A Prince of Dreamers Part 47

There was a pause as atma Devi appraised the Feringhi's strange dress, then from amongst the little pile of uncooked grain upon the platter of the dead, produced the diamond. It shone with a faint lambent glow in the flickering light of the oil lamp. A sigh of satisfaction came from Birbal, but William Leedes bent closer to look at what he held and his face as he raised his head showed ghastly gray.

"It also is false, master," he faltered. "See yonder is the scratch my tool made on it----"

"False," Birbal stood transfixed, feeling, even amidst his stupefaction, a quick sense of relief that after all he had made no mistake. "False," he echoed, and turned on atma Devi. She also stood surprised, so surprised that Birbal realised in an instant that she was innocent of all complicity in whatever had brought about this astounding revelation. So without a word, he drew out the other false gem which he had brought with him, and laid it beside its marrow on the jeweller's palm.

"There be two false stones, sister," he said striving to be calm, feeling that it was his only chance of getting any hint on which he could work from her, "but where is the real one; dost know?"

Her great, wide eyes roved helplessly from the twin stones to the jeweller's face, so back to his; then back again to the stones.

"Pooru must have made them," she said slowly, "but I wist not they were even made."

Then suddenly she threw up her arms and clapped her hands together high above her head. The platter of death offerings with its little lamp falling from her hold, dashed itself to pieces on the stones, and there was darkness. So from it came her wail--"Lo I have betrayed the King, I, his Charan! Yet I know nothing." She sank huddled in a heap upon the ground.

"There is no use wasting further time here," said Birbal roughly after several vain attempts to rouse atma Devi from ineffectual despair.

"Leave her to her own condemnation. This points to deeper plotting than I dreamt of, and there is no moment to lose."

As he hurried off, he marshalled half a hundred theories before the judgment seat of his brain....

The biggest villain--who was the biggest villain? Khodadad without doubt, but he was dead. Could _he_ have had the diamond? It was becoming plain to Birbal that in this scheme of theft some one had played for the chance of the Great Diamond never coming again within reach of a jeweller's lathe. Someone had kept the real stone, and played off false ones upon the conspirators. He must search Khodadad's house; aye even the corpse which still awaited the next dawn for burial. Then there was Siyah Yamin; but that devil's limb had once more disappeared. She would be found, of course--no power, not even fear, could keep a woman of her kidney quiet for long. But this was all in the future, and deep down in the cynical heart of the man lurked a clamour that his King, his master, should have the benefit of his luck stone within the next few hours. It must not be in the keeping of his enemies. It must be secure in the safe custody of a friend.

Yet he felt curiously helpless. Though he had ransacked Fatehpur Sikri, aye and Agra also, in search of the so-called Sufi from Isphahan--the mountebank, the juggler with men's senses, he had not come upon a trace of him. William Leedes was of no use, and the only other human being friendly to the King who knew of the diamond's loss, was the half-crazy woman whom he had left crushed in despairing remorse by the Anup tank. Most likely she would go home and kill herself with the death-dagger of her race.

Well she was of no use. From beginning to end, she had been a hindrance, not a help.

And atma, meanwhile, was feeling that the Seven Tides of the Waters of Strife had overwhelmed her.

What had she done? She had persuaded Diswunt to give the opportunity for the theft of the diamond, it is true; but only that she might take it--as she had taken it--to the keeping of the Beneficent Ladies. And they had given it back to her. She sate unconscious of the pa.s.sage of Time, puzzling herself vainly to account for those twin stones which had lain s.h.i.+ning in the jeweller's palm.

CHAPTER XXIII

_Wash white the pages! In no book Love's rule is written. Wherefore look Not in my words for Flattery; nor dare To claim me as thy rightful share.

Traced on my brow is Love--Fate wrote it there_.

--Hafiz.

The gongs striking eleven roused her. She stood up and looked about her, feeling lost, forlorn; and lo! she was in a world of stars. For it was the Night of the Dead, and every little hovel, every house, and homestead, and palace in the town behind her, glittered with the small lamps set to illuminate the feasts that are laid out for wandering spirits. And as she looked out over the unseen levels of the tank, the stars were there also, twinkling farther and farther away to the horizon in every hamlet and village. For an instant the inner vision of the soul was hers, and she saw, as it were a map stretched before her, the wide plain of India receding on and on into the darkness of the night, all sown with such stars in constellations.

And every star was the memory of some dear face; every star was set for some loved wandering soul!

