A Singular Hostage Part 21

"Snakebite?" Mariana had heard of the horrible effects of snakebite-the agony, the swelling, the bleeding mouth, the inevitable death. Could the man collapsed on the ground really have been bitten by a snake? She stared, unable to look away as two of the armed escorts lifted the satin-clad man by his arms. Bent under his weight, they carried him across the courtyard, his feet dragging behind like a condemned prisoner's, and laid him, kicking, onto the string bed.

Safiya Sultana motioned with her head toward another window. "If you want to see, come over here," she said, and led Mariana through the press of ladies.

This new window had a better view of the padded platform and the string bed with its twitching occupant. No longer empty, the platform now held a gaunt-faced individual wearing billowing white clothes and a high cylindrical headdress. Other white-clad men cl.u.s.tered nearby. The bejeweled second rider, now dismounted, stood wringing his hands over his stricken companion while the armed men milled about. Everyone except the man on the platform seemed to be talking at once.

"Is that Shaikh Waliullah?" Mariana whispered.

Safiya Sultana moved her head in a.s.sent.

So this was the great magician Miss Emily had talked about. He certainly looked like one, with his tall snowy headdress.

Mariana held her breath.

The torchlit scene, eerie already, was made more so by the sudden silence that fell as soon as the Shaikh raised a bony hand.

Although the charpai charpai with its load of human misery could have been no more than a foot from his platform, the Shaikh made no move to touch his patient. Instead, he sat quite motionless, his back erect, his gaze fixed on the salmon-robed figure before him. For some minutes, the only movements in the courtyard were the convulsions of the man on the bed. Mariana narrowed her eyes, straining to see, wishing her window were closer to the platform. Was that a trick of the light or was sweat beginning to gleam on the Shaikh's face? with its load of human misery could have been no more than a foot from his platform, the Shaikh made no move to touch his patient. Instead, he sat quite motionless, his back erect, his gaze fixed on the salmon-robed figure before him. For some minutes, the only movements in the courtyard were the convulsions of the man on the bed. Mariana narrowed her eyes, straining to see, wishing her window were closer to the platform. Was that a trick of the light or was sweat beginning to gleam on the Shaikh's face?

"Is he saying something?" she whispered into Safiya Sultana's ear. Even at this distance, it seemed wrong to make a sound.

"Yes," Safiya Sultana answered, then pressed her lips firmly into a straight line.

Mesmerized, Mariana watched.

A powerful connection seemed to have formed between the magician and his patient. It seemed almost as if another snake-a good, healing, invisible snake-had linked the two men together and was now at work undoing the virulent effects of the poison.

But there was not, and never had been, a cure for poisonous snakebite. From her first hour in India, Mariana had been warned never to walk outdoors, even on the streets of Calcutta, without laced boots. On her first day in camp, Major Byrne had instructed her to wear her boots all the time, even in her tent. Since then, she had heard stories of servants and even soldiers being killed by cobras, vipers, or other snakes.

Only recently, Dr. Drummond had recounted the story of a subaltern at the army camp who liked to walk about in a pair of bedroom slippers. "I warned him several times," the doctor had said, shaking his head, "but once he had been bitten, it was too late. What a terrible sight the man was-his leg was monstrous and livid. The poor fellow was in agony. 'Doctor,' he told me, before he lost consciousness, 'I should not be dying now if I had listened to your advice.'"

Murmuring rose from below. The body on the charpai had stopped twitching. Fascinated, Mariana watched it move, then sit up, no longer a terrible, suffering thing but a showily dressed man with a full curly beard who rubbed his face, then smiled.

With a grunt, Safiya Sultana took her arm and led her firmly from the window. "Well, that's done," she said briskly. "And now, Mariam, my brother has asked to see you, but first you must sit for another moment. It will be a little time before all those men have left."

The ladies had seated themselves once more as if they expected to sit in those same places forever. What hour was it?

"More men are coming, more men are coming. Look, look!" A girl of about fifteen, whose long reddish plait hung down to her knees, had pressed her face to the shutter.

Safiya Sultana sighed heavily as she lowered herself to the carpet beside Mariana. "Tell me what you see, Mehereen."

"Three men are riding into the courtyard-ooh, they are so beautifully dressed, Bhaji. They have swords and one has a big feather in his-"

Safiya Sultana waved a hand. "Only tell me what they are doing, Mehereen," she instructed.

"They have brought servants carrying covered trays. They are uncovering them and oh, there are shawls, so many shawls, although I cannot see how good they are, and they are leading in a horse, and one of the trays is heaped up with gold jewelry. Lala-Ji must have saved someone very important, someone very rich!" Her eyes alight, she turned from the window. "What does it mean, Bhaji? Are these gifts for us?"

