I have dispatched notice to all the captains aboard Sanct' Germain's ships and all the warehouse supervisors, to be alert for Sanct' Germain; I have provided two ways for them to be sure the man they have is the authentic Sanct' Germain, and have promised a reward to any of them who are able to assist him in coming to Alexandria or Rome. It may be an empty gesture, but I must do something, for sitting here waiting is taking its toll on me, and I would far rather attempt too much than do too little. He is not in Tunis or Spain now, but he might as well be. I am determined to aid him however I can. If you have suggestions of what more I can do, I ask that you send me word of them, and at once.
This, by my own hand on the 29th day of May in the year of the Roman Church 1400,
Rogerian
10
Crossing the pass had been grueling, requiring most of the day to accomplish; the heat had left the men and animals staggering, and the long descent was steeper than the climb had been. Nine men had fallen to their deaths, six of them taking their horses with them, as they tried to keep on the expanse of broken rocks that were the footing on the road just past the crest. The wagons had slithered on the polished stone, and the elephants had had to be led carefully across the swath, fidgeting every step of the way.
"We lost our chance," said Tulsi as she pulled her wagon to the side of the road as they made it to the first safe place; many other wagons were gathered there, more than half of them needing attention to wheels and harness.
"We have one remaining," Sanat Ji Mani reminded her; he was lying in the bed of the wagon, out of the inexorable sun; the skin had begun to peel off the backs of his hands and his forehead and cheeks had blackened.
"Do you mean dying? They are watching you constantly: how do you plan to convince them you are dead when you are not?" she asked, glancing around as if she feared being overheard by one of their escorts, although neither man spoke the dialect of Timur-i's troops.
"But I am," he said gently.
"Not like that," she said, unwilling to be cajoled.
"I do not know, yet. I have the glimmer of a plan, but nothing more." He pulled a length of heavy cotton over him. "I think my foot may provide the answer."
"Your foot? How?" Tulsi secured the reins, then prepared to get down to examine her mules. "Tell me when I return."
"Remember to check their legs for heat. They could come up lame if—" Sanat Ji Mani called after her.
"I will," she promised, interrupting him before she swung down to
the ground, going to the mules and starting with the off-side one; the animal was sweating and fussing, still edgy from mincing across the slick slabs of rock. The off-side mule was the more fretful of the two, laying back his ears and champing at his bit as Tulsi began to check him over, noticing only that he was showing signs of over-exertion; although he had been standing for a while, the mule's breathing was still labored. The on-side mule was not in much better shape, being only a bit calmer than his partner; sweat flecked his coat and clung to the harness, and darkened his coat. He was fussy when Tulsi rubbed down his legs, seeking out hot tendons and joints; at one point he bared his teeth and tried to swing his head around to bite, but was thwarted by the harness.
"How are they?" Sanat Ji Mani asked as Tulsi came to the rear of the wagon, trying to get out of earshot of their escort.
"Worn out," she answered. "The on-side mule may have a splint forming. I will look again in an hour or so, to see if the bone is still tender."
"That could be a real problem," said Sanat Ji Mani as he listened to the shouts around them. "The Rajput does not have many mules to spare."
"No doubt he will find one for you," said Tulsi. "He does not want you to fall behind."
"You are angry," he said.
"Are you not?" she countered. "We are caught in a dangerous game. What will become of us when the Rajput decides that he has been fooled, and you are not Timur-i? Do you think he will forgive you your deception?"
"I have told him I am not Timur-i from the first he spoke of it," said Sanat Ji Mani, but in a tone that lacked conviction.
"Do you think he will remember? or care?" Tulsi demanded. "If you are going to get us away from here, it must be soon, before he has lost a battle and holds you accountable for it. And do not doubt that he will."
"I know you are right," said Sanat Ji Mani, his face set in strong lines of concern which she could hardly see in the gloom of the wagon's interior.
"Then what are we to do?" Tulsi left the question between them as she went back to the front of the wagon and signaled to the two officers escorting them. "This mule," she said awkwardly in the dialect of Devapur, as she touched the on-side mule, "hurt. He cannot pull. Get another."
The two officers exchanged wary glances, and one of them said, "You cannot be left alone."
"One of you go," said Tulsi, letting the words clunk together like the toys of clumsy children. "I will not move."
"If the mule is hurt, she cannot," said the other. "You go get a replacement and I will keep guard here."
"It may take a while," said the first. "I will bring the two Kheb brothers back with me, so we will be relieved for the night."
"Very good," said the second. "I will keep on guard here. There are other wagons here, as well, and it should suit the Rajput's purpose to have a soldier or two on duty."
"So it might," said the first as he prepared to start down the incline to where the greatest part of the army was regrouping after their harrowing day.
"Tell the Rajput where we are, and why," the second reminded him. "Do not leave it to some subordinate to do."
"I will," said the first, and sat back as his dark-chestnut began to pick his way down the hill.
"You should have another mule by sundown," said the second officer to Tulsi.
"Then we will stay here," said Tulsi.
"Through the night, of course," said the officer. "It would be too dangerous, trying to get down that road in the dark." He regarded Tulsi for a long moment. "You do not understand half of what I am saying, do you?"
Tulsi cocked her head. "The road is hard," she agreed as if trying to figure out the rest, which she comprehended perfectly.
"Yes," said the officer. "The road is hard." He dismounted and led his horse a short distance away to where a small rivulet sprang out of the rocky hillside. "Your mules will want water. Water," he repeated, bending to flick his fingers in the narrow stream.
