Chapter 28
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Twenty-Eight
Adam was in hell.
“So then I told him—that shows what you know about Herodotus!” Dawson continued. “And yet that blasted journal published his paper instead of mine—a clear instance of favoritism if I have ever seen it.”
“Uh-huh,” Adam vaguely agreed.
They had been hiking for hours through the towering forest that covered the rising slope of the ridge.
The heat of the day was thick and humid despite the haze overhead.
Lizards darted through the undergrowth while birds flitted between soaring trees where flowers hung heavily from fragrant branches.
Subedar Singh Rao had broken up the camp while the sky was still gray with dawn, setting a hard pace. None of the men complained. Adam suspected that had more to do with Singh Rao’s leadership than any general respect for Borthwick.
They had reached the Shiva stone on the ridge before noon, right where Adam had said they would find it.
When he’d blurted out the location of the landmark the night before, he’d been acting on desperate impulse, driven by the terror of what Borthwick’s whip could do to Vanika.
The consequences of that split-second decision had come home to him as the colonel studied the slender pillar of pale stone that pierced the distant canopy below their perch.
Adam was leading Borthwick straight to the damned astra.
“And that’s why I make it a point to steer clear of mollusks,” Dawson concluded authoritatively.
Dawson had glued himself to Adam’s side like a barnacle on a pier. The guy was desperate for someone to talk at, and Adam was his best prospect now that the professor was convinced they were on the same side.
He’d been yammering the whole way up and down the damned mountain.
Ellie rode at the back of the line with the rest of the mules carrying the equipment. Adam hadn’t tried to connect with her. There wouldn’t have been any point. It wasn’t as though they’d have any privacy for a chat with Dawson clinging to Adam like a burr on his shorts.
Normally, Adam would enjoy thinking of creative ways of getting rid of the man, but his hands were tied. He couldn’t afford to disabuse Dawson of his belief that Adam had ‘come to his senses’ and sided with the Order of Albion, or he’d send his plan straight to hell.
Not that it was much of a plan.
Adam knew he’d have his best chance of getting Vanika out if he waited until after nightfall, but he’d messed things up good when he’d outed the girl’s bluff the night before.
When he had caught her eye briefly earlier that morning, she had treated him to a single glare before resolutely looking away.
He needed to find a way to convince her that she could still trust him—without letting Jacobs know that Adam cared about her.
Fix things with the kid. Avoid Jacobs. Play nice with Dawson. Keep from rousing Borthwick’s suspicions.
And hope the damned Brahmastra was far enough away to give him time to make his move.
Adam might’ve managed worse situations before… but not much worse.
“The climate here is truly terrible.” Dawson wiped his sweating face with his handkerchief. “I don’t know how the local people tolerate it. Perhaps they have different glands.”
Adam moderated his tone by sheer force of will. “Pretty sure we’ve all got the same glands.”
Jacobs glanced back at them from further up the line. His mouth stretched into a slightly gloating smile.
The man clearly meant to make Adam’s life as difficult as possible. Adam had to admire the Machiavellian skill in the way he’d found to do it.
“And I have broken out in a rash in four different places!” Dawson whined.
Adam could’ve escaped from Dawson—if he’d walked with Borthwick. Dawson was as wary of the colonel as a kicked dog. If Adam caught up to the spy chief, Dawson would finally leave him alone.
But to do it, Adam would have to slip into that other skin again—the one he’d worn back in San Francisco. The notion made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. His palms slicked with sweat as his pulse jacked up, and he fought the urge to either punch something or run away.
No—he wouldn’t go back to that again if he could possibly avoid it. Even if that meant putting up with Dawson.
Adam just hoped he could manage it without kicking the man down the mountain.
“So then I said—that’s what you might think… if you didn’t know the first thing about Phoenicians!” Dawson finished triumphantly.
Singh Rao’s deep, steady voice cut through Dawson’s rambling. “Mr. Bates.”
The subedar was equal to Adam in height, his features elegantly stern over his well-groomed beard. His shoulders were broad and fit under his khaki uniform. The blade on his belt wasn’t military issue. Adam guessed it was ceremonial in purpose, perhaps related to his Sikh faith.
“Apologies for interrupting. If I might speak with you for a moment?” Singh Rao’s request was smoothly courteous in a way that made it impossible to refuse.
Dawson opened his mouth to try anyway.
“Of course,” Adam offered quickly. He forced himself to give Dawson an apologetic look. “We can keep talking later.”
Adam tried not to let it sound like a prison sentence.
Singh Rao motioned for Adam to join him, and the two men used their longer pace to leave Dawson behind.
Adam could feel the professor’s annoyed glare on his back.
He felt an involuntary burst of gratitude toward the Sikh officer—not that he believed Singh Rao had done any of this for Adam’s benefit.
Singh Rao’s question was tactfully phrased. “You and the professor are… friends?”
“Something like that,” Adam muttered. “What’d you want to talk to me about?”
The subedar’s gaze was quietly assessing. “You wanted to intervene in the tent yesterday when the colonel threatened the girl.”
Adam’s pulse kicked up along with his sense of threat. He wondered if he had just walked into a trap.
He briefly considered whether he could fight his way out and quickly dismissed the idea. He wasn’t sure he could take on Singh Rao even if they hadn’t been surrounded by his soldiers. The man exuded strength and competence.
His mind whirled desperately as he tried to think of how to respond. The answer came to him from somewhere else—his gut.
