Jack took a deep breath. There was no point arguing further. He’d told Rao what he wanted him to do. If the Captain did something else, there wasn’t going to be much he could do to stop him.
He lifted the cloak up over his head and the smell of smoke and sweat grew stronger. He turned to Cormac. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
Cormac nodded. They stepped out of the cover of the trees and struck off down the slope.
The late sun sent golden shafts through gaps in the cloud. The groups of Mar were standing now and walking towards the castle, while Cattans patrolled along the roads.
‘You reckon we’ll get away with this?’ Jack asked.
Cormac smiled. ‘Great Shee protect us.’
‘I hope so,’ Jack muttered.
They reached the bottom of the hill and set off across the open ground. A dry wind plucked at their cloaks and swept the grass in different directions. Ahead, Mahajan’s castle rose from the hill, black against a sky tinted salmon by the sunset. It looked larger and more imposing from down in the valley. The hillsides were steep, the stone walls high, and the spires and chimneys seemed impossibly tall.
Jack blinked, rubbed his eyes a few times, then stared at the castle again. There was something strange about the building. It seemed to shift and change subtly, as if it were a picture printed on a rippling curtain. The metalwork in particular seemed to waver and squirm.
Cormac frowned. ‘Black magic. Hurt eyes.’
Jack nodded. Even he, who was used to mills and avatars, found the castle unnerving.
About halfway to the hill, they met a group of worshippers – three men and seven women – travelling in the same direction. Cormac greeted them in Gaalic and Jack pulled his cloak closer to his face. He and Cormac joined the back of the group and they all pressed on towards the castle.
A party of Cattans marched past but they only gave the worshippers a cursory look. Jack blended in with the others and aroused no suspicion.
The glowing ash – virtually invisible during the day – increasingly stood out in the dim light. From time to time Jack heard the distinctive tinkle as a flake twirled near to him.
The sattva grew stronger. His eyes ran and he had to wipe away the tears. His chest shuddered and burnt, as if stirred by the powerful streams. At one point the pain grew so bad he stumbled and almost fell.
Cormac grasped his arm to steady him. ‘What wrong?’
Jack shook off Cormac’s hand. ‘I’m fine.’
As the far side of the hill came into view, Jack made out a village of native huts clustered at the bottom of the slope. Smoke trickled from the roofs, and figures moved about between the buildings. No doubt many of the Cattans working in the castle lived in the settlement.
They came to the base of the hill and Jack looked up. The castle was silhouetted against a blast of red sunset and smouldered within clouds of steam and smoke. The walls and towers, entwined by pipes, continued to slip away as he tried to focus on them, the effect making him dizzy.
The portcullis stood open and worshippers were queuing as they waited to be admitted through the giant gatehouse. Jack and Cormac trudged up to the back of the line, inched their way forward and finally came to the entrance. Iron pipes, as thick as tree trunks, twisted to either side of the entryway, steam wheezing from valves and joins in the metal. Ten Cattans stood guard, and Jack immediately noted they were carrying knife-muskets on their shoulders.
So, Mahajan had taught at least some of the Cattans to use firearms.
He glanced up and spotted serpent-headed Rajthanan guns poking out from the battlements. Mahajan’s castle was better defended than he’d thought possible up here in Scotland.
Two Cattan guards patted him and Cormac down for weapons, then grunted and waved them in. They followed the other worshippers along the passage beneath the gatehouse, through the open gates and into a bailey. Pipes slithered over the surroundings walls, whistling and pumping out steam. The smell of sattva and coal was so overpowering it made Jack’s head spin and even Cormac wrinkled his nose. The buildings wobbled and shifted giddily when Jack tried to concentrate on them. He felt as though he were about to faint again, but shut his eyes for a second and managed to pull himself together.
