The Second Achmed Abdullah Megapack Read online

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  THE EVENING RICE

  THE HATCHETMAN

  FEUD

  REPRISAL

  THE HOME-COMING

  THE DANCE ON THE HILL

  THE RIVER OF HATE

  THE SOUL OF A TURK

  MORITURI

  THE JESTER

  THE STRENGTH OF THE LITTLE THIN THREAD

  GRAFTER AND MASTER GRAFTER

  THE LOGICAL TALE OF THE FOUR CAMELS

  THE TWO-HANDED SWORD

  BLACK POPPIES

  THE PERFECT WAY

  TAO

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  The Second Achmed Abdullah Megapack is copyright © 2013 by Wildside Press LLC. All rights reserved. For more information, contact the publisher.

  * * * *

  “The Evening Rice” originally appeared in The Pictorial Review, June 1920.

  “The Hatchetman” originally appeared in The Blue Book Magazine, March 1919.

  “Feud” originally appeared in The Century Magazine, December 1916.

  “Reprisal” originally appeared in Collier’s, January 26, 1918.

  “The Home-Coming” originally appeared in Harper’s, May 1917.

  “The Dance on the Hill” originally appeared in Harper’s, November 1918.

  “The River of Hate” originally appeared in To-day’s Housewife, October 1918.

  “The Soul of a Turk” is taken from Alien Souls (1920).

  “Morituri” is taken from Alien Souls (1920).

  “The Jester” is taken from Alien Souls (1920).

  “The Strength of the Little Thin Thread” originally appeared in Collier’s, Oct 5, 1912.

  “Grafter and Master Grafter” is taken from Alien Souls (1920).

  “The Logical Tale of the Four Camels” originally appeared in

  “The Two-Handed Sword” originally appeared in Collier’s, May 11, 1918.

  “Black Poppies” originally appeared in Telling Tales, November, 1921.

  “The Perfect Way” originally appeared in Telling Tales, September 1921.

  “Tao” originally appeared in The Century, April 1920.

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  Achmed Abdullah is one of my favorite pulp writers…probably third or fourth on the list. (My #1 favorite is Arthur O. Friel. #2 is harder—but I’d probably go with Johnston McCulley, creator of Zorro.) If you’ve picked up this volume, you may already be familiar with Abdullah’s work from the first volume, The Achmed Abdullah Megapack. If not, no harm done; both Megapacks contain short stories which can be read in any order. The real difference is that Volume 1 contains quite a few supernatural stories, and Volume 2 focuses more on contemporary life in exotic locales, like the Middle East, China, and New York City (primarily Chinatown). Crime is frequently touched upon; many also qualify as mysteries.

  Note for the squeamish: Some of these stories are not “politically correct” by today’s standards. Please keep in mind that Abdullah was writing in a different age, with different standards of propriety. The world has changed a lot in 100 years.

  And most of all—enjoy!

  —John Betancourt

  Publisher, Wildside Press LLC

  www.wildsidepress.com

  ABOUT THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  Over the last few years, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”

  The Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Mary Wickizer Burgess, Sam Cooper, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, Robert Reginald. A. E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!).

  A NOTE FOR KINDLE READERS

  The Kindle versions of our Megapacks employ active tables of contents for easy navigation…please look for one before writing reviews on Amazon that complain about the lack! (They are sometimes at the ends of ebooks, depending on your reader.)

  RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?

  Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the Megapack series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://movies.ning.com/forum (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).

  Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.

  TYPOS

  Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.

  If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at [email protected] or use the message boards above.

  THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  MYSTERY

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Second Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Charlie Chan Megapack

  The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective Megapack

  The Detective Megapack

  The Father Brown Megapack

  The Girl Detective Megapack

  The Jacques Futrelle Megapack

  The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack

  The First Mystery Megapack

  The Penny Parker Megapack

  The Pulp Fiction Megapack

  The Raffles Megapack

  The Victorian Mystery Megapack

  The Wilkie Collins Megapack

  GENERAL INTEREST

  The Adventure Megapack

  The Baseball Megapack

  The Cat Story Megapack

  The Second Cat Story Megapack

  The Third Cat Story Megapack

  The Christmas Megapack

  The Second Christmas Megapack

  The Classic American Short Stories Megapack, Vol. 1.

