Flashman in the Great Game. George Fraser MacDonald

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ thing he can’t hide – his eyes! One of em’s half-brown, half-blue!’

      ‘He can if he puts a patch over it,’ says Ellenborough. ‘India’s full of one-eyed men. In any event, we picked up his trail again – and on both occasions it led to the same place – Jhansi. He spent two months there, all told, usually out of sight, and our people were never able to lay a hand on him. What he was doing, they couldn’t discover – except that it was mischief. Now, we see what the mischief was –’ and he pointed to the chapattis. ‘Brewing insurrection, beyond a doubt. And having done his infernal work – back over the hills to Afghanistan. This summer he was in St Petersburg – but from what our politicals did learn, he’s expected back in Jhansi again. We don’t know when.’

      No doubt it was the subject under discussion, but there didn’t seem to be an ounce of heat coming from the blazing fire behind me; the room felt suddenly cold, and I was aware of the rain slashing at the panes and the wind moaning in the dark outside. I was looking at Ellenborough, but in his face I could see Ignatieff’s hideous parti-coloured eye, and hear that soft icy voice hissing past the long cigarette between his teeth.

      ‘Plain enough, what?’ says Pam. ‘The mine’s laid, in Jhansi – an’ if it explodes … God knows what might follow. India looks tranquil enough – but how many other Jhansis, how many other Ignatieffs, are there?’ He shrugged. ‘We don’t know, but we can be certain there’s no more sensitive spot than this one. The Russians have picked Jhansi with care – we only annexed it four years ago, on the old Raja’s death, an’ we’ve still barely more than a foothold there. Thug country, it used to be, an’ still pretty wild, for all it’s one of the richest thrones in India. Worst of all, it’s ruled by a woman – the Rani, the Raja’s widow. She was old when she married him, I gather, an’ there was no legitimate heir, so we took it under our wing – an’ she didn’t like it. She rules under our tutelage these days – but she remains as implacable an enemy as we have in India. Fertile soil for Master Ignatieff to sow his plots.’

      He paused, and then looked straight at me. ‘Aye – the mine’s laid in Jhansi. But precisely when an’ where they’ll try to fire it, an’ whether it’ll go off or not … this we must know – an’ prevent at all costs.’

      The way he said it went through me like an icicle. I’d been sure all along that I wasn’t being lectured for fun, but now, looking at their heavy faces, I knew that unless my poltroon instinct was sadly at fault, some truly hellish proposal was about to emerge. I waited quaking for the axe to fall, while Pam stirred his false teeth with his tongue – which was a damned unnerving sight, I may tell you – and then delivered sentence.

      ‘Last week, the Board of Control decided to send an extraordinary agent to Jhansi. His task will be to discover what the Russians have been doing there, how serious is the unrest in the sepoy garrison, and to deal with this hostile beldam of a Rani by persuadin’ her, if possible, that loyalty to the British Raj is in her best interest.’ He struck his finger on the table. ‘An’ if an’ when this man Ignatieff returns to Jhansi again – to deal with him, too. Not a task for an ordinary political, you’ll agree.’

      No, but I was realising, with mounting horror, who they did think it was a task for. But I could only sit, with my spine dissolving and my face set in an expression of attentive idiocy, while he went inexorably on.

      ‘The Board of Control chose you without hesitation, Flashman. I approved the choice myself. You don’t know it, but I’ve been watchin’ you since my time as Foreign Secretary. You’ve been a political – an’ a deuced successful one. I daresay you think that the work you did in Middle Asia last year has gone unrecognised, but that’s not so.’ He rumbled at me impressively, wagging his great fat head. ‘You’ve the highest name as an active officer, you’ve proved your resource – you know India – fluent in languages – includin’ Russian, which could be of the first importance, what? You know this man Ignatieff, by sight, an’ you’ve bested him before. You see, I know all about you, Flashman,’ you old fool, I wanted to shout, you don’t know anything of the bloody sort; you ain’t fit to be Prime Minister, if that’s what you think, ‘and I know of no one else so fitted to this work. How old are you? Thirty-four – young enough to go a long way yet – for your country and yourself.’ And the old buffoon tried to look sternly inspiring, with his teeth gurgling.

      It was appalling. God knows I’ve had my crosses to bear, but this beat all. As so often in the past, I was the victim of my own glorious and entirely unearned reputation – Flashy, the hero of Jallalabad, the last man out of the Kabul retreat and the first man into the Balaclava battery, the beau sabreur of the Light Cavalry, Queen’s Medal, Thanks of Parliament, darling of the mob, with a liver as yellow as yesterday’s custard, if they’d only known it. And there was nothing, with Pam’s eye on me, and Ellenborough and Wood looking solemnly on, that I could do about it. Oh, if I’d followed my best instincts, I could have fled wailing from the room, or fallen blubbering at some convenient foot – but of course I didn’t. With sick fear mounting in my throat, I knew that I’d have to go, and that was that – back to India, with its heat and filth and flies and dangers and poxy niggers, to undertake the damnedest mission since Bismarck put me on the throne of Strackenz.

      But this was infinitely worse – Bismarck’s crew had been as choice a collection of villains as ever jumped bail or slit a throat, but they were civilised by comparison with Ignatieff. The thought of dealing with that devil, as Pam so nicely put it, was enough to send me into a decline. And if that wasn’t enough, I was to sneak about some savage Indian kingdom (Thug country, for a bonus), spying on some withered old bitch of an Indian princess and trying to wheedle her to British interest against her will – and she probably the kind of hag whose idea of fun would be to chain malefactors to a rogue elephant’s foot. (Most Indian rulers are mad, you know, and capable of anything.) But there wasn’t the slightest chance to wriggle; all I could do was put on my muscular Christian expression, look Palmerston fearlessly in the eye, like Dick Champion when the headmaster gives him the job of teaching the fags not to swear, and say I’d do my best.

      ‘Well enough,’ says he. ‘I know you will. Who knows – perhaps the signs are false, what? Tokens of mutiny, in a place where Russia’s been stirrin’ the pot, an’ the local ruler’s chafin’ under our authority – it’s happened before, an’ it may amount to nothin’ in the end. But if the signs are true, make no mistake –’ and he gave me his steady stare ‘– it’s the gravest peril our country has faced since Bonaparte. It’s no light commission we’re placin’ in your hands, sir – but they’re the safest hands in England, I believe.’

      So help me God, it’s absolutely what he said; it makes you wonder how these fellows ever get elected. I believe I made some manly sounds, and as usual my sick terror must have been manifesting itself by making me red in the face, which in a fellow of my size is often mistaken for noble resolution. It must have satisfied Pam, anyway, for suddenly he was smiling at me, and sitting back in his chair.

      ‘Now you know why you’re sittin’ here talkin’ to the Prime Minister, what? Been sittin’ on eggshells, haven’t you? Ne’er mind – I’m glad to have had the opportunity of instructin’ you myself – of course, you’ll be more fully informed, before you sail, of all the intelligence you’ll need – his lordship here, an’ Mangles at the Board in London, will be talkin’ to you. When d’you take leave of Her Majesty? Another week? Come, that’s too long. When does the India sloop sail, Barrington? Monday – you’d best be off to Town on Friday, then. Leave pretty little Mrs Flashman to take care of royalty, what? Stunnin’ gal, that – never see her from my window on Piccadilly but it sets me in humour – must make her acquaintance when you come home. Bring her along to Number 96 some evenin’ – dinner, an’ so forth, what?’

      He sat there, beaming like Pickwick. It turned my stomach at the time, and small wonder, СКАЧАТЬ