“And we’re free,” said Sandokan. “Just as I promised, Tremal-Naik. It couldn’t have been any easier.”
The hunter smiled.
“An escape worthy of the Tiger of Malaysia.”
“Come everyone.”
Dawn had not yet broken; the small band quickly headed north, following the narrow winding streets to the banks of the Brahmaputra. In the distance the sky was tinged with red, light from the flames devouring Surama’s villa.
The young princess sighed sadly.
“It was a fine home,” said Sandokan who was walking alongside her, “but like I said, you’ll soon have one far nicer.”
“Do you still think we can triumph, sir?”
“Of course,” said Sandokan. “We’ll have to adapt our plans somewhat, but Yanez, Tremal-Naik, and I will overthrow that drunken fool, you have my word. You’ll have your crown soon enough, this was just a minor setback.”
They had just reached the thick tamarind trees that shaded the riverbank. Sandokan stopped, then turned and motioned for the servants to gather behind him.
“The time has come to leave your mistress,” he told them. “Tomorrow morning go to the dak bungalow near Bogra square, Bindar will meet you there and give fifty rupees to each of you to thank you for your services. We’ll summon you again as soon as we have need of you.”
“Thank you, sahib,” replied the servants, deeply moved by such generosity.
“Go now, remember: tomorrow morning at the dak bungalow.”
The women kissed Surama’s hands, the men bowed deeply, then the servants quickly dispersed and disappeared into the night.
“Bindar,” said Sandokan once they had gone, “I have a couple of important tasks for you.”
“Gladly,” replied the Assamese. “How may I be of service, sahib?”
“First, go to the Anglo-Assamese bank, cash this draft for fifty thousand rupees and pay the servants.”
“It shall be done, sahib. I’ll bring you the remainder of the funds no later than tomorrow night.”
“There’s no hurry,” replied Sandokan. “There’s one more thing I want you to do before you meet up with us in the Benar jungle.”
“Continue then, sahib.”
“Go to the royal palace and try to arrange a meeting with Yanez or one of his men.”
“What should I say to the white sahib?”
“Relate to him everything that has happened and tell him our location. If he gives you a letter, rent a boat and come meet us in the jungle. Be cautious, you must not get caught.”
“I won’t let anyone take me by surprise, sir,” said Bindar. “You have my word.”
“Go, my friend. You’ll be amply rewarded for your troubles. We’ll see you soon.”
The Assamese kissed the hem of Surama’s robe, then turned about and quickly disappeared among the trees.
“Let’s go find our ship,” said Sandokan.
“We should hurry,” added Tremal-Naik. “We’ll only be safe once we’re back in the Benar jungle.”
“For now at least.”
“You have doubts?”
“Who can say for certain? The Greek has spies everywhere; it may not take him long to find us.”
“You have a point,” said the Bengali.
“We’d do well to watch our backs. Come, my friends, we must set sail before the sun rises.”
They headed in among the trees and followed the riverbank. Several marabous sat along the shore, waiting for first light to begin scouring the city streets for their morning meal. The stars were just beginning to fade when the small band reached the place where they had left their ship.
“Anything to report?” Sandokan asked the two Malays who had remained behind to guard the bagla.
“We’re being watched, Tiger of Malaysia,” said one of the two.
“Are you certain?”
“Some men came to get a better look at our boat.”
“How many?”
“Five or six.”
“Soldiers?”
“No, they weren’t warriors.”
“Did they come back?”
“We saw them again two hours ago,” said the Malay.
Sandokan looked at Tremal-Naik.
“What do you make of that?” he asked.
“It could be the Greek’s men or it could be the rajah’s. Either way they’ll try to apprehend us,” said the Bengali.
“Then an attack may be more imminent than I feared.”
“It’s possible.”
“Bah! We have more than enough men to fend them off. Let them follow if they wish; we’ll teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget.”
They quickly climbed into the bagla and minutes later the vessel pulled away from shore and began to sail up the Brahmaputra.
