‘No. You need to stop pissing around and go to your battalion,’ Jack growled, his patience wearing thin.
Knightly recoiled at the fierce words. ‘You sound like my father.’
‘Then stop behaving like a damn child.’ Jack’s veneer was cracking. ‘You’re an officer. You should start acting like one.’
Knightly fixed Jack with a look of abject misery before he bent his head and heaved what remained in his guts on to the ground. When he looked up again, his face was red and blotchy, thick strands of saliva gumming his mouth. ‘Help me, Arthur. Please don’t scold me,’ he groaned.
Jack was spared answering the pitiful plea as a couple walked past the end of the alleyway. His heart fell when they stopped and peered into the darkness, the sight of the two British officers attracting their attention.
‘You there! That man there.’ The booming voice of Colonel Draper echoed down the confines of the alley. ‘Make yourself known.’ The colonel’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.
‘It is Lieutenant Fenris, sir. Lieutenant Knightly has been taken ill.’
Jack saw the senior officer hesitate, clearly torn between the need to protect his spouse from the sight of a drunken officer and his duty to address the needs of one of his subalterns. After a moment’s delay, Draper led his wife into the alley. Even in the gloom, Jack could see the disgust etched on her face. He watched her closely as they approached, and smiled as her nose twitched in distaste.
‘Lieutenant Knightly, this is badly done. Badly done indeed.’ Draper patted his wife’s arm to reassure her as he addressed his errant lieutenant.
Knightly lifted his head and saw his colonel looming over him. ‘Dear Lord.’
‘Dear Lord indeed.’ Draper was clearly fighting to control his temper. Jack was certain that only the presence of his wife was preventing a violent tongue-lashing from being brought down on the head of the hapless lieutenant. ‘You will report to me in the morning, Mr Knightly. I am going to say my goodbyes to the battalion before I take up a staff appointment here in Bombay, and I insist that you join me so that I can deliver you safely to Major Sterling, who will be commanding the regiment during my absence. If you fail to do so, I shall order you to be immediately cashiered and your commission to be sold. Is that clear?’
Knightly’s head moved in an approximation of a nod.
Whilst the colonel addressed himself to dealing with Knightly, Jack was carefully inspecting Draper’s wife. Sarah Draper was clearly several years younger than her husband. She was far prettier than he had first thought, with slim, elegant features that had been delicately emphasised by a subtle application of make-up. Her nose was a little crooked, but it only served to emphasise the perfect symmetry of the rest of her face. Yet it was her mouth that entranced him most. Her lips were thin but shaped like those of a porcelain doll. They were perfect, and he imagined what it would be like to kiss her.
As he studied her, he saw her returning his scrutiny. Her eyes were dark blue, and Jack saw the sparkle of life deep within them. He matched her calm appraisal, feeling the flicker of desire deep within. They stared at one another for several long moments before Jack forced himself to tear his eyes away, lest Draper discover him staring at his wife.
‘Mr Fenris, I would be grateful if you would escort Mr Knightly to his accommodation.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ Jack’s voice was husky. He glanced back at Sarah Draper and saw her mocking smile. She had recognised his desire.
‘I am obliged to you.’ Draper’s voice was clipped and he showed no sign of being aware of Jack’s reaction to his wife. ‘I shall write to your colonel and commend your sensible actions. I only wish my own lieutenant could conduct himself with similar decorum.’
Jack did his best to hide his amusement at the remark. He wondered what the 24th’s colonel would make of a letter praising an officer who had vanished several months earlier. Out of the corner of his eye he noted the impish grin that had appeared on Sarah Draper’s face as she listened to her husband’s pompous gratitude. He was clearly not alone in finding entertainment in the late-night encounter. He risked a final glance in her direction and felt a warm flush as he saw that she was staring straight at him. For the first time, the icy facade slipped and she smiled before looking away, fixing her gaze on her husband and dipping her head demurely.
