Tom Swift and His Polar-Ray Dynasphere (11 page)

The taxi driver asserted his ability to function as a tour guide. They taxied along the scenic Marine Drive, then up past beautiful hanging gardens to the top of Malabar Hill. With Chowpatty Beach spread out below, the boys had a breathtaking view of the seaside city.

It was now almost noon, so the boys had the taximan take them to the New Mahaputraji Hotel overlooking the water, where they were to meet Prince Vusungira and Harlan Ames for lunch. Nearby stood an imposing arch which the driver said was called the Gateway to India.

Ames had arrived early at the hotel lounge, which opened out onto the patio restaurant, choked with businessmen and gaudy tourists. The Prince and his bodyguard soon arrived, and they repaired to a large table at the edge of the patio, beneath a canopy-like umbrella.

Tom asked the Crown Prince if he had heard of Yamantaka. "I have," was the reply, "although I had not noticed the resemblance to the tattoo. In the religion of Vishnapur, Yamantaka is not a divine being but a deceiving spirit, one of many. It is his way to promise mortals great power, then snatch it away."

Once again Tom was reminded of Prince Jahan. His power had indeed been snatched from his grasp unexpectedly, by his own father. Could die-hard followers of Jahan be seeking revenge? Or restoration?

"Look at that," nodded Ames. Near the beach, a flock of movie cameras and trailers had been set up.

"Bollywood!" laughed Vusungira. "Mumbai produces even more motion pictures than Hollywood does! Perhaps this will be the future of Vishnapur as well."

The four were able to watch the shooting of the film as they lunched. With the bay for its backdrop, they gathered that the story took place during the British
Raj
of the 19th Century. Troops in British mufti swarmed back and forth on cue—with retakes—their polished rifles emitting puffs of smoke, but no sound. "They’ll dub in all the sounds later," Bud explained.

There were also Hindu-costumed men, outfitted with sabres and dirks as well as guns. It appeared that there was a subplot involving personal hatreds or rivalries. As the bulk of the battle moved away, two of the Indian characters engaged in swordplay, evidently fighting a duel that sent them darting vigorously along the periphery of the field of battle. As they neared the patio, they suddenly tossed their swords aside and rushed together in hand-to-hand combat.

"I fear American fantasy has come to dominate our films," commented the Crown Prince. "No doubt one of these men is the latest ‘action hero’."

The patio audience watched raptly as the duel danced right up to the balustrade. The two men stopped fighting and backed away from one another, panting heavily. Then they drew pistols.

"Watch for the blood squibs," Bud grinned.

Then the men suddenly turned toward Tom’s table with respectful smiles. "Your Highness," said one of the men in a low voice, nodding slightly. As Vusungira nodded back, the man added in a near whisper:

"I beg your pardon, but I must ask you to rise calmly and join me. You others must remain seated. Make no sound, no commotion. These pistols are not props, but we do not wish to kill."

With a smile, and a broad wink toward the other diners on the patio, the man aimed his pistol toward Tom’s table and fired!

TOM and his party jolted back in shock at the very authentic report of the gun as a tiny hole winked into existence in the canopy just above Prince Vusungira! The patio crowd started—then murmured appreciatively at the realistic open-air entertainment.

The prince stared but showed no emotion. He nodded once and stood.

"
Eysan maja’nehjhi
!" gasped Vusungira’s bodyguard in protest, but the Crown Prince silenced him with a curt gesture.

"Your Majesty," began Tom in a whisper, but the prince interrupted.

"I will do as he asks. I will not endanger this crowd. Remain seated.
Brimonghu, ni abqong d’yomtala
." The bodyguard reluctantly lowered the gun he had drawn.

Tom and Bud watched in breathless suspense as Vusungira left the patio and approached the two men, who held their pistols casually but were clearly ready to use them to make a point.

Tom could see Bud’s muscles bunched beneath his shirt. "Flyboy, we should do as Vusungira told us," urged the young inventor quietly.

But Bud was already on the rise. "He’s not King
yet
!"

Prince Vusungira was steps away from the man who had spoken, who now gestured for the Prince to precede him in the direction of the shoreline, where a small motorboat bobbed. The three began to stroll across the broad lawn.

