Hawksworth rubbed his head in confusion and suddenly felt a hard lump where the club had dropped. The fear began to well up in his stomach as he remembered the stony-faced riders who had surrounded him in the river. But he pushed aside thoughts of death.
Dharma be damned. What did he mean, they're members of a clan descended from the "solar dynasty"? They're killers, looking for an excuse to plunder.
I'm not planning to die like a Rajput just yet. Or be reborn as one. Life is too sweet just as it is. I'm beginning to feel alive here, for the first time ever. Shirin is free. I've got a feeling I'll be seeing her again. Whatever happens, I don't care to die in this piss hole, with empty talk about honor. Think.
He remembered the river again, and quickly felt in his boot. The other pistol was still there.
We'll find a way to get out. Somehow. We may just lose a few days' time, that's all. We made good time so far. Six days. We left on Sunday, and we've been here two days. So today is probably Monday.
He suddenly froze.
"Where are the carts?"
"At the south end of the village. Where they have the chans, the cattle sheds. The drivers are there too."
"Is my chest there?"
"No. It's right there. Behind you." Vasant Rao pointed into the dark. "I told them it belonged to the Moghul, and they brought it here. I guess the Moghul still counts for something here. Maybe they're superstitious about him."