Jack stood silent, watching as Draper escorted his wife back down the alley. He stared for a long time at the tight behind moving under the folds of the soft blue dress, wondering if he was reading too much into the silent exchanges. Then with a sigh he forced the matter from his mind and reluctantly turned his attention towards the vomit-smeared lieutenant he had befriended. But even as he heaved Knightly to his feet, his mind savoured the image of the colonel’s wife. He would dearly like to meet Sarah Draper under other, more intimate circumstances.
Tucking his arm around the bedraggled Knightly, he began the long walk back to their hotel, forcing the lustful thoughts from his mind. For better or worse, his time in Bombay was done. As tantalising as Sarah Draper might be, he knew it was nothing more than a passing fancy, one he would have to ignore if he were to ensure his own safety. He could not afford to stay in the city in the hope of seeing her again, not now that he sensed Ballard had scented his trail of lies. There was one last act he wanted to perform, Then it would be time to quit Bombay and try his luck elsewhere.
The Hotel Splendid was still in the quiet hours before dawn. The trellis was old, and it creaked as Jack gingerly placed his full weight on its lowest spur. A thousand insects erupted from the dense foliage of the ancient jasmine that had made the rickety structure its home, and he paused, letting the cloud disperse, his mouth and eyes screwed tight shut lest they offer an attractive oasis to any of the multitude of flying creatures.
When the crowd of insects had passed, he took in a last deep breath before trusting his luck once again on the aged wood that reached up to the single window high above him. He had spent the day preparing for the expedition as best he could. Knightly had wisely obeyed his colonel and was now finally on his way to join his regiment, so at least Jack had been able to get ready without having to explain himself to his friend. Knightly had very kindly paid for his rooms for another few days, allowing Jack to stay on a little longer if he so wished. But Jack intended to be on his way long before he was forced to leave the comfortable suite. There was just time to secure his own funds and restore his independence before he disappeared.
His lieutenant’s uniform was not perhaps the most common dress for a burglar, but Jack wanted the security of his officer’s rank should he be discovered in or around the hotel. He had left his revolver behind, trusting to the talwar hanging at his hip and a stout cudgel that he had bought that day in the bazaar. He did not expect to have to fight, but he could not have considered risking the escapade without his sword. He would have felt more naked without the sharpened blade than he had facing the would-be assassins wearing nothing at all.
The spars of the trellis creaked alarmingly as he scaled the wall. The scent of the jasmine was making his eyes water, the pungent aroma catching at the back of this throat. The heady smell tickled his nostrils and he felt the beginnings of a sneeze. He stopped climbing and tried to stifle the sensation. The situation suddenly felt absurd, and he had to control the urge to laugh out loud, the sheer folly of the midnight escapade catching up with him. He had imagined his career as an impostor ending in so many ways. Being caught sneezing halfway up a trellis whilst trying to burgle a fourth-rate hotel had not been one of them.
A sharp splinter scratched at his hand and concentrated his mind on his task. He decided it was time to gamble, and ignoring the ominous cracks as his weight snapped some of the bars of the old wood, he tried to move faster, reaching up as far as he could, ignoring the burning in his arms as he hauled himself up the wall.
Handhold by handhold he clawed h
is way up to the single window that overlooked the alleyway. When he reached the stone lintel, he hauled himself up the last few feet, his hands taking a firm grip on the cold stone, and with a final effort heaved his backside on to the ledge, where he sat sucking at the cut on his palm and calming his ragged breathing. The alleyway beneath him looked no more than a few feet away, and he could barely credit the effort he had expended to climb such a short distance. The weeks in Bombay had softened him.
Carefully he pushed back the simple grass screen that was all that covered the opening. The landing inside was dark, but enough moonlight was filtering through other grass-screened windows to let him see. All was quiet. He slid himself inside, taking care to land gently on the tiled floor. He made sure to shut the tattie, ignoring the temptation to wipe away the sticky red handprint he had left on the stone ledge. There was no time to dally.
