Jani and the Greater Game (The Multiplicity Series Book 1) (30 page)

Above Rishi Tal – A conversation with Mr Knives –

The chase is on – “Prepare yourself to jump...”

D
URGA
D
AS AWOKE
from a deep sleep and sat up in the armchair, confused for a few seconds. He recalled landing in Dehrakesh at midnight, locating Mr Clockwork’s warehouse, and finding the place in a state of chaos. He’d questioned a local who had been awoken by a din, and who described seeing a mechanical giant striding away from the warehouse.

At first light, Das had ordered his pilot to take the airship up high above Dehrakesh – and as he’d hoped, the trampled undergrowth wrought by the mechanical beast was evident from on high. For a day they had followed the route the Chatterjee girl and the boy had taken through the dense forest, he and Mr Knives taking it in turns to keep a lookout for the first sign of the pair.

Das blinked himself fully awake and stared around the gondola. In the armchair opposite, the young Mr Knives was sound asleep and snoring noisily, legs stretched out before him, his trusty dagger lying on his chest like an inverted silver neck-tie.

“You fool!” Das cried, pushing himself upright.

Mr Knives came awake with a start. At least he had the good grace to look guilty.

“You incompetent!” Das spat, standing over the cowering youth. “Your job was simple – stay awake while I slept, and keep a lookout!”

“But, baba-ji, I have only this second fallen asleep.”

“You liar!” Das cried. He trundled across the gondola and squeezed himself into the control cabin. There, a tiny Sikh sat before the wheel.

“Thank the gods that you have not fallen asleep, Singh,” Das said.

The pilot pointed through the windscreen to starboard. Far below Das made out a swathe of trampled undergrowth snaking through the forest.

“I heard the snores, Mr Das, and paid attention to the track. It is my guess that they are heading for the town of Rishi Tal.”

“Excellent work, Singh,” Das said, and returned to the gondola.

Mr Knives, chastened, had drawn his armchair up to a starboard porthole and was peering out intently. He pointed. “I see the track down below, baba-ji.”

“It’s a good job Singh is awake and alert, you fool.”

Mr Knives muttered something under his breath as Das pulled his armchair across the gondola and stationed it before a porthole. He resumed his seat and stared down, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mechanical man sooner rather than later.

When they caught up with the pair, he would have Singh lower them to the forest out of sight of the girl and her accomplice; then Mr Knives would approach them with stealth, despatch the boy and capture the girl.

He outlined his plan to Mr Knives, whose complicit grin widened when Das mentioned the boy. “The boy deserves to die slowly, baba-ji. He has caused us much travail.”

Das eyed the youth as if he were an insect. “You will kill him quickly and as painlessly as possible, Mr Knives: his next life awaits him. Our priority is the girl. I do not want you spending time on the boy and so allowing the girl to escape our clutches.”

“And when we have the girl?”

“She has something I need, something very important...”

“And when you have what you want, baba-ji?”

Das had looked no further than obtaining the tithra-kūjī. Now he considered the Chatterjee girl and her fate. It would be a mistake to let her live, so that she might possibly incriminate himself and Mr Knives. It would be far better if she too was despatched to her next incarnation.

“When I have what I want, Mr Knives, then the girl must die.”

A gleam entered Mr Knives’ shifty eyes. “I will take my time, baba-ji, and make the girl suffer. I might even take my pleasure before performing a thousand cuts.”

Das winced. “You will kill the girl swiftly and painlessly, Mr Knives. There is no need to inflict unnecessary suffering and cruelty. We are every one of us, when all is said and done, creatures of creation.”

“But some of us,” Mr Knives purred, “deserve rewards, and others retribution.”

“Such rewards and retribution as we might deserve are for the gods to mete out, Mr Knives.”

Das had no respect for the Chatterjee girl; as far as he was concerned, she was a traitor to her people, just as her father had been. In siding with the British in their cruel domination of India, Kapil Dev Chatterjee had signed a pact with the enemy; he had even married a white woman, an Englishwoman, and their spawn, in the form of Janisha Chatterjee, had chosen to conduct a life of western materialism and hedonism. She was beneath Das’s contempt and deserved to die; for all that, however, she did not deserve to die a lingering and painful death.

A cunning look crossed Mr Knives’ thin face. He said, “I wonder what your contacts in parliament would think of what you are doing, baba-ji?”

Das dragged his gaze from the porthole and stared at the young man. “What did you say?”

Mr Knives grinned. “Your contacts, the MPs you call your friends...”

“What about them?”

“They would not look kindly upon you if they found that you were responsible for the death of a minister’s daughter.”

Das peered at Mr Knives with mounting incredulity. “Just what are you suggesting, Mr Knives?”

