“It wouldn’t have been difficult to run along the far shore as we sailed off, and note where she went inland.”
“Then why didn’t they attack us in the jungle?”
“Lack of men, lack of courage, or they may just be planning to attack us as we sail past,” replied Sandokan. “I could be mistaken, but I doubt it. Best keep our eyes peeled and be ready for anything. My instincts tell me that those are the Greek’s men.”
“It could be,” agreed the hunter. “He’s proven to be far more cunning than we ever expected, he likely has spies everywhere.”
“He’s the real danger to our plans,” said Sandokan, “but we can still outmanoeuvre him. If the jemadar can persuade the Sikhs to join our cause, the rajah’s days are numbered.”
He lit his chibouk and sat on the stern bulwark, allowing his legs to dangle over the river that gurgled about the bagla. The sun was setting behind a forest of palash trees, their bright orange-red flowers slowly darkening in the waning light.
The work day was drawing to a close. Numerous peasants could be seen beating indigo along the banks, filling the air with a monotonous rhythm as they separated the leaves from the stalks and branches. The leaves were then put in a clay jar, pounded into powder and mixed with water to make a blue dye. Further on, a few farmers had led their buffalo to the river’s edge to drink, keeping an eye open for crocodiles lurking near shore, those reptiles strong enough to pull a bhainsa underwater.
At about nine o’clock, the bagla arrived within sight of Guwahati, oil lamps lighting its main streets and squares. As it approached Umananda Island, the crew spied the two pulwars barring the path before them.
A voice immediately called out from the nearest vessel:
“Ahoy there! Identify yourselves!”
“Allow me,” said Tremal-Naik.
“By all means,” replied Sandokan.
“We’re hunters,” shouted the Bengali. “We’ve been out hunting.”
“Where?” asked the same voice.
“The Benar swamp,” replied Tremal-Naik.
“Did you catch anything?”
“A few birds we had for dinner; we set a few crocodile traps and we’ll be going back to check on them in the morning.”
“Did you see any men about?”
“Nothing but geese and marabou.”
“Very well, safe journey.”
The bagla had slowed as it approached the ships, but as the pulwars drew back to let her pass, it quickly picked up speed once again.
“See?” Sandokan said to Tremal-Naik once they had rowed out of earshot. “My instincts are seldom wrong; I can smell an enemy from miles away.”
“So it seems,” said Tremal-Naik. “I guess they were searching for us.”
“There’s no doubt of it now.”
“Well they seem to have bought our story for now, where do you want to go ashore?”
“Somewhere not far from the city center. Tonight we’ll stay at Surama’s villa. Kechik will likely have brought news of Yanez by now.”
“Are you certain he won’t tell him of Surama’s abduction? If Yanez senses something is amiss—”
“Kechik is loyal to him, but he would never disobey one of my orders. Besides, he knows it would do more harm than good. Now, about the Greek; do you think he’ll have many servants?”
“Of course,” said Tremal-Naik. “A man of his station is bound to have a score of them at least and a khansama to run his home.”
“Perfect. We may be able to use that to our advantage.”
“How?”
“I’ll explain it to you later. Bindar, how long before we go ashore?”
“Whenever you’re ready, sahib.”
“Take us in.”
With a few strokes the bagla crossed the river and dropped anchor before the city’s western bastion.
“Everyone ashore!” commanded Sandokan, after ensuring there were no sentries stationed upon the ramparts. Then he turned to a pair of Malays and added, “The two of you remain aboard to guard the ship.”
The rest of the crew quickly stepped ashore and gathered beneath a thick grove of nahor trees.
“Stay close and keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious,” said Sandokan. “The Greek may be expecting our return. If we’re challenged, krises and scimitars only. No pistols or carbines. Understood?”
“Yes, Tiger of Malaysia,” the Malays replied in unison.
“Come!”
They set off along the riverbank, keeping to the shadows beneath the large tamarind trees that lined the shore. When they reached the eastern quarter, they turned up a narrow street and headed towards the city center.
Few people were about at that late hour, and those that were hurried off at the sight of that small but determined band of men. It was close to midnight when they stepped into the square in front of Surama’s villa. Sandokan stopped and quickly glanced about.
“There are two Indians standing in front of that building,” he said to Tremal-Naik.
“I see them,” replied the Bengali.
“The Greek’s spies?”
“That’s what I’d wager.”
“Best we find out for certain then. We’ll pretend to be the rajah’s guards out on patrol.”
At the sight of that large band of men, however, the two Indians quickly hurried off.
“Halt!” thundered Tremal-Naik, “By order of the rajah’s guards!”
“I guess they weren’t just out for an evening stroll,” Sandokan said as he watched them disappear into a dark alley. “Let them go.”
Then he turned to Kammamuri and added:
“You and the Malays will keep an eye on the house. We’ll be back shortly. I want to get a look at the Greek’s house before sunrise.”
He climbed the steps followed by Tremal-Naik and Bindar and gently struck the brass gong that hung to the right of the doorway.
A servant opened the door moments later and, recognizing his mistress’ friends, bowed deeply.
“Summon the khansama,” said Sandokan. “Hurry!”
