Jani and the Greater Game (The Multiplicity Series Book 1) (34 page)

Anand found a wallet packed with a sheaf of rupee notes. “Look after them,” Jani said.

She crossed to the bloated corpse of Volovich, a trickle of blood running from the tikka spot of the entry wound in his forehead, down the left side of his nose and around his mouth. She had a vision of him in Roopa’s Tea Rooms, sympathising with her over the loss of her father – then recalled the maniacal look in his eyes just one hour ago as he described the great delight he would take in throwing her from the airship.

She went through his pockets and found a small silver pistol. She laid this to one side. She had considered pocketing any weapon she might find for possible later employment, but something stopped her: whether it was the fact that she did not want to possess something that he had in all likelihood used on innocent people, or simply because the weapon frightened her, she did not know.

She scrambled back to the trapdoor, slid the bolts free, and hauled open the heavy cover. A cold whirlwind swirled into the gondola. She peered out and saw, far below, forested peaks and troughs and the occasional lights of tiny settlements.

With Anand’s help she rolled Yezhov towards the opening and pushed. He plummeted like a bomb, disappearing into the darkness. Then they dragged Volovich’s corpse across the floor and, after a count of three, pushed him towards the opening. He teetered on the brink, then rolled out. She peered after him as he dwindled from sight and wondered if his body would be found by mystified villagers or if wild animals might pounce upon it first.

She slammed the hatch shut. Through the closest porthole she made out grey wisps and streamers, like ripped chiffon, enveloping the gondola in a pearly light. They were climbing steadily into the sanctuary of the cloud cover.

Anand sat on the
chaise longue
, staring in awe at the bundle of rupees. “More than five hundred roops, Jani-ji! I have never seen so much money in all my life.”

She smiled as she watched him; in so many ways he was still a child at heart.

She peered through a porthole; she could see nothing to the rear but a thick padding of moon-silvered cloud.

The door to the control cabin opened and Jelch stepped through. “I have set the controls to automatic. The ship will fly itself for an hour or more. Now, I promised to take the mesh from your face.”

Jani raised a hand and touched the wires, aware of numerous points of pain across her face.

She stretched out on the
chaise longue
and settled herself. Jelch instructed Anand to fetch the ship’s first aid kit, and he unhooked the white box from the wall and sat beside her, taking her hand while Jelch sorted through a valise which she assumed had belonged to one of the Russians.

He found a wallet of tools, fine screwdrivers and tweezers, and laid them out on the velveteen next to Jani.

She closed her eyes.

“Jani,” Jelch said, “I could find no anaesthetic, a nicety the Russians could ignore. I will be as gentle as I can, but when it comes to unscrew the pinions from your cheeks and jaw, it will be a little painful.”

“I’m ready,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I am with you, Jani-ji,” Anand said, taking her hand. “Think of pleasant things like burfi and hot spiced chai.”

She smiled. “I’ll do that, Anand.”

She could keep her eyes closed no longer. She wanted to see the approach of the screwdriver, rather than suffer the tension of anticipating the pain.

She saw Jelch’s long, flat, alien face peering down at her, and the fine tool in his thin, oddly-articulated fingers.

She felt the connection of the screwdriver with the head of the screw, the tiny impact conducted through her cheek-bone, and then her entire face flared with pain. She gritted her teeth and moaned, and Anand squeezed her hand.

The pain mounted, and Jani closed her eyes and passed out.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Confrontation with a madman –

Palaver at the Varma Singh Guest house –

A little game of Russian roulette –

“My dashed British backbone...”

A
LFIE SAT AT
the controls, steering the ’ship low over the treetops as they approached the hill station of Rishi Tal. Alfie and Smethers had been flying all day, following the disruption in the undergrowth far below, and the occasional toppled tree that indicated the passage of something – either the mechanical elephant or the Mech-Man.

Beside Alfie, Smethers anxiously tapped his thigh with his swagger stick and peered through the side-screen to starboard while Alfie kept a lookout to port. They had lost the trail some five miles further back, but Smethers had announced his confidence that they would pick it up again.

Confined in the control cabin with Smethers for a day, Alfie had come to despise the man. His previous brief contacts with Smethers had been enough to make him realise that he had nothing in common with the overbearing colonel, and the events of the past twenty-four hours had confirmed it. It was as if everything Alfie disliked about the Raj – its jingoism, superiority and arrogance – had been distilled and poured into the character of Colonel Geoffrey Smethers. Besides which, he possessed a streak of cruelty which Alfie found abhorrent. At one point yesterday, during the hot, interminable afternoon hours, he had spoken of his exploits in Africa and bragged about ‘potting a few blacks.’

“You mean,” Alfie had asked naively, “you killed them?”

“Well, they were encroaching on sovereign territory, old boy.”

“Armed insurgents?” Alfie asked.

