One sunny afternoon, the guards at the city gates of Delhi were just practising their time-honoured sleeping-while-standing technique, when they received a surprise in the form of a mud-covered sea monster approaching their position.
"Out...out of the way!" the thing panted. "I must see the resident minister!"
"Err...no offence, fellow, but I don't think the resident minister will want to see you. At least not till you've taken a bath."
In response, the guard received a glare. "I am Captain James Carter of the British Army! I have important news for his Excellency the Resident Minister, and there is no time for foolish debates. I also refuse to take any more baths! Now lead me to the resident minister!"
"Err...that might be difficult, Sir."
"If you think you can stop—"
"Because the resident minister has left the city."
The sea monster, alias Captain James Carter, blinked. "What the...! Left the city? Why?"
"To inspect a nearby town, he said."
Captain Carter closed his eyes. "Let me guess. The town in question is well-fortified and has a garrison composed exclusively of British IEC troops, with no locally recruited sepoys."
The guard cocked an eyebrow. "How did you guess, Sir?"
"By having a brain. I wish others would try it. It's very useful." Wiping some of the dirt off his face, Captain Carter squared his shoulders. "All right. Are there any other representatives of Her Majesty's government left in the city?"
"None higher-ranked than you, Sir."
"Then I suppose I have only one choice remaining." The captain fixed his eyes on the shiny walls of a certain palace in the distance. "Lead me to the Shah."
***
Having a traditional Indian dinner at the same table with half a dozen bearded giants, their wives and children was quite the experience. Especially since someone—cough, cough, Karim's Mum, cough, cough—had left an empty seat beside Karim that practically screamed "wouldn't it be nice if a wife sat here".
Not that anyone apart from Granny Aatifa and her unfortunate, unmarried son seemed to focus on this fact. Personally, I was far too busy tasting all the Indian delicacies produced by the old lady's considerable culinary talent, and Adaira was too antsy to concentrate on much of anything. Most likely, she was already imagining herself rushing to India and pulling off a dashing rescue of her hapless man.
As for Mr Rikkard Ambrose? Judging by the way he was eying me over the top of the large bowl in the middle of the table, there was certainly something he wanted to devour, but it wasn't the food. I wasn't the only one who seemed to have noticed, either.
"Oh my." Glancing between me and Mr Ambrose, Granny Aatifa smiled broadly—then threw her son a glance as if to say See, this is what you should be doing, too! "Look at that. Isn't that sweet?"
Karim glanced down at his food in confusion. "No, it's quite sour, actually. Still very delicious, though, mother."
The other brothers immediately shrunk in their seats. Which was probably why, a moment later, only Karim got whacked over his turban.
"What the...? Mother?!"
"I don't think I have such an incompetent son as you. Now go on, hurry up and eat up, before I decide to educate you more thoroughly!"
Faced with this threat, the crowd around the table suddenly became very interested in quickly finishing their meal. Granny Aatifa nodded in satisfaction and, the moment everyone was done eating, rose to her feet and clapped her hands.
"Now, come along, children." Karim's mother glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and gave me a wink. "Follow me to the kitchen and help me clean up."
One of her sons blinked in confusion. "But you never allow anyone else into the kitche—"
"I said come along now!"
"Oh, um...yes, mother."
Soon, Mr Ambrose and I found ourselves alone in the dining room. From beneath my eyelashes, I glanced up at my husband.
"Do you...do you think she might have noticed?"
"Don't know." Rounding the table, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stalked towards me with an intense look in his icy eyes. "Don't care."
"M-Mr Ambrose...we shouldn't..."
His hand captured my chin and forced me to look up at him. "Shouldn't what?"
"You know!" I threw him a glare. "We're guests here! If we're heard—"
"—then our hosts will hear nothing they haven't heard before. Or haven't you noticed their rather large family?"
"That's not the point! I—mmmph!"
Abruptly, my voice was cut off by two determined lips. My knees turned to butter and my head went fuzzy as he laid a kiss on me that nearly took my breath away.
"This is the last chance," he growled. "The last chance I'll have to be with you before we go into a bloody warzone to rescue a man who used to chase my wife, and is now chasing my little sister!"
