Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) (40 page)

Out of the corner of his eye, Bookbinder saw Woon swallow and guessed the Naga Raja’s tone rankled her as much as him.

Easy. This isn’t a democracy.

“Please inform his Royal Majesty that we are very grateful for his hospitality and assistance. We are very comfortable in our quarters and have been well fed. Thank him for his generosity. This can only help improve relations between the United States, the Republic of India, and his Majesty’s great Raajya. I will ensure that my government knows of the king’s kindness when I finally establish contact with them.”

Hazarika translated, Ajathashatru’s heads nodding in time with the words. “His Majesty’s
amatyan
informs him that you lost
sipahis
on the journey here. His Majesty notes it is your custom to mourn even your lowest and so he has assigned one hundred mourners on their behalf. They are even now interceding with Chitragupta to ensure your men are well treated by Yamaraj in the next life.”

Bookbinder swallowed, glad that Sharp and Archer weren’t here for this. “Thank His Royal Majesty for me. It is a great honor.”

“His Royal Majesty’s
amatyan
informs him that you have a special and rare magic. He says that you can steal the magic of others and make it fast into nonliving things. His Majesty asks if this is true?”

Bookbinder paused, his stomach doing somersaults.
You
have nothing to bargain with here. You are completely at their
mercy. Here, at last, is something they want from you.
Better to keep his cards close to the vest for now until he was sure they were going to help him.

He took a deep breath before answering. “Inform His Majesty that it is true, but it doesn’t work all the time. I was lucky on the road here. Much of the time, I cannot make it work. I think my magic is . . . broken somehow.”

Dhatri looked over his shoulder, frowning at Bookbinder, his expression saying,
You never told us this . . .
He whispered rapidly to Hazarika, who nodded, looking over at Bookbinder.

Woon was stone-faced.

Bookbinder thanked her inwardly yet again.

There was a short burst of conversation between Vasuki-Kai, Ajathashatru, Hazarika, and Dhatri, interspersed hissing and Hindi. After a moment, Hazarika translated again. “His Royal Majesty is quite curious to see you demonstrate this ability. Two of his sorcerers attend him here. He commands you to steal their magic and bind it to this brazier.”

As he spoke, two lesser naga approached the dais, carrying another one of large iron braziers, this one unlit. They set it down with a thud and stepped back as the naga to Ajathashatru’s side slithered forward. It reached forward with four of its arms and Bookbinder felt its flow intensify, Binding to the air molecules between its outstretched hands. Wind picked up throughout the promenade, making the flames in the braziers flicker and sending the crystalline insects scattering. After a moment, a crackling ball of lightning, several feet across, blazed before the naga’s chest. All eyes looked expectantly at Bookbinder.

He bowed and stepped forward, shunting back his magical flow as it surged instinctively toward the naga Aeromancer’s spell casting. He stretched his hands forth and gently let his current intersect with the naga’s. The creature’s eyes widened as the ball of lightning before it began to shrink. Bookbinder extended a hand and pointed to the brazier, grunting and straining as dramatically as he could, willing himself to sweat. He dragged on the naga’s current, but only slightly, not fully allowing himself to capture the flow before he halfheartedly slapped a tiny portion of it at the brazier. The black iron surface began to sizzle slightly, tiny tendrils of electricity playing across its surface.

Ajathashatru hissed in excitement, and all in the chamber pressed forward to look. Bookbinder grunted more, reaching hard for the brazier. Internally, he began to roll the magic back, shunting the tide away.

After a moment, he let out a soft cry and dropped his arms.

The brazier ceased to sizzle. The naga’s lightning ball returned to full size. Bookbinder shook his head and put on an expression of disgust. “I beg His Royal Majesty’s forgiveness. It isn’t working right now.”

Hazarika translated, and Ajathashatru hissed back urgently.

“His Royal Majesty commands you to make it work.”

Bookbinder prostrated himself. “Please beg His Majesty’s mercy and forgiveness. It works sometimes. Sometimes it does not. Perhaps it is the presence of his might that has frightened my powers away.”

