The Place of Dead Kings

by Geoffrey Wilson

  He held out his hand. ‘God’s grace to you, Rao. Best of luck.’

  Rao looked at Jack’s outstretched hand, puzzlement snaking across his forehead.

  ‘We shake hands,’ Jack said. ‘It’s our custom in England. Remember. When we were camping that first night.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Rao smiled, took Jack’s hand and shook it firmly. There was a trace of a tear in the corner of his eye. ‘Jack, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to say—’

  ‘You’ve been like a brother to me.’

  Jack was stunned. ‘I . . .’ He spluttered, lost for words. He’d never heard a Rajthanan say such a thing to a European.

  ‘I mean it.’ Rao shook Jack’s hand more fervently. ‘Brothers.’

  Jack fought back the tears and gripped Rao’s hand tighter. He felt something open inside him. ‘Yes. Brothers.’

  The crossroads stood before them. It was just an ordinary meeting of two dirt roads. One route coiled away across the flats towards Dun Fries. The other curved to the south-east, following a line of hills before plunging directly south.

  ‘So, this is it,’ Jack said.

  ‘Indeed,’ Rao said. ‘This is where we part.’ He turned to Sonali. ‘I’ll make sure you find passage back to Rajthana from Dun Fries.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Sonali toyed with the edge of her cloak. ‘I have some relatives in the south. In Dorsetshire. I was thinking of going there.’

  ‘Very well.’ Rao nodded. ‘I’ll make sure you get passage there.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’ Sonali’s voice trailed off and she glanced at Jack.

  Jack stalled. Sonali had mentioned a few times that she was thinking of travelling south with him and Saleem. He wasn’t sure why.

  She’d said there was nothing for her in Rajthana now. She’d said she had to start again. As much as anything, she seemed in a daze and still recovering from everything that had happened to her.

  Ordinarily he would have said no straight away. They still had many miles to travel, through difficult and sometimes dangerous country. She would be far safer travelling on a Rajthanan steamship.

  But on the other hand, if anyone could take care of themselves in a tight spot, it was Sonali.

  And there was something else. Just the hint of an idea at the back of Jack’s mind.

  Sonali was a siddha. She knew yantras he’d never learnt. Maybe she could be persuaded to stay a while in Folly Brook and help him at the House of Sorcery.

  ‘If you want to travel south with us, you’re welcome,’ he said to Sonali.

  Rao frowned. ‘Are you certain of this, Sonali?’

  She nodded. ‘I am.’

  ‘Very well,’ Rao said. ‘If that’s what you wish.’ He turned to face Jack and Saleem. ‘Well, my friends. I don’t know when we’ll see each other next. If at all. But I will always remember you and our journey to Scotland.’

  Jack patted Rao on the arm. ‘And we’ll remember you too.’

  Rao unfastened his cloak, swung it from his shoulders, folded it and tucked it under one arm. ‘I’ll be back in Rajthanan society soon.’ He smiled. ‘It won’t do to be dressed like a savage.’

  Jack pointed at the cloak. ‘But you’re still taking it.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Rao tapped the shaggy pile. ‘It’ll be a souvenir. A reminder of my time over here.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Jack said. ‘God’s grace to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rao stood taller, lifted his chin and straightened his tunic. ‘And you too.’ Then he spun on his heel and walked steadily away down the road, his boots kicking up clods of wet earth behind him. His red turban bobbed above his head like a beacon shining in the dun landscape.

  For some reason a memory of Jhala circled in Jack’s mind. He recalled the day he’d left the army. His old guru had come to wish him farewell. Jack still remembered Jhala’s words – they were seared in his memory.

  ‘You have been my best disciple. Farewell, Casey . . . Jack.’

  Jack was certain Jhala had meant those words. There was no other reason for him to say them, no reason for Jhala to have even come to see Jack off.

  There must have been a bond of some sort between him and his old commander, despite what happened later. Despite Jhala forcing him to capture William in order to save Elizabeth.

  There was good in the Rajthanans. In some of them at any rate. He would remember that from now on.

  He turned to Saleem and Sonali and took a deep breath. ‘Right. Let’s get going.’

  35

  Jack saw Elizabeth first. Many of the other inhabitants of Folly Brook were nearby. But Elizabeth was all he could see in that first moment.

  She was crouching outside her hut, and when she saw him she leapt up, swept her dress around her and charged across the grass towards him. The other villagers stood by and watched as she ran into his arms so hard he tottered backwards for a second.

