Jonny stumbled as a rough hand shoved him into the dank cell in the dungeons beneath the palace. The loud clang of the door as it swung shut sounded extremely final. He turned and watched through narrowed eyes as their escort moved away. Another man locked the cell door and grinned evilly at his captives.
Mahavir stepped forward boldly. "Where are you taking them?" he demanded, gesturing at the four women who huddled together fearfully in the corridor outside the cell. They were still surrounded by Janissary guards. Jonny tensed as one of them took the saber he carried and caressed the cheek of the woman he had talked with earlier. She shied back with a tiny whimper.
Their jailer laughed. "They go to an even better place than yours. I would worry more about coming up with the answers the master wants. His inquisitor is not a man you want to get to know well. He enjoys his work too much." With that, the man turned and walked away, gesturing for the guards to follow. The men shoved the terrified women after him. When one turned back toward the cell, obviously about to appeal to Mahavir, one of the guards struck her brutally, knocking her to the ground. The young woman cried out in pain. The guard laughed and grabbing her by one arm, he dragged her down the stone corridor and out of sight. They could all hear her sobs trail off into the distance.
Mahavir stood like a statue, gripping the bars of the cell until his entire fist turned white. No one dared to say a word to him. Finally, one young man said hesitantly, "Sir - Sir, what do we do? What do they want?"
With an effort, Mahavir released his death grip on the bars and turned to the others. There were eight of them, counting Jonny and Mahavir. The other six men were of varying ages and all were members of Vijay Patel's entourage. Jonny stepped up and began carefully examining the door to their cell as Mahavir replied, "They wish to know where my uncle is."
"But we do not know!"
"I have explained that to them. And when they ask again, we will tell them the same."
Jonny moved to the far end of the cell and examined the anchorage of the bars into the walls. Grabbing the bars, he pushed experimentally. Solid. He knelt and did the same to the bottom of the bars. It was the same. He rose and moved to the other side, testing the anchorage of the bars at the other end, as well. They were also solid.
"Who are you?"
Jonny rose from his crouch, glancing at Mahavir before he began a close inspection of the stone walls of the cell.
"A friend. How long has Vijay Patel been missing?"
"Since Thursday last. I have never seen you before. Are you new to the palace? What is your name?"
"I've been here before, but do not live here." Jonny knelt to peer closely at one of the stones about 18 inches off the ground. After a moment, he rose again and continued his perusal of the cell walls. "We must get out of here, preferably before we have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Birla's inquisitor."
"But none have ever escaped these dungeons!"
"There is always a first time. Or would you prefer to stay and enjoy the pleasures Mr. Birla has in store?"
"No!"
"Then we need to find a way out."
"Who are you?" Mahavir insisted, following Jonny around the cell. By this time the two men had reached the far end of the cell, leaving the others standing huddled together on the opposite side. Jonny shot them a swift look and then lowered his voice carefully.
"I was sent to you by the Sultan." Jonny grimaced. "He sought information on your uncle's whereabouts, but . . ."
After the first startled look, Mahavir recovered and replied softly, "We truly do not know where he is. He disappeared the same day that the Subramanian family was murdered."
Jonny's head snapped up sharply, his shock evident. "Murdered! Kefira's family? What the hell . . ."
"You did not know of this?"
"No!" Jonny hissed harshly. "Tell me!"
Swiftly, Mahavir told him of the attack, ending with, "And when they were done, they set fire to the house . . . with the remaining family and all the household servants inside." The bitterness in his tone was clear.
"Geezus," Jonny breathed softly. "This'll kill Kefira. She adored her dad and so did Hadji."
"You are not from Bangalore!" That sharp statement caused Jonny to look up again, and only then did he realize that his last comment had been made in English. Mahavir stared hard at him for a long moment, and then breathed softly, "American. You are American . . . and from the Sultan." Then alarm flared. "He is here, is he not? The Sultan. In Bangalore. Now."
Jonny glanced over at the others warily and then lowered his voice even further. "Yes," he breathed, reverting to Hindi once more. "He is here . . . in the palace." He looked around the cell and anger and frustration suddenly exploded causing him to strike the wall with his fist. "We have to get out of here! I don't trust him not to try to come after me. If he does that and gets caught, it's all over!"
Mahavir was still staring at him. "You are his American brother. You must be. No one else would risk what you have by coming here."
Jonny winced slightly. "No, I'm not the only one who would risk coming here for him." He rubbed his forehead and muttered softly in English, "They're following us. I can feel it."
"Who?" Mahavir demanded. "Who is following you?"
Jonny sighed. "Kefira and Jessie."
"Kefira I know. She is the middle daughter of Rajeev Subramanian . . . the woman supposedly betrothed to the Sultan . . ."
"His wife."
"What?"
"Hadji's wife . . . Kefira is his wife."
"But that cannot be right. The betrothal was only just announced . . ."
"They were married before the betrothal was ever announced," Jonny said and thought to himself that it was probably true . . . by an hour or so.
"But . . . but . . . she was not approved by the Advisory Council or . . ."
"Don't say it!" Jonny warned the other man sharply. "Don't ever let Hadji hear you raise those issues. The entire process infuriates him and I won't swear to what he will do if someone suggests that Kefira isn't or can't be his wife."
Mahavir swallowed hard but finally nodded. "I understand. But who is the other person you mentioned? This 'Jessie'?"
"The daughter of the man who helped raise Hadji and me."
"Jessica Bannon?" Jonny nodded. "I have heard stories of her. Many said that she would one day be Sultana of Bangalore."
No matter how hard he tried, Jonny couldn't prevent the automatic tension that gripped him every time someone mentioned that. It didn't matter that Hadji and Jessie had had no part in the idea, or that Hadji now had a woman he loved deeply. The mere suggestion that the two of them might have been a couple caused his stomach to tie itself into knots.
"No," he snapped. The startled look on the other man's face told Jonny that the single word had come out a bit more harshly than he had intended. He took a deep breath and said a bit more civilly, "No, Hadji never considered that idea."
Mahavir looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment before he replied softly, "Because Jessica Bannon was yours."
Jonny shook his head. "No, Hadji had made that choice long before Jess and I ever became involved. I just don't think they ever thought of each other that way." Then a glimmer of humor touched his face. "And if you love life, never let Jess hear you refer to her as though she were a piece of property!"
Mahavir nodded his understanding, but added insightfully, "But the idea still touches a nerve."
"Well, it would, now wouldn't it?" Jonny replied, the humor leaving his face once more. "This isn't getting us out of here. I'm open to any ideas you might have to offer."
"Unfortunately, I have none. I told you. No one has ever escaped from these dungeons."
"Well, then you better start giving it some serious thought, because one way or the other, we're getting out of here!"
It was the sound of footsteps in the echoing darkness that finally roused Hadji from his stunned immobility. Raising his head, he peered into the blackness trying the sense the direction the footsteps were coming from. No voice . . . just footsteps . . . two sets of them . . . coming from his left and approaching rapidly. Hadji rose hastily and, feeling his way carefully, he located a side passage that led to a viewing alcove overlooking one of the palace rooms. There he paused and waited in silence. He searched his pockets frantically, suddenly wondering what had become of his flashlight, but found no sign of it. Then he stilled as he became aware of a growing golden glow coming from around the corner where he now hid.
"Stop!" Abruptly the sound of the footsteps halted and after a moment, a man's voice said hoarsely, "The dust . . . it has been disturbed."
The man's companion voiced a soft, indistinguishable sound and then Hadji heard scuffling. The light cast weird, bouncing patterns on the walls across from him, as though the two people were swinging their lights around
"Look!" the man said, and suddenly a piercing, focused, blue-white shaft of light shot up the dark passageway toward the Patel offices. They had found his flashlight. "Someone else is in these passageways!"
