Reggie stood up, brushing a twig from his trousers. “I think we’d best be moving along now,” he remarked casually. “We don’t want to tarry.”
“I should think not,” Dollie replied, struggling to her feet as Private Stanton assisted her. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I feel utterly refreshed. Amazing what a good meal in pleasant company can do for one, isn’t it? Are we ready?”
“Ready,” Reggie said. “Let’s—uh—try to move a mite faster, see if we can make a little better time.”
“You lead, McAllister, we’ll follow,” Dollie told him. “After that lovely meal I feel I could run a relay race.”
We moved down the trail, quickly, not really running, not sauntering. Dollie puffed and panted, and her springy black ringlets were beginning to wilt, but she still managed to make her lighthearted comments and call encouragement to the rest of us. I was bone weary, and it seemed my lungs were about to burst, that I would stumble and fall in an exhausted heap at any moment, so I knew how hard it must be on Dollie, older, heavier, yet forging ahead with considerable brio. We paused to rest every half hour or so, stopping for no more than five minutes at a time, and then we moved on, striving to keep up the pace Reggie set.
Two hours passed, three, four, and soon it was mid-afternoon, the sun pouring down in scorching rays, the jungle steaming. I felt sure the Thugs were right behind us, would fall upon us at any moment, but another hour passed, another, and the sun was going down and long shadows spread across the path and it grew cooler. Still they didn’t come. Twilight was beginning to fall, the air taking on a hazy purple-blue tint, the shadows deepening, green gradually fading to black, and we were hungry and tired, and it was then that we heard the noises ahead: voices, shuffling footsteps, the clatter of tin, the stiff rustle of canvas, the unmistakable whinny of horses.
The voices were English. There was laughter, too, hearty, boisterous, carrying through the jungle like the sweetest of music. Five minutes later we stumbled into the English camp: canvas tents pitched in a clearing near the river, almost a hundred men milling about, camp fires glowing like yellow-gold flowers in the deepening haze. Major Albertson, Reggie’s second in command, was in charge of the detachment, and he was both startled and relieved to see us.
“Thank God you’re alive!” he exclaimed.
“Just barely,” Dollie told him. “Am I imagining things, or is that beef I smell cooking?”
“It is indeed, ma’am. We didn’t know whether you were dead or alive. When Gordon discovered that the rajah was involved with the—”
Dollie held out her arm, stopping him before he really began. “You’re here, Major—it’s a miracle, but you’re here. We’re eager to know why, naturally, but first I wonder if we could sit down a spell and have something to eat?”
Reggie frowned, not at all pleased with his wife’s summary manner, but he was too exhausted himself to reprimand her. Major Albertson had his officers double up, providing tents for us, and then he saw that we were fed. Night had fallen by the time we finished eating, the jungle shrouded in a dense black darkness, the camp fires burning dark orange now. The nine of us sat around one of the fires with Major Albertson and two other officers. Dozens of stalwart men prowled about the camp around us, affording a glorious sense of security, and a scouting party had just returned to report that there were no signs of Thugs anywhere near the area. Reggie gave the major an account of all that had happened, and then Major Albertson told us what had transpired from his end.
“Gordon’s responsible for our being here,” he said. “The man might have unorthodox methods, but he certainly knows how to get the job done—I have to admit it. Somehow or other, it seems he got hold of one of those yellow scarves—rumals, they call ’em, the scarves the Thugs use to strangle their victims—”
“I gave it to him,” Sally interrupted. “It must have been the scarf I gave to him.”
“Anyway, he sent it off to have it analyzed, thinking he could learn something about the scarf—where it was made, what kind of dye was used. He was growing impatient, waiting for the report to come, so he went to Delhi himself, and, sure enough, the report was ready, just hadn’t been sent. It seems the dye was a very special yellow.…”
The major hesitated just a moment, and I suddenly thought about those gorgeous yellow silk drapes I had seen in the palace, drapes like spun air tinted with color, and I knew what he was going to say.
