He stiffened the gorilla's backbone and put such selfish wishes behind him. Hehadsaved England, whether anyone ever heard of it or not. That was worth dying for! That was even, God save the mark, worth Ramizail's death or enslavement as a concubine! Much as he loved the wench, the population of England outweighed her in the end.
If there were but some chance at survival. If only there were a small cockleshell of a boat he could put off in, even the material for a makeshift raft. But there was nothing, nothing but the sea and the sky and the ship in flames, and the raging rats below him.
The sky! What now, if stout old Mihrjan the djinni were to come swooping down out of that clear hot sky!
But no, Godwin must needs relegate Mihrjan to other parts, must forbid him by the Seal to follow them, because of stubborn pride and petty resentment against Ramizail's harmless tricks!
His wound hurt him. He felt the gorilla's body yearning to tend it, to lick it clean and start the healing processes. For a moment he was disgusted at the idea, and then hopeless, for what did it matter if the wound began to heal, when he was doomed to a terrible death by fire or water? But the instincts of his body would not be denied.
With a long sigh, Godwin of England sat down on the rough planks of the poop and began to lick his torn biceps with a rasping tongue.
Simultaneously with his seating himself, the first rat clambered up the pile of torn corpses and launched itself out of the hatchway and onto the deck.
CHAPTER XXII
"Well," said Mufaddal, who was eating a hard-boiled egg in a sloppy manner, "did you get to the barracks?"
Heraj picked up a cold towel from the air near his knees and wrapped it around his head. "I did. Wow! I had to cast immobility spells on two more of these devilish Crusaders, who were stationed at the back door. But I made it to the barracks. The soldiers are even now deploying around the palace. Oosh! What an ache!"
"I don't see why you can't collect yourself and put the whole pack of them under a spell," said Mufaddal irritably.
"I've told you and told you, I have a headache, that's why I can't do it, curse you," said Heraj. "I have all I can do to keep the ones in this room and those two back there motionless. I have to keep concentrating and it hurts like seven devils in my brain. Then I've flung a force wall around this room, so no one can get in or out except myself, andthattakes concentration. I tell you, I never went through anything like it. All I can recall are these two spells and the one for curdling milk. I could no more bewitch all these benighted villains than I could—could fly to the moon."
"Incidentally, did you find the gorilla? Godwin?"
"No I didn't, and I hope I never do. I don't want to come within range of those ham-sized fists again, not even with a legion of fiends at my back."
"Is he still a gorilla, if he's alive, I mean? Or did he switch back when you swooned away?"
"No, he's a gorilla. That's a different sort of spell from force walls and immobility. But to hell with Godwin. I want to nurse this lump. And you're confusing me, too. My spells are wobbling. I just saw El Sareuk there move a good half inch. If you want those swine kept alive for torture and other pleasantries, I've got to concentrate. Oh, my newts and bat-wings! I shall die!" He went over and collapsed in a corner, where he stared moodily at the corpses of his two brothers and mumbled to himself.
Mufaddal peered out the window. It was too small to negotiate, but wide enough to command a partial view of the back grounds. He saw a dozen of his men go dashing from the shelter of one outbuilding to that of another.
"In a minute or two," he said confidently, "in a very few minutes, by Allah, these renegades and infidels will see what a real besieging is like!"
And at the thought, he stroked his greasy beard and crinkled up his soft brown eyes, and giggled like a maniac.
CHAPTER XXIII
Godwin looked up from his wound-cleansing. He had had a glimpse of a gray shape scuttling across a field of crimson flame. He stared, and saw a score of large rats eyeing him from the lower deck. He bounded to his feet, thick gorilla toes and fingers curling with a fear that no amount of bravery could still. The plague! The ravishing, filthy, obscene plague! Even from a flaming ship in the midst of a waste of waters, there might be some escape at the last moment: but from the bite of one of these rats would come a foul death that nothing could turn aside, not even the djinn themselves!
He canvassed the poop. No high pedestals on which a man (or a great ape) might perch, no protective armor of any description to foil the attack of the rats. Here he stood, alone, armed with a broadsword and a dagger, a helmet and a golden sigil. There was but a single chance. He might squat on the bulwarks at the very stern, for they were high and would give him the advantage of being a little above his squealing enemies. He leaped and balanced and squatted, and his naked iron broadsword hung down between his bent knees as he awaited their first move.