  The Classic Humor Megapack

  The Dog Story Megapack

  The Doll Story Megapack

  The Horse Story Megapack

  The Military Megapack

  SCIENCE FICTION & FANTASY

  The Edward Bellamy Megapack

  The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack

  The Ray Cummings Megapack

  The Philip K. Dick Megapack

  The Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Edmond Hamilton Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Martian Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The H. Beam Piper Megapack

  The Pulp Fiction Megapack

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack

  The Science-Fantasy Megapack

  The First Science Fiction Megapack

  The Second Science Fiction Megapack

  The Third Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Sixth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Seventh Science Fiction Megapack

  The Robert Sheckley Megapack

  The Steampunk Megapack

  The Time Travel Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  HORROR

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Second Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The E.F.
Benson Megapack

  The Second E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Algernon Blackwood Megapack

  The Second Algernon Blackwood Megapack

  The Cthulhu Mythos Megapack

  The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack

  The Ghost Story Megapack

  The Second Ghost Story Megapack

  The Third Ghost Story Megapack

  The Haunts & Horrors Megapack

  The Horror Megapack

  The M.R. James Megapack

  The Macabre Megapack

  The Second Macabre Megapack

  The Mummy Megapack

  The Occult Detective Megapack

  The Vampire Megapack

  The Werewolf Megapack

  WESTERNS

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The Max Brand Megapack

  The Buffalo Bill Megapack

  The Cowboy Megapack

  The Zane Grey Megapack

  The Western Megapack

  The Second Western Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  YOUNG ADULT

  The Boys’ Adventure Megapack

  The Dan Carter, Cub Scout Megapack

  The Doll Story Megapack

  The G.A. Henty Megapack

  The Girl Detectives Megapack

  The Penny Parker Megapack

  The Pinocchio Megapack

  The Rover Boys Megapack

  The Tom Corbett, Space Cadet Megapack

  The Tom Swift Megapack

  AUTHOR MEGAPACKS

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Edward Bellamy Megapack

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Second E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Algernon Blackwood Megapack

  The Second Algernon Blackwood Megapack

  The Max Brand Megapack

  The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack

  The Wilkie Collins Megapack

  The Ray Cummings Megapack

  The Guy de Maupassant Megapack

  The Philip K. Dick Megapack

  The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack

  The Jacques Futrelle Megapack

  The Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Anna Katharine Green Megapack

  The Zane Grey Megapack

  The Edmond Hamilton Megapack

  The Dashiell Hammett Megapack

  The M.R. James Megapack

  The Selma Lagerlof Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack

  The Talbot Mundy Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The H. Beam Piper Megapack

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack

  The Rafael Sabatini Megapack

  The Saki Megapack

  The Robert Sheckley Megapack

  OTHER COLLECTIONS YOU MAY ENJOY

  The Great Book of Wonder, by Lord Dunsany (it should have been called “The Lord Dunsany Megapack”)

  The Wildside Book of Fantasy

  The Wildside Book of Science Fiction

  Yondering: The First Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories

  To the Stars—And Beyond! The Second Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories

  Once Upon a Future: The Third Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories

  Whodunit?—The First Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories

  More Whodunits—The Second Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories

  X is for Xmas: Christmas Mysteries

  THE EVENING RICE

  Up there in the gray North a great triple tomb thrusts its frowning parapet obliquely into space. On its outer walls, to left and right of the entrance, are bas-reliefs in sea-green majolica, representing five-claw, imperial dragons.

  It is the Fu-Ling, the Happy and August Tomb, where lies the T’ai Tzu, the Nurhachi, the Iron-capped Prince, the founder of the Manchu dynasty, who centuries ago swept out of the barren Central Asian wastes at the head of his host of red-skinned, flat-nosed horsemen, and turned placid China into a crimson shambles.

  Last year the hereditary keeper of the sacred tomb, a Ch’i-jen, a Manchu bannerman, sold it to a moon-faced Chinese farmer for a lean sack of clipped silver taels. Next year it will house the farmer’s squealing, red-bristled pigs.

  And still the Manchu has his sword and the strength of his sword-arm; still the moon-faced coolie is a coward who shrinks at the swish and crackle of naked steel.

  Yet, next year, the pigs will dirty the tomb’s yellow imperial tiles. And the pigs, too, are symbolic—and necessary. For what is the evening rice without a few slivers of fried pork?

  * * **

  The last time Ng Ch’u had seen him had been nearly forty years earlier in the squat little Manchu-Chinese border town of Ninguta, in the hushed shelter of an enameled pagoda-roof that mirrored the sun-rays a thousandfold, like countless intersecting rainbows—endless zigzag flashings of electric blue and deep rose and keen, arrogant, glaucous-green, like the shooting of dragon-flies and purple-winged tropical moths. There had been murder in the other’s, the Manchu’s, eyes; murder in the hairy, brown fist that curled about broad, glistening steel.

  But on that day he, the despised Chinese coolie, had had the whip-hand.

  “A Manchu you are!” he had said; and his eyes had glistened triumphantly through meager almond slits. “A Manchu indeed! A Pao-i bannerman, an aristocrat—sloughing your will and your passions as snakes cast their skin, brooking no master but yourself and the black desert thunder! And I am only a mud-turtle from the land of Han.” He had sucked in his breath. “But—” he had continued; had slurred and stopped.