Cormac hesitated, gave a small hiss and crossed himself. It took Jack a moment to realise why. As he peered through the drifts of steam, he made out a huge metal form embedded high up in the wall on the far side of the bailey. He squinted, trying to make it out clearly, and finally the mist parted enough for him to see. It was a giant skull, at least twelve feet high and made of riveted black iron. The eye sockets were dark holes and the mouth hung slightly open, revealing rusting teeth.
‘What is?’ Cormac whispered.
‘No idea,’ Jack said. It might be no more than a strange murti, but he didn’t like the look of it.
They shuffled forward to make way for the worshippers streaming in behind them. Cattan guards watched from the ramparts, their white skull emblems shining in the dying light. The Mar stood, with their cloaks over their heads, facing a wooden platform that had been erected beneath the skull. Most crossed themselves, toyed with amulets and muttered prayers. A few simply bowed their heads and waited silently.
Jack and Cormac found a spot to one side of the crowd. Jack didn’t dare speak more than a few hushed words to Cormac in case they were overheard using English.
After around ten minutes, a Cattan climbed the steps up the side of the platform and turned to face the assembly. Jack recognised the man instantly – it was the leader of the war party that had captured Saleem and the others. His dark hair was still tied in a topknot and he wore chain mail and a surcoat bearing the white skull device.
A tremor of hope ran through Jack. If this man was here, that meant Saleem must be in the castle. Surely the Cattans wouldn’t have taken the captives anywhere else?
The tall Cattan stepped up to the edge of the platform and looked down at the Mar, his top lip raised in a sneer.
‘He Nectan,’ Cormac whispered. ‘Cattan leader. He serve Mahajan long time.’
Nectan crossed himself and began speaking in Gaalic. The gathering fell silent. Nectan spoke for about a minute and then paused. The worshippers bowed their heads and muttered prayers. Then Nectan lifted his hand dramatically and said, ‘Mahajan.’
There was a tortured squeal of metal. The worshippers gasped as the jaw of the giant skull dropped open and red flames flickered alight within its eye sockets. The skull gave a shuddering groan and a globe of orange fire burst from its mouth. The Mar flinched and a few ducked, but the flames tumbled high above their heads and soon vanished.
Next the skull groaned again and thick black smoke frothed from its maw. The smoke billowed and swirled and soon filled the bailey. Many of the worshippers coughed as the acrid fog embraced them. Jack could see no more than a foot ahead of him, although the red glow of the skull’s eyes still shone through the murk.
Finally, the smoke began to clear and the flames in the skull’s eyes dimmed. Nectan had disappeared, but a new figure had slipped up to the stage and now stepped out of the rolling haze.
The worshippers all dropped to their knees and in unison said one word: ‘Mahajan.’
23
Mahajan didn’t look as Jack had expected. Although Jack wasn’t sure what he had expected.
The siddha was a Rajthanan of average height in his mid-fifties. He was slightly overweight and his stomach bulged against his clothing. His face was fleshy and his fingers were short and fat. He was balding and what remained of his hair was white and cropped short. His eyes were a dirty yellow and set deep within purple circles.
He was dressed like a savage. He wore a native cloak, tunic and surcoat displaying the white skull. Numerous amulets hung around his neck and jangled when he moved. He carried a simple wooden staff in one hand, although he seemed to have no need for it as he walked across the stage without any difficulty.
He stood on the edge of the platform and surveyed
his followers. Sattva – so strong it hurt even the inside of Jack’s ears – pulsed out from him in waves. He paused for a moment and then spoke in Gaalic. Jack had no idea whether he was fluent or not, but the worshippers seemed to understand because they stood and bowed their heads. Mahajan paced up and down the platform, shaking his staff and exhorting the crowd. From time to time he went silent and the worshippers said prayers in unison. It seemed Mahajan was leading a Mass, or something like it.
Night had set in completely now. The flakes of ash shimmered as they sailed down into the bailey, evaporating as they settled on the ground or on members of the congregation.
A wave of pain blasted Jack. He shut his eyes and fought to keep himself from passing out. If he fainted now the guards would no doubt investigate and he would be exposed as an impostor.
