The Temple Dancer

by John Speed

  "It will do no good, Lucy. Dearest Lucy, his lies have sealed your fate, even if he now confesses. They will ignore it. When has truth ever mattered to them?"

  Geraldo laughed so loud the chamber rang. "He's right, Lucy. Truth is what the powerful decide. Like now, for instance. . ." Geraldo ripped the wax cloth from the pistol and pointed its dark barrel at Pathan's heart. . . This pistola makes me powerful. Now I shall make a new truth-a better truth." Geraldo moved toward the two of them, his eyes bright and his smile sharp. "Let's see. Jealousy, I think. Yes, the jealous burak cannot bear to be deserted by a woman, and a farang at that. He hides here, and cuts her throat. But he hasn't reckoned on me-I shoot him through the heart. Alas, too late. My dear cousin dies." Geraldo shrugged. "But with her tragic, unexpected death, she at least avoids condemnation! And so of course the Dasana fortune now comes ... to me."

  He cocked the hammer of the pistola and nodded to Pathan. "So ... you first? Or her? The order of your deaths means little. My story will be believed in either case."

  "Maybe I will kill you first!" Pathan whispered.

  Before Pathan could even move, however, Lucinda scrambled from her stirrups, and leapt off the saddle with a shout. Her hands still bound, she could not guide her fall through the dark air, but even so she pitched against Geraldo and knocked him to the ground.

  Geraldo recovered quickly, and lifted the pistola to Lucinda's forehead. Her mouth gaped and her eyes searched for Pathan.

  As Pathan rushed from behind the horse, Geraldo pulled the trigger.

  The hammer clicked, but instead of a shot, only a long green flame burst from the barrel, sizzling Lucinda's wet hair. Smoke belched from the strike plate, and Geraldo began to cough so hard he dropped his weapon. The pistol spun across the stone floor, into the curtain of water.

  He turned to find Pathan racing toward him with his bright sword swinging.

  "No!" Lucinda cried, struggling to sit up. "No more death!"

  The arc of Pathan's sword did not falter, but instead of slicing through Geraldo's neck, he slammed the jeweled knob of his sword hilt against Geraldo's temple. Geraldo staggered, nearing the curtain of the falls. Blood pulsed over his fingers where they held his temple. At last he crumbled to his knees, then spasmed and collapsed on the stone floor.

  "Is he dead?" Lucinda asked as Pathan stepped closer to him, sword point ready.

  Pathan stood over him, sword raised. "Not dead," he said at last, lowering the blade. Then he knelt at her side, and began to cut through Lucinda's bindings. His sword blade sliced the leather thongs. Pathan rubbed her chafed wrists with his thumbs.

  Lucy turned to him, eyes brimming with tears. "No, Munna, you must get away. They will kill you! Go while you can!"

  Pathan lifted his head. "Then we will die together."

  Again Lucinda leaped, again she knocked another to ground. This time it was Pathan who fell beneath her. But first Lucinda threw her arms around his neck, and as they fell, he pulled her close. On the stone floor of the inner chamber, she covered his wet face with kisses.

  "If you love me, you will leave me and live, dear Munna," she whispered in his ear.

  "Because I love you, I will stay beside you." Pathan sat up, and looked hard at her. "But we need not die. There is a way, though it is a hard life that I offer. They will pursue you because they want your fortune, and they'll pursue me to gain my family's estate. The Sultana may give up, but the Brotherhood will come after us, and they have people everywhere, and they never tire. Never can we rest, nor ever feel safe. A bandit's life lies before us. But you'll be alive, dear Lucy, and I'll be by your side. Will you go with me?"

  Lucy's fervent kiss was her answer.

  "We must hurry, Lucy."

  "But how can we get out?" She nodded to the entrances to the chamber. "On that side are the Sultana's guards. On the other are Slipper's guards. Both will stop us." They could just make out shadows moving through the narrow veils of water at the chamber's sides.

  He smiled, that rare smile that broke her heart with its clear beauty. Then he lifted her onto the mare, and swung up behind her. Then Pathan backed the mare to the very rear of the chamber, and faced the brilliant torrent of the main waterfall. Here the stone of the chamber's rear walls amplified the roar, and the sheet of water gleamed white ahead of them. "Hold on very tight." He spurred the mare. She reared up, and dashed forward through the white deluge.