There was absolute silence for a long moment, and then a soft, familiar voice called out gently, "Hadji? Are you there, my son?"
"Mother!" Hadji hurtled out into the corridor and came face-to-face with Neela and Vijay Patel. Hadji swept his mother into his arms and hugged her tightly. "Mother, are you well? I feared you had been lost . . ."
Neela clung to him tightly, murmuring his name over and over for a long moment. Finally, with a sniff, she pushed away from him and said, "No, my son, I am fine. But you . . . how did you get here? And why are you here? It is not safe for you in the palace!"
Before Hadji had the chance to reply, Vijay interrupted them in a low, urgent tone. "This is not the time or place, Excellenices. We are too close to the palace corridors and may be overheard."
"You are wise, Mr. Patel," Hadji agreed. "Come, this way . . ."
"Wait, Excellency!" Vijay said. "We were on our way to make contact with my nephew, Mahavir . . ."
"No, not now. Come, let us get to a safer place and we will talk." Reluctantly, Vijay and Neela followed him as Hadji set out at a swift pace. When he finally stopped, Vijay found he was completely turned around and had no idea where he was within the palace. Turning back to them, Hadji said, "Now, I must know what has been transpired in the last several days. We do not have much time."
Neela gestured wearily and, seeing no furniture in the room, she sank to the floor as though too tired to continue to stand. "Mr. Birla has taken the palace," she replied. "Oh, he has not declared it openly, but he has filled it with armed men loyal to him alone and people who have attempted to stand up to him have been 'disappearing' without a trace."
"What of the palace guard?"
Vijay shook his head. "Gone. Some were killed outright, we believe, but most of them were sent on 'errands' or assignments out of the palace and never reappeared."
"The Sipahi?"
"Driven from the city and scattered." Vijay hesitated. "The Janissary Guard has returned . . ."
"I have seen them," Hadji replied grimly. "And their handiwork. What of the rural populace?"
Neela, who had been looking up at her son, turned her head away abruptly as Vijay stared at the floor. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at his Sultan. "What have you heard?"
"Nothing," Hadji replied impatiently. "I have gotten no official word of any kind for almost six days . . . not since I left the United States. And much of that time has been spent either in transit or in hiding trying to get information. So what is the situation now?"
Vijay shook his head. "I do not know the situation in the countryside either, but I do not believe that it can be good. I have been secreted in these passageways with the Lady Neela since last Friday trying to ensure that Mr. Birla does not capture her. So far, the only thing that has kept him in check is the fact that he has no one of the royal family in his custody. If either you or your mother were to fall into his hands . . ." Vijay shook his head. "But when I was out in the countryside last Thursday . . ." He trailed off, unable to look at Hadji any longer.
With a deep feeling of dread, Hadji placed his hand on the other man's shoulder and commanded, "Tell me, Mr. Patel. Something very bad has occurred. I have felt it ever since I arrived in Bangalore."
Vijay took and deep breath and then raised his head and looked Hadji straight in the eyes. "Six days ago, Excellency, Arun Birla and a troop of Janissary soldiers went to the home of Rajeev Subramanian. They murdered both he and his wife, and then set fire to the house with the rest of the family and staff in it. None escaped."
Neela rose hastily and came to stand beside her son. She laid a consoling hand on his arm, but he seemed totally unaware of her presence. He simply stood, staring back at Vijay Patel with a face totally devoid of expression. Finally, he said distantly, "Sumant Subramanian and his family?" Vijay shook his head wordlessly.
Shaking free of his mother's grasp, he turned on his heel and paced slowly away from them, struggling to comprehend what he had just been told. Rajeev . . . dead. And Anila . . . and Maia and Srinvasan . . . as well as Sumant and his family. All dead. All because they had supported him and because he loved Rajeev and Anila's daughter. And for what? Greed? Power? So that another self-styled dictator could get more power and property than he could possibly use in a lifetime? And all at the expense of thousands of poor people who had next to nothing to start with and who would end up with even less when Birla was finished.
Before his mind's eye, an image of Kefira rose as he had seen her last . . . her dark eyes grave, yet filled with love. He remembered her telling him that when a woman married, she bound herself to her husband for good or ill and that it was her choice to be his wife . . . made of her own free will. "And now, beloved?" He whispered in soft agony, leaning his forehead against the cool stone in front of him. "Will you be so certain of your choice now?"
"Hadji," a soft voice said behind him and once more he felt his mother's hand on his arm. "She is safe, my son, thousands of miles from here . . . where the dangers that surround us cannot touch her."
For a long time, Hadji didn't reply. When he finally did, the agony in his voice caused both of them to flinch. "No, Mother. There is nowhere that is safe any longer . . . for Kefira, for you, or for anyone else that I care about." The two watched as he slowly straightened and squared his shoulders. When he turned back to them once more, there was a new look of grim determination on his face. All indecision was gone. "I have tried to move slowly in the hope of making change as painless as possible. But because of the greed of a few old men and those who would follow them, that is no longer possible. My brother advised me that I should raise an army to take this palace and he was right. Only by stopping the man driving this lunacy will the killing stop."
"But . . . but, Excellency . . . " Vijay sputtered, not sure he recognized this young man any longer. "Where will you find an army? The people here are not loyal and you cannot trust them!"
"In the palace, I agree with you. But outside these walls there are thousands of people who will follow me. That is where we shall find the army that we need."
"The people of Bangalore City are not soldiers, Hadji," Neela cautioned him. "You cannot expect them to fight."
"Oh, but I do expect them to fight, Mother. Not only that, I anticipate finding them ready to do so, provided they have a leader to follow. And I shall give them one."
"Many will die . . ." Neela began urgently, but Hadji stopped her.
"Yes. Perhaps even I will. But I believe, Mother, that you will find that, given the choice, they will prefer to die free than live as slaves any longer."
Neela turned to appeal to Vijay Patel for help, but the words died in her throat as she saw his face. His eyes blazed with a look of fanatical devotion, telling her all she needed to know. This man would follow her son without reservation . . . into hell and back if that's what he asked . . . and she knew that the people outside of this palace would do so as well. Hadji had been right after all.
"To do this, we must get out of the palace," she said quietly to him. "So far, we have been unable to find a way to do this. All exits are closely guarded and there are far too many men to successfully get through them."
"We had been on our way to my office in the hope that my nephew, Mahavir, would be able to assist us," Vijay added.
Hadji shook his head. "That will not be possible. Mahavir and the rest of your staff have been taken by Birla's men. I watched them being led away."
Vijay absorbed this information in silence. Finally, he replied, "Then I do not know how . . ."
Hadji shook his head impatiently. "I will worry about getting out of the palace in due time. First, there is something else I must do. Tell me, Vijay, were any possessions of mine recently brought to the palace?"
"Yes," he replied promptly. "There were two bags . . . suitcases . . . brought by Janissary soldiers some days ago."
"What happened to them?" "They were taken to Mr. Birla's quarters and searched. I was hiding in the alcove that looks in on Mr. Birla's resting chamber as he went through them. At least one of them belonged to you, of that I am certain, because I recognized some of the clothing. But Mr. Birla appeared to seek something very specific and he was extremely displeased when he did not find it."
"The Heart of Bangalore," Neela breathed. "It would be a powerful symbol for him if he were to locate it. He anticipated that you would be carrying it with you."
"He will not find it," Hadji replied in a satisfied tone. "But what of the suitcases now? Where are they?"
"As far as I know, they are still in Mr. Birla's quarters."
"Good. Then let us go there quickly. There are items that I must retrieve." Without waiting to see if they followed, Hadji set off at a rapid pace, his flashlight illuminating the way in front of him. Vijay and Neela exchanged a startled look and then both ran to catch up with him.
