Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6)

by Emilio Salgari

  One of the guards walked to a bronze gong that hung above a door, picked up a wooden hammer and struck it twice.

  The sound had not yet faded, when a curtain was raised and a man stepped into the room and fixed his eyes on Yanez, more with curiosity than with anger.

  “His Excellency Prime Minister Kaksa Pharaum,” announced one of the guards.

  “Good evening!” said Yanez, removing his hat and extending his right hand.

  Kaksa Pharaum was a man of about fifty, as thin as a fakir, short, with dark bronze skin, a hooked nose and a thick beard that concealed most of his face. He wore a simple yellow silk dhoti adorned with red embroidery about the length of a dressing gown, and a pair of dark red slippers.

  Although he had seen Yanez’s hand, he ignored it, and stepped to one side to get a better look at the foreigner that stood before him.

  “You were the cause of the disturbance below?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Yanez.

  “Did you know I lived above that restaurant?”

  “No, sir; I was hungry and I wanted to eat.”

  “All that ruckus because you were hungry?”

  “When your Excellency is hungry, you eat I am sure. It’s the same for me.”

  “I am Prime Minister—”

  “I am Lord James Moreland, from England, great friend of Queen Victoria, Empress of India.”

  At those words the minister’s frown vanished and his face brightened.

  “You’re a lord?”

  “Yes, Excellency.”

  “Did you not tell the innkeeper?”

  “I told everyone; no one gave me food. Not like in England. We give food to Hindus.”

  “So you could not dine, my lord?”

  “Only a few bites. I’m still hungry, very hungry. This evening I’ll write to the Viceroy of Bengal and tell him I could not complete my mission; the Assamese refused to feed me.”

  “What mission?”

  “Assam has been plagued by tigers; I am a great hunter, I’ve come to kill the beasts.”

  “So, my lord, you came to offer us a valuable service. I regret you were treated so rudely; allow me to make it up to you. Come.”

  He dismissed the guards with a gesture, drew back a curtain and led Yanez into an adjoining room illuminated by a spherical glass lantern that hung from the ceiling and filled the room with soft opaline light. Beneath it stood a table laden with a variety of delicacies served on dishes of gold and silver.

  “I was just about to dine,” said the minister. “Would you like to join me, my lord? Consider it an apology for the innkeeper’s bad manners.”

  “Thank you, Excellency. I will write to my friend the Viceroy of Bengal and tell him of your kind welcome.”

  “I shall be grateful.”

  They sat down and began to eat, occasionally exchanging a few compliments.

  To further show his hospitality the minister ordered his servants to bring his guest some beer. Yanez smiled gratefully and sipped it slowly, the brew being more bitter than he had expected.

  When they had finished, the Portuguese leaned back in his chair and fixed his eyes on the minister’s face.

  “Excellency, I have been sent by the Viceroy of Bengal to discuss a matter of grave diplomatic importance,” he said in perfect Hindi.

  Kaksa Pharaum started.

  “Forgive me for the unconventional manner in which I approached you—”

  “You’re not an English Lord?”

  “I am a lord and I am also first secretary to His Excellency the Viceroy,” Yanez said. “He sent me here as his secret ambassador. Tomorrow I’ll present you with my official papers.”

  “You could have asked for an audience, my lord. I wouldn’t have refused it.”

  “The rajah would have been informed, and I wanted to speak to you privately.”

  “Does the British government have designs on Assam?” Kaksa Pharaum asked nervously.

  “Not at all, rest assured. No one wishes to threaten the independence of this state. We have no cause to move against Assam or its ruler. However, what I have to tell you must remain secret, we cannot risk being overheard by anyone. It would be best if you dismissed your servants for the evening.”

  “As you wish, of course,” replied the Minister, forcing a polite smile.

  He stood up and struck the tom-tom that hung on the wall behind his chair.

  A servant appeared almost immediately.

  “You may retire for the evening. Extinguish all lights save those in my chambers,” said the Minister, “We are not to be disturbed.”

