The Slave Market of Mucar (21 page)

"Do I make myself clear?" he said.

The ruler of Mucar had a strange look in his eye. His hand visibly trembled as he adjusted his jeweled coat around his thin frame.

"Perfectly, my friend," he said.

His lips opened in an unconvincing laugh. "You surely did not think I was implying a threat. Just a little joke

"Sure," said Saldan. But there was no humor in his eyes. He patted the Prince's thin shoulder.

"So long as we understand one another."

He walked over toward the balcony doors at one side of the big room.

"You'd better made sure my share is packed ready for departure."

He glanced at his wrist-watch again.

"It's under an hour to auction time. I have to get my merchandise ready. Will you attend, your Highness?"

"I shall watch from my private balcony at the market as usual," said Selim.

"Naturally, you wouldn't want to be involved in such sordid dealings," said Saldan satirically.

The Prince shot him a quick glance of dislike, but said nothing. He let Saldan out through the door they'd come in through and locked it behind him. Then he came back into the room. He unlocked the balcony doors; the light of a magnificent moon streamed in. He walked out into the shadowy coolness.

"A scoundrel, but he's made me rich," he mused to himself. "A pity. I'll miss the excitement and the gold."

He went farther out and stood with his hand resting on the cold iron grillwork of the railing.

"But he's right," he told himself. "It's best to quit when we're ahead."

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His musings were interrupted by a slight noise from the darkness at his side. He turned and saw a gigantic figure in a mask step out of the gloom. He tried to scream, but found a hard hand clapped over his face. He lost consciousness as he fell backward.

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CHAPTER 20

GOLD BY THE BARROW LOAD

The ruler of Mucar coughed as he regained consciousness. Water was being thrown in his face. The outrage was so shocking that he struggled up on the cushions, spluttering with indignation. His anger changed to terror as he saw the huge figure in Arab costume looming over him. Another figure, not noticeably smaller, was at his side. Blue eyes flashed sardonically from behind the mask.

"Who are you?" said Selim, rage getting the better of his natural caution.

He looked wildly round him and saw that they were alone. The guards were in the corridor. As he opened his mouth to shout, the huge hand covered it again. Selim choked with mingled rage and mortification.

"Not a peep out of you or your noble line faces extinction," said the Phantom calmly.

"Thieves!" hissed the ruler of Mucar. His cheeks were flushed beneath his beard. "How did you get into my palace?"

"You are wrong. We are not thieves, your Highness," the big man said. "We have come to end the slave market."

The old man cowered back as the Phantom towered over him.

"Just keep calm, Prince," the big man said. "If you remain seated and don't make a noise, things will be just fine."

"But who are you?" the old man quavered.

The Phantom exchanged a glance with Slingsby.

"There's no time to go into that now," he said.

He took a turn around the room, looking at the scales, the leather sacks, the worn surfaces of the counters, and the big safe.

He turned back to the Prince.

"Saldan has gold stored here," he said. "I want it."

The Prince fumbled in his jeweled coat.

"This is the key to the gold store," be said.

He handed it to the Phantom.

"Go with my friend here to the slave market and watch from the usual balcony," the Phantom said to Slingsby.

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Slingsby stepped forward with his rifle.

"One false move and there'll be a large hole in your head," he said grimly.

The Prince flushed.

"Call a servant," the Phantom ordered him. "And be careful."

A thin, nervous-looking young man of about twenty-five answered the Prince's ring. He gaped at the two big men standing at Selim's elbow.

The Prince indicated the Phantom.

"Go with this gentleman, Petra, and do as he tells you," he said.

"First of all go and find two wheelbarrows," the Phantom ordered.

Petra raised his eyes to the ceiling and went out. The Phantom grinned as he watched the old Prince and Slingsby go off down the corridor. He picked up the key of the gold store and hurried along with his preparations.

The dark-haired convict gripped the bars and looked out across the courtyard.

"Hey, you guys, here comes Saldan!" he said. "What's happened to that character with the mask?"

There was a chorus of groans and whistles as the burly form of Saldan strode into the slave quarters.

Several Arabs followed behind him. Saldan's jaw dropped as he took in the unconscious forms of the five guards.

"What happened to these men?" he barked.

"They took sick," said the bald-headed man.

"Yeah, they complained of headaches," said the blond giant with the shaven head.

Saldan bent suspiciously over the tangled pile of unconscious guards. They were breathing torturously through their noses. He started back as he saw the familiar motif of a skull stamped on to the right hand cheek of the first man he looked at.

He glanced about him nervously. The skull mark was the same as the one on the dogs at the prison.

Outwardly he was master of his nerves. He stood impassively as the convicts started to shout at him.

"We know you're Saldan," they chanted. "Hiya, Warden! Some warden!"

Saldan smiled grimly beneath the mask.

"If Zadok told you that it makes no difference now," he said. "By tomorrow your destinies will be settled."

He turned back to the Arab guards.

"March them out!" he ordered.

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The whips sang through the air as the convicts dragged the heavy iron balls behind them over the floor.

They shot glances of hatred at Saldan as they passed. The slaver's face was impassive as he stood with the biggest of the Arab guards, checking the prisoners off as they went by. He remained unimpressed by Zadok's viciously twisted face as his former assistant passed him. When the shuffling footsteps had died away, he turned his attention to the groaning guards.

