Oh my God... They're going to kill him! They're going to hang him! I have to save him!
That was the first thought that flashed through Adaira's mind when she saw the noose. But...how could she be sure he was actually one of the prisoners about to be executed? That man on the roof had just mentioned British officers. That could mean anybody, right?
"Come on, boys!" One of the men in the crowd of rebels roared. He was a big brute with a scar across his face and brass knuckles on his fist. His appearance screamed not so much "freedom fighter" as "sadistic street thug". "Let's visit those British kutrē a nice sample of Indian hospitality!"
And he stormed towards the palatial fort where the Britons were imprisoned. With a cheer, the crowd started chasing after him.
On second thought, to hell with not knowing for sure if James is one of the prisoners in there. I'm going to get them out of there no matter what!
"Calm down, everyone!" the man who had announced the Britons' capture shouted over the din of the crowd, both hands raised. "We cannot waste time on stupid things like that. There might be more of those redcoats lurking around. Do you want to let them escape, so they can inform the EIC of what happened here and lead an army to the city?"
That made everyone quiet down pretty fast, even the bloodthirsty thug.
"You, you, and you." The man on the rooftop pointed at three people in succession. "Form teams and make sure all the city gates are guarded. The rest, help me search the streets. The imprisoned in the fort will still be there when we get back."
Will they? I wouldn't be so sure about that.
From the shadows of her alleyway, Adaira watched as the rebels dispersed, leaving only a single guard at the gate of the fort. It shouldn't be too difficult to sneak in there, right?
Half an hour later, she was cursing her earlier self for her naiveté. This place might not be a prison, but it certainly was secure enough for one. Walls over twenty-five yards high, hidden guards and regular patrols everywhere... With how well-ordered and disciplined all of this looked, one might think this city hadn't been conquered just a few hours ago.
Well, in a way it wasn't. After all, the city rebelled. There was no siege, no massive chaos, no invaders trying to get control of the city. All the people here had to do was to go back to their guard duty after chucking their former superiors into the dungeons.
Wait a moment...former superiors...
Adaira's eyes flicked to the men patrolling up on the wall of the Red Fort. The uniformed men.
She glanced down at herself. Her fake beard. Her fake tan. Her Indian clothes. Then she looked over at a nearby establishment, where several uniformed rebels were feasting and celebrating.
Well, well...seems like I have a plan.
Whistling innocently, Adaira made her way into the alley behind the establishment. She didn't have to wait long before one of the rebel soldiers emerged from the back door and approached a rather smelly corner of the alley. For a moment, he fiddled with his trousers, and with a relaxed sigh, he—
Wham!
The man froze. Then, slowly, he toppled over and smashed face-first into the ground. Something which, considering the smelly puddle right in front of his nose, he probably wouldn't appreciate when he woke up. Behind him, Adaira stepped out of the shadows, a broken table leg clutched tightly in her hand.
"Sorry. I might need your uniform, but that doesn't mean I intend to watch you take off your trousers.
The unconscious, slightly drooling man on the ground did not see fit to reply.
Thanks to her previous attempt at crossdressing, Adaira was already very experienced with the mysterious artefact known as "trousers". It didn't take long before a brave rebel soldier marched out of the alley. And if his uniform seemed a little bit too big for him, nobody noticed.
The valiant rebel made his way towards a nearby street stall, picked up some spicy dishes contributed by the patriotic vendor and strode towards the fort. As soon as he came within hearing range, he waved to the gate guard.
"Good day, my comrade in arms! I've been ordered to bring some meals to you and your fellow guards. Also some dry bread for the prisoners."
"You have?" The guard frowned. "Strange. The prisoner's meals were to be distributed in the evening."
"Really? Who's your commander?"
"The commander of the Red Fort, Lieutenant Gupta, naturally."
"There you go, then. I came with the rebels from outside the city. I guess our commanders are still figuring out who's in charge, eh?" The brave rebel lifted the lid from the platter he was carrying, and a deliciously tempting aroma rose into the air. "So, who do you think should be in charge?"
The guard's eyes zeroed in on the platter, and swallowed to keep his drool from escaping. "Your commander. Definitely."
"So glad you agree. Here you go." Handing the guard one of the many bowls on his platter, the valiant rebel smiled and nodded towards the fort's gate. "Would you mind? I don't exactly have any hands free."
"Hm...what? Oh, right, of course. Go ahead." Unlocking the gate, the guard pulled it open far enough to allow the other man to slip inside, then quickly re-focused on his meal. So quickly, in fact, that he failed to notice the flash of triumph in the eyes of the "man".
Soon, the brave rebel was making his way through the corridors of the Red Fort, greeted warmly wherever he went. People rarely object to receiving free food, after all, and this doubly applies to soldiers in the middle of a war. As for the prisoners? Who cares about them? The guards laughed when they saw the dry bits of bread meant for their captives, although some were kind enough to moisturise the dry food a little. However, taking into account that they did this with their spit, "kind" probably wasn't the right word.