He swallowed and managed to pull himself back from the brink. Cormac glanced at him and frowned, but he gave the tall man a tight smile to indicate there was nothing to worry about.
Mahajan continued to rant from the platform.
How long would the unholy Mass last for? Once it was over, no doubt all the worshippers would be ushered back out of the gates. Jack had to work out how he was going to get further into the castle before then. He had to make sure he made use of this one chance.
He cast his eye over his surroundings. Behind the stage stood a wall that blocked access to the inner sections of the castle. To the right of the stage, towards the corner of the bailey, was a set of double doors, but two guards stood beside them. Numerous Cattans, carrying spears and muskets, paced along the battlements above.
Damn. There was no obvious way to get beyond the bailey. The castle had clearly been designed to be defended even if attackers made it through the main gate.
He looked up at the skull. What was the thing really? Was it just some piece of machinery designed to frighten the natives? When Mahajan finished speaking, perhaps there would be another display – more smoke and flame. Yes, he was sure that would happen.
And that gave him an idea.
It was a crazy idea but it was the only plan he could think of at that moment.
He looked sideways at Cormac. The tall man was glaring at Mahajan with cold hatred. Was he thinking how the Great Shee would soon overthrow the Demon? The faith of the Mar villagers was so absolute now, Jack was certain they would follow Rao wherever he went. Jack and Rao had taken advantage of their ignorance of the outside world, and Jack didn’t feel particularly good about that.
He made a decision. He wouldn’t allow Cormac to follow him into any further danger.
He glanced around. All the worshippers appeared preoccupied with Mahajan, so he tugged Cormac’s sleeve and the tall man bent closer.
‘Listen,’ Jack whispered. ‘When this is over, leave the castle without me. I’ll join you and the others at midnight.’
Cormac’s brow furrowed and he went to speak.
‘The Great Shee commands it,’ Jack said quickly.
The lines on Cormac’s forehead darkened further. He opened his mouth again to say something, but Jack pressed his finger to his lips and gestured to a worshipper standing in front of them. An elderly woman was looking back over her shoulder, perhaps startled to hear words in a strange language. Cormac gave her a smile, crossed himself and bowed his head. That seemed to be enough to calm whatever suspicions she’d had and she turned to face Mahajan again.
Jack motioned with his head towards the front of the crowd and made his way forward, Cormac following. They slipped between worshippers, Jack looking up from time to time at the Cattans observing from the wall. Would he and Cormac arouse suspicion? It seemed not. None of the guards reacted – and in any case, there were a handful of other worshippers moving about the bailey as well.
Jack paused when he reached the second row from the front. He was near to the right corner of the stage and from this angle it was difficult to see Mahajan. But it was the wooden platform that interested him at the moment. It was a solid structure with boards across the front and sides that reached to about a foot above the ground.
Perfect.
He shot a look at Cormac, who was fiddling with his beard. Would the tall Mar try to follow? That could cause a serious problem for both of them. Jack prayed Cormac would do as he was told and obey the command of the Great Shee.
Finally, after around ten minutes, Mahajan concluded the Mass. The siddha stood still on the stage and the Mar bowed repeatedly, whispering their prayers.
Jack’s heart beat faster. This might be his only chance to rescue Saleem. His plan had to work.
He looked up at the skull. The great metal head was immobile. Maybe he’d been wrong to think—
Then diseased metal groaned and the iron jaw jolted down. Flames spewed from the mouth, followed by coils of black smoke. The choking fog spilt over the stage, enveloped Mahajan and tumbled out into the bailey.
Jack was plunged into almost complete darkness. He sensed the people around him, but couldn’t see them.
His heart slammed in his chest.
Now. He had to move now.
He pushed his way forward between two worshippers, raised his hand and felt the side of the platform. The smoke stung his eyes and the sattva made his head spin.
Concentrate. Don’t pass out.
