“What the devil is ‘e talkin’ about?” whispered Mulvaney.
“How the hell should I know?” Learoyd whispered back. Then, with his head still bowed, he replied in Pushtu, “I do not know, Your Holiness.”
Drakov stood silent for a moment, thinking. “I am told there are British soldiers being held prisoner here. Take me to them.”
“Well, what do you know?” whispered Mulvaney. “We’re goin’ to get our chance at Sayyid bloody Akbar, after all.”
Learoyd elbowed him in the ribs. “This way, Your Holiness,” he said, bowing low and pointing out the way.
“Lead on,” said Drakov.
“Steady, lads,” whispered Learoyd. “Steady now.”
They walked ahead of Drakov and his guards, heading toward the cell they had recently escaped from. They paused at the door. Drakov stopped in front of it.
“This door is unbolted! What is the meaning of this?” He opened it. “There’s no one inside! Where are the prisoners?” He reached out and jerked Mulvaney’s head up. “You’re not—”
Mulvaney slammed a hard right into his stomach and pushed him into the cell. Learoyd plunged his knife deep into the abdomen of one of the guards while Ortheris kicked another in the groin with all his might and stuck his knife into the other’s chest. Learoyd wrestled briefly with the fourth guard, his hand clamped over his mouth, then slashed his blade across his throat. Ortheris disposed of the one remaining guard, who was on the floor, clutching at his vitals. They quickly dragged the corpses into the cell and shut the door.
Learoyd had Drakov backed up against the stone wall, the point of his Khyber knife against his throat.
“Well, well,” said Mulvaney, grinning. “Look what we’ve got ‘ere!”
He had lost his turban in the scuffle, and Drakov stared at him, then at the others. “Who are you men?”
“You speak English!” said Ortheris, not so much surprised to hear a Pathan speaking it as he was to hear it spoken so well, without an accent.
“You’re the soldiers,” Drakov said. “I commend you on your resourcefulness. Where are the others who were being held with you, a man and a woman?”
“Look at this, will you?” Ortheris said. “A knife at ‘is throat an’ ‘e’s demandin’ answers like a bleedin’ rajah!”
“That’s just what we’re here to find out, Your Holiness,” Learoyd said.
“Chris, watch ‘is ‘ands!” cried Mulvaney.
Learoyd quickly batted Drakov’s right hand away from his left wrist. It looked as if he had been reaching for a dagger hidden up his sleeve. Mulvaney quickly stepped up and checked.
“What’s this?” he said, examining the warp disc on Drakov’s wrist. He pulled at it, trying to figure out how to take it off, and managed to yank it loose.
“What is it?” said Learoyd.
“Looks like some sort o’ bracelet,” said Mulvaney.
“Be careful with it,” said Learoyd. “These devils can be tricky. It might have some sort of poisoned needle in it or the like.”
Mulvaney flung it away from him and it landed in the far corner of the room. “Right,” he said. “Let’s finish ‘im off.”
“Don’t be too hasty,” Drakov said. “I’m your best chance of finding your friends. As long as I’m alive, you remain alive. If you harm me, they’ll cut you to pieces.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Learoyd said. “Where’d you learn to speak English so well?”
Drakov smiled. “You would not believe me if I told you.”
“I say we kill ‘im an’ ‘ave done with it!” Mulvaney said.
“No, let’s not be rash,” Learoyd said.”He has a point. If we kill him now, we may never get through this alive. He’s our ticket out of here. And he can get us safe passage to Peshawar. Wouldn’t that be something, us ridin’ in with Sayyid Akbar himself? We’d be heroes.”
“Live heroes are generally preferable over dead ones,” Drakov said.