Which had always done a better job of steering him right anyway.
Tell the man the truth.
Adam forced himself to meet the officer’s gaze. “That a problem?”
Singh Rao didn’t answer.
Borthwick glanced back from ahead of them. His eyes stopped on Adam for a breath, then moved on, unconcerned.
The subedar hadn’t pulled Adam aside for an interrogation. They were walking amid the other soldiers. From where Borthwick stood, it probably looked like the pair of them had just ended up in the same part of the line.
Had Singh Rao done that because he didn’t want Borthwick to notice that they were talking?
Singh Rao studied the line of men marching in front of them as he spoke. “I am an officer of the Indian Army. I took an oath to be loyal to the crown and to follow orders. I take my oaths very seriously, Mr. Bates.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Adam replied—and found that he meant it.
Singh Rao paused as the trail climbed a steep ladder of stone. “That does not mean I always agree with those orders.”
Surprised understanding hitched in Adam’s chest. “You didn’t like what he was doing.”
Singh Rao’s words were careful. “I did not like what he was doing.”
“Would you have stopped me?” Adam pressed.
He was following his damned gut again… which was telling him, strongly and against all common sense, that this man was not his enemy.
“Yes,” Singh Rao replied flatly.
Adam took a bigger risk. “And what if they come into conflict? Your oath to protect the crown—and your orders?”
“That would be a very unusual circumstance,” Singh Rao returned deliberately. “One that I should not expect to meet on this expedition.”
Adam heard the warning that lay between the subedar’s words.
Borthwick was Singh Rao’s commanding officer, and the bar for betraying that—and subjecting himself to a potential court-martial—was going to be pretty damned high.
Singh Rao might not personally agree with Borthwick’s methods or his mission, but he wouldn’t move against it.
Not unless things got very damned unusual.
Singh Rao nodded. “Mr. Bates.”
“Subedar,” Adam returned—and watched the man walk away.
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As they crested the ridge once again, Singh Rao signaled to his men with crisp gestures, and low whispers moved down the line.
The sepoys readied their rifles, slipping between the thinning trees until they reached the top.
Once there, they crept forward through the sparse grasses and low brush until they reached the place where the mountain fell away steeply in the remnants of an old landslide.
The mules lingered behind a little further down the slope. Ellie dismounted and joined Adam where he stood at a nice, healthy distance from the drop.
He noticed the slight hitch in her pace. “How’s the leg?”
“A little sore, but nothing more than that. I don’t see why I have to be stuck in the back with the luggage. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
“I’m sure you’ll be running around looking for things to blow up before you know it,” Adam quipped.
Ellie’s eyes twinkled before sobering. “Are you managing all right?”
Adam didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’m managing. Hell, we might even make it out of this, if things can just stay moderately predictable for the next few hours.”
Borthwick’s voice cut to them from across the ridge. “Bates!”
Adam stiffened with a snap of dread as Borthwick motioned to him from where he lay at the edge of the cliff.
Ellie’s mouth tightened with worry. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’ll be fine,” Adam assured her.
“Will you?” Ellie countered skeptically, looking from Adam to the cliff.
Adam sighed and rubbed a tired hand over his face. “Gonna have to be.”
He steeled himself and walked over. His brain began to protest as soon as he came within a few paces of where the ridge sheared away.
Green, thickly forested valley sprawled below him, pierced by the pale finger of the pillar he’d seen from the Shiva stone. The monument was much closer now.
Adam dropped to his knees as the view went a little tippy. He supposed it was a good thing that he was clearly meant to crawl sneakily forward to where Borthwick crouched beside Singh Rao. If he had stayed on his feet, he probably would’ve fallen over.
Just don’t look down, he told himself as he reached the edge… not that he could really avoid it. There was nothing but down in front of him.
Borthwick extended a leather-wrapped telescope to Adam. “What do you see?”
Adam wondered whether facing a hundred-foot drop through the instrument would be less taxing on his fear of heights. Wouldn’t the ground seem closer? Couldn’t his brain just pretend he was actually down there?
He put the telescope to his eye and twisted the lenses to bring them into focus.
Adam’s throat tightened with nausea. His brain was not going to pretend that he was down there.
He followed the line of the stone column down to its foundation, which was visible through a break in the canopy. The lens scanned over tumbled stones and a pale terrace.
A handful of roughly dressed figures moved past the glass, and Adam’s gut twisted in a manner that had nothing to do with his altitude.
Had Borthwick seen it?
Of course, he had seen it.
“Looks like there are some people down there,” Adam reported numbly.
“Natives,” Borthwick elaborated. “I count roughly a dozen. Subedar?”
“The same,” Singh Rao replied.
“Khond, presumably,” Borthwick continued casually. “There are several villages a day’s march from here, across the river.”
Though the focus wasn’t tight enough for Adam to make out the details of the faces below him, he found that he had absolutely no doubt what village they had come from.
“Should we regard them as hostile?” Singh Rao asked.
The question was briskly professional. Adam thought of the thirty armed, disciplined men behind him.
Someone else stepped into the steady circle of the lens, slightly blurred by the mild imperfections of the instrument.
Pale skin framed a brown waistcoat. Gold rims glinted around his eyes.
“They’re always hostile,” Borthwick pushed back easily as Adam stared down at the oblivious figure of his best friend. “Prepare the men for an engagement.”