I thought I had already fully understood my dear husband's ability to silence a room in an instant. Apparently, I had greatly underestimated him. Completely flabbergasted, I stared at him for a full five seconds before my brain even began to work again. Adaira's condition wasn't much better. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were as wide as wagon wheels.
"W-what? What did you say?"
"Did I stutter?" Lifting his gaze, my husband pinned his sister to the spot with an arctic stare. "We. Will. Go. After all, being killed in a war? I cannot let the man who tried to seduce my little sister die so easily." He cracked his knuckles. "That would be too kind an end for him."
Adaira stared at him for a moment longer—then her eyes started to water. "Oh...Rick...Rick, I..."
"Yes?"
"Thank you!" Leaping up, Adaira threw her arms around her brother's neck, dangling off him like an overenthusiastic chipmunk. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"For planning to beat the stuffing out of the man you fancy?"
"Yes!"
"Hm. So women can be reasonable."
"You...!" Sniffling, she punched him in the chest.
"In any case, you don't have to thank me. I am not doing this for you. I simply want my pound of flesh."
Yeah, right.
Adaira did her best to hide her snicker of amusement. I, for my part, had no such compunctions. Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent me a glacial look—or at least he tried to, before he was engulfed in another bone-crushing hug by his little sister.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"You said that already. Eleven times in total."
She punched him again. "Shut up! Then let's bring it up to a nice, round dozen. Thank youuuu!"
"Mmph! Let go! Can't...breathe!"
Grinning widely, I watched the whole scene from the sidelines. Truly, it was a moving thing to watch: family punching each other, strangling each other and threatening to punch other people. This was how love should be expressed!
...not really. But, since I had met my husband, had my life ever been normal?
Mr Ambrose allowed his sister to hug him for five precious seconds—then pried the limpet off and stepped back. Turning around, he marched towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Adaira asked.
"To find the first mate." He threw her a glance. "After all, we should inform him of our new—and old—course. We wouldn't want to arrive in India too late now, would we? Now stop wasting my time!"
And with those words, he stalked out of the door. Behind him, Adaira and I exchanged grins. It was great to be on the right course again, in every sense of the word. The three of us had just stepped out onto the deck when a sailor approached with hurried steps.
"Captain, Sir! You mentioned before you'll want the ship to change course, Sir. Should we start to—?"
"Belay that order!" Mr Ambrose cut him off. "Continue our current course towards India and the island of Agatti."
"Um...aye aye, Sir!" Hurriedly, the sailor saluted and rushed off to do his captain's bidding. Soon, shouts echoed across the yacht, and the sailors who had just started changing the rigging hurriedly began to undo their work. The ship shifted and, a moment later, resumed its course southwards. Marching over to the railing, Mr Ambrose swept his gaze across the ocean, as if by the mere force of his gaze he could bend the wind to his will and make the ship go faster.
Maybe he could. I wouldn't put it past him.
With a sigh, I stepped up beside him and slid an arm around his waist, leaning into his solid warmth. The ocean had never looked so beautiful before.
"You're an amazing brother, you know. And an amazing husband."
"I do not know what you could possibly mean, Mrs Ambrose."
"I'm sure you don't." Standing on tiptoes, I pressed a gentle kiss onto his cheek. "In any case, thank you."
"People keep saying that for some reason."
"Hm." I smirked. "That's what happens when you do nice things. Must be a novel experience for you."
"Indeed." Out of the corner of his eye, he cast a glance at me. "Although besides being 'nice', there is one more reason I wish to go to India."
Surprised, I glanced sideways up at his face. "What? What kind of reason could there possibly be?"
His eyes glittered icily. "I really want to see Dalgliesh's face when his empire starts to crumble around him."
***
In the most luxurious district of a certain Indian city stood an opulent building. A building that, in fact, was so luxurious that it might very well have been mistaken for a palace if not for the brightly painted sign above the door.
Langham-Lagrange Gentleman's Club
(For Whites Only)
Quite the strange sign, in fact, because none of the men inside the club looked particularly gentle. And instead of white, their faces came in different shades of pink and (in various alcoholic cases) a deep red. Merely one private booth in a corner was occupied by a man with pale, aristocratic skin and a golden lion's mane of hair.
Only...despite the smile on his face, he looked even less gentle than anyone else here.
"So," he asked the man sitting opposite him, "how are our things progressing?"
Bowing hurriedly, the other man displayed a flattering smile. "Quite excellently, Lord Dalgliesh. The profits from the trade in China are rising year by year and more people are persuaded to try our product every month. And once they try it, well..."
A smile played around the corners of Dalgliesh's mouth. "The best kind of product—the one you cannot stop buying."
"Indeed, Your Lordship. Although..."
The smile on Dalgliesh's face froze. "Yes?"
"The, um...Emperor seems to have expressed his displeasure at the continuing expansion of the trade."
"Oh?" The frozen smile on His Lordship's face turned even colder. It certainly was not a happy smile anymore. "I want to sell opium in China, and a mere Emperor of China dares to disagree with me? I applaud the man's courage!"
Two steel-blue eyes bored into the cowering man in the corner of the booth. "Fenton, give out the order: the sale of opium is to be doubled in the next five years! I want the whole of China to be populated with drooling idiots who can do nothing but hand over their money to me, begging for drugs!"
"Yes, My Lord! Only..."
"Hm?"
"What if the emperor retaliates?"
"Don't you worry." Dismissively, Dalgliesh patted his subordinate's shoulder, then wiped his hand on a silk handkerchief. "There is nothing in the world that cannot be solved with diplomacy."