Finally, the brave rebel, with only a little food left in his hands, arrived in front of the dungeons.
"Food for the prisoners," he grunted.
Wordlessly, the guard at the door to the dungeon moved aside. It might have had something to do with the fragrant, steaming bowl he had just been handed.
Advancing down into the dark, the helpful delivery man moved to the first cell door. Yet here it was that his behaviour began to differ from that of an upright revolutionary. Instead of delivering the dry bread to the various prisoners, for some reason, he stopped at every cell door, lifted the lamp he had brought and shone it into the cell.
"Go to hell, scum!"
Something smelly and indescribable flew through the bars of the door. Quickly, the rebel ducked out of the way.
"Shh! Be quiet!"
"You bloody traitor! Why would I—"
In answer, the "bloody traitor" pulled on the beard on his chin, and it came off.
"What the—?!" The jaw of the man in the cell dropped directly.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you! I'm not one of those rebels!"
"Are...are you here to rescue us?"
Well...if your surname is Carter.
That thought flashed through Adaira's mind for an instant as she stared down at the dirty, hoarse-voiced prisoner. Yet, for some reason, she didn't think saying it aloud would be appreciated.
Then again, she might have to ask for his name anyway. Through all the dirt and grime, she couldn't say with a hundred percent certainty whether or not this was Captain Carter or not.
Oh, heck! Just get it over with!
"Um...what's your name?"
"Stevenson! Jack Stevenson, Sir! Thank you so much for coming to help us, brave Sir. You are a valiant man. A true soldier!"
Damn! It's not him!
"Umm...thank you."
Although the recruitment office would probably disagree with you.
She cleared her throat. "Now, how many prisoners are there apart from you?"
"I...I think about a dozen or so? I'm not quite sure. Those blasted rebels knocked me over the head when they caught me, and after that, I was mostly unconscious until I woke up in this darn cell."
"I see. Then let me check up on the others first."
"Yes, yes, of course. We can't make a plan of escape for all of us without knowing how many of us there are. Smart."
"Ehem...right. That's exactly what I was thinking."
...not really. But this fellow didn't have to know that.
"All right." She gave the man a curt nod. "You wait here! I'll check on the others."
Adaira decided not to wait around for an answer this time. Before she could be pelted with more patriotic praise for her manliness, she fled down the corridor and headed towards the door of the next cell. And the next. And the next. Yet to no avail. Not a single cell contained what—or rather whom—she was hoping to find. Soon, there was only the last cell left.
Please let it be him! Please let it be him!
Taking a deep breath, Adaira stepped towards the lattice door. For a moment, she hesitated—then she lifted the lamp and gazed inside, hoping to see her Prince Charming.
"Oy!" The fat man with a beard bigger than Karim's lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the light. "Watch where you point that thing!"
So much for Prince Charming.
"Tell me," Adaira demanded, "does the name 'Carter' mean anything to you?"
"What? Are you daft? Why would I care about some bloke driving a cart while I'm stuck in this place?"
I'll take that as a "no", then.
So...what now? James clearly wasn't here. But Adaira wasn't heartless enough to let dozens of people die just because the one she wanted to save wasn't among them. Should she try and get them out of here?
"Just you wait till we get out of here, you bloody savage!" the fat man growled, reminding Adaira that perhaps she should have taken off her fake beard before talking to this manifestly English man. "You and the rest of the rebel riffraff will pay for everything you've done! I'll have you gutted and strung up from the highest tower of the city wall!"
On second thought, scratch getting them out of here. Maybe this was the best place for them—especially this one. Adaira was just about to open her mouth to shoot back a reply at the fat man, when—
"Where is he? Where the hell is that son of a dog that stole my clothes?!"
The roar shook the entire fort. Even down here deep underground, it was clearly audible. Gulping, Adaira looked towards the distant entrance of the dungeon. Somehow, she had a good idea who the "son of a dog that stole my clothes" was. The thundering footsteps that came down the dungeon stairs a moment later confirmed her suspicions.
"Oh crap. Um...sorry, everyone!" Adaira gave the prisoners in the cells an apologetic smile. "Your rescue might have to be postponed a little bit!"
Then she dashed off down the corridor, praying hard that there was another exit at the other end.
***
"Catch him!"
"Get the bastard!"
"Malā mājhī pāyaghōḷa parata dyā!"
As she raced through the darkness, Adaira idly wondered what the last one meant. She couldn't really be sure, but somehow she doubted it was a compliment. Speeding up, she careened around a corner—only to almost strangle herself to death as her beard caught on a nail sticking out of a wooden beam.
"Agh!"
Adaira only barely managed to stay on her feet. Tearing the beard off her face, she dashed off again just as a hand reached around the corner and grabbed the left-behind facial hair.
"I've got him, everyone! I've got hi—eh? What the hell?"