  She hugged him tight. ‘You’re alive.’

  Jack smiled, stepped back and held her by the shoulders. She looked well. Healthy. And he could see the trace of a bump in her belly. ‘Yes, your old father’s still alive.’

  ‘What about your injury?’

  He pressed his hand to his chest. ‘Healed.’

  She frowned. ‘Completely?’

  He nodded.

  She beamed, her cheeks flushing. ‘Thank the Lord. I thought . . . I might not . . .’

  ‘Don’t you worry. It’s over now.’

  ‘But how? The Grail?’

  ‘No. The yantra Kanvar gave me worked. Finally.’

  ‘You worked it out?’

  Jack scratched the back of his neck. ‘I don’t know how I did it, to be honest. It just happened.’

  ‘You’re here. That’s all that matters.’ She looked over his shoulder at the two figures standing behind him. At first her face lit up and she said, ‘Saleem.’ Then her smile suddenly withered. ‘Oh.’

  Jack turned. Sonali still wore a Scottish cloak over her sari. Her lips were tight and she stared like a cornered cat at the villagers.

  ‘This is Sonali,’ Jack said. ‘We met her in Scotland. She’s going to stay for a few weeks. She’s going to help me at the House of Sorcery.’

  ‘A Rajthanan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘A Rajthanan’s helping us?’

  ‘It’s a long story. I’ll explain later.’

  And now the other villagers were crowding around him and Elizabeth, talking excitedly, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Saleem’s mother and sisters came bustling from Jack’s old hut and Saleem rushed across to meet them. Mark and the apprentices from the House of Sorcery were there. Old Mary. Tom the blacksmith. All of them.

  Jack clasped Mark’s hand. ‘Any sign of Kanvar?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘He never came back.’

  Jack frowned. The Sikh had promised to return. But Jack was too happy to worry about this for the moment.

  Then someone nearby said, ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir.’

  Jack turned and saw Godwin standing stiffly behind him. The lad was wearing the white reeve’s surcoat, and the oversized longsword hung at his side.

  ‘I’ve done my best to look after the place while you’ve been away,’ Godwin said. ‘I hope you’ll be satisfied.’

  Jack grinned and patted Godwin on the arm. He looked across at the village huts, the emerald grass and the dark hills beyond. ‘Just as I remembered it all. You’ve done well. Son-in-law.’

  ‘No Grail.’ Henry’s face soured and he leant back in his chair. ‘That’s all you’ve got to tell us?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Jack put his hands behind his back as he stood before the councillors. ‘We found Mahajan, but there was no Grail.’

  The seven representatives of the Crusader Council shifted in their seats and muttered. They’d gathered in this chamber in Lord Fitzalan’s castle to hear Jack’s report. Sir Alfred, with his pure wh
ite beard and long silver hair, sat in their centre, while Lord Fitzalan himself sat to the old man’s right. Henry wasn’t a Council member, but Newcastle-on-Clun was his manor and he’d arranged this meeting.

  Henry slammed his fist on the table. ‘Five men dead. Three missing. And you’ve got nothing to show for it.’

  ‘If you’ll remember, I said the Grail wasn’t real from the start,’ Jack said.

  The Council members muttered louder.

  Alfred raised his hand. ‘Quiet, gentlemen. Quiet.’

  A hush fell over the others.

  ‘We always knew this mission was a gamble,’ Alfred continued. ‘We knew there was only a slim chance, at best, of finding the Grail.’

  ‘But, sir,’ Henry said. ‘How can we be certain Casey’s telling the truth? I don’t trust—’

  ‘He’s done nothing to make me suspicious,’ Alfred said. ‘There’s no reason for us to doubt Jack’s commitment to the cause.’

  Several councillors nodded and mumbled their agreement.

  Henry scowled and a few other councillors appeared unhappy with Sir Alfred’s words, but none challenged the old man.

  ‘Now,’ Alfred said. ‘What did you find, Jack?’

  Jack cleared his throat. ‘As I said, we defeated Mahajan and I got into his workshop under the castle. But he didn’t have a weapon there. He was working on it, but he didn’t have the power to create it. There was no Grail either.’ Jack paused for a moment. ‘There was one thing, though.’

  The councillors shuffled in their chairs and eyed him closely. Henry crossed his arms, while Alfred stared at Jack with watery, red-tinged eyes.

  ‘It’s hard to explain,’ Jack said. ‘It was a meeting point of sattva streams.’

