Jani and the Greater Game (The Multiplicity Series Book 1) (44 page)

“And if he had died before reaching me, how would I have known what to do?”

In that eventuality, then the ventha would have instructed you what to do.

“It would?” she said incredulously.She shook her head and went on in desperation, “But the problem is, I don’t know where the ventha is! I don’t have it on me!”

But Janisha,
said the entity,
you do
...

It reached out a hand to her, and a second later she felt something stirring in her stomach. She became aware of a warm glow, a sensation that travelled up from her stomach, through her solar plexus and chest. She gagged, coughed, and the warmth then resided on her tongue – a small lozenge which she took from her mouth, wiped clean on her bodice, and held before her eyes in disbelief.

“The coin...”

When you were lying in the wreckage of the airship
,
before the Russians found you,
said the entity,
the ventha itself instructed you to take it from your pocket and place it in your mouth; this you did, and swallowed, and the ventha told you that you would recall nothing of its instructions, for safety’s sake.

“The ventha...” she said in awe.

The tithra-kun̄jī, Durga Das had called it... But how had
he
known?

And now I will entrust to you the ventha-di...

Jani stared at the entity’s outstretched hand, and something emerged from the porcelain smoothness of its palm: a jet black triangle, perhaps an inch and a half from base to apex, in which were three round recesses.

Take it,
said the entity,
and place your ventha in one of the receivers
.

Jani took the triangle and slipped her ventha into one of the holes; it fitted perfectly and, as she watched, the disc turned from silver to the jet colour of the ventha-di.

“And now?” she asked.

Now place the ventha-di upon your tongue, Janisha
.

She hesitated, then opened her mouth and inserted the ventha-di, and instantly she felt its warm glow. She swallowed involuntarily, and to her surprise the device slid down her throat like a spoonful of honey. She felt its glow travel down through her torso and come to rest in her stomach.

“And now?” she asked.

And now you will leave the ship, Janisha, and rendezvous with your colleagues. From India you will return to London.

“Jelch told me of his companion.”

There you will attempt to locate the venerable Mahran; he has in his possession the second ventha. When you have successfully located Mahran, you must together endeavour to seek out and obtain the third ventha.

“I promised Jelch,” she said.

And you have proved more than capable so far, Janisha Chatterjee
.

“You... you said that my world had fifty years before the Zhell might break the seal and invade... That fifty years, by my calculations, are up.”

That is so, and that is why your onward quest assumes utmost importance. Together with Mahran you might avert catastrophe. The Zhell are working to invade as we speak; already they are projecting avatars of themselves into this realm, in preparation.

She straightened her back and stared at the entity. “I will attempt to do my best,” she said. “But how will I locate the second Morn, this Mahran?”

He is presently incarcerated in London, in solitary confinement in a gaol known as Newgate.

“I will do my very best to find the Morn,” she said, “and effect his escape.”

The entity inclined its head – and she was reminded, painfully, of Jelch.

Jelch,
said the entity,
would have been proud of you. Now go.

She lifted a hand in a farewell gesture, and watched as the figure before her became ill-defined, its features smoothing out as it reverted to its columnar state and then sank into the porcelain floor.

She turned, emotion blocking her throat, and hurried up the incline towards the hexagonal corridor. She passed through the membrane and moved down the corridor, emerging onto the deck of level three and squinting at the dazzle of sunlight in the distance.

She paused at the top of the curving ramp and stared down at the ant-like activity below. Her heart kicked in panic for a second before she realised that she still wore the invisibility helmet. She reached up, as if for reassurance, and touched the chin-strap.

She hurried down the ramp, eager now to be away from the ship.

She moved past the workers ferrying technological treasures from the alien ship, remembering her earlier circumspection and slowing her pace. It would be a tragedy now if she were to be hasty and reveal her presence.

The sunlight was blinding as she emerged from the maw and crossed the apron. She stared beyond to the city with its familiar architecture, cars and rickshaws and crowds of noisy citizens. How mundane all this seemed now, in light of what the entity had told her. A multiplicity of worlds like the leaves of a book, she thought, existing all at once but a hairsbreadth from each other. She found the concept almost impossible to imagine.

And the Zhell, a marauding alien race who would stop at nothing to invade, enslave and slaughter innocent peoples... How far away that threat seemed when set against the everyday reality of the bustling city.

She wondered if Littlebody had succeeded in commandeering an airship, and if at this very moment he and Anand were waiting for her in the next valley. She hurried down the main boulevard away from the Vantissar ship, retracing the steps she had taken less than an hour ago.

She avoided the people that milled along the street, ever mindful of the crowds. She still found it hard to be entirely comfortable with the notion that she could not be seen; when the errant gaze of a paan-wallah strayed her way, her heart gave a jump – until his eyes focused on a point beyond her and she breathed with relief.

She turned from the main boulevard towards the roundabout, crossed it and took the road leading to the east of the city – heading for the hills. Soon she would be passing the jerry-built hovels that surrounded Annapurnabad. The alleys and byways there were crammed with humanity going about their business, and she would have to be extra vigilant.

Before she reached the area of hovels, she passed down a quiet street devoted to vendors of leather goods and shoe-makers. The reek of tanned hides filled the air, and tiny, dark-skinned Dalits worked at outdoor stalls cutting and shaping leather with razor-sharp paring knives.

Ahead rose the forested hills, and her heart skipped in anticipation.

She saw a thin, sharp-suited man leaning against a building a few yards ahead, absently paring his fingernails. He was vaguely familiar, although his face was turned away from her. Something about the cut of his suit, the way he negligently worked at his nails with an oversized knife...

