Behind the reluctant soldiers, four more guns were lined up, facing off in a semicircle so that they could cover most of the walls, and he could see another pair guarding a second entrance on the far side of the courtyard. Should any mutinous sepoys breach the magazine’s defences, they were guaranteed a warm reception. However, there was no team ready to reload the cannon; just half a dozen men and officers from the Ordnance Department, who bustled around making final preparations for the defence. Such a small group would be hard pressed to keep the guns firing once any battle had begun.
They reached the entrance to the main magazine and Willoughby led them into an office. It was a relief to be out of the relentless sun, but the small room was stuffy to the point of feeling like an oven. Willoughby was too agitated to sit, so he waved Jack and Aamira to the only available chairs. Aamira sat down heavily, drained and exhausted. Jack ignored the offer. He shrugged his knapsack from his shoulders and dumped it on the floor before tossing his revolver on to the desk, then grunted as he was forced to pull hard to free his talwar from its scabbard. A thick layer of blackened blood had stuck it to the leather liner, and he grimaced as he saw the state of the blade. He looked around for something to clean it on, and his eyes lighted on a multicoloured pagdi hanging on a peg near the room’s only window. He grabbed it and began the laborious task of scraping the steel clean.
Willoughby scowled at Jack’s casual use of his possessions. He opened his mouth to protest, but clearly thought better of it as he caught the look in the grey eyes that flickered his way.
‘What’s going on, Willoughby?’ asked Jack. He was in no mood to be polite. ‘Have the Company’s troops refused to obey their officers?’
‘You could say that, old boy, but I daresay it’s a bit more serious than that now.’ Willoughby looked at him. ‘Did you say you were a civilian?’
‘I did.’ Jack was curt. He had no intention of discussing his past. ‘How serious?’
‘As serious as it damn well gets.’ Willoughby grimaced at his slip of the tongue. ‘My apologies, ma’am.’ He bobbed his head in regret.
‘Out with it, man.’ Jack was quickly losing patience with Willoughby’s manner. His first opinion of the portly officer was not a good one. The lieutenant seemed old for his rank, something that was common in the East India Company, which was often officered by men who had been unable to secure a commission in the regular army. Without the right level of finance, a Company officer could easily find his career stalled and his chances of promotion slim. Willoughby appeared to be just such an officer, and Jack had little desire to put up with a lot of shilly-shallying when he was desperate to know what had happened to throw the city into such chaos.
‘It’s mutiny, plain and simple.’ Willoughby was clearly uncomfortable with Jack’s direct style, but he did his best to answer the question. ‘The whole bally lot of them have killed their officers, and now they are killing anything that moves. Men, women and children. Anyone with a white face is being hunted down and murdered.’ His eyes flickered nervously in Aamira’s direction as he continued. ‘There are rumours that they are using the women in the most abominable way.’
‘Is it just here in Delhi?’ Jack was stunned by the news. He had suspected that the sepoys had mutinied, but it still shocked him to hear it confirmed.
‘I have no idea. I haven’t had contact with anyone for hours now. The whole damn country could be up in arms for all I know.’
‘What troops have you got here?’ Jack grunted in satisfaction as he finished removing the worst of the dried blood from the sword. He turned his attention to his arm. The sting of the wound he had taken in the mad dash to the magazine was still bright, but as he peered through the rent in his shirt, he could see it was little more than a scratch that was already scabbing over. He could afford to leave it a while longer.
‘I have two officers, Lieutenants Forrest and Raynor.’ Willoughby answered the question in a clipped tone. ‘Both are experienced men. Then there are six employees of the Ordnance Department and that number again of servants.’
‘That is all?’ Jack shot Aamira a frosty glare as he realised that her advice to seek out the magazine might have led them into more trouble.
‘Indeed. I have ordered the servants to be armed, and I have positioned eight six-pounders as best I can. All are double-shotted with canister.’
‘Where are the nearest reliable troops?’
