Jani and the Greater Game (The Multiplicity Series Book 1) (9 page)

The nurse smiled. “Oh, her Ladyship gave me an earful on the way to Karachi. My word! Brave soul, but she put me in my place and no mistake, demanding to see a commanding officer so that she could arrange for her carriage to be taken down to Delhi and repaired.” The nurse laughed. “She was transferred to the hospital at Karachi to have her leg set.”

Jani smiled. “I’m pleased to hear that.”

“And she was full of stories about your good self, my sweet. Sang your praises and called you a real heroine! Oh, before I go... I was told to ask if you were up to being interviewed.”

Jani halted, her spoon part way to her mouth. “Interviewed?”

“A certain Brigadier Cartwright is boarding at the next station. He wishes to talk to you about your ordeal.” She consulted the watch pinned to her bib. “We’re due into Chandigarh in a little over one hour.”

“I’d like to get dressed first, if I may?”

“Of course. We had your clothes washed last night, though your dress is a little the worse for wear.”

In due course the nurse left. Jani spooned her soup and devoured the crusty roll, and it was the finest meal she’d tasted in a long time.

She could guess what this Brigadier Cartwright might wish to question her about, and she wondered, as she ate, how she might respond to his probing.

The nurse returned with her clothing and Jani finished her lunch and dressed. She was surprised to find that she could stand and walk on her injured ankle with hardly a limp. She looked at her reflection in the wall mirror. She had no recollection of hitting her head, but her brow sported a minor gash, evidently not deep enough to warrant a dressing, and her right cheek was bruised. How odd, she thought, that she had felt hardly a thing in the aftermath of the crash.

One hour later she settled herself on a small wicker chair beside the bed as the train pulled into Chandigarh station. This was her first sight of urban India in over five years, and the busy platform filled her with a satisfying sense of homecoming. Passengers hurried back and forth and food vendors called out their wares, “Chai, chai!” and, “Mooli!” She saw a snake charmer surrounded by a posse of fascinated street urchins, and a legless, ash-covered holy man propelling himself along the platform on a homemade cart. Above the ornate Victorian architecture of the station was the bulbous envelope of a British Army airship, a fan of guy-ropes securing it to a docking rig.

Ten minutes after arriving, the train pulled out of the station and was soon racing at speed through brilliant green rice paddies dotted with bent workers and plodding oxen.

Her nurse appeared in the doorway, smiled at her and stepped aside. “Miss Chatterjee, Brigadier Cartwright.”

“I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Chatterjee,” the brigadier said as he side-stepped into the compartment and removed his peaked cap.

Jani shook his hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Brigadier.”

He was a tall, willowy gentleman in his sixties, Jani estimated, who with his long, scholarly face looked more like a retired Oxford don than an officer in the British Army. He looked around, found a wicker chair, and sat facing Jani.

“What a terrible business; the attack, etcetera. By all accounts you acquitted yourself with flying colours, my dear. But before we go into all that, I have some news.” He smiled at her and went on, “Your father’s out of the old sick-bed – up and about, don’t you know – and looking forward to seeing you.”

Jani’s heart leapt. “He is? But, oh... but that’s wonderful! The last I heard...”

Cartwright raised a hand. “I know your father well – we liaise a couple of times a year. Security and all that, y’know. I must admit that the last time we met I didn’t hold out much hope. Death’s door. Thin as a rake, poor blighter. That was a month ago. But his secretary told me that he’s rallied, put on weight. Capital news, hm?”

“I don’t know what to say. I must admit that I was preparing myself for the worst.”

She imagined entering the study of her father’s house in New Delhi and flinging herself into his arms, and it was all she could do to hold back tears of joy.

She considered Sebastian and her friends back in London, and asked the brigadier if there was some way they might be contacted and told that she had survived the attack.

The brigadier gestured. “All in hand, my dear. Your father had his secretary cable the Consetts just as soon as he heard you were alive. No need to bother yourself on that score.”

Jani thanked him, and made a mental note to contact Sebastian when she reached Delhi.

“Now, the attack...” Cartwright said diffidently, as if not really wanting to broach the matter. “Terrible business. But what do you expect from the Russians, hm? Barbarians. Attacking a ship full of men, women and children like that. Makes one’s blood boil.”

“Were there many survivors? Apart from Lady Eddington and myself, that is?”

“Three, after the Russians had had their way. A couple of businessmen and a serving girl – hid themselves away in the wreckage when the Ruskies showed up. They’ll pull through, thanks be, so I’m told.”

“Just three...” she murmured.

“Now I know this can’t be pleasant to think back on, Miss Chatterjee. Raking over old coals, never good for the equilibrium. Fact remains... this is a dashed odd business all the way round, from beginning to end.”

“Odd?”

“Decidedly.” He caressed his long jaw, lost in thought. He looked up. “I say, how rude of me. Would you care for a cup of tea while we’re chatting?”

“That would be most pleasant, thank you.”

The brigadier poked his head into the corridor and called out, “I say, nurse. D’you think you could rustle up a pot of Darjeeling, by any chance?”

In due course, china cup and saucer in hand, Cartwright said, “Where was I? Ah, the attack... Bizarre. Most odd. Y’see... we’ve had our investigators go over the crash site with the proverbial fine TC. How we reckon it went is like this: the Russians came over the border with an artillery piece, or several, and went at the airship all guns blazing. The engine-room took a direct hit and down she comes. Not many survivors then, twenty or so, we reckon. Anyway, the Ruskies turn up in one of their airships loaded with troops and... well, to put it bluntly, go through the wreckage and account for the survivors. Hellish business. They’ll pay, mark my word.”

Jani sipped her tea, watching the brigadier. He stared into his cup, biting his lip as he marshalled his thoughts. “Now... I know this can’t be easy, reliving the event. But I’d like to ask you what you recall of the attack – or rather the aftermath. It’s what happened on the ground that we’re really interested in, y’see.”

Jani finished her tea and set aside the cup. “Well, I must have passed out when we came down,” she began. “The first thing I recall is waking up in the morning...”

She recounted finding Lady Eddington and helping her, then setting off in search of medical supplies, food and water, and other survivors.

“And what did you find, Miss Chatterjee?”

“I came upon just one survivor, and located a few medical supplies, food and water. Then I returned to Lady Eddington and did my best to splint her broken leg.” She was not wholly sure why she had omitted her discovery of the prisoner.

The prisoner... For the first time she recalled the coin that Jelch had given her. Under Cartwright’s scrutiny she felt unable to move her hand to the pocket beneath her dress’s waistband.

“And can you recall what happened then,” the brigadier asked, “if it’s not too painful?”

“I heard gunshots, and then I saw three soldiers approaching. I knew that I had little hope of concealing myself and Lady Eddington... and then I saw Mr Gollalli.”

She told the brigadier about the film-maker and his singular ledger of faux wounds. “It was our only hope, you see. I told Lady Eddington to play dead and applied a wound to her, and then did the same to myself.”

“Extraordinary! Quite remarkable... And it fooled the blighters, hm?”

Jani hesitated. “Well, for a minute or so, yes. But one of them must have noticed something, and... and then...”

“In your own time, my dear. No need to rush these things.”

“And then they threatened us, and a soldier drew a revolver and was about to shoot Lady Eddington. I closed my eyes, expecting to hear the gunshot at any second.”

“Only...?”

“Only... Well, it never came, and when I opened my eyes, some time later, the three Russian soldiers lay dead.”

Cartwright was absently stroking his chin and nodding his head. “I see, I see... And – I’m sorry to press the point – but are you sure that you didn’t see how the three met their end?”

Jani shrugged and held the brigadier’s gaze. “I assumed at the time that... that rescue had arrived and accounted for the soldiers. I must admit that I didn’t look too closely. In fact, I think I pretty much passed out again at that point.”

“Just so, and there’s no shame at all in that, considering your ordeal. Hmm...”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help.”

