Sandokan: The Two Tigers (The Sandokan Series Book 4) Page 2

  White silk divans had been set against each wall, an ebony table inlaid with mother-of-pearl stood in the center, a large Venetian lamp hung from the ceiling, casting its soft light upon the three old friends.

  Yanez took a bottle from a shelf, filled three glasses with whiskey, then turned to the Maratha who had taken a seat beside Sandokan and said:

  “You can speak freely, no one can hear us. The Thugs would have to have gills to get anywhere near our ship.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past those devils,” sighed the Maratha.

  “They won’t be around for much longer, my good Kammamuri,” said Sandokan. “The Tiger of Malaysia set sail from Mompracem determined to destroy the Tiger of India. Now tell us about the kidnapping. Spare no detail.”

  “It’s been twenty-four days, sir, since little Darma was taken by Suyodhana’s men, and for twenty-four days my master has been overwhelmed with grief. If your telegram hadn’t arrived to announce you’d set sail, he would have gone mad by now.”

  “Did he think we wouldn’t have come to help?” asked Yanez.

  “There was always the chance you were employed in some ambitious enterprise.”

  “Times have changed. We’ve practically hung up our swords. The glory days of Labuan and Sarawak have long passed.”

  “Tell us everything, Kammamuri,” said Sandokan. “How was Darma taken?”

  “We were tricked by Suyodhana. As you know, when Miss Ada died while giving birth, my poor master was devastated. But with a daughter to take care of, he could not wallow in grief. Darma became his world; he gave her every ounce of his love and affection. He watched over her constantly, afraid the Thugs would harm her to exact their revenge.

  “Rumours soon reached our ears. The Thugs, it was said, after having disbanded years ago to escape the vengeance of Captain MacPherson’s sepoys, had returned to the vast caverns beneath the island of Rajmangal and Suyodhana had turned his thoughts to procuring a new Priestess of the Eastern Temple.

  “Those rumours made my master’s heart race. He feared those wretches, who had imprisoned his wife for so many years, were making plans to abduct his daughter.

  “Unfortunately, his fears were soon confirmed. Well aware of the Thugs’ cunning, we had taken great precautions so that they could not break into the young girl’s room. We’d put metal bars on the windows, reinforced the door with armour plating, and carefully examined the walls to ensure they did not conceal any secret passages. Every night I slept in the hall outside her room, along with Darma our tiger, and Punthy, our dog, two brave beasts that, as you know, had battled the Thugs alongside us when we lived in the jungle.

  “For six months we kept an anxious vigil, but there was never a sign of the Thugs. Then one morning Tremal-Naik received a telegram from Chandernagore. It was signed by a friend, a former rajah now living in exile in the small French colony.

  “What did the telegram say?” asked Sandokan and Yanez in unison, not missing a single word of the Maratha’s story.

  “Just six words: ‘Come. Must speak to you. Mucdar.’

  “My master was great friends with the former prince; the rajah had helped him immensely upon our return to India. Fearing the prince was in trouble with the British authorities, he set off immediately, leaving Darma in my care.

  “The day passed uneventfully, there was no suspicious activity to indicate that Suyodhana’s men were planning to abduct the daughter of the former Priestess of the Eastern Temple.

  “Shortly after nightfall, I received a telegram from my master in Chandernagore. The words still burn in my memory:

  “‘Darma in great danger; our enemies about to strike. Leave at once.’

  “Frightened, I immediately set off for the station with Darma and her nurse. I’d received the dispatch at 6:34 and there was a train for Chandernagore and Hooghly at 7:28.

  “I found an empty compartment; however, just as the train was about to leave the station, two Brahmins came in and sat down across from me. They were both stern, imposing men with long white beards, men beyond suspicion.

  “We set off without incident, but an hour later, as we passed Sirampur station, events took a turn for the worse.

  “It seemed innocent at first. One of the two Brahmins’ suitcases had fallen. It opened and a small crystal globe filled with flowers fell out and shattered on the floor. The petals scattered about the compartment, but the Brahmins did not bother to pick them up. They just pulled out their handkerchiefs and covered their mouths and noses.”

  “Ah!” exclaimed Sandokan, taking great interest in that strange tale. “Continue, Kammamuri.”

  “What happened next,” continued the Maratha, his voice starting to tremble, “I do not know. I began to feel sleepy, my eyes grew heavy and I struggled to keep them open. Then all went black. I awoke in the dark, silence reigned throughout the compartment. The train had stopped, but I could hear a whistle sounding off in the distance.

  “I sprang to my feet and called for Darma’s nurse, but no one replied. I leaped towards the door, it was locked.

  “Mad with fear, I smashed the window with my fist, opened the door and rushed out. The train had come to stop on a dead track, not a soul was in sight.

  “I spotted several lanterns off in the distance and what appeared to be a station. I started to run, yelling: Darma! Ketty! Help! They’ve taken her! The Thugs! The Thugs!

  “A few policemen and some of the train station workers came to my aid. At first they thought I was mad, so great was my fear, it took me an hour to convince them otherwise and relate what had happened.