A short time later, Hadji peered through the spy hole into Birla's quarters. Everything appeared quiet. He spotted the two suitcases almost immediately. They sat on a divan against the far wall. The lids on both were closed, and Hadji could see that the latches had been forced. Catching his mother by the arm, he drew her up beside him and placed his lips close to her ear. "What type of entourage does he keep with him here in the palace? Will there be guards on his rooms? A wife?"
Neela shook her head sharply and drew his head down so she could whisper in his ear. "He maintains a house in the city, so his family does not stay in the palace. He has a secretary, two personal bodyguards, and a group of Janissary guards, but he has become nervous in recent days and he keeps all of these people with him, fearing an attack on his person. A guard may be posted on the door outside of the room, but his quarters should be empty if he is not here."
Hadji nodded. Gesturing Vijay forward, he drew both of them close. "Mother, you will stay here and keep watch through the spy hole on the next room. If he returns, you must warn us. Vijay, you will come with me."
"I have barred the entrances to his quarters," Vijay cautioned, following him up the corridor toward the access panel. "He suspects these passageways are here and has been searching for them."
Hadji nodded. "Excellent job. We will bar them again once we finish here."
"Are you going to take the suitcases?"
"No. I would prefer he does not know they have been accessed. What I want from them he has either already found, or will not miss once I take it. Everything appears quiet. Let us do this quickly."
Swiftly, Vijay removed the bar and Hadji tripped the switch, pulled open the access panel, and slipped inside with Vijay at his heels. The two men froze, listening carefully. No sound marred the silence. After a moment, Hadji gestured to Vijay and the two men crossed to the suitcases. Vijay watched as Hadji lifted the clothing out of one of them. Setting the pile aside, he used his right hand to probe the interior left hand corner of the bottom of the case with delicate fingers. At the same time, he used the thumb of his left hand to spin the small combination locks on the outside. The noise seemed loud in the silence of the room. Suddenly, Hadji gave a sharp tug on the inside of the suitcase and Vijay watched as the entire bottom of it popped out. His eyes widened in stunned amazement at the small arsenal. Swiftly, Hadji began taking the items out of the bottom. He handed Vijay several different types of knives, keeping one of them and fastening the sheath onto his belt. There were also some flat metal stars that appeared wickedly sharp that he slid carefully into a heavy leather pouch and slipped into his pocket. There were also three flat, black boxes of varying sizes. Hadji handed the two larger boxes to Vijay with a gesture that warned him to handle them carefully. The third box he slid into the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. That emptied the hidden compartment in the suitcase. Quickly, he popped the bottom back into place, spun the locks, replaced the clothing and closed the lid. Then he went through the same procedure with the second suitcase. Inside that one were two lethal-looking pistols with three ammunition clips each, several boxes of additional shells, two webbed nylon shoulder holsters, a larger square box that was obviously heavy, and a small square box covered in purple satin. All of these items were collected and the suitcase reassembled. Vijay was amazed at the calm, swift precision with which Hadji executed the entire process. Finally, he straightened and gestured back toward the access panel once more.
They were in the middle of the room when sounds could be heard from the main entrance to the suite. Neither man could make out the words, but the voice was undoubtedly that of Arun Birla, and he did not sound pleased. Hadji and Vijay had barely made it back into the passageway and shut the access panel when Birla erupted into the room. His fierce scowl was a testament to his mood, as he stomped across the room and began pulling open drawers and throwing things around as though searching for something.
"What do I care what the United Nations thinks?" he demanded harshly in a loud voice. Behind him, a spare hesitant little man appeared in the doorway.
"But Excellency, a resolution from the Security Council would authorize U.N. troops into the country on a peacekeeping mission. You must be aware that first-in troops in a U.N. peacekeeping force are almost always American, and the Unites States government is pushing very hard for passage of the resolution."
"Why?!"
"We believe it is because we have not been forthcoming in providing them with information on the location of the Sultan. One of their senior military officers, an Admiral Bennett, was quoted as saying that because we appear to be unwilling to say where the Sultan is, the United States government should make it their business to find out. And now, they are demanding to know the whereabouts of Ms. Subramanian, as well."
"What right do they have to demand to know the whereabouts of a citizen of Bangalore?" Birla snarled, slamming another drawer.
"They claim," the little man said carefully, "that Kefira Subramanian is actually Mrs. Hadji Singh, legal wife of the Sultan, and therefore, an American citizen by marriage."
"WHAT?!!" Birla whirled on the little man in fury.
"Further, the Indian Ambassador to the United States is said to have examined the marriage documents and pronounced them legitimate. Now, the Indian government is supporting the United States' demands for information on the whereabouts of both the Sultan and Sultana of Bangalore."
"She is not Sultana of this country until she is proclaimed so by the Council," Birla snapped.
"Perhaps not. But that point makes little difference. If the marriage is legal by American law, then she is a U.S. citizen and the government of that country has the right to demand knowledge of her whereabouts . . . and they are doing so . . . very loudly and very publicly."
"What is the chance the marriage is a ruse?"
"None, Excellency," the man replied flatly. "The U.S. government has officially confirmed Kefira Singh's citizenship status. Its processing was obviously expedited, probably in an effort to put her under the umbrella of U.S. protection." The man paused. "According to the records Ambassador Tilak viewed, the date of the marriage was the same as the date of the attack on the Sultan and his wife in New York." The man paused once more, clearing his throat, and then continued on doggedly in the face of Birla's ferocious glare. "It would appear that the attack and attempted kidnapping of Ms. Subramanian in New York, followed by the announcement of their betrothal, caused the Sultan to take drastic action in response."
Birla snarled in sheer animal rage, grabbed a drawer out of the nearby dresser, and flung it violently against the wall on the opposite side of the room, while uttering an extremely rude phrase in Hindi about Hadji's parentage. He breathed heavily for a moment and then snapped, "It is not here, and there is no time to search for it any longer."
"But Excellency . . ."
"The United States government wishes us to produce the Sultan and his wife. I believe it is time we ascertain their whereabouts. I am going to my office. Find the Captain of the Janissaries and the Chief Inquisitor and send them to me. We will then go down to the dungeons and get some answers to that question, one way or the other." And with that, Birla shoved past the man and was gone.
For a moment, Hadji remained immobile, considering the overheard conversation. So his marriage to Kefira was officially out in the open. That information could only have come from one source . . . Kefira and Jessie. In addition, the Indian government, who normally made it a point not to get involved with the internal disputes of its neighbors, were putting themselves square in the middle . . . and they were not siding with the country on their own border. He could sense an outside hand at work and wondered briefly who had the leverage to bend the Indian government to their will in this manner. Certainly, it could not be his father. Benton Quest was powerful, but Hadji doubted he was in a position to be able to apply that type of influence. Furthermore, that sort of heavy-handedness was unlike his father. So who was interfering on their behalf? He shook his head. There was no time to consider that question now. Birla would be on his way to the dungeons very shortly and Hadji knew whom the man planned to get his answers from. Spinning, he came face-to-face with his mother and Vijay Patel. Even in the dimness of the passageway, he could see their identical expressions of stunned disbelief.
"You married her?" his mother demanded. "While the two of you were out of the country? And without the Council's blessing?"
"Has the union been consummated?" Vijay demanded bluntly. "Perhaps we can still salvage . . ."
"Yes, I married her," Hadji snapped, shaken out of his momentary immobility. "And whether it has been consummated or not is none of your affair. That is between Kefira and myself. There is no time for this. We must . . ."
"The Council will never accept her now!" Neela shrilled. "You have destroyed any chance of that with this action. If you wanted her for your wife so much . . ."