Vasuki-Kai hissed a long conversation with Ajathashatru, gesturing frequently to Bookbinder. Hazarika joined the conversation, and they talked for a long time before pausing. At last, Hazarika said, “His Royal Majesty speculates that perhaps this is like the fear-sickness that sometimes plagues his lesser children”—Ajathashatru gestured with his heads toward the snakes all around them—“ when they will not eat or pass their waste. Or maybe this is like the fear-sickness in humans, when they cannot mate with their women.”

Bookbinder caught Woon smirking out of the corner of his eye and felt himself flush. He stood. “I’m sure His Majesty is right.”

“His Majesty says you must rest and become comfortable in your surroundings. He asks if you have enough heat? Are you fed well? Are you wanting to mate with a woman?”

Bookbinder shook his head. “Thank His Majesty for his generosity. I am perhaps concerned only for the safety of my people. If His Majesty would help us to assist them, then I could perhaps defeat this fear-sickness and demonstrate my power to his satisfaction.”

Hazarika stared at him, horrified. He did not translate.

Instead, he said, “Colonel, you do not bargain with the Great King.”

Ajathashatru hissed angrily and Hazarika turned and spoke quickly in Hindi, bowing deeply.

The Naga Raja straightened at the brigadier’s words. Everyone in the room stiffened. There was a long pause before Ajathashatru spoke again. “His Royal Majesty understands that you are only learning to be civilized. Therefore, he will forgive your rudeness. He says this is not a boon-begging audience, but an introduction. His Royal Majesty does not hear entreaties for another two days. He will consider your request on the proper day.”

Bookbinder bit down hard. Two days! They’d already wasted two damned days.
Relax. Remember what Sharp said. If you
want help, you’ve got to dance to their tune. Two more days or
never.

Bookbinder only bowed, not trusting himself to speak.

“His Royal Majesty commands you to return to your quarters and await his next summons. He commands you to shed your fear-sickness and be prepared to demonstrate your abilities when next you are called before him.”

Again, Bookbinder bowed and managed to respond without anger in his voice. “Thank His Royal Majesty for speaking with me.”

Hazarika nodded, and said. “Now you will back out of the audience. At no time are you to turn your back on the Great King.”

All prostrated once again to a slight nod from Ajathashatru’s many heads.

Bookbinder and Woon followed the rest of procession, backing away, eyes cast down, until the giant monster that held them captive was out of sight.

Sharp and Archer took the news with mere nods. Stanley shook his head impatiently but said nothing. Bookbinder sighed as they settled in for the night, ready to get some rest before another two days of long waiting.

Woon caught up to him when he was washing at the fountain.

“That was all bullshit about your magic, wasn’t it, sir?”

Bookbinder shrugged. “So what if it was?”

“If you’ve got a plan, I’d like to know what it is.”

Bookbinder shook his head. “No plan, really. It’s just the one thing we have that they want. Figured it would be smarter to hang on to it for a while.”

“What do you plan to do with it?” Woon asked. “Brigadier Hazarika was pretty clear that you can’t negotiate with this . . . guy . . . thing. Whatever.”

Bookbinder smiled. “I’m still working on that part. I’m running mostly on instinct, Major. This is all new to me, in case you haven’t noticed. I don’t exactly have my Ph. D in negotiating with giant snakes.”

She snorted. “We have that in common, sir.”

The sun was scarcely up the next morning before Captain Ghaisas arrived with two Naga guards and a trooper of his own.

He was empty-handed, which surprised Bookbinder because humans only ever approached them here to bring food.

Ghaisas saluted. “Good morning, sir.”

Bookbinder returned the salute. “Good morning, Captain. Nice to see you.”

“It is nice to see you. I am thinking you are very unhappy sitting here with nothing to do. I am inviting you to play games with my men. His Majesty has given permission for the playing.”

Bookbinder stood, working kinks out of his shoulders from sleeping on the hard stone floor. He felt a snake drop from his knee, where it had been curled up to sleep. He had become so used to them now that he barely noticed. He looked over at the rest of his team, most already awake, stiff and annoyed from enforced idleness and sleeping on stone. He turned back to the captain. “That would be delightful.”

Ghaisas chatted amiably as they headed over to the Indian encampment. “We are a combined force here, sir. All of our best come. We have Assam, Madras, Gurkhas. I am from Fourth Rajputs. Subedar Major Dhatri is Sikh Regiment.”

