‘Yes, all that. I’m sure, Lily,’ said Joe. ‘But look, Iskander, you must have seen this situation developing, have been aware of the awful consequences of such a rash act? I didn’t see you as a bloodthirsty warmonger!’
Iskander replied a little stiffly, ‘I am Afridi. I too live by the laws of pukhtunwali. I understand badal and I understand Zeman’s compulsion. In his place I would have felt the same urge to avenge my brothers. Nevertheless, the time was not an opportune one. I was uneasy because we were the guests of Major Lindsay. He had welcomed us as friends within the gates of Gor Khatri. That evening after the feast I tried to talk Zeman out of his plans, to persuade him to pursue them at a later day.’
Joe wondered whether Iskander was trying to convey a message to Lily by this little speech – ‘Once an Afridi, always an Afridi. Untameable. Untransplantable.’ Grace at any rate seemed to have understood and she flashed at Joe a look of unfathomable intensity.
‘And what were his plans?’ asked Joe, feeling he already knew the answer.
‘We were both to change into our uniforms and be ready to leave the fort by the chiga gate that night. Our men had been warned and we had bribed the guards. Zeman was to go up to Lindsay’s room in the middle of the night – he had found out from the sweeper which was Lindsay’s room – and stab him in the throat with his dagger just as Lindsay had killed his brother. I waited all night for Zeman’s signal but it never came. With some relief I assumed he’d changed his mind and I fell asleep until the noise on the stairs awoke me the next morning.’
Joe flicked a glance at Grace who was staring at the ground, determinedly silent.
‘But there were two people in James’s room,’ said Lily. ‘There was Betty. What about Betty?’
‘If she had wakened he would have killed her too. Two brothers, two lives in reparation. It would not have been my way but I do believe Zeman was corrupted by his contact with the West where it is nothing to kill a woman. An everyday occurrence you might say. I am sure Sandilands can confirm this,’ Iskander said with a touch of defiance. ‘I was unable to dissuade him.’
‘But he didn’t succeed in his attempt,’ said Joe. ‘I heard James lock his door on retiring at eleven o’clock. The downstairs rooms including yours and Zeman’s do not have locks and there was no reason to suppose that those on the first floor would have. But they do. Zeman would not have known that. If he had reached James’s room that night he would not have been able to get in without banging the door down and that didn’t happen.’ He looked again at Grace but she avoided his eye. ‘And Zeman died of poisoning. Now I know what you’re all thinking – we’ve got an easy equation here. At last we have a motive and it’s all beginning to add up. But is it? Zeman is about to attempt to kill James so James, the target, finds out somehow and forestalls the attempt by killing Zeman first in a sort of premeditated self-defence. Mmm. That makes no sense to me. I know my friend. He’s got a hell of a temper – I’ve seen him kill with a gun, a knife and even his bare hands. He wouldn’t go sneaking around popping poison in his sherbet. What have you to add, Grace?’
At last she responded to his direct challenge and her eyes narrowed for a moment. A signal? A warning?
‘I know your interpretation is the correct one, Joe. I am equally certain that James did not kill Zeman and I will swear to that on a Bible if you have one. But it doesn’t matter, I’m afraid, what I think or what you think, because in the minds of the Afridi – and for this you must take the blame, Iskander – James did away with Ramazad’s third son whilst his guest at the fort and also his two older sons and that’s quite an overdraft on goodwill!’
‘How heavily did that weigh with Ramazad when you were bargaining with him, Grace?’ asked Lily.
‘Ramazad! I think I caught him, just for once in his life, at an emotional moment! I told him clearly that I’d just presented him with the lives of his wife and son – he knew quite well that they would both certainly have died if I hadn’t intervened. And I slipped into the balance the death of my husband fighting the Afridi.’
‘Three all?’ said Lily.
‘Three all. As you say. It was a gamble and I was far from sure I’d be able to talk him into giving up the need to demand badal with all that tribal pride at stake, but I think he was moved by the story of my husband’s death and he said to me what the Afridi always say – “But your husband died at Afridi hands!” (Not quite true but near enough.) “How can you bring yourself to save Afridi lives?” I think the euphoria of having his wife restored to him turned things in our favour and after a bit of bluster and some very uncomplimentary epithets linked with James’s name, he agreed to wipe the slate clean!’ She sighed. ‘I think . . . I hope this marks a significant turning in our dealings with the Afridi. But what an effort!’
