The Golden Leopard

by Lynn Kerstan

  Restless and disgruntled, Duran was forced to agree, and within a few minutes, about twenty parcels and boxes had been set apart for consideration. Then he was given leave to start ripping.

  Not long after, she caught him examining a small case filled with bladed weapons, many of them boasting jewel-studded hilts.

  “A khanjar,” he said, lifting one for her inspection. “And this is a khanjarli, with a double-edged blade. A jambiya, ceremonial, with rubies.”

  “Put them back,” she said. “All of them.”

  “You could smuggle one out under your skirts. I need a weapon, Jessica.”

  “Perhaps. But I won’t help you steal one. Not from Miranda. She is helping us.”

  “She doesn’t know they’re here, dammit. She won’t miss one inconsequential knife.”

  “She will when I tell her.”

  “Shit.” He returned the daggers, slammed the lid on the box, and kicked it in her direction. “You are the most self-willed, mule-headed female west of Bombay. Don’t let me near them again.”

  Robert Paign must have educated himself since dispatching the items Old Holcombe had found insignificant. The contents of his more recent shipments were impressive enough that Duran paused now and again to show them to her and explain what they were. Particularly taken with a fourth-century stone head of a bodhisattva, he rewrapped it with care and restored it gingerly to its box.

  “I lived in India all my life,” he said when she expressed her surprise. “I wasn’t drinking and wenching the entire time.”

  “You needn’t be insulted. I had no idea you were interested in such things.”

  “Great beauty has always interested me. You, of all beautiful creatures, should know that.”

  “Oh,” she said, her cheeks burning. To cover her embarrassment, she turned back to a small box that had defied her efforts to open it and used a spanner to pry loose a strip of wood. The next came more easily, as did the third, and soon she was tugging out a thick padding of buckram stuffed with straw. Beneath it, wrapped in oilcloth and tied up with hemp twine, was a familiar shape. “Dear God,” she murmured.

  Could it be?

  Did she really want to find out?

  Of a sudden, the planned journey with Duran became the sum of her ambitions. It guaranteed her nearly two more weeks in his arms. Two more weeks to tease him and be teased by him. A little more time, far too little, to love him.

  She could put aside the box and move on to the next. He would never question it.

  Her fingertips went on fire. A simple motion, another box placed atop this one . . . Besides, it might not even contain the leopard.

  But she knew that it did. Sinking back onto her heels, she closed her eyes and demanded of herself the honesty she had only just demanded of him. “Duran,” she said unwillingly, “you had better look at this.”

  After a glance at her face, he was immediately at her side, wrenching another panel from the box. She removed a torch from the wall sconce and held it closer as he fumbled with the oilcloth. At last he found a loose end and lifted it.

  An ear. A sloping forehead. Two orange-gold eyes burning like coals over a feline muzzle.

  “I don’t bloody believe this,” Duran muttered, burying his face in his hands. “I’d begun to imagine we’d find it here, but then I came to my senses. How can this have happened?”

  “The scientific term,” she said, “is coincidence. So how do we explain to Miss Holcombe that we discovered a statue worth a fortune and intend to make off with it?”

  “We’ll have to tell her the truth, I expect, or some of it. She doesn’t strike me as a gullible female. And we need her help to keep Shivaji in the dark.”

  “I beg your pardon? The entire point of this journey was to find the leopard and give it him.”

  “That would be his interpretation. My purpose was to assemble some money—except that you wouldn’t let me steal anything—and end up at a port about the time a ship was setting out for a country that Shivaji wouldn’t follow me to.”

  “Should I be flattered that you dragged me along for the ride? And what of your promise to take care of Gerald?”

  “I’d hoped to do all of it, Jessica. But you have seen the palace guard. I can’t take a pi—a moment in private without being followed. The time spent with you has been the only good part of this. It can continue to be. We’ll go on with the search as planned, and when the opportunity presents itself, I’ll strike a deal with Shivaji.” He patted the leopard’s head. “This gives me bargaining power.”

  “I don’t see how. It belongs to Old Holcombe now.”

