In the Heart of Darkness

Brave, Kujulo was. Crazy, he was not. As soon as he was satisfied that the momentum of the Malwa soldiers was irreversible, he began edging his way to the side of the charging mob. His three comrades followed his lead. A minute later, passing a small grove, Kujulo darted aside into its shelter.

Under the branches, it was almost pitch black. Kujulo had to whisper encouragement in order to guide the other Kushans to his side.

'What now?' he was asked.

Kujulo shrugged. 'Now? Now we try to make our own escape.'

Another complained: 'This plan is too damned tricky.'

Kujulo grinned. He, too, thought the plan was half-baked fancy. But he had long since made his own assessment of Ousanas.

'Fuck the plan,' he said cheerfully. 'I'm counting on the hunter.'

Then: 'Let's go.'

A minute later, the four Kushans exited the grove on the opposite side and began running west. They ran with a loping, ground-eating stride which they could maintain for hours.

They would need that stride. They had a rendezvous to keep. They were hunting a hunter.

The noble lady charged into the stables through the western gate, shouting angrily.

'The city has gone mad! We were attacked by dacoits!'

Startled, her husband and the stablekeeper turned away from the north gate, where they had been watching the explosions. The explosions were dying down, now. If nothing else, the pouring rain was smothering what was left of the holocaust. But there were still occasional rockets to be seen, firing off into the night sky.

The nobleman's wife stalked forward. Her fury was obvious from her stride alone. The stablekeeper was thankful that he couldn't see her face, due to the veil.

Shocked as he was by her sudden appearance, the stablekeeper still had the presence of mind to notice two things.

The man noticed the comely youthful form revealed under the sari, which rain had plastered to her body.

The low-caste man noticed the bloodstains spattering the tunics of her fierce- looking escort of soldiers.

The man disappeared, submerged by the reality of his caste. Like all humble men of India, outside Majarashtra and Rajputana, the last thing he wanted to see in his own domicile was heavily-armed, vicious-looking soldiers. He had been unhappy enough with the fifteen soldiers the nobleman had brought with him. Now, there were ten more of the creatures-and these, with the stains of murder still fresh on their armor and weapons.

The stablekeeper began to edge back. To the side, his wife was quietly but frenziedly driving the other members of his family into the modest house attached to the stables.

The nobleman restrained him with a hand. 'Have no fear, stablekeeper,' he murmured. 'These are my personal retainers. Disciplined men.'

He stepped forward to meet his wife. She was still spluttering her outrage.

'Be still, woman!' he commanded. 'Are you injured?'

The wife fell instantly silent. The stablekeeper was impressed. Envious. He himself enjoyed no such obedience from his own spouse.

The wife shook her head, the veil rippling about her face. The gesture seemed sulky.

The nobleman turned to the man who was apparently the commander of his soldiers. 'What happened?'

The soldier shrugged. 'Don't know. We were halfway here when'-he gestured to the north-'something erupted. It was like a volcano. A moment later, a great band of dacoits were assaulting us.' He shrugged, again. The gesture was all he needed to explain what happened next.

The stablekeeper was seized by a sudden, mad urge to laugh. He restrained it furiously. He could not imagine what would possess a band of dacoits to attack such a formidable body of soldiers. Lunatics.

But-it was a lunatic world. Not for the first time, the stablekeeper had a moment of regret that he had ever left his sane little village in Bengal. The moment was brief. Sane, that village was. Poverty-stricken, it was also. He had done well in Kausambi, for all that he hated the city.

While the nobleman took the time to inquire further as to the well-being of his wife and retainers, the stablekeeper took the time to examine the soldiers more closely.

Some breed of steppe barbarians, that much he knew. The physical appearance was quite distinct. The faces of those soldiers were akin, in their flat, slant-eyed way, to the faces of Chinese and Champa merchants he had seen occasionally in his youth, in the great Bengali port of Tamralipti. So was the yellowish tint to their skin. Even the top-knot into which the soldiers bound their hair, under the iron helmets, was half-familiar. Some Chinese favored a similar hairstyle. But no Chinese or Champa merchant ever had that lean, wolfish cast to his face.

Beyond that, the stablekeeper could not place them. Ye-tai, possibly-although they seemed less savage, for all their evident ferocity, than Ye-tai soldiers he had encountered, swaggering down the streets of Kausambi.

But he was not certain. As a Bengali, he had had little occasion to encounter barbarians from the far northwestern steppes. As a Bengali immigrant to Kausambi, the occasion had arisen. But, like all sane men, the stablekeeper had avoided such encounters like the plague.

The nobleman approached him.

'We will be going now, stablekeeper. I thank you, again, for your efficiency and good service.'

The stablekeeper made so bold as to ask: 'Your wife is well, I hope, noble sir?'

The nobleman smiled. 'Oh, yes. Startled, no worse. I can't imagine what the dacoits were thinking.' He made a small gesture toward the soldiers, who were now busy assisting the wife and her ladies into their howdahs. The gesture spoke for itself.

The stablekeeper shook his head. 'Dacoits are madmen by nature.'

The nobleman nodded and began to leave. An apparent sudden thought turned him back.

'I have no idea what madness has been unleashed in Kausambi tonight, stablekeeper. But, whatever it is, you would do well to close your stable for a few days.'

The stablekeeper grimaced.

'The same thought has occurred to me, noble sir. The Malwa-' He paused. The nobleman, though not Malwa himself, was obviously high in their ranks. 'The city soldiery will be running rampant.' He shrugged. It was a bitter gesture. 'But-I have a family to feed.'

The expression which came to the nobleman's face, at that moment, was very odd. Very sad, it seemed to the stablekeeper. Though he could not imagine why.

'I know something of that, man,' muttered the nobleman. He stepped close and reached, again, into his purse. The stablekeeper was astonished at the small pile of coins which were placed in his hand.

The nobleman's next words were spoken very softly:

'As I said, keep the stable closed. For a few days. This should make good the loss.'

Now, he did turn away. Watching him stride toward the howdahs, the stablekeeper was seized by a sudden impulse.

'Noble sir!'

The nobleman stopped. The stablekeeper spoke to the back of his head.

'If I might be so bold, noble sir, may I suggest you exit the city by the Lion Gate. It is a bit out of your way, but-the soldiers there are-uh, relaxed, so to speak. They are poor men themselves, sir. Bengali, as it happens. Whenever I have occasion to leave the city, that is always the gate which I use. No difficulties.'

The nobleman nodded. 'Thank you, stablekeeper. I believe I shall take your advice.'

A minute later, he and his wife were gone, along with their retinue. They made quite a little troupe, thought the stablemaster. The nobleman rode his howdah alone, in the lead elephant, as befitted his status. His wife followed in the second, accompanied by one of her maids. The three other maids followed in the last howdah. Ahead of them marched a squad of their soldiers, led by the commander. The rest of the escort followed behind. The stablemaster was impressed by the disciplined order with which the soldiers marched, ignoring the downpour. An easy, almost loping march. A ground-eating march, he thought.

He turned away from the pouring rain, made haste to close and bar the gates to the stable.

Not that they'll need to eat much ground with those