Exploits

by Mike Resnick

  “I hate the English, too,” he said. “Even now we are planning to drive them from our country as you Americans did.”

  “You don't say?”

  “I do say,” he replied. He paused and stared at me for a minute or two. “Would I be correct in assuming you plan to leave Delhi when night falls?”

  “I got to admit that sticking around waiting to get tarred and feathered ain't real high on my list of priorities,” I answered.

  “They will be watching all the major roads and train stations,” he said. “If you try to get out by foot or car or train, they will stop you.”

  “That's right depressing news,” I said.

  “But I can get you out,” he added.

  “Well, as one revolutionary to another, let me say that that's mighty neighborly of you.”

  “I will be happy to help you thwart the British,” he said. “And once you are safely away from Delhi, I hope you will do me a favor in return.”

  “Doing favors for ignorant brown heathen is part of my calling,” I assured him. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken.”

  “Exactly what kind of favor did you have in mind?”

  “I will tell you when the time comes,” he said, handing me a room key. “In the meantime, I have arrangements to make. Wait for me in this room. I will knock three times at midnight.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, getting up onto my feet. “By the way, I never did catch your name.”

  “Gunga, and no bad jokes, please.”

  “Why would I make a joke, Brother Gunga?” I asked.

  “The British seem to find it hilarious,” he said bitterly.

  “It don't bother me none,” I said.

  “I take it you don't like Kipling?”

  “It ain't never been one of my favorite sports,” I replied. “And by the bye, I'm the Right Reverend Honorable Doctor Lucifer Jones, at your service.”

  “You'd better get to your room now, before anyone else comes looking for you,” suggested Gunga.

  Well, I did like he said, and spent a few minutes finding solace for my present situation in the Good Book before I drifted off to sleep. I must have been tireder than I thought, because the next thing I knew Gunga was knocking at the door.

  “Are you ready, Sahib?” he whispered.

  “Ready and rarin',” I said, opening the door.

  “Everything has been prepared,” he said, walking into the room.

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “How am I getting out—by car or by train?”

  “Neither,” he answered. “Take off your clothes.”

  “I can hardly blame you for being smitten by my manly good looks,” I said sternly, “but us men of the cloth don't go in for no degenerate activity.”

  “Get into this,” he said, tossing me a white loincloth. “It's part of your disguise.”

  Now that I knew he wasn't gonna attempt no unnatural perversions, I got undressed right quick and clambered into the loincloth. Then he walked over and tied a turban around my head.

  “How do I look?” I asked.

  He studied me thoughtfully for a moment. “Like an American in a loincloth and turban,” he said. “Still, it will have to do. Follow me, please.”

  He walked out the door and down the stairs, with me right behind him, and then we went through the kitchen and out the back door, where I bumped smack-dab into an elephant.

  “Say hello to Akbar,” said Gunga. “He will take you out of Delhi.”

  “I don't know how to tell you this, Brother Gunga,” I said, staring at Akbar, of whom there was an awful lot to stare at, “but I ain't never rode no elephants before.”

  “The British will never be looking for a coolie atop an elephant,” said Gunga. “You should pass by unnoticed.”

  “That's a powerful lot of elephant to pass by anything unnoticed,” I said.

  “Trust me, Reverend Jones,” said Gunga. “It is your only chance.”

  “You I trust,” I said. “Akbar I got my doubts about.”

  “He is trained to respond to whoever is his mahout.”

  “His what?”

  “His rider,” said Gunga. He handed me a stick with a metal hook at one end. “To make him go, just say ‘Kush'. Use the stick to turn him.” He looked up and down the alleyway. “I must leave shortly.”

  “How do I get on top of him?”

  “Just stand in front of him and tell him to lift you up.”

  “That's all there is to it?” I asked dubiously.

  “Trust me, Reverend Jones.”

  “Well, I suppose I ought to thank you for going to all this trouble, Brother Gunga,” I said.

