Fever Quest: A Clean Historical Mystery set in England and India (The Isabella Rockwell Trilogy Book 2) (9 page)

“You are Isabella Rockwell?” His voice was soft with a
slight lisp, but he spoke English.

Isabella nodded. He lifted his slim long-fingered hands in
a salaam, which Isabella returned.

“My name is Lakshman. I have been told to keep an ear out
for your arrival. Please” – he held his hand out towards the city behind the
gate – “follow me.”

The guards took their horses and the girls followed the
man under the gate and onto the torch-lit road that led to the heart of the
city.

Isabella looked back at Livia, who raised her
brows. Beyond Livia, the gate was being lowered, its heavy base thumping into
the sand so that the land beyond and the hill where they had first stood disappeared,
and nothing was visible but shadows dancing on the ground.

The flames guttered in their sconces on the wall as
Lakshman led them along a high rampart and down a long flight of steps to
another heavily guarded gate. There was more life at this gate, despite the
lateness of the hour. The moon was now high in the sky, throwing its silvery
light on the surrounding land. Isabella thought she could see lights in the
east – maybe more torches, or some fires? Four British soldiers stood on the
other side of the gate and helped her into a small cart.

She hesitated. “What about my companions?”

“They will be made comfortable. You can see them after
you’ve seen the colonel.”

The road beneath the carriage was very well made, a smooth
stretch of stone instead of dirt that pulled at feet and clogged up wheels.
Nothing grew on either side except for scrubby bushes, and with the night wind
on her face and the gentle movement of the cart Isabella felt herself not far
from sleep, despite her fear; it had been a long day.

“Miss Rockwell?” Lakshman’s voice was gentle.

Isabella’s eyes opened. She couldn’t have been asleep for
more than a few minutes. The carriage was still moving but light spread from up
ahead. The toll of a bell caused a sudden rush of movement around her. Blinking
a little, her eyes took some time to adjust.

Hundreds of people were coming out from what could only be
called makeshift hovels. Pieces of heavy tarpaulin were strung out over metal
struts to create little shelters, but there were no walls between the
dwellings, only the odd piece of cotton hung up in an attempt to protect the
occupant’s privacy. Isabella could see small piles of bedding and figurines of
gods or goddesses, but there was little else. No food, no plates, no pictures
or books lay in the meagre living spaces. Nothing, certainly, that could
distinguish one dwelling from another. Even in the dark everything was devoid
of colour. A rank odour of unwashed bodies and excrement hung over the slum. A
couple of men with missing limbs came up to the carriage their hands
outstretched, and a tiny woman with a starveling baby clamped to her breast,
but Lakshman made an angry gesture and the driver cracked his whip at them.

“Who are these people?”

Lakshman glanced up. “Citizens of Golconda.”

“But why are they living here? Why aren’t they in the
city?”

There was another bell and the people moved faster, all in
one direction. At the same time she could see others crawling back into their
makeshift beds, not even undressing before falling asleep. Isabella looked back
over her shoulder and then at the grey faces all around her, and understanding
dawned.

“It’s the mine, isn’t it?” She couldn’t keep the disgust
from her voice. “These people are mining for Colonel Stone.”

Lakshman’s face was unperturbed. “Of course.”

Isabella took in the haggard faces and hollow cheeks and
collarbones.

“They look tired and ill.”

Lakshman looked around as if for the first time, but his
expression didn’t change.

“Well, they work hard.”

He leaned forward and tapped on the driver’s shoulder, and
the driver urged the horse forward at a trot, out on an open road. They pulled
up at a stone arch cut into the side of one of the hills she had seen from far
away. The roaring fire outside lit only part of the way up the hill and it
wouldn’t be until the morning that she saw the entrance was cut into a range of
hills running like a spine across the land to the north of Golconda.

Lakshman nodded to the guards, one of whom held a fine
albino horse, and he and Isabella passed through the cave mouth and from there
down a stairway cut out of the bowels of the mountain.

