Black Mischief

  ‘I know nothing of these things,’ said Ali. ‘But the ignorant men in the bazaars say that your majesty’s guards have joined Prince Seyid. You will remember my pointing out that they had received no wages for several months?’

  ‘They shall be paid. I have said it. As soon as the war is over they shall be paid. Besides I raised them in rank. Every man in the brigade is now a full corporal. I issued the edict myself. Ungrateful curs. Old-fashioned fools. Soon we will have no more soldiers. Tanks and aeroplanes. That is modern. I have seen it. That reminds me. Have you sent off instructions for the medals?’

  Ali turned over the file of correspondence.

  ‘Your majesty has ordered five hundred Grand Cross of Azania, first class; five hundred second; and seven hundred third; also designs for the Star of Seth, silver gilt and enamel with parti-coloured ribbon …‘

  ‘No, no. I mean the Victory-Medal.’

  ‘I have received no instructions concerning the Victory Medal.’

  ‘Then take this down.’

  ‘The invitation to the King of England?’

  ‘The King of England can wait. Take down the instructions for the Victory Medal. Obverse, the head of Seth — that is to be copied from the photograph taken in Oxford. You understand — it is to be modern, European — top hat, spectacles, evening dress collar and tie. Inscription SETH IMPERATOR IMMORTALIS. The whole to be simple and in good taste. Many of my grandfather’s medals were florid. Reverse. The figure of Progress. She holds in one hand an aeroplane, in the other some small object symbolic of improved education. I will give you the detail of that later. The idea will come to me … a telephone might do … I will see. Meanwhile begin the letter:

  ‘From Seth, Emperor of Azania, Chief of the Chiefs of Sakuyu, Lord of Wanda and Tyrant of the Seas, Bachelor of the Arts of Oxford University, to Messrs Mappin and Webb of London, Greeting. May this reach you. Peace be to your house …

  Evening and a small stir of life. Muezzin in the minaret. Allah is great. There is no Allah but Allah and Mohammed is his prophet. Angelus from the mission church. Ecce ancilla Domini: fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum. Mr Youkoumian behind the bar of the Amurath Café and Universal Stores mixed himself a sundowner of mastika and water.

  ‘What I want to know is do I get paid for the petrol?’

  ‘You know I am doing all I can for you, Mr Youkoumian. I’m your friend. You know that. But the Emperor’s busy today. I’ve only just got off. Been on all day. I’ll try and get your money for you.’

  ‘I’ve done a lot for you, Ali.’

  ‘I know you have, Mr Youkoumian, and I hope I am not ungrateful. If I could get you your money just by asking for it you should have it this evening.’

  ‘But I must have it this evening. I’m going.’

  ‘Going?’

  ‘I’ve made my arrangements. Well, I don’t mind telling you, Ali, since you’re a friend.’ Mr Youkoumian glanced furtively round the empty bar — they were speaking in Sakuyu — ‘I’ve got a launch beached outside the harbour, behind the trees near the old sugar mill in the bay. What’s more, there’s room in it for another passenger. I wouldn’t tell this to anyone but you. Matodi’s not going to be a healthy place for the next week or two. Seth’s beaten. We know that. I’m going to my brother on the mainland. Only I want my money for the petrol before I go.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Youkoumian, I appreciate your offer. But you know it’s very difficult. You can hardly expect the Emperor to pay for having his own motor-boat stolen.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that yesterday evening Mr Marx came into my store and said he wanted the Emperor’s motor-boat filled up with petrol. Eighty rupees’ worth. I’ve served Mr Marx with petrol before for the Emperor. How was I to know he wanted to steal the Emperor’s motor-boat? Should I have given it to him if I did?’

  Mr Youkoumian spread his hands in the traditional gesture of his race. ‘I am a poor man. Is it right that I should suffer in this way? Is it fair? Now, Ali, I know you. You’re a just man. I’ve done a lot for you in the past. Get me my eighty rupees and I will take you to stay with my brother in Malindi. Then when the troubles are over, we can come tack or stay or go somewhere else, just as we like. You don’t want your throat cut by the Arabs. I’ll look after you.’