  “You can repay a favor with a favor,” he replied.

  “Just name it,” I said, keeping my fingers cross behind my back in case it involved giving money to one of his pet charities.

  “Take Akbar to the town of Khajuraho, which is south and east of here. Once you arrive there you will be contacted by our leader, Rashid Jahan.” He looked around nervously. “Now I must leave before my absence is noticed.”

  He darted back into the hotel, and I was left alone with Akbar, who looked like he didn't trust me a whole lot more than I trusted him, which was not at all. Still, I couldn't just stand there in the alley forever, so I finally walked around to his front end and said “Lift". His trunk snaked out and wrapped itself around me, and before I could scream for help or ask my Silent Partner to intervene I was sitting on top of his head. I tucked a leg behind each ear, said “Kush!", and off old Akbar went. When we came to a corner I jabbed him with the stick, and sure enough, he turned just the way he was supposed to.

  We made it to the edge of town in less than an hour, and the British soldiers just waved me past without even looking at me, and then we started kushing south. Akbar wasn't the type to travel on an empty stomach, and he ate on the march, so to speak, and by the time morning rolled around I decided that maybe he had the right idea about things, so I steered him to a nearby apple orchard and told him to stop, but evidently he didn't speak no American because he just kept on plodding along at the same brisk pace. I managed to grab a couple of apples off a low-hanging branch or I could have starved for all Akbar gave a damn.

  About noon we hit a forest, and started plowing through it, and then suddenly old Akbar's trunk shot straight out and his ears stopped flopping and started listening, and a minute later he began trumpeting to beat the band, and just about the time I was sure he was trying to warn me that the Royal Governor was waiting in ambush I heard an answering trumpet and then a wild elephant broke into a clearing. I started whacking Akbar with my stick to make him turn around, because even though this wild elephant was a couple of feet smaller than him I still didn't relish sitting on his head while he indulged himself in a friendly little fight to the death, but he just kept walking forward, and at the last second I realized that the wild elephant was of the female persuasion and I was about to become an inadvertent participant in an affair of the heart.

  Well, Akbar stopped when he was maybe two feet away and trumpeted again, and she trumpeted back, and pretty soon you could have sworn that a brass band was giving a concert of John Philip Sousa marches what with all the trumpeting that was going on. Then the lady elephant gave Akbar a playful shove that could have brought a house down, and Akbar started prancing around like a puppy, and then suddenly there was a great crashing of bushes and trees and another elephant broke into the clearing some forty yards away. This one was bigger than Akbar, and he had a jealous husbandly look about him, and Akbar right quick decided he had urgent business elsewhere, because he took off like a bat out of hell and didn't slow down until we reached the end of the forest and broke out into the open once again.

  Losing the love of his life seemed to take all the zip out of Akbar's stride, but it didn't affect his appetite none, so he munched and plodded his way across the countryside for the rest of the day and all the next night.

  It was dawn when we hit th
e outskirts of Khajuraho, and the first thing I saw was this temple, which wasn't like no other I had ever seen, and truth to tell reminded me a lot more of the Rialto Burlesque Theater back in Kansas City than a house of worship. There were a bunch of figures, carved as big as life, all over the walls of the temple, most of ’em dressed for extremely warm weather, and all of them doing exactly what Akbar had planned to do with his lady elephant.

  We went a little farther, and came to another temple with even more enthusiastic figures on the walls, and by the time we hit a third temple that was just like the first two only more so, I figured I had finally found the perfect community to build my tabernacle.

  I turned Akbar toward town, and when we came to a rundown hostelry called the Janata Hotel, I pointed him toward a brick wall since I didn't know no other way to stop him, and while he was pushing against it I took a stroll down the middle of his back and slid off when I came to his tail. Then I walked around to the front and told the desk clerk to give me a room with a bath, and tend to my elephant for me.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, staring at me, “but we do not cater to the native trade.”

