The Final Storm

13. The Drums of War

One sunny afternoon, the guards at the city gates of Delhi were just practising their time-honoured sleeping-while-standing technique, when they received a surprise in the form of a mud-covered sea monster approaching their position.

"Out...out of the way!" the thing panted. "I must see the resident minister!"

"Err...no offence, fellow, but I don't think the resident minister will want to see you. At least not till you've taken a bath."

In response, the guard received a glare. "I am Captain James Carter of the British Army! I have important news for his Excellency the Resident Minister, and there is no time for foolish debates. I also refuse to take any more baths! Now lead me to the resident minister!"

"Err...that might be difficult, Sir."

"If you think you can stop—"

"Because the resident minister has left the city."

The sea monster, alias Captain James Carter, blinked. "What the...! Left the city? Why?"

"To inspect a nearby town, he said."

Captain Carter closed his eyes. "Let me guess. The town in question is well-fortified and has a garrison composed exclusively of British IEC troops, with no locally recruited sepoys."

The guard cocked an eyebrow. "How did you guess, Sir?"

"By having a brain. I wish others would try it. It's very useful." Wiping some of the dirt off his face, Captain Carter squared his shoulders. "All right. Are there any other representatives of Her Majesty's government left in the city?"

"None higher-ranked than you, Sir."

"Then I suppose I have only one choice remaining." The captain fixed his eyes on the shiny walls of a certain palace in the distance. "Lead me to the Shah."

***

Having a traditional Indian dinner at the same table with half a dozen bearded giants, their wives and children was quite the experience. Especially since someone—cough, cough, Karim's Mum, cough, cough—had left an empty seat beside Karim that practically screamed "wouldn't it be nice if a wife sat here".

Not that anyone apart from Granny Aatifa and her unfortunate, unmarried son seemed to focus on this fact. Personally, I was far too busy tasting all the Indian delicacies produced by the old lady's considerable culinary talent, and Adaira was too antsy to concentrate on much of anything. Most likely, she was already imagining herself rushing to India and pulling off a dashing rescue of her hapless man.

As for Mr Rikkard Ambrose? Judging by the way he was eying me over the top of the large bowl in the middle of the table, there was certainly something he wanted to devour, but it wasn't the food. I wasn't the only one who seemed to have noticed, either.

"Oh my." Glancing between me and Mr Ambrose, Granny Aatifa smiled broadly—then threw her son a glance as if to say See, this is what you should be doing, too! "Look at that. Isn't that sweet?"

Karim glanced down at his food in confusion. "No, it's quite sour, actually. Still very delicious, though, mother."

The other brothers immediately shrunk in their seats. Which was probably why, a moment later, only Karim got whacked over his turban.

"What the...? Mother?!"

"I don't think I have such an incompetent son as you. Now go on, hurry up and eat up, before I decide to educate you more thoroughly!"

Faced with this threat, the crowd around the table suddenly became very interested in quickly finishing their meal. Granny Aatifa nodded in satisfaction and, the moment everyone was done eating, rose to her feet and clapped her hands.