  “It belongs to a dead man. More properly, to Alanabad.” His strong white teeth glinted when he smiled. “But practically speaking, it belongs to me.”

  “What belongs to you?” said Miranda from the doorway, a torch in one hand and a crowbar in the other.

  After a tense silence Duran rose, took the torch, and escorted her to a wooden box. “Please be seated, Miss Holcombe. And if you will, indulge us for a time. I’m afraid we have not been entirely straightforward with you.”

  “I rather thought you hadn’t,” she said with perfect equanimity. “Do you mean to be so now?”

  “To the extent possible. Some of the story is not mine to reveal, and some of it we don’t as yet know. I shall tell you what I can. Will that suffice?”

  “How can I say?” She smiled at Jessica. “Is he trustworthy?”

  “Sometimes.” Jessica could not bring herself to deceive her. “But he does not wish you ill.”

  “Are you forming an alliance?” said Duran, slumped against the stone-block wall with his arms folded. “I am outnumbered and most likely outwitted. Miss Holcombe, we came here in search of a particular artifact, and as you surmised, we have found it. I am sorry to tell you that it was stolen from a small principality in the Deccan, probably by your cousin.”

  “I am not greatly surprised to hear it. Robert never troubled with niceties of ownership. Is there some doubt?”

  “Very little. The thief adopted the name of a dead man to join a hunting party, disappeared at the same time as the icon got pinched, and was subsequently located in Madras. He had, it seemed, succumbed to a fever. He carried no identification. Just recently we connected him with your relation, partly by another name he had adopted—Paign Goudhurst—and also by the webbing of his fingers.”

  “Yes. It is common in the family.” Miranda lifted her mittened hands. “When was he . . . discovered?”

  “About fourteen months ago,” Duran said. “He would have dispatched the parcel around that time.”

  “Shipments used to be delivered here every two or three months, but there has been nothing since January. Uncle wanted to open the last parcel, but because it was addressed to Robert, I sent it down here with the others. We have never known, I’m afraid, where he was or how to contact him. Do you mean to return the icon to its owner?”

  “Would you permit us to take it?”

  “I don’t see why not. It doesn’t belong to me, nor would my family be permitted to keep it in any case. May I see it?”

  Duran gave Jessica the torch, made an opening in the box wide enough to remove the leopard, and brought it to Miranda.

  She shook her head when he held it out for her to take. “It is quite beautiful, in a frightening sort of way. Has it religious significance?”

  Duran hunkered down in front of her, the leopard balanced on his open palms. “None I know of. It carries with it centuries of tradition, or so I’m told, and is a symbol of continuity and strength. But of late it has become a pawn in a political game, and rivals for the throne are desperate to get their hands on it. Which means,” he said, his voice cool and emphatic, “that whoever possesses the leopard is, by that fact, the object of a search by men who will kill to retrieve it.”

  “Here?” Miranda’s cool gaze lifted to his face. “In England? The men who are traveling with you?”

  “Those, yes, and perhaps others as well.
We have not encountered the enemies of the ruling nizam, but they know we are searching in England for the leopard. It is possible some were dispatched here. And there could be, as well, spies among the servants of the nizam. I don’t mean to frighten you, Miss Holcombe. But it’s important that no one becomes aware the leopard was ever here.”

  “Who would I tell?” she replied, smiling. “And who would believe such a story?”

  “Do you believe it?” Jessica asked, remembering when she’d thought Duran was making it all up. Now she thought he was making up only some of it. She just couldn’t distinguish the true bits from the false.

  “I suppose so,” Miranda said at length. “The world is filled with things that couldn’t possibly happen, or shouldn’t. It is not for me to say what is real and what is not.” She looked back at Duran. “If you take the icon with you now, will you not be in danger?”

  “I’m getting used to it,” he said with a wry grin. “But I want to protect Jessica, if I can. Here is the difficulty. The leopard must not be left in your custody, nor can we simply walk out of here with it.”

