Told in the East by Talbot Mundy (ebook reader macos txt) 📗

“Heavenborn?”

“What is that red glow on the skyline over yonder?”

“A burning, heavenborn!”

“A burning? What burning? Funeral pyres? It's very big for funeral pyres!”

“Nay, heavenborn!”

“What, then?”

She was still unfrightened, unsuspicious of the untoward. The Risaldar's arrival on the scene had quite restored her confidence and she felt content to ride with him to Jundhra on the morrow.

“Barracks, heavenborn!”

“Barracks? What barracks?”

“There is but one barracks between here and Jundhra.”

“Then—then—then—what has happened, Mahommed Khan?”

“The worst has happened, heavenborn!”

He stood between her and the ayah, so that she could not see the woman huddled on the floor.

“The worst? You mean then—my—my—husband—you don't mean that my husband—”

“I mean, heavenborn that there is insurrection! All India is ablaze from end to end. These dogs here in Hanadra wait to rise because they think the section will return here in an hour or two; then they propose to burn it, men, guns and horses, like snakes in the summer grass. It is well that the section will not return! We will ride out safely before morning!”

“And, my husband—he knew—all this—before he left me here?”

“Nay! That he did not! Had I told him, he had disobeyed his orders and shamed his service; he is young yet, and a hothead! He will be far along the road to Jundhra before he knows what burns. And then he will remember that he trusts me and obey orders and press on!”

“And you knew and did not tell him!”

“Of a truth I knew!”

She stood in silence for a moment, gazing at the red glow on the skyline, and then turned to read, if she could, what was on the grim, grizzled face of Mahommed Khan.

“The ayah!” he growled. “I have yet to ask questions of the ayah. Have I permission to take her to the other room?”

She was leaning through the window again and did not answer him.

“Who's that moving in the shadow down below?” she asked him suddenly.

He leaned out beside her and gazed into the shadow. Then he called softly in a tongue she did not know and some one rose up from the shadow and answered him.

“Are we spied on, Risaldar?”

“Nay. Guarded, heavenborn! That man is my half-brother. May I take the ayah through that doorway?”

“Why not question her in here?”

The mystery and sense of danger were getting the better of her; she was thoroughly afraid now—afraid to be left alone in the room for a minute even.

“There are things she would not answer in thy presence!”

“Very well. Only, please be quick!”

He bowed. Swinging the door open, he pushed the ayah through it to the room beyond. Ruth was left alone, to watch the red glow on the skyline and try to see the outline of the watcher in the gloom below. No sound came through the heavy teak door that the Risaldar had slammed behind him, and no sound came from him who watched; but from the silence of the night outside and from dark corners of the room that she was in and from the roof and walls and floor here came little eerie noises that made her flesh creep, as though she were being stared at by eyes she could not see. She felt that she must scream, or die, unless she moved; and she was too afraid to move, and by far too proud to scream! At last she tore herself away from the window and ran to a low divan and lay on it, smothering her face among the cushions. It seemed an hour before the Risaldar came out again, and then he took her by surprise.

“Heavenborn!” he said. She looked up with a start, to find him standing close beside her.

“Mahommed Khan! You're panting! What ails you?”

“The heat, heavenborn—and I am old.”

His left hand was on his saber-hilt, thrusting it toward her respectfully; she noticed that it trembled.

“Have I the heavenborn's leave to lock the ayah in that inner room?”

“Why, Risaldar?”

“The fiend had this in her possession!” He showed her a thin-bladed dagger with an ivory handle; his own hand shook as he held it out to her, and she saw that there were beads of perspiration on his wrist. “She would have killed thee!”

“Oh, nonsense! Why, she wouldn't dare!”

“She confessed before she—she confessed! Have I the heavenborn's leave?”

“If you wish it.”

“And to keep the key?”

“I suppose so, if you think it wise.”

He strode to the inner door and locked it and hid the key in an inside pocket of his tunic.

“And now, heavenborn,” he said, “I crave your leave to bring my half-brother to the presence!”

He scarcely waited for an answer, but walked to the window, leaned out of it and whistled. A minute later he was answered by the sound of fingernails scrabbling on the outer door. He turned the key and opened it.

“Enter!” he ordered.

Barefooted and ragged, but as clean as a soldier on parade and with huge knots of muscles bulging underneath his copper skin, a Rajput entered, bowing his six feet of splendid manhood almost to the floor.

“This, heavenborn, is my half-brother, son of a low-born border-woman, whom my father chose to honor thus far! The dog is loyal!”

“Salaam!” said Ruth, with little interest.

“Salaam, memsahib!” muttered the shabby Rajput. “Does any watch?” demanded the Risaldar in Hindustanee. “Aye, one.”

“And he?”

“Is he of whom I spoke.”

“Where watches he?”

“There is a hidden passage leading from the archway; he peeps out through a crack, having rolled back so far the stone that seals it.” He held his horny fingers about an inch apart to show the distance.

“Couldst thou approach unseen?”

The Rajput nodded.