Solomon's Stone

Chapter XV.

"Wait a minute, Arslan," said Nash."Why do you say I robbed you?"

"Ha! Our faithful Kutluk"—the sultan jerked his head toward a second Turk, also rising and un-limbering his chopper—"was one of those whom you treacherously threw into the North River. Since the Aryans stopped our barges at the mouth of Minetta Brook, we were unable to leave Manhattan, and Kutluk returned hither at risk of life to acquaint us with your perfidy. You even have the impudence to confront us with our favorite wife, No. 307—"

"Sh! Don't be a fool; you'll bring the Aryans down—"

"Yah!" screamed Arslan."Die, you dog!"

Since Alicia was standing beside Nash when Arslan launched his attack, Nash's first concern was to get her out of the way. But in sweeping her behind him he allowed Arslan to get between him and the tunnel entrance.

Nash had never experienced anything like the demoniac fury of the sultan's attack; the slashes came so fast that he had no time for ripostes. Kutluk took a position back to back with his master, with his scimitar ready in case anyone else was minded to take a hand, but as none of the others was armed, they simply watched.

The weight of Arslan's assault pushed Nash back toward a corner. Then under the hail of blows Nash's blade snapped.

The jeweled scimitar whistled round and hit Nash's neck. Nash, instead of parting company with his body as he expected to do, felt a dull, heavy blow that staggered him— Then another on his scalp, and another on his shoulder. The Shamir!

He dropped the remains of his rapier and dove for Arslan's body; got a hand under the sultan's thigh and heaved him off the floor—the animal must weigh a ton—and sat him down heavily. When he tried to pin his opponent, Arslan pulled Nash down on top of him, and they rolled about, kicking and gouging. Kutluk spun around to do his part, but Arizona Bill climbed on his back and fastened his bow legs around the soulless one's waist in a scissors.

"Hey!" cried one of the noncombatants, "The Aryans! They must have found the tunnel!"

Nash had secured a three-quarter nelson on his antagonist and was trying without success to break Arslan's bull neck. He heard Alicia's voice: "Turn him over, Prosper, so I can get at his eyes—"

"Don't bother! Take the Shamir off my neck! Unh!"

"What? But then you'll be vulner—"

"Do as I say! And get that paper out of my rear inside coat pocket!"

"But—"

"Now blow on the Shamir and magic yourself down to the mundane plane... unh... and look up—"

"I won't leave you! Up the ladder, quick—"

The general had climbed the steps leading to the main floor of the arsenal and was pounding on the lower side of the trapdoor. The tramp of Aryan feet came down the tunnel.

"Don't argue!" yelled Nash."Go look up my friend Montague Allen Stark, unh, at the Central Park Y. M. C. A.! Maybe he can help—"

"Halt! You are under arrest!"

The trapdoor flew open, and the gold-braided soldier scrambled out, followed by Mrs. Russell.

"Shtop or you vill be shot!" The shrill bark was close.

Alicia's voice penetrated Nash's consciousness: "—great Adonai, Elohim, and Jehovam, conjure-—"

Arizona Bill Averoff's chaps disappeared through the trapdoor. A gun roared, and the civilian following him groaned, doubled up, and fell down the steps. The cellar suddenly swarmed with Aryans. They hauled Nash to his feet and kicked him, and did likewise with the ex-sultan.

Kutluk was stretched out, not quite conscious. The Aryans kicked him. He stirred and groaned but did not rise. When a few more kicks failed to bring him to his feet, an Aryan fired a bullet through his head. Kutluk quivered and began to fade out. The civilian had already done so; Alice had disappeared completely. That left Nash, Arslan Bey, and the other civilian in the bag.

The Aryans handcuffed their prisoners together and kicked them up the cellar steps and out the door of the arsenal.

The sun was cool and bright on the field, which was> much like the one Nash and Alicia had been trying to skirt when they had flushed their first Aryan. A section of Aryans stood at ease, and in front of them slouched several dejected-looking non-Aryans.

"Guess we'll fade out in good company," said Nash.

"You've got nerve, Chevalier," said the civilian.

Nash lowered his voice: "I'm scared half to death, but don't tell—"

"Silence, sub-man!" A kick followed the admonition. Nash painfully guessed that his hams must be all the colors of the rainbow by now.

Two of the previous arrivals were arguing heatedly: one a soldier, the other a shabby man wearing a cloth cap and a red brassard. The Aryans let them shout, enjoying the spectacle.

