March of the Pankot Rifles
Disclaimer: Same as before…The lines from the song Men of Harlech come from the movie Zulu.
A/N: Please forgive any racist remarks, as my story takes place in India during the British colonial period, where such attitudes were commonplace.
The mid afternoon sun beat down on the Mayapore parade ground. Assembled in ranks was the Pankot Rifle Regiment of the Indian Army. The drum roll began and underneath the reviewing stand every one underneath stood, the military and policemen came to attention. The tune of God Save the Queen began to echo across the parade deck. The military men and the policemen saluted until the last strains of God Save the Queen.
As they sat back down, Merrick listened attentively as several officers from the Indian Horse Artillery spoke amongst themselves. Standing nearby was Lieutenant Godfrey.
"I must say, Captain Merrick, your men have been most efficient." Major Powell, a short barrel shaped fellow, said, "I understand a scouting patrol was stopped by your night watchmen."
"Yes sir." Merrick replied.
"I've heard your man Godfrey led that patrol." Powell continued.
"Godfrey," Lt. Col. Bagley, an older officer of the Horse Artillery "The name sounds familiar."
"The business with the Edjali murder case years ago, sir." Powell replied.
"The evidence against Edjali was overwhelming, was it not? Mr. Merrick?" Bagley asked.
"Yes, the knife that killed Mr. Pinkerton was the same sort of knife in Dr. Edjali's possession." Merrick replied.
"That should have been enough to warrant a trip to the gallows." Bagley said, "After all, one can only trust these blacks so far."
"However, Mr. Godfrey discovered new evidence that made Edjali less and less of a suspect." Powell replied.
"It's unfortunate Mr. Godfrey had to arrest Mr. Macgregor as the real murderer of Mr. Pinkerton. Such a shame that a prominent lawyer is arrested over the murder of a prominent banker over an affair with Mrs. Macgregor." Bagley replied, " Whatever happened to Mrs. Macgregor?"
"I believe she returned to England two years ago." Merrick replied, "Shortly after the Edjali conviction was overturned."
"If you ask me, I do believe Mr. Godfrey would have better served justice by closing the case on the Edjali murder when your men found the murder weapon among the good doctor's surgical kit." Bagley continued.
Meanwhile, Daphne broke away from Merrick and his party towards the hors d'oeuvres. She ran into a young Indian man, in his mid-twenties, wearing a cream colored three piece suit. He was making notes on a small notebook.
"Should you really be doing this so close to Merrick?" the Indian man, named Hari Kumar, asked. Even the most casual observer could tell the young man in the cream colored suit wasn't like most Indians. His style of dress and his manner of speaking were more English than Indian. His voice sounded like an alumni of one of the exquisite boarding schools of the United Kingdom.
"As far as he knows, I'm only going to the hors d'oeuvres and only happened to meet you along the way, Hari." Daphne replied, smiling sweetly.
"I suppose you want to meet tonight too?" Kumar whispered discretely.
"Yes, of course." Daphne replied.
"Good day, Miss Manners." Hari replied and Daphne extended her right hand. Hari shook her hand and surreptitiously pressed a folded piece of paper from his scratch pad between her index and middle fingers.
Godfrey walked about the covered area, not wishing to hear his boss keep making references to his past cases. Good God didn't justice matter more than keeping the status quo. Would they rather have a convicted murderer in their midst?
He was so lost in thought that he blundered right into a gentleman with a mustache in a suit and wearing a monocle.
"I'm sorry." Godfrey muttered.
"Lieutenant Godfrey, right?" the man replied.
"Yes, might I ask who you are, sir?" Godfrey replied, just in case he'd collided with some dignitary.
"Nigel, just plain simple Nigel."
"If you're about to make some disparaging comment regarding any of my past cases, especially the Edjali case, I've got business to attend to." Godfrey growled. Father raised you better than that, he raised you to stand for what's right, but not to be a prick when everyone else acts like pricks. Godfrey mentally chastised himself.
"With regards to the Edjali case, I would like to extend my commendations. You stood for what's right and that counts for a lot where it really matters." Nigel replied.
"Excuse me, are you making a joke?" Godfrey asked, incredulous, "Humor of that sort escapes me."
"This is no joke, Mr. Godfrey." Nigel replied, with an enigmatic smile, "Certain people have their eyes on you."
"If you're referring to Captain Merrick, and several officers of the Indian Horse Artillery you are correct." Godfrey replied.
"Trials and tribulations of mice and men mean very little, Mr. Godfrey, it will do you well to remember that." Nigel said before he walked off.
Prue wiped sweat from her brow for the umpteenth time in as many minutes. She copied the other occupants of the Old Macgregor bungalow and took a nap during the hottest part of the day. Merrick came to call on Daphne shortly after the latter had gotten dressed to go to the formal parade of the Pankot Rifle Regiment in Mayapore. It was obviously something all Mayapore socialites, Indian and English alike, attended.