Upon hearing that, Fenton had a distinctly sceptical look on his face. "Diplomacy?"
"Oh yes." Reaching out for a nearby crystal glass, Dalgliesh took a sip of dark red wine. It was so dark that it almost looked like blood. "Gunboat diplomacy."
Fenton gulped.
"I...I see, Your Lordship. As you command, Your Lordship."
"Now, leave." Dalgliesh waved a hand. "And on your way out, send the waiter to me. I'm feeling a little bit peckish. Hm...I wonder if they serve—"
He didn't get any further than that. Before he could expand upon his culinary choices, the door to the room flew open with a crash and a dust-covered man in livery stumbled in. A waiter was about to shout at the newcomer to get the hell out—when he suddenly seemed to notice that the man didn't just have dust on his clothes. There was also blood.
"Y-your Lordship...!" Panting, the dishevelled fellow stumbled forward until he nearly collapsed in front of a startled Dalgliesh. But as the man's next words left his mouth, the surprise on Dalgliesh's face immediately turned into rage. "Y-your Lordship...e-emergency! Rebellion!"
"What!" Leaping to his feet, Dalgliesh slammed a fist onto the table. "Where? Who dares to rebel against my rule? Fenton, send a telegram to the nearest regiment! Whatever city has dared to revolt against the East India Company shall rue the day—"
"N-no, Your Lordship!" The man staggered closer, grabbing his employer by the arm. "You don't understand! The rebellion is happening here! Right now! In this city!"
It was only then that, through the open doorway, they heard the sound of gunshots and angry shouts, soon followed by terrified screams. Horror spread over the faces of the members of the gentlemen's club—except for one. Dalgliesh's eyes sharpened.
"Everyone!" he shouted. "To the harbour, now! I have a ship there, which we can all use to escape!"
"Really?"
"Thank you, Your Lordship!"
"Long live Lord Dalgliesh!"
"Let's move! Go, go!"
The panicking crowd rushed towards the door. None of them seemed to notice how their magnanimous benefactor made sure to keep behind his new army of meat shields.
Outside, the city was in a mess. Keeled-over carriages and rickshaws lay scattered in the streets, and even a few corpses lay here and there, trampled beneath the feet of a panicking crowd who had long since disappeared. For now, no soldiers or rebels were in sight, and the sound of fighting was distant. However, it was quickly coming closer.
"This way!" someone called out, pointing to the left. "The harbour is this way!"
Immediately, the crowd started rushing down the street, not paying attention to the group of heavily armed guards who, at a single gesture from Dalgliesh, stepped out of the shadows and surrounded him in a tight protective ring. Like this, they ran towards their goal, towards the only hope of safety, until—
Boom!
A massive explosion ripped the air apart. Everyone stumbled, clutching their ringing ears.
"W-what...what was that?" Fenton gasped.
Paling, a man beside him pointed into the distance, where a fireball bloomed above rooftops. "That was the harbour."
"You mean..."
"Yes. They've already blocked our escape," Dalgliesh concluded darkly.
"Then...then what are we going to do?!"
"There is only one thing we can do," Dalgliesh answered with a sharp glint in his eyes.
"What?"
"Kill!"
At a single gesture from their employer, the guards around him lifted their rifles and started shooting into the crowd.
"Aaaah!"
"You bastar—agh!"
"No, please don—"
In only a minute or so, it was over. The street was covered in corpses, blood splattered everywhere. Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh gave a satisfied nod.
"Excellent." He jabbed a finger at a nearby building with the letters EIC above the entrance. "Over there, that is a company warehouse. I remember there should be a stash of new uniforms for the native troops. Get in there and change, and bring one for me as well. Then find something to darken our faces." A smirk flickered across his face. "Let's show our fellow rebels the British pigs we have slaughtered, shall we?"
"Yes, My Lord!"
Ten minutes later, Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, who didn't look very lordly anymore, knelt behind a bush outside the small coastal city, his bodyguards tightly grouped around him—except for one, that is. After a moment or two, the missing guard appeared from the underbrush.
"Report!"
"Yes, Your Lordship! It...it is bad. The whole countryside is up in arms. The local lords have risen up, and most of the company's native troops are now on the side of the rebellion."
"Are they, now?" Dalgliesh's eyes glittered dangerously. "Well, I will make sure to thank them properly for their loyal service in the future. Is there any way to the coast?"
"No, My Lord. But the road farther inland is still open."
"Is that so? Then...it's clear what to do next." Rising to his feet, Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh gestured to his men. "Let's go. We're heading to Delhi, where the headquarters are. The most loyal regiments of the company are stationed there. Once I have them under my command..." His Lordship cracked his knuckles. "Let's see if those savages still dare to rebel!"
-----------------------------------
My dear Readers,
Some of you might have been taken aback by the blatant racial segregation in India described in the above chapter. It is a sad fact that racial segregation, and racism in general, were quite rampant among the British in colonial India.
Also, Britain did actually fight two wars with China in the name of "free trade" (i.e. the right to sell opium to the Chinese). It can be argued that the British Empire was the world's largest and most brutal drug cartel, putting modern crime bosses to shame. Most of those drugs were grown in India, and then shipped to China.
On a lighter note - there was some nautical terminology in the above chapter that may require an explanation. "Belay that order!"—also shortened as "Belay that!"—is a naval command used to retract a previously given order. It is derived from the belaying pin, a part of a ship that was used to keep a rope attached to its previous position.
Lastly, if you are wondering why our main characters are travelling south and not east to go to India, it's because they have to travel around the continent of Africa first.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob