Abounding Might

by Melissa McShane

  “We will turn him over to someone who can hold him—” Fletcher stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the main floor of Government House and gave his captive a perplexed look. “Now, why does that idea give you pleasure?” he said.

  Amitabh’s face went impassive, but his eyes flicked toward Daphne briefly. He looked much like a cat creeping up on a fat mouse. “He cannot have planned for us to capture him,” she said.

  “No, and it is the possibility of being held for a while—of time passing—that has him pleased.” Fletcher resumed his march up the stairs. “I believe I should interrogate him immediately. Ah, you are less happy about that, are you? You are not stupid, whatever else you may be.”

  “I will give you nothing,” Amitabh snarled.

  “Please, feel free to exercise bravado if it will cheer you,” Fletcher said. “Let us see—oh, I had forgot there would be a welcoming committee.”

  The grand entrance hall was thronged with people, among them Fletcher’s men, Sir Rodney, and Bess. Colonel Dalhousie came forward with his hand outstretched, which he withdrew when he saw Fletcher’s hands were occupied. “That’s not—is that him?”

  “It is Amitabh,” Fletcher said, “and we owe Lady Daphne for his capture.”

  “Indeed.” Dalhousie’s smile grew. “Lady Daphne, congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Colonel, but I cannot—that is, Captain Fletcher should interrogate Amitabh immediately. There is a smugness about him we do not like.”

  “I see.” Dalhousie gestured. “Then I should observe. Finn, there is a drawing room just down this hall.”

  The drawing room was as minimally furnished as most of Government House, with only a sofa and two spindle-legged chairs, a table, and a rug patterned in blue and gold. Dalhousie pulled one of the chairs around to face the sofa and gestured at Ainsworth, who stripped the curtain ropes from where they hung and used them to bind Amitabh to the chair. Daphne watched him closely, remembering the last interrogation she had witnessed—but then Ainsworth was not a Shaper in disguise and was unlikely to want Amitabh to escape.

  Fletcher went around behind the captive and splayed his fingers across the man’s right cheek. Immediately his eyes closed, and his lips went taut. “Fight me if you wish,” he said, a trifle breathlessly, “but I am far more experienced at this than you, and I will learn what I want to know.”

  “But will you learn it soon enough?” Amitabh breathed.

  Fletcher smiled through taut lips. “You should not volunteer information. You have no idea what I’ll make of it. Are you waiting for something?”

  Amitabh was silent. “Yes, but we already knew that,” Fletcher said, answering his own question. “Hmm. Waiting for rescue? No, and you know your life is forfeit, so you are not waiting for a reprieve, either.”

  “You are guessing,” Amitabh said.

  “You are worried. I applaud your efforts to throw me off, but overwhelming me is not one of your talents.” Fletcher drummed the fingers of his left hand on Amitabh’s shoulder. “Do you have a larger force elsewhere, marching on Madhyapatnam?”

  “Fool.”

  “So you do not. I call that fortunate for everyone.”

  “You will never learn my secret in time.”

  “What did I tell you about giving information away?” Fletcher went silent and appeared to be thinking hard. Finally, he said, “Your Shaper friend was not in your procession today. Where is he?”

  Amitabh’s eyes widened fractionally, then drooped closed. Fletcher gasped. “The Shaper. You have sent him somewhere, on some mission.”

  Amitabh jerked away, or tried to; Fletcher gripped his long, dark hair with his left hand and held his captive’s head immobilized. “Where did you send him?” Fletcher demanded. “Tell me where.”

  “I will never tell,” Amitabh gasped, “and you cannot read my mind.”

  “Did you send him for reinforcements?” Silence. “To ally with another prince?” Silence. Fletcher shook his head. “Not to increase the army, not to bring someone else in… what else could there be?” he mused. Amitabh laughed, a low, throaty sound Fletcher ignored. “What is a Shaper good for? For impersonating others, for sneaking where he will be unnoticed, for assassi—”

  Fletcher went very still. Daphne, watching him closely, saw his knuckles whiten. “Jack,” he said in a quiet, conversational tone, “do you know where Lord Moira is right now?”

