She would not submit! Never!
Her progress slowed—stopped altogether—
Slowly, Shivani began to pull her back.
In one final effort, Maya hurled herself forward—not all of her self, but just a tiny thread connected to a miniature javelin, a little anchor, the most invisible of grapples to connect her to a source of additional, clean strength. And the thread caught, held, fused—
She gave up the fight, and let Shivani bring her back like a dog on a leash, or a fish on a line. But behind her that thinnest, barely perceptible thread unreeled, and the magic of the Earth pulsed up it, giving her renewed strength and hope.
Shivani, however, gloated in triumph as she brought Maya back to her place above the altar. “You stupid, stubborn brat!” Shivani crowed. “I am older, stronger, and far cleverer than you! And very, very soon you will know just how little you can do against me. Look there—”
She gestured to the side of the altar, where there was a small mirror of black glass lying on a square of red silk. Maya looked closer at what seemed to be an entirely innocuous object, and to her horror, she realized that there was—something in it.
No, not something. Someone. A tortured spirit, more than half mad, imprisoned within the circle of ensorceled glass. A movement of Shivani’s hands caught Maya’s attention, and she saw that Shivani held up a similar mirror for her inspection.
“This one will shortly be your home, English witch,” Shivani said sweetly. “Examine it as much as you please for the next hour or so. It will be the last time you see it again from the outside.”
With her own laughter ringing through the temple, the priestess of Kali Durga went back to her magics, leaving her victim to contemplate the fate her captor had designed for her with a sinking, terror-filled heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
ALMSLEY passed the falcon Mala to Gupta, glove and all, and peered around the corner of the building from the place where their party huddled in the alley. Peter was already burdened with Charan and Rhadi, Norrey with Sia and Singhe. Almsley would lead the initial assault force of Norrey’s “mates,” breaking into the building and distracting the dacoits, while Norrey, Gupta, and Peter tried to find the temple and the priestess. It would, of course, be hidden—but the moment that Gupta had pointed that out, Rhadi had leaned down and whispered into Peter’s ear a single clear word.
“Guide.”
From that moment, Peter had no doubt that they would be able to find the temple.
Footpad stealth and Almsley’s magic had gotten them here from the place where they left the cabs without being detected, so far as they knew. Nisha the owl had made several flights to ensure that they were not observed from above, and Peter had never been so thankful for an owl’s silent flight. The owl had found nothing—or at least, if she had found anyone, she had taken care of the problem without anything being heard where they waited below. Now, though, there was nothing for it. They would have to make a dash into the open, across the narrow street, to rush the door. There was no other way to break into the building.
“Ready?” Almsley whispered. His motley army nodded, and clutched their weapons.
Peter had expected them to charge across the street shouting; they didn’t. They poured across the street in deadly silence that was somehow more menacing than war cries. The only sound came when their leader kicked the door open and they rushed inside.
After that, though, came a pistol shot, and the sounds of fighting: blows of fist, foot, or lead-pipe on flesh; grunts and yelps; scuffling feet; bodies hitting walls.
Peter’s group waited in cover, Peter’s heart racing and his body tense with strain, to see how the initial attack went. Almsley’s men were to clear the dacoits from the door, and if they could, carry the fight far enough into the building that Peter and his crew could get inside undetected.
The door remained open, now sagging by one hinge. The sounds of fighting grew more distant and muffled.
Gupta nodded, and the remaining three dashed across the street, the owl flying in close formation behind Norrey. They darted inside the shattered door and found themselves in an antechamber that had probably once served as an office for this warehouse, lit by a pair of gas fixtures above the fireplace. Now, it was clearly serving as a guard room. Two of the guards still remained on the floor, two dacoits in dark cotton tunics and bloused pants, with the characteristic scarlet strangling cords at the belts and scarlet scarves around their heads. One was unconscious, the other dead. Beyond them was an open door. There were no furnishings besides a couple of chairs that would serve only for kindling at this point.
The owl waddled up behind them from the outer doorway, and Gupta took her up on his fist. Norrey put Sia and Singhe down on the floor and accepted Mala and his glove from Gupta. The mongooses nosed the bodies sprawled amid the broken chairs, then looked up at Peter.
“Forward,” Rhadi whispered. Peter nodded at the open door, through which the ongoing sounds of struggle still came, but distantly.
“Through there,” he said, as Rhadi bobbed agreement. Gupta drew his broad, curved sword and went through first.
They entered a huge and mostly empty room. A faint glow of light came from the room behind them and the ceiling far above; just enough to give them the sense of the size of the room, but not the shape nor the contents. The ceiling light was more like a smear of foxfire than an actual light, and Peter thought that he recalled the thugee cult using foxfire or something like it in lieu of other illumination to strengthen their night vision. A faint, darker rectangle opposite them marked what might be a door on the other side of the cavernous warehouse.
“I don’t like this place,” he muttered. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something wrong here, as if this warehouse was something more—
And that was when two enormous cobras, shining with a sickly yellow light of their own, suddenly reared up between them and the next doorway.
The door behind them slammed shut.
“Hell!” he shouted, frantically scrambling backward, heart pounding and every nerve thrilling with atavistic fear. Norrey screamed; Gupta shouted something in Urdu. Both of them stood frozen against the unholy glare surrounding the cobras.
Peter had never seen snakes this size. Rearing up on their coils with hoods spread, hissing, they were easily as tall as he. They were black, completely black, without the characteristic “eyes” on the backs of their hoods, each scale outlined in yellow phosphorescence. He fumbled for the revolver Almsley had given him as they swayed, hissing, their malevolent little eyes glittering like tiny rubies.
But Sia and Singhe were faster than their human companions.
Backs humped, fur bristling, teeth bared, they advanced on the cobras stiffly. The serpents, in their turn, were alerted by the movement, and fixed their attention on the mongooses.
“Right,” Rhadi whispered into Peter’s ear.
Moving slowly—for although the cobras had fixated on their hereditary enemy, the humans were all still in reach of those deadly fangs—Peter inched forward to touch Norrey’s sleeve. She shook off her paralysis to look out of the corner of her eye at him; the hell-glare surrounding the snakes at least gave them some illumination to see each other by. He jerked his head to the right; she managed to ease herself backward until she had her back against the wall, then edged crabwise along it. Her movement took Gupta’s attention from the cobras. He saw what she was doing, and did the same. And finally Peter backed up, to discover by touch that the door that had been there was there no longer.