Sandokan, as was his custom, sat at the bow with Tremal-Naik and Surama. The pirate carefully scanned the shore as they advanced, the Malays’ report having filled him with unease.
The bagla had barely gone two hundred yards when he spied a moor punkee, a long sleek pleasure boat with a peacock’s head and wings, emerge from a small creek shaded by a large grove of tamarind trees.
“Scoundrels!” he murmured. “Just as I predicted.”
“Are we going to let them follow us?” asked Surama.
“Many things can happen before we reach the Benar jungle,” replied Sandokan. “There’s a lagoon teeming with crocodiles not far from our hideout. If they follow us into it, those lucky beasts may be in store for a much larger breakfast than they expected.”
“Can we not spare them? Those men may become my subjects one day.”
“Mercy is a fine quality in a ruler,” replied Sandokan. “But you aren’t their rani yet, and if they caught you, you likely never would be. If I’d spared all my enemies, I wouldn’t have become the Tiger of Malaysia; once the kingdom is yours it may be different, but for now we cannot take any more prisoners. I already have three in the jungle and two of them could cause us quite a few problems if they managed to escape.”
“Who?”
“The Prime Minister and the fakir who helped arrange your abduction. If they escape and spread word of who we are, we may as well pack our bags and set sail for Borneo. Look! They’re picking up speed. Very well then! If they wish to measure themselves against us, we’ll be happy to accommodate!”
The moor punkee, guided by a helmsman and manned by eight oarsmen, was advancing quickly, following the bagla’s path. As the sky slowly brightened, Sandokan’s sharp eyes spied several carbine barrels resting against the thwarts. These were not men on a pleasure cruise.
There was of course a slight chance that they could have been hunters, out in search of geese or Brahmin ducks, birds that always abound along the great rivers of India, but the suspicious timing of their appearance made it rather unlikely.
The Indian vessel suddenly tacked to port and minutes later rowed past the bagla, its crew barely giving their ship a glance. Much to Sandokan and Tremal-Naik’s surprise, it continued on and headed toward the left bank, where they could just make out a large dark silhouette beneath the tamarind trees lining the shore.
“That was unexpected,” the pirate said with a frown.
“We may have been wrong,” said Tremal-Naik.
“We shouldn’t relax just yet, my friend,” said Sandokan. “That silhouette looks rather ominous.”
“Have the helmsman draw closer to shore. We should get a better look at it.”
“Look, Tremal-Naik! The moor punkee’s crew is climbing aboard it.”
“Another ship? We may have been worrying in vain. Those men may just be returning to their vessel.”
“Let’s see what they’re up to,” said Sandokan. “Kammamuri, take us in a little closer!”
The bagla tacked and began to advance towards the left bank, and when it was about a dozen metres from the dark mass, Sandokan signaled the Malays to slow their pace and let their ship coast past. Almost simultaneously a cry of astonishm
ent escaped the pirate and the Bengali’s lips.
“The pulwar!”
“Could it really be the same vessel that followed us down the river?” asked Tremal-Naik, amazed.
“I never forget a ship,” said Sandokan. “That’s the same pulwar.”
“And she’s preparing to come after us,” added Kammamuri, who had handed the tiller to a Malay. “Her crew is raising sail.”
“We’ve got to get rid of them,” said Sandokan.
“What are we going to do?” asked Surama. “They greatly outnumber us.”
“I have an idea,” said the pirate, after a brief silence. “Kammamuri, do we have any tins aboard?”
“Yes, about a dozen or so, biscuit tins mostly.”
“One is all you’ll need to build a bomb. Fill it with a kilogram of powder then tie it shut with some wire. Make sure the fuse is no longer than ten centimetres.”
“How are you going to hurl that at the pulwar?” asked Tremal-Naik. “We’re too far from it.”
“I’ll deliver it personally,” said Sandokan.
“How?”
“You’ll see. It’ll be a surprise.”
“You’re starting to sound like Yanez, cloaking your actions in mystery.”
