The Exotic Enchanter (10 page)

But the stroke seemed to please Rajan Randhir. He nodded, saying, "The good of my subjects demanded such a sacrifice, since the spies I sent on that errand did not return. I could see that if I wanted knowledge of the thieves' ways, I should have to go myself. Now I know why, and it is fortunate that I disguised myself so thoroughly, for a number of the thieves were my own people—watchmen and guards, patrolmen and spies."

Chalmers stared. "Surely not the spies you sent to ferret out information about the gang!"

"The very same, and a merry laugh they must have had at their assignment. I do not think they shall laugh tomorrow."

His tone chilled Shea, and reminded him of the coldblooded killing he had witnessed. "Are you sure none of those men worshipped Kali? They seemed bloodthirsty enough to be genuine Thuggee." Even as he said the word, though, he realized that it only meant "rascals"—at least literally.

"Many of them were," Randhir admitted. "I lied to you at the time to prevent you from panicking, for I saw you knew of Kali, and that her worshippers sacrifice human lives to her. They whom you call Thuggee are more accurately termed Phansigars; you could tell them by the kerchiefs they wore round their necks—the kerchiefs with which they strangled women and men alike. Others worshipped Bnawani; those with little bags slung under the left arm were Dhaturiya-poisoners. Even some among Kartikeya's crew are dedicated to murder—for example, those who wore their poniards at their waists; they are stabbers by profession."

Shea shuddered.

"But how is it," Chalmers asked, "that Your Majesty found this gang of low-lifes worth your own personal attention? Should that not have been left to hired spies?"

"It should," Randhir confirmed, "but as I have told you, my spies disappeared; I have no doubt the thieves found them out and slew them."

"That leaves only one question," said Chalmers. "How did the thieves know who your spies were?"

"Because
they
had spies, Doc," Shea said, before the rajah could answer. "In fact, they had spies among the king's spies."

"It is true," said Randhir, "and the merchants of my city have become extremely upset over their constant losses, while the whole populace has begun to live in fear of the murderers. To make all worse, the kingdom to the east of mine has seen the weakness these thieves make in my land, and have begun to assemble armies near the border; I have no doubt their rajah means to invade. It became vital to find out these thieves, break up their gang, slaying the murderers and punishing the thieves."

"And since no one else could do it," Chalmers said slowly, "you undertook it yourself."

"That is a part of my
dharma
, the duty of the station in life to which I was born," the rajah confirmed. "Now, though, I know where they lair, and how many they are—so this night, I shall take my archers and my soldiers and set upon them."

"But what if their spies warn them you are coming?" Chalmers asked.

"Ah, but now I know who the men are that they managed to plant in my household," Randhir reminded him. "At last I have found the rats hidden in the walls of my palace, and can trap and exterminate them. First, though I must find some cats. Will you be among them?" The look he gave assured them that if they weren't, they would swing with the rest of the thieves. Apparently he still wasn't entirely sure of their innocence.

Well, at least they had a chance to survive the raid. Shea glanced at Chalmers, caught his infinitesimal nod, and turned back to the Rajah. "Why, sure, Your Majesty! After all, we know where the rat-hole is." Then he remembered how the robber chieftain had thought such holes were good omens, and swallowed.

A guard stepped up behind them and bowed.

"What is your message?" Randhir snapped.

"My Rajah," said the man, "a deputation of merchants awaits to heap upon you their grief over this last night's losses."

Randhir sighed. "Let them enter." Then, to Shea and Chalmers, "Do you stand against the wall, and you shall see the agitation and misery these thieves have caused."

Shea started to protest that he already had a pretty good idea, but Chalmers beat him to it. "Of course, Your Majesty. We are honored by the privilege of observing your court." He bowed, and Randhir gave him a gracious nod, apparently pleased by his courtesy. Shea began to understand how Chalmers had become Director of the Garaden Institute.

They stepped over next to one of the guards, maintaining a discreet distance from his spear, and watched the merchants file in. They wore plain white pyjamas, but the robes they wore over were of silk or damask, as were their turbans. They lined up in front of Randhir and bowed.

