Bozhena sighed. Really, she reflected, the man deserved his fate. It was the girl she felt sorry for, who was now consigned to join the ranks of the Urumi, to serve the Dark Prince against her will until the end of her days. The death that would have awaited her in San Francisco, had it not been for her father’s deal, would have been a far more merciful fate.
The Urumi forced her thoughts away from the sentimental. She still had her part of the bargain to fulfill. To start, her target’s name had to be added to certain lists in London. Moving the cape about her – which allowed the Urumi to travel from one location to another instantaneously – she moved her presence to that city.
***
The captain hadn’t followed the dark figure’s instructions exactly. Instead of going straight back to his office as it had commanded, he took a longer route through the old section of the city as he puzzled over what had just transpired.
The rational part of his brain refused to accept that what he had seen was anything more than an elaborate hoax. Yet, the speed with which the mysterious figure had moved defied any logical explanation that he could think of. Besides, he thought, if it was a trick, what had its perpetrator gained? The figure had demanded no material goods from him. Only a certain favor, to be granted in the future, and a daughter he did not know was still alive.
Is it true? Pluckett wondered again. Is my daughter alive?
Not that it really matters, he concluded. It had been the figure who had believed that what it demanded as payment still lived. Whether or not the statement was correct was its business. In the end, he decided, it looked like he had come out on the winning end of the deal. Even if the figure did not fulfill, or was unable to fulfill its promises, it had cost him nothing.
He approached his office and paused before entering. Pluckett hated the place. He resented the fact that he was required to spend so much time there, approving materiel requisitions. That was no job for anyone of his rightful standing, he reasoned.
Sighing as if giving in to the inevitable, he walked inside.
Just as the captain reached his office door, a lieutenant came running over to him.
“Captain, sir!”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Pluckett replied. Using the other man’s lower rank made him feel better.
“Sir, we have a dispatch for you that just came in over the wire. You need to see this immediately, sir.”
The lieutenant handed him a piece of paper. His eyes widened as he read it. For the first time in a while, a smile spread across his face. This could only mean one thing.
“Excellent. I’ll be leaving immediately.” He turned from the lieutenant and, putting the paper in his uniform pocket, left the office. Only a few moments ago he’d been wondering if the black figure really had possessed the unearthly ability to change his fortunes for the better. Now, it seemed as if things had begun to turn around not fifteen minutes after he’d left the ruined bathhouse.
Pluckett went directly to his quarters at the army barracks and began packing his belongings – just a few books and uniforms – into a carpetbag. He exited again onto the street and flagged down the first empty rickshaw he saw. Its driver, who looked as if he had somewhere else to be at the moment, pretended to ignore the captain. Seeing this, the army officer gestured towards him, pressing the thumb of his right hand to its two middle fingers. The local gesture of entreaty worked as the rickshaw pulled to the side of the road, allowing Pluckett to climb in along with his luggage.
“Train station,” he told the man in Punjabi.
Shortly thereafter, they arrived. Pluckett jumped out and, throwing the driver a few annas, the captain headed for the ticket desk.
“When is the next express to Karachi?” he directly asked the Indian clerk sitting behind the desk.
“You’re just in time, sir,” the ticketing agent replied. “The next one departs in five minutes.”
“Excellent. How much for one ticket?”
The clerk mentioned a sum, which Pluckett paid. The Indian man made a few notations on an official-looking piece of paper and then handed it to the army officer.
“It’s on platform two, sir.”
Pluckett took his ticket and walked toward where the tracks lay. He boarded the train, which was completely black on the exterior, and found his compartment. It was well appointed, characterized by dark woods and elegant brass fittings.
Sitting on the bed, he removed the dispatch from his pocket. Smiling as he did so, he read it again:
Captain John Pluckett,
You have been summoned for an audience,
in the Presence of Her Majesty,
Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom,
at 12:00 on the 11th of January,
the Year of our Lord 1887,
in the palace at Hampton Court.
As the train pulled out of Lahore, the man who was soon to become Sir John Pluckett felt as if, for the first time in a while, things had begun to go right. The knighthood, which he had coveted for so long, was finally about to come through.
Seven
Malka stared out the window as the Deliverance entered the port of Hong Kong. She had spent most of the past month’s journey bored out of her mind. Although the ship had docked previously at the cities of Mandalay and Singapore, she had not been allowed to disembark. Nor had she wanted to. The more publicly visible she was, the higher the chance that a member of the Urumi would locate her – and the object she carried. The less she was seen roaming around major cities, the better.
Similarly, she had kept to herself for most of her time on the Deliverance. Antonia, her feline companion, was her only company. She took her meals in her room, saving a small portion for the cat, which came and went through the porthole as it pleased.
The girl had passed the time going through the martial exercises she had learned in the camp of the Thags. If she were going to fulfill her purpose, she would need to keep her skills sharp. Malka had even come up with a new use for her sash. Removing the brass doorknob from the bathroom door – it wasn’t like the shipping company would be able to find her after she debarked in San Francisco – she used it as a weight tied into one end of the sash’s bloodred fabric. With this design, she could use the weighted end of the sash as a means to grab hold of other objects, swinging it around items and pulling them toward her.