"It means nothing, you will see." Safiya Sultana shook her head. "Nothing at all."

But the girl was peeping out again. "Wait! Why doesn't Lala-Ji look at the gifts? Why does he not show grat.i.tude? The men look so disappointed, and now they are going away. They are taking their gifts and going away. Why, Bhaji?"

The sweet voice was suddenly so sad that Mariana felt a rush of desire to comfort the girl. Safiya Sultana patted the carpet on her other side. "My darling, we all know that Lala-Ji never accepts payment for this work. Come and sit beside me, Mehereen-Jani," she rumbled. She turned to Mariana. "The children call my brother Lala-Ji," she explained.

"But what if those gifts were from the Maharajah?" the girl persisted. "Will not his feelings be hurt? What if he becomes-"

"Mehereen, you must not ask questions. And now that those men have gone," Safiya Sultana continued, sharpening her tone, "it is time for Mariam to go down and meet my brother, and for all of us to go to bed."

"It is most unusual," she informed Mariana, "for him to meet a woman. Indeed, he has never met a foreigner, but it is his express wish to meet you before you return to your camp. His servant Allahyar is waiting now at the foot of the stairs to show you the way."

Pushing herself once more to her feet, Safiya Sultana braced herself on young Mehereen's shoulder. "And now, good night, and may G.o.d keep you, my child. In rescuing Saboor you have performed a great service for our family."

Leaning on Mehereen, she moved toward a curtained doorway at the end of the room and was gone.

Without Safiya Sultana, the room seemed somehow colder. Looking about, Mariana saw that there was no one left but a few yawning servants.

She rubbed her face, wondering what she and the Shaikh would speak about. Perhaps he would only greet her quickly, and then send her back to the British camp in his own palanquin. Hands braced on the wall, she descended the winding stair to where, at its foot, the promised servant waited.

His bush of hair was an arresting shade of red, but, as odd as the servant Allahyar appeared to her, she must have appeared odder still, for his eyes widened in astonishment as she approached. But what could they expect of someone who had been carried three miles in a palki by the clumsiest men in India, and then been awakened in the middle of the night to be scrutinized and stared at by a group of unknown women?

She lifted her arms to tuck her curls into a knot, but abandoned the effort, too tired suddenly to care what the Shaikh thought of her.

Except for a few torchbearers, the courtyard was deserted as the red-haired servant led her toward the painted portico where the old Shaikh still sat, upright on his platform. Of the patient and his bejeweled escort there was no sign, nor did there remain a single shawl or trinket from the trays of gifts that had been offered there only moments before.

The time had come to use the native manners that Shafi Sahib had taught her. Mariana inclined her head and saluted the old man, the fingers of her right hand touching her forehead. "As-Salaam-oalaik.u.m, Shaikh Sahib," she said.

When she looked up he smiled, seeming not to notice her rumpled dress and unruly hair. "And peace be upon you, daughter," he replied.

He patted his platform. "Sit down."

She smiled in return. Daughter. No one had ever called her that.

His voice was light and pleasing, which surprised her, since his elderly face was as dark and wrinkled as a prune. She approached the platform, which turned out to be covered in another white sheet, and sat down primly on its edge.

"The first part of your journey must have been uncomfortable," he said. His eyes held a force she had never seen before. "The men who carried you were not palki bearers. They were barbers and grooms. One was a soldier out of uniform. But all were good brave men."

She nodded, unable to take her eyes from his. Willing to risk their lives Willing to risk their lives ... ...

"And now," he went on, "I would like to express our grat.i.tude for your rescue of my grandson. It is clear to us all that in this emergency you have acted with great courage and compa.s.sion, and with a kind of love that is very rare in this world."

Before she had time to fiush with pleasure, he raised a brown finger. "And now, I would like to ask you three questions."

He did not wait for her to respond. "First," he began, "have you seen all that you wish to see of India?"

His eyes seemed to hold important secrets. What did he want her to say?

"No," she replied carefully, "not yet. But I still have the return journey to Calcutta before me. The journey is to take us four months, you see, after we stop at Simla for-"

"It is nearly dawn," he interrupted, his voice unchanged, "and you must be very tired. Perhaps you would like to answer my question truthfully."

She sat straighter. "-that is," she stammered, "yes-no, I have not seen all I wish to see of India."

Why had she tried to fool a magician? Under his powerful gaze, in spite of her deep exhaustion, she felt her imagination catch fire. "I have not yet seen the walled city, except for this house," she added, her voice betraying her excitement. "Until now I had never spoken to native ladies, or-"

"Thank you," he interrupted again, this time firmly. "You have answered my first question. And now the second." As he leaned toward her, his headdress seemed to reach up to the stars overhead. "Have you met my son Ha.s.san, Saboor's father?"