Then the growl of a motor surged across the bay. The three halted suddenly as a speedboat came roaring into view, arrowing toward the beach! "Look—the kidnappers didn’t expect this!" Tom exclaimed. In moments the speedboat slammed into the shore and four men, daggers drawn, sprang out!

"Now, Tom?"

"Okay."

As the four thugs from the boat rushed toward him, Vusungira turned to meet their attack. As if forgetting the guns in their hands the two kidnappers fell back in confusion as the four men charged them like a football phalanx, daggers targeting not only the prince but the kidnappers as well.

But Bud Barclay was first on the scene, Tom, Harlan Ames, and the bodyguard, Brimonghu, a few legs back. The athletic youth threw himself at the dagger-wielder approaching Vusungira, knocking the man’s arm skyward and sending the dagger spinning away. The man bellowed and shot a fist at Bud’s head, barely ducked.

What followed was indeed a battle royal with eleven participants—reduced to nine as the original two kidnappers whirled and fled across the hotel lawn toward the boulevard. The Shoptonians and Brimonghu struggled to pry the determined attackers away from the prince, with many a thud but little progress. Vusungira engaged in wily combat with his dagger-slashing opponent, landing a few blows and dancing away. But the prince took a misstep. The bearded attacker seized his chance and felled Vusungira with a blow to the head.

"
Your Majesty!
" choked Tom.

"I’ve got him," gritted Ames, loping over to yank the prince to his feet and shove him violently away from the bearded
dacoit
.

The four attackers hesitated for an instant, regrouping for a fresh charge en masse. Yet it was only a feint. As Bud swiveled to take a stronger defensive position, one thug darted sideway toward him with a startling leap, dagger raised high and arcing toward the youth’s neck!

Before Tom could voice a warning cry, the daggerman crumpled backwards as a rock struck like a meteor! It hit him on the temple, knocking him to the ground before the dagger could strike.

"
T’ya batt!
" barked the bearded man, and all four dug out toward the speedboat. The battle was over. The panting, doubled-over defenders watched as the boat roared away.

After a few moments of silence, Tom became aware of a new sound. The crowd on the patio was giving them a standing ovation!

"I—I want—profit participation," gasped Bud.

The rock thrower came trotting up. "What in God’s name was
that
about?" he exclaimed.

"Y-you have a pretty good arm, Mr. Mortlake," panted Tom. "And a great sense of timing."

Hugh Mortlake grinned. "I’d say! I hope you don’t think I’m following you fellows. Actually, I had dined in the hotel and was watching the movie shoot when it seemed things were going a bit awry."

"You have my gratitude, sir," pronounced Prince Vusungira, "and the gratitude of the people of Vishnapur."

"My neck says thanks too," Bud added.

Ames was studying the man keenly, but his words were directed toward Vusungira and his bodyguard. "Prince, it’s my job to protect Tom and Bud, even on vacation. I need to know what’s behind all this. Two men try to kidnap you, four men interrupt and try to
kill
you. Are there aspects to the political situation in Vishnapur that you haven’t quite bothered to tell us about?"

The Crown Prince shook his head slowly. "I respect your loyalty and responsibilities, Mr. Ames, but I know no more than you do. We Vishnapuri are largely a peaceful people. It is not our way to settle differences through violence."

The bodyguard muttered in halting English, "To touch disrespectfully the son of the sacred
Nej’h
—unthinkable!"

"All the royals are sacred." Mortlake winked in Tom’s direction. "Perhaps Yamantaka didn’t care to be looked over by an American."

"Perhaps it was Mr. Mukerji who didn’t care to be looked over," was Tom’s quiet response.

Mortlake shook hands with Vusungira and said, "Your Highness, we may meet again very soon. I intend to fly to Vishnapur quick as my business here in Mumbai is done, probably a matter of a day or two. I’m anxious to see your country, now that it’s opened its doors to tourism."

Tom said, "The least we can do is fly you there in our jet."

But the young Londoner shook his head. "No, wouldn’t dream of it. The timing’s a little uncertain—might hold you up. But Vishnapur’s pretty compact. We’re sure to bump into one another."

"Bring your rocks," Bud advised.

The Mumbai police were reassuringly cooperative but offered no clue as to the identities of the kidnappers or the attackers. According to the movie company the two men had been hired as extras and were otherwise unknown to them. Their "duel" and subsequent actions were entirely unscripted.

Tom was determined to allow the vacation to proceed. The next day, the prince having hired several armed bodyguards to provide extra protection for all of them, the young inventor suggested, "Let’s visit those cave temples at Elephanta we’ve heard so much about."

Everyone readily agreed. The group taxied to the ferry landing and boarded a jammed motor launch for the island of Elephanta, six miles across the harbor.

The beautiful little island had two long hills with a valley between. Picnickers were lounging among the trees. After picking up some guide booklets, the small convoy accompanied other tourists from the landing stage to the main cave, Ganesh Gupha. It had been excavated in a terrace of rock. Wide steps, flanked by elephants of weathered stone, led up to the temple entrance.

Inside, the American visitors were struck with awe by the huge sculptures of Indian gods and goddesses, frozen forever in voluptuous dance. Most imposing of all was the Trimurti—a three-headed figure of Siva, Vishnu, and Brahman, carved from living rock.

"Mighty impressive," Bud remarked. "Maybe a little spooky! I’d
swear
it just moved."

"I have always admired the artistry of India," said Prince Vusungira. "My people were architects, but never sculptors."

As they came out into the sun, Ames discreetly drew Tom and Bud aside. "Thinking things over like a security chief," he said quietly, "I have a couple problems with what happened yesterday."

"The attack on Vusungira?" asked Tom.

"That one’s obvious. What I have in mind right now is Mr. Hugh Mortlake."

Bud expressed surprise. "I’m jealous of his pitching arm, but other than that he’s been a real help all the way around."

Ames shrugged slightly. "But a few pieces don’t quite fit. Tom, didn’t you tell me that Mortlake had said in the shop that he was here on vacation? But an hour later, it’s suddenly ‘business’ with an uncertain schedule. Sure, maybe just a careless choice of words, but—I have this habit of
wondering
."

"So do I," Tom nodded. "And we don’t really know that he
didn’t
follow us to the hotel by car. He could be in league with one of the groups that targeted the Prince—or both of them."

Bud gulped. "Good night, you mean it really
was
just some kind of performance?"

"My throbbing head tells me it was a little more than that, Bud," Ames noted ruefully. "I can only say that as far as
I’m
concerned, Hugh Mortlake is another of those ‘persons of interest’."

"And," Tom added thoughtfully, "we can expect to see him in Vishnapur." His voice bore a frown.

The
Sky Queen
lifted off in the early afternoon. Flying over the hazy blue mountains beyond Mumbai, they streaked across the great Indian subcontinent and finally passed over the Ganges River, giver of life, sacred to the Hindus. Soon the green foothills and snowy peaks of the Himalayas loomed in the distance.

A land of steep gorges, emerald valleys, and rocky uplands came into view as the Flying Lab zoomed out of the clouds toward Vishnapur’s capital city of Chullagar. Tom had radioed ahead that they would land shortly before two o’clock.

The raw dirt airfield lay just outside the city. As the
Sky Queen
touched down, Tom glimpsed two outmoded twin-engine planes poking into the sunlight from a wooden hangar. Prince Vusungira said these were the King’s aircraft. A helicopter also stood on the field. "That belonged to my late uncle, King Gopal, who was a skilled pilot," the Crown Prince added. "Now it is Jahan’s."

"
That’ll
bring the country into the new millennium!" Bud remarked. "Flying’s a pretty exciting recreation, Vusungira—better than racecar driving."

"In our cramped valleys there is no room for a racetrack—barely enough room for roads. But as for me, I shall stick to my cooking."

As the passengers disembarked and the engineering students went their separate ways, a smiling, turbaned man with a twirled mustache came out to greet them, followed by several aides. The prince introduced him as Phudrim, chief minister to
Q’Maja Nej’h
Glaudiunda kug Shajhyamind. "Do forgive our very lengthy names and titles, with their many syllables," smiled Phudrim. "To say ‘King Glaudiunda’ is most acceptable. He is out of the city today, regrettably. On his behalf, welcome to Vishnapur!"

"I thank you," replied Tom, "on behalf of my countrymen and my father."

The minister explained that he also served as the King’s special advisor on matters of engineering and technical development. "I am especially happy that you are here, Tom, as we all know the many great achievements of your family. Imagine!—to walk on the moon and beneath the sea, to build a road that flies above the treetops!"