She had practiced this often over the past months, using the sash to grab hold of various items and furniture in her cabin. On her first attempt, her aim had been wide. She had tried to grab the arm of the dark wooden chair, which sat in front of the writing desk. The doorknob, instead, landed on the chair’s padded seat on which Antonia had been sitting, sending the yowling animal flying from its comfortable perch. But Malka’s subsequent attempts had become progressively more successful; now she had practically mastered her sash’s new use.
There was a knock at the door.
Malka tensed. Bundling the sash, which currently did not have its weight tied to one end, she moved towards the door. It was not mealtime; she had no way of being sure what awaited her on the other side. If danger beckoned, the Thag resolved to be ready. If not, whoever stood on the other side of the entrance to her cabin would merely see a girl in silk dress with a shawl in one hand.
Hesitantly, she opened the door.
The porter, the dark-skinned Indian man who usually brought her food, stood on the other side. This time he was empty-handed. Except for the clipboard tucked under his left arm.
“Miss Malka Pluckett?”
“Yes?”
“Our records show that you will be traveling with us on to San Francisco.”
“That is correct,” Malka confirmed guardedly. She now realized what was coming. She didn’t like it.
“You’ll have to debark into our customs zone for decontamination.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. Only our first class passengers are exempt by U.S. immigration law.” He paused for a moment then conti
nued, “Remember to take all of your belongings with you. Any items left in your cabin will be confiscated.”
His last sentence surprised Malka; she inhaled sharply.
“Very well,” she breathed out.
The blue-eyed girl remembered what the man who had sold her the ticket had said about the decontamination proceedings. She had been planning to simply hide the crown and its powerful diamond in her quarters. The idea of being separated from it, even for a short while, disquieted her. However, she couldn’t think of a better idea; it was better than letting it out of her sight for decontamination. Now, that no longer appeared to be an option.
Malka wracked her brain trying to come up with a new hiding place. Nothing came to her. Then her mind dredged up something. A memory. One of the earliest she had from her time in the camp. It was of the first lessons her Master had ever taught her.
***
Two days had passed since the three-year-old girl had been brought to the camp. She sat on the floor in the hut of a young woman who apparently called herself Mira, along with about five of the local children. A hand set a portion of red curry and roti before her. She ignored it, even as another of the children – a brown-eyed girl, about the new arrival’s equal in years – appropriated the portion for herself. The new arrival’s face was wet with tears. Over the past few weeks, her world had been torn apart.
First, her mother had died, leaving her and her sister alone. Then, shortly thereafter, she and her sibling had been placed in a caravan bound for Madras and told they were being sent to a convent. The caravan had become divided into two – she didn’t know why – separating her from her sister. Finally, after watching all those around her strangled to death, she had been brought here by the same people who had done so.
She didn’t like the camp. It was dirty, alien. The people seemed strange and violent. She just wanted to go home.
Through the open flap of Mira’s hut, the three-year-old’s blue eyes noticed movement near where the road to and from the Thag’s encampment met dense foliage.
They were soldiers, the girl realized. Indian soldiers! They must be looking for her. She got up and ran for the entrance, preparing to cry out.
An enormous hand stopped her just before she reached the threshold. The girl fell backward, knocked back to the ground by the force of the impact.
A tall, thin man appeared at the entrance. He moved inside; the tight features of his dark skin looked down to regard the child he had propelled to the ground. He shut the flap behind him.
“You will stay inside.” His voice was not angry. And while his statement was direct, his voice was calm, lacking any trace of malevolence.
“But the soldiers!” the girl cried back at him. “I have to go to them! They’re looking for me!”
“They look. They will not find you.”
“Why not?” She cried again as tears streamed from her blue eyes.
In response, the man turned, crouched to the girl’s level, and opened the hut’s flap just enough so that both of them could see out.
At the edge of the camp, the man assigned to guard the trail was conversing with the group of mounted soldiers. They were much too far away to hear what was being said. However, the camp’s guard was shaking his head vigorously.
Eventually, the soldiers turned their horses and began to head back through the dense vegetation.
“They’re leaving! Why can’t I go?”
“You would uncover us,” the man said simply, looking directly at her. Even in her three-year-old mind, the girl understood that this didn’t make any sense. All in her section of the caravan had been killed. Except for her.
“Why am I here?” she asked in the desperate tone of a young child.
“Your eyes. There is an old belief among my people. If one kills a blue-eyed child of light skin, tragedy will befall him seven years hence. If not for that, you would be dead.” Again, his tone was not callous. The man continued by casually asking, “What are you called?”
The girl, frightened even more by the casual brutality of his statement – she’d thought of it then simply as meanness – stuttered as she answered.
“Mal- Mal-ka.”
“Malka.”