  The servant bowed and left.

  Kaksa Pharaum waited for the sound of footsteps to fade, then sat down once again.

  “We’re alone now, my lord, and rest assured no one would dare intrude upon our conversation. Now, what is it you have to tell me?”

  Chapter 2

  The Kidnapping

  YANEZ DRAINED ANOTHER glass of that terrible beer with a grimace, then drew a beautiful tortoiseshell cigar case inlaid with diamonds from a pocket, took out two large manila cigars and offered one to the minister.

  “Try one, Excellency,” he smiled. “They’re from the Philippines. I was told you appreciate a good smoke, a rare trait among Indians, most of your compatriots would rather chew betel nut.”

  “I acquired the habit in Calcutta, while I was serving as the rajah’s ambassador,” said the minister as he accepted the cigar.

  Yanez handed him a match, lit his own cigar, took a few puffs and exhaled, savouring the aromatic smoke as it rose toward the lamp, then turned his eyes back to the minister.

  “As I said, Excellency, I’ve come on behalf of the Viceroy of Bengal to obtain information on events in Upper Burma. We’ve heard troubling rumours of an insurrection. As you border this turbulent kingdom, I’m sure you keep abreast of what transpires there. The Viceroy will of course be grateful for any assistance you can provide and will reward you handsomely.”

  At the mention of a reward, the minister smiled.

  “You were right to come to me,” he said. “It’s true: there is a violent insurrection in Burma now, led by a former monk who has cast away his yellow robes and taken up a scimitar.”

  “Against King Phibau?”

  “Yes, but more so against his wife, Queen Su-payah-Lat, who last month ordered the monarch’s two younger wives strangled, one of whom had been chosen from among the princesses of Upper Burma.”

  “What tale is this?”

  “I will explain all, my lord,” replied the Minister, narrowing his eyes. “According to Burmese law, the king can have four wives, but at least one must be chosen from among his sisters, a cousin, or at the very least a princess to keep the royal bloodline pure.

  “When King Phibau ascended the throne, he had two sisters to choose from. The king felt more inclined to select the eldest, but the youngest, Princess Su-payah-Lat was determined to become queen and displayed such great affection for him that the Queen Mother decided, in her high wisdom, that the love deserved to be rewarded and that her son should marry them both. Her plans, however, were thwarted by the eldest sister, Princess Ta-bin-deing, who preferred to enter a Buddhist monastery. Is all this clear so far?”

  “Crystal,” said Yanez, who had little interest in the story. “And then, Your Excellency?”

  “Phibau married Su-payah-Lat and two other princesses, one of whom belonged to a noble family from Upper Burma.”

  “And Su-payah-Lat had the princesses strangled?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And then what happened? Another murder, this time by the king?”

  “No. Su-payah-pa… pa…”

  “Continue, Excellency,” said Yanez, looking at him coolly.

  “Where was I…?” asked the minister, who suddenly appeared to be struggling to keep his eyes open.

  “The third murder.”

  “Ah, yes!” Su-payah-pa… pa… pa… is that clear?”

  “Absolutely. C
ontinue.”

  “Pa… pa… a son… the court astrologers… Do you follow, my lord?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Then he strangled the two queens…”

  “Yes.”

  “And Su… pa…”

  “Her name appears to have become a bit of a tongue twister. By Jupiter! Have you had too much to drink?”

  The minister, who for the twentieth time had closed and reopened his eyes, looked at Yanez drowsily; the cigar fell from his lips, he slumped back into his chair, then rolled onto the ground unconscious.

  “Nothing like a little opium to make a fine cigar all the more relaxing,” smiled Yanez. “And now to work; Sandokan thought I’d lost my touch, he’ll be pleased.”

  He picked up the cigar the minister had let fall and went over to an open window.

  Although the lights in the neighbouring buildings had long since been extinguished, the night was clear and the sky cloudless; he immediately spied several groups of men walking about, smoking and chatting as they took the cool evening air.