The pirate smiled.
“The sun has already started to rise so we’ll have to wait for nightfall, but we’re in no hurry and our friends in the jungle won’t mind if we’re a little late. The best thing we can do now is rest; the evening promises to be eventful. I’ll wake you when it’s time for breakfast. Kammamuri, start making the bomb, mix in as many bullets with the powder as you can.”
He lit his pipe and walked to the stern to keep a better eye on the enemy ship. The pulwar, having weighed anchor and raised its two square sails, had pulled away from shore, left the moor punkee behind, and with the wind in its favour, had begun to follow the bagla, never drawing closer than three or four hundred paces from it.
Had it wanted to, the pulwar could have easily overtaken Sandokan’s heavy boat, those little ships capable of great speed even when there is little wind, but it was evident that its crew was in no hurry, for from time to time they would lower one sail then the other to slow their advance.
The sun having risen over the vast eastern jungle, Sandokan and Tremal-Naik could easily distinguish those aboard the pulwar. There were only ten or twelve of them and at first glance they appeared to be common boatmen dressed in simple dhotis, but there may have been more of them hiding in the whicker cabin at its aft.
The oddest thing about that ship, however, was a brightly painted hauk adorned with fur and feathers that hung from her two masts almost in the centre of the deck. Those large bass drums were usually found in temples and only played during religious ceremonies or festivals.
“To transmit signals, I’d wager,” said Sandokan, taking in every detail. “Why else would it be there?”
“There’s no other explanation,” agreed Tremal-Naik. “Those drums can be heard over great distances.”
“I knew they were spies,” said Sandokan. “Bah! We’ll deal with them soon enough.”
The bagla in the meantime had continued on its leisurely way, Sandokan not wanting to stray too far from the canal that led to the lagoon. The pulwar continued to follow, careful to maintain its distance, despite the strengthening morning breeze.
The river was slowly widening. Palash trees, tara palms, mango trees and neem trees grew thickly along its banks; from time to time they would spy a rice field among the lush vegetation, a small dyke, a few feet high, enclosing rows and rows of emerald green plants.
Wildlife was everywhere. Bands of golden langur monkeys, black-faced primates with reddish-gold fur, sacred to many Himalayan tribes, peered down from among the trees, greeting the passing boat with shrill whistles and a shower of fruit and twigs. Brahmin ducks swam and dabbled among the reeds while adjutant storks, buzzards and marabou looked on impassively; a few large crocodiles could also be seen, dozing in the sun, their rugged backs plastered with mud.
At noon, Sandokan ordered the bagla to head for the left bank and drop anchor so that his men could have breakfast.
The pulwar continued on its way for another three or four hundred metres, perhaps so as not to arouse suspicion, then veered towards the right bank and dropped anchor in a tiny cove. Smoke soon began to rise from behind the whicker walls of its aft cabin; its crew had also decided to eat.
“Do you still have any doubts about the intentions of those men?” he asked Tremal-Naik.
“No,” replied the Bengali. “You were right, they’re spies. If we don’t find a way to rid ourselves of that ship, they’ll follow our every move.”
“Wait until tonight.”
He had his men raise a sail over the bow to shade it from the sun, then summoned Surama for their morning meal.
It was not until four o’clock in the afternoon that Sandokan gave the order to depart.
The bagla had barely gone a few paces when the pulwar raised one of its sails and began to follow.
“They’re a determined lot,” said the pirate. “I’ll give them that.”
The two ships continued to advance slowly, one driven forward by its oarsmen, the other by its sails, the pulwar never drawing any closer than three hundred metres.
The riverbanks were now deserted, not a rice paddy, hut or boat in sight; they were drawing closer to the jungle now, the domain of wild beasts.
Towards sunset, the bagla which had slowly increased its lead, sailed past the channel that led to the swamp, Sandokan preferring not to head for the lagoon with the pulwar still in pursuit.
He let the boat continue upriver for two more miles, then, when it was dark, he had his men drop anchor near the left bank.
