by Kate Gray
Macconnach.
“Yes, Papa. I hardly know how to explain it. I’ve no clue how the colonel will do so.”
Abington drew his daughter closer in order to embrace her. He could never know how close she had come to death. She would not tell him; she had extracted promises from Macconnach, Ranajit, his son, and Colonel Arpan that they would remain silent.
Instead, she smiled up at him. “Suffice to say, the major has acquitted himself admirably. We need have no further concerns.”
“That is a rather good piece of news.” He caught a light in her eyes that he had never before noticed. “You seem much more kindly disposed toward our good major.” Isabel’s eyes flashed and strayed over Macconnach’s way before she replied.
“I think you might say that your machinations have come to fruition, Papa.” Abington’s eyebrows shot up. He contained himself, barely, as he fought down a smile.
“I’ve not the faintest idea to what you could be referring. You both are in dire need of cleaning up, however, and a meal is in order as well. Get on with you!”
Isabel rolled her eyes and headed to her rooms with appalled maids following closely behind.
ॐ
Abington examined Macconnach closely for a moment or two, taking close note of his torn clothing.
“Major, I thank you for delivering my daughter back safely.”
“I rather think it is the other way round, my lord. I would not be here but for her.”
“And yet, you seem to have won her regard.”
“She mine, as well. We have come to…an understanding, I think.”
“We will have more to speak of on that regard, Major. For now, see to yourself, and come to dinner tonight.”
“By your leave, General.” Macconnach bowed and sought out Smithson, whose eyes widened in horror at the state of his major.
ॐ
Never mind, he thought. He’d been assigned to this man, knowing all the peculiar things that could come along with the billet. This was surely not going to be the last instance of the man looking as though he’d been chewed on by a pack of wild dogs. Life in the Army, wasn’t it a delight?
ॐ
As on water’s surface, when a wave begins, it spreads, and spawns new ripples as it travels. Macconnach could feel the unpleasant reality of this as he walked to his tent, while Smithson was telling him that he’d already begun moving their things into the palace.
All across the countryside, as the ripple of his and Isabel’s encounter with the Bhairava travelled, it bounced off various other presences. Some of these had slumbered for generations, others had long been at work, and would remain so. The destruction of such a powerful entity was a warning, a calling card, an awakening.
When the ripple finally died out, many forms of consciousness had turned toward the Bengal Presidency. Macconnach was known. But he was wanting to be understood.
He looked out across the horizon toward the setting sun, and felt the new current. It was not a reassuring sensation. Isabel should not have to live in this world with him. He looked up to the shuttered windows of her rooms, feeling heavy-hearted. He knew what he had to do.
ॐ
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