The Exotic Enchanter (8 page)

"Then keep your red rag quiet," grumbled the thief beside him.

"Why should I be the only one?" Shea shot back.

Charya laughed. "Why indeed! All the Watch together would not dare accost us within the city—and outside of it, even less! Still, though, my lads are anxious to wet their whistles, so let us be off to the flash ken, where the morts are waiting. Come, join us!"

He turned away, beckoning, and what could Shea do but follow?

Chalmers paced beside him, muttering, "What manner of foreign language was
that
?"

"Thieves' jargon," Shea explained.

"And where did
you
learn it?"

"I've been doing some volunteer counseling," Shea explained, "unpaid—down at the county jail."

"Surely those terms were not American!"

"No, one of the thieves was English," Shea explained. "Besides, some of the language came over with the colonists and hasn't changed since. For example, if a pickpocket says a man carries his wallet on his left prat, that means his left hip pocket."

"Hence the term 'pratfall,' " Chalmers said thoughtfully. "Yes, I see."

Someone jostled Shea from the other side. Turning to protest, he found himself staring at an overly flattened nose with a horizontal groove across the tip. He shifted his focus up to the glaring eyes of the incognito rajah. "Do not whisper a word of our earlier meeting," he hissed, "or I shall see you scragged indeed."

Shea swallowed heavily, imagining the feel of a hempen noose tightening around his neck. "Don't worry, Your Ma . . ." In the nick of time, he remembered that he wasn't supposed to know Randhir's real identity. ". . . your magic secret is safe with us. After all, if you wanted to drop us, all you'd have to do is tell them about our meeting yourself."

"You know I cannot do that without compromising myself!"

"Yes," Shea said, "exactly." He stared into the rajah's eyes until comprehension registered, and the royal lips parted in a grin. "Ah, a point well taken! We have both used the same ruse to keep our heads on our necks, have we not? Nonetheless, be sure you say nothing of me, or I shall bring down their wrath upon you!"

"It's a deal," Shea promised. "You don't betray us, and we won't betray you."

"Well enough." The rajah nodded, satisfied. "See that you keep to it." He drifted away from them.

"What was
that
all about?" Chalmers asked.

"Just a little mutual-silence pact," Shea told him. "Details later."

Chalmers took the hint, remembering the number of ears available to hear them, and changed the subject. He pointed to a large rodent that scuttled out of sight into a hole in the ground as they approached. "Reassuring sight, somehow."

Shea took his point—it was nice, sometimes, to remember who the real rats were—but Charya saw too, and exclaimed with satisfaction, "Ah! You recognize the rat-hole as a good omen! You must indeed be thieves!" He clapped Shea on the back, sending him staggering, and strode along, singing a merry tune.

As they went, Shea sneaked the occasional glance at the incognito rajah. The man was constantly glancing about him with an intentness that puzzled Shea. Was he memorizing faces for prosecution? Since that included Shea's and Chalmers' faces, the thought gave Shea a cold chill. He tried to ignore the rajah, and hoped he would return the courtesy.

The moon was setting, and Chalmers was beginning to stumble with fatigue, when Charya finally raised a hand to halt his gang. Shea stopped thankfully, leaning against Chalmers, who leaned against him—it had been a long day, starting in 10th Century Russia and finishing past midnight in India. No wonder he was tired, Shea reflected—that was a heck of a long hike. He looked up at the cliff that towered above them, then down at the rain forest at its foot, and shuddered. What else was he going to have to go through before he could rest?

High grass, for one thing; it was up to his knees in this meadow, and they had to hike across to reach the trees on the far side, which was apparently what the robber captain was planning on doing. Through the high grass they went, and Shea was just glad it wasn't late enough for the dew to have fallen—the grass seemed to drag at him badly enough as it was. He was really tired!

Chaiya put two fingers in his mouth, for all the world like an American schoolboy, and blew a whistle that Shea could have sworn must have blasted the feathers off every sleeping bird in the forest—but the only one that answered was an owl, who was very unlikely to have been sleeping. Chaiya shrieked back at it; Shea and Chalmers both jumped, but a voice near them murmured, "Be not afrighted; he imitates the jackal's cry—and very well, too."

