The Slave Market of Mucar (23 page)

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The prisoners were heavily guarded by picked troops of the Prince's own cavalry. The prisoners' horses were sorry-looking mounts that were no match for the Arab stallions if they should try to make a break.

Behind the Prince and the Phantom came the handcuffed figure of Saldan, his head hanging dejectedly. He had to bear the triumphant laughter of Zadok as he was marched past the convicts. In the rear of Saldan was Slingsby, who carried an automatic rifle.

Selim's commander bowed as the procession formed up in the courtyard.

"As head of your cavalry I shall not fail," he told the Prince.

Selim smiled ironically.

"Try not to," he advised the head of his troops. "My life stands with yours on this issue."

The officer saluted, with a puzzled air. All the way to Masara he was trying to unravel the enigma. Only on his return to Mucar would he learn the truth about the Prince's strange companions. And by then it was too late.

The great gates of the ancient desert city, the crescent of Islam proudly touched by the dawn light flying above them, slammed to behind the long cavalcade. Some miles out they came upon an oasis. A light aircraft was waiting there. The Phantom smiled at the expression on Saldan's face.

"You figured a rather different getaway than this," he chuckled. The big warden's reply was unprintable as he got up into the cabin, prodded on by Slingsby's automatic weapon. The stewardess looked puzzled and frightened.

"Nothing to worry about, miss," said Slingsby. "Government business. Returning to Masara with prisoner."

Slingsby turned to the Warden, once they were within the aircraft.

"No monkey business. It'll give me pleasure to blast you apart. You framed me, remember."

Saldan scowled as the plane lurched across the sand and took off into the dawn light. The Arabs and the convicts on their horses receded into the vastness of the desert.

Slingsby smiled as he looked ahead at the growing light on the horizon, over the pilot's shoulder.

"I'd love a cup of coffee," he told the pretty hostess.

Down below, the group of horsemen watched the light aircraft fade from sight before starting off across the desert. Another mile farther on, the Phantom and the Prince left the main body and made their own way. In the shadow of the rocks, there was a welcome growl and the great form of Devil was scampering across the sand toward them. The Prince's eyes were wide with astonish_ment as his huge companion dismounted and scratched the wolf's ears affectionately. He was even more astonished when he saw the Phantom untie the cramped figure of an Arab who was lying in the shadow of a rock.

"One of your colleagues," said the Phantom.

He handed over his horse to the Arab.

"You'll be at Mucar in an hour," he said. "Don't bother bringing troops back here. We shall be gone."

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He and Devil watched the horseman out of sight. Then the Phantom turned back to Selim.

"Well, your Highness," he said, "it is time you occupied yourself with some useful work."

In another half hour, he and the Prince had uncovered the helicopter from its hiding place. The Phantom stowed the canvas cover on the rear seats and Devil jumped up into his accustomed place. Five minutes later they took off, the Prince clutching apprehensively at his seat. The Phantom dived low over the Prince's horse, watching it gallop back in the direction of Mucar.

"I do hope your household doesn't think you've been involved in an accident, your Highness," he said.

The Prince kept an apprehensive eye on Devil.

"Why have you brought me along?" he quavered.

"Insurance," the Phantom replied, tilting the machine to follow the contours of a rocky gorge below. "Just so that your officer obeys orders."

"I never knew who Saldan was or where he got his slaves," said the Prince imploringly.

"Makes no difference," said the Phantom crisply. "The offense is the same."

The Prince looked about him keenly. He eyed the wolf sitting behind his pilot.

"That's a curious dog..." he began.

"It isn't a dog, it's a wolf," said the Phantom calmly. "So just watch yourself."

The helicopter chopped its way forward, annihilating the miles between them and Masara.

The Prince glanced at Devil and then shrewdly at the Phantom.

"Sir, I could use you in my household," he said. "Perhaps as my general or city governor."

The Phantom laughed.

"You'll have neither city nor army long, Prince," he said grimly.

Colonel Weeks, Slingsby, and the Phantom sat in Warden Saldan's office at Masara Prison. Colonel Weeks couldn't keep his eyes off his unknown commander. Slingsby felt he might tear off a salute every time the Phantom turned toward him. Of course, only Weeks knew that the big man was the overall commander of the Jungle Patrol, so perhaps he should be forgiven. To overcome his agitation he started to stuff the bowl of his pipe with tobacco.

"There are a few loose ends, Colonel," the Phantom said. "The slaves sold earlier. Saldan listed them all in his records here. They must be traced and brought back-no matter how long it takes."

Weeks sat behind Saldan's desk and nodded.

"We'll get on to that, sir," he said. "The slave gold is being distributed to humanitarian agencies like the Red Crescent and UNO's efforts in this part of the world."

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The colonel lit his pipe and inhaled the fragrant blue smoke gratefully. He sat back in the chair again and puffed contentedly.

"Steps have been put in hand to see that Selim is exiled by the King. I was on to the governor just now."

"You followed my instructions about Saldan?" the

Phantom asked. Weeks grinned.

"Just as you said, sir. The incoming governor will be here tomorrow. I've got the dossier for him."

Slingsby looked worried. He turned toward the Phantom.

"I just remembered something, sir. We put Saldan in the common cell ... He'll"

The Phantom interrupted his excited chatter.

"Relax Slingsby," he said in a kindly manner, his eyes gleaming with amusement behind the mask. "The colonel and I didn't forget anything."