The sudden rage that flared in the young Sultan's face silenced both of them. "Understand this clearly," he said harshly. "What the Council will or will not accept does not concern me. Kefira is my wife . . . my only wife. I will never take another. I will hear no more discussion of the matter. Now, unless you wish for Mr. Patel's entire staff to die at the hands of Mr. Birla's inquisitor, I suggest that you follow me." With that, he shoved past them and left at a run, the light of his flashlight bobbing with each footfall. Neela and Vijay exchanged alarmed looks.
"Where is he . . ." Vijay began, but Neela cut him off, sounding half-panicked.
"No! He cannot go to the dungeons! They will capture him for certain!" The two of them chased Hadji frantically, but were unable to catch up with him until he had reached the lowest level of the palace. Both of them were gasping desperately when they finally stumbled to a halt next to him as he peered through one of the view panels. Vijay noted with envy that the young man wasn't even breathing hard.
"Excellency," Vijay hissed, struggling for breath, "you cannot . . . do this. You . . . cannot . . . be taken."
"I cannot leave them there."
"They will understand, Excellency," Vijay whispered urgently. "They support you . . ."
"The dead have no capacity for understanding, Mr. Patel," Hadji answered shortly. "Furthermore, there is a man with your people that I must free. I cannot leave him here . . . not and ever be able to live with myself. You are to remain here. If something goes wrong, you are to get my mother out of the palace, find my wife, and do what you must to see that what I have set in motion for Bangalore is completed."
With that, Hadji shoved Vijay back, triggered the secret door, and burst out of the passageway directly into the rest area for the guards assigned to the dungeon. There were three men in the room . . . two at a table in the middle of the floor and one at a counter about five feet beyond the first two. Hadji struck swiftly and silently. The two men at the table were dispatched before they even realized what was going on . . . one with a vicious kick to the jaw and the other with a stunning uppercut to the side of the head. The sound of the blows caused the third man to whirl, but he had time for little more than a breathless exclamation of surprise before a karate kick to the solar plexus knocked the wind out of him. The follow up blow to the temple left him senseless on the floor with the other two. Then, the sudden sound of a scuffle caused Hadji to spin and he saw that he had miscalculated on one point. There hadn't been three men in the room . . . there had been four. The last man had been asleep on a bunk against the wall near the doorway to the secret passage and Hadji hadn't been able to see him. As swift and quiet as the fight had been, it had still woken the last man.
The guard had obviously intended to dispatch Hadji with the long, wicked-looking knife he held in one hand, but he never got the chance to use it. Vijay Patel had moved first. Now, the two men were locked in a silent, deadly struggle. Vijay had jumped the man from behind and clamped one hand tightly over the man's mouth, while the other grasped the wrist that held the knife. The guard's free hand was buried in Vijay's hair and he was yanking at it, trying to loosen Vijay's grip. At the same time, the guard was writhing and kicking in a desperate attempt to free himself. Hadji took a step toward them, but before he could reach the two men, it was over. With an almost superhuman effort, Vijay tightened his grip on the man's jaw and yanked viciously to his right. The sharp snapping of the man's neck was clear in the eerie silence of the room. The guard immediately went limp and Vijay released him, allowing him to fall to the floor. Beyond him, framed in the open passageway door, Neela stood transfixed, one hand over her mouth as though trying to stifle a scream. Vijay reached down and grabbed the knife the man had held just moments before. Straightening once more, he hissed fiercely, "If you insist on this madness, then you do not go alone!" Pushing past Hadji, Vijay strode to the far side of the room and eased the door to the dungeon corridor open. After scanning the outside quickly he slipped through and disappeared. Hadji hesitated for only a second. Gesturing sharply to his mother to retreat back into the safety of the passageway and close the access panel, he followed Vijay Patel into the dungeon.
Hadji caught up with the man as he peered cautiously around the corner into a large, open chamber. The guardroom was in one of the side corridors that opened into the main dungeon chamber. Similar corridors radiated out from here like spokes on a wagon wheel. At the very center of the room was the large open pit that Vikram Singh had kept filled with poisonous snakes . . . the one he and his mother had almost died in years before. Hadji couldn't still the involuntary shudder that passed through him at the sight of that pit. He also knew that the second entrance to his right was the door that led to the stairs that rose into the palace. However, that still left eight other corridors that could house the prisoners. They didn't have the time to search them all. Catching Vijay by the shoulder, he drew him back away from the large chamber once more. Placing his lips next to the other man's ear, he breathed softly,
"Do you know which of the corridors house prisoners?"
Vijay smiled grimly. "All of them," he replied in the same tone. "Mr. Birla has his enemies and he is taking no chances. We are going to have to ask for our friends." The sudden sound of footsteps on the stone floor echoed hollowly. Chancing a swift look, they saw that two guards must have been in one of the side corridors and had now returned to the central area. Both stood near the circular pit talking idly. Placing a hand on Vijay's arm, Hadji motioned him to wait and then ran on silent cat feet back to the guardroom. Snatching up a handful of cheap silverware from the counter, he returned to his companion. He gestured to Vijay and then threw the items toward the pit. The cheap metal struck the stone with a gratifying amount of noise and then skittered across the floor and slid off into the pit. The two men whipped around, searching the semi-gloom for the cause of the disturbance. Then, drawing long, deadly knives from belt sheaths, they both began to circle the pit cautiously, moving toward the source of the sudden noise. Vijay stepped back and tested a closed door about two feet down the corridor from where they stood. It opened silently to reveal a storage room. Grabbing Hadji's arm, they both retreated into the gloom and eased the door closed, waiting tensely for the guards to come into sight. Nerves stretched thinner and thinner as the minutes seemed to drag into eternity. And the entire time, a tiny voice in Hadji's mind continued to scream, There is no time!
"Pahaninath? Bhim?" The guttural voice was thick and carried a strange lilt. It had also been very close at hand. The two stood like stones, hardly even daring to breath. Hadji closed his eyes and used every ounce of concentration and strength he possessed to will them away from the corridor and back out into the main chamber. Then, the soft pad of footsteps receded slightly. Hadji opened his eyes and eased the door open fractionally. He could just see the backs of the two men who now stood peering down into the pit about eight feet away from the entry to their corridor. Hadji didn't even hesitate. He jerked open the door and sprang forward, launching himself at the two men as he drew the knife that Jean-Paul had provided. Vijay was at his side almost immediately.
Perhaps it was the whisper of the knife leaving the sheath that alerted them . . . or some innate sixth sense. Whatever it was, the two guards spun to face them just as Hadji and Vijay cleared the corridor. Vijay immediately dove to his right, drawing one of their attackers away, as Hadji turned with his knife, poised to meet the other man. He was an extremely tall, broad-chested, man with a thick head of heavy, black hair without a trace of gray, dark brown skin, and a large, handlebar mustache. Shock struck Hadji like a blow as he recognized the man that faced him. This man was not Bangalorian. He wasn't even Indian. His name was Adham Asad . . . the Black Lion. He was Middle Eastern by birth, a mercenary since he was little more than six years old, and one of the most ruthless and merciless of the Janissaries. He had been the keeper of the dungeons of Bangalore for close to ten years under the rein of both Deepak and Vikram Singh. He had also been his mother's jailer during her years of imprisonment in this hellhole. And without needing to be told, Hadji knew that he was also Arun Birla's chief inquisitor.
Icy fury filled Hadji's gut and his vision seemed to sharpen into preternatural clarity as he dropped into a fighter's stance and circled, watching the other man intently. And still he heard that voice . . .
He saw Asad's eyes narrow slightly as he fought to place Hadji's face. Hadji's lips drew back in a grin that was more of a snarl than a smile.
"So, evil one, we meet again. When you ran away like a coward the last time, I thought you gone for good." Hadji saw the man's eyes widen as recognition finally dawned.