  “A dilemma, to be sure. Might I suggest a solution? How if I conceal the icon outside the castle, where you can return for it at a better time?”

  “I don’t see the point,” Jessica protested. “If anyone got so far as to think it might be here, you could be compelled to disclose the location. And we are under constant scrutiny. Duran, enough! We shall take the leopard, give it to Shivaji, and let him deal with whatever consequences there might be.”

  The look he gave her over his shoulder could have fried an egg, but she’d had enough of his connivances and deceits. She stood, went to him, and snatched the leopard away. “I am very sorry, Miss Holcombe, that we involved you in this. Once we are gone, you will no longer have anything to fear.”

  “But I fear nothing now,” Miranda said. “Nothing concerned with your icon, at any rate. My allotment of worry has been commandeered by other, less fantastical troubles, so I have none to spare for yours. To conceal the icon will be no trouble. And because I have been provokingly helpless to deal with my own problems, it would give me pleasure to accomplish something of use for a change.”

  She had spoken calmly, but there was a plea in her eyes. Jessica recognized it. She, too, felt helpless in the face of the troubles besieging her. At whatever risk, she wanted to overcome at least one of them. How could she deny Miss Holcombe the right to choose for herself?

  Duran had withdrawn into the shadows, blessedly leaving the females to sort things out for themselves. “Are you sure?” Jessica asked, the leopard burning in her hands.

  “Quite sure.” Miranda rose. “There is an abandoned ice house dug into the limestone not far from here. I came across it quite by accident. It lies in a copse of birch about half a mile directly north of the gatehouse, and only the tops of the trees are visible from the castle. You should have no difficulty locating it and recovering the icon without being seen. Was there anything else you wished to secure?”

  “No,” said Jessica before Duran could mention the knives. “We are most grateful for your assistance.”

  “Then one day, if all goes well, perhaps you will tell me what occurred. For now, I’m afraid the dogs will already have been let loose in the house, so if you are to leave, I must distract them. Shall we go?”

  Not liking to do it, Jessica returned the leopard to the box and by Miranda’s direction, placed it in a cubbyhole behind a small grate. Duran relocked the dungeon and they all trooped back the way they’d come, leaving the extinguished torches in the guardroom and reentering the hidden passageway.

  When they reached the concealed panel, Miranda gave Jessica the candle she was carrying. “I’ll leave the panel a little open so that you can hear what is going on upstairs. There will be a great clamor of barking and probably some swearing. When it concludes, count to twenty and then move quickly. Turn right and go to the door at the end of the passageway. It will take you out the back way, avoiding questions about where we have been and what you have been doing. Good-bye for now. I hope we shall meet again.”

  “But what are you going to do?” Jessica said. “Will the dogs hurt you?”

  “They know me. I wish only to distract them while you depart. My cats will take care of that.”

  “Good heavens,” said Jessica with some awe. Since they met, Miranda Holcombe had not ceased to astonish her. “The poor cats.”

  “Not at all. They are wily and exceedingly fast. The dogs are stupid, not nearly so fast, and they cannot climb curtains.”

  Then she was gone, leaving Duran and Jessica to look at each other in wonder.

  Chapter 23

  Shivaji, flanked by Arjuna holding a lantern, was waiting for them just the other side of the drawbridge. It was only when Duran saw the slight narrowing of his eyes that he realized they were still wearing the protective smocks Miranda Holcombe had lent them.

  “No luck, I’m afraid,” he said, removing the smock and submitting to Shivaji’s light-fingered but thorough search. “The man doesn’t collect. He accumulates. Amasses. No discrimination whatever. But he gave us carte blanche to search everywhere, including the kitchen cupboards, so we did.”

  Jessica pulled off her smock as well and shook it out. Dust flew. “All this long detour is my fault, and I am dreadfully sorry it has been such a waste. Except for bringing Lord Philpot the necklace, of course. But I wish I’d never mentioned his suggestion that we come here.”