They passed through the curtain wall out to the tent city that comprised the human presence. The smells of cooking and sounds of conversation were rain in Bookbinder’s desert after being cooped up in that pavilion for so long. “This is it?” He gestured to the camp around him. “Are there more of you here?”

Ghaisas shook his head. “His Royal Majesty only permits a small number of peoples to be living here. Most of them are officers inside the palace.”

“You like it?” Bookbinder asked, unsure of what else to say.

Ghaisas grinned until his moustache tickled his cheeks. “It is the biggest honor to be coming here, sir. We are living with our gods.”

They passed beyond the line of tents to a broad field covered in semifrozen grass that was miraculously free of snakes. A cricket pitch had been laid out, complete with wickets. Bats, balls, helmets, and pads lay haphazardly along the side. A group of young Indian soldiers mulled around the stumps at one end.

They looked up, smiling, as the Americans approached.

One of the troopers handed Ghaisas a basket of flat bread, which he passed to Bookbinder. “Only a little eating. You are running a lot today! Has anyone played the game cricket before?”

Bookbinder shook his head and noted that the Americans around him were following suit. “I did once,” Stanley said. “On a liaison tour with the Brits. But that was ages ago. It’s a little like baseball . . . and a little like golf.”

Ghaisas nodded. “You are right. We are dividing you up on two teams, and you will learn fast. This is an easy game to play.”

Sharp and Archer shook their heads. “We’d like to sit this out, sir, if it’s okay with you. We’re happy just to be out of that gazebo.”

“It’s not okay with me, Sergeant. You’ll play and you’ll do your best and we’re all going to have a good time and get along with our friends here, okay?”

“Okay.” Sharp shrugged, as unflappable as ever.

“No using magic,” Bookbinder joked to Ghaisas as they headed over to the knot of Indian soldiers to make their introductions.

Ghaisas smiled back. “No worrying about that. Humans are not allowed to be bringing magic to this place. His Majesty makes special permission for you and Major Woon. It is a great honor.”

Cricket was precisely as Stanley had described it, a lively game that felt part baseball, part soccer, and part golf. Near as Bookbinder could tell, it consisted of whacking a ball with a short flat bat and then running back and forth between a couple of sticks while the pitcher tried to get him declared “dismissed” through a variety of confusing ways, most consisting of knocking down the sticks they were running between. It was tough to follow, but the Indians seemed to be playing honestly, and the mere act of being around people and stretching their legs to run in the bright sunshine was an absolute blessing. Bookbinder found himself smiling and wasn’t surprised to see Sharp, Archer, and even Stanley doing the same despite their original refusal to play.

The Indians were affable and playful, poking fun at one another when a swing at the ball was missed, or the sticks accidentally knocked over during a run. There was Nishok, a Nepali lad from the Gurkhas who was missing three of his teeth. It didn’t stop him from grinning incessantly. He was the fastest runner Bookbinder could remember seeing and in the habit of disputing referee calls with Ghaisas, who served as the game’s umpire, shouting “Howzat!” at the top of his lungs every time he felt a player should be declared out. There was Jivan, a
Naik
cavalryman from the Kashmir Rifles, who could throw the ball with such accuracy that he often hit the sticks before a batter could finish the run, keeping him from scoring even once.

Dhatri turned out to be the best bowler, what Bookbinder thought of as a pitcher, in the entire camp.

They ran and sweated and laughed, and Bookbinder felt better than he had in a long time despite the maddening wait for the Great King’s pleasure. He looked up about halfway through the game to see many naga clustering the parapets of the ring wall, watching them play. Much of the Indian encampment seemed to have turned out as well, standing alongside the oval pitch, shouting encouragement in broken English as the Americans fumbled their way through the bats and runs. Sharp and Archer, gifted natural athletes, took to it quickly, and what Stanley, Bookbinder, and Woon lacked in athleticism, they made up for in the charity of the opposing team, who worked hard to let the Americans off easy when they were up at bat.

After a couple of hours, they broke for a snack, sitting around the stumps and making halting conversation in their limited common language. Bookbinder was trying to comprehend some joke Nishok had told in his broken English when he heard a throaty rumble of vehicles. A small row of trucks had gathered on the opposite side of the pitch in a clearing just beyond the camp. Indian soldiers massed around it, waiting for something.