"So the little prince has come crawling back in the darkness like a frightened mouse," the man answered with a feral grin. The muscles in his arms and legs rippled as the man dropped into a fighting crouch and moved fluidly, sizing up his opponent.
Race's voice echoed in Hadji's ears. Never watch the knife. It can lie. Watch your adversary's chest. Movement there will warn you of what your attacker plans to do . . . The years of hand-to-hand combat training that Race required of all of them paid off, as the sudden flex of those muscles warned Hadji a split second before Asad lunged at him with a vicious underhanded thrust toward his belly. Hadji parried the blow cleanly, and slashed out at the man with a flicking motion that drew blood across the top of Asad's forearm as he danced out of his reach again. Asad had both reach and weight on his side, but Hadji was quicker. The lethal dance continued as each man feinted, thrust and parried, testing his adversary's reflexes, stamina, and skill. Hadji drew blood on his opponent several more times, but all were minor injuries. He was unable to get through Asad's guard deeply enough to do real damage.
And through it all, the voice in his head continued to chant . . .
Hadji feinted to his right, watching his opponent's reactions. Sweat glistened on the other man's face and arms now, and he struggled to catch his breath.
"Age tells, Black One," Hadji taunted, dancing out of reach yet again. "You are old . . . an anachronism . . . just like your way of life . . . dying a slow death of shame and uselessness . . ."
With a sudden roar, Hadji's opponent launched himself forward, the knife blade glittering evilly in Asad's left hand. Hadji spun to one side, catching the blade on his own and deflecting the downward stroke away from his right shoulder. An instant later, he knew he had miscalculated as he saw the flash of the second knife coming in low on his left side. Awkwardly, he threw himself backward, trying desperately to evade the lethal blade. He felt the sharp tug on his clothing and then he was clear, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet as his opponent looked from the knife to Hadji and back again in disbelief. The blade was clean. For a second, Hadji thought he had evaded the deadly blow, but then nausea and pain struck simultaneously and he could feel something warm and wet spreading across his side. Distantly, he heard the taunting voice again and was vaguely surprised to recognize it as his own.
"Old, Black One . . . old and slow. You are finished. Your time has passed."
The man came at Hadji again and somehow he spun clear once more. But his adversary was tiring quickly and this time, the man's guard came up too slowly. Finding hidden reserves of strength, Hadji pivoted back in again, praying that his injured body wouldn't betray him. His knife flashed downward, slashing through flesh and grating on bone. One of the knives fell from nerveless fingers, as the huge man roared in pain and tried to stagger back away from his attacker. Hadji came at him again, knocking Asad's good arm out of the way and lunging in to bury his knife all the way to the hilt in the man's chest right under his breastbone. Asad's eyes bulged and he gasped as his knees began to buckle. He sank slowly to the stone floor, gasped one last time and then was still.
Hadji staggered back a few steps, trying to drag air into his oxygen-starved system. Every breath felt like a knife was being twisted deeper and deeper beneath his ribs. He clamped his arm tightly to his side, grateful now for Jonny's insistence that their clothing be black. In this light, it would hide the blood that he could feel spreading and seeping down onto his hip. He looked up to see both Vijay Patel and the man he had been fighting staring at him dumbly. Vijay held the man in a choke hold with one arm twisted behind him, but Hadji wasn't too sure how tight his grip was. Bending down carefully, Hadji grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled it free from the dead man. Then, with one foot, he rolled the body over. For an instant it balanced precariously on the edge of the pit, then slid over and disappeared into the blackness. As he turned back toward Vijay and his captive, they all heard the body hit bottom with a sickening thud. Hadji walked up to the other man with an even stride. The flickering light in the huge room glinted off of the bloody knife as he held it up between the two of them. The man stared at it, mesmerized.
"Where are Mr. Patel's people?" he asked in a soft, deadly tone.
The man seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the knife as he made a small gesture, indicating one of the side corridors. "There." He swallowed with difficulty and added, "Excellency."
"The key . . . where is it?" The man shook his head and then made a tiny, incoherent sound of fear as the knife glittered in the light again. "Where . . . is . . . the key?"
"I do not have it, Excellency," the man said frantically. "I swear to you. There were only two. Arun Birla keeps one, and that one had the other." He made a vague gesture toward the pit.
After a moment, Hadji gestured to Vijay to release the man. "Show me where they are," Hadji commanded and gestured to him with the knife. Vijay let the man go and he skittered off toward the indicated passageway.
"This way. I will show you. Just . . . please, Excellency . . . do not kill me. I am nothing . . . a poor man. I just follow orders. I do not . . ."
"Shut up," Hadji snapped. "Just show me where they are!"
Jonny and Mahavir were in the process of searching their cell for a second time when a sharp, metallic sound reached them. It was followed quickly by angry calls and the clash of metal on metal. Jonny uttered an oath and strode to the bars, trying to get a glimpse of what was going on. Behind him, Mahavir placed a placating hand on Jonny shoulder.
"The guards often duel to pass the time," he said softly.
A snarl of sheer animal fury reached them, followed by the sounds of fighting once again. "That's not the sound of idle recreation," he replied and gripped the bars of his cell door in frustration. With a frantic need to do something, Jonny bent to examine the lock on the cell door again as he ran his hands over his pockets in a vain search for anything that he could use to try to pick the lock on the cell door. But he and Hadji had been too thorough in assuring that there was nothing on him that might mark his identity if he was stopped. He had nothing he could even try to use.
"It has stopped," Mahavir warned softly. Jonny rose and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the other man, peering up the corridor warily. Then they heard approaching footsteps. Both instinctively fell back from the door, gesturing the others with them to move to the back of the cell. Suddenly, one of their jailers appeared and Jonny and Mahavir were stunned at the sight of him. He was not a small man, but now he was practically sniveling. Several large bruises marred his face, and he rubbed one arm compulsively as if it pained him.
"Here . . . they are here," he babbled. "I said I would lead you to them. Please . . ." And then Hadji was at the door of the cell.
"Hadji!" Jonny exclaimed. The young man was across the cell in a flash. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "I told you not to do this!"
"You did not honestly believe I would leave you here?" Hadji reached out and grabbed the guard by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the bars of the cell. "Where is the key?" he demanded again.
"I swear to you, Excellency, I do not have it! Only Mr. Birla and the Black One. I swear!" The man was practically sobbing in fear.
Hadji shoved him away sharply. "We have no time. Birla is on his way . . ."
"Then get out of here! Don't worry about me. I'll get out."
"No!" Hadji replied sharply. "Both go or neither do. I will not be forced into having to explain to Father why I left you to die." Reaching behind him, Hadji produced one of the boxes they had retrieved from the suitcases in Mr. Birla's quarters. "Here . . . quickly!"
Jonny grabbed the box and flipped the lid open. With a soft exclamation of satisfaction he shoved it into Mahavir's hands. "Hold this." Reaching in, he drew out a long, thin filament of coated wire with flexible handgrips on either end. Mahavir saw that there were five more in the box just like it. He flattened the handgrip and slid it through the gap between the fixed bars of the cell and the door, passing the handle to his brother. "There were three women," Jonny said urgently, as they worked. "They separated us. I don't know what happened to them. Stand back," Jonny directed the others in the cell sharply.
Hadji gestured at Vijay with his head and said, "Keep watch. Warn us if you hear someone coming." Then looking at his brother, he asked, "Ready?"
"Yes. Now!" The two snapped the wire taut and a sudden sharp hiss broke the tense silence, filling the air with an acrid odor. Hadji carefully passed his end of the wire back to his brother, who wrapped it around the locking tongue of the cell and pulled it taut. The hiss intensified sharply as the acid began eating into the metal.
Meanwhile, Hadji reached out and once more grabbed the shirt of the guard who had been trying to inch away from the young Sultan "Where were the women taken?" he demanded of the man.