  ‘Well, I appreciate your offer, Mr Youkoumian, and I’ll do what I can. I can’t say more than that.’

  ‘I know you, Ali. I trust you as I’d trust my own father. Not a word to anyone about the launch, eh?’

  ‘Not a word, Mr Youkoumian, and I’ll see you later this evening.’

  ‘That’s a good fellow. Au revoir and remember, not a word to anyone about the launch.’

  When Ali had left the Amurath Café, Youkoumian’s wife emerged from the curtain behind which she had been listening to the conversation.

  ‘What’s all this you’ve been arranging? We can’t take that Indian to Malindi.’

  ‘I want my eighty rupees. My dear, you must leave these business matters to me.’

  ‘But there isn’t room for anyone else in the launch. We’re overloaded already. You know that.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Are you mad, Krikor? Do you want to drown us all?’

  ‘You must leave these things to me, my flower. There is no need to worry. Ali is not coming with us. All I want is my eighty rupees for Mr Marx’s petrol. Have you finished your packing? We start as soon as Ali returns with the money.’

  ‘Krikor, you wouldn’t … you aren’t going to leave me behind, are you?’

  ‘I should not hesitate to do so if I thought it necessary. Finish your packing, girl. Don’t cry. Finish your packing. You are coming to Malindi. I have said it. Finish your packing. I am a just man and a peaceful man. You know that. But in time of war one must look after oneself and one’s own family. Yes, one’s family, do you hear me? Ali will bring us the money. We shall not take him to Malindi. Do you understand? If he is a trouble I shall hit him with my stick. Don’t stand there like a fool. Finish your packing.’

  The sun had now set. As Ali walked back to the fort through the dark lane he was aware of new excitement in the people around him. Groups were hurrying to the waterfront, others stood in their doorways chattering eagerly. He heard the words ‘Seyid’, ‘Victory’ and ‘Army’. In the open space before the harbour he found a large crowd collected with their backs to the water, gazing inland over the town. He joined them and in the brief twilight saw the whole dark face of the hills alight with little points of fire. Then he left the crowd and went to the old fort. Major Joab, the officer of the guard, stood in the court studying the hills through field-glasses.

  ‘You have seen the fires inland, secretary?’

  ‘I have seen them.’

  ‘I think there is an army encamped there.’

  ‘It is the victorious army, major.’

  ‘Praise God. It is what we have waited to see.’

  ‘Certainly. We should praise God whether in prosperity or adversity,’ said Ali, piously; he had accepted Christianity on entering Seth’s service. ‘But I bring orders from the Emperor. You are to take a picket and go with them to the Amurath Bar. There you will find the Armenian Youkoumian, a little fat man wearing a black skull cap. You know him? Very well. He is to be put under arrest and taken a little outside the town. It does not matter where, but take him some distance from the people. There you are to hang him. Those are the Emperor’s orders. When it is done, report to me personally. There is no need to mention the matter directly to His Majesty. You understand?’

  ‘I understand, secretary.’

  Upstairs, Seth was deep in a catalogue of wireless apparatus.

  ‘Oh, Ali, I have decided on the Tudor model in fumed oak. Remind me tomorrow to write for it. Is there still no news?’

  Ali busied himself in arranging the papers on the table and fitting the typewriter into its case.

  ‘Is there no news?’

  ‘There is news of a kind, Majes
ty. I opine that there is an army bivouacked in the hills. Their fires are visible. If your majesty will come outside, you will see them. No doubt they will march into the city tomorrow.’

  Seth sprang gaily from his chair and ran to the window. ‘But this is magnificent news. The best you could have brought. Ali, I will make you a Viscount tomorrow. The army back again. It is what we have been longing for the last six weeks, eh, Viscount?’

  ‘Your majesty is very kind. I said an army. There is no means of knowing which one it may be. If, as you surmise, it is General Connolly, is it not curious that no runner has come to salute your majesty with news of the victory?’