The remaining Arabs were already throwing buckets of water over them as they lay on the floor.

"When those men come to, find out what happened to them," he ordered.

He hurried out of the room, bound for the slave mart, his head full of disquieting thoughts. That skull mark means trouble, he told himself. I don't like it. I shall be glad when the night is over.

Back at the Prince's villa, the Phantom, eyes smiling grimly behind his mask, had taken up his station beside the door of the counting house. Petra and another palace servant were filling the two wheelbarrows with heavy leather sacks. The sacks were sealed at the mouths with stoutly laced eyelets, but Petra at least was in no doubt as to their contents. His eyes were wide with greed as they completed filling the two barrows.

"Who is he, Petra?" the other servant whispered.

"A friend of Prince Selim," Petra whispered back nervously, casting an uneasy glance at the big man by the door.

They bowed as they finished and walked over to the Phantom for instructions.

"Take the barrows," the Phantom ordered, "and go straight ahead and out of the palace."

The two men sweated as they eased the wheelbarrows inch by inch down the staircase and across the courtyard.

The second servant, who was a dull-witted fellow, grumbled.

He nudged Petra as they trundled their burdens across the court.

"What's in these sacks-lead?"

Petra shook his head and didn't reply.

The old Prince was mounted on his white horse at the far side of the courtyard, waiting for the main gate to be opened. Slingsby was just behind him, mounted on a similar horse with his revolver invisible under his cloak, pointed straight at the Prince's back.

"So you are thieves after all?" said the old man bitterly. "It's a fine distinction coming from a slaver like yourself, Your Excellency!" said Slingsby ironically.

The old Prince seemed as though he were choking on his beard as the horses clattered through the gate into the night air of the city.

At the slave market, the proceedings were in full swing. There were an enormous number of buyers present for this time of the year. The earlier lots had sold fast and, contrary to the dealers' expectations, prices had been high and had maintained their level throughout the evening.

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So when Saldan's eleven specimens appeared behind the block, expectations were high among the buyers who had come from a wide area. The slaver's reputation for fine merchandise was known throughout the desert lands and the jungle beyond. A slave mart at which he was represented was always worth attending.

There was a murmur of expectation as the big man in his pith-helmet with the mask, stepped out onto the rostrum, holding his rhinoceros-hide whip in his hand.

The prisoners started marching in, as the bald-headed man turned bitterly to Zadok and grumbled, "That stranger said he would help us. Where is he now?"

Up above, in an unlit house facing on the market complex, Prince Selim and Slingsby were taking their places on the balcony. From there they would have an excellent view of the whole proceeding. For Slingsby, too, it was a good location. With the rifle he held, he could dominate the area and help the Phantom if necessary. He smiled wryly to himself. It was not often that such a man needed help.

The Prince went to stand with his hand on the metal railing and looked down at the milling people and the busy scene below him.

"Has this whole thing been a setup?" he asked Slingsby. "By that masked friend of yours? Just a new trick, so that you could steal the gold?"

Slingsby's reply was interrupted by a loud crash as the gigantic Nubian at the auction block below them smashed his hammer down on a block of ebony.

"A sale of fine merchandise is about to start!" Saldan shouted, stepping forward onto the rostrum under the glare of the arc lights.

"Prepare to make your bids!"

He whistled his whip through the air menacingly as the Convicts marched in, trailing their chains behind them.

One of the Arabs pushed the bald-headed man forward so that he stood alone in front of the rostrum, surrounded by a sea of silent faces.

"Our first parcel," shouted Saldan. "What am I bid for this strong, healthy specimen, gentlemen?"

"I bid two thousand," an old man at the edge of the crowd quavered.

"Make that three thousand!" said a deep, resonant voice, as a huge Arab entered the arena. Behind him came two servants wheeling barrows laden with leather sacks.

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CHAPTER 21

MYSTERY BIDDER

There was a murmur from the people in the audience and up on the balcony Prince Selim gasped as he leaned forward to grip the railings with his wrinkled hands. Saldan had stopped and blinked at the wealthy stranger who seemed to have so much money to throw about.

"Three thousand, five hundred!" called a fat man in a fez in the front row of the dealers. Saldan recognized him as the proprietor of the most successful restaurant in the city of Mucar.

"Come along, Mr. Auctioneer," called the big Arab cheerfully. "Is this an auction or isn't it? Four thousand!"

There was another gasp from the crowd as Saldan recovered his wits.

"Certainly, certainly," he mumbled. "Four thousand I'm bid."

"Four thousand, five hundred," said the first old man.

"Oh, don't let's play about," said the Arab calmly. "Let's make it ten thousand, shall we?"

There was a deep sigh from the crowd. In all their years of attending the slave auctions, they had never heard prices like this. It was beyond belief. Saldan stood as though he had been turned to stone. It was preposterous and he almost doubted his ears. Ten thousand was double the highest price he had ever received for a slave.

But others present had begun to get the idea. On the balcony Prince Selini, his Eastern mind amused at the notion, had a broad smile on his face. He stroked his beard as he spoke to the smiling Slingsby.

"He's buying the slaves back with Saldan's own gold."

"He thought that would appeal to you," Slingsby replied.

The bald-headed man too was smiling. He had now recognized the Phantom and knew that help was at hand.

Saldan recovered himself. After all, what did it matter if these people had more money than sense? Some oil-rich sheik who did not mind what he paid, he supposed.