CHAPTER VIII

THE UNFORGIVEABLE KISS

The day passed slowly. Still the Princess remained in her cabin. Alan passed Waiko with his usual cheery smile, and the guilty student trembled and turned white at sight of the healthy man, who he thought had been doomed to serquor. Kulmervan remained in his cabin near the princess, and had his meals served him there. Waz-Y-Kjesta realized that something was wrong, but as Alan did not confide in him, he made no effort to find out the cause of his friend’s restlessness.

“My Waz,” said Alan suddenly, “is it possible for me to see the Ipso-Rorka? I wish to speak to her.”

“Not unless she sends for you, my friend. It is impossible else.”

“It is a matter of grave import,” said Alan earnestly. “To me, to her—”

“Nothing can alter custom, my friend. If she sends for you—well. Otherwise—” and he shrugged his shoulders expressively. Alan, however, was determined to speak with Chlorie by foul means or fair. Her cabin was situated in the front of the ship, and round it was a tiny balcony railed in just above the level of the deck.

He paced round this portion of the ship the whole day, resting only at mealtimes from his self imposed watch. Never once did the Princess appear. The Kymo was setting, the sky was bright with sunset colours; the sea was unruffled and calm. A fish leapt out of the water leaving rings of glistening fluid, roseate in the glow. Alan sat, out of sight, still watching the cabin door. Suddenly it opened and Morar, the Princess’ personal attendant appeared. She looked around hastily. “All is quiet, my Princess,” she cried. “No one is in sight. The sinful stranger is in his cabin, no doubt plotting ill against you and yours.” Chlorie came through the doorway. Her hair was gleaming, and her flowing draperies of blue showed up the fairness of her skin.

“I am stifled, Morar. ’Tis ill to spend so many hours without a breath of air. Watch you the other side, and should you see the evil one appear, appraise me, and I will again take shelter within.”

With a low bow Morar vanished, closing the cabin door behind her. The Princess paced up and down the tiny balcony, singing a Keemarnian lullaby. Still Alan remained silent and watchful, hidden from sight beneath the covering rail. Morar returned. “There is no sign of Alan the evil one,” said she, “but Taz-Ak Kulmervan begs an audience.”

“Bid him come hither,” said the Princess with a sigh. “Tell him I am weary, and must beg of him to be quick about his business.” She seated herself on a swinging lounge, just above Alan, who could almost feel the sweetness of her presence, the fragrance of her breath.

“Sweet Cousin,” said Kulmervan entering.

“Nay, Kulmervan, say what you have to say quickly. My head is tired—my eyes weary.”

“You have not been out to-day, my Chlorie?”

“Not until this evening. I have carefully obeyed your instructions. Were my father here, I should not care. But I dare not run any risks in his absence. How is Waiko?”

“Still very weak, my Princess. This evil one, this Alan, had contrived his evil work well. When I discovered Waiko a bandage was drawn tightly round his mouth, his nostrils were plugged with wool, and had I not entered when I did, serquor would have set in and Waiko would no more have laughed and played.”

“Oh, it’s terrible,” breathed the Princess. “Why has sin thus entered our beautiful land? I have heard of treasons, and plots and miseries; but so far we have escaped. What is this stranger’s object, my Kulmervan?”

“I know not all his treachery, my Chlorie, but—”

“Why bring sorrow on Waiko’s family, and upon you, his friend?”

“I do not understand, but his intentions are evil throughout. I heard him tell his kinsman Desmond, that even the person of Chlorie herself was not sacred to him, provided he worked his will.”

“That is enough, Kulmervan,” she interrupted haughtily. “I will keep my cabin as you advise. Had I known in time, I should not have travelled home in his company. The Rorka, my father, will deal with this stranger, and the Hall of Sorrows will hold him safely, until he has been purged clean. Now good night.”

“Chlorie,” said Kulmervan passionately. “I dare say much to you to-night. Will you not offer me the flower of love? I dare not ask you to wed me—you are Ipso-Rorka—’tis for you to choose. But know I love you, love you with all my soul. Will you not honour me by choosing me for your mate?”

“Kulmervan,” said the Princess gently. “Why make me sad by all this useless talk? It can never be. I can place my hand in only one man’s—him I love. Him, alas, I have not yet met, but I do not love you, my Kulmervan. I never shall. Think, we played together in Hoormoori as babes, built palaces of sand by the sea, picked flowers and fondled our pets. We grew as brother and sister until you went to study with the Djoh, and I had to learn the lesson of royalty. No, my kinsman. I love you ’tis true, but not as a maid should love the man she mates, not as wife for husband, lover for lover. Let this be the last time you speak of such things, my Kulmervan. I will forget, and—”

“But I want you—you—you—,” and Kulmervan strode close to her and placed his arms about her.

