Danger at Dahlkari (26 page)

Ten

There were six huts in the jungle, flimsy wooden structures with verandas in front, woven grass shutters and roofs, mosquito nets draped like gauzy tents over the beds inside. The English party used these, Sally and I sharing one, Dollie and Reggie another, the remaining eight men using the other four. The huts stood in a small clearing that had been hacked out of the dense jungle, and they were completely surrounded by trees and vines and a thick tangle of plants. The rajah and his men had pitched their tents in a somewhat larger clearing a short distance away, a belt of jungle separating the two parties. I thought the arrangement rather odd, but Dollie assured me it was traditional. The English valued their privacy and much preferred sleeping in these huts which had been set up for their convenience a number of years ago.

Sally and I were in our hut, dressing for the rajah's celebration banquet after the first day's hunt. Bright yellow rays of sunlight streamed in through the opened windows, but we would soon have to light the oil lamps. Our hut was only a few yards from the trees, and we could hear the rustle of leaves, the shrill cries of birds, an occasional jabbering clamor when a monkey ventured near. Both of us were exhausted after a day spent crouching in a blind, watching a nervous goat move restlessly on its tether. It bleated loudly, eventually attracting the magnificent gold and black creature who leaped through a thicket to make his kill and was himself slaughtered, somersaulting in the air as the rajah's bullet struck him and landing in a thrashing heap only a few feet away from the terrified goat.

“I can't say I really cared for it,” Sally remarked. “I felt so sorry for that poor goat—for the tiger, too, I may as well confess it.”

“It all seems terribly barbaric,” I replied. “I don't see how anyone can consider it sporting. The tiger didn't have a chance.”

“I imagine the men see it in a different light.”

“Undoubtedly,” I agreed.

Having performed rather primitive ablutions with water the rajah's servants had sent over, both of us were in our petticoats. I sat in front of a tarnished, murky blue mirror, brushing my hair, and Sally was taking out her new gown, the one she had made from the bolt of silk she had purchased in the bazaar the day of the garden party. Insects hummed, and both of us were rather wary as Corporal Burke had shot a cobra last night in the hut he shared with Sergeant Norman. My pistol was on the table in front of me, and I had already assured Sally that I could use it.

Sally held the gown up in front of her. It was a sumptuous creation of emerald green, the silk embroidered with floral patterns in silver thread. “I've never had such a gown,” she sighed, moving over to stand behind me in order to admire it in the mirror. “To think I made it myself. It took for
ever
, but it was worth it.”

“You did a splendid job, Sally.”

“Dollie said we should dress to the hilt tonight. She said the rajah would expect it. I.…” She hesitated a moment, frowning. “I don't know quite what to make of him. He's ever so polite and attentive, speaks in such a gentle, silky voice, but—well, he makes me a bit uneasy. I've seen him
looking
at me, looking at you, too. If the men weren't with us I'd be downright jittery.”

“The rajah admires women,” I said, deliberately casual.

“That's for sure,” she retorted.

I made no further comment, and Sally moved over to her bed to put on her slippers. I hadn't told her about my experience with the rajah, hadn't in fact, mentioned it to anyone. He had been exceedingly polite to me since the morning of our departure three days ago, but, like Sally, I had noticed him looking at us at odd moments with disconcerting intensity. It had taken us two days to reach the site of the hunt, and he had provided lavish accommodations: sedan chairs for the women, silken tents for us to sleep in on the way, exotic food and wine, a battalion of servants to wait upon us. He was, without doubt, a superb host—even Reggie had to admit that—but I thought there was something devious about his manner. I had the feeling he was secretly mocking us even as he smiled and made friendly conversation and saw to every detail of our comfort. My encounter with him at the garden party had undoubtedly prejudiced me to a certain extent, but I still didn't think I was imagining the slyness or that thinly veiled contempt for everyone in the British party.

