Lost World (03): Man who Missed the War, The by Wheatley Dennis

Author:Wheatley, Dennis [Wheatley, Dennis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adventure, Fantasy, Fiction, Novel, World War II
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 1945-01-20T03:00:00+00:00

12

The Dark Prince

Philip was quite convinced that he was suffering from an hallucination. Somehow, when the Canon’s ghost had actually been talking to him there had not seemed anything so terribly abnormal about that; but this was too fantastic to be real. For several days past he had been undergoing severe strain, cold and lowered vitality, owing to lack of hot or really adequate meals, so there could be no doubt about it—his brain had become temporarily affected.

Yet the black-bearded man looked very solid. He was clad entirely in furs, a conical fur hat like Robinson Crusoe’s set at a rakish angle on his head, while behind him there was a small sledge that he had evidently been dragging. Suddenly he called out in English:

‘What’s the matter with you? Can’t you speak?’

‘You are real!’ gasped Philip, taking a few steps forward. ‘My God, I’m glad to see you! But why … why on earth did you shoot at me just now?’

Tucking his rifle casually under his arm, the other suddenly broke into peals of boisterous laughter, and it flashed into Philip’s mind that perhaps he had to do with a madman; but after a moment the man stopped and began to walk forward, as he replied: ‘You looked so funny, striding along staring at the ground. I thought it would be amusing to pull you up short with a shot.’

‘But, damn it all, you might have killed me!’ Philip exclaimed angrily.

‘No, no!’ said the man. ‘There was no risk at all of my doing that because I’m a very fine shot. A very fine shot indeed.’

There was something in the way he made the boast, added to the fact that, although he spoke English with great fluency, he had quite an unusual accent, which convinced Philip that the stranger was neither British nor American.

‘Besides,’ the man went on, a grin spreading over his dark face, ‘would it have mattered very much if I had killed you? Who are you, anyway?’

After giving his name Philip asked that of the stranger with as much asperity as he could get into his tone.

‘I,’ replied the man magnificently, ‘was born Prince Fedor Solgorukin, and I am now a King.’

Philip did not believe the first statement any more than the second, and it was now clear to him that he was dealing with a dangerous lunatic; but the fact remained that the self-styled King was well clad and well fed and therefore presumably had a base much nearer than the raft. With Gloria in mind, Philip realised the imperative necessity of humouring the madman, but to address him as ‘Your Majesty’ seemed to be overdoing it, so he said:

‘Well, Prince, I’m more delighted to see you than I can possibly say. I’m the best part of five days’ march from my base, and owing to an accident, I’ve practically run out of stores. I’m sure I can count on your help, and no doubt you’ll be able to put me on the way to the whaling station.

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