The Place of Dead Kings (39 page)

Cormac led the way on through the woods. The ghostly ash continued to spin down, the Mar flinching each time a fragment touched them. The smell of sattva grew stronger and Jack detected something else – coal smoke.

After half an hour, they climbed out of the forest, clambered up a steep scarp and reached a stand of trees that ran along the summit. The Mar reached the other side of the woods first and stood pointing down the far side of the hill, gasping and talking agitatedly.

When Jack reached them, he almost tripped backwards in surprise at what he saw.

Below him, a slope rolled down to a valley, in the centre of which rose a low, flat-topped hill. A dark building squatted like a spider on the summit. A swarm of turrets and spires jutted up from the structure, while a series of chimneys belched grey smoke and streams of luminous ash. The million pinpricks of light sailed like dandelion seeds across the valley, drifting to the ground or wafting away over the surrounding hills.

Jack blinked repeatedly as a wall of sattva stung his eyes.

The Mar crossed themselves, mumbled prayers and fiddled with their amulets.

Cormac pointed at the building. ‘Place of Dead Kings. Under hill bury kings.’

‘Shiva,’ Rao said softly. ‘I wasn’t expecting something like that.’

‘What is it? A mill?’ Jack said.

‘I’m not sure.’ Rao peered through the glass. ‘Something like a mill. Take a look.’

Jack gripped the glass and swept it over to the central hill. A tangle of stonework and blackened pipes seethed before him. The walls appeared to be the remains of an ancient castle, but over these squirmed tubes covered in soot. Jagged towers, also a combination of aging stone and iron, rose from the middle of the building. Clouds of smoke, steam and glimmering ash swirled about the structure, almost completely obscuring it at times.

Jack lowered the glass. ‘Mahajan’s been busy.’

‘Indeed.’ A flake of shining ash drifted near Rao and lit up his face for a moment. ‘What do we do now?’

‘We have to get into that castle and take a look around. Saleem and Parihar must be in there somewhere. If they’re not, then I don’t know where we’ll find them.’

‘I could go. Talk to Mahajan.’

‘And then you might end up captured too. No, we have to be careful. Sneak in somehow.’

Jack peered through the glass again and searched the valley floor. It was difficult to make anything out, but he did spot pale lines, which appeared to be tracks or roads, with bands of Cattans patrolling along them. He lowered the glass and glanced at the sky. A trace of dawn was spreading behind the mountains. ‘It’ll be light soon. The Cattans will see us straight away if we go down into that valley now. There’s nowhere to hide there.’

‘So, we wait until tonight?’ Rao asked.

Jack rubbed his chin. ‘We might have to. Don’t like to leave it so long, though.’

Cormac grasped Jack’s arm and pressed his finger to his lips. He pointed into the trees behind him.

Jack peered into the darkness and listened carefully. He saw nothing, but heard the distinct crackle of footsteps on leaves and twigs.

His heart quivered. Had they been seen?

‘Down,’ he hissed.

They all crouched low.

Jack cocked his head. The footsteps were around twenty yards away. About thirty people. Wearing the hide shoes of the natives.

The Mar inched their way silently to a low boulder and stared over the top. Jack followed, with Rao behind him. The Captain trod on a fallen branch and made a scuffling noise. The Mar flinched and Jack froze. But the footsteps continued as before.

Jack crept up beside Cormac and edged his head over the rock. Below, he saw a short slope, at the bottom of which marched a column of savages. The figures were hard to make out as they passed through the dappled shadows of the woods. At first he thought they were Cattans, but none of them bore the white skull on their clothing and none appeared to be carrying weapons. They wore their cloaks lifted high and folded over their heads like cowls, which made them look strange and misshapen in the dim light.

Jack shot a questioning look at Cormac.

‘Not Cattans,’ Cormac whispered. He lowered his head and tightened his jaw. ‘They Mar.’

‘What are they doing here?’

Cormac’s eyes flashed. ‘Traitors.’

‘You said the Mar don’t work for the Demon.’