“Go to the drawing room, sahib. He’ll be there in half a minute.”
Sandokan and his two companions opened a door and entered an elegant room that was still lit. They had just sat down before a beautiful table of Ceylon ebony threaded with gold, when the villa’s khansama, dressed in a yellow dhoti, rushed into the room
“Gentlemen! Such a tragedy! The mistress has been abducted!” he sobbed.
“We’ve heard,” said Sandokan. “Has the white sahib been to see you?”
“No, sir.”
“Has he sent anyone?”
“Just Kechik with a letter for the mistress.”
“Give it to me, quickly. There’s no time to waste.”
The khansama approached a lacquer box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, drew out the letter and handed it to the pirate.
Sandokan quickly broke the seal and read its contents.
“What does he say?” Tremal-Naik asked anxiously.
“He assures Surama not to worry, he tells her that he’s fine, and that the rajah’s favorite is healing quickly… Mark my words, that scoundrel won’t be easy to kill.”
“Anything else?”
“He instructs her to tell us that he’s in no danger and that he’s already earned the rajah’s respect. Since all appears to be going well for him, we’ll leave him be. There’s no need for him to get involved in this. We’ll take care of this ourselves.”
Then he turned to the khansama who was standing at attention before him, waiting for further instructions.
“Do you have anything to report? Any unexpected visits?”
“No, sahib. However, I’ve noticed that there have been people buzzing about the villa until very late at night.”
“They’re spying on you!” exclaimed Sandokan. “I suspected as much. Have you tried to find out who they are?”
“Yes, sahib, but to no avail.”
“Have you notified the police?”
“I did not dare, for fear the mistress had been abducted by the rajah’s men.”
“A wise precaution. Tremal-Naik, Bindar, come. We’ll go to the Greek’s villa.”
“What should I do, sahib?” asked the khansama.
“Nothing for the moment. Are the men the white sahib assigned to guard Surama still here?”
“Yes.”
“Tell them we’ll be back tomorrow night about this time and that I may need their help.”
“I’ll deliver the message myself, sir.”
“Excellent! We’ll see you tomorrow then, my friend, good night.”
He left the room and returned to his men who had been waiting for him outside.
“Leave your carbines here,” he said. “Pistols and scimitars only. Let’s get a look at where they’re holding Surama captive.”
Chapter 18
The Servant
SANDOKAN WAS ANXIOUS. Though the years had given him greater patience, he was still extremely troubled by Surama’s abduction. The fear of not being able to free her immediately, or worse, that she had been moved to another location, played havoc with his thoughts. He walked quickly, muttering to himself, his left hand opening and closing restlessly about the hilt of his scimitar.
Tremal-Naik was faring no better. Those men, accustomed to action, would almost have welcomed a fight if it meant rescuing Surama.
They reached Bogra square at two that morning. The Greek’s abode loomed at the far end of it, a large elegant bungalow with a high sloping roof and beautiful verandas with brightly coloured columns. Two buildings stood alongside it, servants’ quarters on the left, and a stable for horses and elephants on the right.
“So this is where that rascal comes to rest,” exclaimed Sandokan. “With any luck, Surama will be inside!”
“Shall we storm the house?” asked Tremal-Naik. “Your Malays are ready.”
“Too risky,” replied the pirate. “We must be cautious if we’re to succeed.”
“Why did we come here then?”
“To get a look at his house and scout its surroundings,” said Sandokan. “We would have been noticed in broad daylight.”
“It shouldn’t be difficult to climb up onto the lower veranda,” said Kammamuri.
“It may not come to that,” said Sandokan. “For now we’ll circle the building and take note of its strengths and weaknesses. We’ll formulate our final plan once we’ve learned if she’s inside.”
There being no sentries about, it only took them a few minutes to survey the bungalow. The rear verandas were similar to those in front and would be easy to access; the servants’ quarters was a low squat building with a single entrance at the back. The stable was enclosed by a tall gated fence; they could hear the elephants snoring even before they drew near and as they passed several dogs began to growl.
“Those dogs could pose a problem,” muttered Sandokan, as they walked back towards the square. “We’ll have to take care of them. Bindar!”
“Yes, sahib!”
“Is there a place we can lodge nearby?”
“There’s a dak bungalow not far from here.”
“When does it open?”
“It’ll be dawn soon; the servants are likely already up.”
“Perfect. We’ll take rooms there so we can keep an eye on the house. Lead the way.”
They crossed the empty square, rounded a corner, and stopped before a small rectangular building. It was a dak bungalow, the traditional halting place for travellers in India, there being few inns and hotels on the subcontinent save for in the main cities frequented by Europeans.
Dak bungalows are generally one-storied thatched buildings, with a large central dining room, a few bedrooms, a few bathrooms, a kitchen, and a deep veranda. Each bedroom is furnished simply, usually with a cot, a table, and a pair of wicker chairs. Travellers pay a rupee for a night’s stay, and a little extra for food. After twenty-four hours they must give up the room to the first traveller that has need of it.
The khansama and his servants had already risen and were preparing to receive the first early morning travellers.
“Room and board for all of us,” said Tremal-Naik. “We intend to stay a few days and we’ll take all your rooms at double the price.”
