“Aye, and it is good that you must expect, good in the future as in the past, for you, Macumazahn, who are brave in your own fashion, without being a fool like Umslopogaas, and, although you know it not, like some master-smith, forge my assegais out of the red ore I give you, tempering them in the blood of men, and yet keep your mind innocent and your hands clean.  Friends like you are useful to such as I, Macumazahn, and must be well paid in those wares that please them.”

The old wizard brooded for a space, while I reflected upon his amazing cynicism, which interested me in a way, for the extreme of unmorality is as fascinating to study as the extreme of virtue and often more so.  Then jerking up his great head, he asked suddenly,

“What message had the White Queen for me?”

“She said that you troubled her too much at night in dreams, Zikali.”

“Aye, but if I cease to do so, ever she desires to know the reason why, for I hear her asking me in the voices of the wind, or in the twittering of bats.  After all, she is a woman, Macumazahn, and it must be dull sitting alone from year to year with naught to stay her appetite save the ashes of the past and dreams of the future, so dull that I wonder, having once meshed you in her web, how she found the heart to let you go before she had sucked out your life and spirit.  I suppose that having made a mock of you and drained you dry, she was content to throw you aside like an empty gourd.  Perchance, had she kept you at her side, you would have been a stone in her path in days to come.  Perchance, Macumazahn, she waits for other travellers and would welcome them, or one of them alone, saying nothing of a certain Watcher-by-Night who has served her turn and vanished into the night.

“But what other message had the White Queen for the poor old savage witch-doctor whose talk wearies her so much in her haunted sleep?”

Then I told him of the picture that Ayesha had shown me in the water; the picture of a king dying in a hut and of two who watched his end.

Zikali listened intently to every word, then broke into a peal of his unholy laughter.

“Oho-ho!” he laughed, “so all goes well, though the road be long, since whatever this White One may have shown you in the fire of the heavens above, she could show you nothing but truth in the water of the earth below, for that is the law of our company of seers.  You have worked well for me, Macumazahn, and you have had your fee, the fee of the vision of the dead which you desired above all mortal things.”

“Aye,” I answered indignantly, “a fee of bitter fruits whereof the juice burns and twists the mouth and the stones still stick fast within the gizzard.  I tell you, Zikali, that she stuffed my heart with lies.”

“I daresay, Macumazahn, I daresay, but they were very pretty lies, were they not?  And after all I am sure that there was wisdom in them, as you will discover when you have thought them over for a score of years.