  ‘Yes, he should have sent word.’

  ‘Majesty, you are defeated and betrayed. Everyone in Matodi knows it except yourself.’

  For .the first time since the beginning of the campaign, Ali saw that there was uncertainty in his master’s mind. ‘If I am defeated,’ said Seth, ‘the barbarians will know where to find me.’

  ‘Majesty, it is not too late to escape. Only this evening I heard of a man in the town who has a launch hidden outside the harbour. He means to leave in it himself, for the mainland, but he would sell it at a price. There are ways for a small man to escape where a great man like your majesty. would be trapped. For two thousand rupees he will sell this boat. He told me so, in so many words. He named the price. It is not much for the life of an Emperor. Give me the money, Majesty, and the boat shall be here before midnight. And in the morning Seyid’s troops will march into the town and find it empty.’.

  Ali looked hopefully across the table, but before he had finished speaking he realized that Seth’s mood of uncertainty was past.

  ‘Seyid’s troops will not march into the town. You forget that I have the Tank. Ali, you are talking treasonable nonsense. Tomorrow I shall be here to receive my victorious general.’

  ‘Tomorrow will show, Majesty.’

  ‘Tomorrow will show.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Ali, ‘my friend is very loyal to your majesty and a most devoted man. Perhaps if I were to use my influence he might reduce his price.’

  ‘I shall be here in the morning to receive my army.’

  ‘Suppose he would accept eighteen hundred rupees?’

  ‘I have spoken.’

  Without further discussion Ali picked up his typewriter and left the room. As he opened the doors his ears caught the inevitable shuffle of bare feet, as a spy slipped away down the dark passage. It was a sound to which they had grown accustomed during the past months.

  In his own quarters Ali poured out a glass of whisky and lit a cheroot. Then he drew out a fibre trunk from beneath the bed and began a methodical arrangement of his possessions preparatory to packing them. Presently there was a knock at the door and Major Joab came in.

  ‘Good evening, secretary.’

  ‘Good evening, major. The Armenian is dead?’

  ‘He is dead. Heavens, how he squealed. You have whisky there.’

  ‘Will you help yourself?’

  ‘Thank you, secretary … you seem to be preparing for a journey.’

  ‘It is well to be prepared — to have one’s things in good order.’

  ‘I think there is an army in the hills.’

  ‘It is what they are saying.’

  ‘I think it is the army of Seyid.’

  ‘That, too, is being said.’

  ‘As you say, secretary, it is well to be prepared.’

  ‘Will you take a cheroot, major? I expect that there are many people in Matodi who would be glad to leave. The army will be here tomorrow.’

  ‘It is not far away. And yet there is no way of leaving the town. The boats are all gone. The railway is broken. The road leads straight to the encampment.’

  Ali folded a white drill suit and bent over the trunk, carefully arranging the sleeves. He did not look up as he said: ‘I heard of a man who had a boat. It was spoken of in the bazaar, I forget by whom. An ignorant fellow no doubt. But this man, whoever it was, spoke of a boat concealed outside the harbour. He was going to the mainland tonight. There was room for two others, so they said. Do you think a man would find passengers to the mainland at five hundred rupees each? That is what he asked.’

  ‘It is a great price for a journey to the mainland.’

  ‘It is not much for a man’s life. Do you think such a man, supposing there is any truth in the tale, would find passengers?’

  ‘Perhaps. Who can tell? A man of affairs who can take his wisdom with him — a foreigner with no stock but a typewriter and his clothes. I do not think a soldier would go.’

  ‘A soldier might pay three hundred?’

  ‘It is not likely. What life would there be for him in a foreign country? And among his own people he would be dishonoured.’

  ‘But he would not hinder others from going. A man who would pay five hundred rupees for his passage money, would not grudge another hundred to the guard who allowed him to pass?’

  ‘Who can say? Some soldiers might hold that a small price for their honour.’

  ‘But two hundred.’

  ‘I think soldiers are for the most part poor men. It is seldom they earn two hundred rupees…. Well, I must bid you good night, secretary. I must return to my men.’

