Path of the Eclipse (57 page)

Dantinusha started to rise, a protest already forming on his lips, when the eunuch gripped his shoulder, and in the next moment had plunged a small dagger into the Rajah’s abdomen, pulling it upward, rending the clothes and flesh of the man impartially, grinning as Dantinusha tried to scream. At last the Rajah gave a strange, guttural cry, and Rachura looked up from his scrolls. Before Dantinusha could make another sound, the dagger was jerked out of him and then plunged into his throat. As he died, the Rajah saw blood cascading onto the throne and could not believe it was his own.

The guard in the hall had shouted with alarm, and Rachura was on his feet. There were running footsteps in the corridor and a few cries were being raised.

With the body of the Rajah at his feet, the eunuch turned to face those who came into the room. His clothes were drenched in blood and his face was spattered with it. He grinned hugely as guardsmen poured through the door.

Rachura had turned pale, unable to bring himself to move forward or speak aloud. He saw the hot, red stain spreading around the throne and the slumped figure there. He heard the laughter of the eunuch as he faced the men in the doorway. He tried to call to mind the holy words for the dead, but his thoughts were empty.

The eunuch was overjoyed. It had been easy, so much easier than he had thought it would be. His mistress had told him there would be no difficulties, and so it had transpired. He waved the ensanguined knife above his head as more of the palace guard came to the door, to look in horrified amazement at the blood on the throne and the body of the Rajah. He shouted incoherently, ready to fight with any who might come up the dais.

A few moments later, Sudra Guristar ran into the throne room. He was somewhat out of breath and his patience was exhausted. He pushed through the guardsmen and stopped at the foot of the thone’s dais. There was blood everywhere, he thought. The toes of his boots were stained with it. He had been ready for this, but had not thought that it would come so soon. Tamasrajasi had said that she would not be hasty, and then her father was dead. Uttering an oath to a number of the gods, Guristar started up the three steps toward the eunuch, drawing his sword as he went.

Now the eunuch was confused. He had been told he would be rewarded, yet here was the Commander of the palace guard coming toward him with a blade ready. He howled out a protest, turning on Guristar. “No! No! This is a holy act! You do not understand!”

Guristar had his shimtare out of the sheath, but he hesitated. He had not been given any instructions about the assassin, and did not know what Tamasrajasi expected. “Give me your weapon.”

The eunuch waved the dagger in defiance. He grinned ludicrously. This was glorious! He had killed the Rajah. He felt omnipotent, his mind crowded with praise. Never had anything elated him so. He could smell the blood and other tokens of death. In a short time the room woud be rank with them. “I will kill you, Guristar,” he sang out.

Again the commander of the guard hesitated, though he knew he was expected to pursue the murderer. He lifted his shimtare and was about to lunge with it when there was another disruption.

Tamasrajasi had come into the room, forcing her way through the guardsmen and household slaves. Her young, sensuous face was a mask now and she spoke sharply. “Is that the man?”

The eunuch grinned. Now he would have his reward and recognition. It was for his mistress that he had killed her father, and surely she would give him the honor she had promised him. “He is dead, mistress. He is dead!”

There was no indication that Tamasrajasi had heard. “Seize him,” she said, her tone so cold that there was an instant of complete silence after she spoke. “Guistar.”

It was all the order that the Commander of the guard required. He took the last two steps in a rush, his shimtare up.

“Don’t kill him. Yet,” Tamasrajasi said sharply. “For the moment, cut out his tongue so that we will not have to listen to his oaths and lies.” She whisked the hem of her skirt aside so that it would not touch the pool of her father’s blood. “Do that now.”

Guristar nodded, and grabbed the eunuch’s head in an imposing lock. “You, and you,” he said, nodding to two of his lieutenants. “Assist me. Hold his head, and keep his jaw open.”

The two lieutenants obeyed at once, climbing the dais stairs with care so as not to walk in the Rajah’s blood.

“No,” the eunuch shouted, but the sound was garbled by the way his head was caught. “No, mistress. What is this? You assured me that I would be rewarded. I did this for you.”

“The man is mad,” Tamasrajasi muttered. “His tongue.”