Shea looked up, startled, and saw that Rajah Randhir had come up just behind them. He wasn't looking at them, though, but at Chaiya, and very keenly, too.

Half a dozen silhouettes rose from the long grass about them.

Shea couldn't help a start of apprehension, and for a minute, he thought he was seeing ghosts—anything could happen in a magical universe, after all—but he recovered from his surprise, and realized they were just men, though big ones, and armed to the teeth—literally; one of them was biting his spare knife, his hands being full with sword and shield. But he took the knife out without letting go of the shield—nice trick, that—and demanded, "What do we offer when Kali demands tribute?"

"A melon," Charya replied.

Chalmers stared, but behind them, Rajah Randhir hissed, "Ah! The password!"

It must have been, for the guard challenged again, "Then where is your melon?"

Charya tapped the side of his head.

The guard bowed. "Proceed, my captain." He stepped back, and the guards sank down into the grass again as smoothly as though they were sinking into the earth itself.

"They are cautious indeed," Randhir breathed.

"Yes, if they're going to check the password even with the captain himself," Shea agreed.

"They aren't really Thuggee, are they?" Chalmers asked nervously.

"Worshippers of Kali, who offer her human lives?" Randhir shook his head ever so slightly. "I think not. They are thieves, and though they may murder, it is only to gain the gold in their victims' purses. No, they worship Kartikeya."

Shea hoped he was right.

"You know a surprising amount, for foreigners," Randhir said, eyeing Chalmers narrowly—but the psychologist was saved from a reply because, just then, they passed in among the trees, and Randhir had to turn to chop secretly into the bark of a tree as they passed. The action triggered realization in Shea—the rajah was blazing his path! His constant scrutiny of his surroundings wasn't shiftiness or fear—he was memorizing landmarks! He was planning to escape, then come back with an army!

They walked for another ten minutes; then the trail opened out into a large clearing, but the light of the moon was blocked by a huge sheet of rock that reared up at the far side of the glade like a butte in the deserter like a painter's canvas, because the bottom ten feet or so were decorated with vermillion handprints. Shea wondered what they signified, but the psychologist in him decided he didn't want to know.

Chaiya walked up to it and bowed low, then knelt and pulled up a tuft of grass. He beckoned, saying, "Come, new boy! Aid me here!"

Shea started to step forward, but Rajah Randhir brushed past him and stooped to help the robber captain. They heaved, and Shea saw they were both holding on to an iron ring.

"Replace your divots," Chalmers muttered.

As they heaved, a trapdoor opened in the ground. A shaft of light poured out, and a hubbub of voices drowned the night noises. Some of the voices were shouting, some singing loudly and off-key, and beneath them, Shea definitely heard the clink of glasses. Some of the voices, he was quite sure, were female.

"This is the ken," Charya said. He turned, stepping down into the hole, and commanded, "Follow me!"

Shea's hair stood on end, but the rajah very calmly stepped down into the hole as Charya sank from sight, and the robber behind Shea growled, "Hurry up! I thirst!"

"If they're eager for it," Chalmers murmured, "it can't be all that dangerous."

Shea nodded reluctantly and stepped forward. As he came to the hole, he saw a ladder stretching downward. It was made of bamboo and looked entirely too flimsy to hold him, but both the captain and Randhir looked to be heavier than he was, so he swallowed heavily, braced a hand against the trapdoor, and stepped down onto the ladder. It held—it didn't even sway—and he descended a rung at a time, Chalmers following him.

He stepped off and turned around to find himself in a large cave with troughs of water against the walls and suits of silk and fine cotton hanging on racks. Charya began to wash away his night makeup, and Shea's hair tried to stand up as he realized part of what was flowing off the man's hands was dried blood. Randhir started washing, too, then stood back and watched philosophically as the robbers filed down off the ladder and went to wash off the dirt and brick-dust of the night's work—and the dried blood. That done, they took off their turbans, and Shea found out why the fabric rose so high—it was concealing a heap of hair. The men started to comb out their long, disheveled, dusty locks, then to rearrange them and wind clean, colorful turbans around it. Recoiffured, they turned to anointing their clean skins with perfumed oil.

"Come, strangers! Refresh yourselves!" one man cried.

"A chance to acquire local dress, Harold," Chalmers muttered, and Shea called, "Why, yes, thanks! Don't mind if I do!"

