The Game - Laurie R. King [95]
One of the old hands had the same thought. “I’ve finished here, Jimmy,” Captain Greaves interposed. “I’ll go with you.”
“Thank you, Simon, but Miss Russell and I shall have no problem.”
“From what Goodheart said, it’s a big ’un, I’m happy to—”
“No.” It was said in a flat voice, no anger, but it laid another uncomfortable silence over the gathering, which I hastened to break.
“Certainly, I’m glad to be of help. Shall we go now?”
The servants had brought fresh horses with them. The maharaja had another Arab, a white gelding otherwise identical to the stallion, while I was given an ill-tempered little mare whose ears went back when I approached and who tried to shy against the reins the syce held. I checked her girths with care, since this was the kind of beast who holds her breath to keep the saddle from being secured, but I found them snugly secured. I glanced at the man holding her for me, and saw the humour in his eyes: Yes, she’d tried the trick on him.
“Thank you,” I told him, and mounted briskly.
Once I was in the saddle, the worst of the mare’s temper subsided, and she responded to my directions without much hesitation. We followed the road back to the tree, where the shikaris still waited, and took the spears they offered us. My host conferred with them, in a language that was not Hindi, then led me into the fields, in the opposite direction from that in which we had gone the first time.
I had hoped to use the opportunity to question the prince, but quickly realised that this was not going to be possible, not until we had dispatched the wounded pig. The maharaja was completely focussed on the task at hand, and once we had caught the beaters up, his undergraduate style dropped away completely. He studied the splintered spear-shaft one of them had retrieved and listened intently to their information, his eyes searching the landscape as if he might see the pig through the thick brush. North of us stretched scrubland, but to the south, a thick stand of trees rose up, following some kind of a stream-bed. At last he grunted, and turned to me.
“They’ve tracked him as far as that split tree, you see? There’s a nullah down there—a stream-bed—and heavy brush. He’s already ripped open the leg of one bearer; they’re not too keen on going in after him. And if he gets as far as those trees, he’s lost.”
“I hope the man’s all right?”
The maharaja looked at me as if I’d spoken in a half-understood language that he had to translate internally, then replied, “Yes, he’s sure to be. But you do understand that once we get in there, your mare won’t have any clear ground where she can escape? You have to have your stick ready at every moment.”
“But if I can’t see the boar, how do I know where to point the spear?” I asked, reasonably, I thought.
“Your horse will know. And you’ll feel him.”
Oh, this is just grand, Russell, I berated myself. You’re about to have one of your host’s animals ripped apart underneath you, because you couldn’t pass the opportunity to prove yourself. Clever.
We rode into the two-acre thicket from two angles, me at four o’clock and the maharaja at seven, pressing towards the top, where at least twenty beaters stood, banging on rocks and trees, staring nervously at the ground between us and them. I suddenly noticed that the men were armed only with long sticks, not spears, and of course none of them were mounted. I hoped for their sakes they were fleet-footed, and could climb trees like monkeys.
A partridge exploded from the tree in front of me, nearly stopping my heart and making me laugh nervously. I was perspiring heavily, as was the mare. Contrary to the maharaja’s claim, she didn’t seem to think there was anything in here at all, and the only thing I felt was growing nerves.
Then, between one step and another, her ears swung forward. I made a faint whistle between my teeth to catch my companion’s attention, and nodded at the direction the mare was watching, more or less straight