Dishonored (3 page)

The captain nodded. He jarred his mount forward, regardless of the young horse boy under foot, and adjusted himself in the
saddle. The massive dark stallion was jittery, it wanted to be off, and the small boy cowered against the stable wall as the
horse shifted fretfully about.

“Right! We’ll head up to the Lohagarh Fort and then out across the open plain toward Meerut. We can stop in a couple of hours
for a break on the Sariska Pass, find one of the caves for shade.”

“Fine.” Captain Boyd dug his heels in and the horse moved off. He glanced over his shoulder at the colonel, slowing to let
him take the lead, and minutes later they had left the camp boundaries and were heading out into open countryside.

However, at the same time that they set out, eighty miles to the north, the Meerut that Colonel Mills and Captain Boyd rode
toward lay in chaos and devastation. Nanda’s rumors had become reality: the native troops had mutinied.

Dense smoke from burning buildings rose up into the dark sky above the town, obscuring the very last of the moon, and as the
new day broke, the terrible remains of frenzied and savage attacks on the Europeans could be seen as only dark, gruesome shapes
in the faint dawn light. They had slaughtered everything in their path and while the command dithered, shocked and confused,
the bloodthirsty band of rebel seepoys had ridden on over the Abu Nullah bridge and out on to the Delhi road. They were headed
south, to march on Delhi and to murder the Europeans, screaming with violent anger and hatred.

“Whoa! Steady, boy! Whoa!” Colonel Mills pulled hard on the reins and dug his thighs tight against his mount’s flank, gripping
to keep his balance. “Whoa!” He kept his seat, but only just, somehow managing to calm the horse. He was an expert equestrian
but he struggled for several minutes to bring the animal back under his control. “Christ! Boyd!” He glanced back over his
shoulder at the captain as the horse steadied. “Boyd? You all right?”

His companion’s horse had also reared up in panic at the sudden terrifying screams that came out of nowhere, but Captain Boyd,
less experienced, had taken a fall and lay on the hard, dry ground, moaning in agony. His mount had bolted and, as Colonel
Mills dismounted, hurrying his own horse over to Boyd, the same blood-curdling yells sounded again.

“Good God! What the hell…!” Colonel Mills bent down, glancing behind him as he did so. He could see a cloud of dust on
the horizon and he knew they didn’t have much time. “Boyd? Boyd, can you move? We have to get out of sight, can you get up?”

Boyd managed a nod.

“Here man, take my arm.” The Colonel slipped his arm behind the captain and wrenched him to his feet. He groaned, his legs
buckling, but the colonel held him up. Still clenching the reins, he dragged Captain Boyd over to the cover of some rocks
where he slumped down, the rock supporting him, his face white with pain. “It’s my shoulder,” he moaned, “I think I’ve broken
my shoulder.”

“All right. Just stay there, man.” Colonel Mills secured the reins of his mount and then ran out on to the track to collect
up Boyd’s cap. He swept his foot over their tracks and darted back to the cover of the rock. Standing close to his horse,
he held her nose and waited. For the first time in his life he felt frightened. Not for himself and Boyd, he didn’t give a
damn about his own life, but Nanda’s words came back to him and an image of the angry young man at the party swam before his
eyes. It was for Alicia he was afraid. It was for Alicia that his heart pounded in his chest as the thunder of galloping hooves
neared and hysterical Indian voices were carried screaming on the wind.

It was over in seconds.

The rabble of men, whose uniforms, torn and bloodstained, told him everything, had passed out of sight, a stray bullet clipping
the edge of the rock where Boyd crouched and the colonel’s mount screeching in fear for a few terrifying moments. They had
galloped by and the captain and Colonel Mills remained undiscovered.

“What in God’s name…?”

“Meerut!” Colonel Mills answered, standing and wiping the sweat out of his eyes. “They’ve come from Meerut.” Without wasting
another moment, he led his horse out on to the track and stared into the distance. “I’ve got to get up there,” he said, “find
out what’s happened!” He put his foot in the stirrup, ready to mount, then glanced back at Boyd. “Will you be all right?”

Captain Boyd nodded.

“I’ll send someone back for you as soon as I reach there.” They were about ten miles south of Meerut. He mounted and pulled
the reins in.

“D’you think they’ll come back?”