"They . . . they are . . . gone, Excellency," the man quavered. He blanched as Hadji's grip tightened.
"Gone where?"
"Mr. . . . Mr. Birla sent them . . . away, Excellency."
"'Away' does not answer my question. Time grows short, as does my patience . . ."
"The harem!" the man all but shrieked. "He sent them to be added to his harem!"
Jonny looked from his brother to the incoherent guard in surprise. Hadji had always been the most agreeable of rulers to all of his subjects. Not only that, but the man he was now facing topped the young Sultan by a good two inches and appeared strong and muscular, and yet the man was practically witless with fear.
"A harem? Here? In the Royal Palace?" Hadji's fury was so plain that even the men in the cell with Jonny stepped back a pace.
"No, Excellency! Not here!" the man exclaimed, his words all but tumbling over themselves as he rushed to explain. "Mr. Birla was not so confident of your defeat that he would defy you so openly . . . particularly in front of your Lady Mother. He keeps them at his house in the city. He . . . it is said that he has long coveted Mr. Patel's young niece . . . the one that works in his palace office. When Mr. Patel's people were brought here, Mr. Birla decided he would have all three of them for himself. But because you were still free, he did not wish to risk keeping them in the palace. He sent two of the dungeon guards to take them to his house immediately after he secured the others here." With a snarl of disgust, Hadji shoved the man away from him violently. The guard stumbled and fell to his knees a short distance away.
"Hurry," Hadji urged his brother urgently.
Something about the way he leaned against the bars caused a thrill of alarm to run through Jonny. His urgency was so clear . . . Jonny loosened the wire and peered at the lock in the dim light. "Close enough, I think. Clear the door." Hadji stepped back toward Vijay Patel as Jonny stood, composing himself. Then he lashed out with one foot, striking the locking plate with jarring force. The sound echoed loudly in the silence as the cell door shuddered with the force of the blow, but it held. Jonny repeated the action and felt something give slightly. The third time, the metal tongue snapped and the cell door swung open violently to slam into the bars with an ear-splitting clang.
As Jonny and the others emptied out into the corridor, the guard clawed at Hadji's right leg from his position on the floor.
"Excellency . . . Excellency, please . . . take me with you. Do not make me stay here. He will kill me . . . even if you imprison me and make it clear that you defeated me, he will blame me for this. I do not wish to die, Excellency! Please, I have a wife . . . a child . . . "
"Don't grovel! You are not an animal," Hadji snapped at him. "Get out of my way!" He pushed the man aside and strode up the corridor and joined Vijay at the entrance to the central chamber. Jonny and the others followed closely. Hadji gestured at the waiting man. "Lead the way, Mr. Patel . . . back the way we came . . . quickly! We have taken too long at this and I cannot say how much longer our luck will hold!" Vijay immediately led his people out into the open chamber, making for the corridor to the guard room. Jonny and Hadji followed closely behind. As they crossed the large room, Hadji kept looking back over his shoulder. After the third time, Jonny turned to see the guard stumbling after them.
"You want me to get rid of him?" Jonny asked softly.
Hadji shook his head reluctantly. "No. He is right. Birla will kill him if we leave him here."
"He's liable to be trouble."
"There is no help for that. We will just have to watch him."
The light was slightly better here and Jonny looked at Hadji closely. "Is there something wrong? You don't look right."
Hadji smiled rather grimly. "It has been a trying day . . ."
Suddenly, from off to their left, a loud, metallic clang echoed through the room. The noise was followed immediately by the sound of arguing voices.
"Birla!" Hadji hissed. He waved frantically at Vijay to move quickly as the last of Patel's office staff disappeared into the side corridor. Then he turned and grabbed the guard by the shirt once more, pushing him toward the corridor with a warning glare. No words were necessary for the man to understand that he was not to make a sound. Shoving the man in front of them, Jonny and Hadji entered the guardroom just as a heavy clang behind them heralded the opening of the door into the main dungeon chamber.
"Mother!" Hadji called urgently in a low voice at the back wall, as the others stood, staring from the unconscious guards to him in mystification. Almost immediately, the secret doorway into the passageways opened and Neela appeared. Hadji gestured to his companions. "In . . . quickly. Mother, lead them. We will head for the old sections of the palace. Birla is here and it will not take them long to come here in search of the guards!" As Jonny herded the people into the passageway, he saw Hadji staring at the floor around his feet intently. Then, a split second before the last man entered the secret passageway, Hadji strode to the counter and grabbed a handful of grubby-looking towels. Bending awkwardly, he swiped at the floor where he had been standing. Jonny stood poised in the entrance to the passageways, certain now that something was wrong. Hadji's movements were sluggish . . . slower than they should have been, and in the brighter light of this room, there was a sickly cast to his face. There was also something about the way he kept his left arm clamped tightly to his side that cause that thrill of alarm to course through him again. Hadji crossed the room and Jonny pulled him into the passage just as the sound of booted feet approached the outer door. The door to the passageway snapped shut silently just as the corridor door to the guardroom burst open. Jonny would have turned to leave immediately but Hadji's hand on his arm stopped him. Taking Jonny's hand silently, he placed it on a large wooden beam about four inches thick that was propped against the wall near the hidden door. Then he guided his hand to the wall where Jonny found sturdy brackets. He understood what Hadji wanted immediately. Grasping the wooden beam, he silently fitted it into the mounting brackets, barring the door into the passageway. Then the two turned and stumbled after the others in the dark.
Neither of them had a flashlight . . . Neela had one, Mr. Patel had another, and the one Hadji had carried was lost somewhere in the dark. So they had to rely on Hadji's memories of these corridors to find their way. Other than for the occasional dim outlines of light around hidden view panels, nothing marred the blackness. They moved by running the tips of their fingers along the walls, praying that nothing lay on the floor in front of them that would cause them to stumble or fall.
With the lack of sight, all of Jonny's other senses became heightened . . . hearing in particular . . . and what he heard he didn't like. Hadji's breathing was shallow and labored and his steps sounded uneven, as though he was finding it more and more difficult to keep moving. Finally, Jonny could stand it no longer. Keeping his voice as low as he could, he said, "You're hurt! What's happened?"
"I am fine. Just keep going!" Hadji hissed.
"Like hell! What is it?" Jonny replied in a sharp whisper. He reached out and grabbed Hadji's left arm, intending to pull him to a stop, and was totally unprepared for the ragged gasp of pain or the warm wetness that washed over his hand causing him to lose his grip on his brother's arm. "Geezus! Is that blood???"
"Yes," Hadji replied through clenched teeth after a moment. "But we cannot not stop. We have no light here to attend to it and if we stop, I may not be able to continue. We must reach our destination or we will all be lost. Now MOVE!" Hadji stumbled on in the darkness and after a moment, Jonny caught up with him again. Grabbing him tightly around the waist with his right arm, Jonny pressed Hadji's left arm tightly against his side, supporting him.
"Sword?" he asked bluntly.
"No," Hadji replied on a gasp. "Knife."
"You got into a goddamned knife fight? With one of the guards? What the hell were you thinking?" Jonny hissed angrily.
"I had very little choice in the matter. He came at me with one."
"Why didn't you just shoot him? You had the guns. I can feel one of them!"
"And bring Birla and half of the Janissary guard in the palace down on our heads before I could get you out of that place? That would have been a very effective rescue," Hadji replied in a stronger tone that Jonny was certain was fueled by anger.
"I told you not to try something this stupid. I would have gotten out!"
"No, you would not. Birla was on his way and it was his intention to torture all of Mr. Patel's staff until he found out my location."
"They didn't know anything!"
"No, but a close examination of you would have revealed your identity. Once he knew who you were . . ." Jonny could feel Hadji shudder. "I have seen the end results of Adham Asad's work before. I could not leave you there. Any more than you would have left me if our positions were reversed."