  “But?”

  “But—there is one thing, perhaps two, which the Huang T’ai Hou, the Empress, the Old Buddha, does not forgive—not even in a Manchu, an iron-capped prince!”—and a few more words, sibilant, staccato, and at once Yang Shen-hsiu had sheathed his dagger with a little dry, metallic click and had walked away, while Ng Ch’u had returned to his home.

  There he had kowtowed deeply before an elderly peasant woman with bound feet, gnarled hands, and shriveled, berry-brown features.

  “Mother,” he had said, “I am going away today. I am going away now. I—and the Moon-beam!”—pointing into the inner room at a lissome, blue-clad form that was bending over the cooking-pots.

  “Why, son?”

  “There is Yang Shen-hsiu, the Manchu!”

  “But—I thought—”

  “Yes. I know. But a Manchu never forgets. And someday—perhaps tomorrow—his passion and his hatred, since he is a fool, will vanquish his fear. On that day—by Buddha and by Buddha—I shall not be here. Nor shall the Moon-beam!”

  Nearly forty years earlier—and now he saw him again.

  For just the fraction of a second, the unexpected sight of those glittering, hooded eyes—for he was conscious of Yang Shen-hsiu’s eyes even before he saw the rest of the face: the thin nose beaking away bold and aquiline, the high cheekbones that seemed to give beneath the pressure of the leathery, ruddy-gold skin, the compressed, sardonic lips brushed by a drooping Mandarin mustache, and the flagging, combative chin—for just the fraction of a second, the unexpected sight of those sinister eyes, rising quickly like some evil dream from the human maelstrom that streaked down Forty-second Street, threw Ng Ch’u off his guard. It conquered in him the long habit of outward self-control which he had acquired in a lifetime of tight bargaining, of matching his algebraic Mongol cunning against the equal cunning of his countrymen.

  He stopped still. His round, butter-yellow face was marked by a look of almost ludicrous alarm. His tiny, pinkish button of a nose crinkled and sniffled like that of a frightened rabbit. His pudgy, comfortable little hands opened and shut convulsively. His jaw felt swollen, out of joint. His tongue seemed heavy, clogging, like something which did not belong to him and which he mu
st try to spit out. Little blue and crimson wheels gyrated madly in front of his bulging eyes.

  Ng Ch’u was a coward. He knew it. Nor was he ashamed of it. To him—a prosy, four-square, sublimely practical Chinese—reckless, unthinking courage seemed incomprehensible, and he was too honest a man to find fascination or worth in anything he could not understand.

  Still it was one thing to be afraid, by which one lost no face to speak of, and another to appear afraid, by which one often lost a great deal of face and of profit, and so he collected himself with an effort and greeted the Manchu with his usual, faintly ironic ease of manner.

  “Ten thousand years, ten thousand years!”

  “And yet another year!” came the courtly reply; and, after a short pause, “Ah—friend Ng Ch’u!” Showing that recognition had been mutual.

  They looked at each other, smiling, tranquil, touching palm to palm. They were carefully, even meticulously, dressed: the Chinese in neat pin-stripe worsted, bowler hat, glossy cordovan brogues that showed an inch of brown-silk hose, and a sober shepherd’s-plaid necktie in which twinkled a diamond horseshoe pin; the Manchu in pontifical Prince Albert and shining high hat with the correct eight reflections. Both, at least sartorially, were a very epitome of the influence of West over East.

  * * * *

  In that motley New York crowd, nobody could have guessed that here, in neat pin-stripe worsted and pontifical Prince Albert, stood tragedy incarnate: tragedy that had started, four decades earlier, in a Manchu-Chinese border town, with a girl’s soft song flung from a painted balcony; that had threatened to congeal into darkening blood, and that had faded out in a whispered, sardonic word about the Huang T’ai Hou, the Empress, the Old Buddha, and a coolie’s stupendous Odyssey from a mud-chinked Ninguta hut to a gleaming Fifth Avenue shop; tragedy that, by the same token, had started four centuries earlier when red-faced, flat-nosed Tatars, led by iron-capped Manchu chiefs, had poured out of Central Asia, to be met by submissiveness—the baffling submissiveness of placid, yellow China—the submissiveness of a rubber ball that jumps back into place the moment you remove the pressure of your hand—the submissiveness of a race that, being old and wise, prefers the evening meal of rice and fried pork to epic, clanking heroics.

  For a moment Ng Ch’u wondered—and shivered slightly at the thought—if Yang Shen-hsiu’s perfectly tailored coat might hold the glimmer of steel. Then he reconsidered. This was New York, and the noon hour, and Forty-second Street, youthful, shrill, but filled with tame, warm conveniences, and safe—sublimely safe.