This was not long in coming. The poop was the only part of the ship which was not being ravaged by fire. The rats headed for its temporary safety. As they poured over it, a repulsive and horrible crew, snapping and snarling at one another, their fangs yellow as amber slivers, their hides mangy and often showing the first signs of plague, the leaders spied Godwin roosting unhappily on the rail. They halted, considered, twitched their whiskers, and then made for him. He was meat.
The first rank charged in and were slain eight at a blow, by the sweeping sword. The second rank fared likewise. The rats drew back and stared beadily at him. He could fairly hear their odious, menacing thoughts. He waited. A gigantic rodent, half its fur gone in some hideous battle below decks, came flying at him. The perfect reflexes of the gorilla flicked the sword out and spitted the beast through the guts. It hung on the sword, squirming and piping weakly, as Godwin whipped the blade back and forth and clove the small skulls of a dozen more.
A myriad of the grisly horde came tumbling up to the poop deck. Godwin was now mangling and mutilating constantly, as more rats poured upon him. Some of the devils were already feasting on their defunct cousins.
And so, for minutes that dragged like weeks, Godwin of England fought off the rats, and waited without hope for the inevitable end, when even his mighty muscles should grow weary and his eye become slow, and at last they should reach him.
A close-packed group of them attacked him from the right, and some of them even leaped upon the rail and came at him. He flailed his sword frantically into the brown of them, sending them slithering along the deck, knocking them into the sea, or spoiling them where they stood by messy divisions and squashings. Then a legion came from the left, and he leaped up to his feet and balanced precariously on the bulwarks as he bent and swiped back and forth.
The closest any of them had come yet was in this moment, when three great bullies of rats, all fat and evil and ugly, leaped upon his swaying leathern scabbard and clung there. They might have crept up it and bitten him before he could slay them, except for the fortunate stab of the late Saracen fencer, which had all but severed his sword belt. The last few strands parted now, and the sheath fell to the deck, carrying rats and belt with it.
Something rolled out of the sheath and made a small metallic sound as it struck the overturned brazier. Godwin risked a glance at it. It gleamed dull yellow in the sunlight.
"By the rood, mass, book and candle!" yelled Godwin, startling the rats so that they drew back in haste, "the ring of Solomon! Sothat'swhere I put it! In the bloody scabbard! Of course, I remember. Someplace where 'twould be always near my hand!"
Nothing, not ten thousand times as many rats, could have kept him from that ring. He leaped from the rail, half-squatting to bring his sword hand near the deck, and the blade was a flaming scythe in his grip. It mowed down rats by dozens, by scores, by hundreds as they came crowding at him. They leaped, and the point shot up and down more swiftly than the eye could command, and they had died in mid-jump. They crouched in at him, and the tops of their heads were torn off or jellied by the sweeping broadsword. Then they drew back, for a rat is intelligent, and even their hunger was not enough to force them out against that invincible weapon without some thought on the matter.
In the few seconds' respite Godwin leaped, scooped up the ring, dived back to his seat on the rail. The rats came forward once more. With his left hand he locked the ring to the sigil on its chain about his neck, and in a voice of joyous thunder he shouted, "Mihrjan! I cry up Mihrjan!"
Spang in the midst of the rats, shod with sandals of blue-white fire so that the gruesome beings scrambled back from his vicinity, appeared the ten-foot form of Mihrjan the djinni, turbanned with ivory silk, pantalooned with lustrous purple velvet, and exuding an aroma of attar of roses.
He salaamed deeply.
"The Lord of My Life," said Mihrjan sonorously, as the rats retreated down the poop deck, "would seem to have need of my humble services. I am his to command!"
CHAPTER XXIV
Godwin the gorilla sighed. He had never uttered a more fervent and thankful sound in all his life. "Mihrjan," he said, "I must say, yes, by gad, I will say, I'm glad to see you."
Mihrjan cast a look about him. "Thy sentiments are understated, Lord. It is a trait of thy race."
"Yes, well, never mind that. Look here, can you get rid of these damned slimy things? My arm's weary with swatting 'em."
The djinni gestured; a wind arose and swept along the poop, and the rats were tumbled down onto the main deck, where they commenced to brawl among themselves again, on the edge of the fire.
"And see here, while I think of it, there's a black fellow swimming out there somewhere. Can you see if he's still at it, or has he sunk?"
Mihrjan vanished and returned before the air could rush into the vacuum his passing had created. "He swims, Master, but weakly."
"Well, he's a good chap, albeit misguided into serving under that lousy Mufaddal beggar. He's one of the best swordsmen I ever faced. Can you transport him home to Nubia?"
Mihrjan grinned. "It is done."
