Jani and the Greater Game (The Multiplicity Series Book 1) (3 page)

She almost told Lady Eddington all this now, but something stopped her; she did not want the dowager to think her presumptuous by claiming to be fifty percent English, which after all was her right – and as soon as she thought this, she resented her inhibition. Lady Eddington was right, she thought: what was most important was
confidence
.

“But enough of me,” Lady Eddington said. “I do hope you will visit while I’m in Delhi, and again when I return to England.”

“I should like nothing more.”

“Did I hear you mention, yesterday, that your father was a member of the Indian government?”

“He is a minister in the Senate,” Jani replied with a note of pride, “with the portfolio of State Security.”

Lady Eddington arched her eyebrows. “Indeed? But what a responsibility these days, with our enemies bearing down on every side,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite catch your surname when we were introduced on the first day.”

“Chatterjee,” Jani said, “and my father is Kapil Dev Chatterjee.”

Lady Eddington lowered her cup, striking the saucer with a tintinnabulation of fine china. “Kapil Dev Chatterjee? But then your mother was none other than Eleanor Markham, the concert pianist?”

Jani beamed. “That’s right.”

“But my child, I had the good fortune to attend her very first concert in Delhi. 1901, if I’m not mistaken – my word, almost a quarter of a century ago! But what a virtuoso! What divine playing.”

Jani felt a glow of pride. “Thank you.”

“I followed your mother’s career with interest, child. And my, didn’t she cause a furore when she fell for your father and they married! Ruffled quite a few feathers, and no mistake – but feathers that needed ruffling, mark my word. I’ve met some outrageous stuffed shirts in my time, I can tell you.”

“They were ostracised by both communities at first – by the English in Delhi
and
by Indian society.”

The dowager shook her head and endeared herself to Jani by saying, “Prejudice is a petty though invidious sin, child. Never allow it to get its talons into you, mm?”

Jani smiled. “I’ll do my best not to.”

“And I was so saddened and shocked when I read of your mother’s passing. Of course, you would be too young to recall.”

“I was three. I can’t remember Mother. Or rather I have faint memories of a tall, dark-haired woman, strikingly beautiful. But I have no way of knowing if these are
true
memories or my recollections of photographs that were around the house when I was growing up.”

“But how tragic, to be without a mother at such a tender age. My dear, she would be proud of what a fine young woman you’ve become.”

Jani blushed modestly and took refuge in a sip of tea.

The dowager began to say something, but stopped at a sound from outside. Jani made out the tattoo of marching feet. “Ah,” said Lady Eddington, “the changing of the guard.”

“But who is being guarded?” Jani asked.

“That, my dear, is a secret no one is prepared to divulge. But I have little doubt that the prisoner is important, if the level of security surrounding him is any indication. Observe.” Lady Eddington pointed through the window.

Jani made out a double file of uniformed troops in the dim light of the ‘garage.’ They marched past the carriage towards what looked like a cube constructed from some dull grey metal. Jani saw a door in the face of the cube, inset with bars. There was no sign of anyone within the cell.

The cube was surrounded by a dozen armed soldiers, who saluted their relief guard, formed ranks and marched from the chamber. The new guard took up their positions around the cube with arms at the ready.

“My word, but how do they think a prisoner might escape from such a secure box?” Jani asked.

“Perhaps they fear that some
outside
element might attempt to effect his escape,” Lady Eddington surmised.

“Ah... you think he might be a Russian spy, or Chinese?”

“One or the other, I suspect, though...” She trailed off ruminatively. “What flummoxes me is the dashed level of security. It’s almost as if they’re transporting a wild animal, with the measures they take. The cell is never without at least a dozen guards armed to the veritable molars, and it was transported aboard the ship when we docked at Athens with an escort of a hundred troops
and
a Churchill tank fore and aft. I saw it all with my own eyes, child, and that’s a fact.”

Jani found herself wondering if her father might be in a position to know anything about the prisoner, then was pole-axed by the thought that such considerations as state security would probably be beyond his consideration at the moment.

Lady Eddington was replenishing Jani’s cup when the carriage gave a slight jolt. Tea spilled into the saucer and the dowager apologised. “A little more turbulence – but wasn’t it frightful as we passed over Albania? We’re just above the Kush, now, which is known for its erratic weather... And there we go again!” The airship lurched and the gondola swung like a pendulum. Jani reached for the mahogany arms of the chair and held on as the airship shuddered.

“You see,” Lady Eddington went on, gamely pouring a second cup despite the conditions, “the garage is at the very bottom of the gondola, so the severity of the swing is exaggerated.”

Jani was just about to suggest that perhaps they should ascend to the main deck when a frenzied tattoo sounded on the door, followed by Sergeant Stubbs shouting, “Lady Eddington! I think we should–”

The carriage lurched and interrupted Stubbs’ advice. He hauled open the door and peered in, holding the frame for support. Red-faced, he called out, “Follow me, Lady Eddington! Easy does it, and hold on tight!”

