun had brought out the boat and had left the message for Sir Fandi. How she had regained the cavern did not matter. Could she pick his brain with her accursed telepathic power? He thought not. Had she been able to do so, she would never have been expecting the Rajput to arrive. This was comforting.

The cleft in the high rocks opened out before him. He beheld the sandy strip, the rock portal of the cavern, as Day had described; and standing on the sand, the yellow figure of Esrun, shrouded, blind.

Severn made rather difficult work of the paddling, inasmuch as his mechanical arm could offer little assistance. As he slowly drew in toward the sand, he perceived that Esrun had heard his approach. The hooded head came up and her voice sounded in Hindustani.

“Is it you, Fandi Singh?”

Severn imitated the accents of the Rajput as best he could; he dared take no chances.

“It is I, woman.”

The prow of the boat touched the sand. Severn stepped out, pulled up the boat. Esrun lifted a hand as if in warning. Mockery rang in her voice.

“Welcome, son of the sun, lord of Rajputana, ruler of the blood of Mewar! Do not think to slay me, or you will never see your friend alive. Throw down your revolver at my feet.”

Severn hesitated only an instant. He knew that he could not pistol this creature in cold blood. Only cowards can seek in sudden death, whether for others or for themselves, a resolvent for the problems of existence; and Severn, facing the fact, shrank.. Besides, if need were, he could throttle this leprous creature in his one hand.

He threw down the pistol and Esrun picked it up.

“Come!” she said, and moved toward the cavern portal.

Severn followed.

Knowing that to this being both night and day were the same, Severn produced his electric torch as he stepped into the darkness after his guide. He feared some trap designed to lay him by the heels, since Esrun worked not with force, but with cunning. The light showed him little. The passage was wide and high and was intersected by other but smaller passages at intervals.

“Where is Kilgore sahib?” demanded Severn.

“You shall see him presently, lord of the Rajputs! First I will show you some of the wonders of this place”

“I did not come here to see wonders.”

“You shall see what I desire you to see, none the less.”

Severn made no response. He reflected that, lacking a guide, he could hardly hope to discover Kilgore—the mountain appeared to be honeycombed with passages. He would of course chance it, in extremity, but the time was not yet.

“Turn here,” said the voice. “Follow me closely, to the right!”

Severn swept his light around, suspicious of pitfalls or gins [sic]. He discovered nothing and followed into a passage leading off to the right. This proved to be short, and opened out in a large chamber. Here was burning a dim light in one of the ancient massive reservoirs of oil.

“I lighted the lamp in honor of you,” said Esrun. “You came to this country desiring treasure. Well, look around! Take what you will, although I have used most of the gold. When you have seen enough, come and join me, and we will go to your friend, Fandi sahib! Here is the treasure-chamber of the ancient priests, O lion of the Rajputs!”

Severn examined the roof—there appeared to be no grills such as Day had told of, and he advanced toward the burning lamp. Then he paused.

Before him, scattered about the floor, were a few heaps of glinting gold-pieces. He knew what they were, since he had obtained a few from his first meeting with Esrun—they were broad, flat pieces of early Ming minting. This chamber and cavern, then, were not so very ancient!

There appeared to be little of the gold, nor could he perceive other treasure, until he advanced to the burning lamp. Then he beheld a great heap of packets bound in hide. One of these had been torn open. Severn stooped, and picked up a handful of the black paper bank-notes of Kublai Khan, known to the Chinese as Shih-tsu.

Severn choked down a laugh of bitter irony as he glanced around. Here was the vast treasure of which Day had dreamed—the treasure of Genghis Khan, perhaps! Instead, it was some hoard laid by under the Mings; a hoard of bank-notes stored away six hundred years. since. A mighty treasure then, it was today not worth the effort of carrying away!

Impatience surged up in Severn. He cared nothing about all this—he wanted only to find Kilgore and get clear. He turned to Esrun with an angry word.

“Enough of this! Where is my friend?”

“Come,” Esrun laughed softly as she turned. “There is another chamber that you must visit, first. "There I have prepared a gift for you, Rajput lion!”