  “I learned that I was at Hooghly station, about twenty miles north of Chandernagore. No one had noticed me when the train stopped at the platform, so I had been left in the compartment until I awoke.

  “The policemen at the station made prompt inquiries, but to no avail. In the morning I left for Chandernagore to inform Tremal-Naik of the disappearance of Darma and her nurse. He had already left, and I learned that his friend had not sent the telegram. The one I received was also a fake.”

  “A clever deception,” said Yanez. “I didn’t think the Thugs were so cunning.”

  “Continue, Kammamuri,” said Sandokan.

  The Maratha dried two tears and resumed his tale, his voice broken by sobs.

  “I’ll never be able to fully describe my master’s pain when he learned what had happened. It’s a miracle he did not go mad.

  “The police and the French authorities in Chandernagore began a thorough investigation. They soon discovered that two dispatches had been sent by an Indian. But the clerks at the telegraph office in Chandernagore remembered little, only that the man spoke French quite poorly. We also learned that the two Brahmins had been seen getting off at the station, assisting what appeared to be a very ill woman. One was carrying a small child. The next day the nurse was found dead in a grove of banana trees, a black silk scarf wrapped tightly about her neck. The Thugs had strangled her!”

  “Wretches!” exclaimed Yanez, clenching his fists.

  “That doesn’t prove it was Suyodhana’s Thugs that kidnapped little Darma,” observed Sandokan. “It could have been common bandits–”

  “No, sir,” said the Maratha, interrupting him. “Suyodhana’s Thugs committed the crime, a week later my master found an arrow in his room that must’ve been fired from the street, a Naga had been carved into the arrowhead, the emblem of Kali’s cult.”

  “Ah!” exclaimed Sandokan, as a frown formed upon his brow.

  “And,” continued Kammamuri, “one morning we found a piece of paper tacked to our door that bore the same emblem, and above it a drawing of two crossed daggers beneath an S.”

  “Suyodhana’s insignia?” asked Yanez.

  “Yes,” replied the Maratha.

  “And the British police didn’t find anything?”

  “They continued their investigation for a few more weeks then dropped the case. It appears they do not wish to stir up trouble with the Thugs.”
/>
  “Did they send an expedition into the Sundarbans?” asked Sandokan.

  “No, they claimed they needed more men to ensure success.”

  “Doesn’t the Governor of Bengal have soldiers at his disposal?” asked Sandokan.

  “The Anglo-Indian government is too busy to worry about the Thugs. There’s a rebellion spreading that could sweep the British out of India.”

  “A rebellion?” asked Yanez.

  “And it’s been growing quickly, sir. Sepoy regiments have mutinied in several places, Meerut, Delhi, Lucknow, Cawnpore. They’ve shot their officers and flocked to the banners of Tantia Topi and the Rani of Jhansi.”

  “Well,” said Sandokan, “since neither the police, nor the Bengali government can be bothered to eliminate the Thugs, it appears the task now falls to us.”

  “Yes,” agreed Yanez. “We have fifty men, fifty warriors, handpicked from the bravest pirates on Mompracem. We’ve got a few million rupees, a good supply of weapons, and a ship that can hold its own against any British gunboat. I’d say we’re well equipped to destroy Suyodhana and his Thugs once and for all.”

  “The Tiger of India against the Tiger of Malaysia! Now there’s a challenge I’ll relish!” said Sandokan.

  He drained his glass, remained silent for a moment, then fixed his eyes upon the Maratha and asked:

  “Are you certain the Thugs have returned to the caverns of Rajmangal?”

  “Yes,” replied Kammamuri.

  “Then little Darma must have been taken there.”

  “Most definitely, sir.”

  “You know the island well?”

  “Yes, sir. And every inch of those caverns. I spent six months there as their prisoner.”

  “I remember. You said those caverns were connected by a network of tunnels.”

  “That’s correct. The tunnels run beneath the entire island.”

  “Beneath…Then we could flood those caverns and drown them all!”

  “What about Darma?”

  “We’ll rescue her before we destroy their lair, my good Kammamuri. How does one get into those caverns?”

  “There’s a secret entrance in a banyan tree.”

  “Very well, we’ll pay a little visit to the Sundarbans,” said Sandokan. “My dear Suyodhana, prepare to receive Tremal-Naik and the Tiger of Malaysia.”

  They heard a chain creak followed by a splash. Someone shouted a few orders and the ship came to an abrupt halt.

  “They’ve dropped anchor,” said Yanez. “Let’s get a look at where we are.”

  Kammamuri and the Portuguese quickly drained their glasses and the three went back above deck.

  Night had fallen several hours earlier, cloaking the temples of the Black Town and the domes, bell towers, and grandiose palaces of the White Town in darkness. Numerous streetlamps shone along the Strand, jetties, and squares.

  That section of the river was more than a kilometre wide; an infinite number of steamships and sailing vessels from all parts of the world rocked gently at anchor, the dim glow of their lanterns lighting the waters beneath them.