“Let me go,” breathed the girl—but his lips were seeking hers.

“No—no—no,” she cried. “Not my lips—Kulmervan be merciful. My lips are sacred until I wed—spare my lips.” But Kulmervan’s reason had gone. “My beautiful one,” he murmured, and ran his fingers through her glorious mantle of hair. He held her head between his hands, and drank in the glory of her face. Her eyes were open wide in terror, her lips tightly compressed, her power of movement gone. Nearer, nearer he drew. His breath came in hot gusts upon her cheek. Her eyelids quivered under his scorching kisses. Her cheeks reddened as his lips touched them. With one mighty effort she tried to release herself.

“In the name of Mitzor the Great, leave my lips,” she cried, but the madness of passion was upon him. He revelled in his power, laughed at her struggles, mocked at her impotence. Roughly he clasped her still closer to him, but the Princess was inert in his arms—the strain was too much for her, and blissful unconsciousness had come to soothe her. There was the slightest of sounds. Alan, the athletic still, vaulted over the rail, and swinging Kulmervan by the scruff of his neck threw him on to the ground. Tenderly he lifted the Princess in his arms—she was as light as a feather—and went into her cabin.

“Morar,” he called. “Morar.” The serving maid appeared, trembling as she saw her beloved mistress in the arms of “the evil one.”

“Your mistress has had a fright,” said Alan thickly. “Show me her couch.” Without a word the little maid led the way into the tiny sleeping apartment, and tenderly he laid his burden on the silken coverings of blue. “Look after her,” said he, “she has fainted.” With arms folded across his chest and his breath coming in spasmodic jerks, he waited outside the door. Presently Morar appeared. “The Ipso-Rorka has recovered,” she said, “and has now fallen asleep. What shall I do?”

“Allow no one to enter her apartments at all. I will send a letter to her in the morning. Can I depend on your giving it to her?”

“Yes. I can see you are not evil,” said the little maid. “Some mistake has been made. You are her friend.”

“I am her friend,” said Alan grimly. “Remember, Morar, no one is to enter these apartments without the Ipso-Rorka’s permission. You understand?” and he strode out on to the balcony. Kulmervan had gone, and he vaulted lightly over the balcony rail and went straight to his cabin. As he opened the door he recognized the sweet, sickly odour that he had smelt once before. So! He must be on his guard. Kulmervan and Waiko would stop at nothing—a madness had indeed come over them, a madness of the earth!

Holding his breath he went swiftly across the room, and opened the windows, then shutting the door behind him, went into the big saloon. Waz-Y-Kjesta smiled as he entered. “Where have you been, my friend? I looked for you everywhere.”

“Resting,” said Alan grimly. That night he never went to bed, but waited grimly for what might happen. He was left in peace, however, and toward dawn slept fitfully. When he woke, he wrote this letter to Chlorie.

“_Chlorie—The Ipso-Rorka._

I beg of you, see me, just once before we alight at Hoormoori. I overheard the conversation of Kulmervan, and implore you to see me, if only to clear myself of the imputations your kinsman has made against me. In any case, believe that I am your devoted servant always. Command me—I will obey.

ALAN”

He took the letter to Morar himself. “I will wait while the Ipso-Rorka reads it,” said he.

In a moment she had returned. “She will answer you later.” There were only four more nights to be spent on board the Chlorie, but much might happen in that time. There was no sign of the enemy—all Alan could do was to wait patiently for their next move.

That night, again, he had no sleep. Soon after he retired, the same sickly odour permeated the cabin. Again he leant out of the window until the fumes had passed; this time they were stronger and took a longer time to dispel. He smiled—it was to be a duel to the end, and he needed all his wits about him. Certainly, Keemarnians possessed of the “madness” were more formidable, more crafty, more callous enemies, than men belonging to Terra. Another night passed—no communication had come from Chlorie. Alan, weary of his vigil, tried to keep awake, but drowsiness overcame him, and his last conscious effort was to drag himself to the window, and rest with his head breathing in the pure air. Again the sweet fumes entered the room, but Alan had safeguarded himself. The next night passed without the enemy showing their hand. They doubtless thought him proof against “serquor” and would take other methods to rid themselves of his presence. Suddenly in the darkness of the night, a noise interrupted his musings. There was a jerk—a crash—and the vessel shivered. Alan flew out of his cabin and met Waz-Y-Kjesta.

“What is it?” he cried.

“Nothing to be alarmed about, my friend. Something has happened to the engine. I have not discovered what, yet—we shall be forced to make a descent. Luckily there is an island near; we will anchor there, and put the matter right. We shall be delayed only a very short time, I think.”