I had the curious feeling that something was afoot, that the hunt had been arranged with something else in mind besides solidifying relations between garrison and palace. It wasn't anything I could explain, even to myself, yet the feeling was there, a vague uneasiness that had plagued me since the morning we departed. The rajah was gracious, his men friendly, his servants attentive, and everyone else in the British party seemed to be perfectly at ease, enjoying themselves. As soon as we reached the jungle, I had had the feeling that we were under observation, that unseen eyes were watching our every movement, and the feeling had persisted even during the hunt this afternoon. After the experience Sally and I had had it was natural enough that I should feel a certain apprehension, particularly as I knew the Thugs supposedly had their secret camp somewhere in this area, but that didn't explain it. This had to do with the rajah, with that sly expression that crossed his face now and then, as though he knew something no one else did. I tried to tell myself that I was letting my imagination run away with me, but it did no good. The feeling remained.

Leaving the dressing table, I helped Sally fasten up her gown, and she performed the same service for me a few moments later. My gown was sky blue silk, exquisitely simple, exceedingly elegant. When we joined the others outside in front of the huts, the men eyed us both with considerable appreciation. Sally was positively glowing, thrilled with her gown, thrilled to be garnering so much masculine attention. Dollie, in red velvet, eclipsed us both. She looked stunning, plump and lovely with her bobbing black ringlets and merry brown eyes, easily dominating the remarkable gown that would have overwhelmed a less striking individual.

“I see we're all
ready
,” she exclaimed. “I must say you men look handsome in your dress uniforms. Such a lovely custom, dressing up.”

“In the middle of the jungle? It's bloody nonsense,” Reggie snapped. “Here we are, surrounded by trees and vines and jabbering monkeys, a hundred miles from nowhere, and we're dressed like we were paying a visit to Buckingham Palace. We British are mad. I've always said so.”

“Don't you start in now,” she cautioned him. “We're going to have a splendid evening, and I refuse to let you be grumpy and spoil it for these youngsters.”

“You'd be grumpy too if a scorpion had dropped in your shaving water.”

“A scorpion!” Sally exclaimed.

“There I was, calm as you please, scraping away, and I heard a funny splash. There
it
was, thrashing about in my bowl of shaving water. It had dropped off the ceiling—as big as my fist, it was. As if that bloody cobra last night wasn't bad enough.”

“I think we'd better
go
,” Dollie said firmly.

As we started toward the pathway that had been cut through the jungle connecting the two clearings, Corporal Burke stepped up to take my arm. He had stuck close to me ever since we left the garrison, his manner as stern and protective as it had been the afternoon we visited the bazaar. I was rather flattered, but his proprietary manner clearly irritated the unattached men in our party, paricularly the four officers. Burke paid them no mind, taking charge as though by right.

The sun had begun to go down, and the jungle was already beginning to fill with shadows. It pressed close on either side, and with tree branches meeting overhead the path was more like a tunnel, only a few wavering gold rays of light sifting through the leaves. Sergeant Burke and I were in the rear, all the rest of the party ahead of us. I could hear Dollie's chatter, hear the men's voices as they talked among themselves. Sally let out a cry as a small snake slithered across the path. Sergeant Norman laughed huskily, delighted. I looked at the rustling green-brown walls that seemed to close in on us, and again I felt those unseen eyes.

“Is something wrong, Miss Gray?” Burke asked.

“N—no,” I replied. “I—for some reason I'm just a bit uneasy.”

“No need to be,” he assured me. “I promised to take care of you—” He cut himself short, scowling.

“You promised? Whom?”

“I shouldn't have let that slip,” he grumbled. “I may as well tell you now, though. I gave my promise to Gordon. You see, I—well, I sort of work for him.”

“Indeed?”

“I was sent to Dahlkari two weeks before he arrived, as a kind of secret aide. I guess you might call me a spy. I keep my eye on everything that happens on post, report to him. I shouldn't be telling you this, Miss Gray, but since you're already so involved—”

“I see.”

“I know you'll mention it to no one, not even the commander.”

“Of course I won't.”

“Gordon would be furious.”

“Have you any idea where he is now?”

Burke shook his head. “He doesn't tell me any more than he tells anyone else. I just follow instructions, keep my eyes and ears open, report everything to him. He's convinced a white man is involved with the Thugs, pretty certain it's someone from the garrison—I'm not giving anything away, I know he's discussed it with you.”

“He has. I think it's—the mere thought is shocking.”

“He's pretty upset with me at present, Gordon is. Blames me for letting that Ahmed fellow get away.”

