Metal Emissary (3 page)

“Find my Aisha.”

“I will,” Jamie rested his cheek on the rifle, closed his left eye and shot the rifleman in his temple. The man’s head rocked back and then slumped forward as the report of the Baker rifle echoed down the pass. The snow tickled Jamie’s cheek as he lowered the rifle. He sat down and leaned his back against the boulder.

҉

Crouched on a mountain path running parallel to the pass and looking down upon the river plain, a dark figure wearing the rough maroon robes of a travelling mystic pinched a modified rosary bead between his finger and thumb. He stood, took two steps, moved two beads and stopped to crouch again, measuring his progress with the rosary. The tails of the man’s robes collected snowflakes and dust. The chill wind blowing from the top of the pass teased the man’s black beard and licked at the dark curls of hair poking free of his dusty turban. He turned at the sound of stones trembling down the mountainside. A markhor goat. Its beard longer and wiser than the mystic’s. The man winked at the goat and resumed his slow passage along the path. Four steps, four beads. He crouched. His attention, when not distracted by phantom voices on the mountain wind and the foraging of goats, was firmly fixed upon the passage of another traveller – a mechanical being – striding across the plains below the path. The thing was tireless, maintaining the same robotic pace and the same fixed path for more than six hundred and twenty two beads of the mystic’s rosary. The mystic shook his head and wondered.
This one is different,
he thought.
The last two were not as advanced as this one.
The mystic stood and walked a distance of thirty beads before he heard the single shot of a musket.

Echoing between the sides of the mountain, the report of the shot startled another markhor onto the narrow path. It bounded out of the rocks and into the mystic, tumbling the man onto the lee side of the mountain. He dropped his beads. They slid on the scree slope below the path. The mystic pulled himself back onto his feet. Searching for his beads he caught sight of the mechanical being walking the plains along the river below him. He had not stopped. It was as if the shot had never been fired. The mystic gave up on his beads and hurried along the path in the direction of the shot. It was not long before his path merged with the pass where he caught sight of a second man crouched before a strange figure on a stick.

҉

Snow flurried along the pass as Jamie sat, eyes closed, and contemplated the life of a political agent at large in Central Asia.
Not what I imagined I would be doing,
he mused.

Jamie stood. He brushed his palm over the rifleman’s face and closed the dead man’s eyes. Lifting the man beneath his armpits, Jamie tugged his body free of the bloody stake. He lay the rifleman’s body on the ground and began gathering stones to surround it. He took off his greatcoat, heaving several armfuls of rocks and large stones on top of the rifleman’s mutilated body before venturing further and further away in search of more rocks. The snow thickened as Jamie placed the last rock on top of the burial mound. He pushed the bloody stake through a hole in the centre of the mound, grimacing as it pressed upon the soft body beneath. Stepping away from the mound, Jamie pulled on his greatcoat.

Jamie turned at the sound of shifting rocks. He scrambled for his rifle and jammed the stock tight into his shoulder.

“You should not have done that, British,” the mystic walked into Jamie’s sights.

“Stand back. Back or I will fire,” Jamie thrust the barrel of the rifle forward.

“Your bandook,” the mystic pointed at the rifle, “is not loaded.”

“You don’t know that,” Jamie pulled back the hammer spring. “Are you going to risk it?”

“Life is full of risks,” the mystic loosened his robes as he sat down in front of Jamie. The lieutenant flicked his eyes to the pommel of a large blade sheathed at the mystic’s waist. “It is not me that is gone bapoo,” he twirled his finger in circles by his temple. “But you,” the mystic shrugged and readjusted his turban.

“Are you saying I am mad?” Jamie lowered his rifle.

“The Pathaan left this man here with no thought to him surviving, British,” the mystic pointed at the dead rifleman. “Now they know someone else goes here. And now they know who,” he pointed at the rocky grave. “Another British. Who else would take the time to bury a dead man?”

“He wasn’t dead when I found him.”

“No? He would have been soon. Look there,” the mystic pointed at birds circling the pass. “Afghan Vultures – very big, easily spotted.”

“They wouldn’t have killed him.”

“No, but neither would they have waited until he was dead before eating him.”

Jamie stared at the mystic. “Are you with them? The Pathaan? Your skin is brown.”

The mystic shook his head. “Are there not many brown people in your army, British?”

“I keep telling people,” Jamie scowled. “I am not in the army.”

“My mistake.”

“Where is your pack?”

“I have little need for a pack. I have nothing to carry that cannot fit in this satchel. The mystic tugged at a shoulder strap beneath his robes. “Is that your pack?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have food in it?”

“Some.”

“Then I suggest we eat of it on the way through the pass together.”

“What makes you think we are travelling together?” Jamie leaned the rifle against the boulder and walked to his pack.

“You are on your way to Adina Pur, are you not, British?”

“The Pass leads to Adina Pur, and beyond,” Jamie shrugged his pack onto his back and retrieved his rifle. Sliding it into the rifle bag, he slipped it over his shoulders. “I could be going anywhere.”

“I was ordered to keep an eye out for a British lieutenant of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. You look like a man that fits that description.”

“Ordered? Who
are
you?”

“My name is Hari Singh.”

“Yes?” Jamie shook his rifle. “And? Who exactly is
Hari Singh
?”

“I can tell you as we walk,” Hari twisted around to look up the pass. He turned to Jamie. “We must hurry if we are to catch him, British.”

“Catch who?”

