TW06 The Khyber Connection NEW (5 page)

"You're most kind. General," said Lucas.

Blood grunted. "Oh, and one more thing, before you leave. This is a military expedition, you understand. As such, I'm in no position to spare you any orderlies. I travel without one myself. However, seeing that you arc traveling in company with a lady, may I suggest you retain one of the locals as a
khawasin
. He'll have to double as a bhisti, carrying water for the troops when needed, but that's expected. I would suggest you hire a Hindustani, they're generally less trouble. Now you'll excuse me, Father, I have a great many things to see to.

The quartermaster will see to it that you and Miss Cross have a place to bed down for the night. Enjoy it, it'll be the last decent night's sleep you're likely to get in a long time."

After having seen to their supplies for the next day's march. Lucas and Andre went to the barracks in search of Finn. He proved easy enough to find. All they had to do was follow the sound of raucous laughter and drinkfueled song. It was Mulvaney's voice that carried the verse while the others joined in the chorus of a barrack-room ballad made popular by Kipling.

"I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' set, 'We serve no red-coats
here.'
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled
fit to die,
louts into the street again an' to myself set 1:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 'Tommy go away':
But it's Thank you, Mister Atkins,' when the
band begins to play.
The band begins to play, my boys, the band
begins to play.
O it's 'Thank you, Mister Atkins,' when the
band begins to play."

Ortheris took up the next verse, howling like a stray dog.

"I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none
for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'ails,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they'll shove
me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 'Tommy, wait outside':
But it's 'Special train for Atkins' when the
trooper's on the tide.
O it's 'Special train for Atkins' when the
trooper's on the tide."

Learoyd's turn came next and he sounded considerably more melodious than his cohorts.

"Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you
while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than panic/in' in full
kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 'Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?'
But it's 'Thin red line of 'eroes' when the drums
begin to roll.
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums
begin to roll,
0 it's Thin red line of 'eroes' when the drums
begin to roll."

Delaney picked up the honors for the next verse, laying into it with gusto, to the applause of the soldiers, who were unaccustomed to having their officers being so regular around them.

"We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no
blackguards too.
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like
you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy
paints.
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into
plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 'Tommy, fall be'ind',
But it's 'Please to walk in front, sir,' when
there's trouble in the wind.
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's
trouble in the wind.
0 it's 'Please to walk in front, sir, when there's
trouble in the wind."

The entire group was struck dumb with amazement when Andre chimed in with the final verse.

"You talk 'o better food for us, an' schools, on' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove
it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's
disgrace."

Delaney joined in with her on the chorus, and after a moment's disbelieving hesitation, the others did as well.

"For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 'Chuck him out, the brute!'
But it's 'Savior of 'is country' when the guns
begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please,
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool, you bet that
Tommy sees!"

" ‘Pon my soul, miss," said Mulvaney, rising to his feet along with the others, "that was a right proper finish to a right proper barracks song. An' it's the first time I ever 'card a lady sing so lustily since I was in the good ol' East End at Miss Violet McKenzie's—"

"Tavern," Learoyd said very quickly. "She was a lovely singer, Miss McKenzie was. Warmed our hearts to hear her sing, it did."

Mulvaney turned crimson and looked down at the floor. Ortheris pretended to have something caught in his throat.

"I'm very flattered, gentlemen," said Andre, "to be compared to someone with so much ... warmth."

Ortheris broke into a fit of coughing.

"Do sit down, gentlemen," said Andre. "No need to stand on my account. And someone please give Private Ortheris a drink before he strangulates himself. Then someone can give me one, as well."

"So how did your conference with the general go, Father?" Delaney said.

"He attempted to induce me to change my mind," said Lucas, "but said I would be welcome to accompany the force if I was dead set on going."

"Well, then, welcome to you, Father," said Mulvaney. "An' mind now, you boys watch your lips in the presence o' the clergy an' his lady!"

"Somehow that didn't quite come out sounding right, Mulvaney." said Learoyd wryly.

"Well, bleedin’ ‘Ell," Mulvaney said, "you know what I damn well mean!"

Learoyd rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps you gentlemen could be of some assistance,"

Lucas said. "Where might I find a Hindustani attendant for myself and Miss Cross on the march?"