  Which was when I remembered that I was all done up like a coolie.

  “Don't pay no nevermind to these duds,” I said. “I was just out getting a suntan.”

  “You sound like an American,” he said. “I thought only we British ran around naked in the midday sun in tropical climes.”

  “I ain't so much running around as trying to rent a room,” I pointed out.

  He got out the register right quick, and I signed in, and a few minutes later I was sitting in my bathtub washing off the smell of elephant, of which I'd acquired an awful lot, when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come on in,” I hollered. “It ain't locked.”

  A little Indian feller walked into the room and headed over to the tub.

  “You are Lucifer Jones?” he asked.

  “The Right Reverend Honorable Lucifer Jones, at your service,” I said.

  “I have been waiting for you ever since I got a telegram from my cousin Gunga,” he said. “I am Rashid Jahan.”

  “You hunted me up kind of fast, Brother Rashid,” I remarked.

  “Well, we knew we were looking for a white man wearing a loincloth and riding an elephant,” he replied. “You'd be surprised how very few of them come through town in a day.”

  “So what can I do for you, Brother Rashid?”

  “I understand from my cousin Gunga that the two of you discussed expelling the British from our country.”

  “Yeah, I recall his mentioning something about it,” I said.

  “And I further understand that you share our philosophy.”

  Now, I couldn't figure out how Gunga had known that, since I hadn't seen any of the temples until I hit Khajuraho, but I allowed that he was dead right.

  “Excellent!” said Rashid. “He also mentioned that you had promised to do us a favor in exchange for his help.”

  “True enough,” I said.

  “Then I wonder if you would be willing to visit our secret sex tonight?” he said.

  “Your secret sex?” I said.

  He nodded. “We could draw enormous inspiration from an American like yourself.”

  I thought for a moment about the temples I had passed by on my way into town, and I figured that if that was their notion of public sex, I couldn't wait to see what kind of secret sex they practiced.

  “I consider it a debt of honor, Brother Rashid,” I said. “I'll inspire the hell out of ’em.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “I shall tell them that you will join us.”

  “As often and as vigorously as I can,” I promised. “Where do I find this here secret sex?”

  “Wait until ten o'clock tonight, and then come south of town to the Temple of Kali.”

  “I'll be there with bells on,” I assured him.

  He bowed and left, and I spent the next couple of hours just soaking in the tub. Then, just after sunset, I got out and changed into my best Sunday go-to-meeting clothes, after which I shaved and slapped a bunch of grease on my hair to slick it down. I didn't have no file to clean the dirt out from under my fingernails, so I bit ’em off instead. I didn't have any cologne neither, so I wandered down to the bar and slapped a little Napoleon brandy on my face when the barkeep wasn't looking.

  Then, since I had high hopes of meeting a lady of quality at this secret sex affair, I moseyed out into the hotel's garden and picked a couple of dozen flowers which I wrapped in a copy of the Bombay Times that someone had left in the lobby.

  Finally I went looking for Akbar, and found him munching peacefully on some greenery down the street.

  “Lift,” I said, and he did, and soon we were heading down the road to the Temple of Kali. I still hadn't figured out how to make him stop, so I just aimed him up against a huge pillar, and while he was pushing away at it I climbed down and walked around to the front door, holding the flowers behind my back since I didn't want to give ’em to the first lady I saw, just in case a prettier one was hanging back just waiting for a handsome young buck like me to sweep her off her feet.

  I knocked on the door, and Rashid opened it.

  “You're right on time, Reverend Jones,” he said.

  “Well, I didn't want no one to start without me,” I said. “Which way to the secret sex?”

  “Follow me,” he said, walking me past a couple of dozen statues that looked so acrobatic that the models could probably have gotten jobs with the Ringling Brothers if they'd put their clothes on.

  We took a hard left, and then went down a flight of stairs to this big ornate door, where Rashid stopped and turned to me.