A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. "I thought you wanted to rescue him, to give him a good pounding."
"Want to? Yes. Want to enough to risk my neck for it? Most certainly not." He glanced at the door Adaira had vanished through, then turned back to stare at me. The look in his eyes tugged at my heart. "You know why I'm doing this. I despise it. I wish I could go literally anywhere else. But I'm going to do it anyway. For my sister. For you. For our family."
I felt warmth rise in my chest. He had really changed, hadn't he? Or...had he? Mr Rikkard Ambrose had always known how to defend what was his.
He cupped my face. "Once we are in India, we can't waste a minute on anything but staying alive. This will be our last chance for a long time. So...spend this last night with me."
"I..." Hesitantly, I bit my lip—but before I could say anything else, he silenced me with the gentle touch of a finger on my lips and captured my gaze with those deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes of his.
"I need you."
That did it. Before I knew how or why, I was kissing him frenziedly. Lifting me up, he rushed towards an empty bedroom.
"We..." Staring up at his chiselled face, I swallowed. "We have to leave early tomorrow. I think we should get a good night's rest tonight."
Reaching out, he slammed the door tight behind us, and locked it. "Then you are doomed to be disappointed."
He was wrong. The night turned out to be anything but disappointing.
***
The next morning, I stepped out of the bedroom on slightly aching legs, feeling slightly guilty. True, I had left a baby bottle and all other necessary things with Adaira, and I was technically paying her to take care of him, but still...was I being a bad mother? Had my son missed me?
It was then that I opened the door to the drawing room and found my dear son happily giggling in the arms of Granny Aatifa, while Adaira was sipping a cup of tea on the chaise longue.
"Oh my, oh my, aren't you an adorable little fellow," the old lady cooed, ticking him under the chin and eliciting cute baby noises in response. "Your mami must be very proud of you, right?"
Berty gurgled happily. "Mi! Mi!"
I froze in mid-step.
What had he just said?
No, no, I must have misheard. Besides, even if I hadn't, it was half a word, in a different language. That didn't count.
Calm down, Lilly. You're his mother. He loves you. He needs you. He won't just switch camps like that.
"Mi Mi!" Berty chose that moment to exclaim.
To hell with calming down.
"Goodness," I said, stalking towards the older lady with a slightly strained smile on my face. "You seem to be getting along really well. How did you manage that?"
And how did you manage to get him to say that?!
"Oh, it's you." Granny Aatifa glanced up, as if she had only noticed me just then. "Well, Miss Adaira here was having trouble feeding him, so I offered my help, being a little bit more experienced and all. At first, he was a little stubborn, but it changed when he spotted this." With a slightly puzzled expression, she held up a golden medallion the size of her palm, which immediately made Berty stop drinking and start making grabbing motions. "My late husband, may Allah have mercy on his soul, found it in an old ruin once. The little fellow seemed to like it, so I let him play with it while I fed him."
Staring at Berty, I felt one of my eyebrows twitch. "So, essentially, you bribed the little bugger."
"Ha! I suppose you could say that. But he is probably just attracted by the pretty colour." Handing the medallion back to an excited Berty, she tickled him under his chin. "After all, such an innocent little angel couldn't possibly feel something like greed, right?"
"Ehem...right. Innocent little angel." Bending down, I gave Berty a smile and lowered my voice. "You greedy little capitalist."
"Wawah?" Eyes wide with innocence, Berty sent me a look that seemed to say, "Who? Me?"
I almost bought it.
So, the little bugger is already good at selling things, is he? As expected of my husband's son.
"Such an adorable child," Aatifa cooed, her wrinkly face morphing into a blissfully happy smile. "You must be very proud of him."
"That I am." The soft words had left my mouth before I had realised it. "That I am."
"And so must be his grandmother." She gave a sad sigh, then sent a meaningful glare into the corner of the room where Karim was doing his best to conceal his existence. "If only someone would provide me with an equally adorable grandson."
"Um..." One of the old lady's other sons timidly raised his hand. "Mother, I have three—"
"You be quiet!"
