"You bore me! Go!" Dilip fled to the front room, and Torrance lay back in the hammock. He was indeed bored.

He had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Most nights he would go to Naig's tents and there drink, gamble and wh.o.r.e, but he could hardly visit the green pavilion this night, not after stringing Naig up by the neck.

d.a.m.n it, he thought. He glanced at the table where a book, a gift from his father, lay unopened. The first volume of Some Reflections on Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians by the Reverend Courtney Mallison, and it would be a frigid day in the devil's house before Torrance read that turgid tome. The Reverend Mallison had been Torrance's childhood tutor, and a vicious beast he had been. A whipper, that was Mallison.

Loved to whip his pupils. Torrance stared at the ceiling. Money. It was all down to money. Everything in the d.a.m.ned world was down to money. Make money, he thought, and he could go home and make Courtney Mallison's life a misery. Have the b.a.s.t.a.r.d on his knees. And Mallison's daughter. Have that prim b.i.t.c.h on her back.

There was a knock on the door.

"I said I didn't want to be disturbed!"

Torrance shouted, but despite his protest the door opened and the muslin billowed inward, letting in a flutter of moths.

"For Christ's sake," Torrance cursed, then fell abruptly silent.

He fell silent, for the first man through the door was ajetti, his bare torso gleaming with oil, and behind him came the tall man with a limp, the same man who had pleaded for Naig's life. His name was Jama, and he was Naig's brother, and his presence made Torrance acutely aware of his nudity. He swung off the hammock and reached for his dressing gown, but Jama twitched the silk garment off the chair back.

"Captain Torrance," he said with a bow.

"Who let you in?" Torrance demanded.

"I expected to see you in our small establishment tonight, Captain," Jama said. Where his brother had been plump, noisy and a braggart, Jama was lean, silent and watchful.

Torrance shrugged.

"Maybe tomorrow night?"

"You will be welcome, Captain, as always. "Jama took a small sheaf of papers from his pocket and fanned his face with them.

"Ten thousand welcomes, Captain."

Ten thousand rupees. That was the value of the papers in Jama's hand, all of them notes signed by Torrance. He had signed far more, but the others he had paid off with supplies filched from the convoys. Jama was here to remind Torrance that his greatest debts remained unpaid.

"About today..." Torrance said awkwardly.

"Ah, yes!" Jama said, as though he had momentarily forgotten the reason for his visit.

"About today, Captain. Do tell me about today." The jetti said nothing, just leaned against the wall with folded arms, his oiled muscles shining in the candlelight and his dark eyes fixed immovably on Torrance.

"I've already told you. It wasn't of my doing," Torrance said with as much dignity as a naked man could muster.

"You were the one who demanded my brother's death," Jama said.

"What choice did I have? Once the supplies were found?"

"But perhaps you arranged for them to be found?"

"No!" Torrance protested.

"Why the h.e.l.l would I do that?"

Jama was silent a moment, then indicated the huge man at his side.

"His name is Prithviraj. I once saw him castrate a man with his bare hands." Jama mimed a pulling action, smiling.

"You'd be astonished at how far a little skin can stretch before it breaks."

"For G.o.d's sake!" Torrance had gone pale.

"It was not my doing!"

"Then whose doing was it?"

"His name is Sharpe. Ensign Sharpe."

Jama walked to Torrance's table where he turned the pages of Some Reflections on Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians.

"This Sharpe," he asked, 'he was not obeying your orders?"

"Of course not!"

Jama shrugged.

"My brother was careless," he admitted, 'over confident. He believed that with your friendship he could survive any enquiry."

"We were doing business," Torrance said.

"It was not friendship. And I told your brother he should have hidden the supplies."

"Yes,"Jama said, 'he should. And so I told him also. But even so, Captain, I come from a proud family. You expect me to watch my brother killed and do nothing about it?" He fanned out the notes of Torrance's debts.

"I shall return these to you, Captain, when you deliver Ensign Sharpe to me. Alive! I want Prithviraj to take my revenge. You understand?"

Torrance understood well enough.

"Sharpe's a British officer," he said.

"If he's murdered there'll be an enquiry. A real enquiry. Heads will be broken."

"That is your problem, Captain Torrance," Jama said.

"How you explain his disappearance is your affair. As are your debts." He smiled and pushed the notes back into the pouch at his belt.

"Give me Sharpe, Captain Torrance, or I shall send Prithviraj to visit you in the night. In the meantime, you will please continue to patronize our establishment."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Torrance said, but Jama and his huge companion had already gone. Torrance picked up Some Reflections on Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians and slammed the heavy book down on a moth.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he said again. But on the other hand it was Sharpe who would suffer, not him, so it did not really matter. And what was Sharpe anyway? Nothing but an upstart from the ranks, so who would care if he died? Torrance killed another moth, then opened the kitchen door.