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  CRASH! And down went M'Lord Boli in a heap of howling guards. Shot he was like a catapulted rock straight out of his chair and directly between the huge lions!

  There sounded a concerted scream in the hall. The guards, falling this way and that, had no time to see the horrible death which was even now bending dually to scoop up their fat morsel of a master.

  But Tiger!

  He leaped over the sprawling men. He charged up the second double step which put anyone in reach of the giant beasts. And the very instant the mouth of the first opened to gulp Boli's trunk down raw, the mouth of the second was gaping to finish the other half.

  But Tiger!

  He leaped astraddle the port captain and let out a mighty roar. With his left he smacked the left-hand lion resoundingly upon the nose. With his right he almost pulled the long tongue out of the mouth of the right-hand lion. And when they jerked back in astonishment at such audacity, back leaped Tiger, hauling Boli swiftly by the baggy seat of His Lordship's pants.

  Tiger lifted Boli to his jellied legs and made a great show of dusting him off, though the crack of the dusting was unseemly loud.

  "Your Royal Majesty!" cried Tiger. "You'll please forgive this man's clumsy antics. He feeds his bearers on very bad rum to make them trot the faster and it's the quality not the quantity of the fare which made them stumble. I swear, Your Royal Highness, if the smugglers in your Royal Realm don't stop paying off our lordship the port captain in such filthy bellywash, they'll be the death of him as you can very well see! Are you all right, sir?" he said solicitously to Boli. "Ah, yes, not a drop of grease on the outside and so no fang struck home. By the way, Your Royal Highness, I happen to be a prisoner of the port captain here, and I think he is very anxious to get on with his business of having my head and so, pray give him leave to speak. There, M'Lord, talk up, talk up and don't keep the noble Jinni waiting!"

  Boli had up enough pressure in him to splatter himself all over the hall. But such was his terror of the queen that he sud足denly lost his rage, vowing that Tiger's death would be none too quick to suit him. He took a grip on his vocal chords and though, when he tried them out they squeaked alarmingly, he strove to hold forth.

  "Your Royal Highness, I know not the crime of... of... this ... this ..."

  "It's the lions," said Tiger helpfully. "They breathed too much gas into him. Go ahead, M'Lord, pray cough up the letter my captain gave you."

  A slaying scowl swept over M'Lord's fat face but forthwith he dug out the sea-worn message and, via a courtier whom the lions considered indigestible, gave it to the queen.

  Her black-haired hands wrapped about it so that their curved talons clicked against one another. She looked for some time at Tiger and then broke the seals. She read with great attention and then with growing alarm. She had been, when Tiger tripped Boli, on the point of uproarious laughter but now thunderclouds settled over her visage and her great round eyes flashed lightning.

  "Has he spoken to anyone, you bumbling clown?"

  Boli shivered so that waves went through him like a shaken pudding. "N-n-no, Your Royal Highness. Only... only a fish peddler's wife."

  "What's this? What's this? Find her. Find her at once and throw her into the dungeon for observation. Oh, woe take you, miserable milksop! A goat could run my port the better! Did not his captain charge you with the seriousness of his detention? Had you no idea of the enormity of the trust given into your hands? Doddering imbecile! Go wave your stinking perfume in the faces of the waterfront harlots and take the stain of your filthy boots from my polished halls! Begone!"

  At the voice which made the whole gigantic room shake, Boli shook as a tree in a gale. He backed hastily, tripping over the double step, falling against some of his men and then, more swiftly, backed at express speed with his guard clear across the hall until the great black doors clanged shut in his face to blank him from view.

  "I ought to have his head," snarled the queen. "I, Ramus the Magnificent, to be served in such a chuckleheaded fashion!" She fixed her eyes then upon Jan who, quite empty of any Tiger now and only aware that he was asking for death if he so much as blinked, stood with bowed head before her. She grunted like a pig and then made a motion toward her guard with her heavy gold sceptre.

  "Take him away! Put him in the strongroom in the left wing and let no man speak to him, human or Jinn. And you, general, as fast as horses can travel, as fast as ships can sail, bring me that vile troublemaker Zongri!"

