The Untamed Bride

Four

December 13

The Bastion Club, Montrose Street, London

The club wasn’t far. The hackney Del had hired halted outside a house in a street south of Hyde Park.

Standing on the pavement beside Del while he paid off the jarvey, Deliah owned to considerable curiosity over the strange “private gentlemen’s-cum-family” club she’d heard so much about. Number 12 Montrose Street was a solid house, not dissimilar to those flanking it. As they walked up the neatly paved path to the front porch, she could see nothing to distinguish it from any other gentleman’s residence.

The front door opened as they ascended the porch steps. A neat, rotund individual in the garb of a majordomo-somewhere between a butler’s regulation black tails and a gentleman’s gentleman’s less formal attire-stood waiting to greet them, a delighted smile on his kindly face.

“Colonel Delborough?”

“Indeed. And this is Miss Duncannon. I believe Torrington and Crowhurst are already here?”

“Indeed, sir. I am Gasthorpe.” He bowed them in, then took Del’s greatcoat. “If we may be of assistance at any time, sir, please do not hesitate to call upon me and the staff here.”

Deliah elected to keep her pelisse on. “Torrington and Crowhurst told us of this place.” While the underlying ambiance of the house was sparse and rather plainly severe, a vase of hothouse blooms rioted on the hall table, their color and freshness drawing the eye, softening the décor. There was a lace doily beneath the vase, and numerous other little touches that spoke of female, rather than only male. “I understand it was originally just for the gentlemen, but clearly that has changed.”

“Oh, yes, miss-we often have the ladies to stay these days. Once the gentlemen wed-indeed, even before, during their various adventures-we were called upon to accommodate their ladies.”

She was curious. “You don’t seem to mind.”

“I will admit I was initially trepidatious, but now we look forward to the families descending-quite keeps us on our toes.”

Deliah smiled. “I can imagine.”

“Torrington and Crowhurst?” Del inquired.

“Yes, sir. They’re awaiting you downstairs with the captured miscreants.” Beaming at Deliah, Gasthorpe gestured to the room to the right of the front door. “If you would care to wait in comfort in the parlor, miss, I will bring up a tea tray directly.”

Deliah glanced, once, at the room beyond the open door, then, brows rising, looked at Del. “I’m not in the mood for tea, but I do want to see these men. I’ll come with you.”

Del had hoped that Gasthorpe might manage to deflect her, but wasn’t truly surprised that he’d failed. Stifling a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Very well.” He’d long ago learned not to fight unnecessary skirmishes but to save his powder for the important battles. He looked at Gasthorpe. “Lead on.”

Gasthorpe looked uncertain, but he took his lead from Del and, without argument, turned and led them to a set of stairs at the back of the front hall.

Waving Deliah ahead of him, Del followed her down. The stairs led to spacious kitchens. Gasthorpe led them through and into a narrow corridor, off which several storerooms lay. He paused outside one. With his hand on the latch, he turned to them. “This is one of our holding rooms.”

As Gasthorpe opened the door, Del drew Deliah back and entered first. He halted just inside, then moved further in, allowing her to follow.

Deliah took in the occupants of the small room in one glance. Tony and Gervase sat with their backs to the door, on straight-backed chairs before a plain wooden table. On the other side of the table, three ruffians slouched on a bench. Hands tied before them, they propped against each other, shoulder to shoulder.

All three looked rather the worse for wear. Two sported blackening eyes. The other had a nasty bruise on his chin. All three looked uneasy, restless and uncertain.

Tony and Gervase glanced at Del and her as they entered; both started to rise, but she waved them back to their seats. She and Del remained standing behind them.

Subsiding and turning back to the table, Tony gestured to their captives. “We’ve been chatting with these gentlemen.” Despite the easy tenor of his words, there was a definite suggestion of steel beneath. “They don’t seem to know very much about anything, but we thought we’d wait for you before getting to specifics.”

Standing inside the now closed door, Deliah viewed the three ruffians and was glad of the three gentlemen between her and them. For all they were tied and clearly off-balance, they were hulking brutes with rough menace in their beady eyes-all of which had fixed on her.