Careening around another corner, Adaira dashed into a shadowy corridor with more lattice doors on both sides. Far ahead, she could barely make out a faint light. Could it be that...?
Yes!
A staircase! There was a staircase ahead. One that led upstairs!
Re-doubling her efforts, Adaira raced towards the light that promised safety. Thank the Lord she wasn't wearing a skirt and petticoats right now! It was difficult enough to run this fast in trousers.
"A...fake beard?"
"A spy! He's a British spy!"
"Move faster, everybody! Catch him!"
Just then, Adaira reached the stairs. However, she couldn't really feel happy about it.
Bam!
Something whizzed past her head, and sparks flashed on the wall.
"Shoot him! Shoot the bastard!"
"Aim for the legs! We must torture him for information!"
I don't have any bloody information! That was what Adaira wanted to shout over her shoulder. However, that would have necessitated her stopping to catch her breath, which was probably a bad idea right now.
Bam! Bam!
A really bad idea.
Throwing herself to the side, Adaira only just managed to avoid a bullet to the head. With gritted teeth, she sped up once more, racing up the stairs three steps at a time, towards the light, towards freedom!
Hopefully.
Soon enough, the end of the staircase came into view. The bad news, though? It was blocked by a bloody door! The light she had seen before only fell in through a small, barred opening. Adaira didn't stop, however. She raced straight towards the door.
Please don't be locked! Please, please, please, don't be locked!
Adaira didn't slow down or look for a key. The footsteps behind her were already far too close. If she slowed down now, her pursuers would be upon her. So she simply sent a last prayer towards heaven and threw herself against the door.
Wham!
The door slammed open, and straight into the back of the unfortunate guard on the other side.
"Gaaaah!"
Adaira didn't stop to listen to the cry of the hapless soldier who had been hurled face-first over the parapet. Instead, she blinked in the sudden light and tried to reorient herself. Bright images flashed by. A tall wall she was standing on. A staircase. And...there! A way out!
Without hesitation, she raced down the stairs and towards a small gate in the outer wall of the fort. Throwing it open, she raced straight into a street full of people. People who were all looking at her oddly.
"Oh crap."
Reaching up, Adaira touched her chin, which was distinctly devoid of any beard. Her chin, which had not received the same fake tan as the rest of her face, shone brightly in the sun.
"Um..." Adaira gave the crowd her most charming smile. "Would it help if I said I was a tourist?"
She ducked just in time to avoid the half-rotten onion aiming for her head.
"Spy! A British spy!"
"Catch him!"
"Grab him!"
Swiftly, Adaira decided that continuing to be a tourist would be detrimental to her health. Glancing around, she spotted a street with a smaller murderous mob than anywhere else and dashed towards it, pushing people out of the way left and right.
"Excuse me, excuse me, out of the way!"
"Agh!"
"Ow!"
"Catch that bastard!"
Adaira ran as fast as her legs would carry her—but the shouts of the crowd behind her did not subside. Quite the opposite, in fact. Risking one glance over her shoulder was almost enough to make Adaira stumble and fall. What the...?! It looked like she had half the bloody city of Delhi chasing after her!
What did I do to deserve this?!
"Catch the redcoat!"
Ah, yes. I was born British. How abominable.
And that wasn't all. As the curses and shouts behind her continued, Adaira discovered that her crimes also included stealing other people's countries, despoiling innocent virgins, fornicating with dogs and various other horrible misdeeds that deserved swift and sudden death.
I had no idea I was so impressive. Though, right now, I wish I wasn't.
"Crap, crap, crap! Why the hell—huff, huff—didn't I listen to Lilly and stay at home?"
Ah, right, because I was in love. And still am. Stupid me.
"This isn't going to end with a—huff, huff—happily ever—huff, huff—after, is it?"
It was becoming harder and harder for Adaira to keep up her pace. Her legs felt like lead, and sweat was pouring down her back. One quick glance over her shoulder told her that the crowd didn't seem to have the same problem. New pursuers had joined in and were quickly catching up.
Adaira stumbled, and was only barely able to stay on her feet. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to continue onward, while she felt the oxygen burning in her lungs and light spots started flashing in her field of vision. Careening around a corner, she nearly slipped and slammed to the ground. Once again, she forced herself forward by sheer willpower.
No! I won't give up! I won't give up! I'll find James and I—
That was when a hand grabbed hold of her shoulder from behind and pulled hard.
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My dear Readers,
Just to make it clear, any characters portrayed as somewhat negative on the Indian side are not supposed to suggest in any way that the Indians were excessively brutal as a whole. It is just that during rebellions, social order breaks down, and criminal elements that exist in any society will join up to use the excuse of fighting for freedom to do whatever they want. This, as far as I can tell, is true of most rebellions in history. The same, however, often also applies to the counterattack and repression of the rebellion.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
"Malā mājhī pāyaghōḷa parata dyā!" - This is indeed a very bad insult. It is Marathi for "Give me back my trousers!"