  In which Daphne has difficulty getting anyone to take her seriously

  ord Moira went to Fort William, to inspect the preparations for the march to Madhyapatnam,” Dalhousie said, perplexed. “Why?”

  “He is in grave danger,” Fletcher said. He released Amitabh with enough force to make the man’s head rock. “Amitabh’s Shaper is coming to murder him.”

  “You cannot be certain of that, just from what the man does not say!” Dalhousie shook his head. “We need more proof.”

  “All these years, and now is the time you choose to doubt my talent?” Fletcher walked around to stand in front of Amitabh, who looked up at him with a malicious grin. “He could not have left much before the siege began, for Lady Daphne and I saw him in the old palace. But if he had left immediately after that, traveling overland, he might already be here.”

  “I will tell you nothing,” Amitabh said. “Run about like geese, honking after every possible threat. You will never find Patenaude if he wishes not to be found.”

  Dalhousie turned to Daphne. “Go to the Governor-General immediately. Convince him to go to safety. We must first protect him, and then—”

  “Yes, sir,” Daphne said. She turned and ran for the door, skidded down the entrance hall and out the great front doors. Officers turned to watch her pass, barefoot, clad in the garments of the poorest Hindoo, but she had no time to wonder what they made of her. She reached the top of the stairs and Skipped high into the sky. Below her, the maidan, the enormous parkland surrounding Fort William, lay spread beneath her. She Skipped again, over the walls of the fort, and cast a frantic eye across the buildings within as she fell. She could not Skip low enough to make out individual men without falling to her death, so she alit near the front gate and ran toward the sentry waiting there.

  The man did not at first see her; she approached from inside the fort, and his attention was outward. “Sergeant!” she shouted when she was near enough to make out his insignia. The man turned, startled, and brought his rifle to his shoulder. Daphne skidded to a halt and flung her hands up to show they were empty. “Sergeant, I am Lady Daphne St. Clair, Extraordinary Bounder, and I have been sent by Colonel Dalhousie to find the Governor-General. I have an urgent message for him.”

  The sergeant examined her closely. “Why are you dressed like that?” he said in a dull, drawling voice that suggested his intellect was as dull and drawling as the rest of him. How he had become a sergeant stymied her. Another sentry, this one a corporal, came to join his partner. Both men wore the ill-fitting uniforms that marked a Company soldier; their outfitting was contracted to the lowest bidder.

  “I have been… actually, it is none of your business, and my message is extremely urgent,” Daphne said, picturing this conversation going on for an hour as she tried to convince these men she was who she claimed to be. “Where is Lord Moira?”

  The sentries looked at each other. Daphne could almost hear the thoughts going through their heads: Who let the madwoman in? In about five seconds, they would realize she had not passed them to enter the fort, and then everything would fall apart. “Never mind, gentlemen, I will find him myself,” she said, and Skipped into the sky once more.

  She had never visited Fort William and had no idea what each of the low, rectangular buildings was for. A church, beautiful and elegant, looked completely out of place in this setting, its spires catching the early sunlight as if tipped with gold. Soldiers in formation, probably sepoys, drilled on one of the parade grounds. She watched them for half a breath before Skipping to the ground and running across the field to
where their officer stood.

  “Sir,” she said, “I was told Lord Moira was inspecting the troops today. Can you tell me where I might find him?”

  “Who allowed you—you’re a woman!” the captain exclaimed. Daphne suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Why do you seek the Governor-General?”

  “I am Lady Daphne St. Clair, Extraordinary Bounder,” Daphne said, “and my errand is urgent enough that I do not have time to explain it to you. Please, Captain, where is he?”

  The captain regarded her at length. Daphne tried not to jig from one foot to the other with impatience. Finally, the captain said, “He went with Colonel Haight and General Comstock to the Arsenal. Do you know where that is?” Daphne shook her head. “West past the next two buildings, then south, and it is the third on your right. Lady Daphne—”

  “Thank you,” Daphne said, and threw herself into the sky. The captain’s directions were clear and precise, the layout of the grounds exact, and Daphne Skipped directly to the building indicated. It was a two-story construction, plain and unadorned, with two entrances at opposite ends. Both were guarded by more sentries, also armed with rifles. Daphne’s heart sank. More men to argue her way past.