There was a scuffle on the dais, a few half-voiced curses, the swift descent of a knife, and then the room was filled with a gurgling scream, and Guristar stepped back with a bloody snippet of flesh between his thumb and fingers. His lieutenants held the eunuch so that he could not fall.

Tamasrajasi had been looking at her father’s body, but now she turned her eyes toward the standing men. “Good. You have it.” A frozen smile crossed her face and her eyes were fervid. “Now you may kill him. Slowly.” She stood at the foot of the dais as the eunuch was dragged down, her face emotionless.

A covert report from Bhatin to Tamasrajasi, sent under seal.

Most glorious Rani, esteemed mistress, foremost priestess, this comes with the full devotion of your servant Bhatin.

You have asked to know what transpires between your late brother’s sister and the foreign alchemist she has taken into her household. It is as you suspected: the two are lovers. They are much in each other’s company, but most of the time is passed in his alchemical room where he makes gold and jewels and speaks to her of the great mysteries of that Art. Padmiri is most curious about this study, and has said that she hopes to continue instruction with this learned man. She has given orders that when Saint-Germain departs, his laboratory is to remain intact for her own use.

It has been most difficult for me to discover what passes between them in bed, but I have twice been able to watch them, unseen, and I will now tell you what I observed. This Saint-Germain came to Padmiri’s chambers quite late in the night. He was wearing a curious long robe of black silk and there were high boots on his feet. Certainly this was not the usual garb of an expectant lover, nonetheless it was his mode of dress and I make note of it. He entered her quarters with some degree of stealth, being careful to see that no one was about—he did not know of my hiding place, or he might have left—and closed the door quietly.

Padmiri awaited him in her outer chamber in a long robe of fine-woven linen. She had perfumed herself earlier and her hair had not been braided for the night. There were a few lamps in the room, and over the cushion on the floor Padmiri had flung rugs made of fine pelts. Cedar incense was burning. The two of them embraced once, and then sat and talked like old friends for a while. Eventually, this Saint-Germain approached Padmiri, opened her robe and caressed her in a variety of ways. Padmiri gave every indication of the most profound pleasure. She reclined on the fur rugs and let the foreigner touch her and arouse her most shamelessly. She encouraged him to kiss her and to use her body fully. She was disappointed that he did not do as she had asked. When she had reached the culmination of her desires, she urged him to take his pleasure of her.

Now, this was what astounded me. I have seen men and women couple many times and in curious ways, but that is not what this man did. As Padmiri cried out her achievement, this foreigner set his lips to her neck, and in some strange way, he seemed to take her fulfillment into himself. Certainly he was satisfied.

The second time I observed them, he did not set his lips to her neck, but the encounter was substantially the same. Saint-Germain aroused Padmiri’s passions to the utmost and then pressed her to him and gave her that same deep kiss he had before.

You expressed curiosity about the nature of this foreigner. Did I not know it is impossible, I would think this man a creature of Shiva, preying upon the living. Yet it is not reasonable to assume that Padmiri would not recognize him if such he were, and send him away from her. She has not done this, and the delight she takes from this man is not what she could expect from the creatures of Shiva. She welcomes him, and is happy to be in his company. Her fascination is not that of the flesh alone, which is surprising. Were this man one of Shiva’s minions she would be filled with disgust and would be revolted by him unless she sought out his embraces as a sacrifice, which she most certainly does not. Here is a desire of joy, and what she receives from him does not meet with repugnance.

I will make every effort to watch them again, and I will tell you what I observe then. I know not what else to tell you, for this foreigner has me greatly puzzled. I am convinced that he is dangerous and that it would be wise to be rid of him, but upon this subject, Padmiri and I cannot speak. Her lusts for pleasure have too much power in her, and she is drunk with her satisfaction. Also, she is intrigued with the man’s learning, and wishes to expand her studies.

Send me your commands and it will be my greatest joy to obey them with alacrity. You are sublime, my Rani, and you alone will be the splendor of my life.

This by my own hand,

Bhatin

8

More than half the night had wheeled overhead when the tapping came at the shutters. Saint-Germain looked up from the copper vessel he had been agitating carefully, and listened.

The sound came again, more urgently.