He walked swiftly through the sleeping hotel. He had no need to be silent: there were always people walking around the hotel, even in the depths of the night, and it was unlikely that any of the night servants would challenge someone they would naturally assume was a guest.
He took the stairs two at a time, his boots loud on the whitewashed stone. The inner depths of the hotel were cool after the exertion of his climb, but he was still forced to wipe away the thick band of sweat that covered his face. He wondered again at the sanity of his decision to add burglary to his list of crimes. He had known a few thieves in his time – his first orderly had been a regular Jack Sheppard – but he had never expected to be forced into the role himself.
A servant bustled past carrying a bucket that stank of fresh piss. Jack simply ignored his presence and kept walking, careful not to even glance at the young boy, who scurried on as quickly as he could, his attention focused on not spilling any of the noxious liquid he carried rather than on the guest wandering the hotel in the small hours of the night.
It did not take long to reach Abdul’s private sanctum. Jack remembered that there was a small anteroom outside the office itself. He paused, taking a moment to compose his thoughts and to steel his mind as he prepared to force his way inside, then tried the handle of the outer door.
It was locked. Had he been a proper burglar, he would have known how to pick the lock, a basic requirement for any practitioner of the pannie. It was the sensible course of action, the need to remain quiet of more importance now that he was out of the areas where the hotel’s guests would be expected to reside. He turned the handle a few more times in the vague hope that somehow the lock would magically decide to yield. It did not.
He stepped back. There was only one solution. It was time for the tried and tested method of entry employed by the British redcoats. He lifted his leg, aiming the heel of his boot at the space just above the lock, then took a deep breath and slammed his foot against the wood.
The door crashed back on its hinges. Jack was in the room before it had stopped moving. He saw the scuffed and battered desk where Abdul’s clerk worked for more than a dozen hours a day, but he had no interest in the neat, copperplate-filled ledgers littering the desk. He looked up and saw the door to Abdul’s private room, and made straight for it.
It was time to retrieve what was his.
Abdul El-Amir woke with a start as the door to his clerk’s office crashed open. He had been sleeping at his desk, the hookah he had been smoking lying still warm on the blotter next to his head.
He had run the Hotel Splendid for more than twenty years, fleecing his guests since the day he opened, overcharging for everything he could think of. Every type of crook and beggar was at his disposal and he was not above having his guests robbed, swindled or even, on one or two memorable occasions, murdered. In all that time, no one had ever dared to try to rob him.
He heard the loud footsteps in the outer office, the heavy tread making directly for his own private room. He reached for his desk drawer, his thin fingers fumbling with the lock before his shaking hands opened it to reveal the stash of weapons he kept inside.
He eyed the door before making his selection. As he lifted his weapon of choice from the drawer, he felt calm descend on him. He sat back in his chair and lifted the hookah to his mouth, sucking hard to breathe life back into its smouldering heart. He was no longer frightened. He lifted a hand and settled his red fez so that it sat neatly on top of his bald head. He was intrigued to know who had dared smash their way into the heart of his establishment. He would discover who it was, and then he would kill them.
The door to Abdul’s private office was closed. This time Jack did not hesitate. He kicked hard, driving his heel into the heavy wood over the lock and sending the door flying back to smash into the wall behind it. He charged into the room, very aware that the noise he was making would bring servants scurrying towards their master’s room. He would not have long.
He stopped in his tracks. He was staring into the barrel of a revolver.
‘Ah, Lieutenant Fenris!’
Jack looked at the calm, smiling face of Abdul El-Amir. The revolver was aimed straight at his heart. It was a Dean and Adams five-shot, a twin to the one he usually carried himself. He knew how dreadfully effective the weapon could be. At such close range it would kill him.
The owner of the Hotel Splendid smiled wider as he saw the look of shock on Jack’s face, and his finger curled around the trigger, the smooth action pulling it back the instant pressure was applied. In the cramped confines of the office, the explosion as the revolver fired was shocking. The gun kicked in Abdul’s hand, the recoil throwing his arm backwards.
