The Snout in the Dark

TWO: The Invisible Terror

“Tuthmes!” The voice was urgent - as urgent as the fist that hammered on the teakwood door of the house of the most ambitious nobleman of Rush. “Lord Tuthmesl Let me in! The devil is loose again!”

The door opened, and Tuthmes stood within the portal - a tall, slender, aristocratic figure, with the narrow features and dusky skin of his caste. He was wrapped in robes of white silk as if for bed and held a small bronze lamp in his hand.

“What is it, Afan" ?” he asked.

The visitor, the whites of his eyes flashing, burst into the room. He panted as if from a long run. He was a lean, wiry, dark-skinned man in a white jubbah, shorter than Tuthmes and with his Negroid ancestry more prominent in his features. For all his haste, he took care to close the door before he answered. “Amboola! He is dead! In the Red Tower!”

“What?” exclaimed Tuthmes. “Tananda dared to execute the commander of the Black Spears ?”

“No, no, no! She would not be such a fool, surely. He was not executed but murdered. Something got into his cell - how, Set only knows - and tore his throat out, stamped in his ribs, and smashed his skull. By Derketa's snaky locks, I have seen many dead men, but never one less lovely in death than Amboola. Tuthmes, it is the work of the demon, of whom the black people murmur! The invisible terror is again loose in Meroe!” Afari clutched the small paste idol of his protector god, which hung from a thong around his scrawny neck. “Amboola's throat was bitten out, and the marks of the teeth were not like those of a lion or an ape. It was as if they had been made by razor-sharp chisels!”

“When was this done?”

“Some time about midnight. Guards in the lower part of the tower, watching the stair that leads up to the cell in which he was imprisoned, heard him cry out. They rushed up the stairs, burst into the cell, and found him lying as I have said. I was sleeping in the lower part of the tower, as you bade me. Having seen, I came straight here, bidding the guards to say naught to anyone.”

Tuthmes smiled a cool, impassive smile that was not pleasant to see. He murmured: “You know Tananda's mad rages. Having thrown Amboola and her cousin Aahmes into prison, she might well have had Amboola slain and the corpse maltreated to look like the work of the monster that has long haunted the land. Might she not, now?”

Comprehension dawned in the eyes of the minister. Tuthmes, taking Afari's arm, continued: “Go, now, and strike before the queen can learn of it. First, take a detach­ment of black spearmen to the Red Tower and slay the guards for sleeping at their duty. Be sure you let it be known that you do it by my orders. That will show the blacks that I have avenged their commander and remove a weapon from Tananda's hand. Kill them before she can have it done ...”

“...Then spread word to the other chief nobles. If this be Tananda's way of dealing with the powerful ones of her realm, we had all best be on the alert. Then go into the Outer City and find old Ageera, the witch-smeller. Do not tell him flatly that Tananda caused this deed to be done, but hint at it.”

Afari shuddered. “How can a common man lie to that devil? His eyes are like coals of fire; they seem to look into depths unnamable. I have seen him make corpses rise and walk, and skulls champ and grind their fleshless jaws.”

“Don't lie,” answered Tuthmes, “Simply hint to him of your own suspicions. After all, even if a demon did slay Amboola, some human being summoned it out of the night, Perhaps Tananda is behind this, after all. So go quickly!”

When Afari, mulling intensely over his patron's com­mands, had departed, Tuthmes stood for a moment in the midst of his chamber, which was hung with tapestries of barbaric magnificence. Blue smoke seeped through a domed censer of pierced brass in one corner. Tuthmes called: “Mum!”

Bare feet scuffed the floor. An arras of dull crimson cloth, hung athwart one wall, was thrust back, and an im­mensely tall, thin man ducked his head under the lintel of the hidden door and entered the room. “I am here, master,” he said.

The man, who towered over even the tall Tuthmes, wore a large piece of scarlet cloth, hung like a toga from one shoulder. Although his skin was as black as jet, his features were narrow and aquiline, like those of the ruling caste of Meroe. The woolly hair of his head was trimmed into a fantastic, crested shape.

“Is it back in its cell ?” inquired Tuthmes.

“It is.”

“Is all secure?”

“Aye, my lord.”

Tuthmes frowned. “How can you be sure that it will always obey your commands and then return to you? How know you that some day, when you release it, it will not slay you and flee back to whatever unholy dimension it calls home?”

Mum spread his hands. “The spells I learned from my master, the exiled Stygian wizard, to control the demon, have never failed.”