  "Zongri?" ejaculated the general. "You mean Zongri of the Barbossi Isles? But how is this? Thousands of years ago..."

  "Silence!" roared Ramus the Magnificent. "Bring him to me!"

  "Your Royal Highness," said an espionage agent, stepping slyly forward, "this Zongri but yesterday arrived here in Tarbuton. I know where he is to be found."

  "You serve me well. Go with the general and show him the way. I must have that fool!"

  "Your wish is our law, Your Royal Highness," said the general, backing out.

  "Commander, you know the ship of Captain Tombo?"

  "Yes, Your Royal Highness," said the officer.

  "Take him a suitable present for service so discreet. A fine present. See the treasurer."

  "Yes, Your Royal Highness."

  She sank back on her throne with a worried scowl and then, glancing after the guard which escorted Tiger away, growled some足thing to herself and burned the message in the incense cup at her elbow.

  Jan, backing perforce, did not miss the gesture. God, he groaned, it's as bad as that. Damn the day I first set eyes upon that copper jar.

  Chapter 6

  ZONGRI

  The strongroom depended mainly for its strength upon its extreme height from the ground. It was no more or less than the topmost room in a turret so lofty that it was not unusual for clouds to obscure the earth of a morning. But Jan had seen too much of late to be so very amazed with the furnishings of the place or at the fact that it was very strange to be imprisoned in such splendor.

  Money was no fitting measure for the furnishings. On the floor, to soften the alabaster, lay great white rugs of wool, thick as soup tureens. The walls were covered with shimmering cloth of gold into which amazing battles had been deftly worked. A sergeant could have drilled a squad on the bed and a bosun could have bent a mains'l on the posts. This last occupied the center of the room and a circular series of steps surrounded it, making it into a sort of fort of its own. All around the walls ran a ledge so softly cushioned that a man could quite easily have drowned in it and, instead of chairs, chaise lounges of a graceful pattern stood face to face and yet side by side, so as to offer easy means of conversation.

  The scarlet-cloaked Marids posted themselves on the landing outside and bolted the door with twelve bars of iron, flattering even the strength of Tiger's brawny body. Disconsolately Jan wan足dered through the room. At one side a silver staircase spiraled steeply up through the roof and, thinking he might find a way out, Jan mounted it and thrust back the trap at the top. A gale almost blew his hair off but he went on through to find that he stood upon the highest level of the palace except for the golden dome and he was almost even with that. The platform itself was hardly like an ordinary turret top. The floor was mosaic and the parapet was all green tile. Seats were handy at every side but Jan was interested more in escape than scenery.

  Going to the edge, he leaned hopefully over. He recoiled at the height. Below, a squad of men were red ink dots on the pave. But he did not give up. Around he went, examining all sides of the hexagonal structure, but nowhere did he find the slightest semblance of a ladder, nor did he think he could have navigated it if he had. He sighed and walked back toward the trap but, now that he knew escape to be impossible, he was willing to give some small attention to his prison roof and he was somewhat startled to find, all about him, mounted astrological instruments of a pattern extinct these thousands of years. They were all in gold and silver and pivoted on glittering diamonds and so delicately balanced that the slightes
t touch on the mother of pearl handles swung them swiftly, and yet a slight turn of the same handle fixed them instantly.

  Jan was instantly taken with the beauty of an astrolabe on which were engraved fanciful representations of the Zodiac. The rete, he noticed with a start, gave a very creditable star map, not at all antiquated for it showed Polaris as the North Star. Until that instant he had supposed himself dropped back a few hundred years, but no! Polaris was its modern one and one-fourth degrees from true north! From a very pretty object this astrolabe became a vital part of his life. He thought hard for a moment, recalling the sun's position for the date and as he paced about he beheld a large chronometer under glass. He had all the data he needed. He swung eagerly back to the astrolabe and measured the altitude of the sun. He then observed the sun's place in the Zodiac and turned the rete until the position matched the circle on the plate's observed altitude. Quickly he made a line from that point to the circle of hours on the outer edge, holding his breath lest the answer be wrong.