  With the eunuch captain of the Sultana's guards, Slipper discussed the bowmen on the other shore. He then came back fuming to Da Gama. "He says to take no notice. They aren't hurting anyone, he says. If he had seen what we have seen, he wouldn't be so calm!" All this he shouted over the roar of falling water.

  Da Gama forced a chuckle. "You now talk like a settlement man. Anything unusual is cause for worry."

  "Exactly! For example, what is taking Geraldo so long?" fussed Slipper.

  "He's got the horse to think of, senhor. It can't be easygoing."

  Slipper twisted his lip, glancing first to the exit from the falls, then to the other shore at the horseman. "I don't like it. Something's wrong. I'm sending someone in." Again he hurried to the captain, but was no more successful than before. "He says he doesn't want his men to get wet! Can you believe it!"

  Da Gama, however, had noticed a streak of red swirling in the white water that flowed from the exit. He struggled to keep his face impassive, but then a pistol rattled to the nearby stones beneath the cascading water. He stepped between Slipper and the sight, hoping that the eunuch's bad eyes had not seen. What was happening inside that chamber?

  Then Maya screamed.

  A horse burst through the falls, crashing through the curtain of water. Swirls of droplets exploded in the bright sun, making trails of light. The horse's legs churned the mists as it vaulted into emptiness. On its back, two riders held tight as the beast soared and splashed into the pool below. Then they sank beneath the surface of the water.

  "It is Pathan!" Maya shouted despite herself.

  The eunuch guards crowded to the edge of the pathway of the falls. "He's drowned!" one of the guards yelled.

  "Where is Geraldo!" Slipper screamed. "Where is the poisoner?" He neared the falling curtain of water, but could not steel himself to pass.

  "They've come up!" shouted one of the guards. In a swirl of bubbles, the mare's head emerged, and behind it her two riders. "One's a woman! "

  "It's her!" Slipper screamed. "Shoot them, shoot them!"

  "We have no bows," the captain shouted back.

  "You have spears, don't you?" Slipper's face was bright red, and his tiny eyes nearly burst from his head. "Use them!"

  But at that moment, an arrow zipped past his face and clattered on the rock wall beside him. The bandits on the other shore had begun to fire. They were fast: a rain of arrows struck the rocks. One pierced the arm of a eunuch guard, who gave a wailing scream. He pulled at it desperately, yelping with each tug.

  A dozen more arrows slapped against the stones. "Behind the falls!" the captain ordered. "Hurry! Take cover!"

  The guards pushed against each other, some nearly tumbling down the rocks. One shoved Maya through the water into the chamber. Another grabbed Da Gama's bound arm.

  He shook out of the guard's light grip and stared across the pool, despite the arrows that clattered all around. The mare stumbled up the other shore, Pathan and Lucy clinging to her back. Da Gama watched the mare stagger up the ancient temple ghats to the ground beside the bandits.

  The guard tugged Da Gama's arm once more. He had only time to see the mare rear up as Pathan waved his bright sword, as they charged into the jungle.

  The guard dragged Da Gama into the waterfall chamber. Everyone was soaked. Slipper knelt near Geraldo, who was shaking his head as if to clear it. When he saw Da Gama enter, Geraldo struggled to his feet. "You!" he shouted. "You planned this!"

  Da Gama did not answer.

  Geraldo wheeled suddenly and hurled his fist into Da Gama's head. Though Da Gama
ducked, he still caught much of the blow. His bound hands threw off his balance: he fell to his knees and tumbled for ward. The tip of Geraldo's boot caught his chin, and light exploded in his eyes.

  As he lost consciousness, he vaguely felt his body lifting from the floor with the force of Geraldo's kicks.

  "Hey, Deoga. Time to get up. Get up, lazybones."

  Da Gama blinked awake. Every inch of his body ached. In a moment his eyes adjusted to the dim light of a grand tent, and he recognized the face of Commander Shahji. "General!" he said. Or tried to. His mouth was caked with dryness and his teeth ached.

  "Yes, that Geraldo fellow gave you a few good ones. The hakim's been in ... you've nothing broken, and you'll live, though the way you'll hurt for the next few days, you might wish that you were dead."

  "Where am I?"

