Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 3 - Death in Delhi by Gary Gygax Page A
Authors: Gary Gygax
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thieves bent on more than robbery, each offered only hazards. Better to play off lost time against likely capture, danger, or death. Those would come of their own accord as things progressed. No sense in asking for them sooner than need be.
Inhetep was determined to arrive in Delhi unbeknownst to any, maharajah and miscreants alike. Then he and Rachelle could do some special investigative work before announcing themselves and formally accepting the commission of Sivadji Guldir, handed down to them from his famed Peacock Throne. The gift and promised reward were far too grand for what had been stolen. More was at stake, and without knowing the true scope of it all, there was no chance of success. It would be like playing a game without being told the rules regarding victory.
He didn't want Rachelle to worry about all that, so he played little pranks, put on a front, and went along as if this were just another of his strange and bizarre cases. Perhaps it was, but the magister felt uncertain and uneasy, as he had from the start. Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed her to influence his judgment as she had. Rachelle's eagerness to go to Delhi, her obvious desire for the fabulous necklace, a gift he would have returned if he hadn't agreed to take the case, made him undertake the mission. Now he was hoping he wouldn't truly regret it, more for Rachelle's sake than his own!
Ruminating thus, Setne fell asleep, half sitting, half lying on the bed. At a little after three, his inner alarm roused him. He arose so silently that even the amazon's light slumber was undisturbed. It took a little while to work the cricks out of neck and back, but before long the magister was feeling wide awake and fit. What he needed was at hand, and with a few gestures and sound he accomplished the laying of the castings required. That done, he put his things in order and stepped to the bed.
"Come on, lazy girl," he said in a soft voice. "It is time dedicated pilgrims were taking to the road!"
—— 5 ——
ON THE 1NDORE ROAD
\
It promised to be a hot day as usual. The dawn brought only the faintest of breezes with it, a puff which barely stirred the vapors which had risen from the waters to climb up over the city, layer by layer, through the night. Fog from the harbor, smoke from thousands of little fires, and unknown exudations created the covering. At least it cooled things off for a little while. This duty wasn't bad. He'd be back to the barracks when the sun was hottest, eat the midday meal, and then get to sleep until the evening mess call. The whole night thereafter would be dedicated to drinking, and maybe a little gambling or sport with the painted women who waited in the Street of Lust.
"You smile?" growled his fellow guardsman. "You like herding peasants in and out of the gate?"
In fact, the soldier didn't like that at all, but he laughed at his comrade. "Better than labor detail—or duty on the frontier!"
The other guardsman was going to make some reply, but just then the under-officer barked a command. They swore under their breaths but moved with several others. Soon the heavy bar was lifted, and the twin panels with their long iron spikes, set so as to keep elephants from shoving them inward during siege, swung back. The Kurla Gate of Bombay was now open. Everyone was busy for an hour after that. As usual, a mob of vendors and farmers wanted to enter, a river of similar peasants stood impatiently waiting to leave the city. By shouting, shoving, and swearing, the guardsmen kept the two streams of humanity from flowing together in an impossible jam, directing one current to the left, the other right.
"That's the opening rush," the surly soldier spat as the throng dwindled into scattered groups and lone individuals.
"Now you know why I smiled," his fellow guard said. "When the gate shuts this evening, I'll be rising from my bed, ready for . . . anything!"
The other soldier ruminated, spat, and said, "You'll probably get the
Inhetep was determined to arrive in Delhi unbeknownst to any, maharajah and miscreants alike. Then he and Rachelle could do some special investigative work before announcing themselves and formally accepting the commission of Sivadji Guldir, handed down to them from his famed Peacock Throne. The gift and promised reward were far too grand for what had been stolen. More was at stake, and without knowing the true scope of it all, there was no chance of success. It would be like playing a game without being told the rules regarding victory.
He didn't want Rachelle to worry about all that, so he played little pranks, put on a front, and went along as if this were just another of his strange and bizarre cases. Perhaps it was, but the magister felt uncertain and uneasy, as he had from the start. Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed her to influence his judgment as she had. Rachelle's eagerness to go to Delhi, her obvious desire for the fabulous necklace, a gift he would have returned if he hadn't agreed to take the case, made him undertake the mission. Now he was hoping he wouldn't truly regret it, more for Rachelle's sake than his own!
Ruminating thus, Setne fell asleep, half sitting, half lying on the bed. At a little after three, his inner alarm roused him. He arose so silently that even the amazon's light slumber was undisturbed. It took a little while to work the cricks out of neck and back, but before long the magister was feeling wide awake and fit. What he needed was at hand, and with a few gestures and sound he accomplished the laying of the castings required. That done, he put his things in order and stepped to the bed.
"Come on, lazy girl," he said in a soft voice. "It is time dedicated pilgrims were taking to the road!"
—— 5 ——
ON THE 1NDORE ROAD
\
It promised to be a hot day as usual. The dawn brought only the faintest of breezes with it, a puff which barely stirred the vapors which had risen from the waters to climb up over the city, layer by layer, through the night. Fog from the harbor, smoke from thousands of little fires, and unknown exudations created the covering. At least it cooled things off for a little while. This duty wasn't bad. He'd be back to the barracks when the sun was hottest, eat the midday meal, and then get to sleep until the evening mess call. The whole night thereafter would be dedicated to drinking, and maybe a little gambling or sport with the painted women who waited in the Street of Lust.
"You smile?" growled his fellow guardsman. "You like herding peasants in and out of the gate?"
In fact, the soldier didn't like that at all, but he laughed at his comrade. "Better than labor detail—or duty on the frontier!"
The other guardsman was going to make some reply, but just then the under-officer barked a command. They swore under their breaths but moved with several others. Soon the heavy bar was lifted, and the twin panels with their long iron spikes, set so as to keep elephants from shoving them inward during siege, swung back. The Kurla Gate of Bombay was now open. Everyone was busy for an hour after that. As usual, a mob of vendors and farmers wanted to enter, a river of similar peasants stood impatiently waiting to leave the city. By shouting, shoving, and swearing, the guardsmen kept the two streams of humanity from flowing together in an impossible jam, directing one current to the left, the other right.
"That's the opening rush," the surly soldier spat as the throng dwindled into scattered groups and lone individuals.
"Now you know why I smiled," his fellow guard said. "When the gate shuts this evening, I'll be rising from my bed, ready for . . . anything!"
The other soldier ruminated, spat, and said, "You'll probably get the
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