“That particular yellow dye was created especially for the rajah. No one else is allowed to use it. Gordon rode back to Dahlkari, nonstop, arriving in the middle of the night. He went directly to the palace. There were a number of questions he wanted answered, and he figured the rajah’s chamberlain could answer them for him. He—uh—he was in no mood to bother with protocol. He figured the chap might be uncooperative so he slipped into the palace and kidnapped him.”
“Kidnapped him?” Reggie exclaimed.
“It was the middle of the night, like I said. The chamberlain was in his room, fast alseep. Gordon pounced on him, tied a gag around his mouth, slung him over his shoulder and carried him out of the palace—I might add that the chamberlain weighs a good two hundred and fifty pounds.” The major paused, grinning, clearly relishing every detail. “Gordon took him out into the woods, lashed his wrists together and strung him up to a tree, had him hanging there like a pig ready for slaughter. Then he took out his riding crop and tore the robe off the chap’s back and told him that he intended to beat him to death if he didn’t answer some questions.”
“The man’s insane!” Reggie blustered, and then he grinned, too. “Just the same, I’d like to have been there. Never could abide that bloody chamberlain. Fellow’s a fat, pompous ass.”
“Gordon got his answers,” the major continued. “He tied the gag back around the chamberlain’s mouth and left him hanging there—rather inconsiderate, I’ll admit, but he was in a bit of a hurry. He roused the garrison, caused quite a stir, snapping orders left and right. He ordered me to bring a detachment to come after the rajah, and he took another detachment himself to head for the Thugs’ camp. The chamberlain gave him specific directions. We were on our way by dawn.”
“The rajah and his men left their campsite last night,” Reggie said. “They crept off in the middle of the night, leaving us to die at the hands of the assassins. Makes my blood boil every time I think of it! If they were heading back to the palace, seems like you’d have run into ’em.”
“We did,” the major replied. “I haven’t finished yet. The caravan was heading down the trail, and they ran into us in the middle of the morning—around ten o’clock, I’d say. The rajah was as cool as could be, pretended nothing was wrong. I asked him where you folks were. He said you’d stayed behind for another day’s hunting on your own. Then I told him that we’d found out he was in league with the Thugs and would have to place him under arrest.” He paused, savoring the dramatic effect.
“Well, get on with it, man!” Dollie snapped. “What happened?”
“Damdest thing I ever saw—begging your pardon, ladies. He ordered those chaps in silver and blue to attack us. There couldn’t have been over twenty of them, and us with over a hundred. They just stood there, grumbling among themselves, looking dismayed at what they’d heard, and suddenly one of them let out a wild shriek and seized his dagger out of his sash. Before any of us could stop him he rushed over to the rajah and plunged the dagger into his breast—killing him instantly. Turns out the fellow’s family had been killed by the Thugs a number of years ago. His men might be the vilest lot of ruffians you’d care to encounter, but evidently none of them had any idea he was involved with the Thugs.”
The rajah was dead, murdered by one of his own men. It was hard to believe. Only last night he had been lolling there on the blue velvet cushions, clad all in silver, diamonds and sapphires flashing, a coarse, brutal male animal with a silken voice and smoldering dark eyes that devoured me. He was dead, like Michael, like all the others. I folded my arms
across my waist, gazing into the fire, feeling nothing.
“The men will have to be questioned, of course,” Major Albertson continued. “I realize that. There was nothing I could do but arrest the fellow who stabbed the rajah. I figured the important thing at the moment was finding you folks, so I sent the caravan on back to Dahlkari with an escort and the rest of us traveled hard all day, not knowing whether you were dead or alive, like I said. I knew we couldn’t do any good at night, so I gave orders to make camp soon as the light began to go so we could be on our way first thing in the morning. Then you came staggering into camp.”
“I guess it’s almost over now,” Dollie remarked.
The major nodded. “Gordon and his men should reach the Thuggee camp sometime tomorrow. He has a hundred and fifty men with him. They’ll bring the whole lot of ’em in. They’re the last, I understand. After tomorrow the society of Thuggee will no longer exist.”