As he washed, Shea kept an eye on the men around him. Some had long, slender daggers hung to lanyards lashed around their waists, some had little bags slung under their left arms, and some, oddly, wore kerchiefs around their necks.

As they finished dressing, the gang members leaped through a curtained archway with whoops of delight. Charya took his time, though, robing himself in splendid brocade over silken trousers, and Shea wasn't about to go through the curtains ahead of him. Nether was Chalmers, of course, and it didn't surprise Shea to see that Randhir waited upon the robber-captain's pleasure, too. He began to suspect that Charya was dawdling, and sure enough, most of the gang had gone before he led the way through.

They came out into a huge cavern, lighted by torches fixed to the stone walls—and if they gave off light, they gave off smoke as well, but that didn't matter much, because the floor was crowded with men sitting cross-legged with water pipes before them and bumpers of something alcoholic by their sides. Carpets of every kind, from the choicest tapestry to the coarsest rug, were spread out under the smokers, and were strewn with bags, wallets, weapons, heaps of booty, and here and there, a grappling couple—for there were women among the men, carrying trays and mugs, and dispensing kisses as freely as food and drink. Here a thief made a ribald comment at a waitress, and she answered him back with both sauciness and earthiness. Here and there a waitress gave a shriek of delight—at least, Shea hoped it was delight—as one of her "customers" pulled her down from a contest of wits to a wrestling match.

A pretty young woman saw Charya and struck a gong beside the archway. At its brazen note, all the robbers stopped what they were doing and turned to him, clapping. The captain stood there with a glittering grin, drinking in the applause. As it slackened, he threw out an arm toward the Rajah—and, incidentally, Shea and Chalmers—and cried, "Make shanti to our new companions!"

"Shanti!" the robbers cried with one voice, and suited the action to the word. Randhir smiled and bowed to them. Watching him in the lamplight, Shea could only think it was lucky for him that the light was so dim—even this close, he couldn't make out the horsehair that flattened his nose.

"What of the score of the evening, Captain?" one man called out.

Charya grinned. "I've scarcely had time to count it all—but I have numbered the bags of loot. There are twenty, and at a guess, we have hauled more booty tonight than ever before!"

The robbers gave shouts of approval, applauding and hooting.

"Eat, drink, and be merry!" Charya cried. "You have earned it!"

The robbers answered with a shout of agreement and settled down to some serious debauchery.

But even the most decadent must grow sleepy, and these particular debauchers had put in a hard night's work before they began debauching. It took four or five hours, but the flaring torches began to burn out, and one by one, the robbers began to nod, then to lie down and pull up a cushion for a pillow. Some rolled themselves up in the rugs and covered their heads; all fell asleep right where they lay. They dropped off by twos and threes, until only the thieves right next to the wall were still sitting upright, and that was only because they were leaning back against it. Even they were nodding drowsily or leaning to one side; they might have been technically awake, but they were too stupefied with opium or hashish, to really be aware of anything.

Shea and Chalmers still sat with the Rajah, not feeling at all safe, the more so because they were among the few still awake. "Feigh drowsiness," Randhir muttered to them, or our heads will be forfeit." He wrinkled his nose at the smell of the smoke coming from Shea's hookah. "What manner of hashish is that?"

"One that couldn't stupefy a mouse." Shea didn't bother telling the king that he had chanted a singing commercial for a brand of cigarettes while he was lighting up.

A servant woman strolled by them, looking about for anyone needing attention. She glanced at the rajah, then looked again, staring in alarm. Randhir tensed for action, but the woman gave a quick, furtive glance about her, then knelt down by the rajah and busied herself tidying up about him. "Majesty!" she hissed. "O Rajah! How came you with these wicked men?"

Shea looked up, affronted, but Chalmers murmured, "She means the thieves, Harold, not necessarily us."

"You, too!" the woman said. "If you are with the Rajah, you must be his guards, or at the least, men of goodwill. Do you run away as fast as you can, Majesty, or they will surely kill you when they awake."

"Many thanks for kind wishes, woman," Randhir answered, his voice as low as hers, "but I do not know the way; this cave is a veritable maze, and I could not say how to find the trapdoor. In which direction am I to go?"