‘No. None work. But some now come worship.’

‘Worship?’

‘Demon say he sent by God. Some begin believe. Every few weeks come castle and worship.’

Interesting. An idea was occurring to Jack. ‘Are these worshippers let into the castle?’

Cormac spoke to one of the Mar warriors, then said to Jack, ‘He say worshipper go in castle. Met one man once who go in.’

‘Good. We’ll pretend to be worshippers, then.’

The Mar warrior tugged Cormac’s cloak and spoke again. Cormac nodded and said to Jack, ‘Dangerous. They search for weapon.’

Jack sat back. ‘We’ll be careful, then. No weapons.’

‘Are you sure about this?’ Rao said. ‘If the Cattans get suspicious, we won’t be able to defend ourselves.’

‘Don’t see what other option we have at the moment.’

Jack looked down the hill. The light was steadily brightening and it was easy to make out the group of Mar worshippers, who were now almost a third of the way down the incline.

‘Look.’ Cormac pointed to his right.

About fifty savages were winding their way down another hillside. When Jack checked through the glass, he saw they were also worshippers. He searched and spotted other groups making their way across more distant hills. ‘There must be a few hundred on their way. We’ll blend in easily.’

Several clusters of Mar had already reached the valley floor. Jack observed them through the glass and saw they were sitting down, as if waiting for something.

‘Worship later,’ Cormac said. ‘Open castle gate when sun going down.’

Jack crouched again. Damn, so they would have to wait for nightfall after all. But there was nothing he could do about that. ‘We’ll stay here, then. But later this afternoon we have to get down into that valley. We have to be ready when they open the gates.’

They remained hidden through the day, taking turns to sleep and keep watch. Finally, Cormac shook them all awake as the sun was lowering and the giant claws of the shadows were reaching across the valley.

It was time. But Jack knew he couldn’t walk into the castle dressed as he was. His tunic was the wrong style and too finely stitched. He could change his clothes, but Rao presented an even greater problem.

‘I can remove my turban,’ Rao said. ‘Perhaps take off my boots and borrow someone’s shoes.’

Cormac shook his head. ‘Brown skin.’

‘He’s right,’ Jack said. ‘There’s no way you can pass for a Scot. Even with a cloak over your head.’

‘Perhaps Great Shee have magic change skin?’ Cormac said.

Jack smiled wryly. ‘That would be a good power. But no, unfortunately the Great Shee can’t do that.’ He turned to Rao and said in Arabic. ‘You’ll have to stay here.’

Rao’s moustache tightened. ‘I object. I want to rescue our friends as much as you do.’

‘It’s impossible—’

‘I am in charge of this mission.’

Jack snorted. He was about to say something sarcastic but held back. ‘Look, I understand what you’re saying, but you’d put us all in danger.’

Rao’s moustache rippled and his eyes quivered. Finally, he nodded. ‘Very well. I suppose you’re right.’

Jack switched back to English and included Cormac in the conversation. ‘The Great Shee will stay, plus three others. I want only one person coming with me. We can’t risk too many of us getting caught. The rest will stay here and take word to the village if we don’t come back.’

‘I will come,’ Cormac said quickly.

Jack nodded. ‘Good.’

Cormac explained the plan to the Mar warriors, who seemed to raise some objections at first, but were eventually convinced.

Jack wrenched off his boots and slid down his hose – he had to have naked legs if he were going to pass for a Mar. He swapped clothes with one of the warriors and slipped on the man’s tunic and hide shoes. Finally, he slung the heavy woollen cloak over his shoulders and fastened it at his neck with a metal brooch. The cloak smelt of old sweat and wood smoke. But it was warm. Surprisingly warm.

He handed his scimitar and knife to Rao. He would have liked to take the knife with him, but it would be too difficult to conceal.

He put his hand on Rao’s shoulder. ‘If we’re not back by midnight, go to the village and tell them what happened. Then get back to Dun Fries as best you can.’

Rao stood up straighter and raised his chin. ‘I will not leave a comrade behind. If you don’t return, I shall come to find you.’

