The Flashman Papers 09 - Flashman and the Mountain of Light

'The Maharani has good cause to fear for her child's safety,' says Lawrence. 'And her own. If anything befell them … well, when this war is past, we should find our-selves dealing with a state in anarchy. She and the boy are our only hope of a good political solution.'

Gough spoke up. 'An' if we don't get one, we must conquer the Punjab. I tell ye, Sir Henry, we have not the means for that.'

Hardinge's face was a study. He drummed his fingers and fretted. 'I cannot like it. Suppose it were made to appear that we were kidnapping the boy—why, it might be charged that we made war on children —'

'Oh, never that!' cries Lawrence. 'We'd be protecting him. But if we do nothing, and he is seized by the Khalsa—murdered, perhaps, and his mother with him … well, that would not be seen to our credit, I believe.'

I could have kicked him. He'd hit on the best argument to commit Hardinge to this dreadful folly. Credit, that was the thing! What would London think? What would The Times say? You could see our Governor-General imagining the outcry if blasted little Dalip got his weasand slit through our neglect. He went pale, and then his face cleared, while he pretended to ponder the thing.

'Certainly the child's safety must weigh heavily with us,' says he solemnly. 'Humanity and policy both demand it … Sir Hugh, what is your thought?'

'Get him out,' says Paddy. 'Ye cannot do other.'

Even then Hardinge must make a show of careful judgment, frowning in silence while my heart sank to my boots. Then he sighed. 'So be it, then. We must pray that we are not the dupes of some singular intrigue. But I insist, Lawrence, that either you or Van Cortlandt under-takes it.' He shot me a baleful glance. 'An older head —'

'By your leave, sir,' says Lawrence. 'Flashman, be good enough to wait in my tent. I'll join you presently.'

So I left obediently—and was round the outside of Hardinge's tent like a frightened stoat, tripping over guy- ropes and slithering in the frosty dark before bearing up in the shadows with an ear cocked under the muslin screen of his window. The man himself was in full cry, and I caught the end of it.

'… less suitable for such delicate work, I cannot conceive! His conduct with the Sikh leaders was irresponsible to a degree—taking it upon himself to determine policy, a mere junior political officer, flown with self- esteem —'

'Thank God he did,' says good old Paddy.

'Very well, Sir Hugh! Fortune favoured us, but his conduct might have brought us to catastrophe! I tell you what, the man's a swaggerer! No,' says this splendid and fat-sighted statesman, 'Flashman shall not go to Lahore!'

'He must!' retorted Lawrence, for whom I was conceiving a poisonous dislike. 'Who else can pass as a native, speaking Punjabi, and knows the ins and outs of

Lahore Fort? And the little Maharaja worships him, Harlan tells me.' He paused. 'Besides, the Maharani Jeendan has asked for him by name.'

'What's that to the point?' cries Hardinge. 'If she wishes her child safe, it is all one whom we send!'

'Perhaps not, sir. She knows Flashman, and …'

Lawrence hesitated. 'The fact is, there is a bazaar rumour that she … ah, formed an attachment for him, while he was in Lahore.' He coughed and hummed. 'As you k now, sir, she is a very lovely young woman , .. of an ardent nature, by all accounts …'

'Good God!' cries Hardinge. 'You don't mean —' 'The young devil!' chuckles Paddy. 'Oh, well, decidedly he must go!'

'We'd best not neglect anything that will dispose her well to us,' says Van Cortlandt, damn him. 'And as Lawrence says, there is no one else.'

Eavesdropping fearfully, my mind filled with the horrid prospect of Lahore and its gridirons and ghastly bathrooms and Akali fanatics and murderous swordsmen, I couldn't help recalling that Broadfoot had counted on my manly charms just as these calculating wretches were doing. It's too bad .. but if you're hell's delight with the fair sex, what would you?

I've no doubt it's what persuaded that pious hypocrite Hardinge, with his mind fixed on political accommodations after the war. By all means let Flashy humour the hitch while he plucked her bloody infant to safety, and wouldn't she be obliged to us, just? He didn't say as much, but you could hear him thinking it as he gave his reluctant consent.

