The instructors who taught dancing to young Indian royalty in those days must have been uncommon sturdy; she had just about done for me, but somehow I must have managed to crawl to the couch, for the next I knew I was there with my face cradled against those wonderful perfumed boobies – I tried feebly to go brrr! but she turned my head and lifted a cup to my lips. As if I hadn’t enough on board already, but I drank greedily and sank back, gasping, and was just deciding I might live, after all, when she set about me again, lips and hands questing over my body, fondling and plaguing, writhing her hips across my groaning carcase until she was astride my thighs with her back to me, and the torchlight procession staggered into marching order once more, eventually erupting yet again with shattering effect. After which she left me in peace for a good half-hour, as near as I could judge in my intoxicated state – one thing I’m certain of, that if I’d been sober and in my right mind she could never have teased me into action a third time, as she did, by doing incredible things which I still only half-believe as I recall them. But I remember those great eyes, over the veil, and the pearl on her brow, and her perfume, and the tawny velvet skin in the half-light …
I came awake in an icy sweat, my limbs shivering, trying to remember where I was. There was a cold wind from somewhere out in the dark, and I turned my aching head; the pink lamps were burning, casting their shadows, but she was no longer there. Someone was, though, surely, over by the door; there was a dark figure, but it wasn’t naked, for I could see a white loin-cloth, and instead of the gold headdress, there was a tight white turban. A man? And he was holding something – a stick? No, it had a strange curved head on it – and there was another man, just behind him, and even as I watched they were gliding stealthily into the room, and I saw that the second one had a cloth in his right hand.
For perhaps ten seconds I lay motionless, gazing – and then it rushed in on me that this wasn’t a dream, that they were moving towards the couch, and that this was horrible, inexplicable danger. The net was gone from the couch, and I could see them clearly, the white eyes in the black faces – I braced for an instant and then hurled myself off the couch away from them, slipped, recovered, and rushed at the shutters in the screen-wall. There was a snarl from behind me, something swished in the air and thudded, and I had a glimpse of a small pick-axe quivering in the shutter as I flung myself headlong at the screen, yelling in terror. Thank God I’m fourteen stone – it came down with a splintering crash, and I was sprawling on the little verandah, thrashing my way out of the splintered tangle and heaving myself on to the verandah rail.
From the tail of my eye I saw a dark shape springing for me over the couch; there was a tree spreading its thick foliage within five feet of the verandah, and I dived straight into it, crashing and scraping through the branches, clutching vainly and taking a tremendous thump across the hips as I struck a limb. For a second I seemed suspended, and then I shot down and landed flat on my back with a shock that sickened me. I rolled over, trying to heave myself up, as two black figures dropped from the tree almost on top of me; I blundered into one of them, smashed a fist into its face, and then something flicked in front of my eyes, and I only just got a hand up in time to catch the garotte as it jerked back on to my throat.
I shrieked, hauling at it; my wrist was clamped under my chin by the strangler’s scarf, but my right arm was free, and as I staggered back into him I scrabbled behind me, was fortunate enough to grab a handful of essentials, and wrenched for all I was worth. He screamed in agony, the scarf slackened, and he went down, but before I could flee for the safety of the wood the other one was on my back, and he made no mistake; the scarf whipped round my windpipe, his knee was into my spine, and I was flailing helplessly with his breath hissing in my ear. Five seconds, it flashed across my mind, is all it takes for an expert garotter to kill a man – oh, Jesus, my sight was going, my head was coming off, with a horrible pain tearing in my throat, I was dying even as I fell, floating down to the turf – and then I was on my back, gasping down huge gulps of air, and the faces that were swimming in front of my eyes, glaring horribly, were merging into one – Ilderim Khan was gripping my shoulders and urging:
“Flashman! Be still! There – now lie a moment, and breathe! Inshallah! The strangler’s touch is no light thing.” His strong fingers were massaging my throat as he grinned down at me. “See what comes of lusting after loose women? A moment more, and we would have been sounding retreat over thee – so give thanks that I have a suspicious mind, and followed with my badmashes to see what kind of cunchuneet it was who bade thee to her bed so mysteriously. How is it, old friend – can you stand?”
“What happened?” I mumbled, trying to rise.
“Ask why, rather. Has she a jealous husband, perhaps? We saw the lights, and heard music, but presently all was still, and many came out, to a palankeen in which ladies travel, and so away. But no sign of thee, till we heard thee burst out, with these hounds of hell behind thee.” And following his nod, I saw there were two of his ruffians squatting in the shadows over two dark shapes lying on the grass – one was ominously still, but the other was gasping and wheezing, and from the way he clutched himself I imagine he was the assassin whose courting-tackle I’d tried to rearrange. One of Ilderim’s sowars was ostentatiously cleaning his Khyber knife with a handful of leaves, and presently a third came padding out of the dark.
“The sahib’s syce is dead yonder,” says he. “Bitten with a tooth from Kali’s mouth!”u
“What?” says Ilderim, starting up. “Now, in God’s name –” and he went quickly to the body of the dead strangler, snatching a lantern from one of his men, and peering into the dead face. I heard him exclaim, and then he beckoned me. “Look there,” says he, and pulled down the dead man’s eyelid with his finger; even in the flickering light I could see the crude tattoo on the skin.
“Thug!”11 says Ilderim through his teeth. “Now, Flashman, what does this mean?”
I was trying to take hold of my senses, with my head splitting and my neck feeling as though it had been through the mangle. It was a nightmare – one moment I’d been in a drunken frenzy of fornication with Lakshmibai, with a houseful of musicians beating time – and the next I was being murdered by professional stranglers – and Thugs at that. But I was too shocked to think, so Ilderim grunted and turned to the groaning prisoner.
“This one shall tell us,” says he, and seized him by the throat. “Look now – thou art dead already. But it can be swift, or I can trim off the appurtenances and extremities from thy foul carcase and make thee eat them. That, for a beginning. So choose – who sent thee, and why?”
The Thug snarled, and spat at him, so Ilderim says: “Take him to the tree yonder,” and while they did he hauled out his knife, stropped it on his sole, says “Bide here, husoor,” and then strode grimly after them.
I couldn’t have moved, if I’d wanted to. It was a nightmare, unbelievable, but in those few minutes, while dreadful grunts and an occasional choked-off scream came out of the dark, I strove to make some sense of it. Lakshmibai had plainly left me asleep – or drunk, or drugged, or both – in the pavilion, and shortly after the Thugs had arrived. But why – why should she seek my death? It made no sense – no, by God, because if she had just been luring me out for assassination, she’d have had me ambushed on the way – she’d certainly not have pleasured me like a crazy spinster first. And there was no earthly reason why she should want me killed – what had I done to merit that? She’d been so friendly and straight and kind – I could have sworn she’d been falling in love with me for two weeks past. Oh, I’ve known crafty women, sluts who’d tickle your buttons with one hand and reach for a knife with the other – but not her. I couldn’t swallow that; I wouldn’t.
I could even understand her slipping out and leaving me – it had been a clandestine gallop, after all; she had a reputation to consider. What better way of concluding it than by vanishing swiftly back to the palace, leaving her partner to find his own way ho
me – I reflected moodily that she’d probably done the same thing, countless times, in that very pavilion, whenever she felt like it. She was no novice, that was certain – no wonder her late husband had lost interest and curled up and died: the poor devil must have been worn to a shadow.
But who then had set Thugs on me? Or were they just stray, indiscriminate killers – as Thugs usually were, slaying anyone who happened in their way, for fun and religion? Had they just spotted me, out at night, and decided to chalk up another score for Kali – and then Ilderim came striding out of the dark, whipping his knife into the turf, and squatting down beside me.
“Stubborn,” says he, rubbing his beard, “but not too stubborn. Flashman – it is ill news.” He stared at me with grave eyes. “There is a fellowship – hunting thee. They have been out this week past – the brotherhood of deceivers, whom everyone thought dead or disbanded these years past – with orders to seek out and slay the Colonel Flashman sahib at Jhansi. That one yonder is a chief among them – six nights since he was at Firozabad, where his lodge met to hear a strange fakir who offered them gold, and –” he tapped my knee “– an end to the Raj in due time, and a rebirth of their order of thugee. They were to prepare against the day – and as grace before meat they were to sacrifice thee to Kali. I knew all along,” says he with a grim satisfaction, “that this was palitikal, and ye walked a perilous road. Well, thou art warned in time – but it must be a fast horse to the coast, and ship across the kala pani,v for if these folk are riding thy tail, then this land is death to thee; there will not be a safe nook from the Deccan to the Khyber Gate.”
I sat limp and trembling, taking this horror in; I was afraid to ask the question, but I had to know.
“This fakir,” I croaked. “Who is he?”
“No one knows – except that he is from the north, a one-eyed man with a fair skin from beyond the passes. There are those who think he is a sahib, but not of thy people. He has money, and followers in secret, and he preaches against the sahib-logw in whispers …”
Ignatieff – I almost threw up. So it had happened, as Pam had thought it might: the bastard was back, and had tracked me down – and devil a doubt he knew all about my mission, too, somehow – and he and his agents were spreading their poison everywhere, and seeking to revive the devilish thugee cult against us, with me at the top of the menu – and Ilderim was right, there wasn’t a hope unless I could get out of India – but I couldn’t! This was what I was meant to be here for – why Pam in his purblind folly had sent me out: to tackle Ignatieff at his own game and dispose of him. I couldn’t run squealing to Bombay or Calcutta bawling “Gangway – and a first-class ticket home, quick!” This was the moment I was meant to earn my corn – against bloody dacoits and Ruski agents? I gulped and sweated – and then another thought struck me.
Was Lakshmibai part of this? God knew she’d no cause to love the Sirkar – was she another of the spiders in this devilish web, playing Delilah for the Russians? – but no, no, even to my disordered mind one thing remained clear: she’d never have walloped the mattress with me like that if she’d been false. No, this was Ignatieff, impure and anything but simple, and I had to think as I’d never thought before, with Ilderim’s eye on me while I took my head in my hands and wondered, Christ, how can I slide out this time. And then inspiration dawned, slowly – I couldn’t leave India, or be seen to be running away, but I’d told Skene that if the crisis came I might well vanish from sight, locally, to go after Ignatieff in my own way – well, now I would vanish, right enough; that shouldn’t be difficult. I schemed it fast, as I can when I’m truly up against it, and turned to Ilderim.
“Look, brother,” says I. “This is a great palitikal affair, as you guessed. I cannot tell thee, and I cannot leave India –”
“Then thou art dead,” says he, cheerfully. “Kali’s hand will be on thee, through these messengers –” and he pointed at the dead Thug.
“Hold on,” says I, sweating. “They’re looking for Colonel Flashman – but if Colonel Flashman becomes, say – a Khyekeen pony-pedlar, or an Abizai who has done his time in the Guides or lancers, how will they find him then? I’ve done it before, remember? Dammit, I speak Pushtu as well as you do, and Urdu even better – wasn’t I an agent with Sekundar Sahib? All I need is a safe place for a season, to lie up and sniff the wind before –” and I started lying recklessly, for effect “– before I steal out again, having made my plans, to break this one-eyed fakir and his rabble of stranglers and loose-wallahs. D’you see?”
“Inshallah!” cries he, grinning all over his evil face. “It is the great game! To lie low in disguise, and watch and listen and wait, and conspire with the other palitikal sahibs of the Sirkar, until the time is ripe – and then go against these evil subverters in a secret razzia!x And when that time comes – I may share the sport, and hallaly these Hindoo and foreign swine, with my lads? – thou wouldst not forget thy old friend then?” He grabbed my hand, the bloodthirsty devil. “Thou’d send me word, surely, when the knives are out – thy brother Ilderim?”
