The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [164]
That night he slept with the tent-flap laced shut and a revolver under his pillow, having made a mental note to pay more attention to the siting of his tent, which at present could be too easily approached from three sides without disturbing either Mahdoo or Gul Baz, or any of his personal servants. From now on he would have their tents pitched in a half-moon behind his own, with their guy-ropes interlocking, while the horses should be tethered to the right and left instead of bunched together in the rear. ‘I'll see to it in the morning,’ decided Ash.
But the morning was still several hours away when he was awakened from sleep by the sound of a hand trying the fastening of the tent-flap.
Ash had always been a light sleeper and the stealthy sound woke him instantly. He lay still, listening, and presently heard it repeated. Someone was trying to enter the tent, and it was not one of his own men; they would have coughed or spoken to attract his attention. Nor could it be a prowling dog or a jackal, for the sound did not come from ground level but from higher up. Ash slid a hand under his pillow and drew out his revolver, and was easing back the safety catch when someone again scratched softly but imperatively on the canvas and a whispering voice called: ‘Sahib, Sahib.’
‘Kaun hai?’ (who is it?). ‘What do you want?’
‘No harm, Sahib. Indeed no harm. A word only -’ The speaker's teeth chattered from cold, or possibly from fear or nervousness.
Ash said curtly: ‘Speak then. I am listening.’
‘The Rajkumari… my mistress, Anjuli-Bai, says…’
‘Wait.’
Ash felt for the knot and unlacing the flap threw it back and saw that his visitor was a woman, a veiled and shrouded figure bundled in shawls, who was presumably one of the royal serving-women. He himself was more scantily clad, for his sole garment was a pair of loose cotton trousers, and the woman drew back with a startled gasp, disconcerted at being faced with a half-naked Sahib who clutched a revolver in one hand.
‘Well, what is it?’ demanded Ash impatiently. He did not relish being woken at such an hour and was ashamed of the fear that had stabbed through him in the moment of waking. ‘What is it that your mistress wishes to know?’
‘She wishes – she prays that you will tell her from whom you received a certain piece of pearl-shell, and asks if you can give her news of him… and of his mother also; and tell her where they may be found. That is all.’
And quite enough, thought Ash grimly. Was it only Juli who wanted this information, or had the return of the missing half of the luck-piece already been talked of in the camp, and could Biju Ram have sent this woman to question him?
He said brusquely: ‘I cannot help the Rajkumari. Tell her that I am sorry, but I know nothing.’
He made as though to close the tent-flap, but the woman reached out and catching his arm said breathlessly: ‘That is not true. You must surely know who gave it to you, and if so… Sahib, I beg of you! Of your charity, tell me only if they are alive and well.’
Ash looked down at the hand on his arm. The newly risen moon was in its last quarter, but its light was still bright enough to show him the shape of that hand, and he caught it about the wrist and holding it in a hard grasp, reached out and jerked aside the chuddah that hid the woman's face. She made one frantic attempt to free herself, and finding that she could not, stood quite still, staring at him and breathing a little quickly.
Ash laughed and made her a half bow. ‘I am greatly honoured, Your Highness. But is this wise? As you see I am not dressed to receive visitors; and were you to be found here at such an hour it would cause great trouble for us both. Besides, you should not go unattended through the camp. It is too dangerous. You would have done better to send me one of your women. Let me advise you to return quickly before they awake and rouse the guard when they find you gone.’
‘If it is for yourself that you are afraid,’ said Anjuli sweetly, ‘you have