Down below in Masara Prison, all was quiet, apart from the occasional pacing feet of a guard. All of Saldan's own men had been arrested and now occupied cells once inhabited by their former charges. The big clock in the tower boomed the hour of three. The distant desert shimmered with heat. Most of the inmates of the prison slept.

All except one. He was a big, burly man with blond hair and a white scar on the side of his face. He sat, in rough prison clothes, in the common cell. He was the sole inhabitant, having been brought in only that morning. Saldan had been sunk in dejection, but now he was beginning to take an interest in his surroundings again.

At first he had not noticed where he was, he had been so stunned when the cell door had clanged to behind him. Now the cunning was back on his face as he rapidly took in the familiar details of the common cell. He stood up quickly and took a turn or two about. He frowned at his bandaged right hand and then looked again at the cell's rear wall.

The fools, he thought. This is the old cell; they forgot about the escape tunnel out of here. He knelt down and using his good hand inserted his fingers behind the edges of a big stone block. Slowly, looking furtively about him, he levered it forward into the cell. Five minutes later he was wriggling through and had pulled it to behind him.

Saldan was sweating with fear and excitement. Later, he would have revenge on Zadok, the masked man and all the others who had thwarted his plans. Particularly Slingsby and Prince Selim, who had behaved in a craven manner. But first he had to escape. He held out his left hand in front of him in the pitch darkness and crawled onward. When he had been traveling in this manner for what seemed like hours, he saw faint light ahead. The tunnel entrance. Which led, he knew, to the coast and eventually to freedom.

He found he was sweating as he went forward the last few yards. The light grew until it was almost as light as day. Saldan scrabbled forward in triumph until he suddenly came up against an unyielding surface. The light was coming from a narrow slit at the top. He gazed uncomprehendingly at a newly built brick wall which barred his path to the outside world and to freedom.

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Saldan gave a great shout of despair and fell to the ground. He passed his hands desperately over the surface of the unyielding brickwork. His eyes were caught by something on the lower course of heavy blocks. Before him he saw the symbol he had come to hate and fear. A tiny skull smiled mockingly up at him.

WATCH FOR THE PHANTOM-- HE WILL BE BACK.

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Dr Hermes Reviews –

THE SLAVE MARKET OF MUCAR

From November 1972, this is a good, solid adventure story but not one of the Phantom's best. For one
thing, Diana Palmer is not even mentioned and (although she does tend to get captured a bit too regularly),
Diana always brings out the human side of our hero and she's a fun character in her own right. Also,
although Devil has one of his best scenes in the entire series, he is regretfully left behind for most of the
story. The genuine friendship between man and wolf is one of the most appealing aspects of the Phantom
series, and it's sorely missed here.

THE SLAVE MARKET OF MUCAR was adapted by Basil Copper from Lee Falk's original 1961 newspaper strip.

Like THE SCORPIA MENACE, it's a promising plot that is told in a clear, straightforward style which
(unfortunately) has little flair or suspense. Copper writes well and lucidly, but he doesn't have an eye for
vivid detail or building tension. We are never admitted into the Phantom's thoughts beyond the surface and
he remains an impressive demigod who doesn't come to life on the page. Things also seem to go a bit too
smoothly for the Ghost Who Walks, too. There are none of those unexpected setbacks or sudden reversals
which made heroes like Doc Savage or the Saint have to think quick and react fast. I know the Phantom is
good at what he does, but a little difficulty makes the victory seem more well deserved.

The story involves a notorious prison in Bangalla which is infamous for the number of convicts who escape.

Ominously enough, none of them are ever re-captured or even seen again and with good reason. The
warden, a cunning mastermind named Saldan, has been arranging their escapes so that he can drag them
to the ancient city of Mucar, where they will be sold as slaves. He and the corrupt Prince Selim have become
extremely wealthy through this vile scheme, but somewhere in the Skull Cave, a masked figure has learned
of this scheme....

Aside from the blonde warden, the villains are all Arabs and references to Allah and the flag of Islam are
there, but there are very few derogatory comments about Islam or Arabs in general, and certainly no
heated speeches as you might get if this book were written in today's atmosphere. Slavery is wrong, but it's
slavery and the men who practice it that the Phantom is out to smash, not Arabs or Muslims. It's a bit odd
that only one or two female slaves are mentioned. You might think

here would be an obvious opportunity to throw in a bit of sexual menace threatening a captured American
girl, but this is skipped. To the Phantom's credit (and Lee Falk's, as well), he is just as determined to rescue a
group of male convicts as he would be to save a teenage cheerleader.

One interesting note is that this book contains two references to the Phantom removing a cap from his right
hand ring before leaving the skull mark, which he imprints with moderate pressure. Apparently this casing
has the same skull shape as the ring itself, as people recognize the emblem when it's on, and the detail may
explain why the Ghost Who Slugs doesn't inadvertently leave his mark here and there. Certainly there are
times when he has to smack an interfering police officer or reporter who doesn't deserve to be branded for
life, but this is the only time Ìve seen this mentioned.

And Devil really gets to show his stuff in one scene. The Phantom and a companion are being pursued
through the jungle by two gigantic mastiffs who have been trained to kill people. The Ghost Who Walks
smiles and tell his gray partner to go get 'em, and Devil races to leap at the two bigger animals head on. Do
I have to tell you who walks away from the fight, licking a few minor cuts? Go, Devil! Who's a good boy, eh?

(Sep 22, 2002)