Dagger Magic

The abbot and his aides were arrayed in caftan-like chubas of black brocade, the loose folds belted and bloused, with shoulder fastenings of gold. Over this, each member of the trio wore a short coat of heavy orange silk, surmounted by a toga-like mantle of the same material. The features of the two attendants were unmistakably Oriental, but the abbot himself was a Westerner. His ice-blue eyes and pale, regular features proclaimed Nordic blood, though his head was shaven clean, like those of his companions.

As the congregation of his humbler followers respectfully abased themselves before him, he led the way across the floor to a raised dais on the east side of the room. An expectant silence fell as he folded himself cross-legged onto the low, gilded throne which awaited him there. Before his two senior attendants took their places to either side of him, they paused at the edge of the dais to kindle two more lamps. As the twin lights flared, a deep-toned chant broke out from all sides.

The liturgy was conducted in the language of Tibet. The abbot himself led the chanting in a voice devoid of any trace of a Western accent. To the chorus of voices was added the occasional music of a small consort of Tibetan instruments - reed-like gyalings and trumpet-like ragdongs, played to the rhythm of a pair of kettledrums. Over all wafted the fragrance of incense mingled with the fumes from the lamps.

At the conclusion of the service, the abbot paused briefly to salute the statues of his predecessors before departing from the hall. A serving brother was waiting just outside the door and bowed low, joined hands pressed to his forehead.

"Pardon if I intrude, Rinpoche, but Kurkar-la and Nagpo-la have returned. I am instructed to ask if you will speak with them now or at some later time."

"I will see them now," the abbot said coolly. "Bring them to me here."

With another bow, the serving brother departed. When he returned a moment later, he was followed by two very senior-ranking monks, one of exceedingly venerable years. The abbot's blue eyes narrowed slightly as he searched their faces, but after a moment, his chiselled features eased.

"Come," he said, also instructing the serving brother to bring refreshment to his chambers.

The apartment to which he led them was opulently appointed. Butter lamps of gold and silver filigree flooded the room with wan, flickering light. The febrile glow of the flames picked out the jewel-like weave of a number of Oriental carpets warming the polished wooden floor on which they lay. Incense smoke from several gem-studded braziers filled the air with a heavy perfume redolent of opium and sandalwood.

Each of the four corners of the room was dominated by the presence of a heavy, triple-edged dagger standing as tall and bulky as a man, set upright by its point in a stand fashioned in the shape of an equilateral triangle. Thus positioned, the daggers had the look almost of sentries on guard. The pommel ends of the wooden daggers bore intricate traceries of carving, in patterns reminiscent of grinning masks. The wavering light of the butter lamps lent the carvings a disquieting illusion of movement, as if the weapons themselves harbored some malevolent life of their own. Though clearly made of wood, not metal, in all other respects they bore a kindred resemblance to the smaller metal daggers the two newly arrived monks were carrying thrust through the backs of their belts.

Entering the room behind the abbot, the two monks paused to offer each of the standing daggers a formal salute. Hands pressed flat together, they bowed low from the waist, lightly touching the tips of their fingers to forehead, throat, and heart in a gesture of reverence.

On the side of the room opposite the door stood a low dais, luxuriously carpeted and strewn with flat cushions of rich brocade. To this the abbot mounted, seating himself cross-legged on one of the pillows and beckoning his two subordinates to places before him. As they settled, a servant dispensed Tibetan tea laced with butter and salt into bowls of fine porcelain ornamented with gold leaf. Only after he had withdrawn did the abbot speak, lifting his bowl in salute.

"You have returned in good time," he said, in his fluent, unaccented Tibetan. "Tell me how you fared in your mission."

"The news we bring is mixed, Rinpoche," said the younger monk. "Finding the cave presented no difficulty. The signs were all there to be read with the eyes of knowledge. We entered and found the submarine resting where the records said she would be. Regrettably, however, our visit did not go unnoticed."

The abbot's brow furrowed. "Explain."

The elder monk inclined his head. "A man came ashore from a boat. A second remained with the craft. They must have glimpsed us from the water and become curious enough to investigate. An unfortunate trait. Both have been eliminated, and will cause no further interference."