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Originating in an after-dinner jest, it ended only after such slaughter that Firishtah computes the victims on the Hindu side alone as numbering no less than half a million. The story is told us by an eye-witness, one Mullah Daud of Bidar, who was seal-bearer to Sultan Muhammad.
"Why send that message to me?" asked Muhammad Anim. "Why not?" asked King. "If none know where the hakim is, how shall the hakim earn a living?" "None comes to earn a living in the Hills," growled the mullah, swaying his head slowly and devouring King with cruel calculating eyes. "Why art thou here?" "I slew a man," said King. "Thou liest! It was my men who got the head that let thee in! Speak!
And he nearly jumped out of his skin when his own voice came rattling back at him from the roof overhead. "Cappitin Attleystan King!" it answered. Yasmini chuckled as a little rill will sometimes chuckle among ferns. It was devilish. It seemed to say there were traps not far ahead. "Where was he slain?" asked the mullah. "In the Khyber Pass," said King.
He rather thought she would dare do anything. And that thought brought reassurance. She would dare, and being what she was she almost surely would seek vengeance on the mullah before doing anything else. Then why the dagger for himself? She must believe him in league with the mullah against her. She might believe that with him out of the way the mullah would prove an easier prey for her.
It is not yet too late to choose. It is not impertinent in me to urge you. "Nor can I say how gladly I would subscribe myself your grateful and loyal servant." The mullah pounced on the finished letter, pretended to read it, and watched him seal it up, smudging the hot wax with his own great gnarled thumb. Then he shouted for the Orakzai Pathan, who came striding in, all grins and swagger.
"Does she surely love thee?" he asked at last, and King nodded, because he knew he was on the trail of information. "So thou art to ape the Sleeper in his bronze mail, eh? Thou art to come to life, as she was said to come to life, and the two of you are to plunder India? Is that it?" King nodded again, for a nod is less committal than a word; and the nod was enough to start the mullah off again.
The six blind men, half-resentful, half-believing, turned away, mainly because Ismail drove them with words and blows. And as they went a tall Afridi came striding down the camp with a letter for the mullah held out in a cleft stick in front of him. "Her answer!" said Ismail with a wicked grin. "What is her word? Where is the Orakzai Pathan?" But Ismail laughed and would not answer him.
It seemed that while Germany was landing in Essex, a strong force of Russians, under the Grand Duke Vodkakoff, had occupied Yarmouth. Simultaneously the Mad Mullah had captured Portsmouth; while the Swiss navy had bombarded Lyme Regis, and landed troops immediately to westward of the bathing-machines.
Go in to-morrow across the Border to pay service to Orde Sahib's successor, and thou shalt slip thy shoes at the tent-door of a Bengali, as thou shalt hand thy offering to a Bengali's black fist. This I know; and in my youth, when a young man spoke evil to a Mullah holding the doors of Heaven and Hell, the gun-butt was not rammed down the Mullah's gullet. No!
The Blind Mullah hated Khoda Dad Khan with Afghan hatred; both being rivals for the headship of the tribe; but the latter was feared for bodily as the other for spiritual gifts. Khoda Dad Khan looked at Orde's ring and grunted, 'I go in to-morrow because I am not an old fool, preaching war against the English. If the Government, smitten with madness, have done this, then...
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