Regardless, she felt perfectly safe. The three gentlemen were more than a counter to the louts; the menace that rolled off their elegant selves was of an infinitely more lethal variety.

And the louts knew it.

That the pecking order was established and recognized was immediately made clear. When Del asked who had hired them, the louts answered readily.

“Geezer came to our tavern-it’s in the East End. Said he were looking for men to grab a woman as was giving him trouble. He’d make it worth our while. All we had to do was grab her, and bring her to him tonight, and we’d get ten sovereigns.”

“Ten sovereigns?” Deliah was incensed. “That’s insulting!”

Del sent her a quelling look.

“How did you know which lady to grab?” Gervase asked.

The lout in the middle looked at Deliah. “He said she were tall, with dark red hair, a real looker-and she was staying at Grillon’s.”

Deliah crossed her arms. “What, exactly, were you supposed to do with me after you seized me?”

“He made it sound easy.” The lout on the left sniffed. “Didn’t say nuffin ’bout you havin’ guards. All we had to do was snatch you off the street, and being careful not to damage the goods, bring you to the tavern tonight. He said to sit in a corner, an’ keep you quiet ’til he arrived.”

Deliah was tempted to ask how they’d thought to keep her quiet.

“Describe this man,” Del said.

The louts grimaced, looked at each other. Then the one in the middle shrugged. “Nothing special about him. Could be anyone.”

“Not helpful,” Tony murmured, and the louts paled.

“How tall was he?” Deliah asked.

The louts looked at her. “Maybe an inch or so taller’n you, miss. Ma’am.” The middle lout glanced at Del. “Not so tall as the gentl’man.”

Deliah nodded. “What about his clothes?”

The lout grimaced. “Middling. Not one thing nor another.”

“He wasn’t a toff, that’s certain,” one of the others put in.

“Nay-he weren’ even a gentl’man, though he spoke well enough.”

“Describe the man’s hair,” Deliah said. “What color, and how was it cut?”

The louts looked at her, then one answered, “Brown hair, longish.”

Deliah glanced at Del. “Not the man in Southampton.”

“Nor the two at Windlesham.” Del looked at the ruffians. “Where’s this tavern?”

The three shifted on the bench, exchanging glances. Then the one in the middle-the leader-looked up. “What’s in it fer us if we tell you?”

It was Tony who answered. “It’s simple enough. Tell us where the tavern is, and after we keep your appointment for you, we’ll hand you over to the authorities for attempted thieving, rather than attempted kidnapping. In other words, your choice is between transportation, or hanging.”

The three exchanged another, longer glance, then the leader sighed. “All right. It’s the Blue Barrel in Cobalt Lane.”

Leaving the three louts in Gasthorpe’s custody, the four of them repaired to the library upstairs. A comfortable room on the first floor with large leather armchairs and numerous side tables, it was the perfect venue for discussing developments, and planning their next move.

“Tony and I will keep their appointment this evening,” Gervase said. “We’ll see who turns up, and if we’re lucky, follow them back to the Black Cobra’s lair.”

“I doubt it’ll be that simple,” Del said. He glanced at Deliah. “Ferrar clearly wants to use you as hostage for the letter.”

“Presumably,” Tony said, “he sees that as an easier option than making a direct try for it.”

“Which,” Gervase added, “tells us he’s engaged-that we have his attention-which, after all, is the crux of our mission.”

“That, and reducing his forces.” Del frowned. “So far, we’ve only seen locals-hirelings.”

“Perhaps,” Deliah said, “I should play the part of captive hostage this evening?” She looked at the three men. “I’ll be perfectly safe, because you’ll be my captors.”

For one instant, she glimpsed horror in all three pairs of eyes, then their expressions blanked.

“No.” Del’s tone was unequivocal, unassailable.

Deliah met his eyes, read his absolute opposition. Shrugged. “All right.” She didn’t harbor any ambition to visit an East End tavern, much less run the risk of meeting the Black Cobra; she’d only made the offer because she’d felt she should.

All three men looked at her, searched her face for a moment more, as if not quite certain of the sincerity of her agreement, then Del looked at Gervase. “So what should we do to fill the rest of the day?”

What could he do to ensure she was distracted? Just the thought of her sitting in some seedy tavern, a hostage waiting to be collected by the Black Cobra, had shaken him-in a way he wasn’t accustomed to being shaken. He’d never felt possessive about any other woman, let alone a lady, let alone a lady like her. If given the choice, he would have elected to go with Gervase and Tony to the tavern that night, but now…he didn’t dare leave her to her own devices. Who knew what she might take it into her head to do? All in the name of being helpful, of course.

Despite his mission being to flush out the Black Cobra, he knew beyond question that his place was with her. Guarding against any possible threat to her.

Tony and Gervase seemed to be thinking along similar lines. In short order, between them they decided on an afternoon of excursions that might, or might not, draw out the cult’s forces, but would definitely occupy Deliah’s time.

December 13

City of London

“Is that it?” Deliah peered out of the hackney at a long stone building with an impressive façade of Doric pillars fronting Leadenhall Street. The pillars were crowned by a pediment with numerous carved figures.

“East India House,” Del confirmed. “The London headquarters of the Honorable East India Company.”

“They take themselves very seriously, don’t they?”

“Indeed. Wait until you see inside. I’ve heard the new skylight is quite something.”

After letting Gasthorpe feed them luncheon in the dining room of the club, they’d hailed two hackneys and set out for the city. Del and Deliah were in the first carriage, while Tony and Gervase followed in the second. While Del and Deliah went inside, Tony and Gervase would watch from the street to see if any likely-looking characters took an interest.

Their hackney halted before the steps leading up between the pillars. Del descended, after one glance around handed Deliah down, then paid off the jarvey. He turned to find Deliah, head back, staring up at the frieze above the pillars.

“Is that Britannia? And Tritons on sea horses?”

“As you remarked, the company considers itself an august institution.” Taking her arm, he led her up the steps and through the massive doors, which attentive doormen in the uniforms of sepoy regiments leapt to hold wide.

Inside, massive braziers glowed, taking the chill from the marble walls and floors. Deliah halted, staring around. “The word that springs to mind is opulent.”

“And this is merely the foyer.” He steered her on through a massive archway into a huge chamber that rose fully three stories high. It was lit by a large, domed skylight. Niches on the wall held marble statues; glass-fronted cabinets displayed jeweled Indian artifacts, and gold and silver plate.

Halting, Deliah looked around. “Simple words fail me. I take it they wanted everyone to realize how profitable trade with India is?”

“I suspect that was a large part of the motivation.” Del glanced around, looking for familiar faces. “This is the Grand Court Room. We’re going to visit the main rooms, see who’s here, chat with some.” He looked at her. “It would help if you would smile and hang on my arm. And, if possible, remain silent.”

Deliah arched her brows, but twined her arm in his and endeavored to keep a light, airy smile on her face.

They started promenading. There were many others about, and while some hurried past with papers in their hands, or were deep in serious discussions, most seemed to be socializing-discussing business, perhaps, but without any specific intent.

Some among the gathering-mostly officers in the uniforms of various regiments, but others in civilian attire-recognized Del. All evinced surprise as they shook his hand. “What brings you home?” was the common first question.

One, Deliah noted, he didn’t actually answer. Instead, he spoke of when he’d arrived, and asked after others who might be there that day. When a few in uniform asked after his colleagues, he admitted some others were also expected home any day.

It didn’t take long for Deliah to realize that, with her hanging as directed, sweetly smiling on his arm, those who spoke with them leapt to the obvious conclusion.

When they moved on through an archway into the next room, she leaned close and murmured, “You’re deliberately letting people imagine that you came home to marry me.”

He glanced at her, met her eyes. “It’s easier than telling the truth.”

She mulled over that for a moment, then asked, “Why? Why not say you’re here to lay evidence against the Black Cobra? There’s no reason to keep it secret, is there? The Black Cobra already knows.”

“True. But my mission is to draw the cultists out, not to encourage a horde of well-meaning others to become involved. Many of those here know of the Black Cobra’s villainy and would be happy to assist in bringing him down. Yet playing this sort of game is the same as cooking-having too many cooks doesn’t help.”

Another gentleman approached to speak with Del. Deliah continued to smile while she pondered his words.

The room they were now in, the New Sale Room, was decorated with pilasters and paintings of scenes of Indian commerce. Curious, she let her eyes feast, while her mind turned over their situation.

They continued to stroll, and the New Sale Room gave way to the Old Sale Room, with statues of various dignitaries. She made out Lord Clive and Sir Eyre Coote among them. Although she listened to Del’s exchanges, they added little to what she already knew of him, other than establishing that he was held in high esteem, by the miltary men especially, but by the civilians, too.

They eventually strolled on into what Del told her was the room of the Committee of Correspondence. The large chamber held portraits of past governors-general, the Marquis of Cornwallis and Warren Hastings among them. Of more interest to her was the large number of paintings depicting views of Indian scenery that lined the walls.

At last, after more than an hour, they returned to the grand foyer.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Deliah turned to him and said, “I realize now that my insisting you escort me home to Humberside has made your mission that much more difficult-more complicated.”

She knew he hadn’t intended to include her among the “well-meaning others,” that he’d accepted her help and her place in their little group of conspirators, but he would have preferred to be rid of her from the start…and if that kiss this morning had demonstrated anything, it was that she couldn’t trust herself-her inner self-when it came to him, when he was anywhere near.

Dragging in a quick breath, she lifted her chin. “So I’ll apologize for that, and if it will make your mission easier, you can leave me here, in London. I can go and stay with my old governess for a few days, until you go on to Cam bridgeshire and lead the Black Cobra away. Then I can make my way home. I’ll have Kumulay and the rest of my household with me. It’ll be perfectly safe.”

“No.” Del didn’t even think before the answer was on his lips. He paused, frowning. Reminded of her earlier insistence on propriety-something he now knew was uncharacteristic-he had to wonder why she’d acted as she had and clung so tenaciously to his promised escort, but he set that conundrum aside for later. He had to quash her latest suggestion; his instinctive response was to reject it out of hand. Which he’d done. Now he needed to assemble his rationalization. His explanation.

His excuse.

He’d managed to keep his expression impassive. His eyes locked with hers, he stated, “You had your chance to bow out of my mission at the beginning, but now you’re a part of it-an integral part as far as the Black Cobra is concerned-so you have to stay with me and see it through to the end.”

Only then would she be safe. Regardless of what might develop between them-and after this morning he was increasingly certain something would-there was no way this side of Heaven he would let her out of his orbit to be exposed to the malicious vindictiveness of the Black Cobra.

She held his gaze, studied his eyes, considered his words, then inclined her head. “If that’s what you truly wish, then I’ll stay.”

He was unprepared for the relief that swept through him.

Entirely satisfied-she hadn’t wanted to step back but had felt honor-bound to make the offer-Deliah looked around again, thinking of the large number who’d come to talk to him. “Isn’t there anyone in the company you can warn about the evidence, about the Black Cobra himself?”

“If there was, I would, but as the culprit’s Ferrar, there’s no one in the company I feel confident would-or could-see justice done. Ferrar’s father, the earl, is a director, and he almost certainly has too many of the other directors in his pocket. That’s his way of doing business.”

Del swept the foyer one last time, then took her arm. “Come. We’ve spent enough time here-talked to enough people to have Ferrar wondering.”

Deliah looked at him. “Is he here?”

“No, but various associates are. News of my visit will do the rounds. The Black Cobra will hear.”

He escorted her outside, onto the pavement in front of the building.

When he halted and pulled out his fob-watch, she glanced across the street and saw Tony lounging, with Gervase further along. “Where to now?”

Replacing his watch, he said, “It’s just after three, and the afternoon is fine. So how would a lady of your ilk pass the time?”

Deliah wasn’t averse to an amble in Hyde Park. Not only was she happy to stretch her legs over the lush lawns but as the female half of the ton-or at least as much of it as remained in the capital in that season-was arrayed in its customary splendor in the carriages drawn up along the Avenue, there was plenty to catch her eye.

Strolling beside her, Del noticed her absorption. “I thought you weren’t all that interested in the latest fashions.”

