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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ brought out a sheaf of those slim buff packets that I remembered from Burnes’s office at Kabul. I knew what they held: maps, names, places, reports and summaries, laws and customs, biographies and artists’ sketches, heights and distances, history, geography, even weights and measures – all that years of intelligence and espionage had gathered about the Punjab, to be digested and returned. “When ye’ve studied these, and the law books, we’ll talk at more length,” says he, and asked if I had any observations.

      I could have made a few, but what was the use? I was sunk – through my own folly, as usual. If I hadn’t thumped that randy baggage Madison, I’d never have overheard Gough and rushed rejoicing into this hellish political stew … it didn’t bear thinking of. All I could do was show willing, for my precious credit’s sake, so I asked him who the friends and enemies in Lahore were likely to be.

      “If I knew that, ye wouldn’t be going. Oh, I ken who our professed sympathisers and ill-willers are at the moment – but where they’ll stand next week …? Take Goolab Singh, Soochet’s fugitive heir – he’s sworn that if the Khalsa marches, he’ll stand by us … well, perhaps he will, in the hope that we’ll confirm him in Kashmir. But if the Khalsa were to give us a wee set-back – where would Goolab and his hillmen be then, eh? Loyal … or thinking about the loot of Delhi?”

I could see where Flashy would be – stranded in Lahore among the raging heathen. I knew better than to ask him what other politicals and trusted agents would be on hand, so I went round about. “How shall I report to you – through the vakil?”^f

      “No such thing – he’s a native, and not a sure one. He can take any letters ye may write about the Soochet legacy, but anything secret will be in cypher notes, which you’ll leave in Second Thessalonians on the bedside table in your quarters –”

      “Second where?”

      He looked at me as though I’d farted. “In your Bible, man!” You could see him wondering if my bedside reading wasn’t more likely to be Tom and Jerry. “The cypher, and coding instructions, are in the packets. Your messages will be … collected, never fear.”

      So there was a trusted messenger at the Court – and the fact that I wasn’t to be told who was another thought to chill my blood: what you don’t know you can’t tell if inquisitive folk approach you with hot irons … “What if I need to get word to you quickly? I mean, if the Khalsa march, all of a sudden –”

      “I’ll ken that before you do. What you must discover then is why they’ve marched. Who set them on, and for what purpose? If it’s war … what’s behind it, and how came it to begin? That’s what I must know.” He hunched forward again, intent. “Ye see, Flashy … to know precisely why your enemy is making war, what he hopes to gain and fears to lose … is to be half-way to winning. Mind that.”

      Looking back, I can say it made good sense, though I was in no state to appreciate it then. But I nodded dutifully, with that grim attentive mien which I’ve learned to wear while scheming frantically how to slide out from under.

      “This Soochet legacy, then – it’s all gammon?”

      “By no means. It’s your excuse for being in Lahore, to be sure – as their subtler folk will suspect – but it’s still a genuine cause¹⁵ which ye’ll argue with their officials. Perhaps even in full durbar with the regents, if they’re sober. In which case, keep your wits about you. Jawaheer’s a frightened degenerate weakling, and Maharani Jeendan seems set on destroying herself by vicious indulgence …” He paused, fingering his beard, while I perked up a trifle, like Prince Whatsisname. He went on, frowning:

      “I’m not sure about her, though. She had rare spirit and ability once, or she’d never have climbed from the stews to the throne. Aye, courage, too – d’ye know how she once quelled a mob of her mutinous soldiery, and them bent on slaughter?”

      I said I’d no notion, and waited breathless.

      “She danced. Aye, put on veils and castanets and danced them daft, and they went home like sheep.” Broadfoot shook his head in admiration, no doubt wishing he’d been there. “Practising her trade – she danced in the Amritsar brothels as a child, before she caught Runjeet’s fancy.” He gave a grimace of distaste. “Aye, and what she learned there has obsessed her ever since, until her mind’s unhinged with it, I think.”

      “Dancing?” says I, and he shot me a doubtful look – he was a proper Christian, you see, and knew nothing about me beyond my supposed heroics.

      “Debauchery, with men.” He gave a Presbyterian sniff, hesitating, no doubt, to sully my boyish mind. “She has an incurable lust – what the medicos call nymphomania. It’s driven her to unspeakable excesses … not only with every man of rank in Lahore, but slaves and sweepers, too. Her present favourite is Lal Singh, a powerful general – although I hear she abandoned him briefly of late for a stable lad who robbed her of ten lakhs of jewels.”

      I was so shocked I couldn’t think what to say, except easy come, easy go.

      “I doubt if the stable lad thought so. He’s in a cage over the Looharree Gate this minute, minus his nose, lips, ears … et cetera, they tell me. That,” says Broadfoot, “is why I say I’m not sure about her. Debauched or not, the lady is still formidable.”

      And I’d been looking forward no end to meeting her, too; Flashy’s ideal of womanhood, she’d sounded like – until this, the last grisly detail in the whole hideous business. That night, in my room at Crags, after I’d pored through Broadfoot’s packets, flung the law-books in a corner, paced up and down racking my brains for a way out, and found none, I felt so low altogether that I decided to complete my misery by shaving my whiskers – that’s how reduced I was. When I’d done, and stared at my naked chops in the glass, remembering how Elspeth had adored my face-furniture and sworn they were what had first won her girlish heart, I could have wept. “Beardie-beardie,” she used to murmur fondly, and that sent me into a maudlin reverie about that first splendid tumble in the bushes by the Clyde, and equally glorious romps in the Madagascar forest … from which my mind naturally strayed to frenzied gallops with Queen Ranavalona, who hadn’t cared for whiskers at all – leastways, she always used to try to wrench mine out by the roots in moments of ecstasy.

      Well, some women don’t like ’em. I reflected idly that the Maharani Jeendan, who evidently counted all time lost when she wasn’t being bulled by Sikhs, must be partial to beards … then again, she might welcome a change. By George, that would ease the diplomatic burden; no place like bed for state secrets … useful patroness, too, in troubled times. Mind you, if she wore out six strong men in a night, Lahore bazaar had better be well stocked with stout and oysters …

      Mere musing, as I say – but something similar may have been troubling the mind of Major Broadfoot, G., for while I was still admiring my commanding profile in the glass, in he tooled, looking middling uneasy, I thought. He apologised for intruding, and then sat down, prodding the rug with his stick and pondering. Finally:

      “Flashy … how old are ye?” I told him, twenty-three.

      He grunted. “Ye’re married, though?” Wondering, I said I’d been wed five years, and he frowned and shook his head.

      “Even so … dear me, you’re young for this Lahore business!” Hope sprang at once, then he went on: “What I mean is, it’s the deuce of a responsibility I’m putting on you. The price of fame, I suppose – Kabul, Mogala, Piper’s Fort … man, it’s a brave tale, СКАЧАТЬ