"Good. I felt rotten about him. Poor devil jumped overboard because I spoke to him. Which brings up this: can you make me myself again? That is to say, take this ape's body back where Heraj got it, and give me my own?"
Mihrjan scowled. His mind seemed to be wandering among far countries. At last he said, brightening, "I see how 'twas done. I can undo it."
"Then by all means—" Godwin found that the paw with which he was gesticulating had become a strong brown hand, a bit grubby, perhaps, but still his own natural hand. He stared down. His robe and armor were in tatters. They had evidently seen some life and hard times in the jungle. The body appeared to be whole, however, and tingled pleasantly as Godwin's personality took it over once more.
Mihrjan said, "Suitable raiment is in order," and Godwin was wearing white samite and sky-blue silk over gold-washed armor of meshed steel. His broadsword hung in a new scabbard, bedecked with gauze, and his beard and hair were freshly cut and combed. His skin felt clean, and seemed to have been bathed within the hour.
"What a talent you have there, Mihrjan, old fellow," he said admiringly. "May heaven beshrew me if I ever part with you again."
"'Tis wise to allow me to stay within call." The djinni frowned. "And my mistress, O King? She is safe?"
"I hope so, but I left her quite a while back. Had to sink this ship, you know. It was going to England with a cargo of plague. Oh, you know that, you were there when we found Sir Malcolm. We'd better get back to Mufaddal's palace at once, Mihrjan. Just one more request: will you sink this pest ship for me?"
"It already sinks of its own accord, My Lord." And indeed, the deck was slanting beneath their feet. Down at the bow the rats were huddled, quarreling and fighting among themselves and making their revolting chorus rise up to foul the heavens.
"Good. Then let's go."
Mihrjan placed a hand under his elbow, and suddenly they were five hundred feet above the Mediterranean, looking down at the ship which Mufaddal had fondly hoped would be the death of the British nation. Even up here Godwin fancied he could hear the final squeals and horrible wailing shrieks of the cargo of great gray rats. Then Mihrjan headed landward, and the plague ship disappeared behind.
CHAPTER XXV
They stood together in Mufaddal's private chamber. The spell of immobility had been transferred to the dark-faced Mufaddal and his chief sorcerer, while Ramizail and El Sareuk with their allies the Bedouins and captured Crusaders were free to move where they chose. They clustered now about the ten-foot djinni.
"What of my eight men at the prison and barracks?" asked Godwin.
Mihrjan said, "Slain, O King, cut down by surprise without a chance to defend themselves."
"Damn. And my falcon, Yellow-eyes?"
"She perches on a roof-top in the heart of Alexandria, watching anxiously for a sight of thee."
"Bring her here, please."
The old bird, looking rather wind-blown and surprised, appeared on Godwin's mailed shoulder. She thrust her notched beak into his ear affectionately, and he said with fervor, "Ah,thou!"
"And now, O Master of My Being, shall I vanquish the foemen without the house by a whirlwind from the plains of Hell, or lightning from the clouds? Shall I bubble their eyes from their heads with gouts of searing flame?" asked the djinni fiercely.
"No, man, no! We'll beat 'em in fair fight. Only keep this Heraj's magic cancelled out, send him and Mufaddal out there now, and give me a hundred more allies."
"That will still be two to one against thee," said Mihrjan, as the pair of plotters vanished.
"Naturally. More fun. And don't bring me a hundred of the djinn, either, but a hundred desert fighters or good tough Frankish champions. And see my other lads are weaponed properly."
"They await your orders in the forepart of the house," said Mihrjan resignedly.
"Then I'm off. El Sareuk, ready? Mihrjan, keep that fire-eating woman of mine out of the thick of things, will you? Come on, boys, up and at 'em!" He charged out toward the front door.
Mihrjan said to Ramizail, understanding her nature as well as she did herself, "Wouldst watch the battle, little one?"
"Oh, yes, Mihrjan, yes!"
"Then come." He gathered her in his monstrous, tender arms, and flying upward, caused their atoms to pass between those of the clay and timber, so that in a wink they were high above the earth, and hovered there comfortably, peering down on the tiny figures of Mufaddal's soldiers deploying around the house. Two standing by themselves and pointing this way and that with shouts unintelligible at this height, were the black-visaged Mufaddal himself, and his one-time potent sorcerer Heraj.
From the door issued a running warrior, who at once engaged six men in dazzling swordplay; behind him came others, many others, until a hundred and fifty-five men had emerged. Hand-to-hand combats were joined all over the grounds. Ramizail cried out with delight.