‘And all so unnecessary!’ drawled Rathmore.
They all turned to look at Rathmore who had been sitting silently with a derisive smirk on his face. ‘For an intelligent woman, Dr Holbrook, you show surprising lack of insight! All this talk of weighing in the balance, bargaining lives for deaths, tribal pride, is so much sentimental claptrap!’ He looked triumphantly round at the astonished faces turned to him. ‘Tribal pride, indeed! I can tell you what tribal pride is worth! Oh, yes! I am in a position to tell you down to the last farthing precisely what it takes to buy off tribal pride!
‘And as for you!’ He turned his scorn on Joe. ‘I suppose it makes a welcome change from routine police work haring about the desert dressed in that gawd ’elp us get-up but – really! – when it comes to being a Khan – I suppose some Khan and some just Khan’t!’ He greeted his own joke with a bark of laughter but no one joined him.
‘Do you know what your mistake was?’ he plunged on. ‘Well, I’ll tell you! You made the mistake of underestimating the Afridi. You assume they’re just a bunch of medieval savages locked into their centuries-old traditions and you think you can get the better of them by playing them at their own tribal customs game. Nonsense! They would always beat you at that! Oh, no, that’s not the way. I, on the other hand, saw straight to the heart of our problem and solved it! We were always going to be released today. Oh, yes! I had negotiated it before ever the circus came to town!’ He cast a derisive look at Grace and Joe and Lily, still wearing their native dress. ‘Would you like to hear how I did it?’
‘Nobody’s going to step out of the rocks and shoot him,’ Lily thought. ‘I’m going to have to do it myself!’ She touched for reassurance the bulge of the small pistol she kept in her boot and calmed her irritation by deciding which part of his bloated body to aim at first.
Not waiting for a reply, Rathmore pounded on. ‘It’s obvious to me that a man who can run a tribe of such size efficiently must be a fair sort of businessman. And that’s how I dealt with him. He recognized me for what I was . . .’
‘And what were you, Dermot?’ Lily drawled.
‘A businessman like himself and one empowered to deal with him in the name of the British Government. Money, Miss Coblenz. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you of all people how the power of money transcends all languages, all little local difficulties. I explained my plans for opening up a trade route over the frontier and into Afghanistan. He understood at once what was involved and made some positive and very helpful suggestions. Roads. That’s what it all comes down to. He pointed out (I had already noticed) that the road system is not good. Patchy and unsuitable in most places for the lorry transport I have in mind. Did you know that the contracts for road building in this country are hotly sought after? No? It’s the local tribes who undertake the work and there is strong competition between them to be awarded the contracts by the government. The Afridi lost out last time to the Mohmands and they’ve never forgiven them. I was able to say, “This time it’ll all be different, Ramazad, because I will be the one advising on the distribution of contracts. But of course I can only do that if I am free to deal in Simla.” He took my point at once, of course. He offered, very sensibly, to extend
the terms of reference to include an Afridi protection squad of Khassadars, I think he called them, who will guard the road workers initially and stay on as road patrols for the convoys when they start coming through. Excellent man! He has quite an eye for detail and is a tough negotiator. Just the kind of man I like to do business with!’
‘In Chicago, we call this a “shake-down”,’ Lily muttered. ‘He didn’t try to sell you tickets to a ward ball too, did he?’
Rathmore ignored her and his tone hardened. ‘He was quite distressed that I should have been put to such inconvenience by that man.’ Rathmore pointed an accusing finger at Iskander. ‘And agreed to make amends by outlawing him. Quite right too. Least he could have done. Known troublemaker, everyone agrees. And now an outlaw. I wonder if you’re aware that under Afridi law I could shoot him where he sits, no questions asked?’
The shaft of hatred Iskander directed at Rathmore was more disturbing to Joe than the unsheathing of a dagger but Rathmore seemed comfortably unconcerned.
