[Magazine 1966-­03] - The Beauty and Beast Affair - Davis Robert Hart (прочитать книгу TXT) 📗

He saw a head-servant, standing illumined in jewel-like lights from the opened doors at the head of the steps. The man stood ramrod straight until Solo came off the top step. Then the servant sank to his knees and kissed the ground at his feet.

From his prone position the servant intoned in portentous voice, "Sheik Zud requests that you meet with him and his ministers in the council room, Master."

Solo nodded, hearing Wanda and the others coming up the marble steps behind, him.

He turned and glanced at them. Frun and the driver supported the handcuffed Ordwell between them. Piebr followed, his hand on Wanda's elbow.

Wanda looked ready to crumple. Solo waited until his subordinates and prisoners were grouped behind him. Then he said, "We will all go to the council room, where we will deliver these infidel traitors to our great Zud."

He spoke to the servant: "Lead us to the council room."

Solo strode through the jewel-decked doors in the wake of the head-servant. He walked alone through the high portals of silver into a spacious, incredible lobby, twice again as large as the gleaming concourse in the elegant new air terminal at Kurbot. He could almost hear the soft echoing of his own bated breathing in this high-domed hall.

Solo managed to walk with his head straight, restraining his wish to stare in amazement at silk tapestries, deep damasks, and precious stone inlays. The floor glittered in its golden pattern of bright mosaics. Each inch of the place shone with polish, reflecting the myriad of lights, although no light fixtures were visible; everything was done indirectly or by reflection.

The servant preceded Solo up a staircase whose balustrade glittered with opulent jewelry

At the head of these stairs, five wide corridors led outward into the wings of the palace. The servant chose his course and Solo followed him.

The long corridor was covered by a domed ceiling and its open places boasted silver-barred banisters.

The laughter of children swept up to Solo. He glanced across the banister into a suite where innumerable children played, laughing.

He decided even the head of the secret police would be permitted a look. He walked to the balustrade and stared down at King Zud's offspring. He had never seen happier children. They were completely unaware of the strife outside the palace walls.

He turned, waving his hand. The head-servant moved out again. They walked for some moments, passed closed doors, before they came out again to an opening. A quick glance told him this was the court of the wives. He did not pause, because he reckoned instinctively that not even Zud's protector would be permitted to look down on Zud's wives taking their ease.

The chatter of the women followed him. He recalled that Zouida had insisted that Zud's wives—all them his former slaves—were happy and contented and worshiped their shared husband.

The servant led them through smother corridor, which ended finally at a thick cedar door with iron trim. The servant touched a bell and instantly servants inside the council room swung the door open for them.

Napoleon Solo strode in. He was less bold than he appeared.

He slowed involuntarily, seeing a conference room fifty feet across and eighty feet long. A gleaming table surrounded by high-backed leather chairs dominated the place. Except for the jewel-crusted throne at the head of the conference table, the chamber might have been the inner sanctum of some industrial complex.

He sighed, seeing that the throne was empty. At least Zud was not yet here. Along each side of the table were twelve dark men, the sheik's ministers. Solo saw an empty chair at the right of the throne; instinctively he knew this was the seat of the recently slain Zouida Berikeen.

Directly across from the empty chair was another waiting place and Solo went around to it without hesitation. The ministers bowed to him, and he saw he'd passed another test.

He spoke to Piebr. "The driver will go with the servants. You, Piebr and Frun, will guard my prisoners. Put them on their knees against the wall there for our king's inspection. On their knees. And don't let them speak while Sheik Zud is in this room. They must not speak, no matter what happens."

Piebr nodded, proud to be associated with the protector of Zud. "As you order, Master."

Solo dropped into his chair, as if he owned at least an interest in the corporation. He did not even bother to glance to see how his orders were being executed.

He did, after he was seated, glance once toward Wanda. She watched him, mouth parted, half in awe, half in terror for them both. Her look expressed precisely his own inner panic, he thought wryly.

Suddenly ceiling-high golden doors beyond the throne were opened and Sheik Zud strode through.

The twelve ministers leaped 'to their feet and then prostrated their heads on the table.

Solo followed their example, but could not resist turning his head slightly.

Sheik Zud came from a suite even more brilliantly illuminated than this council chamber. Ahead of him, on the waves of air conditioning, came smells of spices, perfumes, rich aroma of foods and fine new linens. And out of it Zud sprang, with the graceful stride of a beast.

A beast!

When the huge man—he was some inches over six feet tall, with shoulders that blotted out the throne behind him, a chest like a hogshead bursting with wine—had reached the throne and sat down, he pounded the side of his fist on the table and the ministers were permitted to sit up, bow each in turn, and then sit back.

Solo was thankful for the skin-fitting mask he wore to hide his emotions at the first sight of the man.

Zud's head was large, like a lion's head. Solo knew that in its terminal stages the ancient scourge of the East, leprosy, gave its victims the lion-face.

But Zud's was a matter of birth, not disease. He had the look of a lion. His graying hair was like a wine-gold mane that grew down to his shoulders, turned up at the ends, making his head seem more magnificent than ever.

His eyes, under sprouting brows, were relentless, black and fiery, catching all the lights in the room.

He swung his arms in his silken robes, and the gale rustled papers at the far end of the room.

Napoleon Solo felt awed despite himself.

"Well, Kiell! Here you are finally!" The chandeliers shivered when Zud roared.

Solo bowed Kiell's plastic-mask face, his forehead touching the table.

"Don't pretend such humility!" Zud roared. "You're not humble. I'd fear your arrogance if I feared anything on this earth. Such arrogance! You slew the man closest to my heart in the air terminal at Kurbot! My own conscience, my own dear friend—Zouida Berikeen! How then can I trust you, Kiell! If you would cut out my heart, would you not put a bullet in my back if I turned it on you?"

Solo sat for an instant, stunned by Zud's stupendous rage. He felt as Zud did about the dead ambassador. If there was a man in Zabir he'd have staked his life could have been trusted, it was little Zouida. And here he was, wearing the face of the man who had slain him in cold blood.

He saw now why Ordwell, posing as Kiell, had had to accuse Zouida of treason and kill him on the spot. Ordwell's impersonation could not have succeeded under Zouida's close scrutiny.

He drew a deep breath, feeling the sweat trying to squeeze between his skin and the tight-fitting mask. How could he justify a murder he felt in his own heart was tragic and inexcusable? He had to if he wanted to stay alive.

"Speak up!" Zud roared. "Or would you have me lop off your head?"

Solo recalled everything Zouida had said of the real Kiell—a brave, arrogant man, well-hated, but deeply respected—a man who would unhesitatingly lay down his life for his ruler.