The young man shrugged. “Just that, if they were to find out that you ordered her killing...” He allowed a second to elapse, then went on, “However, if you would allow me to have my way with the traitor, then the MPs might never need know about your part in the affair.”

Das contained his rage. He summoned a smile and said, sweetly, “You are forgetting one thing, my friend. The blood would be on your hands, too.”

“So, we would both be implicated. I do not fear the consequences. After all, I have nothing to lose. You, however, with your rich lifestyle and your ashram, with the devotion and respect you enjoy from your many followers, you have much to lose.”

As he said this, Mr Knives stared down at the edge of his trusty blade, and began, insouciantly, to trim his fingernails.

“When I plucked you from the streets,” Das said, “I saved your skin. I gave you a life of plenty you could but dream about. A life you took to with relish... along with my Bombay rum. Now one day, not so long ago, you were a little indiscreet after two or three too many glasses... You bragged of a ghastly murder you committed.” Das gestured as the youth stared at him, wide-eyed. “I did a little research, spoke with a high-up police official I happen to know. And I learned that the police have a file on the murder, with your good self as the prime suspect. It so happened that I was feeling generous that day, Mr Knives, and proffered the superintendent a remittance if he were to close the file on the killing. However,” Das went on, smiling across at the stricken youth, “that file could be opened at my say so... and will be, if you see fit to contravene my express desires. Now, Mr Knives, do I make myself understood? You will kill the girl quickly.”

Mr Knives, with hatred burning in his eyes, was saved from replying by a shout from the control cabin.

“Mr Das! Down below! I see something...”

Das pressed his face against the glass. He made out the winding stretch of trampled undergrowth disappearing into the distance. He stumbled into the control cabin and peered through the viewscreen. “There, Mr Das,” Singh said.

Das made out not the mechanical man he’d been expecting, but a huge brass elephant.

Singh pointed. “And there, on the path leading into town... the boy and girl you are following!”

Sure enough, there they were, trotting side by side down the steep woodland path. His heart leapt at the sight of the pair. Beyond, nestling like a vision of paradise in the wooded hills, was the lakeside hill station of Rishi Tal.

“Can you come down some distance away so that they don’t hear the ship?” he asked.

The tiny Sikh peered out at the hilly terrain. “Nai, baba-ji. I cannot land. Maybe I could come down low so that you might jump out.”

Das didn’t much like the idea of that, but he had an idea. “Ah-cha. Do that. Is there an airyard that services the town?”

The pilot referred to his charts and nodded. “The Rishi Tal airyard is just three miles further down the valley.”

“Very good.”

He returned to the gondola as the motors powered down and the vessel banked and approached a parting in the treetops.

“Mr Knives, prepare yourself to jump.”

“Jump?” The youth’s startled expression was gratifying to behold.

“That’s what I said, Mr Knives. Look...”

He took the youth by the arm and pushed him towards the porthole. “See the figures on the path down there?”

As he spoke, the airship brushed the treetops, came down even further and bobbed ten feet from the ground.

“You will leave the ship and follow them into town. Make sure you don’t let them out of your sight, my friend, and ascertain where they are heading. I will meet you in the square beside the lake.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“I will remain aboard the airship, then take a taxi from the airyard into town.”

From the cabin, Singh called out, “I am as low as I can go, baba-ji!”

Das crossed to the hatch, swung the door open and peered out. The gondola was swaying above a dense patch of undergrowth. He took Mr Knives’ arm and propelled him toward the opening. The youth goggled at the drop.

“Now follow the girl and the boy and do not let them out of your sight!” Das said. “And, if you do your job well, that murder file might remain closed... Chalo!”

And so saying, he pushed Mr Knives in the small of the back. The youth cried out and jumped into the tangle of undergrowth. He landed in a sprawl of limbs, looked up ruefully at a smiling Das, then hunted on hands and knees for his precious blade.

Finding it, he stood, gained his bearings, and set off down the hillside.

Das resumed his armchair and contemplated the rewards of the chase. “To the airyard, Singh!” he called out.

The engines powered up and the airship climbed and passed over the town of Rishi Tal.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

At the Varma Singh guest house – A hot bath at last –

Jani and Anand receive visitors –

“Fear of death will loosen your tongue...”

J
ANI JUMPED AS
she heard the sound of engines overhead. She looked up, fearing a military airship, and gave a relieved sigh as she made out the great bulbous envelope, green-and-yellow-striped, of a civilian airship. The vessel beat its way down the valley, heading south.

She and Anand entered the town, passing knots of tourists, Indian and British alike. She glanced at Anand. “How do you feel, brother?” she murmured.

He smiled, but nervously. “I feel like a sheep in a field of cows, Jani-ji. I think everyone is looking at me.”

She laughed and took his hand. “You’ll feel better once we’ve reached the guest house,” she said as they came to the square where fifteen years ago she had been skittled by the horse.