'But hear me, Lawrence—Flashman must understand that he is to proceed in strict accordance to your instructions. He must have no room for independent action of any kind whatsoever—is that clear? This fellow Harlan has brought directions from … what is his name, Gardner?—a fine business, when we must rely on such people, let alone this hare-brained political! You must question Harlan closely on how it is to be effected. Above all, no harm must befall the young prince, Flashman must under-stand that—and the consequences should he fail.'

'I doubt if he needs instruction on that head, sir,' says Lawrence, pretty cool. 'For the rest, I shall give him careful directions.'

'Very well. I shall hold you responsible. You have an observation, Sir Hugh?'

'Eh? No, no, Sorr Hinry, nothin' of consequence. I was just after thinkin',' chuckles old Paddy, 'that I wish I was young again, an' spoke Punjabi.'

You never can say you've seen anything for the last time. I'd have laid a million to one that I'd not return to that little stand of white poplars south of the Moochee Gate where I'd sat by the fire with Gardner—yet here I was, only a few weeks later, with the flames crackling under the billy-can resting on the self-same red stone With the crack in it. To our right the road was busy with the wayfarers of daybreak; under the great Moochee arch the gates were swung back, they were dousing the night torches, and the guard was changing: an uncommon heavy one, it seemed to me, for I counted twenty helmets in and shout the archway, and since our arrival in the small hours there had been endless cavalry patrols circling the city walls, red lancers with green puggarees, and great activity of matchlockmen on the parapets.

'Muslim brigade,' says Jassa. 'Yes, sir, she's got this old town laced up tighter'n Jemima's stays. Waste o' time, since any plotters'll be on the inside—prob'ly in the Fort itself, among her own people, Say, I bet Alick Gardner's sleepin' light, though!'

It was our third morning on the road, for we had taken a wide cast south, crossing the Sutlej at a ghat near Mundole to avoid any enemy river watchers, and keep clear of the Khalsa's main traffic on the upper road through Pettee to Sobraon. We'd ridden in cautious stages, Jassa and I and a trusted Pathan ruffian of Broadfoot's old bodyguard, Ahmed Shah; Gough had wanted to send an N.C. squadron disguised as gorracharra, but Lawrence had turned it down flat, insisting that they'd be bound to give themselves away, and anyway, if all went well three would be enough, while if it went ill a brigade would be too few. No one would give any heed to three obvious Afghan horse-copers with a string of beasts—and thus far, no one had.

I shan't weary you with my emotions as we waited, shivering in the frosty dawn, round our fire. I'll say only that in addition to the blue funk I felt at the mere sight of Lahore's frowning gates and brooding towers, I had the liveliest misgivings about the plan whereby we were to spirit young Dalip out of the cobra's nest. It was Gardner's invention, lined out precisely to Jassa, who had repeated it to Lawrence and Van Cortlandt with Flashy palpitating attentively, and since our tartan Pathan wasn't there to be argued with, it was a case of take it or leave it. I know which I'd ha' done, but Lawrence had said it should serve admirably—he wasn't going to be the one sneaking in and out of Lahore Fort in broad daylight, after all.

That seemed to me an unnecessary lunacy: why the devil couldn't Gardner, with all his powers as governor, have contrived to smuggle the brat out to us? Jassa had explained that the city was tight as a tanner by night, and the panches' spies had their eye on little Dalip most of the day; the only hour to lift him was his bedtime, to be out and away before curfew, and have all night to make tracks. And we must go into the Fort to do it, for his mother wouldn't rest unless she saw him placed under my protective wing. (They'd all avoided my eye at this; myself, I hadn't liked the sound of it above half.) As to our coming and going at the Fort, Gardner would provide; all we need do was be in the vicinity of Runjeet's Tomb at noon of this, the third day.

So now you see three Kabuli copers herding their beasts through the dust and bustle of the Rushnai Gate, and setting up shop in a crowded square by the Buggywalla Doudy at midday. Ahmed Shah cried our wares, asking exorbitant prices, since the last thing we wanted was to tell our transport, and I held the brutes' heads and spat