  "You're a guest in my tent, at the Sultana's camp at Gokak Falls." Slowly Da Gama's senses came awake. He could smell the musty tang of damp wool-tent walls, and hear outside the rumble of the river as it tumbled down the falls. "I volunteered to glue you back together. Slipper and the guards brought you here, you and the nautch girl. And Geraldo. They've set him with the hijra guards." Shahji chuckled as he said this. "That should teach him to behave, eh? Anyway, you're to stay away from him ... otherwise, you're free."

  That reminded Da Gama-he lifted his hands. They were unbound.

  "So, Deoga, how do you feel?" Shahji said with real concern.

  "Like hell."

  "Too bad. You've got business-serious business, I think. Right now the Sultana is in audience, about to hear matters that affect you."

  "An audience? Here ... in the middle of nowhere?"

  Shahji shook his head. "You really are a child, sometimes. Do you think the scheming would halt, just because the queen has left her palace? Everyone of any consequence has come along. In the Flying Palace, at this moment, the audience proceeds, and the Sultana wants you to attend."

  Da Gama blinked, and chanced sitting up. His body screamed in protest and his vision went black, but then things settled down. "Where are my clothes?" His voice sounded terrible.

  "So filthy that I had them buried." Shahji laughed. "You must make do with some of mine." He gave a single clap, and a grave old servant brought in a stack of carefully folded jamas. "You have worn this stuff before?"

  "On occasion," Da Gama answered. "It makes me look a fool."

  "At least you won't be a hypocrite. Hurry dressing." As Shahji was about to pass through the curtained entryway, he turned. "I put your belongings on that table, by that pitcher of wine. A cup or two couldn't hurt."

  Before he dressed, a servant produced a razor and basin, and gave Da Gama a painful shave, then oiled, rubbed, and combed his hair. In truth, though he felt a fool in Shahji's clothes, the fit was good and the style flattering.

  With Shahji walking beside him, Da Gama headed for the audience. Shahji's grand tent was one of about a dozen in a wide ring around the Flying Palace, which dominated in the center. Da Gama saw that a wide area had been set with ring after ring of tents; the grandest like Shahji's in the ring closest to the Flying Palace, then smaller and smaller tents until one came to simple peasant tents in the outer rings. Shahji pointed to a far-off stable tent where the elephants and horses all were quartered.

  Before they went to the palace, however, Shahji took Da Gama's arm, and drew him a few yards away. "Look here, Deoga," he said. "That's the river Ghataprabha there. See that bridge? The Sultana always brings it when she camps here. They set it up right there, just a few yards from the falls. It's too fragile to carry any kind of load-so they bring the tents across a mile upstream. You stand on that delicate bridge, looking down into the rushing water, and in a moment you're convinced you'll tumble over. It's quite unnerving. The queen stands there each day at noon."

  The bridge was a narrow wooden path stretched across an arching skeleton of wood. Despite its handrails, it struck Da Gama as a doubtful structure. "Most amusing," Da Gama said to be polite.

  Shahji glared at him. "I don't show this for amusement. These things should indicate to you the character of the persons you are dealing with. They are bored and reckless and wedded to routine. A soldier notes such things."

  Da Gama bowed. "I owe you much, General."

  Shahji went on without acknowledging him. "The bridge is guarded by the hijra. It is the only access point to the zenana. You can see the private harem tents through those trees. They put up those tall muslin screens to keep things private. Those are the quarters of the Sultana and her ladies, and of course the hijra servants. That is where your nautch girl stays as well."

  "You say that Geraldo is with the eunuch guards?"

  "Yes," Shahji answered, "but those guards are quartered on this side of the river. They'd stir up too much trouble in the harem." Shahji said this with a straight face. "Enough. Let's face the battle like men." He led Da Gama toward the palace, and the Sultana's audience.

  The Flying Palace did not seem quite so huge once it had been set upon the ground. Floating above the road, its enormous bulk suspended in the air by straining elephants, one might assume that it was some sort of colossus. But once it rested on the ground, one saw that the palace was scarcely larger than some of the grand tents surrounding it.

  Shahji passed the guards without a glance, though they lowered their heads to him. Da Gama also slipped behind without challenge, for Shahji's aura expanded to contain him. They strode up the wooden staircase-Da Gama grunted with his aching bruises-then crossed into the main hall of the palace, which had been set up for an audience, in imitation of the Diwan-I-Khas in Bijapur Palace.