Before anyone could reply, a thin, bedraggled young Hindu dressed in nothing save a dhoti and a turban leaped up from where he had been crouching in a dim corner like a dog and came running up to stand bowing before Lucas.

"Father Sahib wishes
khawasin
? I am good
khawasin
! Work very hard! Very cheap! Serve very well! Take good care of Father Sahib and Memsahib!"

"Well, it seems we have a volunteer." said Lucas.

"You could do better than him, Father," said Learoyd. "He wouldn't be your best choice. He's an untouchable, you see. Outside the caste system. None of the other Hindus would have anythin' to do with him. Poor beggar wouldn't have any company on the march at all, no one to talk to."

"He could talk to us," said Andre.

"Any reason why we can't take him?" said Lucas.

"The choice is yours, Father," said Learoyd.

"Good. It's settled, then."

The Hindu dropped to his knees and began kissing Lucas's boots, intermingling English thank-yous with a torrent of Hindi.

"Come on now, up with you, Din!" said Mulvaney, hauling him to his feet. "That's no way to act before a proper Englishman! 'E's a priest, not no bleedin' rajah!"

"Well, you bought yourself a faithful hound, Father," said Learoyd. "His name is Gunga Din and he speaks English, after a fashion. Nice enough chap, though a bit childlike, like most of his sort. He followed the regiment here all the way from Simla. He's been a sort of unofficial regimental bhisti, but I guess he's yours now."

"Is that all he has to wear?" said Lucas.

"It's all 'e's got, period," said Mulvaney. "Not 'ardly equipped for a march to Chitral, 'e ain't."

"Well, we shall have to do something about that," said Lucas. "We'll have to send him to the quartermaster to get properly equipped and to get some decent clothing."

Din's face lit up. "Uniform, Father Sahib? Din be good soldier with uniform!"

"Soldier?" said Mulvaney, while Din shrank back from him.

"Why not?" said Lucas.

"Why not, indeed?" said Ortheris. "Just send 'im over to the quartermaster and tell 'im to ask for a full kit and a suit of khakis. The quartermaster, kind soul that 'e is, will comply without a moment's 'esitation."

The men laughed.

Din's face took on a crestfallen expression as he saw his hopes of obtaining a khaki uniform fade as quickly as they had arisen.

"Well, now, surely if the quartermaster knew it was for me," said Lucas, "he'd do it. After all, we can't very well have Miss Cross being attended by a half-naked man."

"Right," Delaney said. "Ortheris, since you pointed out the problem, perhaps you'd be so good as to accompany Din to see the quartermaster?"

"Per'aps I will," said Ortheris, "after I've done with this whiskey."

"Now, Ortheris," said Delaney.

Ortheris scowled. "I knew it was too good to last,"

he said. "Sooner or later an officer's bound to start actin' like an officer. Come on then, Din. We'll go an' get you your soldier suit."

He left with the joyful Gunga Din in tow. Learoyd smiled. "I'd say you made yourself a friend for life there, Father."

"From what I hear about where we're going, I'd say I could use all the friends I can get," said Lucas. "Tell me, Private Mulvaney—"

"Just plain ol' Mulvaney, Father. Everyone calls me that."

"All right, Mulvaney. What can you tell me about what's happening at Chakdarra?"

"Bloody fair mess is what's 'appenins, if you ask me. Some damn fool sod in Simla, satin' on his bleedin'—"

"Mulvaney!" said Learoyd. "Perhaps it would be better ill were to explain. Mind you now, Father, I'm not privy to what's told to the command staff, but scuttlebutt is generally pretty reliable in this outfit.

Chitral is some hundred fifty miles north of here and about four miles or so straight up. Now, because it looks so nice and well situated on a map, someone went and decided that the Sirkar ought to take an interest in it, as it were, and so a political agent was ensconced there. 'Round about five years ago or so, the local high muckamuck there, a sort of king called the Mehtar of Chitral, Aman-ul-Mulk, by name, up and died. The problem was, Aman left about a score of sons and not much in the way of a proper line of succession. Several of them killed each other off while tryin' to take the throne, and it looked as though things would eventually even out all by themselves, until Umra Khan stepped into the picture."

"Who's Umra Khan?" said Andre.

"A bloody Pathan warlord," said Mulvaney.