Severn followed her closely. These words evoked a swift alarm in him. In the next chamber the trap would be sprang!

His light showed him that they returned to the main passage, then crossed this and entered another transverse branch. As before, this was short and opened into a chamber of some size.

“Is the lamp burning?” asked Esrun.

“There is only darkness,” growled Severn.

No lamp was lighted in the chamber.

“Then it has gone out! But wait—there may be some oil left in it.”

Esrun stepped forward, quite ignorant of the electric torch that played upon her. Severn glanced about the place, and saw that in some far day it had served as an armory. Here were fantastic weapons of all sorts, and armor; dust-covered, rust-frayed, useless.

“Have you any matches?” demanded Esrun, turning.

“No.”

“Then come! Give me your arm—I will guide you.”

Severn threw the beam of light about the yellow figure. He saw that she stood by the wall, and made fast to a great ring the wall there was a set of huge manacles. At this, a laugh rose in him—laughter, not unmixed with pity for the blind creature who was playing out her little treachery.

He stepped forward and touched the figure with his left arm. Her fingers seized his arm—swift as light, the rusted manacles clamped about the wrist. They had been oiled and made ready for this task.

“The lion is snared!” Esrun stepped quickly away and from her burst one wild laugh of triumph that reechoed dizzily in the cavern. “The Rajput lion is netted! And here is a gift for you, Rajput, a gift dyed with my own hands! Wait!”

She caught up a pile of yellow cloths and thrust them at Severn. Then a match flamed in her hand and she held it up so that her captive might see the gift.

“Turban cloth and robe for the royal Rajput!” she shrilled. “Saffron-dyed, the yellow robes of death! Take them and wear them, great rajah, lion of Rajputana!”

The match flickered down from her hand.

Severn was examining the manacles. He saw that he had no hope of getting free from them; so quietly he began to unfasten the mechanical arm which was bound fast. He could no longer hesitate. The moment for action was at hand. He must stake everything-

“And here is another gift for you, rajah's son!” cried the woman's voice. “A gift of leprosy, a gift of death and disease”

Under the flashlight, Severn saw her leap forward. Horror seized upon him as her hands fell upon his false arm and her shroud was brushed aside. Her teeth closed upon the false hand—she was deliberately endeavoring to bite Fandi Singh, to infect him with the dread living rot that had blinded her.

Severn stepped back. He laid down the torch with the beam still playing. From the woman burst a frightful shriek as she perceived the trick—the false arm dangling loose in the manacle.

In desperation, Severn caught up the yellow cloths and flung himself upon the creature. He looped the cloth about her throat, about her upper arms; the shrouding robe fell away, revealing all her ghastly death-in-life. One hand flashed up a revolver—Severn tore it away and wound the cloths more tightly.

Try as he might, he could not avoid contact with the awful thing that flung itself about in his arms. Shriek after shriek echoed through the cavern. Esrun struggled and twisted like a mad thing. Hampered by having but one hand, Severn managed none the less to get fresh windings of the yellow cloth about the creature.

He was sickened by the very touch. A mad panic upgrew within him—as when a man touches some repulsive creeping thing in the dark and goes mad with a frantic horror, a desperate frenzy to kill the loathsome thing! Severn cried out incoherently, as a man cries when fighting. He struggled with the creature, wound the cloths tighter, fought back the insane impulse to strike and slay with the first weapon to hand.

Before he finished, he saw that it was in sober truth a madwoman with whom he was dealing. The shock of finding herself so tricked, perhaps, had finished that diseased brain. When the creature sank down at last amid her mufflings, her voice never ceased to pour forth a storm of raving.

It was horrible. Severn found himself shaken to the very soul, as if passing through some brain-searing nightmare of terror. He was not made for such work as this. A violent nausea seized upon him.

The shrieks of the maddened creature had now become low, shuddering groans. Each one of them went through Severn like a knife. He fell to his knees, sick with horror in both soul and body.

At this instant the sound of an explosion roared through the cavern.