In the Palace of the Khans Read online

  He’d misjudged it! They were going over!

  But then they were bumping along the slope, momentarily out of the awful storm, with the thunder of the rotors below them on their right. Somehow the grit had wept itself out from under Nigel’s eyelid. He wiped the side of his face against Mizhael’s shoulder and now through the blur of tears he could see the dark shape edging back towards them, tilted to an angle where it looked as if the pilot was trying to slice their heads off with the rotor tips as he passed over them.

  “Right!” yelled Mizhael.

  That meant letting go of both saddle and tripod and swapping hands, then grabbing the tripod as it slithered from his lap. They charged downhill through the edge of the storm. When Nigel opened his eyes the helicopter was behind them, but already turning to head them off again.

  The manoeuvre repeated itself, once, twice, three times, with variations, the pilot getting better at the game each time. That was obviously how he thought of it. He was having fun, the cat tormenting the helpless wren. Once, when the helicopter passed close beside him, Nigel thought he could see jeering faces at the small windows. Louts in a street gang watching some of their mates beat up a passer-by.

  Mizhael had headed directly down the hill, avoiding the road where the helicopter could land. Out on the slope they could dodge and weave as they bucketed slantwise down towards the gates of the city. They’d only a few hundred yards to go, with the helicopter on their tail again, when Mizhael steered them just below a larger than usual boulder, yelled “Left!”, swung round it and roared up the slope.

  Deafened by the combined clamour of their engine and the rotors, and wrestling to keep his seat and hang on to the tripod, Nigel didn’t realise anything had happened until Mizhael slowed, turned and looked over his shoulder. Nigel did the same, and stared.

  The wreckage of the helicopter lay beside the boulder with the dust of the crash still settling round it. There was no sign of any other movement. Mizhael cut the engine.

  “Bloody idiots,” he said. “Must have caught a rotor. We’d better get out of here. The other two will be back any minute. You OK?”

  “Suppose so,” Nigel muttered, still staring. Those jeering faces. They’d belonged to real people, full of life.

  The helicopter exploded. A glaring ball, blinding sight. A bellowing roar and a blast of searing air, riddled with grit, lashing into his face.

  “Hold tight,” said Mizhael and drove off, stopping again when they were well clear of the wreck. Nigel forced his eyes open. His face was stinging sore. Something trickled into the corner of his mouth. He licked, and found that it was blood.

  He twisted round and looked back. The wreck was now a normal blaze, the flames bright orange despite the strong sunlight. Oily black smoke roiled up into the limpid air. And the men were all dead. Dead.

  “You’ve got a cut,” said Mizhael.

  “Yes, I know. So’ve you. On your left cheek … Higher. It isn’t bleeding much. My face is pretty sore.”

  “Mine too. Alinu will have something. Hey! They’re coming back! We’d better get under cover.”

  Nigel twisted round to look. The other two helicopters had swung round and were heading straight for them. A moment later the clatter of their rotors was joined by another as a line of horsemen crossed the ridge and raced towards them, riding without reins on the treacherous terrain and loosing off with their AKs as they came. The Akhlavals liked to put on a show all right.

  By the time they reached the shelter of the gateway the helicopters were hovering over the wreck and the citizens of Sodalka were massed along the walls, cheering like a football crowd as the quad bike drove through, with their cavalry escort behind them firing triumphant volleys into the air.

  CHAPTER 19

  Taeela, still in black, brought Janey to supper so that Nigel could tell her the bad news. She listened, stony-faced, and turned to Mizhael.

  “Tomorrow I go to Dahn, talk to Nardu for lending you boat,” she said. “You choose a good man for coming with me. Money too I will need. I may go, Khanazhana?”

  The conversation switched to Dirzhani as she and Mizhael made arrangements. Spicy smells drifted from Lily-Jo’s cooking.

  “What do you think of the new me?” muttered Nigel. “I like it a lot.”

  Taeela had stared at him when she had first come in, and then laughed, but Janey had come first.

  “I like both yous,” she said. “Your face looks sore.”