  ‘What devilry are you talking about?’ Henry said.

  ‘Not devilry,’ Jack said. ‘It’s like a sacred spot, you could say. A place where yogic powers are strong.’

  ‘A place of black magic by the sound of it,’ Henry said.

  ‘Silence,’ Alfred snapped. ‘Go on, Jack. Tell us about this sacred place. Can it help us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jack said. ‘Possibly. Something strange happened to me in there. I was able to use a power I couldn’t use before. That’s happened to me another time, but perhaps the strong sattva there helped.’

  ‘What power?’ Alfred asked.

  ‘It was a healing power.’

  A mutter ran through the small group and several of the councillors spoke softly to each other.

  ‘The Grail is said to heal all wounds,’ Lord Fitzalan said.

  ‘Perhaps this sacred place is the Grail,’ another councillor said.

  ‘Is that possible?’ Alfred asked Jack. ‘Could the sacred place be the Grail?’

  Jack hesitated. It was a strange thought, but then no one knew for certain what the Grail truly was. He’d always been quick to dismiss his countrymen’s superstitions. But as Rao had said to him in Scotland, there was truth in legends sometimes. ‘It’s possible, I suppose.’

  Several of the councillors grinned. Others said they should send another expedition.

  Jack held up his hand. ‘Hold on. I’m not certain about all this. I suppose it could be the Grail. But if it is, I don’t see how it can help us. It’s strong sattva and I could use a new power. But that’s all. I couldn’t say how we could use it, even if it was the Grail.’

  Alfred nodded slowly. ‘I understand, Jack. It’s a mystery. For now, at any rate. But it shows that there’s hope. Perhaps we’ll learn more about it. Perhaps it will turn out to be the Grail after all. Perhaps then we’ll be able to use it to free our lands.’

  The councillors nodded approvingly.

  ‘We need hope now more than ever,’ Alfred continued. ‘Vadula’s army is said to be preparing to march from Worcestershire. Our spies say it will head here to Shropshire in the near future. An advance party under a general called Jhala is said to already be on the move.’

  Jack’s heart quivered. ‘Jhala? Did you say Jhala?’

  ‘I did,’ Alfred said. ‘What of it?’

  ‘What do you know about him?’ Jack asked. ‘Was he once commander of the 2nd Native Infantry?’

  Alfred shrugged and glanced at one of the other councillors, a thin man with long dark hair.

  The thin man sat forward in his chair, rested his chin on his hands and narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes. Our spies tell us Jhala once commanded that regiment. What do you know about him?’

  The room dropped an inch and Jack felt light-headed. ‘I thought he was dead.’

  ‘Yes, he was reported dead during the first crusade,’ the thin man said. ‘It was thought his men had killed him when they rebelled. But he survived, apparently. He escaped.’

  Jack went silent. He couldn’t think what to say. Jhala was alive? It seemed incredible, but now that he thought about it, Jhala had only ever been reported dead. There could have been a mistake.

  ‘You look pale,’ Alfred said. ‘Are you all right?’

  Jack pulled himself together and squared his shoulders. ‘I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’s just . . . I once served under Jhala, that’s all.’

  Alfred lifted an eyebrow. ‘Interesting. You will have to tell us all you know about him. But in the meantime, there is little point in this meeting continuing. We’ve said all that needs to be said. Now we must prepare.

  ‘The Rajthanans are coming.’

  Acknowledgements

  The Place of Dead Kings was, of course, inspired by Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, King Solomon’s Mines by H. Rider Haggard and The Man Who Would Be King by Rudyard Kipling.

  I would like to thank my agent, Marlene Stringer, for all the work she’s done on my behalf, and my editor, Carolyn Caughey, for her wise guidance. Thanks also to Francine Toon and everyone else at Hodder & Stoughton for all the time and effort they have put into this book.

  Thank you to Chip Tolaney at Ganesh Mall for advice about Ganesh statues, Randy Wakeman for help with nineteenth-century firearms, Robert Fuchs for information about parchment and medieval manuscripts, Dave King for his feedback, and Dilraj Singh Sachdev for advice about turbans and other matters.

  Thanks to my friends, who have encouraged me over many years.

  And thank you to my family – Gail Tatham, Harry Wilson, Edward Wilson, Anita Hrebeniak, Blue Quinn, Molly Flowers and Jet Quinn – for their unwavering support. Most of all, thank you to my wife, Helena Quinn, who has done so much to help me during the long months it’s taken to write this book.