This was not a trick question. "No," she replied.

"Very well, and now to my final question." He removed his headdress and stood it on the platform beside him. It was of starched white cotton, delicately embroidered. A tight, embroidered skullcap covered his head. Without his headdress, he looked entirely different.

"Have you ever loved before, as you now love my grandson Saboor?"

She looked across the dark courtyard, remembering the wave of pa.s.sionate feeling that had rushed over her when she had first taken Saboor into her arms, and her agony when he had wept, caught in her shawl. The recognition and hope she had felt with Fitzgerald, sweet and compelling as it was, had been quite different. Her abiding, protective love for her father had been different. Even her love for Ambrose, great as it had been, did not compare to this. "No," she said.

"Very good," the Shaikh said briskly. "You have answered my three questions well."

He signaled toward the shadows. Allahyar, the red-haired servant, stepped out and stood waiting.

The Shaikh pointed through the low gate to where the second courtyard lay blanketed in darkness. "One of our palanquins is waiting in the entryway," he told the servant. "Escort this young lady there, and tell the men that she is to be taken to a point seven miles from here, along the Amritsar road. At the seven-mile mark, she will be met by another palanquin. That is all."

Although she knew she had been dismissed, Mariana did not get up from the platform. Instead, a hand on the white sheet, she looked up into the Shaikh's wrinkled face.

"Shaikh Sahib, what you did earlier, the snakebite cure-"

Again he interrupted her in his clear, light voice. "What you have seen here, my child, is a spiritual trick, a matter of faith and practice. We, whom some people call Sufis, occasionally perform cures and do other things of that nature."

He raised a hand before she could respond. "But you should know that we are followers of the Path, not tricksters or magicians. Those of us who have permission to do so perform cures as a service to the people, but it is only a very small and unimportant part of our spiritual practice."

He studied her, as if he could read her very soul. "You must not speak of this, do you understand? Those who are told of these matters often do not believe what they hear. One must never, even by mistake, increase another person's disbelief."

Behind him, the sky had begun to lighten. He indicated by a slight movement that their interview had ended.

"Shaikh Sahib-" she said.

His expression had become distant. "You will meet Saboor again," he said, answering her unspoken question without meeting her eyes, "but not tonight."

As Mariana followed Allahyar through the low gate, a voice came from beyond the wall, its minor wail piercing the chill of the courtyard.

"La Illaha Illa-Allah." There is no G.o.d save G.o.d. "La Illaha Illa-Allah-"

THE tall doors of Qamar Haveli thudded shut behind her. Mariana closed her eyes. In an hour, the British train would begin its daily march. Traveling toward her at its usual snail's pace, it would reach Lah.o.r.e by midmorning. Shafi Sahib had been correct. Thank heaven for Dittoo, sender of palanquins and performer of many exacting tasks! Safe in her own palki, she would wait until the camp had arrived at its stopping place a few miles outside the city. Then she would easily rejoin it, unnoticed among other travelers busy with the raising of tents and the unloading of mountains of baggage.

She would be at breakfast in the dining tent with the Eden ladies, Lord Auckland, and all the others, by half past nine.

She yawned. What a strange night it had been. As she looked out at the brightening fields along the road, the torchlit scenes of the night before seemed more and more distant and unreal.

What was real, and tugged at her, spoiling all chance of pleasant rest, was the emptiness in the crook of her arm.

You were sleeping in your palanquin palanquin? Sleeping in one of those musty instruments of torture? You must must have been unwell." Miss Emily's eyebrows had risen until they were invisible inside her bonnet. Tilting her parasol, she studied Mariana carefully from the depths of her folding chair. "I cannot imagine myself sleeping so soundly in a palanquin that I failed to notice dozens of people searching for me. Lieutenant Marks has been quite beside himself." have been unwell." Miss Emily's eyebrows had risen until they were invisible inside her bonnet. Tilting her parasol, she studied Mariana carefully from the depths of her folding chair. "I cannot imagine myself sleeping so soundly in a palanquin that I failed to notice dozens of people searching for me. Lieutenant Marks has been quite beside himself."

Mariana tried to look innocent. "I am sorry, Miss Emily. My bearers did not wish to wake me, so they left me sleeping inside while the coolies were putting up my tent. I am sorry to have missed breakfast."

Of course, tired as she had been, she had not really slept. Dittoo had seen to that. As soon as she arrived he had rushed to her palanquin, and, ignoring her closed eyes, had recounted every detail of his own midnight adventure.