The darkness beyond the torchlight was so thick Isabella
felt she could touch it. Her hand gripped a metal rail that coiled downward in
a spiral, following the curve of the steps, whilst her other one reached for
the rough stone wall to steady herself. Her back was stiff with fear, braced
against an imagined attack.

“Has this mine been here for a long time?” Her voice
quavered a little. She hoped Lakshman hadn’t noticed. His back bobbed in front
of her, no more than an indistinct grey shape. She must keep her wits about
her.

Her feet slipped a little and then they were down the
final few steps. Ahead, Isabella could see a deep golden glow, more than just
the light of torches. She caught her breath as they entered a giant underground
chamber. The cave felt ancient; time embedded in its very fabric, in the
different-coloured layers of rock Isabella could see, in the sound of the
distant trickle of an subterranean stream. There was sand beneath her feet and
the shadows from the flames leapt upwards but the ceiling was so high it
disappeared into shadow. She had never stood in a place that felt so old.

It was lit by flaming torches placed along the twelve huge
pillars that held the weight of the mountain above them. At the furthest end of
the chamber loomed the giant statue of the goddess Kali, just as Stone had
described. She was so large that as they approached her Isabella had to tilt
her head backwards to see Kali’s upper half. Her skin was ebony and her tongue
was blue as it lolled towards her necklace of skulls; both mighty mother and
devourer. Her eight arms pointed in eight different directions, and her stone
base was worn where worshipping hands had touched it over the years. And sure
enough, between her giant red ruby eyes was a gap the size of Isabella’s hand
an empty hole where the stone was a lighter colour, as if the stream of time
had diverted its flow around it.

“Quite something, isn’t she, Isabella?”

Stone was dressed in the cooler Indian style of a white
dhoti and tunic. His paper-white ankles protruded from the folds of cotton and
Isabella could see the red hairs on them before his feet disappeared into a
pair of upturned slippers. There was a strong smell of camphor around him and
his face was still so pale it was hard to imagine he’d just ridden for three
days in the burning Indian sun.

Isabella tried to keep her fear off her face. She must
pull herself together. Midge might be in the most awful state, imprisoned in
the blackness, starving, maybe ill? The last thing he needed was for her to act
as if there were ghosts around every corner. Still. She didn’t like it – the
warm, stale air and the feeling of being surrounded on all sides.

“Where is Midge? Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”
Her voice sounded odd, muffled by the enclosed space.

“He’s not far. Come, follow me.”

Stone had picked up a lantern at the bottom of the steps.
He lit it. Isabella followed him as he picked his way carefully across the
sandy ground.

“This way,” Stone said, making his way around a mountain
of dark earth to the far side of Kali’s chamber. Every fifty feet a tunnel was
cut into the cavern wall. Some of these openings were black and quiet, but
others carried the sounds of metal on stone and showed a glow of light. In
front of a giant brazier of burning coal was a rectangular wooden table
surrounded by a group of men, who jabbed their fingers at each other and
shouted. They looked tiny next to the fire, like silhouetted stick figures
she’d seen once at the theatre with Alix. Their juddering movements were made
worse by the fact they were arguing.

“I told you that was a dead end, and now look at the time
we’ve wasted.” The man speaking was English, very fair with large moustaches.
He wore small round glasses and his thin blond hair stood up where he’d been
pulling at it.

Stone leaned over and placed his hand on the part of the
map over which they were arguing.

“Gentlemen.”

The men all shot to attention. “Sir.”

Stone’s face was smug as he turned towards Isabella and
the group of soldiers followed his gaze.

“Your squabbling is giving me a headache.” Said Stone.

Isabella could see a circle of blank faces, pale from too
much time underground, look towards her.

“Is that her?” said a man with greasy black hair and a
three-day-old beard.

Stone nodded.

“Well, let’s see it, then.” The dark man’s eyes narrowed
into an expression of greed.

Isabella put her hand on her bag.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, but I’ll do nothing
until I’ve seen Midge.” She meant what she said, but her voice was tinny and
small.

“We’ll do exactly as we please, missy,” said the dark man,
moving towards her.

Her shoulders hunched against him as she curled over her
father’s satchel.