‘I’d arranged for an armed escort for myself and Miss Coblenz back to Gor Khatri and I have to say I was afraid you might have wrecked my careful arrangements when your rag tag and bobtail outfit rolled into the fort!’
The deep silence that followed this flourish was finally broken by Lily. She looked lazily at Rathmore and addressed the company in her thickest western drawl. ‘Gee! If this were Daddy’s ranch I’d ask Slim and the boys to string this feller up by his balls from the nearest cottonwood tree.’
‘Don’t think those wizened old apricots would take the strain,’ said Grace ambiguously. ‘The river? We could dunk him in the river?’
‘No, an anthill’s what we want,’ said Joe looking round. ‘Isn’t that one over there? If you peg a chap out over one . . .’
‘That takes too long,’ said Iskander. ‘Three days at least. But the sun’s still high. We could slit his eyelids and tie him to a tree facing west. He’d be blind and mad before sunset.’
‘Oh, very funny!’ snarled Rathmore. ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones . . .’
‘Okay, then,’ said Joe, ‘sticks and stones it is!’
He jumped to his feet and Rathmore ran for his horse, screaming abuse over his shoulder as he ran. ‘. . . ungrateful! . . . police clod! . . . when I get back to Simla! . . . Johnny Simpkins in the Home Office . . . cut you down to size! . . . pounding the beat in Seven Dials!’
He set off at a gallop heading west for Gor Khatri.
‘All the same,’ said Joe, laughing but rather ashamed of their display, ‘I’d rather he didn’t get too far ahead of us. Lord knows what rubbish he’d put into James’s head if he arrived before us.’
‘Okay. Mount up, folks,’ said Lily and she made her way at Joe’s side over to the horses now tethered in the shade of the thickest tree. She paused, her hand on the bridle, to look up into the branches. ‘Look at that, Joe,’ she said. ‘The bird. You kind of forget in this wilderness that creatures can thrive in the nooks and crannies. What is that?’
Joe looked. A parent bird was balancing precariously on the edge of a nest, thrusting something unspeakable into the throat of its young. He stared and was quiet for a moment. ‘It’s a bloody marvel, that’s what it is! It’s the answer to everything! Oh, sorry, Lily. The bird. Yes, it’s an, er, a lesser-spotted Himalayan mountain thrush. Yes, that’s what it is.’
‘Oh yeah? And you’re a greater-spotted liar bird! What’s up, Joe?’
A second later, she answered her own question. ‘Jeez! I see it too! Oh, but they couldn’t have! Could they? No! Bet they did though! Oh, Joe, we’ve got a few questions to put to certain parties who’ve been pulling our legs and jerking our chain when we get back to the fort!’
Chapter Twenty
James Lindsay reviewed the chaos into which his life, both private and official, had descended with considerable misgiving. From the lookout post above the gates he scanned the distant hills. Joe, his dearest friend, was out there, probably in danger of his life if not already dead. And this was not his problem! Honest Joe! Working so desperately towards doing the wrong thing! Should he have confided in him? James considered for a moment and then decided, in his soldier’s calculating way, that it had probably been worth the risk. But where had it left them? It had left them with Joe running the risk. Thinly – very thinly disguised as a Scout, he was in a situation where, if he was discovered, he would be instantly executed as a ferenghi. And all in an effort to extricate Lily. Unreliable Lily! Lily on whom the only reliance that could be placed was that she would say or do the wrong thing, be in the wrong place and, if she could find a way to do so, enter the wrong room in the wrong clothes at the wrong time. He contemplated Lily and shuddered.
And as if that weren’t enough, James acknowledged that he had an abiding problem with Iskander! Enigmatic, a subtle plotter and – whatever else – a major player in the unravelling of the cat’s-cradle into which local politics seemed to have descended.
Once more, binoculars pressed to his eyes, he swept the approaches to the fort. What was this? He squinted again into the late afternoon sun. A solitary rider was coming in. A rider on a large Afghani grey. James stared and stared. ‘Rathmore? Rathmore, by God! Now what?’ Rathmore coming in alone? The lone survivor of some awful catastrophe? With a shudder James remembered the desperate ride of Dr Brydon who was spotted by the garrison at Jelalabad, struggling in half dead on an exhausted horse across the plain only to whisper that he was the only man of a force of sixteen thousand to make it back from Kabul. The rest had been shot and slashed to pieces by Afghani tribesmen, the women with them killed or taken hostage. Eighty years ago and now it was happening again.
