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 you fret about Alick!” snorts Jassa. “He’s got more lives’n a cat, and more nuts on the fire than you can count. He’s Dalip’s man, and Jeendan’s man, and best chums with Broadfoot, and he’s Goolab Singh’s agent in Lahore, and –”

      Goolab Singh! That was another who took an uncommon interest in Flashy’s welfare. I was beginning to feel like a fives pill being thrashed about in a four-hand fifteen-up, with my seams split and the twine showing. Well, to the devil with it, I’d had enough. I reined in and demanded of Jassa where we were going; I’d been half aware that we were threading our way through the alleys near the south wall, and once or twice we’d skirted under the wall itself; we’d passed the great Looharree Gate and the Halfmoon Battery and were abreast of the Shah Alumee, which meant we were holding east, and were no nearer the Fort than when we’d started. Not that I minded that.

      “For I’m not going back there, I can tell you! Broadfoot can peddle his pack and be damned! This bloody place ain’t safe –”

      “That’s what Gardner reckoned,” says Jassa. “He thinks you should make tracks for British territory. You know the war’s started? Yes, sir, the Khalsa’s over the river at half a dozen places between Harree-ke-puttan and Ferozepore – eighty thousand horse, foot, and guns on a thirty-mile front. God knows where Gough is – halfway to Delhi with his tail between his legs if you believe the bazaar, but I doubt it.”

      Seven thousand at Ferozepore, I was thinking. Well, Littler was done for – Wheeler, too, with his pitiful five thousand at Ludhiana … unless Gough had managed to reinforce. I’d had no sure word for three weeks, but it didn’t seem possible that he could have concentrated strongly enough to resist the overwhelming Sikh tide that was pouring over the Sutlej. I thought of the vast horde I’d seen on Maian Mir, the massed battalions of foot, the endless squadrons of horse, those superb guns … and of Gough frustrated at every turn by that ass Hardinge, our sepoys on the edge of desertion or mutiny, our piecemeal garrisons strung along the frontier and down the Meerut road. Now it had come, like a hammer-blow, and we’d been caught napping, as usual. Well, Gough had better have God on his side, for if he didn’t … farewell, India.

      Which mattered rather less to me than the fact that I was a fugitive with a game ankle in the heart of the enemy camp. So much for Broadfoot’s idiot notions – I’d be safe in Lahore during hostilities, indeed! A fat lot of protection Jeendan could give me now, with the Khalsa wise to her treachery; it would be a tulwar, not a diamond, that would be decorating her pretty navel shortly.

      “Moochee Gate,” says Jassa, and over the low hovels I saw the towers ahead and to our right. We were approaching a broad street leading down to the gate, and the mouth of the alley was crowded with bystanders, even at that time of night, all craning to see; a band of music was playing a spirited march, there was the steady tramp of feet, and down the avenue to the gate came three regiments of Khalsa infantry – stalwart musketeers in white with black cross-belts, their pieces at the shoulder, bayonets fixed; then Dogra light infantry in green, with white trousers, muskets at the trail; a battalion of spearmen in white flowing robes, their sashes bristling with pistols, their broad turbans wound round steel caps surmounted by green plumes. They swung along with a fierce purpose that made my heart sink, the flaring cressets on the wall glittering on that forest of steel as it passed under the arch, the girls showering them with petals as they passed, the chicos striding alongside, shrilling with delight – half Lahore seemed to have left its bed that night to see the troops march away to join their comrades on the river.

      As each regiment approached the arch it gave a great cheer, and I thanked God for the shadows as I saw that they were saluting a little knot of mounted officers in gorgeous coats, with the rotund figure of Tej Singh at their head. He was wearing a puggaree as big as himself, and enough jewellery to start a shop; he shook a sheathed tulwar over his head in response to the troops’ weapons brandished in unison as they chanted: “Khalsa-ji! Wa Guru-ji ko Futteh! To Delhi! To London! Victory!”

      After them came cavalry, regular units, lancers in white and dragoons in red, jingling by, and finally a baggage train of camels, and Tej left off saluting, the band gave over, and people turned away to the booths and grog shops. Jassa told the jemadar to have the riders follow us singly, and then my rider dismounted and Jassa began to lead my beast down towards the gate.

      “Hold on,” says I. “Where away?”

      “That’s your way home, wouldn’t you say?” says he, and when I reminded him that I was all in, dry, famished, and one-legged, he grinned all over his ugly mug and said that would be attended to directly, I’d see. So I let him lead on under the great arch, past the spearmen standing guard in their mail coats and helms; my puggaree, like my sword and pepperbox, had gone during the evening’s activities, but one of the riders had lent me a cloak with a hood, which I kept close about my face; no one gave us a second glance.

      Beyond the gate were the usual shanties and hovels of the beggars, but farther out on the maidan a few camp fires were winking, and Jassa made for one beside a little grove of white poplars, where a small tent was pitched, with a couple of horses picketed close by. The first streak of dawn was lightening the sky to the east, silhouetting the camels and wagons on the southern road; the night air was dry and bitter cold, and I was shivering as we reached the fire. A man squatting on a rug beside it rose at our approach, and before I saw his face I recognised the long rangy figure of Gardner. He nodded curtly to me, and asked Jassa if there had been any trouble, or pursuit.

      “Now, Alick, you know me!” cries that worthy, and Gardner growled, that he did, and how many signatures had he forged along the way. The same genial Gurdana Khan, I could see – but just the sight of that fierce eye and jutting nose made me feel safe for the first time that night.

      “What’s wrong with your foot?” snaps he, as I climbed awkwardly down and leaned, wincing, on Jassa. I told him, and he swore.

      “You have a singular gift for making the sparks fly upward! Let’s have a look at it.” He prodded, making me yelp. “Damnation! It’ll take days to mend! Very well, Doctor Harlan, there’s cold water in the chatti – let’s see you exercise the medical skill that was the talk of Pennsylvania, I don’t doubt! There’s curry in the pan, and coffee on the fire.”

      He picketed the horse while I wolfed curry and chapattis and Jassa bound my ankle with a cold cloth; it was badly sprained and swollen like a football, but he had a soothing touch and made it feel easier. Gardner came back to squat cross-legged beyond the fire, drinking coffee with the aid of his iron neck-clamp and eyeing me sourly. He’d left off his bumbee tartan rig, no doubt to avoid notice, and wore a cowled black robe, with his Khyber knife across his knees: a damned discouraging sight all round, with questions to match.

      “Now, Mr Flashman,” growls he. “Explain yourself. What folly took you among the Khalsa – and at such a time, too? Well, sir – what were you doing in that house?”

      I knew I would be relying on him for my passage home, so I told him – all of it, from the false message to Jassa’s rescue, and he listened with a face like flint. The only interruption came from Jassa, when I mentioned my encounter with Goolab Singh.

      “You don’t say! The old Golden Hen! Now what would he be doing so far from Kashmir?” Gardner rounded on him.

      “Minding his own dam’ business! And you’ll do likewise, Josiah, you hear me? Not a word about him! Yes … while I think on it, you’d best take yourself out of earshot.”

      “That’s for Mr Flashman to say!” retorts Jassa.

      “Mr Flashman agrees with me!” barks Gardner, fixing me with a cold eye, so I nodded, СКАЧАТЬ