“I’m not.” Her eye caught by a particularly fine crepe gown-very bravely worn considering the icy breeze that rattled the bare branches-she answered absentmindedly. “I’m more interested in the materials themselves.”

A moment passed. “Why?”

She blinked, realized what she’d said. Glanced at him, and saw from the intentness in his eyes that he wasn’t likely to accept an evasive answer. And truly, why should she conceal her success? Especially from an ex-East India Company man. “I…have an interest-a commercial interest-in cotton.”

His brows rose.

She hurried on, “My primary investments are in sugar cane, but I recently had an opportunity to buy into cotton farming and importation, and I did. Consequently, I’m interested in the degree to which cotton is used compared to wool or silk.”

He was now regarding her with fascinated interest. “You invest?”

Ladies weren’t supposed to, of course, but she was tired of hiding her light under a bushel. Tired of pretending to be a woman she was not. She nodded. “My uncle encouraged me to learn the ropes. While he’s terribly conservative in some ways, in others, he’s quite progressive. And, of course, in Jamaica it’s not so unheard of for ladies to be involved.”

She glanced at Del, wondering if he’d prove to be one of those gentlemen for whom the very notion of ladies being involved in making money was simply scandalous.

“What sort of company is it? Has it been operational for long? And are the returns as good as with sugarcane?”

His questions came thick and fast. Absorbed with answering, she strolled on beside him. The shrewdness behind his questions suggested he had more than a passing understanding of investing. Even more reassuring, he demonstrably viewed her involvement with respect, not derision.

She couldn’t recall ever discussing business in such depth with anyone other than her longtime brokers, now far away in Jamaica.

They came to the end of the Avenue, and he paused, then steered her across the carriage drive into a secluded walk leading deeper into Kensington Gardens. The gravel path was lined with thick borders backed by a row of even thicker bushes. “Keep talking,” he murmured.

“Are they following us?” When he nodded, she asked, “How many?”

He listened. “Three, I think. At least.”

“Are Tony and Gervase near?”

“Back behind the trees to our north. They’ll be keeping pace on that side.”

They walked on, chatting of this and that, no longer paying attention to their words. Along one side, other paths joined theirs, but the bushes along the north side continued in an unbroken line.

“They’re being rather furtive,” he eventually said. “Which suggests they might, at last, be cultists, rather than hired locals.”

By mutual unspoken accord, they slowed. Deliah, too, heard stealthy rustling following them along the line of bushes.

“They’re still there,” she murmured, “but we’re nearly at the end of the path.”

Del looked ahead. The path ended, opening onto a wide lawn, thirty yards ahead. Taking Deliah’s elbow, he slowed further. “We need to lure them out.”

Even as the words left his lips, the sound of giggles and light voices eagerly chatting came from behind them. Glancing back, they saw a party of very young young ladies and their attending beaux step onto the path a good way back.

The rustling ceased abruptly.

Deliah exchanged a look with Del. “Perhaps they’ll take one of the other paths and leave this one.”

Del’s jaw firmed. “Let’s keep walking.”

They did, slowly ambling, but the giggling, lighthearted party continued on the same path, drawing ever nearer.

Defeated, deflated, Del and Deliah reached the end of the path and stepped out onto the open lawn. They walked a few paces to one side and halted. The giggling party came out of the walk and, with exclamations of delight at the vista, continued on.

Once the chattering had died, Del glanced at Deliah. “We could head back the same way. Give them another chance at us.”

She nodded. “Let’s.”

They did, but there were no more rustlings in the thick bushes.

Whoever had been stalking them was gone.

Reaching the end of the walk, they stepped out onto the carriage drive. Looking north along it, they saw Tony standing chatting to Gervase under a large tree. Gervase looked their way, gave a very slight shake of his head.

“Come on.” Grim-faced, Del took Deliah’s arm. “We may as well go back to the hotel.”

December 13

Grillon’s Hotel

An hour and a half later, Del headed for his room. He and Deliah had repaired to the suite. She’d ordered tea, then Tony and Gervase had joined them.

There had been elusive shadows lurking in the bushes along the path. Tony and Gervase had hung back, watching, waiting for the shadows to make a move before they closed in, but suddenly the shadows had frozen, then drifted away.

They’d been locals, however, not Indians, not cultists. And their wariness suggested that the Black Cobra was now hiring better-quality help.

Not a good sign.

Reaching his room, Del opened the door and went in. Cobby was there, preparing his bath. Closing the door, Del shrugged out of his coat. He frowned abstractedly as he laid it aside. “I have an errand for you.”

“Aye?”

“I need tickets to some event or other-the opera, theater-whatever’s on. For Miss Duncannon and myself.”

“For this evening?”

“Yes.”

“Does the lady like music?”

“I have no idea.” Del drew off his cravat. “Any entertainment will do. Just find me something that might distract her.”

And him.

“If you’ve all you need here, I’ll go see the lads at the desk.”

Del nodded. Cobby left.

Stripping off the rest of his clothes, Del sank into the hip bath. The water was steaming. Leaning back, he closed his eyes.

Gervase and Tony were on their way to the tavern to keep watch for the Black Cobra’s man.

His duty tonight was to keep Deliah safe, yet after the events of their long day, spending the entire evening with her alone, in private, was the very definition of unwise.

Quite aside from that startling kiss and the sense of unfinished business in the way it had ended-on which he’d dwelled more than once during the day-there was the associated problem of the debilitating effect having her with him, literally beside him, while being stalked by the Black Cobra’s minions was having on his control.

It was a constant abrasion, a relentless weakening.

He didn’t like even the thought of her going into danger; having her beside him, knowingly taking her along with him, was a form of subtle torment. Something inside him, some part he’d rarely had to deal with and had rarely crossed, let alone provoked, invariably reacted, as if her being in danger was a grave and gross oversight on his part.

And it-that other side of him-prodded him, hard, to correct that oversight. To do something to ensure she wasn’t exposed. At all. Not just to ensure she was safe but to unequivocally take her out of the action so there was no chance she’d ever be in any danger at all.

He could imagine how she’d react if he let that part of himself loose, let it guide him.

The response she evoked in him was extreme, ridiculous in one sense, and by and large not something he understood. But he had too much on his plate with his mission, with the Black Cobra, to spend time thinking of it, thinking through it, now.

He just had to find ways to deal with it-to manage it for now. Later, once the mission was over, once the Black Cobra was caught, he’d have time to work through it and assuage it, but not yet. Not now.

When it came down to it, his mission was not proceeding well. They were drawing out the Black Cobra’s minions, but those minions were local hirelings, not cultists, yet it was the cultists he needed to remove.

They were the deadly ones, the ones with no rules, no lines they, in the Black Cobra’s name, would not cross. His decoy’s mission was to reduce their number so that the others following would have fewer to face.

That was the crux of his mission, and in that, he was failing.

Sangay stuck his nose out of the alley door of the fancy hotel. The icy wind whipped in, made him shiver uncontrollably, but the alley was empty. He had to go now.

Slipping outside, he shut the heavy door, then, sucking in a breath, holding it against the chill, he crept down the alley, away from the street at the other end, toward what he’d heard the other servants call the mews-the area for carriages and horses at the rear of the building.

The hotel stable was further along, tucked behind the bulk of the hotel itself. Reaching the mews, he peeked around the corner and saw the usual huddle of grooms and stableboys gathered outside the open door of the stable, warming their hands at a glowing brazier.

He wished he could spend a few minutes getting warm, but he dared not. He needed to get back to the docks. He prayed to Ganesh every hour that his ship would still be there, somewhere in the huge waterways around what they called the Pool of London.

It wasn’t really a pool, not to Sangay’s way of thinking. But he had to make it back, or he’d never see India, or his mother, again.

Sliding unobtrusively around the corner, hugging the deepening shadows along the wall, he crept soundlessly away from the stable, away from the hotel. He’d been safe enough there, warm enough there-he’d been fed enough there for the first time in his short life. But he didn’t dare stay.

The man would come for him, he knew. He had to go before he found him.

His slippered feet made no sound on the cobbles. As the distance from the hotel grew, he risked going a little faster. Memory of the man drove him on. He might have been just a cabin boy, but he’d been an honest boy, a good boy. He didn’t want to become a thief, but if the man caught him again…

He started running.

Reaching the end of the mews, he swung around the corner-and ran into a wall of muscle and bone.

He staggered back. Before he could regain his balance, a hand closed on his collar. He sucked in a breath, ready to protest his innocence, when from a long way above him a dark voice growled, “And just where do you think you’re going?”

Fear shot through him. He squeaked, tried to squirm loose, but the grip on his collar tightened. The man shook him like a rat.

Shook him until he was gasping, choking.

Then the man’s other hand caught his chin, forced his face up until he found himself staring into a dark-featured scowl. It wasn’t the frown that terrified Sangay-it was the man’s pale eyes.

“Let me remind you, boy, what will happen if you don’t do as I say.” The words were low, a rumble. “I’ll have your mother strung up and slow-roasted over a fire. She’ll scream and beg for mercy-mercy no one will grant her. Before she dies-and I assure you that won’t be soon-she’ll curse your name, curse the day she brought such an ungrateful whelp into this world.” The deep rumble paused.

The cold fist of fear tightened, choking Sangay.

“On the other hand,” the dark voice continued, “if you do as I say, your mother will never know anything about any fire, any excruciating pain, any horrible, terrible, godforsaken death.”

On the last word, the man shook him again. “So, whelp-your choice.” The man all but snarled, “Which will it be? Will you get back into that hotel and fetch the wooden scroll-holder I sent you for, or do I kill you now and send a message back to India on the first tide?”

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it, sahib!” Sangay could barely get the words out through his chattering teeth. When the man abruptly let him go, he staggered, then stood, and hung his head. “I will do as you say.”

No choice. He could barely breathe for sheer terror.

“So, have you looked? Done anything at all since Southampton?”

“Oh, yes, sahib, yes. I have been searching through all the general baggage, sahib, but there’s no scroll-holder there. It must be kept with the baggage the colonel-sahib keeps in his room, or perhaps with the bags his man Cobby keeps with him. Or the colonel-sahib might be carrying it with him, only I don’t think he is because I have looked closely and I cannot see how such a thing would fit beneath his coat.”

“I doubt he’ll carry it with him.”

“Perhaps”-Sangay brightened-“it is in the memsahib’s bags?”

The man eyed him, then nodded. “Perhaps. You search everywhere until you find it, understand? But try to do it without being caught. We’ve a few days yet. Better you look until you find it, then bring it to me, rather than you get caught before you get your hands on it-understand?”

Sangay bobbed his head repeatedly. “Yes, sahib. I’m to stay hidden until I find it-no one must know I am looking for this thing.”

“That’s right. You do that, and no one will touch your mother-remember that. Now, what do you know about the other two gentlemen who go out when the colonel does? They seem to be guarding him.”

“Yes, sahib-sir-they are friends of his.” Sangay screwed up his face. “I have not heard their names well enough to say them, but they are at the hotel, too, in other rooms on the same floor.”

“Are they, indeed?” The man fell silent.

Sangay shivered, unobtrusively shifting from one foot to the other. Carefully he tucked his hands under his arms and hugged himself, bowing his thin shoulders away from the wind.

“Keep an eye on those two, but you’d best keep out of their way. But how have you been hiding yourself?”

Sangay shrugged. “The colonel-sahib’s people think I’m one of the memsahib’s servants, and her people think I’m a one of the colonel-sahib’s servants.”

The man looked at him through narrowing eyes. “Very clever. You’re quick, I’ll give you that. Just don’t be forgetting your maataa won’t be able to escape the Black Cobra.”

Sangay shivered. “No, sahib. I won’t be forgetting that.”

“Good. Now get back in there and find the scroll-holder. Once you do, all you need do is come out and slip away-I’ll be watching. I’ll come and meet you.”

“Yes, sahib. I will be getting back now.” Receiving a nod of assent, Sangay turned and, head down against the biting wind, slipped back around the corner, then walked slowly, despondently, back along the alley.

He hadn’t thought it possible, but he felt even more miserable, even more filled with black despair. All he could do was do as the man told him, and pray to the gods that something would happen-to the man, perhaps?-to save him from the nightmare his life had become. And to save his maataa, too.