Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire - Andy Lane [75]
Oddly enough, on the couple of occasions I glanced over to find O'Connor gazing at me with a faintly sardonic expression. There was something about his eyes that I recognized: they blinked too much. I noted Holmes staring at him as well, but he had no more success in identifying the man than I did. Surely hair of that fiery hue would not be easy to forget?
I found myself at one stage talking to Tir Ram. He was a handsome youth, self-assured and pleasant with a sly sense of humour.
'Quite a change from Cambridge,' I ventured.
'Indeed,' he replied. 'I was all set for a career in the City when my father and elder brother both succumbed to cholera.'
Nodding in acceptance of my hasty but sincere condolences, he continued:
'I was forced to return to my home to rule what must seem to you like a minor province with nothing in particular to recommend it. A degree in the classics hardly prepared me for the life I now lead.'
'I'm sure there are many people who would envy you this life,' I said, indicating our surroundings.
'One can tire so easily of ostentation. My favourite place in the whole palace is a cave below us. The local thuggee sects used to worship Kali in it. They claim that rakshassi have appeared to them there.'
'Rakshassi?' Bernice asked. I had not realized that she was listening to the conversation. I thought I saw a warning glance pass between Warburton and the Nizam, but I could have been mistaken.
'Hindu demons,' Tir Ram said with a sad smile. 'A part of our heritage. I must not scoff - Ghulam Haidar will be angry with me.'
Colonel Warburton interrupted to tell us all a rambling and rather bawdy story about his early experiences in the army. The meal ground to a halt, and servants brought round betel nuts on silver trays. Holmes, O'Connor and Roxton popped them in their mouths and chewed wholeheartedly.
Bernice and I refused. I know that they are meant to aid digestion, but I am also aware of their narcotic properties. I had an orderly in Afghanistan who became addicted to them.
I felt the need to visit a cloakroom. Divining my need, Ghulam Haidar assigned a white-gowned servant as my guide.
As I left the impressively marbled room, I looked around for the servant.
The corridor stretched in both directions: empty. I cursed. I had not bothered memorizing the route from the banquet, assuming as I did that I would be led back.
I waited for a few minutes, then began to walk in what I thought was the right direction. Even if it was wrong, I would probably come across a servant of some description who could point me in the right direction. The only thing to be careful of was wandering into the Nizam's harem, if Nizams had harems. If they did, the ladies would undoubtedly be attractive.
It was in this frame of mind that I turned a corner and walked straight into a massive figure. Before I could react, a hand was clamped across my mouth and I was thrown against the wall. A red haze filled my vision. I tried to shake my head to clear the ringing in my ears, but the hand was forcing my head up the wall. I tried to take a breath, but could not. My feet left the floor. My chest felt as if a rope were being tightened around it. I tried to bite the hand, in fact I did bite it, but the pressure on my jaw increased remorselessly.
And then my eyes came level with the face of my assailant, and all thoughts of my own pain vanished.
It was Baron Maupertuis's manservant: Surd. Seen close-up, his face was a jigsaw-puzzle of stitches and glossy scar tissue. His hair, however, was full bodied and fine, hanging in a neatly coiffured fringe across his eyes. His glowing eyes.
I lashed out with my feet and caught him in the groin. He grunted, and shifted his grip. I tried to wriggle free, but his fingers were pressing