Jon Cleary - The Faraway Drums

‘Was he intending to sell arms to anyone in Simla?’

‘I couldn’t say. He told me nothing about his business.’

Then the Mondays came down on to the road. Zoltan Monday dropped the suitcases and began bending his arms as if he were trying to push them back into their sockets. Bridie and the others looked at the pair curiously, then all looked at Farnol. Curtly he explained who the newcomers were, saw the Ranee look at them with sharp interest when he mentioned the name Krupp. The Nawab, standing in front of his six wives, gave a bright smile of welcome to Madame Monday, but ignored her husband. Lady Westbrook sniffed loudly and Bridie made mental notes for her as-yet-unthought-of memoirs.

‘I am delighted to meet you all,’ said Magda, who would have introduced herself in the same way to every circle of Hell. At fifteen she had walked the Fisherman’s Bastion above Budapest looking for men; at twenty she had found Zoltan in the chandeliered lobby of the Astoria Hotel. She had trained herself for rebuffs as a boxer builds the muscles of his midriff to absorb punches. ‘I’m sure we shall have a very good journey together.’

‘It won’t be for want of your trying.’ The Ranee had already decided there were too many women in her caravan; she also recognized a possible mischief-maker. She got up into her coach. ‘Get in, Viola. You, too, Miss O’Brady.’

‘Thank you, Your Highness, but if I may I’d like to ride one of your horses with Major Farnol.’

‘As you wish.’ The Ranee, not trained for rebuffs, made no attempt to sound gracious. She turned her head away and looked down at the Hungarian woman. ‘Perhaps you had better ride with us, Madame Monday.’

‘Monday?’ Lady Westbrook had donned her two hats again and looked like a war-torn pagoda. She looked Magda up and down as the latter got into the coach and sat opposite her. She decided that Magda was riff-raff. ‘Is that your name or the day you are available?’

Magda’s smile had the bright shine of a razor turned to the sun. ‘I have just been complimenting the Major on the English sense of humour.’ She moved sideways on the seat to make room for the bulk of the Baron. ‘We appear to have taken sides, Herr Baron. You and I against the British Empire.’

The Baron put on his glasses, looked across at the ladies of the Empire. ‘I should never take sides against such a formidable force.’

The procession got under way. Karim and two of the Nawab’s armed men rode up front on horses, with Farnol, Bridie and the Nawab immediately behind them. Then came the Ranee’s coach, the twelve elephants, their howdahs stuffed with the Nawab’s wives and all the luggage, and finally the rest of the horses ridden by Zoltan Monday and the Ranee’s and the Nawab’s escorts. All over India similar caravans were making their way towards the Great Durbar, but none of them had been forced to make their march in the way this one had been.

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