Nash heard the soldier say: "If you Communists hadn't—"

The other—an obvious Lenin—interrupted: "We had to do what we did because of Historical Necessity. If you degenerate bourgeois had co-operated—"

"Yeah? By 'co-operate' you guys mean let you be God almighty—"

"Of course! If you weren't blinded by slimy social-fascist prejudices, you'd see—ah!" The Lenin glared venomously at Nash."One of the decadent aristocracy! I thought we'd liquidated them all, but I guess the Aryan bloodsuckers will—"

"Silence!" The nearest Aryan kicked the Lenin, who folded up with a howl. A punch in the face brought him back upright, spitting out a tooth.

Nash and his two companions were lined up with the other victims; their handcuffs were changed around to one per man. After an excruciating wait, the boss Aryan addressed them: "According to da regulations, you must be executed in alphabetical order. So—"

"Ah, commander!" growled Arslan Bey."We have a favor to ask."

"Vot?"

"If you intend to slay us all, allow me the boon of killing this villainous unbeliever de Nêche!"

"De Nêche?" cried the soldier."That's the traitor who didn't deliver the message! Let me at him!"

A general wrangle broke out. The Lenin grinned brokenly through his little blond beard."So that's de Nêche? Seems to me he showed almost proletarian realism! He made our coup possible. Of course since gratitude is a mere bourgeois superstition, I'd kill him anyway—"

"Silence! Silence!" The usual kicks quieted the dispute. One Aryan said to the boss: "Since dey love each odder so, vy not give them knives and let dem fight it out?"

"Not according to da regulations! Now, sub-men, give me your names. You?" He addressed a mild-looking civilian.

"Zwuggle," answered the man promptly.

"Vot?"

"Zwuggle! Z-W-U-G—"

"Dere is no such name! You are trying to get a place at de end of da line! Answer truthfully or you vill be executed!"

"But you're going to execute me anyway!" said the astralite plaintively."And it really is Zwug-gle!"

"I don't believe it. Put him at da beginning of da line. Now ve know dis Asiatic is named Arslan Bey; he is an A. Put him next to Herr Zwuggle. De Nêche, dat is a D—"

"It's an N!" protested Nash."I'm listed under N in the phone book—"

"Vot is a phone book? I never heard of it, so dere can be no such thing. Get over dere, schwein, or—"

"I know," said Nash."I'll be executed."

"Your name?"

"Harris."

"Stand dere. Your name?"

"Wright."

"R goes dere."

"It's a W!"

"You said 'Wright, ' not 'Vright. ' Next?"

This was the Lenin."Darmer!" he cried."Nikolai Frunze Darmer!"

"Party name or real name?"

"Party name, of course. My real name begins with S, but a proletarian hero like me doesn't purchase a few lousy minutes of life by telling his real name to cowardly murderers like—"

A tattoo of punches and kicks ended the demonstration. The rest of the party was soon sorted out. Then there was another wait while the Aryans conferred among themselves; a messenger was dispatched somewhither, and returned twenty minutes later.

The boss Aryan grinned sardonically."I am so sorry ve cannot do you de honor of meeting da regular executioner, but he vas killed last night and has not been replaced. So—" Another Aryan stepped forward, swung up a light battle-ax, and brought it down, chunk, on the skull of the unfortunate Zwuggle.

The civilian went down, grinning by halves. The Aryan stepped in front of Arslan Bey. Chunk! Then the Lenin, who cried: "We shall be avenged! The masses will—" Chunk!

Nash knew that one could not run well with one's hands tied behind one's back, but he was determined to try. The only person between him and death was a certain Davis, a young man in a baseball-player's uniform. Mr. Davis tried to avert his fate by dodging the ax, which sliced off an ear and buried itself in his shoulder. The baseball player shrieked and jerked back; the next blow smashed his jaw. He fell supine, and the Aryan stepped forward and systematically chopped his face into red ruin. The other Aryans laughed.

"Ach, was ist—"

"Achtung!"

The laughter died; the Aryans stared horrified past their victims. Nash craned his neck.

A monstrous army was erupting out of the trees on the west side of the field. Strung out in open order from one end of the field to the other was a line of things somewhat resembling Kulu, the late ex-sultan's pet ape. But these were eight feet tall, wore steel helmets and breastplates, and each one had four arms full of lethal weapons.

And just behind the center of the line came a rider whose mount seemed to have been assembled out of spare parts from all the monsters of mythology. - Its head was like that of a huge turtle, except that it had ears and horns. Its body and limbs were shaped like those of a bear, but were covered with scales. Its massive tail ended in a ball of spikes.