In agony, James wiped the sweat from his eyes and squinted through his field glasses. No – the rider was not quite alone. He seemed to be the one-man advance guard of a party of five or six. Was he being pursued? James thought not. The group following in his wake were not attempting to catch up with him but riding at more or less the same pace, keeping their distance. Through the dust rising round the party it was hard to tell who they were. But it was undoubtedly Rathmore in front and going at quite a pace.
‘I’m not in the mood for Rathmore,’ James thought. ‘Do I go and meet him? Do I have him sent to me? That might give me a moral edge. No, I’ll go down.’ He picked up his cap, set it on his head and reluctantly descended the stairs so that when Rathmore arrived at the fort, he was standing ready to receive him with an insouciance he did not feel.
Stiff and indignant, Rathmore slid from his horse.
‘Lord Rathmore! An unexpected pleasure! I had hardly hoped to see you. And now what can I offer you? Not too late for tea, I hope?’
Rathmore eyed him sourly. ‘That’s enough, Lindsay!’ he said. ‘The sooner you realize that you’re in considerable trouble the sooner we can start talking sense! I am here in an official capacity . . .’
James interrupted him. ‘I would have said a semi-official capacity but do please continue.’
‘. . . in an official capacity,’ Rathmore repeated, ‘and under your very nose, almost I would say with your connivance, I have been incarcerated!’
‘Would you say “incarcerated”?’ James enquired mildly. ‘I would have said “kidnapped”. But go on.’
‘I have been seized upon, made off with, exposed to every sort of indignity and I want to know what you’re going to do about it! There!’ he pointed. ‘There’s the scoundrel responsible and I want to know what you’re going to do with him!’
The small party wound its way towards the fort and James stared and stared again. He identified three Scouts, one of whom might be Joe; he identified, bobbing with excitement, the fair hair and slender figure of Lily dressed in green native tunic and trousers; he saw the comfortable figure of Grace taking as always the day’s problems one by one. Finally he saw the figure of Iskander, calm, debonair and unruffled, sure of himself, apparently sure of his welcome and very ready to greet James as an old friend and valued col
league.
‘There he is!’ said Rathmore. ‘There’s the rogue! He kept me prisoner and threatened to slit my eyelids. I insist on his immediate arrest!’
‘One moment, Rathmore,’ said James and he stepped forward to greet the party. ‘First things first. Aslam! Yussuf!’ he called out in greeting to the Scouts. Smiles, laughter and exclamation followed and the Scouts were dismissed, both men pleased to be setting off for barracks with the keen anticipation of telling their story to the rest of the unit.
‘Grace, Lily, Joe, Iskander,’ James nodded to each in turn. ‘Delighted to have you all back again safe and sound. If you’d like to come with me to the durbar hall I can offer you some refreshment. Now where have you got to? Tea? Or would a glass of sherry be more welcome?’
Rathmore was dancing with rage. ‘You’re not going to invite that black-avised fiend back inside the fort! Think, man! Think what happened last time! Don’t you ever learn?’
‘I haven’t made up my mind quite yet,’ said James, ‘whether to offer Iskander the hospitality of the fort or the guardhouse. I will let you know when I have made further enquiries. Now, perhaps you would all like to return to your rooms which are standing ready – I’m sure you’ll all want to freshen up and, er, change – and we’ll meet in the durbar hall in, let’s say an hour. That suit everyone?’
Rathmore turned with a splutter of disgust and stamped off through the gate. The others followed, entering with varying degrees of eagerness the confines of the fort. Joe lagged behind in the hope of exchanging a few words with James but his friend was avoiding his eye and, it seemed, anxious not to hear Joe’s story for the moment. There was something about his manner that puzzled Joe. His old confidence and decisiveness had returned, though, knowing what Joe now knew, this was inexplicable. Oh, well, Joe would go along with it for the time being. His moment to unravel all this would come.
The Damascened Blade Page 24