  What madness was this? It was his own Today, the Today of the earth! There was the sun and here was the time. He was bewildered and wandered to the parapet again to gaze out across the square miles of roofs to the bay where corbitas rubbed fenders with seventy-fours. He looked down at the patrol walks where soldiers marched with ornate, inaccurate old muskets. It seemed that all the bric-a-brac of antiquity had come home to Tarbuton like driftwood in the tide or like the mysterious tale of the Sar足gasso Sea. This place was heir to the glories of yesterday and yet was astoundingly very much in today!

  Again he eyed the astronomical instruments as though they might have lied to him. Their glitter had originally been such that he had overlooked a perfectly good eight-inch telescope which stood regally in their midst. Before it was a small platform, cushioned with weatherproofed cloth wherein the observer could take his ease and his science simultaneously.

  Jan got into the seat, determined to inspect the town and possibly ferret out any modern touches. Evidently the instrument was used for this at times as it was not fixed focus. He wheeled it down at an angle and trained it on the streets to wander the thoroughfares in comfort. Frenchman, Irishman, Jew and Hindu. Englishman, Russian, Chinaman and Greek. Nubian, Indian, Carib and Spaniard. White man, brown man, yellow man, black man. Every nationality was there, strangely clothed but unmistakable of face. Pulling carts, sorting bales, buying food and running errands. Loafing and sweating and gossiping and weeping. Laugh足ing and drinking and swearing and dancing. Millions of them! Women sunbathing upon flat roofs. Thieves dividing their loot in dark alleyways. An Ifrit beating his insolent slave. A money足lender wailing outside his shop while the robber scurried unhalted down the amused avenue.

  What a wild panorama it was! All the vices and pleasures and bigoted zeal, all the love and hate and sophistry and hunger. All the hundred odd emotions could be seen ranging up and down those broad thoroughfares or upon those wide roofs, in the shan足ties and the ships and the tavern yards, in the stores and courts and funeral parlors, and there was but one constant in it all. Emotion! Things were happening and life was fast and violent.

  Strange were the mosques and with their crescents rising up between a crossed steeple to the right and a pagoda tower to the left. Strange to see an idol with a dozen hands serenely surveying a court while just over the wall lay the dome of a synagogue.

  Jan swung the telescope slowly across the garish scene and found himself gazing upon a towering hill, all alone in the plain. A temple, massive and plain, was sturdily square against the sky and the broad, steep steps were blazing with the robes of the worshippers, going and coming. Jan discovered that they were all Ifrits, served by Marids, and that not one human being accom足panied them further than the lowest step. But wait, there were humans atop that hill. He focused the telescope better.

  A long procession was just then starting out from the great entrance. A huge gold coffin all draped in white was being borne by human slaves, each one clothed in the livery of mourning. Before went a priest of the Jinn bearing a golden bird awing at the top of a tall pole. Behind came a naval ensign and a personal flag. This was the funeral of some officer, it seemed, for here came the uniformed sailors with weapons all reversed. And following them were men in blue with golden birds upon their breasts and shining swords at their sides, the hilts turned away from their hands.

  Then, from the balustrade, Jan saw a hundred human girls step forth, each one with a basket of petals to strew them under the marching feet as though the dead came as a conqueror and not a corpse. Humans, then, were servants of the temple, for all these girls were clothed in white robes, the hoods of which were thrown back to display a dozen different shades of hair. Jan ran the telescope along the line of them idly. Suddenly he stopped and swiftly adjusted it again. His eyes grew large and his face paled. For there in the midst of those beauties was Alice Hall!

  He could not mistake her, though she was more lovely than ever and without any care at all about her. Her robe, like the others, was slit from hem to knee and her graceful feet arched as she walked down with the procession.

  "Alice!" shouted Jan, leaving the telescope. But, instantly, the temple drew back three miles across the plain and not even the glittering coffin could be made out with the eye. When he looked again he had lost her.

  "You called?" said a voice behind him.

  Jan whirled as though to defend himself but he relaxed on the sight of the very old Jinn who stood there in the trap. The fellow had gentle, mystified eyes and his fangs were long departed. His claws were cracked and yellow and his hair was silver gray. Upon his head he wore a very castle of a hat which was wound around and around with cloth which bore astrological symbols.