He was on his feet in a heartbeat, knocking his chair to the floor in his eagerness to check the body. He raced around his desk, keen to see how sharp his aim had been. To discover if his latest purchase had been worth the expense.
Jack lay on the ground, curled into a ball, his legs tucked to his chest. His ears rang from the blast of the revolver but he did his best to still his racing heart. He opened his eyes a fraction and saw the white robe rush round the desk. He could just make out the red velvet slippers underneath its heavy hem, and he watched for them to come to a halt as the man who had just tried to kill him stood over what should have been a bloody, tattered corpse.
He had felt a wave of terror rush through his veins as he saw the implacable face behind the weapon. He had believed he was entering an empty office. Instead he had found a room where death waited patiently for him to arrive. In desperation he had thrown himself to the ground just before Abdul pulled the trigger, gambling that the hotel owner would not be able to follow his movement in the excitement of opening fire. His breath had been driven from his body by the hard landing on the scuffed tiled floor, the hilt of his sword driven painfully into his ribs. But he had screwed his eyes tight against the pain, holding back the rage that followed the first icy rush of fear. His fingers closed over the weapon he had bought that afternoon in the bazaar, and he pulled it free, readying it for use.
Now he roared as he launched himself to his feet. The cudgel cut through the air and slammed into Abdul’s belly. There was just enough time to see the horror and surprise on the man’s thin features before the force of the blow bent him double, his fez tumbling to the ground and rolling to bump against the wall under the room’s only window.
Jack chopped the cudgel downwards, bludgeoning the hotel owner to the floor. He was on him in a heartbeat, twisting the frail body around, his fingers digging into the sparse flesh without mercy as he forced the battered hotel owner on to his back.
‘Hello, Abdul.’ Jack leered down into the face of the man who had cheated him. ‘That wasn’t a very friendly way to greet your business partner, now was it?’
Abdul El-Amir’s eyes were glazed. He opened his mouth but nothing came out save a thin trickle of blood from where his lips had been crushed against his teeth by the hard landing on the floor.
Jack had no time for pity. He slapped the
man once across the face, bringing him to his senses.
‘Where’s my bloody ruby?’
Abdul lifted his hands as if trying to shoo his attacker away, only for Jack to knock them to one side. The tall British officer straddled the hotel owner’s thin body, his weight pressing down and threatening to suffocate Abdul where he lay. He would not move until he had what he had come for.
‘I don’t know—’
Jack slapped Abdul’s face for a second time, cutting off the words in mid flow. ‘Enough. Don’t go kicking up a fucking shine. Where is it?’
Abdul closed his eyes in an attempt to escape his ruthless attacker, but Jack was in too much of a hurry to be merciful. He shook the man by the shoulders, careless of banging the back of his head hard against the floor.
He heard footsteps outside, and looked up in time to see the horrified face of a young boy of no more than ten years old peering into his master’s office. The youngster shrieked in astonishment at what he saw before taking to his heels, screaming for all he was worth.
There was no time left.
Jack hauled Abdul to his feet. The man weighed nothing and Jack slammed him against the wall. He reached down and plucked the forgotten revolver from the floor before pressing it against the base of the shaking hotel owner’s neck.
‘You cheated me,’ he snarled as he ground the barrel of the weapon into the man’s flesh. ‘You took what was mine and then you sent those dogs to kill me.’ He heard a squeal of protest but he ignored it. ‘I bet you got a nasty bloody surprise when you found the bodies. That wasn’t part of your plan, now was it?’
He heard more shouts and screams echoing around the hotel. He knew he only had moments before some of the hotel’s guards arrived to save their master.
‘So now I am going to kill you. You understand?’ He pushed his face forward so he could growl the words directly into Abdul’s ear. ‘I’m going to blow your fucking brains out.’ Spittle was flung from his lips to land on the terrified man’s face. ‘And I hope it fucking hurts.’
The Devil's Assassin (Jack Lark) Page 5
