The Golden Leopard (15 page)

Shivaji’s lashes flickered. “As ever, his judgment of the people’s tolerance was precise. There is turmoil throughout the countryside. Crops fail and sickness afflicts the children. Foreigners seize the best land and wrest commerce from our hands. Even so, Alanabad would endure the times of trouble as it has always done, if not for Malik Rao. He leads the worshipers of Nagas, and his influence has grown so great that the nizam was compelled to admit him to the Inner Council. At your trial, it was Rao who called for your execution.”

“I remember him.” A rough-featured man dressed all in black. Blunt fingers mollusked with rings. A cone-shaped turban sporting a pair of silver snakes. In a land speckled with odd fellows, he had been odder than most. “Who is Nagas?”

“The Nagas are serpent deities. Their worshipers were an insignificant cult until Rao chose them to advance his own ambitions. Our people are superstitious, and the leopard’s disappearance has made them fearful. Rao astounds them with displays of simple magic and preaches that the Nagas have power to save Alanabad. Already his followers number in the thousands. Only the return of the leopard will discredit him and restore the people’s faith in themselves.”

For all Duran cared, Alanabad could go to the snakes. It was his own future—all days of it—that concerned him now. Escape. And Jessica. Like an underground river she flowed quietly through his every thought. Echoes of her pain thrummed at his nerve ends.

Let her be sleeping.

He pulled himself away from the standing stone and began to circle the clearing. “The common folk may be superstitious, but you are an educated man. Why are you here, waiting like a midwife
for me to whelp a leopard? Surely you see how ridiculous this is.”

“The gods—”

“Are you their puppet? The nizam’s? You could take ship for India tomorrow with the replica and leave me here to go about my business. Who would know or care?”

For a time he thought Shivaji did not mean to answer. The assassin’s gaze had lifted to the bluing sky. The first rays of the sun limned his turban with gold.

“It was my duty to guard the leopard,” he said at length. “I must make amends by returning it to Alanabad. The true leopard, Duran-Sahib.”

Guilt! An emotion that Duran had explored to its depths. Jubilant, he wished he could break off the conversation until he’d figured some way to exploit Shivaji’s unexpected vulnerability. But he was locked in an immediate battle he had to win.

“What’s the difference?” he asked. “You said it was an exact copy. A mama leopard couldn’t tell the two of them apart.”

“The replica will satisfy the people, yes, and preserve the nizam’s throne. But only for a short time. The gods who placed Alanabad under the protection of the Golden Leopard will not be mocked.”

“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.” Duran was feeling a little better now. The leopard had been stolen on Shivaji’s watch, and he wanted it back. Under all that silky calm lay a healthy bedrock of frustration and pride. Under different circumstances, Duran could imagine liking the fellow.

“It is not important that you understand,” Shivaji said. “Like my own, your fate has been inscribed. We are bound together, wheel and axle, on this journey.”

“The question being, who will drive? Little has been accomplished, I know, but I thought I had more time.”
Twenty-five days.
If he kept gnawing on that, it would paralyze him. “We need Lady Jessica. Give me another chance to recruit her.”

“That would be unwise. Your interest in the lady is not confined to our search.”

Duran turned with a start. “Because I played nursemaid to her headache? It was a damn lucky turn of events, her being ill and me on the spot to take advantage of it. Mind you, I’m not cut out to mop brows and catch vomit in a basin.” He gave a delicate shudder. “But I acted my part to the hilt, don’t you think?”

“It did not appear that you were feigning concern.”

“Good. Then I may have fooled her as well. An insignificant incident between us several years ago caused a breach of trust, but perhaps she will now think better of me.”

Shivaji raised a noncommittal eyebrow.

“In any case,” Duran continued while he held the advantage, “I want one thing to be clear. Tell the Others. Under no circumstance is she to be harmed.”

He looked up to see Shivaji directly in front of him, the Iron Dagger gleaming at his earlobe. “Very well, Duran-Sahib. We wish no harm to come to those who assist us. But I am sworn to see that you do not escape the nizam’s judgment.”

“Unless I find the leopard, of course.”

“Even when you do.” Shivaji’s long fingers curled lightly over the slave bracelet. “My instructions make no allowance for success. In twenty-five days, or before then if I so choose, you will die. That is your destiny.”

Plain enough. But nothing had changed. Finding the leopard had never been in the cards. “I don’t believe in destiny,” he said, “except the one I create for myself.”

“Few are given the privilege to choose their own fates. If you wish to protect the lady, you must swear she will not be drawn into any scheme designed to escape your responsibility. Or to escape me.”

