Supping With Panthers (8 page)

I heard a footstep behind me, and I turned and looked round. A creature was standing at the foot of the wall. He hadn’t seen us, but he seemed to know that we were hidden there, for he was smelling the air as though expecting to pick up our scent. I remembered the impression I had received of the mind-reader searching for our hiding-place, and I felt certain then – call it superstitious nonsense if you will that our presence had indeed been noted from afar. I pressed myself back against the wall and gestured to my companions to do the same. We lay there frozen, and the creature below us started to shamble away. Then I heard a scream … and a second scream. Despite myself I looked round. I must have gasped at what I saw, for my men were dangling from those infernal hooks and the statue was starting to creak slowly round. I froze again, but it was too late now the creature had seen me. I could see now that he was followed by a veritable pack of his pals and this, I admit, made me feel our time was up. I emptied my revolver and my companions emptied theirs, but still the brutes came shuffling on. I laid one out with my fist and caught a second on the chin, but it was then that I heard the most terrible cries coming from behind my back, and I turned to see my soldiers just a mess of blood and guts, sliced into ribbons and screaming out their last. At the same moment I felt a thud on the back of my head, and I remember wondering if I had just bought it as well. I staggered and collapsed. A gruesome-looking chap stared down at me; he stank abominably and it reminded me of something. Then his image swam. I murmured my dear wife’s name to myself. Then there was a blackness, and oblivion.

Letter, Professor Huree Jyoti Navalkar to Colonel Arthur Paxton.

9
June,
1887.

Colonel,

You must continue your advance with all possible speed. It is imperative – I repeat
imperative
– that you attack with fire. The inhabitants are in the grip of a terrible disease: light terrifies them. Therefore, when you arrive, you must torch the city. Trust me, I swear it, there is no other way.

I shall proceed ahead of you. Moorfield and his men, I am afraid, are in deadly peril. It may already be too late for them.

If they – or indeed I, or anyone – should approach you and yet not seem to recognise you, then kill us. A bullet through the heart.
Do not approach.
A single bite is sufficient to transmit the disease. There is no known cure. Tell all your men.

God’s speed, Colonel.

S.S.

Extract,
With Rifles in the Raj (continued).

A DESPERATE STAND

A dungeon cell – ‘Sri Sink’ – making a stand – a desperate retreat – a peculiar vision – the brahmin’s curse.

I woke to the dripping of water on stone. I opened my eyes. All was darkness. I tried to stir. I heard the clank of chains from above me, and I realised that my wrists were manacled to a cold stone wall.

‘Moorfield. Thank God!’

It was Eliot’s voice. I tried to make him out, but the darkness was total.

‘What happened?! asked. ‘How is Cuff?’

‘He is alive, I think, but not conscious yet. You looked as though you got a nasty blow yourself.’

‘It’s nothing,’ I answered. ‘How about you?’

‘I’m afraid I didn’t quite match your performance. One of the brutes stuck a spear into my leg.’

‘What rotten luck! Not too sore, I hope?’

Eliot laughed faintly. ‘Well, I don’t suppose we will be walking anywhere much, so it scarcely matters, I suppose.’

‘Nonsense,’ I answered. ‘We must escape at once.’

Eliot laughed drily.

‘Got any ideas?’ I inquired.

He didn’t answer.

‘Eliot?’ I asked.

‘There,’ he said suddenly.

‘What?’

‘Listen,’ I froze. There was nothing but a faint dripping of water. ‘Did you hear it?’ he asked.

‘What, the water?’

‘Of course,’ he said impatiently. ‘It’s coming from the far side of the cell.’ He paused. ‘Where the Sergeant-Major has been chained.’

I told him straight up that I didn’t get his drift.

‘The water must be coming from somewhere,’ he explained. ‘A subterranean source. If so, then the masonry will surely be weaker along the stretch against which it flows.’

I frowned. ‘Then why would the creatures have chained him there?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Eliot, ‘but is it really necessary to worry about that now?’