She couldn't wait a fortnight. If there was anything hunting the fakir, time would obviously be on its side. With the local law enforcement in an uproar because of an imminent Heartless invasion the conditions were ripe for the demon or warlock to kill the fakir and escape. She had to stop the thing, whatever it was and fast.
She noticed two constables digging a pit approximately two feet wide and four feet long before she crossed the bridge to the Indian neighborhoods. As she walked by she noticed Sergeant Hiller on his rounds.
One of the constables leaned on the handle of his spade and began to sing in a Welsh accent, "Men of Harlech stop your dreaming can't you see their spear points gleaming…"
"If you've got enough energy to sing, Donalbain, you've got enough energy to get back to work." Hiller said calmly and walked back across the bridge.
"Another bloody rifle pit." Rees growled, "I swear Lockwood's on a bloody bender."
"Wanker." Donalbain growled, "I swear Merrick made Lockwood executive officer just to piss us all off. Well, as the Irish say, 'Lay on Macduff…'"
"Macduff was Scottish, not Irish you illiterate Welshman." Rees snickered.
"Bollocks to you Rees." Donalbain growled, and stuck his spade into the earth on the other side of the road to dig another rifle pit.
Who better to ask about fakirs than the local law enforcement. Prue thought, and jogged after Hiller.
"Excuse me, Sergeant Hiller?" Prue asked.
The mustachioed British police sergeant turned to face her. "Yes, miss?"
"What do you know about fakirs?" Prue asked.
"They're holy men, supposedly, both Muslim and Hindu." Hiller asked, "May I ask why you're so curious?"
"Just a little intellectual exercise." Prue replied, and thinking quickly added, "I'm writing a paper on Indian religious beliefs for the University of Southern California."
"In that case," Hiller replied, "I can tell you all I know of them. Mainly from twenty-seven years of police work. They're the sort of chaps that walk on hot coals, eat fire, and swallow swords. Ten years ago I saw one walk unscathed across a bed of nails. Damndest thing I've seen. They often claim to keep obscure bits of knowledge and are usually of the poorer sort. Namely we tend to bring them in for vagrancy."
"Just how many are in Mayapore?" Prue asked.
"They tend to wander a bit." Hiller replied, "I can think of a dozen that call Mayapore home, plus forty or so that I've seen over the years that wander in and out of the area."
"Thank you." Prue replied, "I'm off to go interview one or two of them."
"Will you need an escort, the Indian neighborhoods can be a bit rough." Hiller replied.
"Thank you, but I can take care of myself." Prue replied.
"I certainly agree." Hiller replied, remembering how he and Mullins had received an unexpected bath two nights before.
The two went their separate ways, as Prue thought About fifty to sixty-two fakirs in Mayapore? I think I've moved a grand total of half an inch from square one.
Prue walked into the nearest alleyway and said, "Nigel!"
Several blue orbs flashed and the familiar face of a Whitelighter that looked like a character from Clue stood in the dingy alley just off the main street of the Indian neighborhoods.
"Nigel, which fakir are you talking about?" Prue asked, "That's my million dollar question."
"I gather you've received some good news from Sergeant Hiller." Nigel replied.
"If you consider the fact that there are sixty-two fakirs in Mayapore, possibly more, good news, then yes." Prue replied. Great I'm starting to sound like Piper.
"You'll find him, my dear." Nigel replied, wiping his monocle on his tie.
"By find him do you mean here in Mayapore or do you intend to have me traipsing all over India looking for him?" Prue replied.
"In due time, my dear." Nigel replied.
Maybe it was the heat or humidity, but Prue's patience was starting to thin, "Will you go up and ask the Elders where in Mayapore I can find this fakir?"
"That secret is being kept, even from me, because something evil seeks to stop this fakir before he can tell you exactly what it is that you are to know." Nigel replied, and orbed away.
"Nigel…damn it." Prue groaned.
"Who might you be speaking to?" came a voice. Prue turned to see an Indian man in a cream colored suit pushing a bicycle standing behind her.
"Just thinking aloud." Prue replied.
"Nigel?" the Indian asked, in a British accent.
"He's my professor, I was just thinking aloud." Prue replied, "I'm doing some field research on Indian holy men. Fakirs specifically."
"There are quite a few in Mayapore." The young Indian replied, "Might I ask what's got you frustrated?"
"I'm trying to find a particular fakir, one who's really knowledgeable." Prue replied.
"I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help if you're in need of an interpreter." Kumar said, "I can't speak a word of Hindi nor any of the other dialects. It's quite frustrating really. If you don't mind me rambling on."
"Not at all, I know what you're going through." Prue replied.
"I'm too British for this side of the river, and too Indian for the other side." The Indian grumbled, "I'm terribly sorry, we've not been properly introduced. Hari Kumar."
"Prue Halliwell."
"If you're looking for an interpreter, Rahim at the Old MacGregor bungalow is your best choice. He tends to seek fakirs all the time." Hari replied.
"Thank you Hari, you just may have made my day." Prue replied.