  “Sandokan and the Tigers,” muttered Yanez. “All is well.”

  He cast the cigar butt out the window, put two fingers to his lips and whistled softly.

  The men below froze then two small bands went to seal off each end of the street, while the remainder gathered beneath the lighted window.

  “Ready,” said a voice.

  “One minute,” replied Yanez.

  He tore the big silk cords from the curtains, fastened them together tightly, tested them, then secured one end about a hook in the wall and wrapped the other about the unconscious minister’s chest.

  “His Excellency weighs very little,” said Yanez, pulling him up.

  He carried the minister to the window and slowly lowered him towards his men. Ten arms were quickly raised to receive him and gently brought him to the ground.

  “My turn,” said Yanez, his voice low.

  He doused the lamp, grabbed the rope, and quickly climbed down to the street.

  “All as planned,” said Sandokan. “You haven’t killed him, I hope.”

  “He’ll be fine tomorrow,” smiled Yanez. “Little brother, allow me to introduce His Excellency Kaksa Pharaum, Prime Minister of Assam.”

  “Saccaroa! You move in powerful circles.”

  “Let’s go, Sandokan. The night watch could stumble upon us at any moment. Did you find a cart?”

  “The chopaya is parked at the end of the street.”

  “Perfect. Quickly now, there’s no time to waste.”

  The Malay pirate whistled to summon the men who had been keeping watch at the far end of the street. They quickly gathered round him then set off towards a large blue carriage. It was one of those covered wagons that Indians employ for long journeys called a chopaya, where, sheltered from the sun, they can eat, smoke and sleep in comfort. The hinder section, furnished with mattresses and cushions serves as a bedroom, the fore section is usually equipped with a table strapped in place and serves as a lounge. Four white zebus harnessed with red saddlecloths were yoked to the large blue cart.

  The minister was placed on a mattress, then Sandokan and Yanez climbed aboard and sat down near to him while their men dispersed in pairs and groups, taking different directions to avoid drawing suspicion. Once they had all vanished from sight, the chopaya set off, driven by a Malay pirate dressed as a bandyman[1], a torch set next to him to light the way.

  “Take us home, Sambigliong,” said Sandokan. Then, turning to Yanez, who was lighting a cigarette, he asked: “Will you tell me your plans now? I can’t even begin to fathom what you’re up to. I thought they were going to murder you in that restaurant.”

  “Murder a white man! They’d never dare,” said Yanez, slowly exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. “Not in public anyway.”

  “You took a great risk.”

  “A calculated one.”

  “What are we going to do with him?” asked Sandokan, casting a glance at their prisoner.

  “We’ll question him, and his answers will get me into the rajah’s court.”

  “You still intend to visit the tyrant’s court? For the last eight days we’ve been told repeatedly that he does not see Europeans.”

  “He’ll receive me with great honours. All I need is the Shaligram. He wouldn’t dare refuse the man who’s returning a hair from Vishnu’s head. And when I meet him, Surama will be one step closer to the throne.”

  “I do not understand how the abduction of a minister, Vishnu’s hair, and the Shaligram connect to the taking of a kingdom.”

  “Little brother, do you know where the priests hide that sacred shell?”

  “I do not.”

  “Neither do I; I’ve asked numerous Indians over the last eight days and no one seems to know.”

  “How then do you plan to obtain that information?”

  “The minister,” said Yanez.

  Sandokan looked at the Portuguese in admiration.

  “You devil of a man!” he exclaimed. “You’d be able to outwit Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu if it came to it.”

  “You may be giving me too much credit,” laughed Yanez. “There’s one last obstacle we’ll have to overcome for our plan to succeed.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A man.”

  “You’ve just abducted the Prime Minister; we’ll abduct him as well.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be as easy. He’s said to wield great influence at court and does all he can to prevent the rajah from meeting with outsiders.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A European, I’m told.”

  “An Englishman?”

  “I do not know. We’ll ask the Prime Minister.”

  The chopaya stopped abruptly, interrupting their conversation.