It was like observing two bands of toy soldiers endowed with the power to move and fight and maneuver. Both the girl and the djinni were enthralled. Godwin's force fanned out, coalesced, drove through Mufaddal's ranks and turned and came back and drove again, till the enemy broke and fled in hapless confusion. The Crusaders and Bedouins pursued them, hacking them down from behind, forcing them to stand and die in little knots. Two who fled toward the dock, casting away their weapons, Mihrjan pointed out as Mufaddal and Heraj. After them bounded a great figure in white, sky-blue, and gold, flourishing a long sword above its head. "Godwin!" said Ramizail, biting her nails with excitement. "Oh, Mihrjan, go lower! I want to see!"
The djinni sank until their feet were no more than ten yards from the wharf. There they drifted along above the pursued pair.
Mufaddal panted out, "Only chance! Under the dock!"
Heraj gasped, "We might stand and fight him," with no conviction in his voice at all.
"Ha," said Mufaddal, and with one desperate leap plunged off the wharf into the sea. Heraj was one step behind him. Godwin came to the edge and halted, baffled. Their heads did not show above the water.
"Mihrjan," whispered Ramizail, "they'll escape!"
"Observe," said the djinni equably. He gestured with a finger, and a section of the dock became transparent to her gaze. Beneath it, Heraj and his master were clambering up, dripping, onto a shelf of boards some twelve feet from the outer edge of the wharf. Godwin still scratched his head in bafflement. Obviously he could not see through the pier as she could.
The two conspirators crouched there, watching the sea apprehensively. "Now look," said Mihrjan. Ramizail, staring intent, saw a gray snout poke up into view behind them, followed by a multitude more. "Rats!" she breathed.
"Aye, rats. All those who live beneath the wharf, mistress, called here by the scent of their dinner."
It was as though the lead rat had given a signal. In a trice the legions of furred ghastly beings had poured over the two squatting men.
Screams of pain and horror came up through the boards of the upper dock. Heraj straightened as though to stand, cracked his head on the wharf, and sank down, half-conscious, into the midst of the swarming rodents. He gurgled and flung his arms in the air as their small sharp unclean teeth found his throat, his belly, his eyes.
Mufaddal flung himself into the water. Hisgallabiyahsnagged on a projection, and held him fast, thrashing and squalling, only his head above water. For a wonder, the cheap cloth did not give way. The rats leaped down onto his head, slipping into the water, swimming back to tear at his face, perching on his bare head and clawing insanely at his scalp. And so, held helpless by the clutch of chance, Mufaddal died as hideous a death as anyone might have wished him.
El Sareuk came up to Godwin. "What were those fearful sounds just now, companion?" he asked, wiping the sweat of honest battle from his lean bearded face.
"Mufaddal and Heraj, I take it, though how and where they died I can't tell."
Mihrjan settled to earth with Ramizail in his arms. "Lords," he boomed, setting the girl on her feet, "they perished in a niche beneath the wharf, as they should have perished, shut from the light of day, with the teeth of their own evil minions fastened in their gullets. Now is the stain they put upon Islam cleansed with a vengeance."
"By gad," said Godwin, as Yellow-eyes fluttered down to perch on his shoulder, "then it's finished, and as neat a case of poetic justice as ever came my way." He looked about him. Mihrjan had on his own initiative sent the Bedouins and Crusaders back to their own places. Only corpses met his eye. "To horse, friends!" he bellowed gleefully. "This battle's done, and there are a power and lashing of wrongs left in the world to be righted!"
"Oh, heavens," groaned Ramizail. "Don't you even want to rest a week or two, swashbuckler?"
"Rest is for the dead and the aged, witch-wench."
El Sareuk nodded fiercely. "The work for willing swords is never done, lass."
Ramizail rolled up her beautiful eyes and shrugged, a slight smile of resignation on her full lips. Mihrjan pointed out their horses, saddled and champing at a little distance. "O Lord of My Life, I know a wrong in Egypt that needs four, or it might be eight, strong hands," said he.
"We are in Egypt, by coincidence," said Ramizail.
"This Egypt lies three thousand years in the past," said Mihrjan.
"Can you transport us back?" asked Godwin eagerly.
"Assuredly, Sire."
"Well then, let's go!" he roared. He put an arm over the shoulder of El Sareuk and another about the slim waist of Ramizail, and ran them toward the horses. And Mihrjan's great laugh of fierce pleasure boomed thunderously through the desert air....