Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 2: Flashman and the Mountain of Light, Flash For Freedom!, Flashman and the Redskins. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ and a slippery one,” says Van Cortlandt. “He bore a bad name in the Punjab in my time. But if he comes from Gardner –”

      “That’s the point – does he?” Lawrence was brusque. He handed me a plain sealed note. “Harlan brought this, for you, from Colonel Gardner in Lahore. Says it will establish his bona fides. The seal hasn’t been touched.”

      Wondering what the deuce this was about, I broke the seal – and had a sudden premonition of what I would read. Sure enough, there it was, one word: Wisconsin.

      “He’s from Gardner,” says I, and they looked at it in turn. I explained it was a password known only to Gardner and me, and Hardinge sniffed.

      “Another American! Are we to rely on a foreign mercenary in the employ of the enemy?”

      “On this mercenary – yes,” says Van Cortlandt curtly. “He’s a sure friend. Without him, Flashman would not have left Lahore alive.” That’s no way to boost Gardner’s stock, thinks I. Hardinge raised his brows and sat back, and Lawrence turned to me.

      “Harlan arrived an hour ago. It’s bad news out of Lahore. Gardner says the Maharani and her son are in grave peril, from their own army. There’s talk of plots – to murder her, to abduct the little Maharaja and place him in the heart of the Khalsa, so that the panches can do as they please, in his name. That would mean the end of Tej Singh, and the appointment of some trusted general, who might well give us a long war.” He didn’t need to add that it might be a disastrous war, for us; the Khalsa were still in overwhelming strength if they had a leader who knew how to use it.

      “The boy’s the key,” says Lawrence. “Who holds him, holds power. The Khalsa knows it, and so does his mother. She wants him out of Lahore, and under our protection. At once. It will be a week at least before we can finish the Khalsa in battle –”

      “Ten days, more like,” says Gough.

      “That is the time the plotters have in which to strike.” Lawrence paused, and my mouth went dry as I realised they were all watching me, Gough and Van Cortlandt keenly, Hardinge with gloomy disapproval.

      “The Maharani wants you to fetch him out, secretly,” says Lawrence. “That’s her message, given by Gardner to Harlan.”

      Steady now, thinks I, mustn’t puke or burst into tears. Keep a straight face, and remember that the last thing Hardinge wants is to have Flashy stirring the Punjab pot again – that’s your hole card, my boy, if this beastly proposal is to be scotched. So I made a lip, thoughtful-like, choked down my supper, and said straight out:

      “Very good, sir. I have a free hand, I suppose?”

      That did the trick; Hardinge leaped as though he’d been gaffed. “No, sir, you do not! No such thing! You will keep your place, until …” He glared, flustered, from Lawrence to Gough. “Sir Hugh, I know not what to think! This scheme fills me with misgivings. What do we know of these … these Americans … and this Maharani? If this were a plot to discredit us –”

      “Not by Gardner!” snaps Van Cortlandt.

      “The Maharani has good cause to fear for her child’s safety,” says Lawrence. “And her own. If anything befell them … well, when this war is past, we should find ourselves dealing with a state in anarchy. She and the boy are our only hope of a good political solution.”

      Gough spoke up. “An’ if we don’t get one, we must conquer the Punjab. I tell ye, Sir Henry, we have not the means for that.”

      Hardinge’s face was a study. He drummed his fingers and fretted. “I cannot like it. Suppose it were made to appear that we were kidnapping the boy – why, it might be charged that we made war on children –”

      “Oh, never that!” cries Lawrence. “We’d be protecting him. But if we do nothing, and he is seized by the Khalsa – murdered, perhaps, and his mother with him … well, that would not be seen to our credit, I believe.”

      I could have kicked him. He’d hit on the best argument to commit Hardinge to this dreadful folly. Credit, that was the thing! What would London think? What would The Times say? You could see our Governor-General imagining the outcry if blasted little Dalip got his weasand slit through our neglect. He went pale, and then his face cleared, while he pretended to ponder the thing.

      “Certainly the child’s safety must weigh heavily with us,” says he solemnly. “Humanity and policy both demand it … Sir Hugh, what is your thought?”

      “Get him out,” says Paddy. “Ye cannot do other.”

      Even then Hardinge must make a show of careful judgment, frowning in silence while my heart sank to my boots. Then he sighed. “So be it, then. We must pray that we are not the dupes of some singular intrigue. But I insist, Lawrence, that either you or Van Cortlandt undertakes it.” He shot me a baleful glance. “An older head –”

      “By your leave, sir,” says Lawrence. “Flashman, be good enough to wait in my tent. I’ll join you presently.”

      So I left obediently – and was round the outside of Hardinge’s tent like a frightened stoat, tripping over guy-ropes and slithering in the frosty dark before bearing up in the shadows with an ear cocked under the muslin screen of his window. The man himself was in full cry, and I caught the end of it.

      “… less suitable for such delicate work, I cannot conceive! His conduct with the Sikh leaders was irresponsible to a degree – taking it upon himself to determine policy, a mere junior political officer, flown with self-esteem –”

      “Thank God he did,” says good old Paddy.

      “Very well, Sir Hugh! Fortune favoured us, but his conduct might have brought us to catastrophe! I tell you what, the man’s a swaggerer! No,” says this splendid and far-sighted statesman, “Flashman shall not go to Lahore!”

      “He must!” retorted Lawrence, for whom I was conceiving a poisonous dislike. “Who else can pass as a native, speaking Punjabi, and knows the ins and outs of Lahore Fort? And the little Maharaja worships him, Harlan tells me.” He paused. “Besides, the Maharani Jeendan has asked for him by name.”

      “What’s that to the point?” cries Hardinge. “If she wishes her child safe, it is all one whom we send!”

      “Perhaps not, sir. She knows Flashman, and …” Lawrence hesitated. “The fact is, there is a bazaar rumour that she … ah, formed an attachment for him, while he was in Lahore.” He coughed and hummed. “As you know, sir, she is a very lovely young woman … of an ardent nature, by all accounts …”

      “Good God!” cries Hardinge. “You don’t mean –”

      “The young devil!” chuckles Paddy. “Oh, well, decidedly he must go!”

      “We’d best not neglect anything that will dispose her well to us,” says Van Cortlandt, damn him. “And as Lawrence says, there is no one else.”

      Eavesdropping fearfully, my mind filled with the horrid prospect of Lahore and its gridirons and ghastly bathrooms and Akali fanatics and murderous swordsmen, I couldn’t help recalling that Broadfoot had counted on my manly charms just as these calculating wretches were doing. It’s too bad … but if you’re hell’s delight with the fair sex, what would you?

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