In the Palace of the Khans Read online

  “It’s OK, it’s me, Nigel. Tell you later.”

  The second of the fancy keys fitted. Shouts rose to screams as the other prisoners saw Rick lurch out into the open. What had happened to the warders? They must have heard.

  “We’d better get out of here,” he shouted.

  “Janey? The girls?”

  “Up at Sodalka. They’re fine. Tell you later. Know any of these guys?”

  “Sure. Vandi. That one.”

  “OK. Those two are the skeleton keys Tell him to let the others out. We’ve got to go. That gate I came out of.”

  He headed for the tunnel and stripped off and refolded his dahl. The shouts from the dungeons were dying away as Rick came limping back. Nobody tried to follow him. The released prisoners were moving towards the far end of the dungeons. Nigel hurried on. He was almost at the end of the sewer-tunnel before he realised Rick was having trouble keeping up.

  “Are you all right,” he said.

  “I’ll do. It’s my ankle, mainly. Bastards knocked me around a bit, trying to get it out of me where you’d got to. As if I knew. Diplomatic immunity, hell. I passed out ’fore they’d done.”

  “But they were all yelling just now, and …”

  “That’s the warders they were yelling at. Hadn’t brought breakfast round. Gone off somewhere, ’parently.”

  “They were short of guards … Tell you later. Think you can make it across here? It’s using your arms, mostly, but you’ve got to reach with your leg on the far side. Shall I go first, show you? I can give you a hand that last bit.”

  Rick eyed the sewer-crossing.

  “Give it a go,” he said.

  He just made it, managing to reach the ledge with his left leg so that Nigel could heave him across, gasping for breath and in obvious pain.

  “Bastards must’ve cracked a rib,” he muttered. “Reckon I’ve bust it now. How far’ve we got to go?”

  “Do you think you can get as far as the fish-quay? We’re just coming out under the Iskan Bridge.”

  “Give it a go. Guys there know me. Pals of old Nardu.”

  He staggered on, groaning at every step and leaning more and more heavily on Nigel’s shoulder, then passed out just as they reached the gate. Nigel eased him down and ran. In the office shed three men were watching the scene in the Great Hall on the TV, but Nigel didn’t pause to look.

  “Please …,” he said urgently. The men glanced irritably round. Their faces changed as they stared at his western clothes and his painted face

  “Rick’s hurt himself,” he said, pointing towards the gate. “Nardu’s friend. Please help.”

  Perhaps the names meant something. One of them came to the door to look, said something and strode off. The others followed. Nigel snatched the portable telephone off the table and raced back to the gate, where the men were about to roll Rick over onto his back.

  “Watch it!” he shouted. “He’s bust a rib! Hurt!”

  He mimed a hurt side and made gestures of carefulness. They copied the gestures to show they’d got it.

  He stepped a few paces away, called the embassy and waited, tense for the piano music. Then Roger’s voice.

  “British embassy, Dara Dahn.”

  “It’s me, Nigel.”

  “Nigel! Where are you?”

  “At the fish quay—you know, near the Iskan Bridge. I’ve got Rick here. He’s badly hurt. We think he’s broken a rib. The guys here are helping, but I can’t speak Dirzhani and Rick’s passed out. Can you talk to them?”

  “OK. You’re aware of what’s been happening at the palace, I take it?”

  “Some of it. Here you are.”

  He passed the telephone to one of the men, who spoke briefly, listened, answered for a bit longer and listened again. The other two went back to the shed. That’s torn it, Nigel thought. Roger had got it at once that he’d been in the palace. He wouldn’t have to lie to his father after all. In some ways it was a relief.

  The man gave him back the telephone and hurried off.

  “It’s me again,” he said.

  “OK,” said Roger. “I’ll call the hospital and try and get an ambulance down there straight off. Got a number I can call you on?”

  “45796,” said Nigel, reading it off the handset.

  “OK. Then I’ll get straight back to you and tell you what I’ve managed and maybe talk to your friends. Got time to talk to your mother while I’m doing that?”