You’ll wait a long time for it, my lad, thinks I; give me a good disguise and a pony and you’ll not see me again – not until everything has safely blown over, and some other idiot has disposed of Ignatieff and his bravos. That’s when I’d emerge, with a good yarn to spin to Calcutta (and Pam) about how I’d gone after him secretly, and dammit, I’d missed the blighter, bad luck. That would serve, and sound sufficiently mysterious and convincing – but for the moment my urgent need was a disguise and a hiding-place at a safe distance. Some jungly or desert spot might be best; I’d lived rough that way before, and as I’d told Ilderim, I could pass as a frontiersman or Afghan with any of ’em.
“When there are Ruski throats to be cut, you’ll be the first to know,” I assured him, and he embraced me, chuckling, and swearing I was the best of brothers.
The matter of disguise reminded me that I was still stark naked, and shivering; I told him I wanted a kit exactly like that of his sowars, and he swore I’d have it, and a pony, too.
“And you may tell Skene sahib from me,” says I, “that the time has come – and he can start feeling sorry for the Ruskis – he’ll understand.” For I wasn’t going back to the cantonment; I wanted to ride out tonight, wherever I was going. “Tell him of the one-eyed fakir, that the Thugs are abroad again, and the axles are getting hot. You may say I’ve had a brush with the enemy already – but you needn’t tell him what else I was doing tonight.” I winked at him. “Understand? Oh, aye – and if he has inquiries after me from the Rani of Jhansi, he may say I have been called away, and present my apologies.”
“The Rani?” says he, and his eye strayed towards the pavilion. “Aye.” He coughed and grinned. “That was some rich lady’s palankeen I saw tonight, and many servants. Perchance, was it –”
* * *
a Title of honour, champion.
b Literally, “one who sits behind a curtain”.
c Soldiers.
d Native Officer Commanding a cavalry troop.
e Troopers.
f Great lord, important man.
g See Flashman.
h “Cutch” in this sense means inferior, as opposed to “pukka”, meaning first-rate. E.g. pukka road, a macadam surface, cutch road, a mere track. Thus cutch-rani, a nominal queen, without power.
i Ducks and mulls – Bombay Anglo-Indians and Madras Anglo-Indians. Slang expressions current among the British in India, but probably seldom used by Indians themselves.
j Thieves and jungle-men.
k A young chief – Sansk., “yuva rajah”. For this and other curiosities of Anglo-Indian slang, see Hobson-Jobson, by H. Yule (1886).
l Legal representative (possibly used here ironically).
m A type of curry.
n Clerks.
o Court.
p Scoundrel.
q Bearer, waiter.
r Lady.
s Sweetheart.
t Dancing-girl.
u Stabbed with a Thug Pick-axe.
v Black water, i.e., the ocean.
w Lord-people, i.e., the British.
x An attack on unbelievers.
y Ritual throat-cutting.
Chapter 5
“‘A Gilzai and a grandmother for scandal’,” I quoted. “Mind your own dam’ business. And now, be a good lad, and get me that outfit and pony.”
He summoned one of his rascals, and asked if the tortured Thug was dead yet.
“Nay, but he has no more to tell,” says the other. “For he said nothing when I –” You wouldn’t wish to know what he said next. “Shall I pass him some of his own tobacco?”12 he added.
“Aye,” says Ilderim. “And tell Rafik Tamwar I want all his clothes, and his knife, and his horse. Go thou.”
For answer the sowar nodded, took out his Khyber knife, and stepped back under the trees to where his companions were guarding the prisoner, or what was left of him. I heard him address the brute – even at that time and place it was an extraordinary enough exchange to fix itself in my mind; one of the most astonishing things I ever heard, even in India.
Flashman Papers Omnibus Page 266
