And then Yakub Beg's voice broke in on my daydreams.
"Who shall say there is such a thing as chance?" he was exulting. "All is as God directs. He sends the Ruski powder ships. He sends the means of their destruction. And"—he reached out to pass me my coffee cup—"best of all, he sends you, blood brother, without whom all would be naught."
You may think that until now I'd been slow on the uptake—that I should have seen the danger signal as soon as this lunatic mentioned Congreve rockets. But I'd been so taken aback by the scheme, and had it so fixed in my mind that I had no part in it, anyway, that the fearful implication behind his last words came like a douche of cold water. I nearly dropped my coffee cup.
"Naught?" I echoed. "What d'you mean?"
"Who among us would have the skill or knowledge to make use of these rockets of yours?" says he. "I said you were sent by God. A British officer, who knows how these things are employed, who can ensure success where our bungling fingers would … "
"You mean you expect me to fire these bloody things for you?" I was so appalled that I said it in English, and he looked at me in bewilderment. Stammering, and no doubt going red in the face, I blundered. back into Persian.
"Look, Yakub Beg—I'm sorry, but it cannot be. You know I must go to India, to carry the news of this Russian invasion … this army … I can't risk such news going astray … it's my bounden duty, you see …"
"But there will be no invasion," says he, contentedly. "We will see to that."
"But if we—you—I mean, if it doesn't work?" I cried. "I can't take the risk! I mean—it's not that I don't wish to help you—I would if I could, of course. But if I were killed, and the Russians marched in spite of your idiotic—I mean, your daring scheme, they would catch my people unprepared!"
"Rest assured," says he, "the news will go to Peshawar. I pledge my honour, just as I pledge my people to fight these Ruskis tooth and nail from. here to the Killer-of-Hindus. But we will stop them here -" and he struck the ground beside him. "I know it! And your soldiers in India will be prepared, for a blow that never comes. For we will not fail. The Silk One's plan is sound. Is she not the najud?"
And the grinning ape bowed again in her direction, pleased as Punch.
By George, this was desperate. I didn't know what to say. He was bent on dragging me into certain destruction, and I had to weasel out somehow—but at the same time I daren't let them see the truth, which was that the whole mad scheme terrified me out of my wits. That might well be fatal—you've no idea what those folk are like, and if Yakub Beg thought I was letting him down … well, one thing I could be sure of: there'd be no excursion train ordered up to take me to the coral strand in a hurry.
"Yakub, my friend," says I. "Think but a moment. I would ask nothing better than to ride with you and Kutebar on this affair. I have my own score to settle with these Ruski pigs, believe me. And if I could add one asper in the scale of success, I would be with you heart and soul. But I am no artilleryman. I know something of these rockets, but nothing to the purpose. Any fool can aim them, and fire them—Kutebar can do it as easily as he breaks wind -" that got them laughing, as I intended it should. "And I have my duty, which is to my country. I, and I alone, must take that news—who else would be believed? Don't you see—you may do this thing without me?"
"Not as surely," says he. "How could we? An artilleryman you may not be, but you are a soldier, with those little skills that mean the difference between success and failure. You know this—and think, blood brother, whether we stand or fall, when those ships flame like the rising sun and sink into destruction, we will have shattered the threat to your folk and mine! We will have lit a fire that will singe the Kremlin wall! By God, what a dawn that will be!"
Just the glitter in those eyes, the joyful madness on that hawk face, sent my spirits into my boots. Normally I'll talk myself hoarse in my skin's interest, and grovel all the way to Caesar's throne, but in that moment I knew it would be no use. You see, even with the saliva pumping into my mouth, I knew that his reasoning was right—ask Raglan or the Duke or Napoleon: they'd have weighed it and said that I should stay. And it's no use trying to defeat an Oriental's logic—let alone one who has the fire in his guts. I tried a little more, as far as I dared, and then let it lie, while the coffee went round again, and Kutebar speculated gloatingly on how many Russians he would kill, and Yakub sat with his hand on my shoulder, praising God and giving thanks for the opportunity to confound the politics of the Tsar. And the cause of it all, that slant-eyed witch in the tight trousers, said nothing at all, but sauntered across to a bird cage hanging on the pavilion trellis, murmuring and pursing her lips to the nightingale to coax it to sing.
I sat pretty quiet myself, feverishly trying to plot a way out of this, and getting nowhere. The others got down to the details of the business, and I had to take part and try to look happy about it. I must say, looking back, they had it well schemed out: they would take five thousand riders, under Yakub and Kutebar and Sahib Khan, each commanding a division, and just go hell for leather past Fort Raim at four in the morning, driving down to the beach and cutting off the pier. Sahib Khan's lot would secure the northern flank beyond the pier, facing the Syr Daria mouth; Yakub would take the south side, fronting the main beach, and their forces would join up at the landward end of the pier, presenting a ring of fire and steel against the Russian counter-attacks. Kutebar's detachment would be inside the ring, in reserve, and shielding the firing party—here they looked at me with reverent eyes, and I managed an offhand grin that any dentist would have recognized first go.
The rockets and stands were in a go-down, Kutebar had said; they would have their spies—the impressed labourers who slept on the beach—on hand to guide us to them. And then, while all hell was breaking loose around us, the intrepid Flashy and his assistants would set the infernal things up and blaze away at the powder ships. And when the great Guy Fawkes explosion occurred—supposing that it did—we would take to the sea; it was half a mile across Syr Daria mouth, and Katti Torah—a horrible little person with yellow teeth and a squint, who was one of the council that night—would be waiting on the other side to cover all who could escape that way. Well, it was at least a glimmer of hope; I'd swum the Mississippi in my time.*(*See Flash for Freedom!)
But the more I considered the thing, the more appalling it looked. Indeed, my mind was already running on a different tack entirely: if I could get a horse tonight, and ride for it—anywhere, but south towards Persia for preference, where they wouldn't expect me to go—could I make a clean getaway? Anywhere else, I'd have chanced it, but south was pure desert—for that matter, it was all bloody wilderness, on every side—and if I didn't lose myself and perish horribly, I'd be run down for certain. And blood brother or not, I couldn't see Yakub Beg condoning desertion. Even the beach and the rockets offered a little hope—it couldn't be worse than Balaclava, surely? (God, what a fearful thought that was.) So I looked as steady as I could, while those grinning wolves chuckled over their plan, and when the Silk One broke silence to announce that she personally would go with Kutebar's detachment, and assist with the rockets, I even managed to join in the hum of approval, and say how jolly it would be to have her along. One thing tribulation teaches you, and that is to wear the mask when there's nothing else for it. She gave me a thoughtful glance, and then went back to her nightingale.