‘No!’
‘Well, then, what Mr Troop keeps in his shaving kit?’
Joe was ashamed that his second ‘No!’ was a betraying split second slow.
‘And besides,’ the boy went on cheerfully, ‘you have the face of a killer.’
Joe must have registered dismay at being so described because the boy hurried to add, ‘Oh, it’s a nice face. A very nice face but you look as though you are accustomed to fighting. Like Yashastilak.’
‘Yasha who? Who’s that?’ Joe felt he was beginning to lose the thread and the initiative in this exchange.
‘Yashastilak. My father’s favourite fighting elephant. He is old and ugly with many scars but he has won a hundred fights!’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose,’ said Joe. He grinned, sat down on the bed and put his hands on his knees in an unthreatening posture. ‘And you’re not far wrong. I was a soldier, Bahadur, in the recent war in Europe. A piece of shrapnel — that’s the casing of a shell — sliced through my face. . here.’ He touched the unsightly scar which cut through his eyebrow and skewed the left side of his face. ‘And now I have to be careful not to scare the horses but that doesn’t make me a killer. I’ve killed men. But I’m no threat to boys who behave themselves. I’m here, if anything, to protect you. Sir George Jardine sent me and he asks to be remembered to you.’
‘Sir George! I have only met him once when he visited my father last year but I know he is my friend,’ said Bahadur. ‘I wish he would come again. He knows nearly as much about astronomy as I do and he taught me conjuring tricks.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Joe drily, ‘he does that to us all!’
‘And he is very jolly!’ Bahadur went on with enthusiasm. ‘And full of mischief, my nanny says. He took a pot of treacle and a pot of honey to the top of the palace and poured them both out into the courtyard. He made me stand below and note what happened. The treacle won the race. It fell on to my turban! The purdah ladies in the zenana were watching and laughing. I told them it was a scientific experiment but they thought it was just a bit of fun.’
‘No reason why it can’t be both,’ said Joe.
There was a catch in the boy’s voice as the memory of the past faded and the seriousness of his present situation came back to him. ‘I think I would feel safer if Sir George were here! You say you are his friend but how am I to know that is true?’
‘Sensible of you to ask the question,’ Joe remarked. ‘Look, I’ve got something in my bag for you. George sent it and he’s signed his name in the front.’ He unbuckled his bag and produced a book. One Thousand and One Cunning Card Tricks for Clever Boys, was its whimsical title.
It seemed to work its magic as Bahadur’s next question was, ‘If it’s not you, then is it Edgar Troop who’s going to kill me?’
Joe could only guess at the depths of insecurity, the loneliness and the fear behind the question, and his sympathy and his heart went out to the boy. Soon he would be fatherless — did he know that? — and he would be surrounded by people out to manipulate him, perhaps even get rid of him. What reassurance could Joe give — a stranger in the palace? A ferret being thrust down an unexplored rat-hole where any menace might lurk? The next Heatstroke Express might be ferrying a hired gun to the palace, though he might well be already in place. And, Joe supposed, there was no lack of home-grown talent who might oblige.
‘Not Edgar,’ he said. ‘No, not Edgar. He works for Sir George too. We’re both here to help you and to find out what happened to your brothers. I’ve no idea yet what’s going on here in Ranipur but there is something wrong. You seem to have the run of the palace,’ he added speculatively. ‘Help me to find out what’s happening as far as you can — without putting yourself into danger, that is. Breaking into strangers’ rooms and sticking a gun in their face is a good way to get yourself killed!’
He was struck by a worrying thought. ‘Bahadur, tell me, whereabouts do you live in the palace? Have you got, er, safe living quarters?’
The boy shook his head. ‘This is a problem for me. I will tell you that there is nowhere that is safe. I have been living, as do all young boys of the princely family, in the zenana but I do not like it and I have left that place. My mother has her own apartment there but it is very crowded. The maharanees also have their apartments in the zenana. Their sons sit higher on the carpet than I do and they despise me. When Bishan died his mother, First Her Highness, was heard to say that it was unfair that her son, the rightful heir, the Maharaj Kumar, had died when “that little low-born, crawling insect” was still alive. She was speaking of me. And now Second Her Highness will say the same thing. Their Highnesses are not friendly with each other in normal times but I think that now they have both lost sons their hatred will combine and fix on me. They will do whatever is in their power to keep me from sitting on the gaddi.’
‘Gaddi?’
‘You would say throne. The ceremonial cushion the ruler sits on.’
‘But would ladies of their station — maharanees both — stoop to kill a child?’
Bahadur gave him an astonished look. ‘Oh, yes. They have tried to have my mother killed many times. But my mother is clever and well served by the palace servants who always bring warning. She is called Lal Bai. They hate her because she is a village girl and speaks only her village tongue but mainly they hate her because my father has always spent much time with her.’ Bahadur looked doubtful for a moment. ‘Until Third Her Highness came to live here. That was a year ago and my mother and I have seen very little of my father since then.’
‘So, where have you found a billet? Where do you sleep?’
‘I sleep anywhere and everywhere. Never in the same place twice.’
He paused and looked at Joe, wondering how far to trust him. Joe arranged the features of his killer’s face into what he hoped was a reassuring and receptive expression and waited.
‘There are people watching me. Everywhere I go I feel I am being followed. I hear footsteps behind me in the corridors and when I turn, there is no one there. Figures I have noticed ahead of me disappear. In the night, I hear noises I don’t understand. Govind finds me places. There are many rooms only he knows about. Sometimes I sleep in the elephant pens. They keep watch over me. There are ninety-five elephants and I know every one of them. They know me.’
‘So, that’s Govind and the elephants. Anyone else you can rely on?’
‘Yes. There is a forester, an old man who has always cared for me. And I like the airman, Captain Mercer. He is very friendly and says one day he will teach me to fly. He lets me stay in the hangar whenever I like and he never gives me away. But my best friend in the palace is a good man who is staying with my father. A tiger hunter. He has taught me all his skills. His name is Colin O’Connor. I go out into the jangal with him as often as he will take me.’
‘Mmm. . Doesn’t sound all that secure to me, roving round the jungle with a tiger hunter,’ said Joe. ‘You mentioned a nanny, I think? Is she still in employ at the palace?’
Bahadur’s face softened. ‘Yes, she is here. She is a Scottish lady, Miss Macarthur, and she is very fierce. She would fight for me with the courage of a tigress but she is a woman and she could not keep off an assassin with a parasol, could she?’
‘Where are her quarters?’
‘In the Old Palace. I will take you to see her tomorrow. She will be pleased to meet a friend of Sir George.’
‘Another elderly conquest!’ thought Joe, grudgingly. ‘The umpteenth member of the Sir George Appreciation Society.’
‘I’d like to see you again tomorrow, Bahadur. In fact it would put my mind at rest if I had you in my sights as much as possible every day. Stick as close by me as you can. If anyone asks why, tell them you’re teaching me astronomy. Now, look, I’ve got to write up a report for Vyvyan, bathe, dress and get myself down to dinner. Better get a move on!’