On the 22nd afternoon of April, 1827, three men on horseback rode up to a checkpoint on a dusty Indian road. On the other side was Patna, their destination. The three were waiting behind an overloaded wagon, in the process of being 'checked'. Each of the sacks and barrels were examined by the sixteen men on the road. Some were opened, and at least three containers were stolen from while the owner was distracted. The leader of the men on the road asked for a toll, but the driver of the wagon refused on the grounds that he did not have any money on himself and that there was not in fact a toll on the checkpoint. The leader of the men drew his sword and asked again. When he was met with another refusal, his men started unloading the wagon. The driver submitted and offered a sack of grain as payment. The leader took another sack of grain out of the cart and accepted the payments. The wagon rolled on into the city, and the three horsemen took its place.

Surveying the checkpoint, Abu Bakr saw that all of the men on it were armed, some with muskets and some with swords. They were all Indians, and none of them wore a uniform, although most of them wore red turbans.

The leader said, "The toll is three rupees apiece! But first: What is your purpose of being in Patna?"

"We are pilgrims from Madras, and we come to visit the birthplace of 10th Guru Gobind Singh," Abu Bakr said in the local language, Magahi. He didn't read any signs of inquiry on the leader's face; Sikh pilgrims coming to Patna were a common occurrence. It occurred to him that three whole rupees was insane for a toll, and that the man ahead was almost certainly right about the toll being fake. Nevertheless, if it wasn't an official toll it was almost certainly a Kovind-backed one, meaning it was official for all practical purposes.

"Alright, but you have to give me your swords. No, I don't care that it's a Sikh commandment to wear it or something, but you can't bring weapons into the city without a permit," he said as he jotted something down on a piece of paper.

Abu Bakr feigned ignorance and silently counted to ten. He then repeated, "We are pilgrims from Madras, and we come to visit the birthplace of 10th Guru Gobind Singh." They were giving that as their place of origin because Ram was from there. Prakash was from Punjab but dark enough to be a Tamil. Abu Bakr, with his light skin and blue eyes, looked more British than Tamil, but there were Pashtuns everywhere in India.

"Damn it. Do you even speak Magahi?"

Abu Bakr kept his whole face still for several seconds. He scratched his face and then resumed his air of incomprehension.

"Hindustani? English?"

"We are pilgrims from Madras, and we come to visit the birthplace of 10th Guru Gobind Singh."

"What do you say to your mothers in your shitty little village, before you make out with them that is?"

"We are pilgrims from Madras, and we come to visit the birthplace of 10th Guru Gobind Singh," Abu Bakr said. It was hard not to laugh.

"Fuck you," the leader of the men said. He pointed to his comrades. "Everyone, search their saddlebags. Pilgrims, turn out your pockets." He gestured to make the point. His men opened all of the saddlebags, but only found food, tack, and some personal affects. A few men put their hands in the bags surreptitiously, but a glare made them evacuate the bag empty-handed. All that was in the horsemen's pockets were lint and a coin purse. The leader confiscated twelve rupees and three knives, then waved them on and got his men in position for the next crossers.

After making it into the city, Abu Bakr, Prakash, and Ram put up their horses at a coaching inn and walked to the river bank before turning west. The streets were crowded with people about their daily lives, but they seemed oddly subdued. No one called them out specifically to sell them anything, and the city's denizens mostly spoke in whispers.

Ten minutes later, they stopped at a warehouse that bordered on the water. "This is the spot," said Prakash. The warehouse had no windows, but it had a wide door made for wagons, an open enclosed yard in the back, and a roof with a parapet. Ram and Abu Bakr entered the warehouse, and Abu Bakr circled around to the back and waved a red and white striped flag.

On the other side of the Ganges River, Piccolo and Lal had been waiting for hours. They sat crouched on the bank next to a crate, a tarp-covered skiff, and a spyglass, which they looked through every few minutes. They had a reed mat spread between them, which they were using to play a game of cribbage. At the moment, Ram had just turned an ace face side up, bringing the count to 21 and allowing his stick to advance two more reeds on the mat.

