"Is that the usual penalty for that sort of thing?" asked Nash.
"Of course. Why?"
"It seems a little drastic, your magnificence, that's all."
Arslan snorted."He was but a soulless one, so what is the difference? He was created when we were, and forthwith acknowledged himself our slave."
Nash said thoughtfully: "I once read a book by Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac, in which one of his characters argued that it was a much worse crime to kill a cabbage than to kill a man."
"How so?"
"Well, the character argued, if a man has an immortal soul, when you kill him you don't put an end to him, you just change his form. On the other hand, when you kill a cabbage, which has no soul, you end its poor little life for good."
"A silly theory," snorted Arslan."If we ever catch your man Bergerac, we will give him to Kulu to play with."
"He was just being satirical," said Nash hastily, for the sultan had a dangerous look in his eye.
"That does not excuse it. Some of our soulless ones might take it seriously, and then where would we be? Are you much of a reader?"
"Not as much as I'd like to be," said Nash."I read de Bergerac when I was in college."
"It is the same with us," said the sultan gravely."We pride ourselves that our little state here is the perfect democracy, but it does take all our free time."
"Excuse me, what did you call your state?"
"The perfect democracy. Any one of our subjects, even the humblest, can have audience with us at any time. Of how many of the governors and presidents of your so-called republics can that he said? Eh?"
"Well—"
"Of course," Arslan added, "we do have to cut the heads off a few of the more importunate petitioners now and then, or we should have no peace at all. But the principle remains the same, does it not?"
"Well—"
"Of course it does. Ah, the coffee!"
This was a syrupy-sweet liquid served in one-jigger cups. Nash inferred that he was expected to sip slowly and talk persiflage for half an hour before getting down to business. That was all right with him, since his object was to stall along until he had a chance to carry out his mission. With luck he might be able to wangle an invitation to stay overnight. If he could somehow get the dead guard's clothes on Alicia—
The sultan shooed most of his attendants out, and said: "Very well, M. de Nêche, let us talk business... yes?"
This was directed at a long-whiskered man robed in splendor exceeded only by that of the sultan. Arslan said brusquely: "M. de Nêche, our wazir. Wazir, M. de Nêche. What is it, Kerbogha?"
"Your splendor," said the wazir, "I tremble to report that the royal counterfeiting machine has broken down, and the royal mechanic avers that he is unable to repair it."
"Give him twelve hours; after that—kh!" Arslan drew a finger across his throat."And now—let me see; with these interruptions we have lost the thread of our discourse. Fetch more coffee!"
The whole procedure was begun again. When the conversation once more settled on business, Nash heard another person approach through the door behind him. Thinking it undignified to squirm around on the hassock with every interruption, Nash kept his eyes front until the rattle of a light chain was followed by something sniffing at his back, and not through human nostrils.
The sniff, he quickly learned, came from an immense tawny feline with a short tail like a lynx and a pair of six-inch saber-shaped upper canines that extended down on each side of its lower jaw.
"Don't flinch, for God's sake," Nash told himself, and, like the Roman, Fabricius, when Pyrrhus suddenly confronted him with an elephant, he managed to regard the monster with an expression of mild interest accompanied by a suggestion of a sneer.
"What ails our little Smiley?" growled Arslan.
The man who was leading the saber-tooth on a chain explained: "He has not been taking his blood as is his wont. Today he has drunk but two quarts of his proper six."
"Write a stiff note to the slaughterhouse," commanded Arslan."But methinks the real trouble is that he needs another kill. That fellow whom we caught trying to sneak into the harem faded out ere he was half eaten. We should have saved that rascal Nasr for Smiley. If we could only catch the villain who slew a brace of our guards—" (Wish he wouldn't look at me like that, thought Nash. ) "However, mayhap the royal mechanic will serve the purpose. Here, what is this?"
The saber-tooth dragged its keeper forward to the royal sofa, and began sniffing loudly around the edges thereof. The sultan pulled himself back among the cushions in frank alarm."By Allah," said he, "one would think that our royal couch harbored the evidence of recent bloodletting!"
"Maybe Nasr's execution—" suggested Nash.
"That could be, m'sieur. Take him away. And now... but ere we discuss business we must have some coffee!"
Nash remembered now the scene of which Sultan Arslan's stronghold was a paraphrase: the Caliph's palace in the old silent movie, "The Thief of Bagdad," starring Douglas Fairbanks, which, from what he remembered of it, Nash preferred to its showier but less coherent remake with sound and color. In the original "Thief" the Caliph's gardens had been guarded by a tiger and an ape; Bob Lanby had merely gone United Artists one better.
"—so you see," explained Nash, "the city will issue you this block of stock—"
"But," complained Arslan, "we do not want stock! Nothing less than a first mortgage on the City Hall will satisfy us!"
"Well, gosh, your magnificence, the stock will be convertible into debentures—"
"Debentures, hm-m-m? That might be managed—if the city would give me three members of the Board of Estimate as security."
"Would you settle for a couple of Tammany councilmen?"
Arslan laughed deeply."You are a financial spider, M. de Nêche. For an hour you have been spinning the most subtle snares for us. What would you say if we offered you Kerbogha's post as wazir? We could use a man of your talents."
"I'd have to think it over."
The haggling went on. Whenever the sultan showed signs of giving in, Nash was careful to bring in some new political or financial condition, thus keeping agreement dangling just out of Arslan's reach.
"To Jahannum with your quibbling!" roared Arslan Bey at last."Hither, Peroz! Prepare to draft an agreement between us as sultan and M. de Nêche as representative of the City of New York! We accept his proposals as they stand. Quickly, now, ere he thinks up another clause!"
Nash gasped a little; he felt like a trout fisherman who has hooked a whale. He had won an agreement that ought to square him with City Hall in case they were looking for him as a deserter. But he had lost his main excuse for hanging around the palace.
Peroz the scribe finished transcribing the agreement, handed Nash one copy, and proceeded to read the other aloud so that Nash could check their identity. Any discrepancies Nash would have overlooked, as he was really thinking up the next act of his performance as ye compleat sponge.
Sultan Arslan thrust out a large paw."Congratulations, M. de Nêche, and bear in mind our offer! We have a curious feeling that we have known you for a long time. We will see you out—"
"Your splendor," said Nash on a sudden inspiration, "isn't it true that you're a keen chess player?"
"Why, yes, that is so. Though I find few who can give me a stiff game. Why, would you care to try me?"
"Yes, if you'd like."
Arslan settled back on his cushions and bellowed for a chessboard, and more coffee. He took white as a matter of course, opened with queen's pawn, and followed through with a headlong attack that pinned Nash behind his pawns. Bob Lanby's method was to stick to his pet Petroff's defense and to aim at staving off inevitable defeat as long as possible. Hence the sultan's assault took Prosper by surprise—though, he realized, it should not have. Nash put up a good defense, and deliberately dawdled over each move. The lamps had been lit when he was finally checkmated.