“No, I don’t think they will.” In truth he had no idea what they would do. In his experience the Indian was wholly unpredictable,
save for one thing: vengeance. And the thought of that chilled him to the core.

“Ayah!” Alicia Mills sat forward and put her breakfast tray down on the bed beside her. “Ayah! Where are you?” She called
out again to her servant, this time more impatiently for fear of having to get up herself. “Ayah! Where are you?” Her voice
rose. “Please come here!” she shouted. “The baby is crying!”

Moments later, she sighed, exasperated, and swung her legs over the side of the bed, reluctant to get up. Just then the ayah
came running into the room.

“Where have you been?” Alicia demanded. “Did you not hear the baby crying?”

“No, Memsahib!” The ayah’s voice trembled as she spoke. “I have been outside!” A small sob suddenly escaped her and she rushed
to the crib. Alicia jumped off the bed and ran across to her. She gripped the ayah’s arm. “What is it? What’s happened?” For
some reason she felt an instant panic. Things had been so odd that morning, no servants, a deathly quiet in the house. She
shook the ayah who had bent to pick up the baby. “What? What is it? Tell me!”

The ayah yanked her arm free and cradled the infant to her breast, trying to soothe him. She wiped her cheeks on the skin
of her wrist, unable to stop her frightened crying. “We must go, Memsahib,” she stammered. “Please, we must go now, please
to hurry…!” She was shaking and her anxiety made the baby scream even louder. Alicia grabbed the ayah’s shoulders, fear
making her long fingers dig painfully into the flesh. “What has happened?” she cried. “Tell me…?”

“Mrs. Mills! Mrs. Mills!” They were interrupted by an urgent banging on the door. “Mrs. Mills! Are you in there? It’s Major
Reece!”

“Yes…! Oh my God!” Alicia ran to the door, flinging it open. “What is it?” The panic was making her dizzy, she could
hardly breathe. “What’s happened?” She looked frantically past the major into the sitting-room of the house. “Bearer!” she
shouted. “Bearer? Where are…?”

“The bearer has gone, m’am!” Major Reece cut her short. “So have most of the servants. There’s trouble here…” He was
armed with his sword and a pistol. “We have to leave now!”

Alicia glanced back at the ayah. She tried to take some deep breaths, to calm herself down.

“Can you dress quickly? We don’t have much time…” In the distance they heard a scream, a wild, animal sound, and Alicia
began to shake. “Yes, yes I can… Oh God…” She ran back into the room and began to pull open the drawers in her chest,
grabbing at her clothes, throwing them into a heap on the floor. She couldn’t think, she was too frightened. Suddenly the
sound of the rabble hit them; a terrifying murderous yell and the ayah let out a sob. It brought Alicia to her senses.

Opening the tiny drawer, she grabbed the baby’s layette, flinging the tiny garments at the ayah. She ripped the silk shawl
from around her shoulders and ran forward, throwing it across the baby to hide it. “Go,” she cried urgently, “take the baby
and hide under the verandah… right down into the corner where the wine is kept!” She pushed the ayah toward the back
door of her bedroom. “Go on! Go…!” Alicia had started to cry as the ayah clung weeping to her hand. She wrenched it free,
not able to look at the baby. “Go, I tell you!” she shouted. “Go on…! Go!… Go now!” She turned away as Major Reece
ran into the room. “Mrs. Mills! Hurry! Please hurry!” He was white and sweating, his pistol in one hand. “There’s no time!
Please, come with me!” Alicia wiped her face on the sleeve of her silk night-dress, unable to stop her crying now and barefoot,
she ran after the major out on to the verandah.

“Oh my God…! No…!” She looked desperately about her at the sight of the camp on fire, thick black smoke rising up
into the clear blue sky, the heat everywhere.

“Here…! Mrs. Mills? Here…!” The major had secured a ladder against the wall. “We have to get up on to the roof… we…” He looked behind him as the first of the rabble came into view, soaked in blood and screaming, the steel of
his blade flashing menacingly as it caught the light. He raised his arm, aimed his pistol and fired. The man went down.

“Come on!” he yelled at Alicia, who stood almost paralyzed with fear. “For God’s sake…! Come on!” He would not go up
the ladder without her. “Come on…!” But it was already too late. As she stumbled toward the ladder, her legs gave way
and she lost control of her bladder. Helpless, she sank to her knees weeping as a group of seepoys galloped into the grounds
of the bungalow, slashing violently at the two officers holding the entrance and mutilating their bodies in a matter of seconds.