29 to 15, him. Piccolo spat on the ground and reached for the spyglass. "I'm going to check again," Piccolo said as he brought the miniature telescope to his eye. He squinted through the spyglass, as if he couldn't believe his luck. "Lal!" he said, "They're waving the flag!" Before waving his own flag back, he put the cards in the tin and shook out the mat, erasing all signs of his comrade's advantage.

The two pulled the tarp off the vessel. They had bought it upriver last night, and early in the morning they had rowed it down here. According to Abu Bakr's dossier, Kovind's men kept an eye on all incoming roads and the riverport, but he didn't watch the rest of the river bank or interdict traffic that wasn't stopping at Patna. So to get the contraband into the city, they needed to land it between the port and the city's western edge. They also needed to avoid the Company's recruitment center, of course. Piccolo and Lal boarded the skiff. Piccolo, in the middle, had the oars; Lal, at the back, was steering. The crate in front balanced Lal, but between the two inordinately heavy men and the weighty crate, the boat was barely afloat. Piccolo was glad they had sprung for the large one.

Piccolo was also glad that he was on the boat team rather than going past the checkpoint. Mitesh had given him a set of fake papers testifying that he was a registered and loyal member of the Raakshas caste, a catch-all grouping of the stronger variants of demihuman which mostly lived in the forests or mountains. Lal was also a Raakshas, although he was born and raised in Lahore. He also had fake Company papers. While Mitesh had assured them the forgery was unnoticeable, all Raakshas in the Company's sphere of influence had to serve in the Company's regiments if asked by a recruiter. Given the bloody stalemate of the war with Burma, Piccolo preferred to avoid meeting anyone official.

Lal pushed off, and Piccolo rowed furiously to the other side of the river. The Ganges was over a kilometer wide at this point, and the current was so strong that Piccolo had to paddle upstream for a third of the voyage to avoid missing the city. When they got to the southern bank, Lal and Piccolo picked up the boat and crate overhead and hurried them through the warehouse's courtyard door, which Prakash was holding open.

"I can't believe this worked! Did the guards at the bridge really let you by?" Piccolo asked.

Prakash grinned profusely. "Yup! They didn't even question our story. It's like Ram said: those guys are just there to steal from the travelers. Can't be bothered to actually exert the effort to find someone who speaks Tamil."

Piccolo said, "Yeah, but it just seems like such a big risk. I mean, there has to be someone in this city who knows the language." He and Lal put the boat down and took the crate out.

"Did you live under a rock until now?" Lal said. Piccolo gave a sour look, and he laughed innocuously. "Generally, Piccolo, you can count on other people being lazy and take some minor risks. It's a pretty good assumption."

"A small risk is still a risk," Piccolo said.

Prakash clambered up the wall and surveyed the yard. He gave an all-clear hand signal and dropped down. A few seconds later, the gate opened and Piccolo and Lal entered carrying the crate. With Prakash leading the way, they brought it inside the building and stopped. Prakash gave a cooee, which was met by another from Ram. They hurried over to the source of the call. There, they saw Abu Bakr nervously pacing while Ram searched nearby crates. Next to them, a man had been tied to the shelfing. He was wearing a red turban.

Lal dropped his end of the crate, which fell on Piccolo's foot. He and Prakash came up to their comrades.

"What happened?" asked Lal.

"Who is this guy?" asked Prakash.

The bound man shouted, "Oh, now there are more of you?"

Abu Bakr pointed at the three. "Do you have a handkerchief or anything?"

Prakash gave Abu Bakr a leather strap, which he used to gag the tied man. "So, we were just keeping guard here. We'd patrolled the building, and no one was there. We were waiting, and we heard this guy come in," Abu Bakr said.

Ram continued, "So, we went over and asked him to leave. The guy said that he would get Kovind on our asses if we didn't get out of the way. So, we beat him up and tied him to the shelving. We couldn't though, so I was looking for one."

Prakash grabbed his head in frustration and asked, "Do you have the spot picked out?"