  “The helicopter chucked up a lot of gravel and stuff at us, but it’s not too bad now, since Alinu got at it.”

  “You spoke with your father? Lucy is well?”

  “She was out, but he told me some other stuff. I’ll tell you as soon as Mizhael’s stopped talking to Janey. I wanted to tell her about Rick first.”

  “Yes. Poor Janey … You are sad, Nigel? It was scary what happened to you. So stupid, these men! This never could happen if my father is alive.”

  “I suppose it was scary, but there wasn’t really time for that. I’d got stuff to do, just staying on. No, it was … I didn’t see the actual crash, so that wasn’t too bad. But when it went up. Those men … They’d been alive just a moment before, laughing at us. Alive. To see them the like that …”

  “This is war, Nigel. One little bit of war. If the Varaki fight the Dirzh, many, many times it will happen. We must stop that.”

  “You think you can take the palace without killing anyone? Sesslizh? Madzhalid? Mr Dikhtar?”

  (Take the palace? Crazy. Gameboy fantasy. But it was real for her. Mizhael too, seemingly. It couldn’t work, even in Dirzhan. But he’d promised himself that he’d stick by her. And he’d promised his father he’d stay out of it. And nothing would bring the dead men back. He felt really depressed.)

  Taeela was looking at him as if she was expecting an answer to something she’d said.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I was thinking about those stupid guys in the helicopter.”

  “Sesslizh, Madzhalid, and Avron Dikhtar—they are different. They killed my father. I have sworn my vengeance on them. It is the word of the Khan.”

  “You don’t have to kill them. You can put them on trial or something. Anyway you need Mr Dikhtar. He’ll tell you all sorts of stuff if he thinks it’ll save his skin—who else was in it, who put the money up, that sort of thing.”

  Her face hardened.

  “It is the word of the Khan, Nigel,” she said. “They killed my father.”

  He couldn’t meet her look. There seemed to be a huge gulf between them.

  “Your dad tell you anything else, Nick?” said Mizhael.

  Nigel pulled himself together and turned.

  “Um … they’ve lifted the curfew a bit—he didn’t say how long. There’s rumours about a mutiny at Dor-something. Dorvadu? Dad and the other ambassadors and people are trying to get the Colonels to sign a provisional constitution …”

  “That could be useful. Did he say when? See if you can find out next time you talk to him. Not sure how we’re going to do that. Don’t want the same thing happening tomorrow. After dark tonight, maybe …”

  “That would be good.”

  Lily-Jo came in to tell them that supper was almost ready, and to take Doglu off for Darzha to bathe.

  “We will help to bring supper in,” said Taeela when she returned. Lily-Jo looked surprised and started to protest, but Taeela spoke to Janey, and Nigel and Mizhael were left alone in the living room. They moved over to the window and stood looking down on the central courtyard.

  “Couldn’t help hearing what you were talking about,” said Mizhael. “I’m afraid she’s right, Nick. These guys killed her father. Got to avenge that. Fat chance her brothers will do it, so it’s down to her—with her own hands, if she can. No Dirzhak’s going to think she’s worth anything without that. Let alone have her for Khan. Tell you the truth, I feel that way myself. Not think, Nick. Feel. It’s in our genes.”

  “The vengeance of the Khan.”

  Taeela
’s voice, a barely audible whisper, came from behind them.

  She was standing by the table, staring at nothing, with a steaming bowl of noodles in her hands. Slowly she turned her head and looked at him. The gulf was still there, but the hardness was gone, and her eyes were sad.

  “Do you stop helping me?” she said.

  There wasn’t a right answer.

  “No. No I guess not,” he said. “I can’t come with you. I’ve promised Dad I won’t get involved. But I’ll try and sort that map out for you.”

  “Best thing you could do,” said Mizhael.

  They ate mainly in silence. When they sat down the minarets of the city were golden with sunset. When they finished the stars were out behind them.

  “Better go and make your call,” said Mizhael, pushing his chair back.

  “Don’t have any more adventures,” said Lily-Jo.