Well, of course, the moment Cuff came to we told him to give his manacles a tug. ‘Very good, sir,’ replied the Sergeant-Major. We heard him pulling and straining, and then he swore.

‘No joy?’ I asked.

‘Not yet, sir,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t intend to be beat by some savage’s wall. Give me time, sir, and we’ll see what we can do.’

He began to strain again, and pant, and still we heard him muttering and swearing to himself. ‘I thought it was a long shot,’ muttered Eliot at last.

‘You don’t know Cuff, ‘I replied. ‘He’s the strongest beggar I’ve ever come across.’

‘Very kind of you to say so, sir,’ gasped the Sergeant-Major, and at that moment we heard a great rending from the wall, and a clanking of chains, and Cuff fell forward with a thud on to the floor.

‘Everything all right?’ I asked.

‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ he answered. ‘Rarely felt better.’

‘Good work.’

‘Thank you very much, sir.’

By great good fortune I had some loose matches in my pocket I informed the Sergeant-Major of this lucky chance, and he reached for the matches and lit one against a brick. In the brief spurt of light I saw how his chains had been wrenched off completely from the wall; he was starting to pull at his wrist, and as the veins in his neck and forehead began to bulge the manacle suddenly snapped and gave. Then the match went out.

I heard the Sergeant-Major move across the cell and start to pull at Eliot’s chains. This time, however, it seemed that the metal was too strong for him. ‘light another match,’ I said, whispering, for by now the suspense of our situation was playing the devil with my nerves. ‘See if you can find anything that might be of help.’

‘Very good, sir.’

He removed a second match, and again there was a spurt of light. He looked round the cell, which I observed now was a rough-stoned, evil-looking place. He peered into the darkness of the far comer and then, just as the match was flickering to nothingness, I heard him gasp. ‘What is it, Sergeant-Major?’ I asked, as I saw him bend down. ‘Found anything?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he answered. ‘I rather think I have.’ He walked over to me and took out a third – the final – match; he Ht it and then held something up to the wash of the flame. It was a key.

‘What the deuce…’ I whispered.

The Sergeant-Major returned to Eliot. He fitted the key and twisted it; the manacles slipped from Eliot’s wrists. ‘Extraordinary,’ I muttered, staring at him. Then the match went out. At the same time from beyond the cell we heard footsteps coming down towards the door.

‘Cuff, Eliot,’ I ordered through my teeth, ‘back against the wall!’ I heard them move; I prayed they were placing their wrists by the chains, but I had no time to check with them, for by now a key was scraping in the dungeon door, and the next thing I knew early-morning light was blinding me.

I blinked. A creature was standing in the doorway. There were several other human forms on the steps behind him, but it was this particular monster which made me frown and brace myself. He was pale, as all the others had been, and his eyes I couldn’t see, for he kept them half-shut, but I knew at once that he was a different breed of thing from the creatures by his back. He seemed as chill as a statue carved from ice and yet, although his face looked flinty and cruel, there was also a softness in it, like a spoiled woman’s perhaps, and it gave me the impression of an awful, shameless power. For all that, he reminded me of someone I had seen before and I frowned as I studied him, racking my brains. Then I remembered – his was the face I had seen up on the wall, staring down at me just before I went out cold. Eliot, I sensed, recognised him too, for I heard him start and then try to recompose himself. The creature took a step forward and I was certain now of who he was, for I recognised his stench. I remembered the priest, the old
brahmin
I had shot in the leg, and recalled that he too had stunk in the very same way.

The creature walked further into the cell, and three other figures followed him. Their eyes were as dead as all the others’ had been; but their leader opened his own eyes wide now and I saw that they were not dead at all but almost twinkling. He scanned the wrists of Eliot and Cuff; for a moment I thought we were found out, but then the creature bent down by my side and I saw him draw forth a stake from his cloak. He stared into my face and drew the stake up, so that I imagined he was preparing to drive it into my heart. Then he winked at me; he turned; he threw himself against one of the figures behind his back.