  They both sounded a bit chirpy, Duran thought. On edge, as indeed they were. He’d better provide Shivaji a reason for it. “There were dogs,” he said. “Old Holcombe’s thugs loosed them when it got dark, and we had the devil of a time getting out. I sent the kitchen cat to draw them off while we made tracks to the back door. Everyone in that wretched place is queer in the attic.”

  “A little mad,” Jessica explained when Shivaji glanced over at her. “And they were drinking the wine Lord Philpot sent as a gift, which made them a little madder. Duran wanted to leave earlier, when it became obvious that Mr. Holcombe had collected little of value, but I insisted we keep on with the search.” She sighed. “Until we heard the dogs. Then we ran.”

  “There is no harm done,” Shivaji said as he led them down the winding road to the carriage. “Except to the horses, which have stood overlong in harness. We shall not proceed to Clifton. One of my riders has returned with word of a posthouse, but to go there by the shortest way will require travel on a rough and narrow road.”

  It was a moonless night, and patchy clouds obscured much of the sky. From several directions, Duran saw, the Others were coming in from their positions around the castle, and by some trick of multiplication, there were twelve of them now. Had he entertained the notion of slipping through a fallen-down wall and into the Mendips, he wouldn’t have got far. But now he knew where the leopard could be found, and one way or another, by God, he’d shake loose of his captors and come back for it.

  Arjuna ignited the carriage lanterns and pulled several torches from the boot while Shivaji gave orders in a dialect unfamiliar to Duran. Four of the men, flaming torches in their hands, moved in front of the coach, and the others stayed to the rear.

  Quite a little procession for this backwater road. Since everyone else was busy, Duran lowered the carriage steps and helped Jessica inside. Her arm trembled, and she caught her foot on the top step. He should have taken greater care with her. Despite his exhilaration, he was tired, and she must be as well. Also nervous and overset because he had not presented the leopard to Shivaji, which she didn’t know was tantamount to offering his throat for the slitting.

  He climbed in beside her, brushed back her hair with his thumbs, and gave her a soft kiss. “You were splendid tonight,” he said. “As always. I don’t want you to worry about what happens next. I have no more idea about that than you do. But I’ll not be reckless, and I swear I won’t put you in danger.”

  “Do you imagine that is my concern? Don’t patronize
me, Duran. We are both in this up to our eyebrows. All I ask is that we take no one else with us.”

  “Agreed,” he said, meaning it. His own selfishness gnawed at his guts like rats at a cheese. If he could begin again, he’d not draw Jessica into his ordeal, or perhaps he only wanted to believe that. In most ways it was the same old game, the one dealt by the nizam nearly a year ago, but now he had an ace up his sleeve. And ten days to see how it all played out, and Jessie with him until he gathered the strength to send her away.

  But who would have thought he’d find the damn leopard? Who except Shivaji? He didn’t like thinking about that, and was glad when the carriage began to move.

  They had been traveling nearly an hour, Jessica nestled asleep against his chest, when a scream—from an animal, he thought at first—stampeded the horses.

  Jessica sprang awake. He held on to her as the carriage rocked and swerved. Tree branches slapped the panels and scraped the window glass.

  More screams. Shouts. The blast of gunfire.

  He pushed her onto the floor and covered her with his body. A bullet came through the window, sending shards of glass raining over them. Tossed about like dice in a shaker, they could do nothing but cling to each other as the coach bounced and swayed.

  Jessica gasped out a word. “Highwaymen?”

  “No.” He couldn’t lie to her now. He’d recognized the cries of the attackers. Jai! It meant “victory!”

  The nizam’s enemies had caught up with them.

  Another burst of gunfire, some of it close to hand. A scream from the driver’s bench. The coach veered to the left. He went with it, his head crashing against the door. Jessica was trapped somewhere under his legs. The carriage rocked, teetered, righted itself again. And then, with a jolt that sent them both nearly to the ceiling and back again, it came to a halt.

  Eerie silence. Dragging himself to the broken window, he raised his head and looked outside. Fallen torches, still afire, cast shadows over the trees and the ground and the figures struggling there. Men were fighting hand-to-hand, expending no breath on sound. A riderless horse went by.