Part 25 (1/2)
”Is this where the King hangs out? Nicholas' father lives here?”
”No. This is the Kazhga.”
”Oh, the Kachime. Ain't you comin' in?”
”Oh no.”
”Why?”
His guide had a fit of laughter, and then turned to go.
”Say, what's your name?”
The answer sounded like ”Muckluck.”
And just then Nicholas crawled out of the tunnel-like opening leading into the council-house. He jumped up, beaming at the sight of his friend.
”Say, Nicholas, who's this fella that's always laughing, no matter what you say? Calls himself 'Muckluck.'”
The individual referred to gave way to another spasm of merriment, which infected Nicholas.
”My sister--this one,” he explained.
”Oh-h!” The Boy joined in the laugh, and pulled off his Arctic cap with a bow borrowed straight from the Colonel.
”Princess Muckluck, I'm proud to know you.”
”Name no Muckluck,” began Nicholas; ”name Mahk----”
”Mac? Nonsense! Mac's a man's name--she's Princess Muckluck. Only, how's a fella to tell, when you dress her like a man?”
The Princess still giggled, while her brother explained.
”No like man. See?” He showed how the skirt of her deerskin parki, reaching, like her brother's, a little below the knee, was shaped round in front, and Nicholas's own--all men's parkis were cut straight across.
”I see. How's your father?”
Nicholas looked grave; even Princess Muckluck stopped laughing.
”Come,” said Nicholas, and the Boy followed him on all fours into the Kachime.
Entering on his stomach, he found himself in a room about sixteen by twenty feet, two-thirds underground, log-walls c.h.i.n.ked with moss, a roof of poles sloping upwards, tent-like, but leaving an opening in the middle for a smoke-hole some three feet square, and covered at present by a piece of thin, translucent skin. With the sole exception of the smoke-hole, the whole thing was so covered with earth, and capped with snow, that, expecting a mere cave, one was surprised at the wood-lining within. The Boy was still more surprised at the concentration, there, of malignant smells.
He gasped, and was for getting out again as fast as possible, when the bearskin flap fell behind him over the Kachime end of the entrance-tunnel.
Through the tobacco-smoke and the stifling air he saw, vaguely, a grave gathering of bucks sitting, or, rather, lounging and squatting, on the outer edge of the wide sleeping-bench that ran all round the room, about a foot and a half from the hewn-log floor.
Their solemn, intent faces were lit grotesquely by the uncertain glow of two seal-oil lamps, mounted on two posts, planted one in front of the right sleeping-bench, the other on the left.
The Boy hesitated. Was it possible he could get used to the atmosphere?