  The gate of the city was closed and barred, but an armed guard opened it and closed it behind them. They drove quietly up to the ridge, where Nigel held the torch for Mizhael while he set up his dish. The embassy line was engaged, so they sat in silence looking out over the moonlit distances. Invisible below them lay the wreck of the helicopter and the charred bodies of young men.

  Second try, they got through, and his father answered.

  “British Embassy in Dirzhan. Ambassador speaking.”

  He sounded tired.

  “Hi, Dad. Sorry to call now. Thing is I can’t tomorrow. Any chance of talking to Mum?”

  “Later. You’ll need to do it on the other line. I’ll explain in a moment. First though, the interruption this afternoon—had that anything to do with a helicopter, or helicopters?”

  “Uh … Uh …”

  “I’m sorry, Niggles. I urgently need to know. Two hours ago I received a formal protest from the regime about one of their helicopters on a reconnaissance mission being brought down by insurgents using a ground-to-air missile supplied by the British.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Of course it is. It is clearly a first shot in a campaign to break off negotiations with us over the Vamar dam so that the contract can be taken over by some probably criminal organisation which will have been behind the assassination of the President in the first place.”

  “That’s disgusting! Those men are dead, Dad, and all the bastards can think about …”

  “I’m afraid the world’s like that, Niggles. All we can do is try to see they don’t get away with it. Anything you can tell me may be useful.”

  “Oh … Well, we’d gone up on the hillside so we could use a special bit of kit—don’t tell anyone this part—so that we could get a secure line. Then these helicopters showed up …”

  He found it difficult to explain coherently. He was actually shuddering with a of sick, helpless fury that men had died horribly, here on the naked hillside, and someone sitting at a desk in Dara Dahn (or Moscow, or Naples, or whatever) had simply jumped at the chance of using those deaths to help them in a multi-million dollar scam.

  “Well, that’s a start,” said his father. “Any witnesses?”

  “Oh, hundreds. They were watching from the walls … Hold it. I bet somebody videoed it. We could download that and e-mail it to you.”

  “Now, that would be really useful. I await results eagerly. Meanwhile I’d better put what you’ve told me through to London. I won’t say anything about what you were doing on the hill. If you come up with a video of the accident it shouldn’t be necessary.

  “Now, your call to your mother. I want it on the open line in order to reinforce the idea that you are in Kyrgyzstan. You escaped with the Khanazhana and friends of hers arranged for you to be sent on to Kyrgyzstan for your own safety. You saw the President assassinated in front of your eyes and your escape and journey north were also harrowing experiences …”

  “He wasn’t the only one.”

  “Good god! You mean …? No, tell me later. The point is, Niggles, that you aren’t in any state to talk to journalists or anyone else. Meanwhile wherever you are you’re going to have to do your best not to be recognised … Niggles …?”

  “Uh …”

  There had been a moment, just that one instant when his father had seemed to understand … He pulled himself together.

  “Sorry, Dad. It was something you said. It’s all right. I’ve had my hair dyed, and I’ve got sunglasses and Dirzhani clothes to wear.”

  “Good for you. Right, so you give me five minutes to explain to your mother what’s up, and then you call her on the open line and tell you’re in safe hands and fundamentally OK, only a bit shaken by everything you’ve been through, and no wonder, from what you tell me. You can ham it up a bit if you like, and I’ll tell her that you seem to be in much better nick than you’re going to make out for the benefit of listening ears. Think you can manage that, Niggles?”

  “I suppose so. When can I talk to her for real? It’s not like I can just pick up the phone, Dad. We’ve got to get all the kit together and come up here and set it up.”

  “Not tonight, I’m afraid, Niggles. I need to keep this line open. Tomorrow, same time?”

  “Thanks, Dad. See you.”

  “Good luck, Niggles. You’re being remarkably useful. Doesn’t sound as there’s much point telling you to keep out of trouble.”

  “Doing my best, honestly. See you, Dad.”

  “Think I got most of that,” said Mizhael as soon as he’d signed off. “Should be able to find a video of the crash—see about it soon as we’re back. Gather you’ve got a call to make on an open line.”

