The Confusion

“She knows what I knew, before I left. Namely that there are tales of a Christian sorcerer who, some years ago, was traveling in a caravan to Delhi that was attacked by a Maratha army that came down out of the hills on elephants. The Marathas had the upper hand until nightfall, when they and their elephants alike were thrown into a panic by a cold fire that limned the warriors and the horses of the caravan without consuming them. This caravan reached Delhi without further incident, and Aurangzeb, the Great Mogul, according to his long-standing practice, elevated the victor to the rank of omerah, and rewarded him with a three-year jagir.”

“And so you decided to come out and see who was putting your alchemical knowledge to such ill uses.”

“I came for many reasons, Jack, but that was not one of them…I knew who the sorcerer was.”

“Did you bring the thing I asked for?”

“We will speak of that later,” Enoch said judiciously. “But I did bring two things you should have asked for, and forgot to.”

“Hmm, let me think…I love riddles…a replacement penis, and a keg of decent beer?”

“I love riddles, too, Jack, but I hate guessing-games. Can we go somewhere that is not so, er…” And here Enoch Root turned his gaze one way, then the other, taking in most of the hundred-mile expanse between the hills and the coastal marshes. “…exposed?”

Jack laughed. “If it’s privacy you want, you’re in the wrong subcontinent.”

“So you say-and yet there is more here than meets the eye, no?” said Enoch Root, staring Jack in the eye.

Jack rode back to his zamindar and said, “That gentleman over there is a buyer of saltpeter from Amsterdam.”

“Is that the best you could come up with!?” answered Surendranath.

“’Twill serve, for now…I am going to take him on an inspection-tour of the dirt-mines. Dismiss the khud-kashta s with my compliments. Tell them not to give the potato-woman any grief. Meet me at the Royal Palace this evening, unless the roof has been blown off again, in which case, meet me by the tree.”

“Sire, the dirt-mines are situated in a rowdy and treacherous pargana, quite infested with stranglers. Are you quite certain you do not want me to send the rowzinders?”

Jack sized up the two horsemen who had arrived with Enoch Root. “What do you make of them?”

“Mercenaries. Judging from their coloration, most likely Pathans.”

“That was my guess, too, until I got closer. Methinks they are Christians with tans. They are barely even twenty years of age, but weathered like veterans, and they returned my gaze insolently.”

“They handle their weapons like drilled musketeers,” said the zamindar.

“They’ve made it all the way here, from Christendom…”

“But perhaps they are the last remnants of a whole Regiment.”

“I believe I will be safe in their hands,” Jack said.

“THAT’S FOR ME MUM!” said the one.

“She’s me mum, too, give ’im another!”

A large, bleeding fist filled most of Jack’s visual field, getting rapidly bigger. Then lights flashed and a loud popping noise went off in the base of his skull.

“You can do be’er’n that, Jimmy!” said one, shoving the other aside. “Let me show you-now, how’s about that! An’ that! For our sainted mum!”

Suddenly they got six feet taller-either that, or Jack’s head was resting on the ground. The one called Jimmy wound up for a kick.

“That is for mayakin’ it neces’ry for us to travel all the way out to the butt o’ the world to beat the bejesus out o’ ye!”

Enoch hovered nervously in the background encouraging them to stop, or at least slow down-but they were having none of it.

“That is for bein’ a friggin’ shite-head!”

“Can you be more specific?” Jack said (he had found that a bit of levity sometimes worked wonders in these situations). But the words came out all a-mumble, for his lips stuck together whenever they got near each other-and they’d ballooned to the point where they were always near each other. But somehow the one named Jimmy understood, and went wide-eyed.

“Oh, you want specificity!? Danny, he’s requested we wax specific at this time!”

Jack got up on all fours, then staggered to his feet. Being on the ground only tempted them to kick him, and that was worse, in the long run, than being punched.

“That is specifically for tayakin’ up with another lady when the urth on Mum’s grayave hadn’t even been tamped down yet!”

“That is specifically for tradin’ in yer French jools on a shite-load o’ malarkey!”

Jack tumbled backwards into a stand of bamboo, and Jimmy and Danny-perhaps fearing cobras-did not come in after him. They stood where they were for a moment, getting their wind back. For the first time since Jimmy had tackled him out of the saddle a few minutes ago, it occurred to Jack that he was armed with a serviceable Janissary-sword, and knew a thing or two about how to use it; but cutting up his own flesh and blood wouldn’t be right. Instead he eased it quietly from its scabbard and swung it into the base of a bamboo cane about as thick as his wrist, easily cutting it through. Then he staggered out of the thicket dragging it behind him.