Tuthmes gave the sorcerer a piercing look. “Me seems you wizards spend most of your lives in exile. How do I know that some enemy will not bribe you to turn the mon­ster loose on me some day!”

“Oh, master, think not such thoughts. Without your protection, whither should I go ? The Kushites despise me, for I am not of their race; and for reasons you know, I cannot return to Kordafa.”

“Hum. Well, take good care of your demon, for we may have more use for it soon. That loose-tongued fool, Afari, loves nothing more than to appear wise in the opinions of others. He will spread the tale of Amboola's murder, embellished with my hints of the queen's role, to a hun­dred waiting ears. The breach between Tananda and her lords will widen, and I shall reap the benefit.”

Chuckling with rare good humor, Tuthmes splashed wine into two silver cups and handed one to the gaunt sorcerer, who accepted it with a silent bow. Tuthmes con­tinued:

“Of course, he will not mention that he began the whole charade with his false accusations against Amboola and Aahmes - without orders from me, too. He knows not that - thanks to your necromantic skill, friend Muru - I know all about this. He pretends to be devoted to my cause and faction but would sell us out in an instant if he thought he could gain thereby. His ultimate ambition is to wed Tananda and rule Kush as royal consort. When I am king, I shall need a more trustworthy tool than Afari.”

Sipping the wine, Tuthmes mused: “Ever since the late king, her brother, perished in battle with the Stygians, Tananda has clung insecurely to the ivory throne, playing one faction off against another. But she lacks the character to hold power in a land whose tradition does not accept the rule of a woman. She is a rash, impulsive wanton, whose only method of securing power is to slay whatever noble she most fears at the moment, thus alerting and antagoniz­ing the rest. 'Be sure to keep a close watch on Afari, О Muru. And keep your demon on a tight rein. We shall need the creature again.”

When the Kordafan had left, ducking his head once more to get through the doorway, Tuthmes mounted a staircase of polished mahogany. He came out upon the flat, moonlit roof of his palace.

Looking over the parapet, he saw below him the silent streets of the Inner City of Meroe. He saw the palaces, the gardens, and the great inner square into which, at an instant's notice, a thousand black horsemen could ride from the courts of the adjoining barracks.

Looking farther, he saw the great bronze gates of the Inner City and, beyond them, the Outer City. Meroe stood in die midst of a great plain of rolling grasslands, which stretched - broken only by occasional low hills - to the horizon. A narrow river, meandering across the grasslands, touched the straggling edges of the Outer City.

A lofty, massive wall, which enclosed the palaces of the ruling caste, separated the Inner and Outer Cities. The rulers were descendants of Stygians who, centuries ago, had come southward to hack outran empire and mix their proud blood with that of their black subjects. The Inner City was well laid out, with regular streets and squares, buildings of stone, and gardens.

The Outer City, on the other hand, was a sprawling wilderness of mud huts. Its streets straggled into irregular open spaces. The black people of Kush, the aboriginal in­habitants of the country, dwelt in the Outer City. None but the ruling caste lived in the Inner City, except for their servants and the black horsemen who served as their guardsmen.

Tuthmes glanced out over that vast expanse of huts. Fires glowed in the ragged squares; torches swayed to and fro in the wandering streets. From time to time he caught a snatch of song, a barbaric chant that thrummed with an undertone of wrath or blood lust. Tuthmes drew his cloak more closely about him and shivered.

Advancing across the roof, he halted at the sight of a figure sleeping under a palm in the artificial garden. When stirred by Tuthmes' toe, this man awoke and sprang up.

“There is no need for speech,” cautioned Tuthmes. .”The deed is done. Amboola is dead; and, before dawn, all Meroe will know he was murdered by Tananda.”

“And the - the devil?1 whispered the man, shivering.

“Safely back in its cell. Harken, Shubba; it is time you were gone. Search among the Shemites until you find a suitable woman - a white woman. Bring her speedily here. If you return within the moon, I will give you her weight in silver. If you fail, I will hang your head from that palm tree.”

Shubba prostrated himself and touched his forehead to the dust. Then, rising, he hurried from the roof. Tuthmes glanced again toward the Outer City. The fires seemed somehow to glow more fiercely, and a drum had begun to emit an ominous monotone. A sudden clamor of furious yells welled up to the stars.

“They have heard that Amboola is dead,” muttered Tuth­mes, and again a strong shudder shook his frame.