"You're welcome." A befuddled Kumar replied. You'd think I'd given that woman the location of the Lost Arc of the Covenant or some other ancient treasure.
Kumar climbed back onto his bicycle and rode back across the bridge. His boss at the Mayapore Gazette would expect him back at work soon. Within five minutes, his encounter with the woman named Prue was in the back of his mind.
Hari Kumar found it exceedingly difficult to concentrate on work that particular afternoon. The sounds of type writers clacking away and various conversations could be heard and the staccato beats of his own typing mingled with that of other typists. The entire business of Daphne being courted by Merrick was tugging at his mind. The only person that really seemed to understand him at all, excluding Prue whom he knew for all of five minutes, was being courted by Ronald Merrick.
"Hari." came the voice of Mr. Billings, his boss, "Can you close up?"
"Of course, Mr. Billings." Hari replied. Fifth time this bloody week.
"Thank you, Hari." Billings replied.
It would give him time to get ready for his next furtive tryst with Daphne. He knew there was no way in hell they'd let him into the club because he was Indian. The cinema seemed like a good idea. Daphne had been pestering him for a week over a film she wanted to see. It wasn't showing in his neighborhood and he wasn't exactly willing to take an Englishwoman over there.
He'd gone home, changed into a new suit, and waited at their appointed waiting place at 7:30. He glanced at his watch. 7:35. Several minutes later he glanced at it again, 7:45. Daphne, where the hell are you?
As Hari waited outside a car drove by him, one he recognized as belonging to Ronald Merrick. He saw the unmistakable form of Daphne in an evening dress sitting in the front seat. Hari Kumar stood in the falling rain until Constable Mullins told him to move on. He pedaled across the river, his tears mingling with the rain.
Daphne fought down the bad feeling she felt when she saw Kumar standing in the rain when it started to fall. And she was being seen with Merrick, after having had dinner at the club, the evidence being the tuxedo that Merrick was wearing.
"Is there something wrong?" Merrick asked.
"No, not at all, I just noticed what a dreadful rain it is outside." Daphne replied.
"I'll drive you home." Merrick replied.
He parked the car underneath an awning and led Daphne into his bungalow. They sat in the front parlor of Merrick's bungalow after he put a record on. "I came from the East End of London originally." Merrick began, "I was born into a family with not much in the way of means. India was a fresh start for me. In London, I'd be lucky to be a clerk for some business in the East End. But here I'm the District Superintendent of Police."
"It's lovely." Daphne said, "The music I mean, not to mention your taste in art."
"Thank you, I'm quite flattered." Merrick began.
"Amazing you have such a large estate." Daphne replied.
"One of the perks of my job." Merrick replied, "It's an awful lot of space."
"It seems like one could get lonely here." Daphne replied, "Almost like the estate my parents owned back in Manchester."
"Marriage could certainly make things a good deal less lonely." Merrick said, as soon as he'd taken down a strong slug of Imperial Whiskey, "The one thing I've yet to achieve, a marriage to a fine woman. Daphne Manners, will you be my wife?"
What do I say? If I say I'm with someone else, he'll find out about Hari. Daphne thought, before another part of her brain responded. To hell if he finds out.
"I'm sorry, Ronald, it's too early to say. I can't accept your proposal…" Daphne blubbered, "…I'll see myself out."
"I'll have Sanjay drive you home." Merrick replied.
As soon as Daphne was out of the parlor Merrick knocked over a small statuette of the Hindu goddess Shiva from the coffee table in a fit of barely controlled anger.
"Yes, the fakirs often have been helpful for many questions I cannot answer." Rahim said, as he wiped the lenses of his glasses.
"I think I have a question I can't answer myself." Prue replied.
"Then perhaps the fakir can guide you." Rahim replied.
"I don't speak your language though." Prue replied, "And I'm looking for one particular fakir, I've met him before but he's difficult to find and none of the other fakirs really understand more than a phrase or two of English. I'm going to need an interpreter."
"I would like to help, but I must first ask Lady Chatterjee…She'll likely say no." Rahim replied.
"When do you usually go to the fakirs?" Prue asked.
"I go when I run my errands in the afternoon." Rahim replied, then asked, "Why?"
"Next time you go on an errand, could I come with you?" Prue asked.
"If you wouldn't mind the stares you'd draw in my neighborhood. You'll be showered with Quit India pamphlets…" Rahim replied.
Just then Daphne came in, "Are you alright?" Prue asked, excusing herself from talking to Rahim and heading upstairs to the bedroom.
"I suspected he'd propose tonight. Why else would he have asked me to go to the parade yesterday and then dinner?" Daphne asked.
"Proposed? Daphne, remember I've been here a grand total of one day." Prue replied.
"Captain Merrick. He asked me to marry him." Daphne replied, "I didn't want to say yes…"
A pregnant silence followed. From years of experience with Piper and Phoebe, Prue knew that Daphne was holding something back. So much for being a warlock. Prue thought, but she was going to keep that thought in mind.
TBC