Duran pulled free his hand and resumed his prowling. Another bond settled around his throat. Responsibility. Jessica. An oath.

Would he break his word to save his life? Was there any other way out of this deadlock?

“I could swear to do whatever it is you want,” he said at length, “but it would be the word of a scoundrel. Ask anyone who ever knew me what my honor is worth.”

“I have done so. Before we departed from India, I made a study of you.”

“I trust you were appropriately shocked.”

Shivaji made a dismissive gesture. “Mercenaries are not an unknown species in my country.”

“Even those who train the soldiers of his own country’s enemies?”

“The East India Company is not your country, and its enemies are often capriciously selected. You were angry.”

God yes. Burning rage, and on its heels, cold retribution. But he was careful not to react to what Shivaji had learned of him. The assassin was probing for his weaknesses, and no one was allowed to come close to this one.

Easier, he decided, to swear the oath and get it over with. It meant surrendering any last-ditch effort to enlist Jessie’s help, but that was just as well. When he grew desperate, and he expected to, his oath would be her only protection.

“So, what do I do? Go on one knee? Place my hand on somebody’s holy writings?”

“Your word will suffice. Do you give it?”

He turned to face Shivaji. “Lady Jessica will not be told of any escape plans I make,” he said in a flat tone, “nor will she be permitted, even by indirection, to assist me in any way. I swear it.”

“Very well. In return I shall grant you a little time, perhaps two days, to secure her cooperation.”

“Make it three,” Duran said, trying not to show his relief. “She’s ill. And you understand that I shall be required to tell her the truth. Most of it, at any rate.”

“It would be better otherwise. Should indiscretion lead to difficulties for me or my subordinates, your present incarnation will be terminated.”

“Oh, now
there’s
a charming euphemism. I’m excessively fond of my current incarnation, thank you very much. And your elastic moral sensibilities astonish me. All this to-do about preserving your insignificant little kingdom on a foundation of truth, but nary a qualm about cutting me down like a weed.”

“To kill you is my duty,” Shivaji said. “My dharma. It is written that one shall not absolve oneself from an obligation consequent on one’s birth, even if it involves evil. For all undertakings are surrounded by evil as fire is surrounded by smoke.”

“Oh, well, then. If it’s
written.
”
Shaking his head, Duran made his way to the footpath. “But really, my good fellow, you ought to find something less crack-brained to read.”

He walked. He thought. He shot. He wanted, more than anything else, to know that Jessica was no longer in pain. In a fair universe, he would be the one laid low with a brutal headache.

Shortly after noon, summoned by a whistle, the scattered sportsmen gathered alongside a narrow late-summer river where a luncheon had been spread out under a silk pavilion. There, separated at last from his gun bearer, Duran was able to steal a few words in private with John Pageter, who took the news of the abbreviated deadline with a shrug.

“Then we must get on with it,” he said, adding a chicken leg to his plate. “Under the circumstances you can’t be choosy about where you wind up, so I think you should have passage booked out of several ports. Liverpool and Plymouth at the very least, although the shipping schedules will decide for us in the end. You may safely leave the business to me.”

“With pleasure.” Duran accepted slices of roast beef from a servant, although the prospect of eating turned his stomach. “And with gratitude, although I’m sure you don’t want to hear it. But Shivaji will be watching for trouble. Assuming I manage to lead him on a wild goose chase across England, how am I to stay in touch with you?”

“Perhaps Lady Jessica will agree to serve as intermediary. Or do you still mean to engage her in your schemes?”

“Some of them. But she cannot be involved with my escape, even inadvertently. On that point, I’m afraid, there is no room for compromise.”

“Ah.” With no change of expression, Pageter turned to speak with Sir Clyde Wilcombe, allowing Duran to move past him in the queue.

Glancing around, Duran spotted the reason for Pageter’s evasive action. Arjuna had taken a position under a nearby tree, his dark-eyed gaze focused attentively on the privileged gentlemen lined up at the buffet table. The young man—not yet in his twenties, Duran would guess—was an inch or two shorter than his father, broader in the shoulders, and not so lean. There was a sweetness about his lips and unabashed curiosity in his eyes as he looked upon the aristocrats of a culture so unlike his own.

Despite Arjuna’s youth, Duran recognized in him all of Shivaji’s ruthless dedication to duty. No weak link there, unfortunately. And while Arjuna addressed him only in Hindi, he was fairly sure the boy spoke English reasonably well. He had concealed his own facility with languages often enough to recognize the tactic. No doubt Arjuna reported to his father everything he overheard of Duran’s conversation, along with what he guessed from a little surreptitious lipreading.