Zafir stepped into the room, Meera beside him. "We must speak to you, huzar.'' The fact that the Pathan used "huzar," the formal equivalent of the English "sir," was uncharacteristic and did not bode well. "On a matter of great significance."
"Then speak freely."
"We... happened to be in the royal banyan tree."
Ian's brows went up. "What on earth were you doing there? No, never mind, I can guess. Did you overhear something?"
Zafir nodded. "A conversation between the maharajah and an Afghan. They spoke in Persian, which Meera understands. She says they spoke of an invasion of India."
"Bloody hell!" Ian shared a look with Laura, both of them thinking the same thing: disaster was much closer than they realized. "Meera, tell me exactly what you heard."
Laura listened, her stomach tight. The girl's report brought Pyotr's scribbled notes from the realm of theory down to gritty reality. Within a matter of days, the Afghans would be invading, joining with tens of thousands of well-armed Dharjistani and Punjabi troops into a fire that would sear India.
How many Europeans would survive such a holocaust? How many peaceful natives would die once the dogs of war were unleashed?
Unlike Laura, Ian was growing progressively calmer as the situation worsened. She had never seen him look so dangerous. After telling Zafir and Meera what he and Laura had learned, he said, "Do you know where the Shpola Pass is?"
The Pathan shook his head. "I have heard the name, but I don't know exactly where it is. Only that it lies somewhere in Afridi territory. That's why I have never been there."
Ian thought for a moment, his brows drawn together. "Very well. Tomorrow, we'll leave Manpur. Once we're away from the city, you and the women will ride south. For the sake of safety and speed, leave Laura and Meera with your Uncle Habibur. When you get to Cambay, find my brother and give him the report I'll write tonight detailing what we've discovered. I'll go up to the frontier and try to find this Shpola Pass. When troops arrive, I can guide them right to it. A pass that small can be closed by a single company of soldiers.''
Zafir said, "Very good, huzar." His frivolity was gone and he had become a cold-eyed, deadly warrior.
Ian continued, "When you leave here, go to the city bazaar and buy tribal clothing for me, the ingredients to make skin stain, native harness for my horse. Go to a number of different shops so no suspicions will be aroused. You know the drill."
Before the Pathan could acknowledge the order, Laura said explosively, "No!"
The men turned toward her, Zafir startled, Ian, who knew her better, looking wary. Ignoring the Pathan, Laura fixed her husband with a steely eye. "If you're going to the frontier, Ian, I'm going with you."
Her words dropped into the room like stones. Voice calm but inexorable, Ian said, "That's out of the question."
She glared at him, equally inexorable, and much less calm. "No, it isn't. You're not going without me."
She was about to say more when Ian snapped, "Enough!"
When his gaze went to the Pathan, Laura realized that to quarrel with Ian in front of a subordinate was bad policy. Since her chance of changing his mind was much better in private, she held her tongue as he said to Zafir, "I'll get money for the bazaar so you can be off."
Laura used the next few moments to marshal her arguments. As soon as Ian said that she was to be sent to safety while he went north alone, she had been struck by violent anxiety. Though she refused to think about Srinivasa's nonsense, her own emotional, irrational nature was shouting that her husband would be safer if she stayed with him.
And maybe camels had wings and could fly like eagles. Insane to think that she could make a difference if the hand of fate was on Ian, and insane to even think of accompanying her husband to the frontier.
So be it. She might be insane, but she was damned well going with him.
Zafir left and Ian turned to her. Seeing her determination, his face became implacable. "I appreciate your loyalty, Laura, but this sort of mission is no place for a woman."
"How dangerous will it be?"
"Not very," he said. "I used to find straight military duty a little boring, so sometimes I got myself seconded to the political service. I've been over the frontier a number of times, and I can pass as a native reasonably well."
"With your coloring?" she said dubiously.
His mouth quirked. "You'd be surprised how convincing I am with my skin dyed and a turban over my hair. My beard even grows out the same red as the henna dye some Muslims use on their beards. More important, I know the languages and customs. But I'm not going to be in any danger, Laura. This is simply a short reconnaissance to locate the Shpola Pass. Then, when British troops arrive, they'll be able to bottle up the Shpola and the Khyber and send reinforcements to the fort at Jallalabad."