"Yes, Mother! As you wish, Mother!"
Without wasting a moment, Her Majesty Granny Aatifa returned her attention to Karim—but, just then, the door to the room opened and rescue arrived for the poor, defenceless bodyguard. Unfortunately, it came in the form of someone who would probably demand a fee for the service.
"Adequate morning, everybody." Offering a curt nod in greeting, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stepped into the room, and his eyes fell on Berty, who was happily sucking on his bottle. "I see some of us have already started breakfast. Shall the rest of us join in, and then we can go straight to discussing business?"
"I think that is an excellent idea, Sahib!" Karim exclaimed, then nudged his brother. "Don't you?"
"Wha—oh, yes!" The other man glanced at his mother, who seemed reluctant to give up the subject of grandbabies. "Definitely, we should go straight to discussing business."
"I agree."
"Me, too!"
"Fabulous idea."
For some mysterious reason, everyone in the room rushed to agree. It didn't take long till we were all gathered around the breakfast table and Berty was once more in my arms, still clutching the golden medallion, which he had refused to let go. The meal passed rather quickly, and mostly in silence. For once, it wasn't just Mr Ambrose—right now, nobody wanted to waste time with unimportant things like eating. Everyone could feel the mounting tension in the air, and it was coming from none other than Adaira, who looked ready to jump from her seat and wring any and all information on India out of the old lady a few seats to her left. The old woman, who was the only one who didn't seem bothered by the tense atmosphere, continued to eat calmly and steadily.
Finally, it was over. The moment the last spoon was laid aside, Adaira leapt up from her seat, her gaze firmly fixed on her brother. "Rick, can we...?"
She didn't finish her sentence, but the meaning was obvious.
Mr Ambrose nodded. "Clear the table," he ordered. "And someone fetch a map of India."
Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I rose to my feet and went to put Berty in his cradle. It was time.
When I returned to the table, it was already devoid of dishes, and a map of the Indian subcontinent was spread on top of it. Mr Rikkard Ambrose stood at the head of the table like a military general planning a secret mission. Which, in a way, I suppose was exactly what we were about to do.
"Now..." Mr Ambrose nodded at the elderly woman by his side. "It's your turn. What do you know about the rebellion so far?"
Granny Aatifa cocked an eyebrow. "The rebellion you set off, forcing us to vacate our home, you mean? That rebellion?"
A muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitched. "Yes."
"Harrumph. Well, then..." Stepping forward, the little old lady swept her gaze over the map, somehow managing to look even more like a military general than the towering, manly figure of my husband. "As we all know, the rebellion started in Meerut. Thanks to advance warning from my gracious employer—" She sent a scathing look towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose. "—we were able to evacuate before the rebel armies reached our town. But by that time, there were already plenty of rumours circulating as to what the rebels were up to. According to everything I have heard, they plan to head to the capital of the Mughal Empire to 'persuade' the Shah of said empire, or what's left of it at least, to officially endorse their rebellion. If he complies and is proclaimed as the Emperor of India..."
"...the rebellion will immediately gain legitimacy," Mr Ambrose concluded. "Next, the whole country will go up in flames. The East India Company will be finished."
"Just as you said. And all of us know where the capital of the Mughal Empire is."
"Err...." On the other side of the table, Adaira raised a hand. When everyone turned to look at her, she flushed. "What are you looking at me like that for? Mother taught me music and embroidery, not Asian geopolitics!"
"Almost all of us know where the capital of the Mughal Empire is," Mr Ambrose corrected. Then he reached out and tapped a spot on the map marked with a star, next to which bold letters proclaimed the word "Delhi".
"So you were right before," I murmured. "It all comes down to Delhi."
"Indeed." He nodded grimly, his eyes darkening at a thought he obviously found very displeasing. "And if the rebels are heading there—"
"That means James will be, too!" Adaira exclaimed, excitement evident on her face.
"Indeed." Mr Ambrose sent his sister a look. The kind of look only an older brother was capable of. "Captain Carter will most likely be heading to the city, if he is not stationed there already. In all likelihood, all armies from both sides will converge on this point, and a big battle will be fought there." Suddenly, his mood seemed to pick up. "It will be quite dangerous for the poor captain. Most likely, he will not survive."