“You have not seen him?” Hari stood. Dusting snow from his shoulders he walked toward Jamie and closed his fingers around the lieutenant’s arm. “I was warned that you were young. I was not told you were stupid.” Hari tugged at Jamie’s arm guiding him along the path past the last resting place of the rifleman. “You have your mission and I have mine.” Stopping at a vantage point overlooking the river watershed, Hari pointed at a figure striding along the path alongside the river. “Do you see him?”

“Yes,” Jamie brushed snow from his face. “Barely.”

“That man is not a man. That thing is a metal machine, an emissary on its way to Adina Pur. If we do not stop it, British, if we cannot foil its mission, the world will be at war within a year.”

“What war?”

“Truly, you
are
stupid,” Hari sighed.

“I am not in the habit of being called stupid,” Jamie pulled himself free of the mystic’s grasp.

“And neither are you in the habit of wandering the deserts and mountains of Afghanistan. If you were, you would know never to fire your weapon when travelling unless you are in fear of your life. And never to leave tracks that even a goat herder could follow.”

“I couldn’t leave him like that.”

“No, British. But you must pay the price now. We must hurry,” Hari pointed at the emissary. “That brimstone demon must be stopped.”

“Supposing I agree, and that I choose to trust you,” Jamie paused. “Just how on earth do we stop it?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Hari grinned. “Let us find out.”

Chapter 2

The Khyber Pass

Afghanistan

December, 1850

The snow tumbled from the clouds, swirling at the feet of the two men as they strode to a vantage point on the narrow path running alongside the Khyber Pass. Jamie stopped and tugged the length of lace the rifleman had begged him to take from his pocket. Smoothing his sleeve up toward his elbow, he tied the lace around his left forearm.

“You mean to keep it, or give it to someone?” Hari sat on a boulder, the snow curling about his beard in sticky flakes.

“I don’t intend to keep it,” Jamie pulled his sleeve down and clapped his hands together. Cupping them, he blew on his fingers.

“Then what will you do with it, British?”

“That depends,” Jamie brushed snow from his beard. “You said I had just signed my own death warrant. It seems to me, it would be prudent to make just one decision at a time, not get ahead of myself.” He readjusted the rifle case around his neck and shoulder, the butt end hanging down by his right hip. Jamie stared at the mystic. “You seem determined to travel with me.”

“For your own protection, British,” Hari stretched. He checked the laces of his covered sandals and wrapped his robes tightly around his body.

“For my own protection?” Jamie shook his head. “I did not expect to meet anyone along the pass. Not anyone claiming to be connected to my part of the world, at least.”

“Truly, you know little of the area,” Hari clasped his hands in front of him.

“Who are you, Hari Singh? Who do you work for? Why should I trust you?”

“All very good questions, British,” Hari’s teeth flashed. Smoothing his palm over his beard, he stared at Jamie. “Would it surprise you to know we work for the same master?”

“Admiral Egmont?”

“Queen Victoria, although
my
Egmont goes by the name of Mr. Smith.” Hari waved his hand toward the pass and began picking his way around the larger boulders from the vantage point back onto the path. Jamie cinched the straps of his rucksack taut beneath his arms and followed the mystic. “Smith is the one that told me to look out for you.”

“You were looking out for me?”

“Those were not his exact words,” Hari grinned. “Your mother would not approve of his
exact
words.”

“It has been a long time since I last saw my mother,” Jamie shrugged his pack higher onto his shoulders. “She is unlikely to approve of many of the things I have done.”

“Well,” Hari smiled. “There is little we can do about that, eh? Come, British,” Hari pointed to the pass where it widened. “We can make good time now. Let us get down to the pass proper.”

Jamie fell in step beside the mystic, his hobnail boots clacking on the rocks.

“We will have to do something with your boots, British.”

“My
name
is Jamie. And what is wrong with my boots?”

“You sound like one of those metal caterpillars, like those the engineers have on the banks of the Indus. Abominations, and loud. The Pathaans will know you are coming a mile away if we don’t get rid of your boots.”

“Never mind about my boots. Who is Mr. Smith and how did he know I would be here?”

“There is little that Mr. Smith does not know. Your Admiral Egmont telegraphed the Office of Indian Cartography and begged a favour of my master.”

“A favour?” Jamie swore. “He asked Smith to look out for me, didn’t he?”

Hari laughed. “You are learning, British.”

“And what makes
you
qualified to look out for me?”

“Me?” Hari stopped. Taking a step backward, away from Jamie, he stretched his arms wide. “You doubt me, British? Truly?”

“I don’t know you, Hari.”

“And yet you walk beside me.”

“You mentioned Egmont,” Jamie shrugged. “Nobody else knows that I am here.”

“Then let us hope it stays that way.” Hari wagged a finger at Jamie. “No more shooting.”

“Fine,” Jamie gestured at the pass. “Shall we continue.”

Hari made a tutting sound in tune with Jamie’s hobnailed footfalls and fell in beside the lieutenant.

“Stop tutting, and tell me about that thing you are following.”

“That thing is the reason my master was willing to have me look out for you. Hitting two birds with one stone,” Hari laughed. “Although a stone would have no effect on the emissary.” Hari stopped. Taking hold of Jamie’s elbow, he turned the lieutenant toward him. “Did you notice how it walks? Big strides?”

“Yes,” Jamie brushed snow from his forehead. “Why does he walk like that? High-footing it up the valley.”

“Remember, British,” Hari hopped to one side, “it is not a
he
but a
thing
, testing the ground with each step. Like so.” Pantomiming the movements of the emissary, Hari demonstrated how lifting the foot high prevented it from tripping along the path.

“But not all the paths are so even.”

“Exactly. This is trial and error. The man controlling the emissary must find the path of least resistance and guide the emissary along it.”

“And who controls it?”