  “Dad wants me to try and make it look as if I’m in Kyrgyzstan.”

  “Sound notion. See if you can hint so’s the Khanazhana—just enough to keep ’em guessing. What was that your dad told you right at the start? Ridiculous, you called it. Then disgusting.”

  Nigel explained, and he laughed.

  “Not much you can’t do with a fancy mobile these days,” he said. “But bringing down helicopters … Pentagon’s probably working on it. Right. Make your call and we’ll get out of here.”

  Nigel’s mother answered at the first ring.

  “Nigel?”

  There was a faint echo on the sound of her voice.

  “Hi, Mum.”

  “Oh, darling! You know you’re all over the papers back home. They keep calling up asking me for photos. Helen says you’re on TV too.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “Of course it is, but you know what they’re like. There’s probably not much else happening this time of year. What I want to know is are you all right?”

  “I’m OK.… I suppose. I mean people are looking after me, only they don’t want me to say where I am. I’m not sick or anything, except I got a bash on my shoulder, but it’s stopped hurting, almost. But I’ve had the hell of a time, Mum. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t like being scared, running and hiding, seeing people getting beaten up, killed …”

  There wasn’t any need to fake it. His voice started to shake. It was difficult to stay in control, to remember the listening ears …

  He shook himself and gathered his wits.

  “I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to …”

  “No, darling. I’m glad you told me. It’s important not to bottle that sort of thing up. You’ve had a hideous time. Let’s hope it’s over. You really think you’re safe where you are now?”

  “Safe as can be. They’re good guys. One of them was at Balliol.”

  (Hell! He shouldn’t have said that. Listening-ears might be able to work it out.)

  “Good lord! Have you told your father?”

  “Not yet. Have you been to Sodalka, Mum?”

  “I was saving it up to go with you. I’d love to see it.”

  “I thought it was really cool. Like Dahn must’ve been when it was just the old city—like a dragon was going to show up any minute. You’ve got to get Dad to take you there.”

  Apart from that first outburst it all sounded fake to
Nigel’s ears, as if they were rehearsing for a play when they’d only just learnt their lines. They managed to chat for a bit about the birds at Forghal, but it was a relief to finish.

  At breakfast Mizhael said, “Afraid I’ll be tied up mostly today. People to talk to. In Dirzhani mostly. Khanazhana the same. No point your tagging along. Best thing you can do is get on with the map of the palace. Lily-Jo’s made you some large-scale outlines of the palace to work on. She’s raring to go. Anything you want from Dr. G.?”

  “Could you ask him for a list of Old Script numbers?”

  “There should be a book in library. I’ll come and see what I can find.”

  Drearily he settled to work. His heart wasn’t in it, but at least it was something to stop him thinking about the dead men on the hillside, and how many more dead people there were going to be before this stupid adventure was over, with men like Adzhar Taerzha and Colonel Sesslizh running Dirzhan, and the domes of Sodalka shattered and smoke drifting up from the ruins.

  And Taeela made to marry some bastard who was calling himself Khan.

  He transferred what he’d worked out yesterday onto one of Lily-Jo’s enlarged outlines and pencilled in the stone-counts in Arabic numbers. It was slow work. That done, he guessed how many stones it would take to cross the Hare Room and the passage beyond, doubled it for the opposite wing and added that to the number of stones in the long passage. That gave him the full width of the palace, measured in stones. They were about fifty centimetres wide, but there was no point in converting them. Stones would be fine as a basic measure.

  His imagination started to reconstruct the passages as he worked, breathing the chill, unused air with its faint odour of old stonework, seeing Taeela and Fohdrahko moving silently away through the darkness silhouetted against the glow of their torch, with the eerie shadows of long-dead eunuchs watching them pass. Soon he was absorbed by the task for its own sake. The table was in shadow again when Mizhael came to collect him for lunch.

  “Yes,” said Lily-Jo. “It’s got to be a lot simpler than it looked. Secret passages are like that. If they wandered all over the place the people using the rooms and corridors wouldn’t be able to move about, because there’d always be a secret passage in the way. What is this?”