“No, no. I said she could see him,” said Stone.

Isabella’s eyes were starting to well up, but she willed
the tears away.

“Please?”

“Where is he?” Stone said to the group of men.

“Tunnel four,” replied the dark man.

Stone nodded approvingly. “Our most productive tunnel.”

Isabella frowned. What were they talking about? Had they
imprisoned him in a tunnel?

“Come.”

Stone moved over to another tunnel mouth where the air was
rancid with dust. Isabella coughed. She couldn’t bear the thought that Midge
had been imprisoned down here for three days. Her mind turned to her remedies
and then swerved when she remembered what she’d done with them.

A large gong from behind her made her jump and there was
the noise of many footsteps from up ahead, crunching on the shale underfoot.
Stone pulled her to one side of the tunnel’s mouth as she turned her head
towards the noise.

Hundreds of men surged towards her, their faces and limbs
coated with sparkling dust so they looked like the dark-skinned men of Africa, their eyes and mouths slashes of white and red. They held lanterns in front of them
which swung as disembodied lights in the distance behind the leaders. Each man
had a heavy belt of tools at his waist and a curving short scimitar. Most were
turbaned, but some were not. It was a moment before Isabella realised these men
were, in fact, women.

“You allow women to work down the mine?”

But Stone wasn’t listening to her. His attention was fixed
on a far-off point down the tunnel. Two men carried a long pole, in the middle
of which hung a heavy canvas bag, swinging under its own weight, and behind it,
robed in blue dust, not thin, not miserable and, in fact, looking happier than
she’d ever seen him, came Midge. He wore the same dhoti, tunic and boots as the
others and his belt, having been made smaller for his frame, juddered under the
weight of the full-size tools.

“Hello, Iz.”

He smiled at her as if he’d seen her just yesterday.

“You’re … you’re all right, then?” Words had deserted
her.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Colonel Stone spoke. “She thinks we have had you in
prison. That we are philistines.”

Midge’s eyes opened wide.

“Oh, no. I’ve been having the best time.”

Isabella was totally wrong-footed. It was a huge relief to
find Midge well, but this happy and contented Midge was not what she’d been
expecting. Where was the coughing corpse she’d expected?

Stone spoke again. “Shall we go? We can sort out our
business whilst Midge washes.”

As they walked back up to where Stone’s men were, Isabella
reached for Midge, dying to hug him, but she found her hand hanging in mid-air
and then resting on his shoulder for just a moment. As if she no longer had the
right.

The group of men hailed Midge as he came out of the
tunnel.

“What did you find today, mate?”

“How’s it going, Midge?”

Midge nodded his head and took the attention in his
stride.

“Shall I see you later on?” He looked at Stone rather than
Isabella.

Stone nodded.

“We will see you at the Palace. I understand Miss Rockwell
has some guests with her. She will want to collect them on her way out.”

Midge looked at her and raised his brows, but he didn’t
say anything and disappeared into a cart of miners waiting to take him back to
the surface.

“Midge?” But the word died in her throat.

“Come, Miss Rockwell.”

Isabella tore her eyes from Midge’s retreating back to
find the British soldiers clustered closer to her, their eyes avid. The
temperature grew even hotter and Isabella felt light-headed.

“It is a big day for us, Miss Rockwell.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

The men looked at Stone, who looked back at Isabella, his
face a mask of greed.

“Oh, come, Miss Rockwell. You don’t need to pretend any
more. I won’t punish you. I just want what’s mine and then you can be on your
way.”

“What do I have that’s yours?”

She must have looked genuinely confused as the smallest
shadow crossed Colonel Stone’s face, and then was gone.

“You met an old friend of yours, didn’t you? He gave you
something, didn’t he?”

Isabella nodded. Her hand strayed to her bag and then
dropped.

“I’d like it.”

There was no way out. With a silent, heart-felt apology to
Al Hassan, she reached into her father’s bag; the bag she had carried across
oceans, hidden under beds in palaces and tucked in her saddle bags over
hundreds of miles of stony plains.