Jonny sighed in exasperation. "It's not the same. Dammit, Hadji, you're the only thing that's holding this country together. You can't afford to put yourself at risk like this."
"Just another . . . example . . . of why I am . . . not cut out to be . . . a Sultan," he gasped with difficulty, his strength starting to fade again. "Those I love . . . will always come . . . first."
Suddenly, Jonny realized that he could see light up ahead of them. It grew brighter rapidly and a moment later, the flashlight flicked up to reveal . . .
"Mahavir!" Jonny exclaimed in a low voice. "Where are the others?"
"Up ahead," he replied in a normal, if slightly subdued, tone. "We are deep in the abandoned section of the palace now and the Lady Neela says we should be safe here." His voice deepened in concern as he realized that Jonny was now supporting Hadji. "What has happened? That idiot guard keeps babbling something about the Black Lion and knife battles and the superhuman power of the Sultan. He is making no sense. The Sultan would not fight knife battles . . ."
"Oh yeah? You tell him not to do it. He won't listen to me."
Mahavir moved to Hadji's other side in alarm. "Excellency!"
"Do not . . . start," Hadji gasped, cutting him off. "I have . . . heard enough of it . . . from my . . . brother . . . already."
A few moments later, the three of them came out of the passages into a relatively large chamber. Oil lamps around the room gave it a warm, golden glow even as they highlighted the accumulated dust and decaying furnishings. On the far side of the room, the guard was still babbling about the knife fight to anyone that would listen, while Neela and Vijay stood off to one side speaking urgently to one another. Neela looked up as they entered and then started toward them in alarm.
"What . . ."
"Water," Jonny demanded urgently as he eased Hadji down onto the floor. "And I need light. Bring me one of those lamps." Mahavir jumped to grab one of the oil lanterns as Neela instructed two of Mr. Patel's staff to bring the bowl and jug that sat on a shelf on the far side of the room. Then she came and knelt beside her son.
"What has happened?" she demanded.
Jonny pulled the knife from the sheath at Hadji's belt intending to use it to cut away his shirt, but the sight of the blade stopped him. The blood was already beginning to dry and the blade was coated in a dull brown film.
"Not that one," Vijay said harshly. "Give it to me. Use this one." He passed Jonny a clean blade.
"What has happened?" Neela repeated again.
"He got into a knife fight," Jonny replied grimly as he sliced the fabric and exposed the wound. He sounded a little sick as he added, "Looks like the guy almost made two of him, in fact. Geezus, Hadji! It's damned near six inches long and you're still bleeding like a stuck pig."
"You should see my opponent," Hadji said faintly. "Race would be proud of me."
"Race would kick your butt from here to Colombia and back, and then he'd have both of us doing hand-to-hand combat drills for months! Don't you remember . . . the idea is to avoid getting sliced up by your opponent's blade!" He glanced up at Neela. "We're going to need bandages . . . sutures . . . and most of all, disinfectant and antibiotics. We don't dare let this become infected. And judging by the way he's bleeding, some AB+ whole blood wouldn't hurt anything, either."
"We can take him to the infirmary here in the palace . . ." she replied hesitantly.
"No!" Hadji's head jerked up at that. "We must leave here immediately, while we still have darkness to cover our escape. We can use the towels that I took from the guardroom . . ."
"No!" Jonny snapped back, echoing Hadji's tone. "They're filthy. We need something clean." Jonny looked up at Vijay and Mahavir. "I entered the palace through a laundry storage area not too far from your offices. If we can gets some clean towels and sheets . . ."
"I know the place," Vijay replied immediately, but Neela cut him off.
"There is one closer. I will show you." She touched her son's face lightly. "Hold on, my son. We will not be long."
"Take . . . care . . . Mother. Mr. Birla . . . will . . . be warned . . . now . . ."
"And furious," Jonny added.
Neela smiled. "No one alive knows this palace the way I do. He will not take us. Come." With that, Neela and Vijay rose and left quickly. Mahavir took the towels that Hadji had taken from the guardroom, rolled them up and slid them carefully under his head, while Jonny stripped off his shirt and used the knife to slice a large section of fabric out of it that he could use to try to clean the wound. The water in the bowl rapidly turned red as Jonny wiped away old blood so he could see more clearly. After a first involuntary move of pain, Hadji lay still, not making a sound. Finally, Jonny let out a sigh and said, "It's not quite as bad as I thought. It's long, but not real deep, and the knife doesn't appear to have gotten any vital organs. It needs to be disinfected and stitched up, but if we can keep you from bleeding to death, I think you'll live."
"That is good to know," Hadji said faintly. After a moment, he added, "Am I seeing things or do you have spots?"
Jonny looked down at his chest and arms and then grimaced. "The skin dye begins to bleed off when it gets wet." Hadji made a soft sound that might have been laughter. "Hey, you can laugh. The stuff itches!"
"Well, once we get out of here, you can get rid of it. The time for hiding is done."
"What are you thinking?"
"I am going to take your suggestion, my friend. We are going to raise an army and put an end to this . . . once and for all." He stirred, as though intending to sit up, but a hand on his shoulder stilled him once more.
"Lie still. The bleeding is almost stopped. If we can find a way to bind it up so that it stays closed, we may get you out of this." The sudden sound of returning footsteps caused him to look up just as Neela and Vijay returned. Both had their hands full. Neela knelt beside Hadji once more and began handing things to Jonny . . . sutures, scissors, antiseptic wound tape, large bandage pads, wide gauze, adhesive tape, sulfa powder, two medicine bottles, two hypodermic syringes, and an assortment of other items. One of the medicine bottles contained penicillin and the other morphine. Jonny looked up at her in amazement. "Where did you get this stuff?"
She smiled. "As I said, I know this palace like no other and have access to every part of it. The infirmary here is extensive as is the medical supply storage area. These things will not be missed until a supply inventory is done and I doubt that Mr. Birla will order one of those anytime soon. Do you have the knowledge to deal with this?"
"Yes. Enough to get by." He quickly broke the seal on the bottle of morphine, snapped the needle onto the syringe and inserted it into the bottle.
"What is that?" Hadji demanded warily, his voice still too faint.
"Something that will make this process easier. Hold still." Grabbing Hadji's arm, he felt the inside of his elbow for a minute and then inserted the needle swiftly. A slight seepage of blood at the entry point told him he hit the vein. He injected the drug and then withdrew the needle quickly. Grabbing a small piece of gauze, he pressed it to the puncture wound and said to Neela. "Hold this there. He doesn't need to lose any more blood." Quickly, he looked through the supplies until he found a large bottle marked 'Normal Saline'. Dumping a little into a small medicine cup, he rinsed the syringe. Then he carefully wiped the needle with alcohol and covered it with a hard plastic cap. Looking up, he saw Vijay hovering nearby anxiously. Holding the syringe out to him, he said, "Take this . . . carefully. We don't have these to spare and we'll need it again later. I'm assuming that if you got the knives, guns, and the acid wire, that you also got our luggage."
"Only the weapons. We left everything else."
"Damn. All right. There were a number of boxes with the weapons, including boxes of shells, right?"
"Yes."
"Empty one of the shell boxes, wrap that in gauze and put it in that. As long as we can keep it relatively clean we should be able to use it again." Then he pulled the second syringe and filled it from the penicillin bottle. After injecting the medication into Hadji's upper arm, he handed the syringe, the alcohol and the cup of saline to Vijay, saying, "Do the same thing I did with this. Be careful. Don't stick yourself with the needle. We don't want to have to cope with a staph infection. And be sure you mark which syringe is which. We'll want to use them for the same medication each time."