  "You have taken an observation, I see," he sighed. "I trust that the fate you found was not too unkind."

  "The fate?" said Jan, climbing swiftly and guiltily down. "Oh... yes... no. I was checking your time." And he motioned toward the chronometer.

  "It loses a second every day," sighed the ancient astrologer. "But tomorrow is a great event. It returns exactly to its accuracy and my computations will be the easier therefor." He looked and sounded too tired to live, as perhaps he was. "So many, many computations. Every morning for the queen. Every evening for the lord chamberlain. And fifty times a day when questions come up. If..." he hesitated, "if you've already cast up your fate you know, you might save me some calculations. I dislike prying into a man's birthday. It's so very personal, you see."

  "I must confess," said Jan, "that I didn't, really. I only checked the time."

  The ancient one sighed dolefully. Finally he got out a pad and began to request the data he needed. Jan gave it to him and the modern dates and hours did not at all startle the old fellow. At length he shuffled over to his instruments and bent his watery gaze upon the star tables which were engraved on silver. For a long time he leaned on the tablet, scribbling now and then but sighing more than he scribbled. He advanced to the astrolabe to check his Zodiac from force of habit and then, sinking down upon a bench beside a desk, pulled forth a volume half as big as he was. Jan helped him open it and for a long time the old fellow pored over magic writing.

  Until then he had been weary unto death but now, of a sudden, he started to take an interest in life. He read faster and faster, turning pages as leaves dash about in a hurricane. He leaped to his feet and sped to the star charts anew. He faced Jan and fired a very musketry of questions. Yes, the dates were right but what on earth was wrong? But the ancient one, bobbing about now like a heron after fish, threw himself down upon the book and ate it up all over again.

  Finally, sweating and almost crying, he leaned back, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief all embroidered with suns and moons. He looked wonderingly at Jan and Jan grew very uncom足fortable. The astrologer's glance became more and more accusing and slowly the weariness seeped into him once more. "What is wrong?"

  "She'll laugh at me," he mourned. "More and more they laugh at me ever sin
ce the day I said Zongri would make trouble within a year. They said he was dead these long centuries. But no. He is not. An hour ago he was hauled into the audience chamber by the battered guard which took him in the town. They laugh at me just the same. It was a terrible error for me to guess that Lord Shelfri would be kind to the princess. It is that which makes them laugh. Yes, it is that. He killed her, you know, and then hanged himself just last month and so now they laugh. And they'll not believe me now. It is not possible. No human being could do such awful things in a land of the Jinn. It is impossible and yet I must tell them."

  "What must you tell them?" cried Jan.

  "It is for her ears alone. And if she laughs and refuses to execute you while she has the chance, then it is Ramus who must suffer the consequences. It is all the same to me. I am old. I have seen the Universe turning, turning, turning for a hundred thou足sand years. I weary of it, human. I weary of it. You, lucky child, will probably never live to see the sun roll across the heavens more than a dozen times more."

  "You mean... you've read my death there?"

  "No," he sighed. "No, not that. There is no certainty. I shall not alarm you. You may die. You might not die. But what does it matter. If you do, it is you who will lose. If you do not, the lives of many Jinn will pay the toll. But I am old. Why should I care about these things. Ahhhhhhh, dear," he sighed, rising. "And now I must go down all those stairs again and give my report to the queen."

  Jan followed him down to the room below, helping him on the steep stairs. But before the old man departed he looked all around and shrugged as if seeing all the folly of the Universe at once.

  "It is not often this happens, you they call Tiger. While you yet breathe, rejoice. This you may or may not know is the strong足room and it is strong not to detain the visitor but to protect the queen."

  "You mean ... it's her room?"

  "At times when the nights are hot she comes here to have me read the fortunes of her people and her reign. That, you they call Tiger, is the bed on which Tadmus was murdered, in which Loru the Clown was stabbed to death by his chamberlain, in which lovely Dulon died in giving birth to Laccari, Scourge of Two Worlds. Ah, yes, you they call Tiger, the whim of a queen has placed you upon an historic bed. Why-I have read in the stars. God save us all!"