“I owe Gordon an apology,” Reggie said quietly.
“I think we all do,” Major Albertson agreed. “I disliked him the first time I ever saw him. Fellow rubbed me the wrong way right off. We were all prejudiced against him.”
“He’s done a superb job,” Captain Palin said. “There’s no denying he knew exactly what he was doing every step of the way.”
Burke and I exchanged glances, both of us silent. He sat on the ground with his arms folded across his chest, his rugged face expressionless. The dancing flames cast flickering shadows over all of us. Sergeant Norman sat very close to Sally, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Seeing them like that caused a curious ache, their closeness and contentment emphasizing the emptiness and desolation I felt inside.
“Well, I for one could use some sleep,” Dollie announced. “I suggest we all retire to our tents. I assume we’ll be heading straight back to Dahlkari in the morning?” Reggie was in command now, and the question was addressed to him.
“Right,” he said. “I’ll send some of the men to—to gather up our dead, the four killed this morning and Michael and those poor lads who were murdered in their camp the night before. The rest of us will return to the garrison.”
“If the Thugs didn’t loot our huts, it’d be nice if we could have our bags brought back,” Dollie said.
“If they’re still there, the men will bring them,” Reggie said crisply. “There are a few more points I want to go over with Major Albertson before I retire. The rest of you might as well go on to your tents.”
Two of the captains had vacated their tent for Sally and me, and each of us had a cot. She lingered outside to talk with Sergeant Norman. I was certain I wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing the moment I closed my eyes I would see the horror reenact itself: the shouts, the streaking orange fire, the smoke, the bodies, the blood. One of the captains had forgotten his boots, and the tent smelled of leather and shoe polish. I stretched out on the cot and listened to the quiet, muted sounds of the camp: low voices, footsteps shuffling over the ground, horses neighing. The wind caused the canvas to flap with a soft crackle, a soothing, monotonous noise. I sighed and closed my eyes, and I was asleep almost immediately, long before Sally came in.
I awoke several hours later to find Sally snugly curled up on her cot in her dusty-rose dress, one arm cradled under her head. Her tarnished gold curls spilled about her face, and her lips curved in a faint smile as she slept. I wondered what time it was. The camp was silent, but through the flaps of the tent I could see a vague suggestion of light. Wide awake and feeling amazingly refreshed, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore, so I got up quietly and stepped outside. Everything was a hazy blue-gray as night receded and the first flush of sunlight began to stain the sky. Although I couldn’t see him, I could hear the guard pacing on the other side of the camp. I could hear the river, too, the rushing, gurgling sound of water quite near. My face and hands felt as though they were coated with grime, and I decided to stroll down to the river and wash up a bit before the others got up.
I should have told the guard where I was going, but I was afraid he would either forbid it or insist on accompanying me. I slipped out of the camp like a thief, moving slowly through the relatively thin stretch of jungle separating it from the river. The haze seemed to melt as I walked, pale pinkish-orange light streaming through the trees. I pushed aside a curtain of vines covered with white flowers. The ground was soft and spongy underfoot. A bird warbled sleepily. Everything was peaceful and lovely as dawn broke over the jungle. The river sparkled, and when I cupped the water in my hands it was icy cold. I bathed my face and hands, drying them on my skirt, and then I ran my fingers through my hair, smoothing out some of the tangles.
I started back for camp, and I had only gone a short way from the river when I heard voices to my right. It seemed I wasn’t the only early riser. I turned, prepared to smile and call a greeting. I could feel my cheeks turn pale. They were standing in a tiny clearing not twenty feet away. The English soldier was tall and blond and well built, his back to me. He was talking to a native youth in white trousers and a jade green tunic. It was Ahmed. There could be no mistaking that handsome, arrogant face this time. The two of them were immersed in their conversation, and for some reason they hadn’t seen me yet. I was stunned, so stunned I couldn’t move or think coherently. My pulses leaped. My throat went dry. The Indian youth looked up casually, and when he saw me his eyes filled with alarm. He motioned quickly to the soldier. The soldier turned around.