"Yes," said Tulsi. "I will bring…" Shemimeda pail.
"Very good," said the officer.
Tulsi pointed to the covered part of the wagon and, seeing the officer nod, climbed inside. "I am getting a pail for water," she said to Sanat Ji Mani. "He is a dunce, that one, thinking I know nothing more than a baby," she said in her own tongue.
"Which is what you want him to think," Sanat Ji Mani reminded her. "It suits your purpose to have him think you know less than you do." He watched her pull the pail from her chest of supplies. "You might take that smaller bowl, say that you need water for me."
She stopped and looked at him. "Why would I do that? You do not need water."
"If you say my fever is up, it would be useful," he added. "Tell him my foot has swollen."
Tulsi was still for a long moment. "I think I understand," she said, beginning to smile.
"Let him think I am getting worse, and that will help us." He touched her shoulder very gently. "Sound worried."
"I will," she said, beginning to enter into his intentions. "I will not say very much, just enough to cause a little apprehension."
"Very good," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You will do well."
"That is my plan; to do it well enough that he comes to conclusions I do not tell him to." She took her pail and a large metal bowl, then clambered out of the wagon and went to get water, returning a short while later. After she had given water to the mules, she climbed back into the wagon. "He listened," she said, almost grinning. "I did not say much, only that you were hot and your foot had started bleeding again."
"Did he ask you anything?" Sanat Ji Mani wondered aloud.
"Only: was I concerned," she said, and provided her answer before he could speak. "I said I was not; very curt and emphatic in my tone."
"And he will know that you are worried," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"Of course. He will think I am afraid for you, but do not want anyone to know I am." She sat down next to him. "Here is the water. What are you going to do?"
"Let a little blood get into it," he said. "Mine, not yours," he added
hastily. "Then have you dump it where one of our escort can see it. Say nothing when you do, just dispose of it as if you do not want it seen."
She managed to contain an excited giggle. "This is fun. I like fooling them."
"Tulsi, be careful," said Sanat Ji Mani, thinking back to the punishments the Rajput had described to him: dismemberment of their escorts and the scraping through a net for themselves seemed far too real to lend much savor to their deception. "As preposterous as Hasin Dahele may seem, do not forget he is a powerful ruler and his whim is etched in stone."
"Is that why you want him to think you are dying?" Tulsi asked, her demeanor changing suddenly from amused to serious.
"It is a good reason, Tulsi; I do not want anyone hurt on my account. Yet I want to get us away from here, beyond the Rajput's reach." He laid his hand over hers. "In the morning, you will say to the escort that I had a hard night. Nothing more than that."
"All right," she said, a glimmer of her humor returning.
"Do not give them any reason to doubt you," he warned her. "We are playing a very desperate game."
"I will not forget," she told him. "I will give them no reason to think I am playing with them." She sat back. "I suppose you are going to unwrap your foot."
"I am," he said.
"A pity you have none of your medicaments left," said Tulsi, turning away. "It must hurt."
"Yes," he said, and did not add that none of the powders, tinctures, or ointments could provide him succor. "Water will at least get it clean."
"Is that desirable?" She was mildly upset at the notion.
"It is," said Sanat Ji Mani, and shifted to a position where he could pull off his boot again. "Do we have any more wraps like these?"
"A few," she said.
"Then be sure to throw these out along with the water, and tomorrow ask for more of them. The Rajput should agree to supply them." He tugged his boot off with some effort. "This must not hap
pen too quickly. Tomorrow night you should say I am not improved, but behave as if I am worse."
She was listening closely now, her full concentration on him. "How long do you plan to languish?"
"Four days should be enough," he said. "I doubt there will be an opportunity to engage an enemy before then, and I do not want to have the Rajput be able to blame you, or those four men escorting us, for what becomes of me." He closed his eyes a moment, trying not to recall Hasin Dahele's causal bloody-mindedness. "You and I must make our plans in the next two days." He began to unwrap his injured foot. "Good. There is blood enough on these wraps. It should convince Hasin Dahele that something is amiss."
"And it is not?" she asked, looking at the bloody rags.
"No. You have seen how slowly I mend." He dropped the first bandage into the water. "I will heal."
"In time," she added for him.
"In time," he agreed, and began to remove the second wrapping.
She watched, revolted and fascinated. "What shall we do when you—?"
"When I appear to die?" he asked, continuing with his task. "Why, build a funeral pyre and set me on it. Just be certain the wood is very green and that there are oil-soaked cloths in amongst the wood as well, so that there will be enough smoke to let me escape without notice. Ask to light the fire yourself, as my companion. Also say you must prepare my body. They should allow you that." He put the second wrapping in the basin and began on the innermost bandage. "This is a little sticky."
"You can soak it off," Tulsi recommended.
"So I will," he said, moving the basin so that he could put his foot into it. "About the pyre: make sure it billows smoke. There must be a tremendous amount of smoke."
"There will have to be fire," she said, her spirits somewhat dampened.
"Yes, there will," he concurred.
"Fire is dangerous— deadly to vampires," she reminded him.
"That it is," he said. "If there were time before we reach an opponent, I might be able to think of something else; we will encounter
foes very soon. We have passed enough villages that someone must have sent word to their Rajput that Hasin Dahele has brought his army through the pass. So it is safer to take a chance with the fire than waiting for battle or for the Rajput to turn on us." He gave her a long, steady look. "You do not want that."
