"But if that's so," said Shea, "where is she in this universe, Doc?"
Chalmers spread his hands in a shrug of helplessness. "She could be anywhere, Harold! It may have been only luck that led us to her before this."
"Or it may have been magic of her own! She has learned something about the art, Doc! Can't you sic a direction-finding spell on her?"
Chalmers' gaze became distant. "An interesting notion . . ."
"But not immediately," Shea said quickly. He hadn't meant to distract Chalmers into an academic trance. "First we have to survive the night and prove we're not thieves."
That brought Chalmers back to the needs of the moment with a vengeance. "An excellent point, Harold. Come, let us find some chapattis."
"But we're already dressed!"
"No, chapattis are food," Chalmers sighed, "a sort of Hindu tortilla. They, at least, should not be too highly seasoned. Let us dine."
Fed and armed, they were ready when the guard appeared at their door and summoned them. They followed him through only two short corridors and down one flight of stairs—they were near the kitchens, only one step above servant quarters, though their room had been furnished with cushions and silken hangings. They came out into the courtyard into a darkness relieved only by starlight, to find a hundred archers and fifty spearmen milling about, conversing in very low voices. Suddenly they stilled and turned toward a doorway in the palace wall itself, for through it came Rajah Randhir, clad in steel helmet and breastplate, sword on his hip and small shield on his arm. A murmur of amazement ran through the troops, for Randhir had tied the horsehair round his nose again, and his waxed moustaches stood up to the corners of his eyes like the horns of a Brahma bull.
He looked about him, gave a single nod of satisfaction, and said, "Yes, I am Rajah Randhir, though I have disguised myself as a thief. Follow me and do not ask why. Shea and Chalmers! Stand by me!"
Shea swallowed with great difficulty and walked down an avenue that opened magically within the troops, Chalmers one step behind him. As they came up to the Rajah, he said, "If I mistake the route, you will correct me. Come!" He turned about and strode away into the darkness. Shea followed, grimly reflecting on the unspoken proviso—that if Shea or Chalmers betrayed him, they would be handy for instant execution by the Rajah himself. Somehow, Shea wasn't eager for the honor.
Through the darkened town they went, and Shea wondered at the quietness. Then, remembering that the moon was down, he realized that it was so late that the thieves had finished their bloody work and gone back to their ken. There was a singular lack of dead bodies, though. Apparently the merchants had heeded the Rajah's warning and passed on the advice, and everyone had stayed indoors.
He found out later that he'd been more right than he knew—not only had everyone stayed sensibly indoors for once, the merchants had hired bodyguards and patrolled their shops and houses on the inside. When they had heard scraping at one place, they had hurried to it, and when the first head had poked through the hole, they had brained it neatly with a cudgel. The thieves' partners had pulled him out at once, of course, but the bodyguards had stabbed through the hole with a spear. There had been an outcry on the other side, then silence, and after a while, the householder had taken up the patrol again, leaving one bodyguard at the hole. The only booty the thieves had taken that night had come from the few bodyguards who had been thieves themselves, and had knocked their employers senseless (or, in some cases, slain them), then let their fellows in—but there had been only two or three successful in such ruses. All in all, it had been a grumbling, dissatisfied band who had wended their way home that night—but it had included three fraudulent bodyguards who had overheard some very interesting gossip from their employers.
At the moment, though, neither the Rajah nor any of his men knew that. They padded through the unnatural hush of the night until the city wall rose up before them. There, the Rajah gave the rhythmical knock he had heard the robbers give. After a moment, the huge portal opened, and the porter stuck his head around, hissing, "What has kept you so late? The others have all gone on long before you, and . . ." He broke off, staring in horror at the array of armed men. Randhir clamped a hand over his mouth and yanked him through; one of his soldiers, apparently primed for the task, leaped past. Shea heard a howl of night, suddenly cut off into a horrid gurgling, even as he saw a soldier transfix the captured porter with a spear.
Randhir dropped the body and dusted his hands. A soldier hauled the gate open, and the troop filed out after their Rajah.
"The term 'rough justice' comes to mind," Chalmers murmured.
"Rough, but legal," Shea reminded him. "You can't call him a vigilante when he is the government, can you?"
"Are you there, Shea?" Randhir called softly.
"Right behind you, O Lightning of Indra," Shea called. After that little display, he certainly didn't want to be in front of the rajah.
As they neared the meadow, Randhir called them to a halt, then murmured briefly with his soldiers. When he went on, Shea and Chalmers had followed him for a good ten paces before they realized that the soldiers had stayed behind. Chalmers' step faltered, but Randhir took him by the arm, saying, "The thief-sentries will recognize you two and think nothing amiss. As for me, you see I have disguised myself as I did last night. We three, at least, will hold the attention of the guards without alerting them. Come!"
Chalmers gave Shea a look that clearly said they had no choice. They really didn't—the Rajah had a grip of iron, and his men were watching.
Randhir whistled twice through his fingers, just as the robber captain had done the night before. There was a pause during which Shea's heartbeat seemed to him the loudest night sound of all; then he heard the hooting of an owl. The rajah replied with an excellent imitation of the robbers' jackal-scream, making Shea wonder if it was a standard part of the military training in this part of the world. The six robber-sentries rose from the grass like spectres, and their leader advanced to receive the password—but before he could, Shea found out why the soldiers had stayed behind.
They hadn't, really—they had just filed around the edges of the meadow, then wormed their way forward toward the Rajah. Now they rose from the grass and fell on the robbers, silencing them with clubs and knives, then tying up the ones who still lived.
"It is well done," the Rajah said, smiling at the sergeant who came forward, breathing heavily. "Are any hurt?"
"Only two of our own men," the sergeant answered. "Ramjit is wounded in the right arm and will be unable to fight more tonight. Kamal bleeds from a cut in the ribs, but protests that he can still fight."
"Then let him see Ramjit safely home," the Rajah said, "but not until we are done with this night's work. Bid Ramjit come with us, and wait while we assail the robbers—but see them bandaged first."
"We have done so." The sergeant glanced to the side, saw another soldier's wave. "They are tended; Ramjit bears the pain well. We can march, O Sword of Justice."
"Let us go, then." Randhir turned away into the night.
But as they came in sight of the sheer rock wall, a figure rose atop it against the light of the predawn sky, and a shrill whistle sounded. Instantly, a hail of arrows fell on the rajah and his men.
"Back!" the rajah cried. "The thieves be in ambush! We have been betrayed!"
Soldiers cried out in pain, and more than a few fell to the earth, pierced through. The troops gave ground, but Randhir called out, "Turn and flee! We must find a place to make our stand! Run!"