"Yes, we're putting it here." Ram pointed at a clear spot on the second shelf.

"I think he knows too much," Abu Bakr said.

Prakash said, "Yes, he does. You think we should take him with us?"

Abu Bakr said, "You mean to the inn, right?"

"No, to Kovind's house," Prakash said sarcastically.

"Wait," Piccolo said, "If we take him to the inn bound and gagged like this, won't someone notice?"

"Yes, so we have to unbind him. Then, we make sure he doesn't scream or try to run away," Prakash said.

They would take him at night to the coaching inn near the bridge, and check in two rooms. Their captives would stay in the room with Abu Bakr and Prakash; Piccolo, Ram, and Lal would stay in the second room. Everyone would go by fake names, including the captives. In that way, Prakash would become Venkata, Piccolo would become Ramanaidu, Ram would become Rangaraj, Lal would become Srisala, and Abu Bakr became Koduri. They would use the same alibi they had at the bridge; the names were also leftover from that plan(Piccolo and Lal had ended up not having to use their alibis and fake names, but they had prepared for being questioned while waiting to cross the river). The captive would likewise be called Patel. All outside communications would be done by Piccolo, Ram, and Lal, while Abu Bakr and Prakash would watch the captives. On the 25th, they would come back to the warehouse with a hired wagon and drop the guns at the designated address. It was very simple and tested, the kind of plan that Prakash professed to love and that Abu Bakr agreed with Prakash on. But Piccolo didn't like it. Whether it was simple or not, whether it had been done before or not, it rankled at his mind. If they were seen by someone who knew the captive, they could alert Kovind and a team of thugs would be bursting through their door overnight. If he survived, he would be conscripted for sure, and he would have to go to Burma. The thing about Mitesh's group was that he could go at any time; it was a luxury the Company sipahis didn't have.

"That sounds like it's waiting for something to go wrong," Piccolo said.

"See, if he runs or screams, we can still kill him," Ram said. "After all, at that point we don't have anything to lose, so he knows that if he does that, we'll kill him. Shouldn't be a problem."

Piccolo retorted, "But what if someone sees us? I don't mean just anyone, but someone connected, someone who knows one of these guys…."

Prakash said, "Well, that's why we're going at night-."

"Enough," Abu Bakr said. "We're changing the plan."

Prakash and Ram tried to argue, but Abu Bakr shot them down. "You didn't think we would run into anyone in this warehouse, and look where we are now! …We're going to keep the captives in this warehouse somewhere and keep a lookout here. Everyone else will go to the inn and do what they would have done in Prakash's plan."

Piccolo protested, "Can't we just kill him here? It's the least risky option."

Abu Bakr said, "What do you think we are, a band of thugs? We only kill people if we need to. End of discussion." From the way he said, 'end of discussion', Piccolo was too intimidated to contest the plan any further.

Through the drawing of straws, Ram got the post of looking after the captives. After a quick interrogation of the captive, from which they ascertained that he was a low-level subordinate of Kovind in his opium-smuggling business, he moved him to an unused room on the second floor. The rest of Squadron C went back to the coaching inn in silence and organized the belongings from their saddlebags in the room.

After everyone had laid out their bedrolls on the room's cots, Abu Bakr excused himself. Piccolo and Lal laid down on their cots, and Prakash reviewed the sheet of paper Mitesh had given him some more. A few minutes after Abu Bakr had left the room, Prakash got up and went to Piccolo. He slapped him on the face and yelled, "What makes you think you can plan this better than me?!"

Piccolo sat up, grabbed Prakash's wrist, and pulled him face-to-face. "It was an unnecessary risk! We're safe now!" he said, baring his teeth.

Prakash pivoted behind Piccolo, bringing the green man's arm behind his back. Piccolo let go and shook out his arm. Prakash ranted, "No, we are not safe because of this! We're never truly safe, and we can't be! Think: what if the hostages do get away? What if Ram is discovered by the warehouse workers? What if he just suddenly drops dead?"