“Don’t fret on that score, Miss Chatterjee.” He stared at his fingers as they drummed a tattoo on his thigh. He looked up.

“You see, I’ll be quite frank with you... Fact is, something odd happened up there in the Kush. When we turned up a few hours later we found every man-jack of the Russians dead. Some had been shot, others... well, I won’t go into detail in polite company. But it wasn’t pretty, by all accounts. And I was wondering, as you made your way through the wreckage looking for medical supplies and food and what have you... if you saw anything?”

She stared into his eyes. “Anything?”

“Or rather
anyone
– anyone who might have occasioned the Russian casualties?”

“I’m quite sure I saw no one, Brigadier,” she said.

Cartwright nodded. “Of course not. And why should you? Just thought I’d ask, on the off chance, you know?”

Jani smiled.

“Well, I’ve wasted enough of your time already, Miss Chatterjee. I’ll leave you to get some well deserved rest. We should be in Delhi in less than an hour. Please pay my respects to your father when you see him, and thank you so much for your time.”

He stood, bowed, and slipped from the carriage.

Jani sat very still on the wicker chair for a time, then slid shut the door to her compartment. She went over what she had said to the brigadier. The worrying thing was that she could not adequately explain, to her own satisfaction, why she had decided not to tell Cartwright about her meeting with the bizarre prisoner, their conversation, and his subsequent actions in saving her and Lady Ellington’s skin. It was almost as if she had been willed to silence by some outside force – which was, of course, ridiculous.

She looked through the window panel in the door, glancing up and down the corridor to ensure that she was unobserved. Then she resumed her seat and slipped a finger into the tiny pocket beneath her waistband.

Her breath caught as she moved her finger back and forth.

The tiny coin that Jelch had given her was gone.

But did that mean the authorities had been through her clothing and discovered the coin? Or might there be some simpler explanation to account for the disappearance? Might the coin have been stolen, or lost when her dress was washed?

Jani was still dwelling on this, fifty minutes later, when the train pulled into Delhi station.

H
ER FATHER’S PERSONAL
driver, Mr Rai, met Jani at the station and drove south to the select area where Government officials lived in relative luxury. The streets were wide and very un-Indian: the boulevards and manicured parks reminded Jani of Paris, which she had visited last year with a fellow student.

Mr Rai eased the car down a side-street and turned into the driveway of a sprawling bungalow set amid extensive lawns. Jani felt her throat tighten at the thought of meeting her father.

A houseboy met her at the French windows that opened onto the lawn, a tall gangling youth with a mop of unruly hair and a bright white grin.

Janisha stared at him as he diffidently held open the door. “Anand?” she cried. “Is it really you? No! It cannot be! But yes, it is! Anand Doshi! How you’ve grown!”

Where was the stunted, frail-limbed houseboy she had last seen five years ago? He was still as thin as a policeman’s lathi, yes, and his hair was evidently still as resistant to the tines of a comb, but she could never mistake his winning grin for that of anyone else.

“I am sixteen now,” he announced proudly. “And I have a part-time job in the factory of Mr Clockwork!”

Jani passed from the searing afternoon heat into the cool shadows of the dark-timbered lounge, where a tall, ticking grandfather clock sedately calibrated eternity.

“Mr Clockwork?” she asked as Anand trotted alongside her.

“Oh, a master craftsman of the clockwork art!” Anand sang. “But Janisha-ji, you should see the wonders of his workshop! The marvels! You see, I have always been good with my hands – Mr Fix-it, your father calls me – and when... when, that is...”

Jani smiled. “When my father fell ill.”

Anand swallowed and nodded. “Ah-cha, when papa-ji fell ill he arranged for me to start an apprenticeship with Mr Clockwork. And Mr Rai, he will become the driver of Mr Cholmondley, the Home Secretary, and all the cleaners and gardeners, too, have jobs to go to.” He stopped chattering suddenly, his eyes downcast, and then murmured, “I’m sorry...”