  “You are a Westerner,” he said, “unused to our ways. I warn you that you may be shocked by some of the things that you will see before the evening is over.”

  “Different strokes for different folks,” I said.

  “I admire your open-mindedness, Reverend Jones.”

  He reached out for the door and was just about to open it when a figure darted out of the shadows and cracked him over the head with a blackjack, and he just kind of smiled and blinked once or twice and then collapsed on the floor.

  “Reverend Jones!” whispered the figure, which was dressed all in black. “What in blazes are you doing here?”

  I turned to face him, and realized that I was looking at Sir Mortimer Edgerton-Smyuthe.

  “Howdy, Sir Mortimer,” I said. “Last time I saw you you were heading into the sunset with Dr. Aristotle Ho's dragon. What happened?”

  “That foul fiend duped me,” said Sir Mortimer. “But now I've gotten wind of his latest plot to take over the world, and I plan to bring him to justice.”

  “And you figure hitting my friend Rashid on the noggin is going to have a deleterious effect on a Chinaman who's four thousand miles away from here?” I asked.

  “I did it to save you, Reverend Jones,” he said. “Now I must have an answer to my question: what are you doing here?”

  “I been invited to participate in some secret sex,” I said. “And while I don't mean to be critical or nothing, you're putting a real damper on the festivities.”

  “You fool!” he snapped. “You have no idea what's going on behind that door!”

  “I'm a quick study,” I assured him.

  “You're totally unprepared for this.”

  I considered what he said and looked down at my flowers. “You think I should have brung candy instead?”

  “You shouldn't have come at all,” he said. “Take my advice and go right back to your hotel.”

  “Now just a minute, Sir Mortimer,” I said. “I'm glad to share some of this here secret sex with you, you being a fellow white man and all, but I'll be hanged if I'm gonna leave and let you have it all to yourself.”

  “What's going on behind that door is a meeting of secret sects, you blithering idiot!” he said.

  “Secret sects?” I repeated.

  “Dr. Aristotle H
o has resurrected the Thuggees and other ancient sects with the purpose of overrunning India and eventually all of Asia, with himself as their leader. Tonight is the night that they have all gathered under one roof so that he can address them and spell out his plans. Now do you understand what you have blundered into?”

  “You mean there ain't no women in there?” I asked.

  “That's what I've been trying to tell you!”

  “And I got all decked out in my Sunday best for nothing?”

  “Don't you understand anything I've said?” demanded Sir Mortimer.

  “I understand that Dr. Aristotle Ho has got a lot to answer for,” I told him. “This was a downright cruel and unfeeling trick to play on a Christian missionary who never did nobody no harm.”

  Sir Mortimer stared at me for a minute. “I don't suppose it matters what your motive is, as long as you're against him. What do you say, Reverend Jones—will you throw in with me and bring this insidious villain to justice?”

  “I should consider my answer very carefully before I gave it, Doctor Jones,” said a familiar voice, and we turned to find ourselves facing Doctor Aristotle Ho and maybe a dozen of his henchmen, all of ’em with their guns drawn.

  "You!" hissed Sir Mortimer.

  “Our paths cross once again, Sir Mortimer,” said Doctor Ho. “You are becoming a serious annoyance to me. I should have killed you the last time we met; this time I will correct that oversight.”

  “Well, I can see you two have lots to talk about,” I said, “so if you'll excuse me, I think I'll be on my way.”

  “Not so fast, Doctor Jones,” he said, as a couple of his men blocked my path. “Why are you here in the first place?”

  “It's a Saturday night, and I was looking for a little female companionship,” I explained.

  “At a meeting of the Thuggees in the Temple of Kali?” he said, kind of arching an eyebrow.

  “I was the victim of false doctrine,” I said. “Everybody kept talking about all this secret sex that was going on, and I thought I'd partake of some of it.”

  He stared at me for an awfully long and uncomfortable minute.