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.