The girl hesitated, then nodded her head quickly three times.
“I am Husain, Master of the Sect of the Thags. It is nice to meet you, Malka. You are to remain with us for the rest of your life. Until I decide that you have been sufficiently trained and that you will not betray us, you will remain hidden in the camp.” Despite his last two sentences, the girl was surprised by his calm manner. His declarations gave her some of the only certainty she had left; she also realized that he had been the first person in the camp to speak to her in English. She stopped crying and asked another question.
“If you have to hide me, why am I in a place the soldiers know about?”
He nodded once slowly as if impressed with her question.
“Ah, Malka,” Husain said at length. “If one wants something to remain hidden from one’s enemies, one hides it directly in front of their eyes. Precisely because that makes no sense, it is the last place they would think to look.”
***
The Thag got up from the bed on which she had been sitting and moved to the wardrobe diagonally on the opposite side of her cabin. She opened it, reached inside, and extracted the plain cloth shoulder pouch she had been wearing that more recent day on the beach – the day she had come to think of as the one her old life had ended. Malka reached into the pouch, taking out the crown, which was still wrapped in the blue fabric of her sister’s order. She removed the fabric for the first time since she had left the Thag’s camp. Malka examined it.
The crown itself was not much to look at. It was made of plain silver that had begun to tarnish over the past six weeks. It carried no other ornamentation except for the large diamond at its center. It was the gemstone that really mattered. She knew the crown was merely the trapping in which Lubomirski and his henchman had placed it before the events at the Invisible Circus.
Reaching into her dress, Malka removed the dagger she had taken from Husain’s hut. She used its cutting edge to attempt to pry the diamond free from the silver leafing that held it in place. Having been placed hastily in the crown only a few weeks ago, it came free easily.
Malka regarded the object she now held in her palm. Where exactly could she hide it? The porter had mentioned that the cabins would be searched. She would have to find another location. The girl set the stone on the writing desk and set about packing her things, including the now gem-less crown, into the suitcase. She shut the suitcase, picking it up in her right hand; she used her left to again palm the stone, holding it close to her chest.
As if on cue, Antonia jumped into the perch that her left arm created. Looking around her, Malka exited her cabin. She had to put down the suitcase twice, so as to open and then shut the door.
She examined the hallway around her. There was no one else around. Apparently, she was one of the last to disembark. Like her quarters, the hall sported rich red carpeting and wood paneling. Spaced at intervals between each cabin door, wall sconces provided the main source of illumination. Made with frames of gilded metal, they were shaded by strings of crystals, which stretched lengthwise from their wider tops, gathering with increasing density at their narrower bases, adjacent to the wall.
A smile briefly spread across Malka’s lips. Checking to see that she was still alone, she set down the suitcase for a third time. The girl transferred the object from her left to her right palm; she did not wish to disturb her four-legged traveling companion. In a quick and discreet motion, she pitched the diamond over the rim of one of the sconces. There was a quiet sound it as it fell to the bottom of the fixture. Someone would have to examine the sconce very closely indeed to notice the stone’s presence; the porter had said nothing about searching the corridors. Satisfied that the diamond was as secure as she could make it given her circumstances, Malka headed for Hong Kong’s
customs area.
***
It was evening, and the Deliverance had gotten underway again. Malka’s cabin was dim, the girl having lit only the desk lamp, as was her habit. She was alone in her cabin; the Thag wore a cream-colored salwar kameez. It was what she felt the most natural wearing. She stroked Antonia softly, listening to the cat purr.
Customs and decontamination had gone without major incident, although it had been unpleasant. Upon arrival at the decontamination terminal, Malka and her fellow travelers had been told to get in line in order to give their luggage to attendants who barked instructions and orders to that effect in English, Mandarin, and Cantonese. It was when Malka’s turn came that she’d encountered her first obstacle.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ll have to leave the cat behind,” the attendant informed her. “U.S. customs regulations strictly prohibit the transport of animals into the territory of the United States without proper permits and quarantine procedures.”
Malka had been about to respond, when Antonia suddenly yowled. The animal jumped from the girl’s arms and ran back in the direction in which the queue had formed. The half-Indian youth had briefly raised her eyebrows before continuing with the decontamination proceedings. The cat’s company had been pleasant. But, leaving it behind sounded rather unavoidable. There was nothing that could be done.
Next, the travelers were separated by gender and asked to strip; their garments would need to be decontaminated, too. Naked, they were subjected to intensive ablutions in industrial-looking shower stalls, which soaked them with scalding water, soap, and a number of abrasive-smelling disinfectant chemicals. Malka had hated it. But there seemed to be no way to avoid that, either. So, she simply endured.
After being given the opportunity to dry herself, Malka’s clothing and belongings were returned to her – minus, as she had suspected would be the case, the valuable silver crown. As she dressed, her clothes now smelled faintly of the same chemicals that had been used to bathe her.
Outcast: Keepers of the Stone Book One (An Historical Epic Fantasy Adventure) Page 7