A crowd of onlookers had gathered around an emaciated fakir dressed in nothing save a turban and a dhoti, a small loin cloth he wore wound around his waist and between his legs; it looked like a diaper. He had loos-ened the dhoti and shoved the material between his legs to one side, exposing his buttocks. He squatted down in a puddle and assumed a lotus posture, sitting in the filthy water. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his forehead, just beneath his turban. Then, with a heavy exhalation, he assumed an expression of utter serenity and sat still. As the onlookers talked amongst themselves, wondering what he was doing, someone suddenly noticed that the puddle the fakir was sitting in was beginning to grow smaller. It was another moment or two before anyone realised what the fakir was doing. He was performing an astonishing feat of yogic control. He was taking in the water of the puddle through his anus.
"Neat trick," said Delaney.
"Yes, but what’s it good for"" Andre said, staring at the fakir with disbelief.
Delaney shrugged."I don’t know. Suppose it would come in handy if you had a sore throat and you wanted to take a drink."
Someone standing just behind them in the crowd of onlookers guffawed. "A drink, ‘e says! Lord, an what’s the good o’ that, eh" It’s a neat trick, sure enough, but you show me a way to squeeze me arse into a pint o’ bitters and then I’ll shake your bloomin’ ‘and!" The remarks were punctuated by a hearty laugh and a slap on Delaney’s back that almost sent him sprawling.
"Mulvaney, you bloody fool!" another voice said. "Have you lost your mind to go pummelling subalterns" "
Delaney turned around to see three infantrymen standing behind them. All were privates. One was tall and slim, built along the same lines as Priest, with dark hair, black eyes, and a cleft chin. Another was blond, shorter in stature, broad-shouldered and blue-eyed, with a go-to-the-devil insouciance about him, the unmistakable stamp of a hell-raiser. The third was built like a bull, with a barrel chest and arms like an ape’s. He was red haired, like Delaney, only where Finn’s hair was a dark red shade, his was so bright as to be almost orange. All three immediately stiffened to attention as Finn turned to face them.
"Beggin’ your pardon, sir," said the redhead. "If I’da known you was an officer, I’da never been quite so familiar, nor spoke barracks talk in the presence of a lady. Forgive me, mum, I didn’t see you for the other gentlemen."
Despite the obvious Irish in the voice, the delivery was pure cockney, half brogue, half burr, a bastard amalgam of army accents stirred so thoroughly as to create a unique and not unpleasant-sounding result.
"Stand at case, men," said Dclaney. "No offence meant and none taken. And the lady’s heard far worse, I can assure you. Wounded soldiers speak plainly enough while they’re being tended to. What are your names" "
"Privates Learoyd, Ortheris, and Mulvaney, sir, of B Company," said the blond, whose voice seemed to hold a natural tone of insolence. "I’m Learoyd, the tall drink of water is Ortheris, and this horse is Mulvaney. A bit slow, Mulvaney is, but he’s a good Tommy in a pinch. Good of you to overlook this, sir, there’s a lot that wouldn’t. Can we offer you some drink by way of thanks" "
"I’m never one to turn down a drink," Delaney said. "But I must bring my friends along. They’re new to Peshawar, and the Father here doesn’t know his way around quite yet. My name’s Delaney. This is Father Priest. He’s come to do missionary work and start a hospital up in the hills. Miss Cross will be his nurse."
The three privates politely doffed their caps to Andre. Ortheris chuckled. "Father Priest, eh" Born to the collar, in a manner o’ speakin’, eh, Father""
Lucas smiled. "Only in a manner of speaking," he said. "My father was a soldier. He had hopes that I would become one as well, but I took vows instead. You might say the name is both a blessing and a curse."
They took seats at a table in an outdoor tea shop covered by a cloth roof. Ortheris ordered gahwa for them all, a Chinese tea spiced with cardamom seeds, into which Mulvaney poured liberal amounts of whiskey from his flask.
"I take it then that you’re not new to the frontier, sir," Learoyd said to Delaney.
"I’ve just transferred in from Simia, but I’ve been out here before," said Finn."Haveyou three been here long" "
"All our bloomin’ lives, seems like," said Mulvaney. He turned to Lucas. "You’ll love it, Father. In the summer the ‘eat’ll blister the skin o’ your back right through your uniform. In the winter it’s cold enough to freeze your bleedin’ ba-er, it’s very cold, sir, I can assure you o’ that." He cast a sheepish glance at Andre.
"Well, fortunately, Private Mulvaney," she said, "I lack that especially vulnerable portion of the human anatomy, so perhaps I’ll bear up in this climate."
Mulvaney looked shocked, and Learoyd threw back his head and laughed. "I believe you will, miss. It takes spirit to survive on the frontier. And you’ll need all the spirit you can muster if you’re off to the high country to mingle with those Pathan heathens."
"I hope to do something about that," said Lucas. "We’ve travelled a long way to bring the tribes modern medicine and the Lord’s word."
"Well, the medicine they might well welcome, I’ll grant you that," said Learoyd. "As for the Lord’s word, if you’ll forgive my speakin’ bluntly, I think you’re wastin’ your time. Tryin’ to get a Pathan to turn the other cheek would be akin to tryin’ to teach a mule to run at steeplechase."
"That’s the truth of it, Father," said Mulvaney. "You give ‘em gold an’ they’ll convert right quick, but they’ll go and reconvert themselves to their butcherin’ ways the minute they take a fancy to, and that minute will come quicker if they suspect you’ve got more gold on you."
"Let me tell you a bit about these Pathans, Father, — said Ortheris. "They’re the most contrary bunch o’ savages the good Lord ever made, and I’ll be hanged if I can figure why ‘e made ‘em to begin with. Picture this for a pretty creature-a filthy Afghan with the beak of a vulture and eyes like a snarlin’ wolf; a great, shaggy, black beard, and a mouth forever set in cruelty. ‘E’s wearing a blue turban, which like as not hasn’t seen a washin’ in at least a month or two, and a long white robe, all tattered and begrimed. ‘E’s got on baggy trousers tied down at the ankles, and a tunic with charms and whatnot round ‘is neck. Round ‘is waist ‘c’s got a wide sash what ‘olds a pistol and a brace o’ knives long as your arm, as well as one o’ those sharp charra knives like what you’ve seen back in the bazaar. You can drop a lady’s scarf upon one o’ those long blades, an’ it’ll slice it neat as you please. To complete the picture, put a long jezail into ‘is hand and tuck a flower in ‘is ear, and there you ‘ave your pretty rosy Pathan, thorns an’ all. You oughtta see them do their sword dances, leapin’ and caperin’ like dogs tearin’ at a piece o’ meat. Like as not they didn’t prepare you for that lot in the seminary, eh, Father""
"No, they most certainly did not," said Lucas. "But I must admit they sound like a fascinating people. "