The two forms rolled across the floor, and the others moved to join in the fray. But they were slow, and I saw how the man with the stake was forcing his adversary into the light where his movements were growing gradually ever more dull.

Eliot too, I realised, had thrown off his chains; he was wrestling with one of the creatures and calling out to Cuff to join him in the fight. ‘Don’t let them draw your blood,’ he called, as he pinned his adversary against the sunlit steps.

Then I heard a scream, long and gurgling, and saw a veritable geyser of blood spouting up against the roof. One of the creatures lay dead, a stake through his heart, as his blood splashed upwards and then seeped across the floor. His slayer rose to his feet and took the stake from the dead monster’s chest; he crossed to where Cuff had pinned his opponent to the wall. ‘Into the sunlight,’ said this extraordinary man.

Cuff pushed the creature forward; sluggish before, it seemed paralysed now. ‘Yes, yes,’ said the strange man, ‘go on, through the heart.’ He gave Cuff the stake. ‘Eliminate all this damned vascular activity.’ Cuff did as he was instructed and again a fountain of blood burst up across the cell.

‘And now,’ said the Indian, crossing to Eliot, ‘let’s get it done with. Step back, Jack. This is a painful business for we vegetarians, I know.’ Eliot smiled and stood up as the Indian went about his grisly business. Once it was over, he rose to his feet. He shook Eliot’s hand; then he turned to me. ‘As you would say, Captain,’ he said, stretching out his arms, ‘bloody good show!’

I frowned. It scarcely seemed possible. ‘It’s not…’ I paused. ‘It’s not Professor Jyoti?’ I asked.

‘Very good.’ The Indian wiped makeup from his face and, looking now, I couldn’t imagine how I had ever failed to recognise him. And yet I had been wholly deceived, and my look of astonishment must have been writ very clear, for the Indian – let me call him Babu no more – laughed out loud.

‘You old dog,’ I whispered. ‘How did you manage it?’

Professor Jyoti tapped the side of his nose. ‘Know your enemy,’ he said.

‘But… I mean … look here … in God’s name … how?’

The Professor drew himself up as far as his height would allow. ‘Because knowledge,’ he replied, ‘is the business of Sri Sinh.’

I stared at him in amazement and, yes, I grant you, not a little shame as well. ‘Good Lord,’ I whispered. I realised how grievously wrong I had been about the man. Even now, thirty years on, the memory of my initial scorn makes me blush, for without a doubt the Professor was one of the bravest fellows I have ever met, and I have known quite a few in my time. He told me as he unlocked my wrists that he had been undercover in Kalikshutra for several days, and that the people had taken him to be one of their own. He had seen us fighting on the wall and had ensured, when we were taken, that we were not infected with the fatal disease. Furthermore, judging that Sergeant-Major Cuff was the strongest of us, he had left him chained where the wall was least secure, and secreted the key in the darkness by his feet.

‘I could not have freed you then,’ he explained, ‘because as you have seen these diseased wretches are strongest at night. In the daytime, however, it is quite a different kettle of fish. Fortunately’ – he slipped the chains from off my wrists, then glanced around the cell – ‘everything turned out as well as could be hoped.’

‘But, Huree,’ said Eliot, ‘if you have been amongst these people all this while, how have they failed to discover you? We have seen them; their disease enables them to smell out human blood.’

Professor Jyoti laughed. ‘So many times I have told you, I think, that folklore leads where science must follow.’

Eliot’s eyes glimmered bright and hawk-like. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Can you not smell me? Do you not think I am stinking pretty bad?’

‘Yes. You smell like the brahmins in the foothills often do.’

‘That is because I have sat at their feet, and learned from them.’ The Professor removed a pouch that had been slung from his belt, and opened it. As we peered into it, the stench from its contents rose up in a blast. I caught a glimpse of what seemed to be crushed vegetable matter, moist and white, before I could stand it no more and had to look away. Only Eliot continued to study it. He dipped his finger into the mess, then held it up to the light. ‘What is it?’ he asked.