“You are most welcome,” replied the khansama. “You’ll be treated like maharajahs; our lodgings are first class.”
“Make sure the food is excellent,” said Sandokan. “Now, bring us something to drink.”
The khansama led them into the dining room, bid them to sit and had one of the servants bring them jars of toddy and a box with little compartments filled with betel leaves, slaked lime, and areca nut.
“Now then, Bindar,” said Sandokan, once he had drained a couple of glasses of toddy. “You’re going to play a very important part in this matter.”
“My father served the princess’ father loyally,” replied the Indian. “I’ll do no less. What must I do, sahib?”
“Befriend one of the Greek’s servants, then bring him here for a drink.”
“It shouldn’t be difficult. An Indian never refuses to drink a good glass of toddy, especially when he knows it’s free.”
“I’ll leave the details to you. I want someone that can answer my questions. Pay him if need be. Here take a hundred rupees.”
“I could buy the services of twenty servants with such a sum.”
“I only need one,” replied Sandokan.
“Yes, sahib.”
“Go then. I expect you back in a couple of hours.”
He turned to Kammamuri and his men and added:
“You may go and rest. Tremal-Naik and I will wait for Bindar to return.”
He filled his chibouk, lit it, and began to smoke; the Bengali drew a leaf from the box, added some areca nut and a dash of lime then rolled it, put it in his mouth, and began to chew.
Betel is highly esteemed throughout India, for it is said to comfort the stomach, strengthen the brain, cure bad breath, and prevent sickness. The leaves also blacken the teeth, which is considered a mark of great beauty.
The two men sat at the table in silence, each immersed in his own thoughts. Bindar entered the dining room thirty minutes later accompanied by a young Indian dressed in a yellow silk dhoti.
“As requested, sahib,” said Bindar. “I’ve invited this young man here for a drink.”
Sandokan studied the newcomer carefully for a moment.
“Sit down,” he said, satisfied. “I asked Bindar to find someone who could assist me. If you can, you’ll find our chat quite profitable.”
“I’m at your command, sahib,” replied the young Indian.
“I’d like a position at the rajah’s court and I’ve heard it’s best to appeal to your master.”
“He’s a powerful man. He can help you attain one if he wishes.”
“I imagine such a favour would come at a price.”
“Yes.”
“I’m willing to pay it. Could you arrange an introduction or relay a message to him?”
“I can’t, but our khansama can.”
“I see. How long before your master could receive me?”
“Not for a few days. He’s taken to his bed and the royal physician has ordered he not see anyone for at least another week.”
“I see. Drink, my friend.”
“Thank you, sahib,” said the young man, quickly draining a cup that Tremal-Naik placed before him.
“So, the favourite has taken to his bed,” resumed Sandokan. “An illness?”
“No, just weakened. He was wounded in a duel.”
“Does he visit his bungalow often?”
“Rarely!” replied the Indian. “The rajah can’t live without him.”
“Have another drink, young man. Tremal-Naik, have them bring us a couple of bottles of gin or brandy. I’m quite thirsty this morning. So you were saying…”
“The rajah’s favorite rarely visits the bungalow,” replied the young Indian, after he h
ad drained two more cups of toddy.
“I’ve heard he has a harem.”
“Yes, sahib.”
“Indian women?”
“The most beautiful young women in Assam.”
Sandokan smiled and refilled his chibouk, while Tremal-Naik opened a bottle of gin and filled the young man’s cup.
“So the favorite loves beautiful women,” said the pirate.
“He’s a great gentleman, who can afford any luxury.”
“Are the rumours I’ve heard in the city true?”
“What rumours, sahib?”
“Try this gin first, then we’ll discuss it.”
The Indian, who perhaps had never tasted such liquor in his life, greedily gulped down four or five mouthfuls.
“Excellent, sahib,” he said.
“Have another cup. There’s more than enough.”
The young servant did not wait to be asked twice, never had he been in the midst of such abundance.
“Now then!” said Sandokan, once he could see the gin beginning to take effect. “I wanted to ask if the rumor I’d heard was true.”
“What rumour, sahib?”
“It’s rumoured the rajah’s favourite had a new addition to his harem, a foreign princess of great beauty.”
“Yes, sahib, it’s true,” replied the Indian, lowering his voice to a whisper. “How do you know of this? I was told it was to be kept secret.”
“A gosain helped arrange the matter; a man with a withered arm.”
“What do you know of this, sahib?”
“What I’ve just told you,” said Sandokan. “Drink, my friend, you have not emptied your cup.”
The Indian, enjoying himself immensely, drained the cup in one shot. The effect of that drink, on a man who was only accustomed to sipping toddy, was swift. He sank back in his chair, his dulled gaze fixed on Sandokan.
“You told me the young woman was taken at night,” said the pirate, a note of irony in his tone.
“Yes, sahib,” replied the Indian, his voice almost a mumble.
“And where did they take her?”
“To the favourite’s bungalow.”
“Is she still there?”
“Yes, sahib.”
“How are they treating her?”
“She cries all the time; that’s all I know.”
“And the favorite is not in his villa?”
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 18