‘Coming, Sir. I just—’
‘And leave the horse trough!’
Sighing, I let go. I was just about to get my ears clean!
Grabbing my own horse, which—clever beastie!—had somehow actually managed to stay alive and present, I galloped after Mr Ambrose. Karim was on my heels, luckily for my feet in a metaphoric manner. We rode silently through the night, the rising moon now our only pursuer. Time in this silent, shadowy world seemed like a distant concept. We rode, and rode, and rode.
It came suddenly. One minute, we were riding along, and the next—
‘There!’
Karim’s arm pointed into the darkness. Even squinting, it took me a moment or two to make out what he was seeing—but when I did, there was no doubt we were at the right place. The coach was standing right in front of the inn. It was huge, and even through the shadows I could vaguely see the giant forms of the lions rising on their back paws to form the crest of the East India Company. Right next to it was the crest of the earl.
Reining in my mount, I came to a stop next to Mr Ambrose.
‘What now?’
In the moonlight, his face looked as if chiselled from white marble.
‘Now we do what we came to do.’
‘And if it doesn’t work?’
The only answer was silence.
The Governor-General
‘Karim!’
The Mohammedan appeared beside us out of the shadows. ‘Yes, Sahib?’
Opening his saddlebag with his one good arm, Mr Ambrose reached inside and pulled out the uniform that we had fought so hard to obtain.
‘Here. Put this on.’
Karim looked as if he’d rather have swallowed a bucketful of merde, but he grabbed the uniform and vanished behind the nearest bush.
‘Shy, are we?’ I enquired sweetly.
No answer.
Rustle, rustle…
Scrape, scrape…
‘Sahib?’
‘Get on with it, Karim.’
‘Yes, Sahib. It is only…how big was the soldier we took this from?’
‘I have no idea, Karim. Get a move on!’
‘Yes, Sahib. As you command, Sahib.’
Rrrip!
There was a moment of silence.