Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur - Страница 11
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gather up the robed and bearded group of excited old men and herd them
gently away from the display of weapons and down the warehouse to the
open tourers.
The motorcade, headed by Gareth, Jake and the Prince in the leading
tourer, came bumping down the dusty track through the mahogany forest
and parked in the clearing in front of the candy-striped marquee that
had taken the place of Jake's weather-beaten bell tent.
The Royal Hotel had undertaken to cater for the occasion, despite
Jake's protests at the cost.
"Give them a bottle of Tusker each and open a tin of beans," he
insisted, but Gareth had shaken his head sadly.
"Just because they are savages doesn't mean that we have to behave like
barbarians, old chap. Style. One has to have style that's what life
is all about. Style and timing. Fill them up with Charlie and then
take them for a stroll down the garden path, what?" Now there were
white-robed waiters with red sashes and little red pillbox fezes upon
their heads. Under the marquee, long trestle-tables were laden with
displays of choice food decorated sucking pig, heaped salvers of boiled
scarlet reef lobster, a smoked salmon, imported apples and peaches from
the Cape of Good Hope and case upon case, bucket upon bucket of
champagne. Although Gareth had been swayed t by Jake's pleas for
economy sufficiently to order a Veuve Clicquot not of a selected
vintage.
The Prince and his entourage disembarked to a salvo of champagne corks
and the elderly courtiers crowed with delight. Quite by chance,
Gareth had struck upon the Ethiopians" love of feasting and strong
sense of hospitality.
Little that he could have done would have endeared him more to his
guests.
"I say, this is very decent of you, my dear Swales" said the
Prince. With his innate sense of courtesy, he had not used Gareth's
nickname since the first greeting. Gareth was grateful and when the
glasses were filled he called for the first toast.
"His Majesty, Negusa Nagast, King of Kings, Emperor Baile
Selassie, Lion of Judah." And they drained their glasses, which seemed
to be the correct form, so Gareth and Jake imitated them, and then they
fell upon the food, giving Gareth a chance to whisper to Jake, "Think
up some more toasts we've got to get them filled up." But he needn't
have worried for the Prince came in with: "His Britannic Majesty,
George V, King of England and Emperor of India." And no sooner were
the glasses filled again than he bowed to Jake and lifted his glass.
"The President of the United States of America, Mr. Franklin D.
Roosevelt." Not to be outdone, each of the courtiers shouted an
unintelligible toast in Amharic, presumably to the Prince and his
father and mother and aunts, uncles and nieces, and the glasses were
upended. The waiters rushed back and forth to the steady report of
champagne corks.
"The Governor of the British Colony of Tanganyika." Gareth lifted his
glass, slurring slightly.
"And the Governor's daughter," Jake murmured sardonically.
This provoked another round of toasts from the robed guests, and then
it dawned on Jake and Gareth simultaneously that it was folly to try
drinking level with men who had been bred and reared on the fiery tej
of Ethiopia.
"How are you feeling?" muttered Gareth anxiously, squinting slightly
to focus.
Beautiful, "Jake grinned at him beatifically.
"By God, these fellows know how to pack it away."
"Keep pounding them, Forty. You've got them on the run." With his
empty glass he indicated the smiling but sober group of courtiers.
"I'd be grateful if you could refrain from using that name, old chap.
Distasteful, what? Not in the best of style." Gareth slapped his
shoulder with bonhomie and almost missed. A look of concern crossed
his face. "How do I sound?"
"You sound like I feel. We'd better get out of here before they drink
us flat on our backs."
"Oh
God, there he goes again," Gareth muttered with alarm as the Prince
raised his brimming glass and looked about him expectantly. "Wine with
you, my dear Swales," he called as he caught Gareth's eyes.
"Enchanted, I'm sure." Gareth had no choice but to acknowledge and
toss off the contents of his glass before hurrying forward to intercept
the waiter who darted in to recharge the Prince's empty glass.
"Toffee, old sport, I do want you to see this little surprise I
have for you." He grabbed the Prince's drinking arm and prised the
glass from his grip. "Come along, everybody. This way, chaps." Among
the grey-bearded courtiers there was a decided reluctance to leave the
marquee, and Jake had to assist Gareth. Both-of them spreading their
arms and making shooing noises, they finally got them moving down the
track through the forest which emerged a hundred yards farther on into
an open glade the size of a polo field.
A stunned silence fell upon the party as they saw the row of four iron
ladies, gleaming in their new coats of grey, with the heavily jacketed
water-cooled barrels of the Vickers machine guns protruding from the
ports and the rakish turrets emblazoned with the tricolour horizontal
bars of the Ethiopian national colours green, yellow and red.
Like sleep-walkers, they allowed themselves to be led to the row of
chairs under the umbrellas, and without removing their gaze from the
war machines they sank into their seats.
Gareth stood in front of them like a schoolmaster, but swaying
slightly.
"Gentlemen, we have here one of the most versatile armoured vehicles
ever brought into service by any major military power And while he
paused for the Prince to translate, he grinned triumphantly at
Jake.
"Start them up, old son." As the first engine burst into life, the
elderly courtiers came to their feet and applauded like the crowd at a
prize fight.
"Fifteen hundred quid each," whispered Gareth, his eyes sparkling,
"they'll go fifteen hundred!" ij Mikhael had invited them to dine in
his suite aboard the Dunnottar Castle, and over Jake's Protests a
short-order tailor had run up a passable dinner jacket to fit Jake's
tall rangy frame.
"I look like I'm in fancy dress, "he objected.
"You look like a duke," Gareth contradicted. "It gives you a bit of
style. Style, Jake me lad, always remember. Style! If you look like
a tramp, people will treat you as one." Lij Mikhael Sagud wore a
magnificently embroidered cloak in gold and scarlet and black, clasped
at the throat with a dark red ruby the size of a ripe acorn,
tieht-fitting velvet breeches and slippers embroidered with twenty-four
carat gold wire. The dinner had been excellent and the Prince seemed
in a mellow mood.
"Now, my dear Swales. The prices for the machine guns and the other
armaments were decided months ago but the armoured cars were never
mentioned. Would you like to suggest a reasonable figure?"
"Your
Excellency, I had in mind a fair figure before I realized it was you
I
was dealing with-" Gareth drew deeply on one of the Prince's Havana
cigars, steeling himself for the wild flying chance he was going to
take. "Now, of course, I am prepared merely to cover my costs and
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