  ‘How late do you stay on guard, major?’

  ‘Till after midnight. Perhaps I shall see you again.’

  ‘Who can say? … Oh, major, you have forgotten your papers.’

  ‘So I have. Thank you, secretary. And good night.’ The major counted the little pile of notes which Ali had placed on the dressing-table. Two hundred exactly. He buttoned them into his tunic pocket and returned to the guard house.

  Here, in the inner room, sat Mr Youkoumian talking to the captain. Half an hour before the little Armenian had been very near death, and awe of the experience still overcast his normally open and loquacious manner. It was not until the rope was actually round his neck that he had been inspired to mention the existence of his launch. His face was damp and his voice jerky and subdued.

  ‘What did the Indian dog say?’

  ‘He wanted to sell me a place in the boat for five hundred rupees. Does he know where it is hidden?’

  ‘Fool that I was, I told him.’

  ‘It is of little consequence. He gave me two hundred rupees to let him past the guard, also some whisky and a cheroot. There is no need for us to worry about Ali. When do we start?’

  ‘There is one point, officers … my wife. There is not room for her in the boat. She must not know of our departure. Where was she when you — when we left the café together?’

  ‘She was making a noise. One of the corporals locked her in the loft.’

  ‘She will get out of there.’

  ‘You leave all that to us.’

  ‘Very well, major. I am a just man and a peaceable man. You know that. I only want to be sure that everything will be agreeable for everyone.’

  Ali finished his packing and sat down to wait. ‘What’s Major Joab up to?’ he wondered. ‘It is curious his refusing to leave the town. I suppose he thinks he will get a price for Seth in the morning.’

  Night and the fear of darkness. In his room at the top of the old fort Seth lay awake and alone, his eyes wild with the inherited terror of the jungle, desperate with the acquired loneliness of civilization. Night was alive with beasts and devils and the spirits of dead enemies; before its power Seth’s ancestors had receded, slid away from its attack, abandoning in retreat all the baggage of Individuality; they had lain six or seven in a hut between them and night only a wall of mud and a ceiling of thatched grass; warm, naked bodies breathing in the darkness an arm’s reach apart, indivisibly unified so that they ceased to be six or seven scared blacks and became one person of more than human stature, less vulnerable to the peril that walked near them. Seth could not expand to meet the onset of fear. He was alone, dwarfed by the magnitude of the darkness, insulated from his fellows, strapped down to mean dimensions.

  The
darkness pulsed with the drumming of the unknown conquerors. In the narrow streets of the city the people were awake — active and apprehensive. Dark figures sped to and fro on furtive errands, hiding from each other in doorways till the way was empty. In the houses they were packing away bundles in secret places, little hoards of coins and jewellery, pictures and books, ancestral sword hilts of fine workmanship, shoddy trinkets from Birmingham and Bombay, silk shawls, scent bottles, anything that might attract attention next morning when the city was given over to loot. Huddled groups of women and children were being herded to refuge in the cellars of the old houses or into the open country beyond the walls; goats, sheep, donkeys, livestock and poultry of all kinds jostled with them for precedence in the city gates. Mine Youkoumian, trussed like a chicken on the floor of her own bedroom, drib bled through her gag and helplessly writhed her bruised limbs.

  Ali, marching back to the fort under arrest between two soldiers, protested angrily to the captain of the guard.

  ‘You are making a great mistake, captain. I have made all arrangements with the major for my departure.’

  ‘It is the Emperor’s orders that no one leaves the city.’

  ‘When we see the major he will explain everything.’

  The captain made no reply. The little party marched on; in front between two other soldiers shambled Ali’s servant, bearing his master’s trunk on his head.

  When they reached the guard-room, the captain reported. ‘Two prisoners, major, arrested at the South Gate attempting to leave the city.’

  ‘You know me, major; the captain has made a mistake. Tell him it is all right for me to go.’

  ‘I know you, secretary; captain, report the arrests to His Majesty.’