under control, at least we do after our first kill, which is kind of an initiation, to see if the life will suit you. After that first kill, we don’t do anything…impulsive. The pack agrees on the prey, and then we put on our collars, seek out the offender—” He stopped as if trying to find a way to explain.
“Then what?” Jake demanded, excited by what he heard even though it was only a dream.
Ben frowned with concentration. “When we have him cornered, we go in as a pack, and…and…” Suddenly he smiled. “And Bob’s your uncle!”
Certain now that this had to be a dream, but fully alert, Jake sat up so quickly that he banged his forehead on one of the jungle-gym’s bars. “And Bob’s your uncle?” he repeated.
“And everything works out,” said Ben. “We’re safe; we leave no incriminating evidence behind us, and we go back to our jobs and families except on those nights when our pack meets.” He put his large, thick hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Think about it, okay? We’d be glad to have you.”
Jake’s thoughts were suddenly racing, and possibilities flared in his mind. This was so much cooler than Shape Shifter! Dream or no dream, he was suddenly all for trying this promise of a secret identity life, just to see what it was like; he took the collar and held it up, squinting at the arcane writing on it. “What does it say?”
“It tells your body how to change,” said Ben as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
“This dream gets better and better,” Jake exclaimed as he tied the collar around his neck, expecting nothing much to happen. Almost at once he felt a straining of his arms and a lengthening of his foot, his heel rising and making a sharp bend in his leg. His neck and shoulders changed, and his ears did something creepy on his head. His nose thrust out of his face and his teeth rearranged themselves in his suddenly much longer mouth. Looking down he saw his hands condense into paws with long, hard nails, and he felt the base of his spine tingle as his tail appeared. For a minute or so he itched fiercely as the fur sprouted, and then he could seen more clearly in the night and he was overwhelmed by the rich sea of odors everywhere.
Ben patted his head. “Good boy, Jake. Give it a try. See how it feels. Make the most of your first kill.”
Jake tried to say all right, or even cool, but his mouth could no longer accommodate the shape of the words, so he yipped, then started off, clumsily at first, but gaining balance and confidence as he hurried toward 22 Barrington Court, to find out what Uncle Bob and Mom would think of him now.
THE MARK OF THE BEAST, by Rudyard Kipling
Your Gods and my Gods-do you or I know which are the stronger?
—Native Proverb.
* * * *
East of Suez, some hold, the direct control of Providence ceases; Man being there handed over to the power of the Gods and Devils of Asia, and the Church of England Providence only exercising an occasional and modified supervision in the case of Englishmen.
This theory accounts for some of the more unnecessary horrors of life in India: it may be stretched to explain my story.
My friend Strickland of the Police, who knows as much of natives of India as is good for any man, can bear witness to the facts of the case. Dumoise, our doctor, also saw what Strickland and I saw. The inference which he drew from the evidence was entirely incorrect. He is dead now; he died, in a rather curious manner, which has been elsewhere described.
When Fleete came to India he owned a little money and some land in the Himalayas, near a place called Dharmsala. Both properties had been left him by an uncle, and he came out to finance them. He was a big, heavy, genial, and inoffensive man. His knowledge of natives was, of course, limited, and he complained of the difficulties of the language.
He rode in from his place in the hills to spend New Year in the station, and he stayed with Strickland. On New Year’s Eve there was a big dinner at the club, and the night was excusably wet. When men foregather from the uttermost ends of the Empire, they have a right to be riotous. The Frontier had sent down a contingent o’ Catch-’em-Alive-O’s who had not seen twenty white faces for a year, and were used to ride fifteen miles to dinner at the next Fort at the risk of a Khyberee bullet where their drinks should lie. They profited by their new security, for they tried to play pool with a curled-up hedgehog found in the garden, and one of them carried the marker round the room in his teeth. Half a dozen planters had come in from the south and were talking “horse” to the Biggest Liar in Asia, who was trying to cap all their stories at once. Everybody was there, and there was a general closing up of ranks and taking stock of our losses in dead or disabled that had fallen during the past year. It was a very wet night, and I remember that we sang “Auld Lang Syne” with our feet in the Polo Championship Cup, and our heads among the stars, and swore that we were all dear friends. Then some of us went away and annexed Burma, and some tried to open up the Soudan and were opened up by Fuzzies in that cruel scrub outside Suakim, and some found stars and medals, and some were married, which was bad, and some did other things which were worse, and the others of us stayed in our chains and strove to make money on insufficient experiences.
Fleete began the night with sherry and bitters, drank champagne steadily up to dessert, then raw, rasping Capri with all the strength of whisky, took Benedictine with his coffee, four or five whiskies and sodas to improve his pool strokes, beer and bones at half-past two, winding up with old brandy. Consequently, when he came out, at half-past three in the morning, into fourteen degrees of frost, he was very angry with his horse for coughing, and tried to leapfrog into the saddle. The horse broke away and went to his stables; so Strickland and I formed a Guard of Dishonour to take Fleete home.
Our road lay through the bazaar, close to a little temple of Hanuman, the Monkey-god, who is a leading divinity worthy of respect. All gods have good points, just as have all priests. Personally, I attach much importance to Hanuman, and am kind to his people—the great gray apes of the hills. One never knows when one may want a friend.
There was a light in the temple, and as we passed, we could hear voices of men chanting hymns. In a native temple, the priests rise at all hours of the night to do honour to their god. Before we could stop him, Fleete dashed up the steps, patted two priests on the back, and was gravely grinding the ashes of his cigar-butt into the forehead of the red stone image of Hanuman. Strickland tried to drag him out, but he sat down and said solemnly:
“Shee that? ‘Mark of the B-beasht! I made it. Ishn’t it fine?”
In half a minute the temple was alive and noisy, and Strickland, who knew what came of polluting gods, said that things might occur. He, by virtue of his official position, long residence in the country, and weakness for going among the natives, was known to the priests and he felt unhappy. Fleete sat on the ground and refused to move. He said that “good old Hanuman” made a very soft pillow.
Then, without any warning, a Silver Man came out of a recess behind the image of the god. He was perfectly naked in that bitter, bitter cold, and his body shone like frosted silver, for he was what the Bible calls “a leper as white as snow.” Also he had no face, because he was a leper of some years’ standing and his disease was heavy upon him. We two stooped to haul Fleete up, and the temple was filling and filling with folk who seemed to spring from the earth, when the Silver Man ran in under our arms, making a noise exactly like the mewing of an otter, caught Fleete round the body and dropped his head on Fleete’s breast before we could wrench him away. Then he retired to a corner and sat mewing while the crowd blocked all the doors.
The priests were very angry until the Silver Man touched Fleete. That nuzzling