It was Michael.
I stared, unable to believe my eyes. I tried to cry out. No sound would come. They rushed over to me, covering the distance between us in a matter of seconds. Ahmed seized my arm, gave it a brutal twist and shoved it up between my shoulder blades, clamping a hand over my mouth before I could cry out. When I tried to struggle he gave my arm a savage thrust. The pain was so shattering I almost lost consciousness.
“What are we going to do with her?” His voice was hard, vicious.
“We’ll take her back to the camp,” Michael replied calmly. “You’re hurting her. Loosen your grip a little.”
Instead, Ahmed gave my arm another thrust, driving it up even higher between my shoulder blades, forcing my head back against his shoulder, his palm crushing my lips against my teeth with brutal strength. He was breathing heavily, enjoying himself, enjoying inflicting pain. I thought I was going to lose consciousness. Michael frowned, displeased with his young colleague’s disobedience.
“We’ll abduct the other one this afternoon,” he said wearily. “You can do anything you want with her. This one is mine.”
“White bitch!” Ahmed hissed.
“We’ve located their camp,” Michael said, “and that’s what we came for. We’d best return to the horses now before anyone else comes sauntering by. Bring her along. Gently.”
Michael moved on ahead with brisk, confident strides, pushing vines and branches out of the way. Ahmed held me firmly, forcing me to walk ahead of him, wrenching my arm whenever I hesitated or stumbled. Black clouds seemed to close in over me, only the sharp, searing pain keeping me from passing out entirely. We moved through the jungle, further and further away from the camp, and finally, an eternity later, we came upon two horses tethered to a tree. The morning sunshine was brilliant now, pouring down in dazzling rays.
“You can let go of her now, Ahmed. She won’t scream. Even if she did, no one back there could hear her.”
Ahmed let go of me and stepped back. I staggered, and I would have fallen if Michael hadn’t seized my arm. He looked at me with gentle blue eyes, a sad smile on that wide, beautifully shaped mouth.
“It’s a long ride back to our camp, Lauren. We must do it as quickly as possible. I’m afraid you might struggle, might slow us down. I’m going to have to put you out for a while. I’m sorry.”
Still gripping my arm with his left hand, he drew back his right arm, balling up his hand into a tight fist, and then he slammed it against my jaw with stunning force. There was a blinding explosion of light inside of my head, bu
rning, flashing. I felt myself falling, spinning into a void of blackness. I was dimly aware of strong arms catching me before I hit the ground, and then there was nothing but impenetrable darkness that not even the pain could break through.
I groaned, struggling against the thick blackness enveloping me, and one by one the heavy black shrouds lifted, ever so slowly, giving way to light veils of ashy gray through which I was dimly aware of sound and smell. My jaw ached painfully, as did my arm, and I groaned again. An arm wrapped itself around my shoulders, lifting me up gently, and then I felt a delicious cool wetness against my lips and Michael was telling me to drink, his voice soothing and tender. I drank. I opened my eyes. Michael set the glass aside and looked down at me.
“Are you all right now?”
I nodded, unable to speak. I was on a cot, cushions piled behind me, and Michael was sitting on the edge, leaning over me, that handsome face inches from my own. We were in a tent. A gorgeous carpet was spread over the ground, and there was also a small table desk and a chair. The tent was of heavy yellow silk, that special yellow that only the rajah was allowed to use. Michael brushed wisps of hair from my face, then touched my jaw with gentle fingers.
“I’m sorry I had to do that, Lauren. It was necessary. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Where—where are we?”
“We’re in the Thuggee camp—the camp Gordon sent me to find. I knew where it was all along, of course, and my main objective was to keep any of my men from locating it. Unfortunately one of the scouts happened to discover it and returned to announce its location in front of all the men. There was nothing I could do but order a massacre.”
Danger at Dahlkari Page 23