"O Pearl of Equity!" said the one who was presumably oldest, to judge by his gray hairs and lined face. "Only yesterday, you consoled us with the promise of some contrivance by the blessing of which our houses and coffers would be made safe from theft—but our goods have never yet suffered so severely as during the last twelve hours."

"The Rajah hears; the Rajah's heart bleeds with your own," Randhir assured them, "and I do indeed speak of blood, for I know men were slain this night past. Still, an elephant grows not in a single night, nor by eating only one heap of hay—so it is not likely to be slain by a single arrow. Go back to your shops and guard your goods and your family as well as you may; let none go out on the streets after the sun has set, but let them stay within doors. Tomorrow, or surely in two days' time, I shall, with the blessing of the Bhagwan, relieve you of further anxiety."

"But what more can you do?" asked another merchant. "You have hired watchmen, you have changed your officers, and you have established patrols; nevertheless the thieves have not diminished, and plundering is constantly taking place."

"Indeed," said a third, "we have suffered more in this night past than ever before!"

"Be sure that you do not suffer more sorely yet," Randhir told them. "Read the
Thieves' Manual
, and guard against the methods it teaches! Close your shops and sleep today, then guard each the inside of his own shop this night, with sword and club—for if you are vigilant, it may be effort wasted, but if you are not, it will surely invite disaster!"

The merchants shuddered at the idea.

"The end of this siege is in sight," the Rajah said in a consoling tone, "but that end may be long in coming—or short. Go now, each to his own house, and pray that disaster passes you by—but pray also to strengthen your Rajah's arm, for I will destroy these men of violence, or myself die in the attempt!"

His tone rang through the marble hall, and the merchants winced at the sound. They lost no time in bowing, then hurrying out, so quickly that they almost trod on each others heels.

When the merchants had left, Randhir stared after them, looking grim. Suddenly he turned and said to a guard, "Bid a score of archers sleep long during the heat of the day, then hold themselves in readiness for service."

The man bowed and left the throne room on the run.

Randhir turned to another guard and said, "Bid ten come."

The man bowed and, like the first, left on the run. Randhir sat still in his chair, brows drawn down over glaring eyes, staring straight ahead, not moving a muscle. His face was so grim that even Shea and Chalmers held still, watching, feeling the tension building about the man, waiting for the storm to break.

The guard reappeared with ten soldiers behind him. "They are come, O Guardian of the Poor!"

"Follow!" Randhir snapped, and fairly leaped down off his throne. He darted a glance at Shea and Chalmers, snapping, "You, too!"

Under the circumstances, they weren't about to disagree.

Randhir led the way to a small gate in one wall at the rear of the palace. There he brusquely ordered the guard who stood by it, "To barracks with you!" and to two of the soldiers he had brought with him, "See that he talks to no one until tomorrow morning."

A sudden look of terror crossed the man's features, but he was smoothing them out even as his fellows marched him off.

"You don't know that he was one of the thieves," Shea objected.

"No," the Rajah agreed. "If I did, he would be dead. There is small doubt of his guilt—how could his fellow thieves have come and gone without his connivance?—but since I have no proof, he may live until I do."

The gate opened, and a guard's voice outside said, 'The way is clear." A villainous-looking man in soldier's livery came through, not exactly sneaking, but certainly not making any unnecessary noise—not even when the Rajah himself clapped a hand over the man's mouth, holding him from behind, and commanding a soldier, "Slay him."

The sneak's eyes widened in horror for a few seconds before his fellow soldier plunged a dagger into his breast. The man's eyes rolled up and he went limp. The king let him fall, then nodded to the man who had slain him. "Well done. Lug him away to the burning-ghats. You, assist him!"

Another soldier helped the first pick up the dead one.

"Send more men," the Rajah told him.

The soldier nodded and went, carrying the body.

"Stand ready as sentry," the rajah told another man, "and when next a man comes through that gate, if I nod to you, like this . . ."—he gave a short, curt nod—". . . catch and gag him, as I did even now."

The man nodded, poker-faced, and took his station.