  ~Daphne!~ Bess’s voice echoed in her mind. ~Colonel Haight’s aide-de-camp says the Governor-General is with the colonel in the Arsenal. Find your way there, and hurry!~

  Now Daphne did roll her eyes. It was all very well for Bess to tell her to hurry when she was in no position to do so. Possibly the Governor-General was safe indoors, away from where the Shaper might shoot him with a rifle or pistol, but the Shaper could be almost anyone, and Daphne did not want to rest her hopes on that slim thread.

  She ran lightly to the nearest door and smiled in a friendly way at the sentry, a plain-faced corporal with spots on his cheeks. “Pardon me, Corporal,” she said, “is Lord Moira within?”

  “What are you supposed to be?” The corporal eyed her strange garb and bare feet with confusion.

  “I am Lady Daphne St. Clair, Extraordinary Bounder—” the little phrase was starting to lose all meaning—“and I have an urgent message for the Governor-General. Pray tell me, is he here?”

  The corporal hitched his rifle higher. At least he had not leveled it at her. “You don’t look like no lady.”

  Daphne wanted to scream. “My attire is irrelevant. And Lord Moira will be very displeased with you if you do not help me. You do not want to come to his attention, do you?”

  The corporal’s confused expression became fearful. “No, miss. My lady.” He stepped aside. Daphne nodded in thanks and sprinted up the steps.

  Bess’s voice came to her mind. ~I have Spoken to the Governor-General and explained the situation, but I do not know if he believes me. I was at my most persuasive, however. With luck, you will not have to do very much convincing.~ Uncertainty tinged the message, and Daphne agreed with what Bess had not said: Lord Moira was unlikely to agree to anything Daphne proposed, no matter who it originated with or how much sense it made. Daphne gritted her teeth. She was sworn to do her best to protect this man, and she would do it regardless of his own feelings on the matter.

  The door to the Arsenal opened on a dimly lit, stuffy chamber fully two stories tall. Spare regimental flags crossed near the ceiling, high above, along with a Union Jack that had seen better days. The walls were lined with rifles of all shapes, including some longer than she was tall. Men in shirtsleeves worked silently, cleaning the weapons, counting them off. A set of mobile stairs gave access to the upper racks, and a man in the garb of a Mahommedan ambled down it, making it rock.

  At the far end of the long room, Lord Moira stood with two other men, both in proper uniforms despite the warmth of the room. One of the men, holding his hat under his arm, had short black hair. Panicked, Daphne Skipped the length of the room and grabbed the man’s chin, forcing him to look at her. His brown eyes, initially perplexed, grew angry. “What the devil are you doing?” he said, wrenching away.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, I—” No time to explain what she had been about. “Lord Moira, did you receive the message?”

  “An impossible one,” Lord Moira said irritably. “Explain yourself, Lady Daphne.”

  Daphne breathed deeply, inhaling the bitter scent of black powder and the fainter odor of old sweat. “My lord,” she began, “you were informed that Amitabh, the man who attempted—”

  “I know who he is. Do not waste my time.”

  “I beg your pardon. He has in his company a Shaper who took the form of Lieutenant Wright and lived among us at the Residence in Madhyapatnam for a time.”

  “I know that as well.” Lord Moira’s face grew stormy. Daphne swallowed to moisten her dry throat. She would not permit him to cow her.

  “That Shaper—Amitabh sent him, several days ago, to travel to Calcutta, disguise himself as one of the soldiers—actually Amitabh did not say that, it is a logical supposition—and attempt to kill you, my lord. We believe he is in Calcutta now. My lord, you must permit me to Bound you to safety until he can be found.”

  Lord Moira continued to scowl at her. Daphne faced him down, praying her uncertainty and fear did not show. “My lord, is this true?” said the black-haired colonel Daphne had manhandled.

  “Miss Hanley assures me it is,” Lord Moira said. “She would not manufacture such a hoax. Apparently the would-be prince seeks to destabilize the Company so he may gain control over Madhyapatnam in Napoleon’s name.”