  “We’re here, Captain,” said Sambigliong.

  The carriage had halted before a stone edifice on the bank of the Brahmaputra. The place was deserted; the remnants of an ancient wall stood nearby on either side of it, once perhaps part of the city’s fortifications but now little more than rubble.

  Black stone statues of Indian gods and elephants peered down from a frieze above a large bronze door, the structure’s only entrance.

  Sambigliong had barely finished speaking when the door opened and a dozen men emerged and immediately encircled the carriage.

  “Were you followed?” asked Sandokan, jumping to the ground.

  “No, Captain,” replied one of the men who had taken part in the abduction.

  “All is well in the pagoda?”

  “All is as we left it.”

  More men emerged from the doorway, carrying torches. Though all were dressed like the local Assamese, a closer look revealed them to be foreign to Northern India. Some were short and stocky with small dark eyes and reddish-olive skin, others were much taller, with large eyes, handsome features and skin of a yellowish hue. But despite differences in appearance, those Malays and Dyaks from Borneo were equally renowned for their ferocity, boldness and indomitable courage.

  “Take him below,” said Yanez, jumping down from the chopaya and pointing to the sleeping minister.

  A well-built Malay with a wrinkled face and jet black hair picked up Kaksa Pharaum and carried him into the building.

  “Hide the chopaya,” added Yanez, turning to Sambigliong. “We may have need of it later. The four of you,” he said, pointing to his men, “will stand guard outside. We may have been followed.”

  He relit his cigarette, summoned a couple of torchbearers and with Sandokan and the remainder of his men following close behind him, stepped through the doorway and headed down a narrow, debris-strewn passageway that led beneath the ground.

  After having gone fifty or sixty metres they entered a large circular chamber that had been dug out of the rock. In its center stood an enormous rectangular stone adorned with carvings of three goddesses: Parvati, the goddess of destruction and rejuvenation, Lakshimi the goddess of wealth and prosperity, and Saraswati the
goddess of knowledge, music, arts and science.

  “Remain here,” Yanez instructed his men. “Keep your rifles within reach; I’ll have no surprises. Come, Sandokan.”

  He took a torch from one of his men and set off with the Tiger of Malaysia down a second, narrower corridor. A few minutes later they stepped into another large chamber illuminated by a lamp that cast a soft yellow light.

  Unlike the first chamber, this one had been made suitable for habitation. Thick Gujarati carpets and tapestries embroidered with gold and exotic designs covered the walls and floor. It had been furnished with large sofas with silk cushions and several large metal shelves that held numerous flasks and glasses. A table stood in the centre, inlaid with tortoiseshell and mother-of-pearl, surrounded by several bamboo chairs.

  One part of the wall, however, remained uncovered, a large niche that housed a statue of Krishna, eighth incarnation of Vishnu, depicted as a black-skinned cowherd.

  The minister had been set down on one of the plush sofas, snoring blissfully as if he were in his own bed.

  “It’s time to wake him,” said Yanez, casting away his cigarette before taking a long-necked flask from a shelf that was filled with a reddish liquid. “This should do the trick.”

  “You gave him opium?” asked the pirate.

  “A cigar laced with it,” replied Yanez.

  “Two drops of that liquid in a glass of water should suffice. His mind should clear immediately.”

  The Portuguese filled a glass with water from a crystal bottle that rested on the table and carefully added two drops of that reddish liquid. The water turned red and began to fizz then slowly reverted to its original transparency.

  “Open his mouth, Sandokan,” said the Portuguese.

  The pirate approached the minister, drew his dagger and gently pried open the man’s teeth.

  “Now,” said Sandokan.

  Yanez poured the contents of the glass into Kaksa Pharaum’s mouth.

  “It should take about five minutes,” said the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “You may as well light your pipe.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  The pirate took a beautiful chibouk adorned with pearls from a shelf, filled it with tobacco, lit it, stretched out on a sofa like a Turkish pasha and began to smoke.