Willoughby rolled his eyes in a theatrical gesture that was cut short when he saw the look on Jack’s face. ‘There are none. As far as I know, all the native regiments in the city have mutinied. There are no British regiments here in Delhi. Other than the officers, there is no one we can rely on. The nearest available troops are at Meerut.’
Jack took the news in silence. He considered the situation before he spoke again. ‘So we are holed up here with barely a dozen men against a few thousand mutinous sepoys together with as many ruffians, thieves and murderers as care to join the damn party?’
‘Now look here.’ Willoughby bristled at Jack’s tone. He came closer and dropped his voice, as if confiding some great secret. ‘This is the biggest damn magazine in the whole country. We have enough muskets, rifles, field guns, ammunition and powder to supply an entire army. All we have to do is hold out until nightfall. Then the bloody rabble outside will skulk off and go back to looting the city, leaving us in peace until we are reinforced by whatever reliable troops my fellow officers are able to rustle up. They will not leave us to rot here; they know how important this place is. We simply have to hold until we are relieved.’
‘Do you really think you can do so with two officers, six men and six servants?’ Jack’s opinion of the likely success of the defence was clear in his tone of voice.
‘I think so, yes. That lot out there don’t have ladders or cannon.’ Willoughby scowled at Jack’s lack of confidence. ‘They simply cannot get in here. If they somehow manage to scale the walls, we will greet them with a volley of canister. That should make them think twice, and if any manage to survive, I have ordered a large number of brand-new Enfields to be loaded and held ready. Even though we are few in number, we shall not have to reload; as long as we remain steady, we will be able to bring down a heavy fire. So yes, I believe we can hold.’
Jack saw the look of determination on Willoughby’s face. It was a good plan, and for the first time he began to understand the lieutenant’s confidence. Willoughby had few men, but he had a whole arsenal at his disposal, and he was making the most of the resources available to him.
‘What if you’re wrong? What if that is not enough?’
Willoughby matched Jack’s laugh with a grim smile. ‘Then I will follow the only course of action open to me.’
Jack felt his first opinion of the artillery officer start to fade. Willoughby might look like a bag of piss and wind, but there was steel beneath the blubber.
‘And what course of action is that?’
‘Then I will fire the magazine.’ The lieutenant saw Jack’s expression and his smile stretched wider. ‘I’ll blow the whole bally lot to kingdom come.’
‘Sir!’ A grey-haired officer wearing the uniform of a lieutenant arrived to interrupt Willoughby’s briefing. ‘We have need of you outside.’
Willoughby nodded at the abrupt summons. ‘Very well, Forrest.’ He turned to Jack. ‘Mr Lark, this is Lieutenant Forrest. Forrest, this is Mr Lark and Miss Aamira.’
Jack ran his eyes over the ageing lieutenant. The man looked at least fifty, and was probably older. The magazine was precisely the kind of posting an officer received when he possessed neither the influence nor the money to progress up the ranks. Forrest might be a capable officer, but without either of those crucial advantages, his destiny was to become marooned in some out-of-the-way posting where he would serve out his years on the paltry income of a junior officer.
Forrest was staring at Jack. ‘I saw you fight your way in, Mr Lark. I have never seen anyone as quick as you were with that blade. Y
ou certainly know how to handle a sword, even if it is a heathen’s talwar.’
In the face of such sincere praise, Jack was uncomfortable. ‘It was nothing. I did what had to be done, no more.’
The lieutenant frowned, his eyes never leaving Jack. ‘As you wish, sir.’ He used the honorific without hesitation. He turned to face his commander. ‘A detachment of Bahadur Shah’s guards are at the gate. They are demanding we surrender the magazine.’
‘We shall do no such thing.’ Willoughby puffed out his cheeks at the bold demand. ‘Mr Lark, would you care to accompany us. Miss Aamira, you are welcome to use my office. I suggest you get some rest whilst you can. I have a feeling things may get a little hotter around here shortly.’
Jack looked at Aamira. She was sitting hollow-eyed and pale. He caught her eye and saw her exhaustion. He tried a smile. ‘Do you want to stay here? I’ll not go far.’ To his surprise, she nodded. It was a sign of her fatigue that she acquiesced so readily.
He followed the two lieutenants out of the shady interior and back into the scorching sun. It was only late morning, but already the heat was stupefying. The power of the sun made Jack once again doubt Willoughby’s confidence that his small garrison could hold through the rest of the long day and on into the night. It would take all of a man’s strength simply to survive the heat, let alone repel a series of determined attacks. He looked round, seeking a way out of the magazine, an escape route to get himself and Aamira away before the tiny company was overrun.
Willoughby saw his scrutiny and took it for something else. ‘It’s over there, by the tree in the centre of the yard. I thought it as good a place as any.’
For a moment Jack didn’t understand what the lieutenant was referring to. He looked across to the tree he had indicated and spotted a thin trail of dark grey powder leading across the dusty yard and into the mouth of what could only be the main storeroom. Willoughby had been deadly serious. The preparations were in place to fire the magazine. Jack could not imagine what would happen if one of them lit the fuse, but he was certain he wanted to be a very long way away before a few thousand pounds of powder blew up.
They reached the main gate and Jack saw the uniformed detachment of the emperor’s guards waiting just outside. They looked like a smart troop, with tightly bound scarlet pagdis that matched the thick sashes around their waists holding their talwars in place. A finely dressed young man led the detachment. He was little more than a boy, but he regarded the three Englishmen with arrogant disdain.
‘You are Willoughby.’ The man raised a thin finger and pointed it at Forrest.
Forrest bristled. ‘No.’ He inclined his body towards Willoughby. ‘Sir, I believe the gentleman is talking to you.’
Willoughby stuck out his chest and walked forward. ‘Good morning, how may I assist you?’ If he was put out by the guard commander’s rudeness, it did not show in his polite greeting.
The young commander scowled at his mistake. ‘You are Willoughby. You will give me the magazine.’
Willoughby chuckled. ‘I really don’t think that is possible, young man. The magazine is the property of the Crown.’
The younger man’s face was twisting in anger. ‘You will do as I say. We are taking the magazine in the name of the shah. He rules here. It is rightfully his property.’
‘Is it now?’ All trace of good humour left Willoughby’s voice. ‘Go and tell the king that his people are committing murder. If he rules here, then he is responsible for the foulest outrage and he must put a stop to it this instant. When peace has returned and my senior officers send me verifiable orders, then and only then will I be prepared to unbar this gate.’ The portly officer was shaking with barely controlled anger as he finished speaking. His face was flushed scarlet with the passion of his words and his hands had balled into fists.
His speech was welcomed with nothing more than a sneer. ‘You are a stupid, fat little man. I shall take great pleasure in watching you die.’
With that, the commander of the guard turned on his heel and stomped away, his detachment following in his wake.
‘Well done, sir.’ Forrest spoke with approval. ‘You gave that bugger what for.’
Willoughby was still rigid with anger. ‘The impudent cur. Does he expect me to stand meekly aside?’
Jack was less agitated. ‘No. I rather think he expects you to die.’
Forrest and Willoughby turned to look at their newly arrived guest, an expression of shock on both their faces.
‘Did you see what was going on behind that bastard’s back?’ Jack met their scandalised glares with calm detachment.
Willoughby coughed in discomfort. ‘No, I was watching the fellow’s face. What did I miss?’
‘You were wrong. They do have ladders. Lots of them.’ Jack took no pleasure in revealing what he had spotted. ‘You should prepare for their attack.’
Willoughby and Forrest turned in unison. There was nothing for them to see. Beyond the iron gate, all was calm. Even the hostile crowd had withdrawn.
‘It is the calm before the storm then.’ Forrest spoke in reverential tones.
The three men looked at one another.
‘So be it.’ Willoughby broke the spell. He fixed Jack with a grim smile. ‘I take it that you will not be joining us at the dance?’
Jack’s face was cold. ‘It’s not my fight. I’m a civilian, not a soldier.’ He felt the urge to spit, the bitter words leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He had left the army behind. He was no longer tied to it, his only duty to himself and to Aamira.
Willoughby shared a look with his lieutenant. He did not say a word; simply gave a curt nod and walked away without giving Jack a second glance.
‘I think I know a way out that you can use. It will be dangerous, but I expect you know that.’ Forrest spoke in clipped, businesslike tones. There was no recrimination. Whatever the aged lieutenant felt was hidden behind the dignified facade of a British officer.
Jack nodded. He had nothing more to say. He followed Forrest as they walked away from the barred gateway, away from the enemy that was preparing to attack.
‘We’re leaving?’ Aamira greeted Jack’s news with surprise.
‘That old lieutenant has shown me a way out. It won’t be easy, so we need to go now.’ Jack gave the order coldly. He was already planning their escape. Forrest had shown him a small group of wooden storage sheds that butted up to the east wall of the magazine. If they were quick, Jack and Aamira could use them as a way to get up and over the wall. The lieutenant had no idea what would await them on the other side, but at that moment it was as good an escape route as they would find.
‘You’re abandoning them?’
Jack scowled at the accusatory tone in her voice. ‘Yes. They will be overrun. They don’t stand a chance in hell. Now get your things.’ He turned away, hiding his face.
‘It’s because of me, isn’t it?’ Aamira would not let him go. She was on her feet, grabbing at his arm, forcing him to face her. ‘You are doing this because of me.’
Jack turned on her, his face set like thunder. ‘You want to stay here and die? Be my bloody guest.’ He shrugged off her hand and snatched his revolver from the desk.
‘Do not shout at me.’ Aamira’s face was flushed with fury. ‘I did not ask for you to become my guardian.’
‘But I bet you’re bloody glad I did. I’ve saved you twice. Now I’m about to do it again.’ Jack was sarcastic, his words biting.
‘Do not take that tone with me.’ Aamira came after him. ‘This is not my fault.’
‘Isn’t it? Because it sure ain’t mine.’
‘You think you would have got here without me? You were lost. You didn’t know where to go!’ Her voice was rising in anger now, rage mixing with fear to produce an explosive cocktail, one as potent as the store of powder not more than a dozen paces away from where they argued.
‘I’m only in Delhi because of you, you daft bint. I wouldn’t have to escape if I wasn’t bloody here.’
/> ‘So you wish you hadn’t come? Maybe you should have thought of that before. I didn’t hear you complain when you got me on my back!’
‘Neither did you!’
‘You bastard.’ Aamira slapped him hard. She pulled her hand back to strike him again, but Jack was too quick and too strong. He grabbed her arm, holding it tight. His face came close to hers.
‘I have to save you. Don’t you understand? I cannot let you stay here. I will not see you die.’ He dropped her hand and turned away, fighting to keep the mask over his emotions.
‘You would stay if I was not here?’ Her passion was spent. She had seen the look in his eyes and had finally recognised his fear. It was not for his own life. It was for hers.
He said nothing.
She walked to him. ‘You should stay.’
‘I promised to keep you safe. I will not let you down.’ His words were hard, but she understood the feelings that he was failing to hide.
‘And you think out there is safer than in here?’
He turned to face her. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Nowhere is safe, Jack.’ She reached for him, her fingers tracing the angry imprint of her hand on his face. ‘Here, there, it doesn’t matter. You have already saved me.’
For a moment he could not speak. ‘No, you are wrong.’ His voice was soft, little more than a whisper. ‘You saved me.’
She offered a thin-lipped half-smile. ‘Then nothing matters. For we have saved each other. We can run. We can hide. We can fight. But we cannot escape our fate. For that is already written.’
Again Jack found he could not speak. Once he would have denied her words. He had fought fate for as long as he could remember, refusing to accept the life he had been given. Yet now he saw that such actions were futile. He could no more stand against fate than a great king could prevent his children fighting and dying in his name. Against fate, no man could find victory.
‘So you think we should stay.’ He spoke the words firmly, refusing to let his voice betray him.
The Lone Warrior Page 9