Jani followed the dowager, who reached the door and grasped Stubbs’ hand. Jani lowered herself from the carriage and, tottering this way and that, followed the pair across the chamber towards the double door. She glanced quickly over her shoulder. The guards around the grey cell were facing it, their rifles at the ready as if expecting the prisoner to break out at any second.

They hurried from the chamber and along the corridor to the elevator, sliding the last few yards as the airship tilted. Jani thought that the ’ship was climbing. As they were about to step into the lift, Lady Eddington said, “What the blazes is going on, Stubbs? I thought the established practice was to
descend
out of a storm if at all possible?”

Sergeant Stubbs licked his lips and said, “That’s as maybe, ma’am, but we ain’t in no storm, you see. We’re under attack.”

He turned and retraced his steps along the corridor before Lady Eddington could question him. The lift doors closed and the elevator whisked them up into the body of the airship.

Jani’s stomach flipped, and the sensation had nothing to do with the elevator’s ascent. “Attack?” she said.

Lady Eddington took her hand in a tight grip. “The Russians have been known to aim their pea-shooters at passing ships in the area, child – but they’ve yet to down one of the Empire’s finest.”

The elevator bobbed to a halt and the doors swished open onto the relative normality of the observation lounge. Passengers were gathered in knots around the portholes, peering out and exclaiming with ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ as if at a particularly impressive firework display. The posse of subalterns cheered the airship’s every pitch and yaw with the bravado of the inebriated, and liveried servants transported trays of drinks across the lounge with admirable élan.

The dowager led the way to an unoccupied booth and Jani peered out.

She gasped, wondering for a second how something so beautiful could be dangerous. Tracer fire hosed up from the ground like the luminescent tentacle of some deep-sea creature. For its part, the ship was returning fire: great gouts of flame spouted from the underbelly as missile after missile was launched towards the Russian positions below. She could see now why the light-show was attracting such gasps of wonder; it really did resemble some extravagant fireworks display.

Jani heard a woman’s scream as the airship rocked violently.

“But what I don’t understand,” she said, “is how the Russians can launch an attack from British territory?”

Lady Eddington peered through her lorgnette at Jani. “The Captain was explaining this at dinner,” she said. “The Russians make incursions into Afghanistan from time to time and cause as much mayhem as possible. This is a lightning strike, after which they’ll skedaddle back over the border like frightened rats. I shouldn’t worry if I were you, child.”

“I’ll try not to,” Jani said, gripping the arm of her chair as the airship rolled like a sailing ship caught in a tempest.

Mr Gollalli had crossed the lounge to view the attack. He sat in the neighbouring booth, mopping his face with his bandana and looking petrified as he clutched his valise to his chest. He caught Jani’s glance and tried to smile.

Jani returned her attention to the attack as a parabola of Russian artillery shells rose from the foothills below, whipping out and catching the underside of the airship. The resulting explosion rang through the lounge and the ship bucked and listed. In the ringing aftershock of the impact Jani heard cries and screams from startled passengers. The ship had tipped and seemed to be falling with increasing momentum. She looked
up
the carpeted slope of the floor and watched as potted palms, untended trolleys, passengers and bar-staff alike slid inexorably to starboard. Fortunately the
chaises longues
and armchairs were bolted into position; she held on for dear life.

“We’re falling!” Mr Gollalli cried. “We’re going to crash!”

“Be quiet, my good man!” Lady Eddington snapped. “Show a bit of mettle under fire, why don’t you? The dashed Russians have yet to down one of our airships, and this one won’t be the first!”

Jani gripped the arms of her chair, peered through the porthole into the tracer-stitched darkness, and wished she shared the dowager’s confidence.

Passengers were sobbing all around her. Those individuals not secure in armchairs found themselves piled in the corner between the floor and the wall and were struggling to extricate themselves. The off-duty subalterns, having passed through the stage of regarding the attack as a bit of a lark, now attempted to come to the aid of the distressed passengers. They slid down the incline of the floor but only succeeded in adding themselves to the struggling melee.

Jani flinched as another explosion rang through the vessel. She heard the crunch of rending metal and distant screams. Something flew past the porthole – a section of superstructure bearing the colours of the union flag, which tumbled, end over end, off into the darkness.

She thought of her father, on his deathbed in Delhi, and hoped he would be spared hearing the news of the crash.

The last thing she saw, before the lights went out, was Mr Gollalli clutching his valise to his ample stomach and murmuring frantic prayers – and Lady Eddington sitting upright in her seat and smiling with otherworldly serenity. She just had time to smile back, and then the lounge was pitched into absolute darkness.

Oddly, the darkness was accompanied by a matching silence as the cries and screams ceased momentarily. All Jani could hear was the wind tearing through a breach in the hull, and then a flash of fire ripped through the lounge. Through the porthole she made out the land, lit by the fall of the airship, coming up to meet them with terrifying speed.

She saw bodies, some alive and some obviously not, flying through the air. Then the floor seemed to fold like a closing book, threatening to press the passengers like so many bloody petals. She flinched, drawing up her legs instinctively, as a settee rushed towards her and pinioned her own seat so that she was trapped within like the meat of a clamshell.

Then the airship hit the ground and Jani knew no more.

CHAPTER

TWO