Major Reece never managed his second shot.

Much, much later, when the bloody chaos the mutineers had wrought was discovered, there was very little recognizable left
of either him or Alicia Mills.

I
T WAS DARK BY THE TIME
C
OLONEL
M
ILLS SET OUT AGAIN FOR
Moraphur. He had ten men and three officers of the Sixth Dragoon Guards with him; that was all the command at Meerut could
spare. They rode long and hard, the colonel sick to the pit of his stomach at the sight of the devastation he had witnessed
in Meerut, terrified for the peril of his own camp. He had been shocked and ashamed at the disorganized and futile response
of the senior officers at Meerut. It seemed the command, despite the repeated warnings, were totally unprepared for what had
just happened; they had no idea what to do.

As each mile passed on the road to Moraphur, the colonel felt the raging ache of despair as images of the carnage flashed
in and out of his mind. The hot, dusty landscape bore witness to the chaos, littered every now and then with the charred remains
of a burnt-out carriage or the carcass of a slaughtered donkey, already foul-smelling and fly-infested in the stifling heat.

Finally they reached Moraphur. Passing through a silent, closed town, as the boundary of the camp neared, the party slowed
to a walk and continued on in grim, shocked silence. Moraphur had not escaped.

The colonel dismounted; several of the men did the same. He gripped the reins of his horse and swallowed down the bile that
rose in his throat. As he bent to pick up a small bloodstained lady’s slipper, he saw the foot, severed at the ankle, was
still in it. Behind him the wretched noise of one of the soldiers vomiting echoed in the silence and he closed his eyes.

“Dear God,” he murmured. “Oh dear God…” Walking on, he kept his eyes ahead and passed the carnage all around him in a
daze. He followed the main road of the camp up to the grounds of his own bungalow and for a moment his body froze. The bungalow
stood, almost untouched it appeared. He dropped the reins of the horse and ran ahead. “Bearer!” he shouted. “Alicia! Alicia!”
But as he ran, he caught his foot on something and stumbled, nearly losing his balance. He glanced down at the ground, back
at his path and it was then that he saw it. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands. He made no sound. He
recognized Alicia’s hand; it still wore the ring he had given her for her birthday.

Sometime later, although Colonel Mills was never exactly sure when, as the ghastly task of collecting together what was left
of the butchered bodies and digging graves for them was under way, a massive earth tremor ripped through the ground and the
whole sky was momentarily lit up, a vivid white, then orange light. The magazine, an immense store of ammunition in Delhi,
had been blown up by the British forces to stop it falling into enemy hands and the effect of that explosion was felt for
miles around.

The small rabble of servants that had remained in camp ran screaming from what they were doing and cowered together, wailing
and praying. Several of the soldiers dropped their tools; one lost his balance and stumbled.

“What the damned hell was that?” Colonel Mills was perspiring heavily; large dark stains of sweat ran into the patches of
black blood on his uniform. “Get up, man!” he shouted at a dhobiwallah, swinging his leg out and kicking him hard in the back.
“Get up, I said!”

“It came from the direction of Delhi!” one of the young officers called out. His uniform was also drenched in blood. He wiped
his arm across his brow as he looked up and left a trail of dirt, sweat and blood on his skin. The colonel couldn’t bear to
look at it; he turned away. “God only knows what’s happening there,” the young officer went on, “it could be any…” Suddenly
his voice trailed away as he looked past the colonel’s shoulder. He saw a figure, a woman with a European shawl over her head.
“What the devil…!” Dropping his spade, he broke into a run.

Colonel Mills swung around. “My God! Alicia!” He recognized the silk and his whole body froze in shocked disbelief for a moment.
Then he was running down after the young man, sprinting across the patch of open ground and onto the road toward his bungalow.

The ayah had crawled out from under the eaves of the bungalow, terrified by the earth’s gross shudder, and she stumbled forward
into the last of the daylight, momentarily blinded after her hours of darkness. She still wore the memsahib’s shawl over her
head and she clutched the baby to her breast, desperately trying to shush him quiet, his pathetic wails smothered by her grip.
She made only a small anguished sound, a stifled sob, but her eyes were wild with panic, darting frantically over the ground
as she moved out of the cover of the house; searching for any terror.