Adaira narrowed her eyes at her brother. "Do you have to sound so happy about it?"
Hurriedly, Mr Ambrose cleared his throat. "I don't know what you could possibly mean." He tapped on the map, doing his best to avoid his sister's gaze. "Let's get back to the subject, shall we?"
"Delhi." Adaira's concern for her beau immediately overcame her annoyance with her brother. Glancing at Granny Aatifa, she threw the old woman a questioning look. "Are you certain of your information?"
"That I am, girl. That I am."
"So...we only have one choice." I glanced around to check for the others' agreement. Adaira nodded immediately. Karim glanced at his mother, and nodded almost as quickly. Mr Ambrose moved his head in a manner that could possibly be interpreted as a nod, though a very reluctant one. "We are heading to Delhi. Right into the thick of it."
***
In a massive hall within the Red Fort that looked more like a ballroom than the waiting room it actually was, Captain James Carter strode up and down, the sound of his long strides echoing off the wall. He had been waiting for quite a long time, but not for a moment did he think of complaining. Royalty was royalty after all.
Still, that didn't mean he wasn't impatient. So, when a sudden creaking sound came from behind him, Captain Carter immediately whirled around, just in time to see a man in Indian servant's garb push open the massive set of double doors at the other end of the hall. Politely, the servant inclined his head.
"Captain? The Shah is ready to see you."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Captain Carter immediately moved to follow the man. Through the double doors, he stepped into a magnificent red and white throne room, decorated with golden statues of various fantastical creatures of legend he couldn't hope to name. And at the other end of the room, upon a majestic throne...was no one?
"This way, Captain."
The servant gestured to a side door. Although he felt confused, Captain Carter changed his course and followed him through said door into a much, much smaller room. Within that room sat an old man in a long white gown with an even longer, whiter beard, and a golden turban on his head.
"Good afternoon, Captain." The old man...no, the Shah, gave a jovial nod, his eyes wandering up and down Captain Carter's figure, which still bore some traces of his eventful journey to Delhi. "You look like you have had an...interesting day. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Your Imperial Majesty." Bowing deeply, Captain Carter slowly approached the tea table surrounded by cushions and chairs. "It would be an honour."
"Then come, sit. Sit and tell me what is on your mind."
One corner of the captain's mouth twitched. "I would have thought that to be rather obvious, Your Majesty. What with the sudden lack of Englishmen in the Fort."
"Ah, yes." The old man's lips curled into a smile, mirroring the captain's. Taking a sip of his tea, he gestured for one of the servants to fill another cup for his guest. "The resident minister and his fellow countrymen seemed rather eager to depart."
"Oh my." Captain Carter couldn't suppress a snort in response. This old man was interesting. "I wonder why that is, with the political climate as peaceful and sweet as it is."
"Yes, indeed." Reaching out, the Shah lifted an exquisite porcelain bowl. "And speaking of sweet...sugar?"
"Yes, thank you." The captain dropped a sugar cube into his tea—then fixed his gaze firmly on the Shah. "Sweet talk aside, however, you should be aware how serious the situation is, Your Imperial Majesty. What are you planning to do?"
"Hm..." There was a thoughtful look on the ancient ruler's wrinkled face as he stroked his beard. "Well, I think...I think I am going to sit here and drink tea."
Blankly, Carter stared at the man. Were his ears malfunctioning? Had the river water gotten into his brain?
"Apologies, Your Majesty, I must have heard incorrectly. Am I to understand that you intend to simply sit back and do nothing?"
"Naturally. What else would you have me do?"
"How about organising a defence?"
"Organising a defence?" The old man calmly sipped his tea. "Why?"
"Um..." Vaguely gesturing towards the window, through which the city wall was visible, Captain Carter sent the Shah a rather odd look. "Because there is an army marching towards your city? Don't you want to keep your throne?"
