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

by Emilio Salgari

  “I might have, but I could not say who it was. I never learned her name.”

  “There’s a man here who witnessed the ceremony, perhaps he can help jog your memory.”

  “Have him come,” said the gosain, unable to control a slight tremble in his voice.

  “Loy!” shouted Sandokan.

  The Malay, who until then had been crouching behind a pile of rubble, rose to his feet and walked up to the fakir.

  “Do you remember me?” he asked.

  Tantia stared at him for a moment, a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

  “No, I’ve never seen you before,” he replied, trying to stifle his unease.

  “Think back,” said the Malay. “I was just three paces from you when you marked my mistress’ forehead.”

  The gosain trembled slightly.

  “You’re mistaken,” he replied quickly. “I never forget a face and I’ve never seen yours before.”

  “A man with a withered arm and a seedling growing from his hand is not easily forgotten,” said the Malay. “It was you, I swear it.”

  “What do you say to that?” asked Sandokan.

  The gosain shrugged.

  “He’s lying,” he replied. “Maybe to conceal his own part in this.”

  “Sandokan,” said Tremal-Naik. “We may have to consider another approach.”

  “There will be plenty of time for that,” replied Sandokan. “Continue, Loy.”

  “This man came to the villa and performed a ceremony to remove the evil eye. When he had finished, he asked if he could rest for a while, was left alone to sleep, and later that night he disappeared with the mistress. Let him deny it if he dares!”

  “I deny it,” said the fakir. “Every word!”

  “And that’s all you have to say?” asked Sandokan.

  “I’m a poor man with nothing to hide. I desire nothing more than to spend my days in peace. These accusations against me are false, I do not know how else to convince you.”

  “I see,” said Sandokan. He fell silent for a moment then added, “Kammamuri, this man has not had breakfast yet. Give him a bowl of curry. Perhaps he’ll feel like discussing the matter once he’s been fed.”

  The Maratha, who was stirring a large pot not too far from them, filled a bowl and set it down before the gosain.

  “Eat,” Sandokan said. “We’ll resume the discussion once you’ve finished.”

  Tantia sniffed at the bowl and shook his head.

  “No!” he said firmly.

  Sandokan drew a gun from his sash, cocked it, and pressed the barrel against the prisoner’s temple.

  “Eat,” he repeated.

  “What’s in this curry?”

  “Eat.”

  “Do I have your word that it’s not poisoned?”

  “It’s not poisoned. Your choice is simple: eat or I shoot you in the head. You have one minute to decide.”

  The fakir hesitated for a moment, then took the spoon that Kammamuri held out to him and began to eat.

  “It’s too spicy,” he said with a grimace. “He’s a terrible cook.”

  “I’ll hire another when I get the chance,” replied Sandokan. “For now, he’ll do.”

  The gun still trained on his head, the fakir continued to eat, slowly gulping down every spoonful until at last the bowl was empty.

  “Satisfied?” he said after swallowing his last mouthful.

  “Immensely,” replied Sandokan. “Gentlemen, if you would do the honours…”

  Tremal-Naik and Kammamuri grabbed the gosain beneath the arms and lifted him to his feet.

  “What now?” the prisoner asked terrified.

  “We go for a walk,” replied Tremal-Naik. “And we question you again.”

  “What more can I say?” shouted Tantia. “I know nothing! I had no part in that woman’s abduction. Torture me, all you like, I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

  “We shall see,” said Tremal-Naik.

  They pushed him out of the pagoda, then down the steps and stopped before two Malays who were digging a hole.

  “That will suffice,” said Sandokan, casting a glance at the pirates’ work.

  The gosain had taken two steps back, looking at Sandokan, Tremal-Naik and Kammamuri with bewilderment.

  “What do you intend to do with me?” he asked nervously. “I’m a fakir, a holy man, Brahma himself protects me.”

  “Ask him to come rescue you,” said Sandokan.

  “Scoundrels! The rajah will avenge me!”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. He has far more pressing matters to attend to. Last chance; do you wish to talk or not?”

  “Curse the lot of you!” the gosain shouted furiously. “I cast the evil eye upon you!”

  “Childish nonsense,” said Sandokan. “Put him in the hole.”

  The two Malays lifted up the fakir, and despite his squirms set him in the pit so that only his head and withered right arm emerged from it. Once he was in place, they began to fill in the hole with dirt.

  The gosain howled and screamed at the top of his voice, but Sandokan Tremal-Naik and Kammamuri merely watched in silence.

  “Bring out the pot,” said the Tiger of Malaysia, once the fakir had been buried up to his neck.

  One of the two Malays ran into the pagoda and returned moments later with a metal pot full of water and set it down a few paces from the fakir.

  “For when you’re thirsty,” said Sandokan.

  The gosain eyed the pot for a moment then suddenly his lips began to tremble.

  “Give me a drink!” he roared. “My stomach is on fire.”

  “Stretch out your arm and serve yourself,” said Sandokan. “No one’s stopping you.”

  “I can’t bend it! You know that as well as I do!”

  “How you manage it is your affair. Come, my friends. I’ve had enough of his company.”

  The three men walked to a laurel tree about fifty paces from the pagoda’s steps. Several mats and a few pillows had been arranged beneath it and they sat down in its shade and lit their pipes. After they had taken a few puffs, they cast a glance at the gosain who was still howling for water like a madman.

  “Bhut jolokia,” said the Maratha, “Works every time.”

  “Now for the captain,” said the Tiger of Malaysia. “Kammamuri, ask the jemadar to join us.”

  “What do you intend to do with him?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “Ask him a few questions,” replied Sandokan.

  “And then what? Execute him?”

  “It’ll depend on his answers.”

  Kammamuri returned, escorting the Sikh captain.

  He was a handsome man of exceptional strength, with a long black beard, light bronze skin and dark piercing eyes.

  His hands having been unbound, he greeted Sandokan and Tremal-Naik with a crisp salute.

  “Sit, my friend,” said the Tiger of Malaysia. “Let’s talk. One warrior to another.”

  The jemadar calmly sat down on a mat opposite the pirate.

  “Did you help the fakir abduct an Indian princess?”

  “I’ve never seen him before,” replied the Sikh.

  “So you know nothing of the abduction.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard speak of it.”

  “Who ordered you to attack us?”

  “The rajah.”

  “Who told his Highness that we were hiding in the old Krishna temple?”

  “I couldn’t say. I was given an order and I followed it,” said the Sikh. “That is our custom; we do not enquire into our master’s affairs.”

  “How much does the rajah pay you a year?”

  “Two hundred rupees.”

  “What if someone were to offer you a thousand? Would you leave the rajah’s employ?”

  The jemadar’s eyes flashed greedily.

  “Think about it,” said Sandokan, pleased by the reaction. “We’ll return to this matter later. I have other questions I need you to answer first.”

  “Speak, sahi
b.”

  “Do you command the royal guard?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How many men does it comprise?”

  “Four hundred.”

  “All brave men?”

  “To a man,” he said proudly. “We Sikhs fear no one.”

  “How much does the rajah pay your men for a year of service?”

  “Fifty rupees.”

  “What do you think of the offer I made you?”

  The jemadar fell silent for a moment.

  “Hurry, I don’t have much time,” said Sandokan.

  “Even the Rajah of Mysore and the Guicowar of Baroda, the most generous princes in India, would never offer such a sum,” he replied at last.

  “Large enough to hire your services?”

  “Yes, I’d resign my commission immediately.”

  “What if your new employers intended to attack the rajah? Would you still agree to join them?”

  The jemadar shrugged.

  “I’m not Assamese,” he said. “I sell my sword to the highest bidder.”

  “Would your men switch allegiances with you if they were to be offered two hundred rupees each?”

  “Yes, sahib, absolutely,” replied the jemadar. “I handpicked them all myself. They’re all loyal to me and obey no other.”

  “Then consider yourself in my employ. You’ll be given half your salary today, five hundred rupees, but for now you’ll remain in this camp guarded by my men.”

  “It’s wise to be cautious, sir, and in your place I’d likely do the same. But I give you my word, now that I’m in your employ you won’t have cause to doubt me.”

  “Thank you. You may go. I must speak with the fakir. Kammamuri!”

  The Maratha who had been sitting a few paces from the gosain, calmly listening to the old man’s howls, quickly stood up and walked over to the pirate.

  “How is the prisoner?” asked Sandokan as a Malay led the jemadar away.

  “Verging on madness; he won’t last much longer.”

  “Well then, perhaps he’s ready to talk. Come, Tremal-Naik. This promises to be interesting.”

  “It’s starting to feel like the crown is almost within our grasp,” said the Bengali.

  “I agree, my friend, it’s just a question of a little more patience.”

  Chapter 17

  The Fakir’s Confession

  CONSUMED WITH THIRST, the bhut jolokia burning in his stomach as the hot sun beat down upon him and the dirt pressed against his body, the gosain appeared to be nearing the end of his strength. His eyes bulged from their sockets, his lips were covered in foam, and his withered arm trembled visibly and almost seemed as if it would break at any moment from his desperate efforts to grab the pot of water.

  He howled and cursed almost without pause, and as he spied Sandokan and Tremal-Naik walking towards him, his face hardened and he glared at them fiercely.

  “Water!” he roared.

  “Tell me what I wish to know, and you can have as much as you desire,” said Sandokan, sitting down opposite the prisoner. “We’ll start with a simple question. How much did they pay you to help the young woman’s abductors?”

  The gosain grimaced and remained silent.

  “Moments ago I convinced the Sikh jemadar that answering my questions was in his best interests. I’ll make you the same offer. Tell me what I wish to know, and you’ll have water and rupees in abundance. Refuse and this will be our last conversation. You’ll die in that hole. Understood? You have a minute to decide.”

  “Rupees!” gasped Tantia, his eyes fixed on the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “One hundred rupees, bah, let’s make it two.”

  The gosain shuddered.

  “Two hundred!” he exclaimed, his voice barely a whisper. He hesitated for a moment, looked down, then back up at Sandokan.

  “I’ll talk…” he said at last, “if you give me a sip of water.”

  “Excellent,” said Sandokan. “I knew you’d come around eventually.”

  He picked up the bowl, put it to the gosain’s lips, and let him drink a few gulps.

  “That should help loosen your tongue,” he said. “If you want the rest, you’ll have to answer all my questions. Who were you working for?”

  “The rajah’s favorite,” replied Tantia, those few sips of water having revived him somewhat.

  “Who is that?”

  “A white man.”

  Sandokan and Tremal-Naik exchanged looks. Their suspicions had been correct.

  “Did you talk to the rajah’s favourite directly?” asked the pirate.

  “No.”

  “Who relayed the order?”

  “A minister, one of his close friends.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I drugged her with some flowers, then helped one of the favourite’s servants lower her out the window. A band of men was waiting in the street below to carry her off.”

  “Where did they take her?”

  “The white man’s house.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Bogra square.”

  “Bindar!”

  The Assamese, who had been sitting under a nearby tree chewing betel nut, immediately came to his side.

  “Are you familiar with Bogra square?” asked Sandokan.

  “Yes, sahib.”

  “Very well, gosain. You’ve earned your two hundred rupees.”

  “There’s one more thing I should tell you,” said Tantia.

  “Yes?”

  “The favourite’s khansama gave that young woman some kind of drink to make her talk.”

  Sandokan started.

  “And did she?” he asked anxiously.

  “Of course. How else would they have known where you were hiding?”

  “Do you know what she said?”

  “No, sahib.”

  “I warn you, you’ll remain our prisoner until we return from the city. If you’ve lied, I’ll flay you myself.”

  “You’ll have no trouble from me,” replied the fakir.

  “The two hundred rupees have just become four. You’ll be given them immediately.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Sandokan. He turned to the Malays and said:

  “Dig him out of the hole and give him as much food and drink as he desires. Keep a close eye on him. Come, Tremal-Naik, we have a few matters to discuss.”

  The two walked back towards the tree in silence, preferring not to speak until they were out of the prisoner’s earshot.

  “Yanez may have been compromised,” said Sandokan. If so, he’ll be in grave danger.”

  “If they gave her yuma, there’s no way she could have resisted. But they would have needed to ask her the right questions.”

  “There may have been more to this abduction than just simple revenge; the Greek may have already been suspicious. If he’s harmed Yanez in any way, I swear I won’t leave this land until I’ve taken his head.”

  “We need to move quickly and find out what he knows. We must rescue Surama as soon as possible.”

  “My intentions exactly. We’ll head back to the city immediately.”

  “Who will we take with us?”

  “Bindar, Kammamuri and six men, the others will remain behind to guard the prisoners.”

  “Will that be enough?”

  “If we need more help, we’ll use our men at Surama’s villa. Hurry now, there’s no time to waste.”

  Once he had instructed Sambigliong to post guards along the banks of the swamp, Sandokan and his small band of men set off from the pagoda and headed for the Brahmaputra. As it was almost noon they would be able to cross the jungle safely, for ordinarily the most dangerous predators spend the hottest hours of the day lying in their burrows and shelters. Unless they are hungry, they prefer to hunt at night, the darkness favoring their attacks.

  They reached the swamp without incident; a few wild dogs followed them for a spell, howling men
acingly, but did not dare draw too near.

  They found the bagla as they had left it, a sign that no one had sailed up the canal; the rajah’s guards must have abandoned the chase.

  “Bindar,” said Sandokan. “You’ll take the rudder. We’ll sail at a leisurely pace; I don’t want to reach the city until well after nightfall. We can’t be seen entering Surama’s villa.”

  The men boarded the vessel, raised anchor, and slowly rowed down the canal that led to the Brahmaputra. A great calm reigned over the swamp and along its banks. From time to time a bird would rise from among the vegetation, circle over the bagla, then vanish among the reeds. Large crocodiles slept in the mud among the lotus plants, barely glancing at the ship as it sailed past.

  Sandokan and his men reached the Brahmaputra at about six o’clock that evening. As they emerged from the canal, they spied two pulwars, light Indian river boats with a large square sail, coasting along the opposite shore, one in front of the other.

  “Soldiers?” asked Sandokan, taking them both in with a glance.

  “I don’t see any Sikhs aboard,” said Tremal-Naik. “They look like merchant ships.”

  “One of them has a swivel gun on her bow.”

  “It’s not uncommon. The rivers in these parts aren’t always safe.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on them nonetheless,” said Sandokan.

  “It’ll be easy enough to determine if they really are merchants.”

  “How?”

  “Let them overtake us; we have more than enough time.”

  “Yes,” said Sandokan, considering the suggestion. “It’s our best option.”

  He ordered the Malays to take in the oars and let the ship coast forward. Aided by the breeze, the two pulwars continued on their way, and, minutes later, disappeared around the bend in the river, their crews barely giving the bagla more than a glance.

  “They’re gone,” said Tremal-Naik. “They were merchant ships, just as I thought.”

  Sandokan seemed unconvinced but only shook his head and remained silent.

  “You still have doubts?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “Those ships are searching for us,” said the Tiger of Malaysia. “I’m certain of it.”

  “They would have stopped and questioned us.”

  “We haven’t reached Guwahati yet.”

  “There were no ships in sight when we headed up the canal. How could the Sikhs have known we escaped in a bagla?”