The machine descended in jerks and jumps with many creakings and groanings, but reached the ground in safety.

“I will seek Morar, and tell her to acquaint the Ipso-Rorka with this news,” said the Waz. The whole day passed, and the Y-Kjesta called Alan in dismay. “I cannot understand it,” said he. “There is a screw missing here, and that waste pipe has been filled with refuse. It means taking the whole of the mechanism to pieces, and two days delay at least.” But Alan guessed who had planned this sinister work, and that night he kept vigil—not in his own room, but outside the Princess’.

Waz-Y-Kjesta was frankly puzzled. “Yesterday I fixed up the screw for the outer valve,” said he, “yet to-day it has gone again. Surely I couldn’t have dreamt it—yet it could not go without hands.”

“Perhaps some one has moved it, purposely, for spite,” suggested Alan.

Y-Kjesta laughed. “Not in Keemar. Besides what for? Who could do such a foolish thing?”

True, the faith of a Keemarnian was wonderful. Alan longed to confide in him—yet dared not. For the second time he made a mistake. Alan saw Morar and asked her if the Princess’ apartments were quite safe from intruders.

“Quite,” said she. “There is only a very small window, and the doors have heavy bars.”

“She always keeps them locked?”

“Always.”

That night Alan remained in his own cabin, and worn out with continual watching, fell asleep at his open window. He had a dream so vivid that he thought it was real, and awoke with a start. Chlorie—the lady of his heart had appeared to him, arms outstretched, eyes swimming with tears—“My Lord,” she whispered. “The Cave of Whispering Madness—the Cave—” Her voice trailed away, something dark came before his eyes, there was the sound of a scuffle, a small cry, he felt a stabbing pain, and he awoke. It was broad daylight, and his door was flung open wide and Waz-Y-Kjesta, usually so placid and calm, was staring at him and calling him in excited distress.

“My Alan! Awake! I beg of you—”

“What is it?”

“The Ipso-Rorka—is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone! She has disappeared.”

“Are you sure?”

“Morar, her maid, left her as usual last night. This morning she knocked as usual for the Princess to open the door, which by the way, she always keeps barred, but she could get no answer. Thinking her mistress had overslept she went round to look in at the window. The bed was empty—Chlorie was not there”

“Where is Kulmervan?” asked Alan thickly.

“Kulmervan?”

“Yes. Is he on the boat?”

“I do not know”

“Go and see at once, and I’ll go to Morar”

The Ipso-Rorka’s little maid was crying bitterly. Without any ceremony Alan forced the door. The bed was rumpled and rough; the silken coverlets twisted and torn—Chlorie had not gone without a struggle!

Waz-Y-Kjesta came to Alan, with consternation written all over his face. “Three are missing altogether” said he “Can some evil spirit have taken them? Kulmervan and Waiko are nowhere to be found”

“I thought as much” said Alan savagely. He glanced rapidly round the room. A pile of papers lay on a desk. He smoothed them out. There, in a little blue envelope addressed to himself, was a letter from his dear one. He opened it quickly.

“_My Lord_, (it ran)

Since you saved me from my kinsman, Kulmervan my cousin has once more forced himself into my presence. He is possessed of a madness. I beg of you save me from him. I have looked at you often and I know now I was deceived by him when he whispered tales of your evil doing. I trust you implicitly. I do as you bid me. I command your help.

CHLORIE”

Then underneath was written,

“He has spoken to me again through my window. He threatens me with dishonour—disgrace. He talks of the Cave of Whispering Madness. Come to me on receipt of this”

“The cur” muttered Alan. He turned to Y-Kjesta. “Where is the Cave of Whispering-Madness?”

“I have never heard of it, my Alan”

“Listen. I am going to find Chlorie. Wait for me here with the air bird. Should I fail to come by the time the Kymo has sunk ten times—go at once to the Rorka, and ask him to send his aid here”

“Where then, is Chlorie?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to do my best to find out. This island isn’t very big—ten miles square at the most, and I intend to search every bit of it if necessary, to find her”

“What about Kulmervan and Waiko?”

“Should you see them, put them under restraint. Bar their windows, and prevent their escape. They are both possessed of the madness—but there, I doubt if you’ll see them. Where Chlorie is—there shall I also find Kulmervan and Waiko”

“Can I come too?”

“No, my friend. You stay here and watch in case Chlorie comes. I go now—I shall take no provision with me—fruit will be my meat, and the sap of the water tree my drink. Farewell” and Alan leapt over the bulwarks and disappeared from sight in the thick brush and undergrowth of the island.