  It was a square hall. At the far end, away from the double-entry door, Da Gama saw a three-tiered dais: a silver railing around the first, a gold railing around the second, higher dais. Behind the silver railing, on a silver bench, sat Wall Khan, looking agitated. Behind the gold railing Whisper leaned over a cone-shaped pile of dark green cloth.

  "What's Whisper doing?" he muttered.

  "Talking to the queen," Shahji answered.

  Slowly the picture came into focus. It was not a pile of cloth, it was a person, hidden under a vast, impenetrable array of robes and skirts and veils. Near the peak of the mountain of cloth-for so it seemed to Da Gama-he could make out a dark, horizontal slash, and if he stared hard, he could see in the shadow of the veils the eyes of the Sultana. "Why does she hide so?" he whispered to Shahji.

  "She breaks tradition doing even this. No other queen had ever set foot outside the harem."

  Shahji led Da Gama through the stares of the brightly costumed courtiers and to the polished silver rail, where he casually placed his hand. Wall Khan looked at it and grimaced, as if he'd placed feces there. "Highness," Shahji said in a calm voice that filled the room, "here as you requested I present the farang Da Gama, called by many Deoga."

  "How do you come to have this second name, sir?" The muffled query of the Sultana was so soft Da Gama had to strain to hear.

  Da Gama bowed, a deep and swooping farang bow that looked completely out of place in his borrowed jamas. "Your highness, it is a sort of joke. I once stayed in Deogarh, but I could not say the name right. Now this failure follows me wherever I go." The Sultana gave a polite laugh, like a soft cough.

  "But he is too modest, highness," Whisper said, in his rasping voice. Only those close to the dais could hear. "This man single-handedly saved a dozen children from a fire at the mosque of Deogarh. Then he returned to brave the flames alone. He rescued the Koran of Nazamudin, and a hair of the Prophet's beard."

  "Is this true?"

  Now he knew what to listen for, Da Gama could more clearly understand the Sultana's muffled words. "The tale grows in the telling, highness. I did no more than any man might do under the circumstances. In truth I wish it were forgotten."

  "And yet you persist in recalling it, by using that name." A silence fell, and Da Gama got the feeling that those hidden eyes were examining him. Da Gama took a moment to glan
ce around the room. In a corner, near a eunuch guard, Geraldo stared at him. He was still wearing the clothes he'd worn at the falls, and they looked very damp. Once more the Sultana spoke: "We have heard some conflicting stories, Deoga. We would hear your version.

  Da Gama gave another sweeping bow. "A nod will suffice, sir," Wali Khan whispered.

  "You were the burak for Victorio Souza?"

  "We farangs say `settlement man,' your highness. We have not the subtlety of a burak, nor a burak's wisdom, as your advisors surely have already told you."

  "They told me, sir, that you were dangerous. Now answer my question."

  Da Gama licked his lips and answered haltingly. "I'm a hired agent, highness, and my services were employed for a settlement arranged by the Dasanas. Victorio Souza was a trustee. In the end he defined my duties."

  "You answer carefully, Deoga. Are you afraid of us?" Da Gama stirred uncomfortably. He disliked standing still. He felt the eyes of all the court upon him. "Never mind. An honest man has nothing to fear. Do you know who killed Victorio Souza?"

  Across the room Da Gama saw Geraldo straighten. "I don't know, highness."

  "Truly? It appears that you alone doubt the guilt of the niece. She had poison, and she had reason."

  Without looking, Da Gama could feel Geraldo's eyes boring into him. "You did not ask for my opinion, highness, but for my knowledge. Many persons in that camp had poison, highness. Even I had poison. And many persons desired Victorio's death. But in truth, I do not know who killed him. Not for certain."

  Across the room, Geraldo's eyes grew wide. Da Gama nearly smiled to see his reaction.

  "We will not press that point for now. Another question concerns the ownership of the nautch girl. Your master, Victorio Souza had ... a liberality of nature. In his generosity he promised that same woman to two persons." The thickly veiled head nodded barely perceptibly to Whisper and then Wall Khan. "Do not concern yourself with knowledge this time; this time, simply tell us your opinion in this matter."