"Memsahib," he had informed her at least three times, his voice rising excitedly each time, "aik dum, all at once, the water rushed into my mouth, and I was saved!"

Now, at eleven o'clock in the morning, she could scarcely keep her eyes open.

"She is exhausted, Emily." Miss f.a.n.n.y pursed her lips. "The child looks as if she has been wearing that dress for days. And look at her hair! Mariana, you really must go and lie down."

"In any case," Miss Emily persisted, unswayed by her sister's kindness, "I find it most tactless of you to have fallen ill, Mariana. I shall now be forced to watch the elephant fight all alone." She sniffed. "My sister's attachment to the animal kingdom must outweigh her attachment to me, for she has refused to attend the fight this afternoon. She does not, she says, watch animals kill each other for sport."

Miss f.a.n.n.y raised her chin but said nothing.

"Be warned, f.a.n.n.y," added Miss Emily, shaking her parasol in her sister's direction, "that the next time we are invited to some horrid occasion, I shall make a particular point of abandoning you. And speaking of horrid occasions, Mariana, please be recovered by Monday evening. We have been invited to dine with the Maharajah at his Citadel. I shall be expected to converse with him, and will need you to repeat to me every word he says."

Mariana winced. Maharajah Ranjit Singh who had hurt her Saboor-she would rather converse with a snake.

Miss f.a.n.n.y sighed. "Have we really to dine with him? Oh, Emily, it is sure to be exactly like the dinners poor George has sat through- hours and hours of pointless conversation, dancing girls, red-hot food, awful wine-"

"I know, f.a.n.n.y," Miss Emily agreed. "But what are we to do?"

"Ah, so Miss Givens has been found!" Lord Auckland ducked his head as he emerged, smiling, from the reception tent. Nodding in Mariana's direction, he pulled up his favorite basket chair. "What a relief for us all. I trust you are well?"

"She is not," replied Miss f.a.n.n.y. "She is so exhausted that she fell asleep in her palanquin until just now. You must," she added, peering at Mariana, "have been very very unwell last night." unwell last night."

Mariana looked at her hands. Would they please, please please talk of something else? talk of something else?

"Perhaps, being ill, Miss Givens missed last night's excitement," Lord Auckland said, responding to her silent plea in the worst possible fashion.

She bent her head to express polite curiosity. "What happened, Lord Auckland?" she inquired.

"Exactly as Mr. Macnaghten had predicted," he answered with a satisfied little smile, "the Maharajah came to believe we had stolen that baby hostage of his and were concealing it in our own compound."

"After we had all gone to bed," Miss f.a.n.n.y contributed, "at about midnight, a delegation of the Maharajah's courtiers arrived from the Citadel. Major Byrne rounded up all all our servants and brought them onto the avenue, where he held something called a 'rice test.' All the servants were made to chew handfuls of rice, then spit them out onto the road, after being asked a question devised for the occasion by the mysterious Faqeer Azizuddin." our servants and brought them onto the avenue, where he held something called a 'rice test.' All the servants were made to chew handfuls of rice, then spit them out onto the road, after being asked a question devised for the occasion by the mysterious Faqeer Azizuddin."

Lord Auckland winced. Miss f.a.n.n.y put a hand on her brother's arm. "Only dear George, Major Byrne, and Mr. Macnaghten knew it was to be done," she said, her proud nod causing the rosettes on her bonnet to tremble. "It was all kept a dark secret beforehand, for fear the culprits might get away. What a shock it must have been for the poor servants to be rousted from their sleep by soldiers in the middle of the night!"

"Of course, nothing came of it." Lord Auckland brushed an ant from his sleeve. "There was never any question of the baby's being here. Anyone fool enough to bring that child inside this compound would have been found out at once."

"Do you know, George," Miss Emily said slowly, "Jimmund told me that, last evening as he was taking Chance for his late walk, a palanquin pa.s.sed him. It caught his attention, he said, because it bounced and swayed as if none of the bearers had ever carried a palanquin before. And he insisted that there was something quite wrong with the way the bearers looked although I did not grasp what it was."

"How odd." Miss f.a.n.n.y nodded politely as Major Byrne pa.s.sed by. "A palanquin in the middle of the night. Did he tell you where he saw it?"

"He said it came from the direction of Mariana's tent and was on its way toward the back kitchen gate. He claims it pa.s.sed him not five minutes before all the servants were rounded up for the test."

"What nonsense, my dears." Lord Auckland smiled affectionately at his sisters as Mariana hastily laced her trembling fingers together in her lap. He shook his head. "I cannot fathom why you let your servants talk to you at all, far less regale you with these absurd stories. Nothing of the sort happened, did it, Miss Givens?"