The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [612]
Ash saw one of them turn from the parapet and run back along the roof of the Mohammedan quarters to cup his hands about his mouth and bellow the news to the Residency, and heard the mob in the lane below howl their approval as they rushed to attack the door into the Residency courtyard, flinging themselves against it again and again, like a human battering-ram.
He did not see who had fired that first shot, though he too realized that it had been fired from an old-fashioned muzzle-loader and not a rifle, and presumed that one of the men from the Arsenal must have carried a jezail as well as a tulwar, and discharged it to discourage any camp-followers from coming to the rescue of the wounded Sikh. But the momentary silence that followed that shot made the concerted yell that ended it ten times more shocking, and the murderous cries of ‘Kill! Kill!’ told him that any chance there may have been of persuading the mob to leave by peaceful means had been lost.
The pendulum had swung over to violence, and should the mutineers succeed in breaking into the Residency they would loot it as thoroughly as they had looted the stables: only this time there would be no jostling and horseplay. The time for that had gone. The swords and knives were out, and now the Afghans would kill.
The din outside was so great that it was surprising that Ash should have heard the door of his little office creak open. But he had lived too long with danger to be unmindful of small sounds, and he whirled round – to see ex-Risaldar-Major Nakshband Khan, of all people, standing in the doorway.
The Sirdar had never, to his knowledge, visited the Munshi's house before, yet it was not the unexpectedness of his arrival that startled Ash, but the fact that his clothing was torn and dusty and that he was shoeless and breathing heavily, as though he had been running.
‘What is it?’ demanded Ash sharply. ‘What are you doing here?’
The Sirdar came in and closed the door behind him, and leaning against it, said jerkily: ‘I heard that the Ardal Regiment had mutinied and attacked General Daud Shah, and that they were besieging the palace in the hope of getting money from the Amir. But knowing that the Amir has none to give, I ran quickly to warn Cavagnari-Sahib and the young Sahib who commands the Guides to beware of the Ardalis, and to let none of them enter the compound today. But I was too late… And when I followed these mutinous dogs and tried to reason with them, they set upon me, calling me traitor, spy and feringhi-lover. I was hard put to it to escape them, but having done so I came here to warn you not to leave this room until this gurrh-burrh is over, since too many here will know that you dwell as a guest under my roof – and half Kabul knows that I am a pensioner of the Guides, who are now being attacked down there; for which reason I do not dare return to my own house while this trouble lasts. I could be torn to pieces in the streets, so I mean to take refuge with a friend of mine who lives here in the Bala Hissar, close by, and return later when it is safe to do so – which may not be until after dark. Stay you here also until then, and do not venture out until – Allah! What is that?’
It was the crack of a carbine, and he ran to join Ash at the window.
The two stood side by side, glaring down at the turmoil below where the Guides in the Residency courtyard, driven back by the sheer weight of numbers, were giving ground before the tulwars and knives of the yelling mob, fighting them off with drawn sabres. But it was clear that the shot had taken effect in more ways than one.
Apart from the fact that fired into the scrimmage it had almost