The pulwar continued its march for several hundred metres as it had that morning, but instead of coming to a halt along the opposite shore, it dropped anchor in the middle of the river in order to keep an eye on the small boat.
“You should have something to eat,” Sandokan said to Tremal-Naik and Surama.
“What about you?” asked the Bengali.
“I’ll eat when I come back from my swim.”
“Swim? You intend to swim to that boat to deliver that bomb? That’s your secret plan?”
“Yes, there is no other way,” said Sandokan. “The night is dark; no one will see me cross the river.”
“You’ll get yourself devoured!” Tremal-Naik exclaimed nervously.
“By what?”
“A crocodile, a goonch… they abound in these waters.”
Sandokan shrugged and calmly drew his kris from his sash.
“I have this,” he said. “More than enough to keep them at bay.”
“Let me accompany you at least.”
“There’s no need to risk both our lives for such a simple task. I’ll swim to the pulwar, fasten the bomb to its rudder, light the fuse and swim back to the bagla. The blast will tear a hole in its side and once it sinks we’ll be on our way. Kammamuri! I’m ready.”
The Maratha emerged from the aft cabin cradling the bomb in both hands. It had been constructed from a tin box and bound shut with copper wire that he had found inside; its fuse was about ten centimetres long, and it had a hook on one end fashioned from copper wire so it could be hung from the rudder shaft.
Sandokan studied it carefully for a moment, nodding in satisfaction.
“Fine work. Surama, when you become Rani of Assam you should consider appointing him general of your grenadiers.”
“Gladly, if that’s what he wishes,” smiled the young woman.
The pirate walked into the aft cabin, quickly disrobed, fastened a dhoti about his hips and tucked his kris in by his left hip.
“Kammamuri, tie the bomb to the top of my head and add some flint and a tinderbox. Make sure you fasten them tightly, I can’t have them falling into the water.”
Kammamuri quickly did as he was instructed.
“Now have a rope lowered over the side,”
continued Sandokan.
“Watch out for crocodiles, sir,” said Surama, who appeared more than a little anxious.
“There’s no need to worry,” said the pirate. “I doubt those beasts would care much for my tough old meat.”
He squeezed the young woman’s hand, bid farewell to Tremal-Naik, instructed his men not to make a sound, then took the rope and slowly climbed down into the water.
Surama, Tremal-Naik and the entire crew anxiously watched him swim off and disappear into the darkness, the pirate advancing as quietly as he could, holding his head above water to keep the fuse and tinderbox dry.
The pulwar was only four hundred metres from him, a short distance for a man from the coasts of Borneo. As he drew closer to the Indian vessel, Sandokan slowed his advance, the risk of a lookout sighting him making him more cautious.
He would stop and listen from time to time, then reassured by the silence, he would resume his swim, moving his arms and legs ever more quietly and cautiously.
At fifty paces from the pulwar he froze; something had brushed against his side. For a moment he feared it was a crocodile, but to his relief discovered it was only a corpse that had been dumped into the river, its rotting stench quickly filling the air about him.
He sighed in relief and let the body pass then with five or six strokes drew up beneath the vessel’s stern.
Although he had not drawn his hands from the water, the men who were on watch upon the pulwar must have noticed something unusual, for he heard a voice say:
“Did you hear that, Maot? It sounds like something brushed against the side of the ship.”
“Just the creak of the rudder,” replied another voice. “Some crocodile must have struck it as it swum past.”
“We should check. Best to be cautious. The Sikhs told me that the men aboard that bagla aren’t Indians.”
“Cast a look over the side then.”
Sandokan quickly flattened himself against the stern.
Several seconds dragged by, but the man above him remained silent.
“I can’t see anything,” he said at last. “It’s too dark.”
“Like I said, probably a crocodile. Come, let’s walk to the bow. We may be able to get a better look from the forecastle.”
Sandokan, who had been straining his ears to catch every word, heard the shuffling of bare feet as the two men walked away.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 21