"Uh, Your Majesty," said Shea delicately, "isn't this a little drastic?"

"The dead," said the Rajah, "do not, like grandmothers, tell tales."

Shea stared, aghast, "You
killed
them to keep them from sending word to their gang? Wouldn't gags have worked just as well?"

"Gags, a dungeon, and many guards?" Randhir nodded. "But it would have come to the same fate in the end. They were guilty of robbery one and all, and many guilty also of murder—but without exception, since they were members of the Rajah's household and bore information to his enemies, their fellow thieves, they were guilty of treachery."

"You, uh, couldn't maybe have given them a little time to think things over and see the error of their ways?"

"To what end? I have set forth laws; they have broken those laws, and would still have to receive the punishment. The penalty for murder is death," the Rajah informed him, "and so is the penalty for treachery. Be sure he deserved his fate, for I recognized him from the robbers' ken."

"His Majesty is the Incarnation of Justice," Chalmers said, with a very meaningful look at Shea and a tone that clearly said,
Shut up!

The Rajah nodded, with a thin smile. "What greater justice could he wish, when the Rajah himself is witness, and his judge is the highest in the land?"

It took Shea a second to realize the Rajah was talking about himself. With it came the realization that from Randhir's point of view, everything he had said was perfectly true. In a kingdom in which the Rajah was not only the executive and legislative power, but also the ultimate court of appeals, Randhir was the highest judge in the land, and surely the most reliable witness! He was sentencing men he had seen the night before with his own eyes, and was witness, prosecutor, judge, and jury all in his own right. All that was missing was the executioner.

Apparently he was willing to be that, too. As the next thief tiptoed in through the door wearing his civilian garb (a gardener), Randhir gave the guard the nod, and the man caught the thief in a wrestling lock, with his free hand over the thief's mouth. He barely had time to realize what was happening to him, and his eyes were just widening in the horror of that realization, before Randhir's dagger plunged into his heart.

Shea had to look away, feeling ill. Randhir noticed; his frown turned to concern. "You do not look well, friend Shea."

"It is your burning Hindi sun," Chalmers explained, ever glib. "We folk of the north are not used to its rays being so direct—so bright, and so hot."

"So that is why you were abroad at night! Well then, go into the palace, and tell a porter that I said to find you a chamber. Sleep well, for I shall need your vigilance tonight."

Shea took that as ominous, but since the Rajah turned away, obviously dismissing them from his thoughts, they turned away too. When the porter showed them the bed, Shea fell into it without undressing, without even taking off his swordbelt. It had been a long day followed by a sleepless night, and very, very stressful.

Under the circumstances, he wasn't surprised to see a torch flaming in a sconce on the wall when Chalmers shook him awake. "The Rajah summons us, Harold. There is time to wash and eat, though, before we join him."

Shea remembered the executions he had watched. "Don't know if I have much appetite, Doc."

"Nor have I, to judge by the odors wafting from the kitchens—I never have been partial to curry. But we shall have to find something palatable, for I do not doubt that we shall need all our energies tonight."

"Don't know if I'm up to watching any more coldblooded killings," Shea said. "Do you suppose we could plead headaches?"

"Randhir's cure would probably be to cut off our heads, Harold. He is still somewhat suspicious of us, and would take any hesitation as evidence of guilt."

"I suppose so," Shea sighed, and pushed himself to his feet. "Doc, what about Florimel? So far, whenever a god or a magician has sent us out of his universe, we've wound up in the next one Malambroso has sent her to. It seems we've been following her magical trail, sort of."

"An interesting notion." Chalmers frowned. "Perhaps Malambroso's spell moving her on has weakened the barrier between universes, and the next spell ejecting us has hurtled us onward along the path of least resistance."

"But if that's so," said Shea, "where is she in this universe, Doc?"

Chalmers spread his hands in a shrug of helplessness. "She could be anywhere, Harold! It may have been only luck that led us to her before this."

"Or it may have been magic of her own! She has learned
something
about the art, Doc! Can't you sic a direction-finding spell on her?"

Chalmers' gaze became distant. "An interesting notion . . ."