A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 44: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

44 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY | “After hot water,” said he, “perhaps the color of the skin would be still paler.” “Listen,” said I. “You know what hap- pens when a man huddles up to a primus stove for eight whole months!” “Truly, friend,” said he, “There is a certain savor in your speech, though much of it falls incomprehensibly upon my ear.” He shrugged as if at the end of his patience. He drew back from me, slowly. “Search this man even to the skin!” he said. He was obeyed. In just about ten seconds they turned me out of my clothes, and then, be- fore the bite of that icy air reached my heart, they helped me into them again. By that time they had secured my revolver and my knife, together with a few other trinkets—and the cuirass. They were amazed to see the white- ness of my body—even though that was shades darker than soap and water should have made it. After I was dressed once more, they were still excited over the revolver. They wanted to know all about it, and when I explained, their delight knew no bounds, and they cried out, and clapped their hands together, and very nearly did a dance around me. They called it a cir- cular pistol. That was as near as they came to it. But I was rather amazed. Im- agine white men, speaking English, who don’t know the word revolver! The knife attracted more attention than the revolver, even, and a great many more frowns. It displeased them as much as the revolver had tickled their fancies. Then the leader pulled out a knife that. was the twin brother of my own borrowed super-stiletto. I looked at it a bit grimly. I had been assured by a man who should have known that there was not another piece of steel in the world like that blade! But here was another. Finally, the chief turned around to me and said, “Whence hadst thou this knife ?” “From a no-good rannahan who tried to shove it between my ribs,” said I. He stared at me, with steady, imper- sonal eyes. ‘‘Murder was done. The mur- derer fled with this weapon. He was taken, and flung upon the outbound ice of the great gray sea. By what magic power, therefore. 'didst thou summon this weapon to thee, and what spell hast thou . laid upon it now?” When he said this, the husky who was holding the knife for the present, dropped it as though it were red hot. It stuck. trembling in the ground. “I’m telling you the truth,” said I. “If you want it back, take it. I’d prefer a good bowie anyway. But as for magic and spells—what sort of rot is that to be talking in this day and age?” “Thou sayest,” broke in the chief, “that thou knowest naught of spells and magic ?”’ “Not a thing!” said I. “Tell me, stranger, of a strange land, and of a strange race, am I to believe that this weapon—” he held up my re- volver—‘“is not the work of magic?” “Magic your eye,” said I. “That’s the product of the Colt Company.” He stared at me dully. “To say nothing of the knife and the dog,” said he, “both of which are known in this land, what sayest thou, stranger, to one who slays and flays the sacred cattle. of the goddess.” “I told you,” said I. “I killed a calf because I was hungry. That’s the sober truth you were asking for.” a reached out and poked me in the ribs. “Starvation is far from thee,’’ says he. “And still thou didst venture, though fear of death could not have driven thee! What, then, of the wrath of the goddess?” “Goddess?” said I. I didn’t want to start that all over again. “Thou knewest her not?” says he. “Thou saidst thou hadst a sign from her. Thou hast journeyed hither, surely, under her protection for what else would bear thee for eight months over the ice? But wherefore should I judge thee, when the priestess herself must give judgment?” CHAPTER 13 The Nameless Mercy ASKED him please to forget all this hocus pocus about a goddess, a priestess, and magic, but I talked to ears of stone. They made a guard around me, and marched me forward, with poor Murder haulingrsthe. sled along at my heels, and bumping: his head in friendly | COMicasoo® S C@