Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

HIS SERVICE TO FOLLY. vultures wheeled down this morning to feast on the emperor’s physician.” Basil stepped to the window sill, clung there a moment, and then catch- ing the ledge of masonry, climbed up- ward. Gefondo craned his neck to watch until he saw the slender black- clad figure mount the upper parapet and run along the coping, then he re- turned to the task of slitting and wind- ing tapestry. It was more than two hours later when he returned, swinging like a graceful black bat along the rough stone wall, and clinging to the window frame to swing himself inside the room. Blue shadows of the hills lay on the valley. The fierce sun heat was tempered by the evening breeze. : Gefondo, having completed his task, was gone, and the rolled strips of tap- estry lay like a rolled carpet along the walls. Basil was hot and tired and stripped to plunge in the pool, when his door opened and a servant entered carrying a tray of food and drink. ‘Fetch it here,” he called from the pool where he sat in water to his chin, and to the grinning amusement of the servant, he ate as he soaked in the cold fountain bath. There was barely time to shave his chin and dress before the fanfare of a trumpet sounded from be- low, the courtyard gates clanged shut, and the night sentries were posted. Basil knew that whoever went through those gates must have a watchword and bear the scrutiny of the guard. His heart sank. It was well enough to have provided himself with a length of stout fabric that would reach from the upper parapet to a sloping bank on that rock sur- mounted by the Citadel, but he knew of no way to hoist the heavy stuff to the roof coping, nor how he should take Violette there. His plan, vague at best, to use the line for a descent and escape, seemed utterly useless; yet he knew he dared not allow the girl to spend another nicht under the roof of the emperor. 223 A glance below showed him the guards pacing up and down the outer wall. Not even in the darkness could he carry the line and toss it over to roll below. And while he cudgeled his brains to find a use for this sacrifice of priceless weaving, he heard the tarantella of a trumpet which was the signal for that procession to the throne room, of which he must form a most unwilling and unhappy mote. He opened the door and darted down the corridor to find the emperor had already left his suite, the hall lined with soldiers in their finest uniforms, carrying banners on _ spear staffs. Through the open door of the royal bedroom, Basil saw the valet de cham- bre scurrying to straighten the dis- order. No doubt every one in the Citadel would make merry that night. Basil wondered if ever again he would have so great an opportunity to pit his own wit against the wine-befuddied care- lessness of Christophe’s minions. Then, shaking his bells and dancing, he led that pompous thunder tread of soldiers’ feet which beat staid measure to the music of drums and horns sounding from the throne room. In a long queue of color, red, blue, gold braid, jingling spurs and clank- ing swords, feather-bedecked hats, the lords of Haiti wound up the stair and filled the great audience hall to over- flowing. Beside him on the gilded throne sat Christophe’s empress in white satin and furs, a gold crown on her head. Sweat rained down the royal faces. The lords were ranged about the walls, with their wives and retinue. Rich food and copious wine was served. Talk and laughter grew loud and louder. Light from thousands of candles in great chandeliers gleamed on the crystal prisms and flowed over silks and satins and velvets of their dresses of the brightest colors that dye vats could turn out. (e(0) DOOKS (E@