“No, just nomads.”

From then on Alfie had kept conversation to a minimum.

Far below he made out a gap in the canopy of the forest. It might have been the naturally occurring result of die-back, but as the airship flew overhead he saw a long swathe of trampled undergrowth in the vicinity.

“Down there, colonel. Ten o’clock.”

Smethers peered. “Jolly good show. As I suspected, they
are
heading to Rishi Tal.”

“How far away are we?”

Smethers consulted the chart on his knee. “Ten miles, perhaps a little less.”

Alfie nodded and trimmed the controls so that the ’ship followed the trail through the forest.

After a period of silence, Smethers said, “I suppose, all things considered, we were lucky.”

Alfie glanced at him. “Sir?”

“The other evening. The Mechanical Man. I mean, it could easily have killed us.”

“I think that was down to the person in control of the giant,” Alfie said. “He didn’t
want
to kill us.”

“And you think it was the boy, Anand?”

“Who else?”

“You’re right. I wonder why...?”

Alfie glanced at Smethers. “Sir?”

“I wonder why he didn’t just finish us off, there and then?”

Alfie just stared at the man. It was an indication of the colonel’s mentality that he was perplexed by Anand’s leniency: in the boy’s position, no doubt, Smethers would have had no compunction about finishing off his foe.

“I think,” Alfie began, “that he’s the kind of person who takes no pleasure from killing, sir.”

Smethers grunted. “Feared the consequences, more like. He knew he’d be strung up for killing two British officers, and funked out.”

“I prefer to believe he was showing compassion.”

Smethers turned and stared at him. “It really is true, isn’t it?”

“What is, sir?”

“What they say in the mess. You really have gone native.”

How could he even begin to state his position to a bigot like Smethers? Alfie remained silent, staring down at the emerald forest.

“The other night,” Smethers said a little later, “when the Mechanical Man locked me in that overgrown jewellery box.”

“Sir?”

“I called out, you know? You didn’t reply.”

“As I said,” Alfie explained, sweating, “I banged my head on something when the Mech-Man flung me in the storeroom.”

At dawn he’d crept into the warehouse and unbolted the trapdoor to release Smethers from the jewelled box – which had turned out, in the full light of day, to be the carriage of a tracked vehicle resembling a giant beetle.

“And you were unconscious all night?” Smethers asked.

“That’s right. I came to my senses at dawn, and only then heard your shouts.”

“And the Mech-Man had
locked
you in the storeroom?”

Alfie licked his lips and concentrated on the controls. “No, just shoved something in front of the door so I couldn’t get out.”

“And you climbed through a side window to escape at dawn?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Ah...” Smethers said, and nodded sceptically.

Alfie shifted uncomfortably in the control chair, his grip on the wheel slick with sweat.

After a period of silence, Smethers said, “I heard about the affair at Allahabad, you know?”

Alfie’s heart sank. This could only be leading to one thing. He remained silent, feigning concentration on the flight.

“In my opinion,” Smethers went on, “Frobisher did the right thing. Can’t have a bunch of Nationalists getting uppity like that.”

Alfie thought it wise to agree. “No, sir.”

“Oh.” Smethers sounded surprised. “That’s not what I heard you thought of the matter. Word was that you wanted no part in the action to put down the riot and ran off.”

Alfie gripped the wheel, staring ahead.

“Well?” Smethers persisted.

Alfie sighed. “I did think the response was a... a little heavy-handed, sir.”

“Oh, you did, did you?”

Alfie was tempted to tell Smethers that that was Brigadier Cartwright’s opinion, too, but thought it diplomatic to hold his tongue.

“The thing about ruling over a people,” Smethers said in a lecturing tone, “is that you must show ’em who’s in control. You must clamp down on even the slightest revolt. It’s a ‘give them an inch’ scenario, Littlebody. Remember that.”

Alfie nodded.

“But you obviously don’t agree, do you?”

“Ah... Not in the case of Allahabad, sir.”

“Do you know your trouble, Littlebody? You have no patriotism. You don’t love the flag, or what it stands for. You have no allegiance to King and Country. You’re little more than a lily-livered traitor.”

He knew he should bite his tongue and remain silent, but anger forced out the words, “As a matter of fact, I’ll have you know that on the Allahabad matter, Brigadier Cartwright agrees with me.”

Smethers’ response was not the one Alfie expected. The man laughed.

“Oh, you little fool! You simpleton!” Smethers guffawed. “That’s what old Cartwright
told
you, of course, to get you on his side, to win you over.”

Alfie shook his head, bemused. “What?”

Smethers turned his cold, arrogant eyes on Alfie. “Why do you think you were sent on this mission, Littlebody?”

“Why...” Alfie began, flustered. “Brigadier Cartwright was impressed with my record. He said I was just the man for the job. He told me so.”