"The Khan of Jandul," Learoyd said. "Also known amongst us all by several somewhat less exalted appellations. Actually, the whole thing was more or less our fault, in a way. If we'd kept ourselves well out of it, our boys wouldn't now be in such a stew up there. Unfortunately the Forward Policy has its own curious sort of momentum. Aman was always friendly to the Sirkar, and Simla had no trouble with him. In return for arms and ammunition, as well as six thousand rupees a year, he became our ally. We posted an agent to Gilgit and that was that. Then Aman decided that he wanted more, so the annual payment was doubled. There was no further trouble till Aman died. One of his sons, Afzal, happened to be in a position to seize the reins of power. He immediately started killing off his brothers, but the litter was quite sizable. He couldn't get them all at once .”

"Anyway," Learoyd continued, "Afzal claimed the title of Mehtar and asked for recognition from Simla. The bloody fools gave it to him, figurin', I suppose, to be Johnny-on-the-spot with the new man. Never mind he murdered several of his brothers and had the rest seeking sanctuary with the neighboring chiefs. Now the eldest brother. Nizam, appealed to Simla for help. Of course, our people could hardly give it to him, having already recognized his little brother. Shortly thereafter, Afzul, not to be confused with Arial, returned to Chitral. This was Sher Afzul, the new Methar's uncle.

He promptly killed his nephew Afzal as well as yet another brother in the bargain. Exit Afzal, the late Mehtar, enter Afzul, the new Mehtar. Bit of a Chinese fire drill, but it grows more absurd. Having recognized the late Mehtar, it appeared had form for the boys at Simla to recognize his murderer, so they gave Nizam 250 Cashmere rifles, which in turn encouraged a sizable number of the local tribesmen to join up as well. Nizam marches on his uncle, who sends over a thousand men to stop him. Said thousand men immediately desert to Nizam's side. Uncle Mehtar, fearful for his life, and rightfully so, performs a rather graceless abdication and beats a hasty retreat.

"You follow all this so far?" Learoyd said, smirking.

"We now have Mehtar Number Three, good ol' Nizam the Nephew. He, however, proves so inept at Mehtarin' that in order to help keep the peace, it's decided to send Captain Younghusband and a full battalion to reinforce the garrison at Gilgit. Ready trumpet fanfare . . enter Umra Khan, the aforementioned Pathan warlord. Turns out that yet another son-of-Aman—or son of something else not a man at all, if you get my meanin'—young chap named Amir, had taken refuge with the Khan of Jandul. Said son appears in Chitral, properly respectful of his brother the Mehtar, and claims to have escaped from Umra Khan, who had not used him kindly. Since brother Amir appears so properly respectful, brother Nizam the Mehtar makes him welcome, upon which Amir murders Nizam in a properly respectful manner. Where are we now, Mehtar Number Four or thereabouts? No matter, we're still keepin' it all in the family.

"Now the agent and the soldiers in Chitral have no idea what to do. Recognize yet another new Mehtar? Might be too hasty. After all, there're still a few other sons runnin' about here and there, no tellin' the rate of turnover in this job. So word goes out to Simla—would someone mind very much tellin' us what to do about this situation, if it wouldn't be too much trouble?

"Meanwhile, Umra Khan the Aforementioned, who, as it turned out, hadn't used Amir badly at all—Amir's the current aspirant to longevity at Mehtarin', you'll recall—said Umra Khan begins to march with a large force upon Chitral. Just to lend a hand, you understand. Amir, in his new precarious position, is somewhat leery of said hand and so he sends out a force to meet the khan's. The khan prevails after a bit of a dustup, exit Amir. Now Umra Khan, havin' no great desire to Mehtar himself, invites Sher Afzul—that's the uncle who was Number Two Mehtar —or was it Number Three? No matter. Anyway, Number Two now becomes Number Four. Or is it Five? Whatever. And just in case we didn't like it, Umra Khan and Sher Afzul announce that they will fight if we oppose them. Now one knows that isn't the sort of thing one says to an Englishman, much less a garrison full of Englishmen who are already confused about this comedy of errors. So of course the garrison opposed them, with the result being that the 14th Sikhs were massacred and their officers taken prisoner. Fort Chitral, miles away from nowhere, finds itself beseiged.