"Those… probably won't happen," Piccolo said. He almost saw Prakash's point, but he was too angry.

"But you do admit it's a risk," Prakash said. Smirking, he drew his head up to Piccolo's face. "And we can't have that, can we, Piccolo."

Piccolo steeled himself. "If you're so smart, then why didn't you say anything earlier?" He drove his elbow into Prakash's left side and threw him over his shoulder. Prakash caught his fall with his feet and straightened his back. It looked as though Piccolo was cradling his neck while he was reclining on an invisible bed that did not reach beyond his knees, but the appearance did not last. With a spasm of motion, Prakash rolled over in Piccolo's hands and grabbed the neck of his robe. He pulled himself up and dug his feet into the floor.

Lal murmured, "Hey, I'm trying to sleep here; stop making so much noise…." He opened his eyes and sat up in shock. "What the fuck's going on here!"

"He started this, and I'm going to end it!" Piccolo said. He grabbed Prakash's robe with his left hand and shoved his right into his guts. Prakash flinched, but otherwise didn't show any pain.

Lal pulled Prakash's hands off of Piccolo's robe and separated the two. "Look, someone just tell me what this is about. We're all friends here; we shouldn't be fighting. Now, Piccolo, what do you say happened?"

"He doesn't like the plan," said Piccolo. He stretched his arm over his head.

"Ram isn't…"

"Hold up," Lal said, "To begin with, Piccolo, this isn't your plan. This is Abu Bakr's plan. You convinced him to drop the old one, but anything that might be wrong with this plan is because of an oversight by him. So why be so invested in this plan? Now, Prakash, how did you tell him about this?"

Piccolo blurted out, "He slapped me."

Lal thought about this, slightly raising his horned snout. He always did that when he was thinking. After a few seconds, his snout lowered. "So, he told you what he thought of the plan and then he slapped you, or did he slap you then tell you what he thought of the plan?"

"Second one," Prakash said.

"Now, that was uncalled for," Lal said. "If you hit a guy before you say something, he's going to be more than a bit hostile towards what you say. Now, 'more than a bit hostile' might be Pic's base attitude, but slapping him really doesn't help that and is kind of unnecessary."

Piccolo gave a thumbs-up and smiled.

"But. I'm going to assume that he talked and then you all got in a fight, rather than you all talking and fighting at the same time."

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. He started the actual fight," Prakash said.

Lal turned and looked the green man right in the eyes. "So, Piccolo. Why did you start the fight?"

"I told him what was wrong with his plan," Prakash said.

Piccolo seethed. That wasn't the reason at all! He remembered clearly. Actually, he didn't remember at all why he had thrown Prakash over his shoulders, but surely he had a good reason. He thought for a second, and then everything came together. "He was right in my face! I was getting him to back up," he said indignantly.

Prakash retorted, "I wasn't that close! You were just angry because you realized your plan was bad!"

Piccolo punched Prakash in the face.

Prakash staggered, and then he went berserk. He charged Piccolo, shrugged off a neck punch, and kneed him in the groin. Piccolo, of course, did not have any genitalia, and so was not harmed any more by that blow than he would have been if he had been kneed anywhere else. However, it was still a powerful blow, and Piccolo flinched just enough for Prakash to follow with an elbow to the cheek. Piccolo ducked and pounced into Prakash's waist, driving him into the floor. Lal tried to get in and separate the two, but only got dragged into the grapple.

The door burst as Abu Bakr entered the room, obviously laughing at one of his own jokes. "If anyone wants to know, the latrine's in the stables. First time I- ." He frowned. "Get up," he commanded. The other three stopped.

Lal started to talk, but Abu Bakr shushed him. "Don't try and explain this. It's night, and I want sleep. We'll talk about this later. If anyone wants to know, the latrine is in the stables. It was the first latrine I've been in that smelled better after I took a shit there. Good night, stop fighting, see you in. The. Morning." He lay down in his cot and was quickly asleep. No one else wanted to say anything after that, so after a few minutes of staring at each other, Piccolo, Prakash, and Lal turned into their cots.