He dropped to the ground and rolled under the stage, just fitting through the gap between the boards and the earth.
His heart beat wildly. Had he been seen? Were guards coming for him? Would Cormac try to follow?
He lay on his back, staring up. The smoke began to clear, although it was so dark under the platform he could barely make out the planks and beams above him. Boards sealed him in on all sides. He half expected a Cattan to peer under the edge at any moment. But no one came.
No one seemed to have noticed him.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the cloak, then turned on to his side and squinted through the gap beneath the boards. The smoke was drifting away and he could make out the shuffling feet of the worshippers. Most were turning and ambling off. They were clearly leaving the bailey.
Good. His plan was working, which surprised him. There was still no sign of Cormac and he hoped that meant the Mar warrior was leaving with the other worshippers. With any luck, Cormac would be back with Rao and the others within the hour. By midnight, Jack would get out of the castle and join them.
Somehow.
He kept an eye out for approaching feet. What would he do if a guard stooped down and spotted him hiding? There wasn’t a lot he could do. He could fight but he didn’t even have a weapon. Would the guards kill him? Or would they try to take him alive?
He did his best to stop his thoughts racing. He had to concentrate on what he was going to do next.
He rolled over to the other side of the platform. Peering under the gap, he saw the stone wall immediately before him. He couldn’t get out that way. He crawled to the end of the stage and tried to spot the doors in the corner of the bailey. But from this angle he couldn’t see them.
Damn. The doors were his best bet for getting deeper into the castle. But he couldn’t see whether the guards were still standing beside them.
He lay on his back. Pain stabbed him once more and he winced. The powerful sattva brushed against his face.
How much longer did he have? There were eight days now before Kanvar’s cure wore off, but he wondered whether he would even last that long.
By now the worshippers must have all left. The Cattans would have returned to whatever duties they had. But still, he had to wait longer, wait until the guards were preoccupied and less attentive.
He lay under the stage for what he thought was half an hour. Pain jabbed into his chest repeatedly and darkness threatened to swallow him. He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes and tried the Great Health yantra. But, as always, it did nothing.
Damn his weakness. Ever since that fateful day on the battlefield when the sattva-fire had struck him he’d been cursed by his injury. Hadn
’t he already been punished enough? Hadn’t he already paid his debt to God, or karma, or whatever power controlled these things?
He was drifting away. He could feel it. And as much as he tried to hold on, black waves dragged at him, pulling him out into a vast, twilit ocean.
He clutched at the earth beneath his hands as if he could draw himself back somehow.
But it was pointless. Was he going to die here? Underneath a platform in the castle, with whatever secrets Mahajan harboured only yards away?
He wondered whether Mahajan really had found the Grail, whether this castle, this Place of Dead Kings, might not be Castle Corbenic after all.
But then he slipped away completely.
Jack glanced up as he walked across the parade ground. Captain Jhala stood staring at him from the veranda of his office.
Why was Jhala watching him so closely? Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t think what.
He reached Jhala’s bungalow, went up the steps, namasted and handed over an envelope. ‘From the Bristol barracks, sir. Just arrived this morning.’
Jhala took the envelope but didn’t even look at the writing on the outside. He tapped it against his hand and rolled his tongue around in his mouth. He continued to stare at Jack.
Jack forced himself to look at Jhala without meeting his commander’s eyes directly, as he knew the Rajthanans preferred.
What was going on? He was becoming certain he was somehow in trouble.
Finally, Jhala pointed at the parade ground. ‘You avoided that corner over there.’
Jack looked behind him. He had indeed swerved around that spot. But what of it?
‘I noticed the other day,’ Jhala said. ‘Every time you walk across you go around it.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
Jhala smiled and stared off into space. ‘Nothing to be sorry about, lad. It’s just strange, that’s all. Come with me.’ He walked down the steps and across the open ground.
Jack followed but slowed as they approached the far right corner. He didn’t like going into that spot but it was hard to explain why.
The Place of Dead Kings Page 28
