“Ram on the front door?” Bobby asked.
“Must be,” Ricky said. “But who? And why?”
“Gentlemen?” Jadu’s low-voiced query issued from the shadows across the hall.
“Jadu!” both younger men said.
“What the hell is going on?” Ricky asked, chambering a shell into his own 870.
The merchant glided out of the gloom and slid between them, a wicked length of steel clutched in his right hand shining in the moonlight filtering in from the balconies. “It seems Vikram has fired upon someone attempting to invade our home.”
“But who?”
“I do not know.”
“Do we fight or run for it?” Bobby asked.
“I would normally counsel running, but we have committed no crime, and worse yet, have not prepared for flight. I cannot afford to lose my inve—” A splintering crash from the downstairs door as it collapsed under the repeated battering. A barely audible clatter came on its heels. Ricky identified the sound of a musket being dropped from nerveless fingers. Torchlight, presumably from the invaders, flickered up the landing. Shouts of pain and a series of dull thuds echoed from downstairs—Vikram catching a beating for having shot at the door-crashers.
Bobby raised his shotgun. “Top of the stairs?” he hissed.
“Yes,” Jadu said, “but please don’t start shooting right off. We may yet get out of this if we don’t kill anyone.”
All three of them took up positions overlooking the landing. Ricky rested his shotgun on the stone railing and whispered to Bobby, “I’ll fire a couple warning shots while they’re on the stairs. Cover me, but don’t shoot unless you absolutely have to.”
“Right, you’re doing the shooting until I absolutely have to.”
“Stop your crying!” someone growled from below. “Where is your master?”
Ricky couldn’t understand the reply, and, judging from the meaty thuds of fists striking flesh, neither could the questioner.
“Find them!” The way the torchlight wavered and the sound of booted feet approaching, the command, delivered by a different, gravelly voice, was followed immediately.
The boots of three armed and armored men pounded across the foyer to the base of the stairs.
Two flights to climb. Not much.
“Hold!” Jadu shouted.
The men ignored him and mounted the stairs, holding shields above their heads. More followed behind them.
Ricky aimed and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Belatedly remembering to take the weapon off safe, he quickly did so and then pulled the trigger.
The gun boomed, report biting everyone’s ears. The tiles covering the landing shattered into dust as the deer shot bit, making the men hop and slow. One even yelped, perhaps catching tile fragments in his shins.
“Hold!” Jadu screamed again, as much at Ricky as the men below.
The men resumed their climb, rushing across the landing and lowering their shields to cover their vitals. Ricky glimpsed tense, bearded faces, swords clenched in armored fists.
These weren’t bandits, not from their dress or discipline.
He fired again, this time above their heads.
The man on the right stopped, the man behind crashing into him and making their still-advancing companion stumble.
“Hold!” Jadu shouted once more.
Ricky cycled the action and fired again, abused ears failing to register the shells falling this time.
“We can kill you all without reloading!” Jadu cried as Ricky chambered another shell.
The men gathered themselves to resume their rush, but Ricky could see any enthusiasm they might have had for it had vanished with proof he wouldn’t have to spend a moment reloading to kill them.
“Halt!” the shout came from the gravel-voiced man below.
The soldiers showed discipline—or a perfectly reasonable fear of being shot—and stopped. Boots on the next riser, they watched the men on the floor above them warily.
“Why do you break down my door, invade my home?” Jadu yelled.
“You are the merchant Jadu Das?”
“I am.”
“Then I am in the correct place. I am commanded to bring you before my general.”
“I have committed no crime. Why should I be arrested? Why should I have men invade my home?”
“I was not told, merchant. I was ordered to fetch you, as I said.”
“And if I resist?”
“Further, you mean?”
Jadu shook his head, though the questioner could not see. “I do not understand.”
“Your man at the door refused us entry, fired on us, even.” The voice drew closer and the speaker, a large man with a luxurious black beard and fine over-robe, stepped into view. His gaze traveled the three men atop the stairs. “And again, here, you shoot at my men.”
“If we wanted to kill them, they’d be dead.” Ricky said the words slowly, hoping to overcome fear-stiff lips and his bad accent. He really didn’t want to have to shoot anyone else.
Jadu tried to silence him with a look, but the man just chuckled.
“I believe you, young man. That’s why we are speaking.”
His men, hearing their commander’s confident tone, eased back on the landing.
“What happened at the door?” Jadu asked.
“My man knocked and told your doorman we were entering. He objected. Strenuously. He slammed the door. We persisted.” The man’s voice was gravel on stone, but somehow light all the same.
“Vikram shot at you?”
“Who—Oh, yes, your servant. He did shoot at us, more or less.” The man grinned, teeth glittering. “Like your companions up there, he didn’t manage to hit anyone.”
“Is he still alive?”
An unconcerned shrug of broad shoulders. “He’s breathing.”
“Good. He was only doing his duty to me.”
“Speaking of duty: I am still to bring you to my general.”
“And which general is that?”
Ricky saw the gold teeth that made the man’s smile glitter this time. “You are new here, to ask such questions.”
“I am. I do not hide the fact I am but recently arrived from Gujarat.”
Another shrug of broad shoulders. “What you are hiding makes no difference to me. Whatever it is, you—and it—will come with me to see my general.”
“Without knowing your name, how can I accept any sureties from you as to our safety?”
The smile grew broader still. Almost piratical. “Have I
