Scott sought to cover his blunder. To Hamzah he said, "I am grieved for my friend Darus. I mourn with him."
"That's th' way to talk, cap n," Hurst said in an approving manner.
Hamzah now had recovered his dignity. "The rajah will see the white tuan tomorrow ... after the sembahyang suboh."
Scott had to ask Hurst for help. Hamzah repeated what he had said. The frontiersman scratched his head thoughtfully and spoke again to Hamzah, who nodded.
"That's th' dawn prayer, cap'n," Hurst said. "There's five of 'em." He hesitated. "I'd wait, if I was you."
"We will wait, Hamzah," Scott said.
"There is a house prepared for you, tuan."
"What're we doing?" Peary demanded tensely when Scott gave the order to strip the ship's boat of all stores and the oars.
Scott told him briefly. Then he led them to the dwelling indicated by Hamzah. It was a flimsy-looking building located close to the biggest hut in the village, which was Darus' own residence, and it was six feet off the ground on slender pilings. It was nearly sunset when they finally got settled.
"Hell's fire," Peary commented, looking about the inside of the building, "we'll be in a hell of a spot if they start any trouble after dark."
"It's a risk we can't avoid. We'll stand watches."
Peary glanced outside. "We'd damn' well better. Look."
A score of men armed with an assortment of weapons were taking up position outside the rajah's quarters.
"Darus is as worried as you are, " Scott told him. "He isn't taking any chances on us jumping him, either."
Suddenly a shrill series of calls rent the air. Every native in sight, including the newly posted guards around the palace, prostrated himself.
"Sunset prayer," Hurst said to Scott. "There'll be another call from the muezzin after dark."
Scott rubbed his chin. "I'd like to have some inkling of these people's true feelings toward us before I talk with Darus, Hurst. Do you think you could find out anything from any of them?"
"I could try, sir. I know Hamzah an' some others. They were all mighty friendly when I come here with Darus."
"Maybe the only reason we didn't hear from Darus was because the tiger killed his son," Scott went on, "but I've a notion it's more than that. If he were going to put in an appearance later, why did he send this Hamzah for Muzaffar? At any rate, find out what you can. I'm going to talk plain to Darus in the morning."
Soon after Hurst departed two taciturn teen-aged boys lugged a huge kettle of steaming-hot meat-and-vegetable stew to the foot of the ladder outside and left it there. By the time a couple of hungry seamen had handed it into the house the lads were back with jugs of arrack and hot tea. Scott immediately confiscated the heady liquor and issued it sparingly.
The stew was good, though too highly seasoned for Scott's taste, and he ate sparingly at the common mess. Immediately after eating all the sailors except those on watch sprawled on the uneven wooden floor and went to sleep. Full bellies, their natural fatalism and the hard day of rowing and towing upstream combined to give them rest.
Scott and Peary remained awake, sitting apart in moody silence. The night was cooling rapidly and the light of a lamp brought from the ship cast fitful shadows on the walls.
Suddenly Peary spoke. "I'd like a drink, Scott. Rum, not arrack."
"Help yourself."
"You want one?"
"No, thanks."
"When do you reckon Hurst'll get back?"
"No telling."
Peary poured half a cup of rum and gulped it down. "There's something I want to ask you, Scott."
"What?"
"Wasn't Miss Russell in your cabin last night?"
Scott looked at him curiously. "She came by for two or three minutes."
"Why?"
Scott felt a surge of irritation. "There was something she wanted to say to me."
Peary poured another generous measure of rum and tossed it off. "What?"
Scott's eyes narrowed. "I don't think that's any of your business. And another thing, go easy on that rum.This is no time for getting three sheets in the wind."
"Don't be so damned snotty, Scott. I asked a civil question."
"It was a damned nosy question and you know it. Since when has my business been your business?"
"If you must know, since you married my sister, that's when," Peary snarled.
The sudden venom in his voice startled Scott. "You're getting drunk, Clay. Don't pour any more rum on top of the arrack you've had."
"I'm not drunk. And if I was, what could you do about it?"
Scott spoke with controlled fury, keeping his voice down so that the men on watch could not hear the words. "Shut up, Clay. Remember that you're a ship's officer, supposedly a responsible one."
"And you're the captain," Peary said mockingly.
"Yes, by God, I am!" Scott gritted. "You pipe down. This is no place for you to get smart. We don't know yet how tight a spot we're in."
"It was your idea to come here, remember."
Scott got to his feet deliberately. He stepped close to Peary and addressed him softly. "I told you to belay such talk. Save it until we're back in Charleston. I suggest you start sleeping that rum off."
"Captain," one of the watch called, "Hurst is comin' back."
Peary's face was dark with fury, but he knew Scott's temper. "We'll talk later, Scott."
"In Charleston," Scott said. "You can say what you please there."
Reeking of arrack, the one-time Indian trader was bursting with information. "Me an' Hamzah've been swillin' panther sweat—which means he ain't too strick a Moslem—an' he's talked more'n he realizes, I reckon. Anyway, it's true enough that Darus' fourth boy was kilt by that ol' harimau, th' Lame One, but it didn't happen until last night. You remember Suran, sir?"
Scott answered drily. "I could hardly forget him."
"Well, Hamzah told me th' muezzin Osman, th' feller that sounds off like an Indian on th' warpath to call th' faithful to prayer, is Suran's half-brother."
Light dawning in his mind, Scott snapped his fingers. "Then he's the source of our trouble?"
"You're right, sir. It wasn't until after Darus started tradin' with you that Osman learned about Suran. So he tried to stop th' rajah from doin' business with you. But Darus liked them silver dollars an' he liked you, so he wouldn't listen... not until he come back here th' last time an' heard about Osman's dream."
"Dream?"
"Aye. These Malays believe in signs, dreams, spooks, ha'nts an' all that sort of stuff. Osman told Darus that Suran come to 'im in a dream an' warned 'im you were bad medicine; that you'd make big trouble for 'im if he kept on dealin' with you."
"I guess Suran said to just forget about the money we advanced."
Hurst grinned crookedly. "I wouldn't be surprised, sir. Darus didn't mean to stick you for that money, but he ain't got any of it now an' he's just plain scairt of you. Osman's told 'im that if he lets you have just one more peppercorn, then he'll have big trouble."
"I see. But where does Hamzah fit into all this?"
"He don't, except he's Darus' man, his first mate, you might say. He's superstitious, too, all right, especially about tigers, but he don't believe Osman had any dream. Darus does, though, an' what makes it worse for us, Osman's sold th' rajah on th' idea you sent th' tiger."
Scott pursed his lips in a soundless whistle as all the implications sank in. "Why didn't Darus oppose our landing, if he believes I caused the Lame One to carry off his son?"
"He was scairt to," Hurst answered bluntly. "He thinks you've got some sort of protective magic."
"He's probably building up his courage to do something," Scott said thoughtfully.
"I wouldn't be surprised, sir. But right now th' whole village is afeard of you. They think you can call th' Lame One in.
Scott passed a hand over tired eyes. "Could you track a tiger, do you think?"