As Jani hurried past him, the man looked up and spoke to someone in a doorway beside him, and his companion moved from the recess and filled the pavement with his bulk.

The huge man barrelled into her, smiling, and behind her the knifeman fumbled his hands over her body before clutching her arm and clamping a hand over her mouth.

As they dragged her into an alleyway, then through a gate and along a passageway between the buildings, she realised that they could not see her. Durga Das had been smiling, yes, but not directly at her; he had known where she was approximately, but not exactly. And the way Mr Knives had fumbled with her suggested that he too had been unable to see her. Even as she wondered how they had managed to find her, she found hope in the fact that she was still invisible.

If she could only wrest herself from Mr Knives’ grip, and lose herself down the alley...

She struggled with all her might, kicking out at her captor’s shins. He cursed and threatened to slit her throat, but if anything his grip on her tightened. She felt his hand move from her mouth, reach up and grasp the rim of her skullcap. He tugged, and the chin-strap tore at her flesh as he dragged the cap from her head and cast it aside.

She yelled aloud, hoping to attract someone’s attention – but Mr Knives clamped his sweaty hand over her mouth again and bundled her through another gate into a small courtyard, a patch of bright blue sky high above. He pushed her viciously and she stumbled and hit the far wall.

Durga Das closed the gate behind them and waddled forward, smiling at her. “It is so good,” he purred, “to
see
you again, Miss Chatterjee. Our last meeting, I recall, was rudely interrupted. But the gods serve those who serve the gods, as the old saying has it. We persevere, and we are rewarded. Fortune favours the righteous, and the devout.”

She stared up at him and spat, “I was followed! It’s only a matter of time before you’re found out–”

“Be quiet, Miss Chatterjee. We know you were not followed.”

Her voice faltered, “But you couldn’t see me...”

Durga Das smiled, his full lips curving sensuously. “We had other means of detecting your presence,” he said, “and we know that you were quite alone.”

Mr Knives was leaning against a whitewashed wall, examining the blade of his knife. It was as if they had never left the guest house at Rishi Tal and were resuming their confrontation where they had left off two days ago. Only this time, she knew, her skin would not be saved by the timely intervention of the Russians, or anyone else.

This time she would have to rely on her own resources.

Durga Das leaned forward over the rolls of his stomach. “Where is the tithra-kun̄jī, Miss Chatterjee?”

She shook her head. “You asked me that before, and as I answered then – I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Before she could react, Mr Knives stepped forward and struck out. Pain flared across her cheek. At first she thought he’d slashed her face with his knife. Then she saw that he’d reversed the weapon and struck her with its hilt.

She fell back against the wall, holding her cheek.

“A little foretaste, Miss Chatterjee,” said Durga Das, “of what is in store if you continue in this vein of wilful ignorance. We know what you were doing aboard the Vantissar ship, and that you have the ventha-di.” His smile increased at her shock. “And we will, if necessary, cut you open to get it.”

“Of course,” said Mr Knives, “you could co-operate and give us what we want... though, speaking personally I would rather cut you open.”

She shook her head wordlessly.

She was struck by a sudden thought: was it possible, she wondered, that Durga Das was in possession of one of the venthas? Was that why he wanted the device?

Durga Das turned his head slightly and muttered something; it was as if he were addressing a fourth person in the compound. She caught a brief blue flash in the air to the holy man’s left and felt a stab of fear.

Das snapped, “You lie! We
know
you entered the ship and were given the ventha-di. Now, we will quite happily open your stomach and take what we want, or you can give us the device. We are humane people, Miss Chatterjee...” He glanced at his companion and added, “At least, as a man of faith, I am... and I would rather see you leave here with your life.”

Her heart skipped. She had Jelch’s light-beam in her pocket. She felt a sudden surge of hope and tried not to let it show on her face.

She said, “You promise? If I give you the ventha-di, then you’ll let me live?”

She could see the lie in the priest’s eye as he replied, “You have my word.”

Mr Knives stepped forward, bringing the point of his knife to her throat. “So you admit it? You have the ventha-di!”

She tipped her head away from the blade and nodded. “I have it, but not where you think it is. I... I didn’t swallow it.”

“We were told...” Mr Knives began.

She reached for her pocket.

Mr Knives brandished his weapon again, making her flinch. Jani paused, her heart pounding.

Durga Das gestured. “No, let her...” he said, greed glittering in his eyes.

Slowly, carefully, planning what she would do when she had the light-beam out of her pocket, she slipped her fingers into the satin fold and clasped the tiny cylinder. She would have a split second, once it was out, to twist its base and bring forth the blade of light... and Mr Knives, she knew from recent experience, was lightning fast.

She closed her fingers around the cylinder and pulled it from her pocket. Quickly she turned the bevelled rim. A yard-long beam of rapier thin light sprang forth, and she leapt towards the pair and slashed the beam through the air.

Mr Knives screamed and something fell to the ground – his knife, with his right hand attached, its fingers still gripping the hilt. He staggered back against the far wall, his face torn with pain. Jani expected to see a fountain of blood, but the stump was cleanly cauterized, filling the air with the stench of cooked flesh.

She swung around and the light-beam tore across the holy man’s belly, slicing his robes and a roll of flesh. He cried out and staggered back, and Jani dashed between the men and hauled open the gate. She saw a blue flash ignite in the square behind her as she fled along the passage, heard Das cry something unintelligible in high-pitched Hindi.