"What did you give me?" Hadji asked. His words were slightly slurred. "I feel strange."
Jonny reached down and turned his head slightly so the light shown in his eyes and noted the pronounced dilation of the pupils. "Five minutes more and you won't feel much of anything. Are you in pain now?"
Hadji frowned blearily, as though thinking was an effort. "Yes," he finally said. Then he seemed to focus on Jonny and he grinned dopily. "Don' care, though." He started to laugh and then stopped, a surprised look appearing on his face. "I thin' tha' hurt . . ."
Jonny laughed softly and then touched his cheek gently. "You rest now, okay? Sleep would be good."
That seemed to penetrate the drug-induced haze, and Hadji stirred as though trying to sit up. "No. We need to leave here . . ."
"No," Jonny said firmly, pressing him back down again. "Hadji . . . Hadji, listen to me. Are you paying attention?"
"Yes."
"I want you to relax and rest. Leave it to me for now, okay? I'll take care of it."
". . . 'll get in trouble . . ." Hadji replied muzzily.
"No, I won't get in trouble, but I do plan on causing some for other people. You said that it's time to bring this fight out into the open. Well, while you rest, I'm going to get that started. I will also get some of these people out if I can. By this time tomorrow, you'll be more ready to move. Okay? Will you trust me to handle this?"
" . . . trust you . . . . . . always . . . have . . . you and Father . . ." he murmured softly, beginning to drift away again. "Want to go home . . . to Father . . ."
"Shhhh," Jonny said hastily, seeing the look of pain on Neela's face. "It's all right. Just rest."
" . . . and Kefira . . . my beautiful . . . Kefira . . . go back home . . . where we belong . . ." For a long moment he was silent and Jonny thought he had fallen asleep, but then he stirred once more, as though in pain. He sounded as though he was very far away as he added, " . . . hate it here . . ."
And then on a soft sigh, he drifted into unconsciousness.
Hoping to fill the painful silence, Jonny cleared his throat and said to Mahavir, "I'm going to need good light for this. Go get that large flashlight. You can train it on the wound while I stitch this up." Tearing open a packet of sulfa powder, he dusted the wound liberally with it and then ripped open a package of sutures. Bright light flared as Mahavir knelt down beside Neela and trained the light on Hadji's side. Jonny took a deep breath. "Okay, here we go."
Fifteen minutes later, he straightened with a sigh. "That's the best I can do," he said wearily. "We'll hope it's good enough. Give me that large gauze pad and let's get this bound up."
"Where did you learn to do such things?" Mahavir asked in amazement as he handed Jonny the requested item. "Are you training to be a doctor?"
Jonny chuckled softly. "No, but Hadji and I have spent our lives traveling with my dad to strange and out of the way places where medical attention was never very close at hand. We all learned basic medical care in case of emergencies. If our positions were reversed, Hadji could have done the same . . . and has, more than once."
Neela stood suddenly and said, "I will be back shortly." Then, before anyone could protest, she was gone.
Jonny started to say something, but Vijay cut him off. "Leave her alone," he said shortly. "Allow her some peace to recover her balance." Jonny looked at Vijay for a long moment before nodding and starting to gather up the medical supplies.
"You are Jonny Quest," Vijay said, looking at him somewhat coldly. "The Sultan's American brother."
"Yes."
"You came with him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Jonny looked up at him in surprise. "Why what?"
"I mean, why did the two of you return to Bangalore? You had to know there was trouble here. Danger."
"Of course we knew. But he felt that he had to come back, even if it was dangerous. Why do you think I came with him?" he replied irritably. "I wasn't going to let him walk into this without someone he could trust to safeguard his back."
"There are many here he can trust. He knows this."
Jonny rose slowly and turned to face the man squarely. Around him, he could feel the others drawing closer, watching them.
"Maybe," Jonny replied evenly. "But none of them are family."
"The Lady Neela . . ."
"Has divided loyalties," Jonny cut him off harshly, starting to lose his temper. "She's made that clear enough more times than I can count. You really don't get it, do you? Dad, Jess, Race, me . . . we don't have any other obligations that force us to make a choice. For us, it's simple. It's family over everything else. Hadji needs us . . . nothing else matters. Period. There's no weighing his needs over those of the common good or the political ramifications of our actions. When he needs us we'll do whatever it takes." His anger was clear as he looked at all of the people standing around them. "You really don't get it, do you? Any of you. Up until he was 14, he didn't know he was a Sultan. He had no memory of this place at all. If it hadn't been for one of our father's inventions, he wouldn't know it today. And yet, the minute you discover he's still alive, you expect him to drop everything he's ever wanted or dreamed of to be your Sultan. None of you thought to ask if it's what he wanted, did you? You just assumed that's what he would do. The desire to rule isn't programmed into his genes, you know!" Turning, he stalked away. "Isn't there anywhere in the stupid place that's clean? Where he doesn't have to lie on the floor in the dirt?" he demanded angrily.
Vijay Patel eyed him for a long moment and then gestured to two of his people. "There is a small room through there. The Lady Neela and I had cleaned it partially to give us a place to rest. Take whatever you can find and do a more thorough job. We were also able to take some sleeping mats and linens. Make a bed for him." Then Vijay turned back to Jonny. "In the meantime, we will strip his bloody garments and clean him up so that he can rest comfortably."
Jonny nodded stiffly. Then he turned away once more, struggling to get his temper under control as he began carrying the medical supplies to a nearby wall niche to get them out of the way. The two men worked silently for a while as the muted sounds of cleaning could be heard from the other room. Well, you've done it again, Quest, he thought bitterly. You let your impulsiveness get the better of you. Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut for once?
More than once, Jonny glanced over at Vijay to see him gazing at Hadji. The last time, Vijay caught Jonny watching him and he asked quietly, "Is he really so very unhappy here?"
Jonny shifted uncomfortably, then looked away and shrugged. "You need to ask him that question. I've probably said more than I should already."
"I knew that he was working toward dissolving the Sultancy . . . that he wished to turn the government into one run by people . . . much as the United States or India have," Vijay continued as though he hadn't heard Jonny. "But I did not realize that he disliked it here so much."
"It's not Bangalore that's the problem," Jonny replied, feeling compelled to explain to this man. "Or the people. It's the job. All he's ever wanted . . . from as far back as I've known him . . . was to work with our father doing research. Pure scientific research . . . to hunt for the whys and hows of all the mysteries of the universe. It's what he's really good at." Jonny's smile was touched with sadness. "Did you know he's been into outer space? That he and Dad rode the space shuttle up to the orbiting research space station? He loved that. It was all he could talk about for weeks, both before and after the trip. It's having to tell others what to do and having them need him to do it that he has trouble with." Jonny rubbed his face wearily. "What it will do to him when he finds out about Rajeev and Anila . . ."
"He knows," Vijay replied. "I told him."
Jonny looked back at his brother again. "How did he take it?"
"It . . . pained . . . him."
Jonny sighed softly. "It will do worse than that to him before this is all over. There's been no time for him to really absorb it yet." He turned away from Vijay, intending to find a place to sit down and rest for a while, but froze as he saw Neela standing about four feet away, watching them.
"He was born to be royalty," she said with quiet bitterness, "to have everything this country has to offer. And he wants none of it. So in the end . . . in spite of everything all of us have tried to do . . . he will never rule. Deepak and Vikram have won after all."
"Have they?" Jonny asked softly, crossing to take her hand gently. "Or have they lost more completely than they ever could possibly have imagined?"
The silence held for a long moment as they all considered that thought. Finally, a new voice said tentatively, "I - I believe the room is ready now."
Releasing Neela's hand he turned to the others once more and gestured toward Hadji. "Let's move him then, so he can rest quietly. Once that's finished, we all need to do the same. The next 24 hours are liable to be tough."