A gun roared from the skirmish line, and the head of an Aryan vanished—or to be accurate, sprayed all over his fellows. The boss Aryan shouted: "Sieg heil!" and pushed through the line of executionees toward the apes.

The victims came to life and ran in all directions. The remaining Aryans rushed after their leader, echoing his war cry. The firing became hot; Nash, running awkwardly like the rest, sighted a hollow and dived into it.

He was still straining futilely at the handcuffs when the firing ceased and a voice said: "Excuse me, your honor, but are you the man with the soul of Prosper Nash?"

Nash looked up: one of the apes was bending over his depression.

"Uh-huh," said Nash."Now what do you want to execute me for?"

"Oh, sir, nothing of the sort!" The ape put a tin whistle to his huge mouth and blew. A slight tremor of the earth hinted that the composite beast was approaching.

Nash rolled over and tried to rise, but found that getting up from a prone position with one's hands manacled behind one takes special technique. As he thrashed among the weeds, the ape reached down, gathered the nape of his jacket into one hairy hand, and set Nash gently but firmly on his feet.

The first group of Aryans had disappeared. The skirmish line had crossed most of the field. Nash, looking at their backs, saw a group of Aryans emerge from the trees beyond them. There was a brief moment of thunderous gunfire, and those Aryans were gone too. Other apes streamed out of the woods following the skirmish line.

The turtle-headed monstrosity lumbered up, and a massive young man in riding breeches vaulted off. This individual combined the physique of a heavyweight champ with the face of—Montague Allen Stark.

"You're Nash?" he said crisply, extending a hand."Good. Looks as though we weren't any too quick. We were created primarily to rescue you, and secondarily to clean up the Aryans." He cocked his head as gunfire broke out."Those are my babies now." He looked surprised as Nash appeared to ignore his hand, until Nash showed him the handcuffs.

"That's easy," he said. He signaled to the ape, who snapped the chain.

"Thanks," said Nash."What's your name?"

"Let me see... haven't gotten used to it yet... I know! Flash Rogers Stark! Anything else we can do for you?"

"I... uh... don't know yet. I'm sort of at sea... hullo, look who's here!"

A tall angry figure was approaching, all but his bare feet and glabrous head wrapped in yards of gray wool."You!" roared Tukiphat."It took me two hours to get free of that anathematized rope! What have you done with the Shamir, O youth of little prudence?"

"Now see here, sir," said Flash Rogers Stark, "I've got orders to protect Mr. Nash, and—"

"You!" sneered the genius."O shadow-being of a mortal's irrational fancy, I can erase you with a wink. Behold!" Tukiphat waved his hand, and the super-Stark was hoisted six feet into the air."Interfere not, and fear not for this temerarious imbecile's safety. Tukiphat is above such petty vengeance. Now, Jean-Prosper de Nash or whatever you call yourself, answer me truly, for the fate of your plane may depend on your veracity. Where is the Star of Wisdom?"

"Far as I know it's on the mundane plane," said Nash. This being might have too many inherent, built-in powers to monkey with."I sent my girl friend down there with it when the Aryans cornered us, and I guess she looked up my friend Monty Stark as I told her to, and he imagined this fellow and his army."

Tukiphat snorted."Well enough, but tell me not that you stole the Stone of Sages merely to have it handy in such emergencies. What seduced you to this mad enterprise?"

"Well, you see, I've really got a mundane soul; the demon Bechard stole my mundane body—"

"Demon? Bechard?" Tukiphat gave a groan at which the whole field trembled slightly."Pater Omnipotens! Mean you that a demon is on the same plane as the Shamir?"

"Looks that way. He told me to get it for him, or else."

"Quickly, the rest of your tale!"

Nash told him. Tukiphat went through the motions of tearing nonexistent hair."I might have "known! Should Bechard obtain the jewel, your plane will be overrun with demons and your people enslaved or wiped out!"

"But... why... what—"

"Since Lerajie became their ruler, they have been incubating a plot to obtain more living space, as they put it. Bechard will bring his whole host in, body and soul, by means of the Shamir."

"Gosh! But my mag... I was told the Shamir only transports one at a time."

"Child of unwisdom, among demons the one is many and the many are one. 'Bechard' is but the name of a legion, all as alike as so many belocoli. But I will not burden your so-called mind with the metaphysics thereof. We must act quickly, if it be not already too late!"