I was startled. “Ahmed? He—he used that name?”

“Sure. I described the incident to him, described the lad I tackled. He said the chap was called Ahmed, said he'd been on the caravan with you. Gordon was furious with me for not holding on to him. The lad's a Thug, no doubt about it. He infiltrates the caravans, scouts around, finds out if there's money and where it is, then signals his colleagues. If he hadn't gotten away, we could have forced him to talk.”

I found it hard to believe, but everything fit perfectly. I remembered Ahmed talking with the five strangers who had joined the caravan. He was the only one who had been friendly with them. Now I knew why. The night of the attack he had disappeared. Sally had looked all over for him, thinking he would lead us to the temple in the jungle. Ahmed had set us up. He might not have participated in the actual attack, but he was undoubtedly the one who had sent the Thugs back to murder us when he learned that the bodies of two English girls hadn't been broken up and tossed into the grave that had been prepared in advance. Just thinking about it made me shudder. Sergeant Burke gave my arm a squeeze.

“Don't think about it, Miss Gray. Gordon'll soon have this thing all wrapped up. I've complete confidence in him.”

“You seem to be the only one who does.”

“No, ma'am. Captain Sleeman has confidence in him, too. That's why he chose Gordon for the job.”

I made no reply. We moved through the jungle, close on the heels of the rest of the party. The light had grown even dimmer. We would have to use lanterns on the way back from the rajah's encampment. Corporal Burke pushed aside a vine festooned with dark purple flowers. A white parrot flew across the path. I hadn't realized that so much distance separated the two camps. We must have come half a mile already.

“There are so few of us,” I remarked uneasily.

“Lieutenant Stephens and his men are camped just a few miles away,” Burke said. “One of his scouts spotted us this afternoon during the hunt. He reported to the commander. There're thirty men with the lieutenant, you know.”

“I had no idea they were so near.”

“None of us did until the scout appeared.”

“Have—have they had any success?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Burke replied. “The scout talked with the commander for half an hour, but the commander didn't tell anyone what he said. I just overheard him tell his wife that Lieutenant Stephens and his men were close by. He said Stephens might join the hunt in a day or so if it was at all possible.”

I thought about Michael, and I wondered what I was going to say to him when I saw him again. Did I love him? I wasn't sure. I had missed him, yes, but not nearly so much as I would have had Robert Gordon not entered the picture. Did I love Gordon? How could I possibly love him? He was impossible, totally impossible, and Michael was so safe, so stable. Life with him would be predictable, perhaps, but it would be comfortable and secure. And he loved me. I was certain of that. He loved me, and that impassioned, tempestuous kiss proved that he could be as exciting as any woman could wish. My feelings about him were confusing, but I knew that if I didn't love him already he could make me love him. If I gave him the chance, he could drive every doubt from my mind.

I was still thinking about this as we entered the rajah's camp. It was twice as large as ours, and it had been transformed into an amazing, glittering wonderland. Colored lanterns had been strung up everywhere, spilling dazzling light. The horses, including the ones the British had used, were in a corral to one side, and the rest of the area had been covered with gorgeous Oriental carpets. There were over a dozen white silk tents fringed with gold, dominated by a huge golden tent the size of a small house. Servants in white silk uniforms moved about performing their duties, and the rajah's men, his “police,” wore soft blue leather boots and splendid blue trousers and long-sleeved tunics, their turbans and sashes of silver cloth. Musicians were playing soft, melodious tunes, and the air itself was perfumed. It was a spectacular scene, incredibly beautiful. It was almost impossible to believe we were in the middle of the jungle.

The rajah stepped out of the golden tent to greet us. He was dressed in silver, his chest draped with a shimmering web of sapphires and diamonds, deep blue and silvery fires flashing as he moved. Diamond and sapphire bracelets encircled his wrists, and an enormous sapphire surrounded by diamonds was fastened to the front of his silver turban. These jewels alone must have been worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. He smiled and greeted each one of us personally, bowing to the women, shaking hands with the men, displaying his best English manners. When he stopped in front of me, I gave him a polite nod, refusing to make the traditional half curtsy. If he noticed, he gave no sign of it.