  “If that’s all right. You told me keep it as short as possible, in case …”

  “Looks like the system’s broken down in the confusion. Here’s your mother.”

  “Nigel!”

  “Hi, Mum.”

  “Oh, darling! Are you all right? Where are you?”

  “I’m fine. Just a bit tired. I’m at the fish quay, near the palace. I’ve got Rick. I found him in the dungeons. He’s badly hurt. They’d beaten him up. Roger’s trying to get an ambulance down here.”

  “Dungeons! You were in the palace! You said …”

  “Couldn’t help it. I kept right in the background. Tell you later.”

  “We’ve all been watching it on the telly. It’s amazing. And you’re really all right still?”

  “I was just up in the gallery, mostly, wearing a dahl. Have you still got the telly on? Can you see Dad? He was OK last I saw.”

  “He’s still there. It was agony for a bit. Those horrible men were just coming down the stairs when these other men came charging in loosing off their guns and then the screen went blank. I was worried sick of course. Thank heavens I didn’t know you were there too! And we waited and waited and all of a sudden the telly came on again and there was Taeela with …”

  “Hang on. Looks like Rick’s coming round. Bye, Mum. I should be home soon.”

  “Oh, please!”

  Rick was lying on his back with a rolled-up coat under his head. He fidgeted about, trying to get more comfortable but wincing with almost every move. His face was the colour of dirty tarmac. He stared as Nigel knelt beside him. His lips moved.

  “Who …? What …?”

  Even that seemed to hurt.

  “It’s me, Nigel. We’re at the fish quay. I’ve called Roger. He’s trying to get an ambulance down here. I found you in the dungeons, told you Janey and the girls were OK, remember. They’re up at Sodalka. Mizhael Baladzhin’s looking after them. I’ll tell you …”

  The telephone rang. It was Roger.

  “Right, Nigel, I think I’ve got that sorted. They took a bit of persuading—they’re all glued to the telly. Should be there in about ten minutes. May get a bit held up. Everyone’s out on the streets, judging by the racket. Got any money?”

  “Lots. How much do you want me to give them?”

  “I’ve told them fifty each. That’s to take you and Rick to the hospital. I and your mother will pick you up there. We’ll wait for you at the main entrance. OK?”

  “Right. Thanks. See you.”

  He took the telephone back to the shed and tried to give the men twenty dirzh, but they turned away from the television just long enough to refuse it with smiles. By the time he returned to the gate Rick was asleep.

  He settled down to wait with his back against the gatepost, noticing for the first time the noises reaching him, mainly from across the river, though this time it wasn’t the angry mutter of a protesting crowd, rumblings of tanks and the dull jar of cannon fire, but cries just as loud but lighter in tone, mingled with the incessant hooting of car-horns. Dara Dahn rejoicing.

  The ambulance showed up in twenty minutes. Nigel gave the men their fifty dirzh and sat in front with the driver. As they drove out to the ring road they saw pedestrians and cars streaming in the other direction, mostly saving their vocal cords and batteries until they were nearer to the palace.

  His mother was getting out of Roger’s car as the ambulance drew up at the hospital. She glanced at him as he approached and looked away, then turned and stared.

  “Hi, Mum.”

 
; “My darling! What have you done to yourself?”

  “It’s the new me, Mum. What do you think?”

  “I didn’t want another girl. I’d got two already.”

  “I haven’t seen the face. It’ll wash off, won’t it? Can you take a photograph first? I like the hair, though.”

  “Well, if … Good Lord! Is that Rick? He looks awful!”

  The ambulance men had lifted the stretcher onto a trolley and were getting ready to drive off while an orderly wheeled it away. Rick managed a kind of smile and a weak mutter as Nigel and his mother caught up, then Roger went in to see him through the system while they waited outside on a shady bench. People came past in clumps, four or five of them at a time trying to watch the screen of a single mobile.

  “Don’t tell me now,” she said. “Wait till your father gets home. Just tell me what happened in the bit we missed after the screen went blank. Next thing we saw was a spokesman person explaining about some kind of agreement making the three head chieftains a—what’s it called?—Council of Regency or something—until Taeela’s old enough to be Khan. And then there she was with a lot of—chieftains, I suppose—doing oath-taking and stuff, though some of them didn’t look all that happy about it. How on earth …? Where were the men we saw coming down the stairs?”

  “Dead, I’m afraid. The one in the middle was a chieftain called Adzhar Taerzha, and the other two were …”

  She listened, frowning, and shook her head in bewilderment when he finished.

  “How too extraordinary!” she said. “It’s almost as if Taeela had some kind of good fairy looking after her.”

  Nigel sighed.

  “We’ve just been dead lucky,” he said, and changed the subject.

  He was telling her about the birds at the desert pool when Roger came back and said Rick had broken a rib and they were going to X-ray him and see if it had pierced his lung. If it had, it was going to be touch and go. They’d ring the embassy as soon as they knew.

  Taeela had called to check that Nigel was OK. He called back, but couldn’t get hold of her, had a long shower, tried again without luck and collapsed onto his bed, meaning just to lie there for a few minutes and have another go. It was almost dark when his mother woke him.

  “I thought I’d better,” she said, “or you won’t get to sleep tonight. Taeela called and I told her you were all right, but she said not to wake you.”

  “Thanks, I suppose. What about Rick?”

  “That’s why I came now. They just called. It’s serious but not ghastly. The rib’s broken all right, but it’s only sort of scratched his lung, not gone right in. Is there any way we can get hold of his wife?”

  “Wait … Here you are. You’ll need the code for Sodalka. Ask for Mizhael or Lily-Jo. They both speak English. When’s supper?”

  “We’re having it cold in the living room so we can watch the TV.”

  “Give me two mins.”

  His mother was on the telephone, talking to Janey. His father eyed him up and down.

  “I’m glad to see you in your own hair,” he said. “Your mother showed me the photograph. I can’t say I thought it an improvement.”

  “I gave it three goes in the shower,” said Nigel. “Dad … er … I hope I haven’t messed things up for you too much.”

  “So do I, but in any case I shan’t hold it against you. The Khanazhana tells me they forced you to go with them because you were the only one who understood the map of some secret passages they needed to use.”

  “It wasn’t like that. She took my side. She knew I’d promised you I wouldn’t get involved. But I think they’d have tied me up and taken me anyway, so I did a deal with them. I wasn’t going to be much use to them tied up, except as some kind of hostage maybe, but I said I’d help them find their way round the passages provide they swore they wouldn’t kill anyone they didn’t absolutely have to. That was a big deal for the Akhlavals. They’ve got a blood feud with Adzhar Taerzha’s lot they were planning to settle.”

  “Not to mention that you yourself had a certain … ah … emotional involvement in the success of the enterprise?”

  “No I didn’t! I didn’t want her to go! I thought it was absolutely crazy. They hadn’t got a hope.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Ah, well. Let’s regard it as water under the bridge. We’ll just have to hope that no one makes the connection. If they do … I don’t like to think.

  “I take it that’s why you dyed your hair. What chance is there that anyone recognised you, do you reckon?”

  “I don’t think anyone except Mizhael Baladzhin. Pretty well all the way up to Sodalka I was wearing a dahl, pretending to be a girl. I had to take it off to say hello to Chief Baladzhin, but I pulled my cap right down over my hair. Then Mizhael fixed me up with Dirzhani clothes and a turban until we could get it dyed. And I called myself Nick Riddle. Mizhael spotted who I was, but he doesn’t want it coming out any more than you do. They’ve got to show they didn’t get any help from us or anyone else.”

  Nigel’s mother put the handset down and turned.

  “She’s going to try and come straight back,” she said. “Anything new?”

  The TV was showing what looked like some kind of enormous street party filling the Iskan Bridge, with stray fireworks, loosed off at random, soaring over the water.

  “They showed us that bit they blacked out yesterday, darling,” said his mother. “The part you told me about. I expect they’ll show it again if you want to see it.”

  “Not much,” said Nigel. “I don’t like watching people getting killed.”

  “They’re telling us rather more than I’d have expected,” said his father. “I’m afraid the pledge you were given had its limits. There were several casualties on both sides in the attack on the television station.”

  “One poor woman got killed by a stray bullet,” said his mother.

  “That wasn’t us,” said Nigel. “That was a lot of deserters from one of the barracks Mizhael roped in.”

  “But on the whole they seem to have been remarkably efficient,” said his father. “Of course all the colonels’ most committed troops are away from Dara Dahn, dealing with various pockets of unrest. There’s no news yet about how they’re reacting.”

  “But it’s nothing like all over, is it?” said Nigel. “Not the way that lot on the bridge seem to think it is.”

  “Popular support is all very well, as far as it goes,” said his father. “But there’s a lot of powerful people who won’t be too happy about what your friends have done. As far as they’re concerned it’s nothing like over. It’ll be a year or two before we can expect to see anything like a functioning parliamentary democracy.”

  “For God’s sake, Dad, this is Dirzhan! They wouldn’t know what do with a functioning democracy. Let them do it their own way. They’ll work something out.”

  “You may well be right, Niggles, but if they do they will be very much the exception. I will put your point of view to my superiors, though I’m afraid you mustn’t expect them to listen.”

  “Do you want me to tell you about what happened to us after the President got shot?” said Nigel.

  “Tell us while we’re eating,” said his mother. “It’s cold, because I didn’t know when you’d wake up.”

  “Do you mind if I record what you say?” said his father. “There’ll be useful stuff in it and I don’t want to keep stopping you while I take notes. And I’d like Roger and Tim to listen to it later.”

  It was midnight before Nigel got to bed. From his window he could see that the party on the Iskan Bridge was still in full swing, with people dancing round a huge bonfire in front of the palace. The great building glowed in its floodlighting, making it impossible to tell which windows were lit from behind. He wondered whether Taeela was asleep yet, and if so where. Her old bedroom had probably been ransacked. She mightn’t want to use it anyway.

  He was home, if anywhere was home for him since Santiago. But everything was strange.
/>   CHAPTER 24

  Hi! Here I am again. At last. How long has it been? 13 days I make it. Sorry about that, but stuff’s been happening. I’ve seen the Brit papers, so it’s probably been on TV. Just remember a lot of what they say about me is wrong …

  Nigel slept late. His mother had finished her breakfast but was still in the dining room, reading. The TV was on with the sound turned down.

  “Anything new?” said Nigel.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “We decided there wasn’t any point in Ivahni hanging around to tell me what they were saying when they weren’t really saying anything. Three planes came over about half an hour ago—I don’t know if you heard them. They just screamed round a couple of times and whizzed off. To show they could, I suppose.

  “Ivahni’s called the hospital. They operated on Rick last night, and he’s doing fine. We tried to call your friend Janey but she’s already on her way back.

  “How are you feeling, darling?”

  The right answer would still have been “Strange,” but he didn’t feel like explaining. He couldn’t have, anyway, even to himself.

  “Hungry,” he said, and helped himself to scrambled eggs.

  He ate slowly, in silence, thinking about yesterday. It already seemed to be much longer ago than that, as if it was fading into the past, becoming just memory. Over. Like his old school in Santiago. When he looked up he saw that his mother had stopped reading and was just sitting there, watching him.

  “You’ve grown up,” she said. “It wasn’t just the hair.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” he said. Perhaps that was what was strange. She sounded as if she thought so. Things were different between them now.

  “No wonder,” she said.

  “Well, you might tell Dad. Then he might stop calling me by my baby name.”

  She laughed, but before she could answer the telephone rang beside him on the table.

  “Nigel?”

  His heart bounced at the sound of her voice.

  “Hi. How are you? Did you sleep OK? When am I going to see you?”