Jack shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous for you to go in there.’

‘I would reason with Mahajan.’

Jack lifted an eyebrow. ‘Somehow he doesn’t sound like the type who’ll listen to reason.’

‘I would do my best.’

Jack took a deep breath. There was no point arguing further. He’d told Rao what he wanted him to do. If the Captain did something else, there wasn’t going to be much he could do to stop him.

He lifted the cloak up over his head and the smell of smoke and sweat grew stronger. He turned to Cormac. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

Cormac nodded. They stepped out of the cover of the trees and struck off down the slope.

The late sun sent golden shafts through gaps in the cloud. The groups of Mar were standing now and walking towards the castle, while Cattans patrolled along the roads.

‘You reckon we’ll get away with this?’ Jack asked.

Cormac smiled. ‘Great Shee protect us.’

‘I hope so,’ Jack muttered.

They reached the bottom of the hill and set off across the open ground. A dry wind plucked at their cloaks and swept the grass in different directions. Ahead, Mahajan’s castle rose from the hill, black against a sky tinted salmon by the sunset. It looked larger and more imposing from down in the valley. The hillsides were steep, the stone walls high, and the spires and chimneys seemed impossibly tall.

Jack blinked, rubbed his eyes a few times, then stared at the castle again. There was something strange about the building. It seemed to shift and change subtly, as if it were a picture printed on a rippling curtain. The metalwork in particular seemed to waver and squirm.

Cormac frowned. ‘Black magic. Hurt eyes.’

Jack nodded. Even he, who was used to mills and avatars, found the castle unnerving.

About halfway to the hill, they met a group of worshippers – three men and seven women – travelling in the same direction. Cormac greeted them in Gaalic and Jack pulled his cloak closer to his face. He and Cormac joined the back of the group and they all pressed on towards the castle.

A party of Cattans marched past but they only gave the worshippers a cursory look. Jack blended in with the others and aroused no suspicion.

The glowing ash – virtually invisible during the day – increasingly stood out in the dim light. From time to time Jack heard the distinctive tinkle as a flake twirled near to him.

The sattva grew stronger. His eyes ran and he had to wipe away the tears. His chest shuddered and burnt, as if stirred by the powerful streams. At one point the pain grew so bad he stumbled and almost fell.

Cormac grasped his arm to steady him. ‘What wrong?’

Jack shook off Cormac’s hand. ‘I’m fine.’

As the far side of the hill came into view, Jack made out a village of native huts clustered at the bottom of the slope. Smoke trickled from the roofs, and figures moved about between the buildings. No doubt many of the Cattans working in the castle lived in the settlement.

They came to the base of the hill and Jack looked up. The castle was silhouetted against a blast of red sunset and smouldered within clouds of steam and smoke. The walls and towers, entwined by pipes, continued to slip away as he tried to focus on them, the effect making him dizzy.

The portcullis stood open and worshippers were queuing as they waited to be admitted through the giant gatehouse. Jack and Cormac trudged up to the back of the line, inched their way forward and finally came to the entrance. Iron pipes, as thick as tree trunks, twisted to either side of the entryway, steam wheezing from valves and joins in the metal. Ten Cattans stood guard, and Jack immediately noted they were carrying knife-muskets on their shoulders.

So, Mahajan had taught at least some of the Cattans to use firearms.

He glanced up and spotted serpent-headed Rajthanan guns poking out from the battlements. Mahajan’s castle was better defended than he’d thought possible up here in Scotland.

Two Cattan guards patted him and Cormac down for weapons, then grunted and waved them in. They followed the other worshippers along the passage beneath the gatehouse, through the open gates and into a bailey. Pipes slithered over the surroundings walls, whistling and pumping out steam. The smell of sattva and coal was so overpowering it made Jack’s head spin and even Cormac wrinkled his nose. The buildings wobbled and shifted giddily when Jack tried to concentrate on them. He felt as though he were about to faint again, but shut his eyes for a second and managed to pull himself together.