“By all the forgotten gods…” he swore, setting the vessel aside and resigning himself to losing that batch of azoth. He crossed the room quickly, grabbing a metal-topped staff as he went. The staff, intended for particular alchemical rituals, would also serve as an excellent cudgel.

Again the scraping sounded, and at that moment Saint-Germain pulled the shutters open.

“In the Name of Allah!” Jalal-im-al Zakatim whispered, holding up one arm to block the blow.

Saint-Germain lowered the staff and looked at the man who clung to the narrow balcony with some surprise. “What nonsense is this?” He held the shutters open and extended his arm to the young Muslim.

Jalal-im-al scrambled into the room and closed the shutters at once. Even in the muted light it was possible to see he was pale, and there were bruises on his face. His white djellaba was torn, and although a scabbard hung from his wide leather sash, it was empty. He panted, from more than fatigue, and when he spoke, his voice was ragged. “Not nonsense. Not that. Allah! Allah! It happened so quickly.” He had spoken more loudly, and at once hushed himself. “We did not expect it. Who would think such a thing might happen?”

“What is it?” Saint-Germain asked, keeping his tone low. Jalal-im-al’s appearance had alarmed him, and for that reason he was most cautious.

“Our mission. Gone.” He put his hands to his eyes. “They came in quickly, so quickly, and they fought so surely. They are not human.”

Saint-Germain put his hand on Jalal-im-al’s shoulder. “Tell me what has happened. Who came in?”

“The men of Kali. There were so many of them. They entered the house from all doors. They brought knives and their garroting scarves. They worked swiftly. No demon could have been faster. Half of us had been watching a troupe of jugglers, and the commotion meant nothing to us until the men had come into the reception room. It was a slaughterhouse there. And the men of Kali were happy in their work. One of them whistled. I heard it.” The young Muslim dropped to his knees and began to sob.

“The men of Kali,” Saint-Germain said to himself. Were these the Thuggi, or some others, perhaps more sinister? Since Rajah Dantinusha’s assassination twenty days ago, much of Natha Suryarathas had been uneasy. There had been rumors circulating that the Rajah’s death was a signal of some sort, and that it presaged a time of destruction.

“They were glad that they killed,” Jalal-im-al said unsteadily.

“How did you escape?” Saint-Germain had moved one of the lights nearer and he sat down on the floor beside Jalal-im-al, tucking his legs beneath him and bracing his back against the wall.

“It was the Will of Allah,” the Muslim said at once.

“Naturally, but you must have done something,” was Saint-Germain’s unruffled response. “If the men of Kali were as ruthless as you say, escape must have been very difficult.”

Jalal-im-al trembled, then mastered himself. “Yes. Allah gave it to my mind. When I saw what the men of Kali were doing, how all of us who serve the Sultan were being cut down, I was provided a vision, and I acted on what Allah had shown me. I was near a door onto the terrace, and rather than run, and thereby attract the attention of those who had come to kill us, I rolled there, going fairly slowly. I was able to push the door open with my feet, and by that time the … butchering was at its height, so that I could crouch low and make my way across the terrace. There, I went over the balustrade and hung from it over the garden because I feared that these unspeakable men would have guards posted to prevent just such an escape as mine. Allah gave me the strength to hang there until the screams and … other sounds”—he could not find the words to describe the hacking that had come from the reception room—“had stopped. The men of Kali gathered in the room to chant their praises, and that was when I fled. I dared not go to the stables, for I imagined there would be guards there, too. I caught one of the horses in the pasture behind the house and I made a rough bridle of my boot lacings. I rode her to the edge of the pasture, and there was a guardsman there who tried to cut me in pieces.”

“A guardsman?” Saint-Germain asked, interrupting him for the first time. “Are you sure?”

“I have seen enough of them to recognize them. He had the green jacket and the broad sash. Also, he wore a standard shimtare and carried a light pike. Who else is so armed in this country?” He had let his voice become loud again, and he glared at Saint-Germain. “It was not an evil spirit. My sword cut him down, but I could not get it from the body. I rode the horse until he dropped, and then I came on foot. I dared not ride for the frontier. If the guardsmen were fighting with the men of Kali—”