She felt like a disembodied spirit herself as she looked down at her feet, remembering the little decorous platter in which she had hidden the diamond. Should she go back to the Beneficent Ladies and tell them what had happened? No! She had done her part toward them; she had given the gem they had given her into the jeweller's own hand as she had promised; so that was the end.

But it was not the True Luck; thus her duty, so far as she herself was concerned, still remained. She must try and find it, and if she failed there was always the death-dagger; for she must be true, though she was a woman.

"True! Aye! as true as it befits womanhood to be."

Who had said that?

Siyala?

Then in a second she knew, and turning swiftly on her heel ran toward the town. Siyal! Siyala was the thief! She had the King's Luck. Ye G.o.ds! had it come to this. Her sister of the veil, the little dainty, delicate, perfumed piece of femininity which she had borne with, nay, had almost loved as a half-forgotten part of herself--she, and she only, was preventing her, atma, the representative of Charans, from playing her man's part in Charans.h.i.+p. An uttermost loathing of herself, as woman, came to the mind that had been educated to believe in her womanhood as nothingness, the while she hurried through the full bazaars toward Satanstown. She almost had to fight her way through one portion where the crowd filled every inch of the roadway past Khodadad's house. He was lying in state there with all the royal insignia of a Tarkhan about him. That had not saved his corpse, however, from quick searching by the hands of the city police (for treasonable papers was the excuse) but now that Birbal had come and gone unsatisfied, the professional wailers were once more skirling away their mercenary grief, and through the wide arches of the upper floor the swaying heads of the hired priests could be seen as they chanted their orisons for the dead.

"Who is't?" she asked, faint curiosity rising in her as she pa.s.sed.

"Khodadad, Tarkhan. Hast not heard?" answered someone. "They found him dead at dawn, the blood pouring from his veins, and the white horse from which he had fallen by his side."

"Aye! but thou forgettest neighbour!" said another eager voice "his hands were tied and----"

"G.o.d send his soul to the nethermost h.e.l.l for treachery," broke in atma on the gossiping, as she fought her way on.

"Ari, sister! Have a care," protested the crowd. "Thou hittest like a man, and will hurt."

But she was gone ere the sentence ended in a broad laugh, and a rough jest on him who had such a termagant to wife.

Old Deena caught sight of her as she came breathlessly along the balconied lane. There were lights and to spare here, but Siyah Yamin's house stood a dark block amongst its radiant neighbours.

"Thou art too late, mistress most chaste," he called, "the singing bird is fled."

"Whither?" she gasped.

He shook his wicked old head and leered with his wicked old eye.

"No-whither so far as this world knows. A many have been after her, even my Lord Birbal, without success. She left for the desert to my Lord Khodadad's devil's feast last evening and hath not returned. Now he is dead, and she hath disappeared! Belike the white horse carried her off too; or belike," he spoke in a lower voice, "the desert was but fair doubling ground for pursuit."

atma stared at him uncomprehending.

"But I need her," she muttered.

A hard metallic laugh rang from a neighbouring balcony.

"No woman needs woman!" came a coa.r.s.e jeering voice. "But such a strapping wench could mayhap play a man's part. Play it, sister, and G.o.d go with you."

atma turned and fled from the burst of wild laughter that followed on the sally. There was nothing left now for her, truly, but the man's part. She must find the death-dagger of her race, and die as they had died.

But not for honour; for dishonour!

By the time she reached the winding tenement stair which led upward to her roof she had grown calm, and her mind, set loose from the urgency of the present, had begun to wander amid past scenes. Yea! yonder were the steps leading down to the cellar where the Wayfarer had lain asleep, half dead in dreams, with Zarifa's face upon his bosom. A strange man indeed! What was it he had said about Love? Her hand sought her throat involuntarily and finding the quaint green stone clasped it.

Roses! Roses! Roses! Their scent bewildered her!

Then in a second she saw all, she understood all. Aye! she, the woman in her, had loved the King and she had been ashamed of it. But this--this was different. This was the mortal following the immortal!

She was going to death as to a funeral prye, to find herself s.e.xless, beyond the flames.

She stumbled on and on, up and up, every atom of herself forgotten save the deathless desire for Unity which lies behind s.e.x, until, suddenly, some unfamiliarity beneath her feet made her pause.

Had she come too far? She stopped in the mirk darkness to feel the step on which she stood, so, groping felt the wall.