"My throne?" The Shah chortled. "That's the funniest joke I've heard in a few decades." Suddenly, the laughter stopped, and all hilarity drained from the aged face. Through the still-open door, he gestured towards the throne room. "This throne, this entire city, hasn't been mine for a long time. Nor am I Shah any longer. Your countrymen have seen to that. Now, I am just an old man, enjoying his retirement and hoping his children will have a good life when he is gone." Two surprisingly sharp eyes bored into Captain Carter. "Tell me, Captain, do you think they will have a good life under the East India Company?"
Captain Carter couldn't help it. He looked away.
The Shah nodded to himself. "That's what I thought."
For some time, silence pervaded the room. Only from outside, the faint sounds of a lively city drifted in. Sounds that might soon turn into screams and explosions.
"If the army storms the city," the captain finally spoke up, "there will be a massacre. In war, there always is."
"Oh, I know." Dropping another cube of sugar into his tea, the Shah calmly began to stir. "I was not always this old and decrepit, you know? Once upon a time, I, too, was on the battlefield. The blood, the smoke, the demons dancing in men's eyes when their inner beast is let loose..." Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the tea's sweet aroma with closed eyes. "It is a great and terrible thing."
"Then pardon me, Your Majesty, but why...?"
"Why don't I do anything?"
"I...yes."
"What can I do?" Opening his eyes again, the Shah looked straight at Captain Carter. "I am over eighty years old, Captain. Nearly at death's door. My children are far away from here. I saw to that the moment I caught wind of what was brewing. After the resident minister's speedy departure, there are few troops left in the city. Do you think they would listen to an old man who would have to hobble along on crutches to lead them onto the battlefield? Besides..."
Glancing sideways through the window, he stared at the flag of the East India Company, fluttering atop a distant flagpole. For a moment, the kind old man was gone, and rage flared within the eyes of the man who had once ruled an Empire.
"Better a horrible end than horror without end."
Captain Carter opened his mouth to retort, not really knowing what to say—when it was taken out of his hands. From far away, the sound of a bugle echoed over the city. The kind used for military signals. It was followed shortly by the sound of marching drums.
Abruptly, the captain stiffened. "Is that..."
The Shah didn't answer. He simply took a last sip of tea, and placed the empty cup down on the table. The gesture had something final about it.
Leaping up, Captain Carter raced to the window and stared out over the city of Delhi. There, in the distance beyond the city walls, columns of dust were rising, stirred up by the boots of marching soldiers.
Rebel soldiers.
Carter swallowed.
"They're here."
***
"Finally!" Suppressing his desire to mutter a curse, Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh came to a stop at the side of the road, staring at the city gate of Delhi only a hundred or so yards ahead. He was soaked in sweat, his clothes stained with dirt and muck, his matted hair sticking to his forehead. Never in his life had he been in a state like this. And, he swore to himself, he would never be again. Because, at long last, he and his guards had arrived at Delhi. Soon, the vast number of troops stationed in the city would be under his command, and then those rebels would pay. They. Would. All. Pay!
"My Lord, you are tired. Let me—"
"Don't!" Slapping his underling's hand away, Lord Dalgliesh sent him a glare. "Don't you dare touch me."
"Yes, My Lord. Apologies, My Lord."
"Let's go." Dalgliesh straightened his clothes and started towards the city gate once more. "I have an army to marshal. Soon, I shall have my revenge, and India will be mine once more!"
Behind him, his bodyguards fell in step, and together, they approached the city. However, before they had gone half the way, they were stopped by a sudden sound. The sound of a bugle.
Slowly, very slowly, Dalgliesh turned around.
"What was that?"
"Um...My Lord? There."
Pale-faced, one of Dalgliesh's men pointed to the horizon. Right to where a column of dust was rising into the air, fast approaching.
-----------------------------------------
My dear Readers,
The description of the Shah in the above chapter is based on a historical portrait, so I hope it is as accurate as possible.
Also, regarding the plundering of the city, I should mention that this book takes place at a time where things like the Geneva convention did not exist. For the most part, civilians and their property were fair game for any soldier storming a city, especially if the attackers and defenders belong to different ethnicities with lots of grudges between them. And at that time, there were quite a few British people in Delhi.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob