| Chapter Twenty - Ancient grudge break to new mutiny |
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I emerged from the laboratory with a spring in my step, excited by the new prospects brought forward by my new weaponry. I rounded a corner in the corridor before noticing Siraj standing in the hallway talking to two men dressed as beggars. I knew from the look on his face he was concerned. He wasted no time in conveying to me that he had set these two men to watch Will, which they had done to the best of their ability until he had entered the docks, where his fathers company had once stood. They had then hurried back to inform their master of the Will’s actions. I immediately walked towards my room and strapped on both my sword and pistol. "It won't do Siraj. I must go and check on the boy, his life is in my hands." Siraj caught me by the shoulder "Will isn't your brother Captain, he is not yours to protect." I could see by the way his eyes changed that he could see the effect his words had on me, yet he ploughed on: "Your brother is gone. Will is his own man and he will find his own way, let him be." I sat in my bedside chair, my weapon belt still only half fastened. Siraj's words had been like a blow to my stomach, winding me and slowing my thoughts. "I know he isn't Matthew. I just care about the boy, I can't see him hurt." I mumbled more to myself than anyone. "He is not a boy, my friend" Siraj replied gently before leaving my room.
I sat in a state of some uncertainty for a good ten minutes considering my options. The best thing I felt, after much deliberation would be to go to the docks and keep an eye on Will, while at the same time not getting too close to get involved. I walked back into the hall barely glancing at Siraj before stepping into the streets and walking purposefully towards the docks. I had forgotten whilst among the parlours and clubs of London, what it was like to walk in these bustling streets. India was in a time of great change and this was noticeable in the way some buildings stood empty and in disrepair, while others sparkled with new paint. The city was in a state of flux and as at all such times fortunes were being made and lost. Asking around the docks, I was quickly able to ascertain Wills location and waited in the doorway of a building over the road out of sight. My vigil was soon rewarded as I watched Will leave the building in a great hurry accompanied by a tall blond Englishman whom I immediately recognized. “Richard!? What the devil are you doing here?” I stayed out of sight and watched as Richard and Will rounded a corner at a jog. I was feeling a distinct need to collect my thoughts. Walking back to the main street I entered one of the many coffee shops that lined it, ordered a pot of tea and sat back. Richard Montague, a name I hadn't considered in over a decade. The steam from the pot roiled in the air in front of me as I cast my mind back to my days as a soldier in her majesty’s armed forces, I was a young officer at a mess dinner on a balmy night in Calcutta 1857... As I walked through the doors I looked upon some of the most influential men in the army of the day. The first thing that struck me was the finery. Every man there was in his best uniform. The batsmen had been busy; scarlet reds, polished brass and blackened leather blazed in the candlelight. The ladies were divine in their evening gowns, sparkling jewellery matching sparkling eyes and dazzling smiles. The hubbub of conversation filled the room and I walked down the stairs flanked by a man I had met scarcely a month earlier. Another young captain by the name of Montague... We walked and greeted amongst the guests here tonight. Many of them were instantly forgettable, the same old soldiers telling the same stories I had heard a dozen times before. I was conversing with a Major of some great advanced age and a huge moustache , when I heard Richard pardoning himself into our conversation. "Major Fawstone, Captain Sadeian may I introduce Miss. Isabella Torrence…" I barely heard the Major’s bluff greeting to the young lady for I must admit that gentlemanly conduct briefly left my mind as I stared into those eyes… as blue as the winters first ice. Standing transfixed for a moment I quickly recovered and greeted the lady graciously, although looking back on it now, it was somewhat clumsy. She smiled, no doubt amused by my stumbling words. From this moment on the night changed from a stately occasion in which I would quickly have grown tired of the awkward conversation, into an evening transfixed by her wit and beauty. The wine flowed freely and I danced with her at every opportunity. We conversed on every subject under the sun . My mind was hers and thus it was that, damn fool I was, I forgot my friend Richard who became ever more drunk and sullen by the hour. I remember well it was as Isabella and I exited onto the veranda for some fresh air, we looked into each others eyes and kissed. We parted and I heard a voice to my left and turned to see Richard, his face incandescent with rage. In my wild mood I had not even seen him sitting in the shadows. "How dare you sir, making free with the lady I love. Tonight was to be the night I asked to court this lady and instead I watch her led off by a cad". By now many of the other officers were paying attention to the tirade. I tried to calm him but it was no good, like throwing a teacup of water into an inferno. I turned to Isabella for a moment to ask her to step inside while we discussed this like gentlemen. As I did this, I felt a fist slam into the side of my head. I was sent sprawling for a moment by the blow. "Crawl back to your whore, Captain". The good Captain thought he had knocked me for six but I was soon back to my feet. By now rage, drink and embarrassment had filled my mind and so it was that I issued a formal challenge to Richard, a duel at dawn for the honour of Miss Isabella. I was snapped back to the here and now by the tea wallah asking if he could refresh my pot, I think the man quickly saw by the look on my face that greater problems pressed on me than cold tea. Thus, he quickly made his way to the next table. I poured myself a fresh cup of tea and sat back sipping slowly at it, my free hand absent mindedly feeling the scar on my right arm. If Richard Montague was here in Calcutta and taking an interest in Will no good could come of it. |
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