  Inside, Daphne fumed. Of course Bess was trustworthy, but that he did not attach the same credence to Daphne’s words… it was infuriating, and Daphne simply did not know how to change his mind. Because you cannot, the thought occurred to her, and with it came a remarkable feeling of peace. She could not change Lord Moira’s mind, would never be able to do so, and it was irrelevant. She did not need his approval or his respect to be the woman she knew herself to be, and the thought made her able to stand up straight and face him fearlessly.

  “Very well. Thank you for the warning, Lady Daphne.” Lord Moira turned to his companions. “The condition of the arms is no better than it ever has been. Why are so many of them in shoddy condition?”

  “It is what the Company is willing to pay for,” said the other man, a general whose hair was whiter than Lord Moira’s. “If they permitted us to—”

  “We aren’t going to change Company policy,” Lord Moira said, cutting him off. “Very well. Have as many of them repaired as possible before we march. Now I want to see the troops.”

  “Oh, my lord,” Daphne said, alarmed, “you cannot go out in the open. Please permit me to Bound you to your office.”

  “I have no intention of hiding in my office when there is work to be done,” Lord Moira said. “I will not be Bounded anywhere.” He set off down the passage, trailed by his companions. Daphne scrambled to catch up and Skipped in front of the door to bar his way.

  “Please, my lord, please have a care for yourself! The Shaper could be almost anyone,” she said, starting to feel irritated with his recalcitrance. “Give Captain Fletcher time to find him.”

  “If I permit that upstart Amitabh and his pet Shaper to dictate my movements, he has won. Let them hunt me. I am not so easy to kill as all that.” Lord Moira made as if to take Daphne by the shoulders and move her aside, but thought better of it. “Stand aside, Lady Daphne.”

  “Oh…!” Daphne exited the building rapidly and scanned her surroundings. So many of the men walking past were of the right height and coloring! Why was Lord Moira so stupid? No, that was unfair, he was not stupid, just proud and entirely too foolhardy. What should she do now?

  She trailed along behind the general and the colonel, torn between watching Lord Moira and trying to have eyes everywhere. Lord Moira did not order her away, so she chose to take that as implicit agreement to her presence. Perhaps she should return to Fletcher… though he was likely no longer in Government House, but searching for the Shaper in the grounds of Fort William. The desire to be in a dozen differen
t places at once was like a physical pull making her dizzy. She closed her eyes briefly, then panicked and opened them again, feeling superstitiously that her moment of inattention would be the moment the Shaper would strike.

  She became conscious of just how many men wielded rifles. There were almost none bearing pistols, which would require them to be fairly close if they wished to strike with any accuracy, and the officers’ swords also seemed like unlikely weapons for an assassin. But a rifle… the Shaper need not approach to any close distance, and there were enough men practicing their shooting that aiming a rifle would not stand out.

  They neared the parade grounds, or at least one of them. It was the same one Daphne had approached earlier. Lord Moira walked forward to speak with the captain, and Daphne hung back, examining the sepoys. She had been told so many disparate things about them: that they were the backbone of the Company’s army, that they were prone to disorderliness, that they were the best-disciplined troops in India… she did not know what to believe. They certainly looked orderly, spread out in regimented lines, if a bit odd in sandals and short pants with the funny tilted hats.

  The captain called out a command, and the sepoys halted in place, relaxing, some leaning on their guns, others examining them as if checking for faults. Daphne recalled what the general had said about the rifles; she guessed that they, like the uniforms, were contracted to the lowest bidder. That struck her as a bad idea, since the military depended on its weapons, but she was not in charge of ordnance.

  She let her eyes skim over the ranks of sepoys. The Shaper would find it easy to hide there, despite his light blue eyes, for how many Europeans paid attention to the eyes of a Hindoo? She kept careful watch on those raising their weapons, sighting along the barrels—none of them were pointed at Lord Moira, thank goodness, because she was not sure what she would do if they were. Skip to block the shot? She had no desire to be wounded again, or killed, but was it not her duty?

  A couple of corporals passed in front of her, both armed for sentry duty. The blond one nodded at her appreciatively, which she found amusing, given that she was still dressed as a Hindoo man. Not that anyone would mistake her for a man except at the most cursory glance. She smiled at him, but let her eyes rove on.