  The Marianna had dropped anchor on the far side of Fort William, its imposing mass towering above them.

  Once he had checked the anchors, Sandokan had the sails lowered and ordered a launch put in the water.

  “It’s almost midnight,” he said, addressing Kammamuri. “Can we go see Tremal-Naik?”

  “Yes, but it would be better if you wore less conspicuous clothing. My master and I are certain Suyodhana’s men are watching our every move.”

  “We’ll dress like Indians,” replied Sandokan.

  “Better to dress like sudras,” said Kammamuri.

  “Sudras?”

  “Servants, sir.”

  “An excellent idea. There’s no shortage of clothing aboard; you’ll help us put together the perfect disguise. The Tiger of India is proving to be a clever adversary; we’ll have to outsmart him. Come, Yanez. The campaign begins!”

  Chapter 3

  Tremal-Naik

  HALF AN HOUR later, the Marianna’s whaleboat was making her way down the river, carrying Sandokan, Yanez, Kammamuri and six Malay pirates.

  Dressed in dhotis[2] and brown dupattas[3], the prahu’s commanders could easily have been mistaken for Indian servants. As a precaution, they had each hidden their krises and a pair of long-barrelled pistols in the folds of their sashes.

  The lights along the squares and jetties had been extinguished and the city was in darkness, save for the white, green and red glow of ships’ lanterns upon the black waters of the river.

  The whaleboat raced past the dinghies, ghrabs, sloops and steamboats crowded along the banks, then headed towards Fort William’s southern ramparts and docked before a dark deserted esplanade.

  “It won’t be long now,” said Kammamuri. “Durumtolah Street isn’t far from here.”

  “Do you live in a bungalow?” asked Yanez.

  “No, in an old Indian palace that belonged to the late Captain MacPherson. My master inherited it from Miss Ada.”

  “Lead the way,” said Sandokan. He stepped ashore, turned towards the Malays and said, “Wait for us here.”

  “Yes, Captain,” replied the helmsman.

  Kammamuri walked quickly across the vast esplanade. Sandokan and Yanez followed, each resting a hand on the butt of a pistol, ready to draw it out at the first sign of trouble.

  The esplanade was deserted or at least appeared to be, the darkness making it difficult to discern a form among the shadows.

  A few minutes later they arrived at Durumtolah Street and came to a stop before an old Indian palace, a square building with three terraces, topped by a small dome.

  Kammamuri pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock. Just as he was about to open the door, Sandokan, whose eyes were sharper than his companions’, spied a figure emerging from behind one of the support columns of a neighbouring verandah. Within seconds it had run off and disappeared into the night.

  For a moment he considered giving chase, but then thought the better of it, suspecting that it could have been a trap.

  “Did you see that man?” he asked Kammamuri and Yanez.

  “Where?” the Portuguese and the Maratha asked in unison.

  “He was hiding behind one of those columns. You were right, Kammamuri, the Thugs are keeping an eye on the house. We’ve just had proof. It matters little, it’s too dark for the spy to have seen our faces, and even if he had, he doesn’t know who we are.”

  Kammamuri opened the door, and once the three had stepped into the courtyard, carefully locked it behind him. He walked up a dimly lit marble stairway and led the prahu’s commanders into a small but elegant drawing room.

  A blue crystal lamp hung from the ceiling, casting its soft light upon a floor inlaid with red, black and yellow stones. A table and a set of bamboo chairs stood in the centre.

  They had been there mere seconds, when another door opened, and a man rushed out to welcome them.

  “My friends, my brave friends!” he exclaimed, embracing Sandokan and Yanez in turn. “How I thank you for having come! You’ll rescue my Darma, won’t you?”

  The newcomer was a handsome Bengali, about thirty-five or thirty-six years old, well built, with fine energetic features, light brown skin and fiery black eyes. He was dressed in the manner of modern, well-to-do Indians, who have abandoned the dhoti and dupatta for the latest Anglo-Indian fashions: a white cotton jacket, a thick embroidered sash, white trousers and a small embroidered turban.

  “Put your fears to rest, Tremal-Naik,” the Tiger said warmly. “The Thugs don’t stand a chance against us.”

  “My Darma!” sobbed the Indian, his voice heavy with agony as he wiped away his tears.

  “We’ll find her, my friend,” said Sandokan. “You remember what we did to James Brooke. The White Rajah was no less powerful, the Sultans of Borneo trembled at the thought of him, yet we toppled him from his throne. Suyodhana’s days are numbered; it won’t be lo
ng before Darma is playing happily by your side.”

  “Yes,” said Tremal-Naik, “The two of you are my only hope. No one else can destroy those bloodthirsty dogs. I’ve lost my wife; I’ll go mad if I lose my daughter. My poor Ada! After having fought for so long to make her my bride, to see our daughter in the hands of those monsters…”

  “You must try to be strong, my friend,” said Yanez, deeply moved by the man’s pain. “Now is not the time for tears, we’ve got to act, devise a plan, there’s no time to waste. Kammamuri said the Thugs have returned to their old lair on Rajmangal. You’re absolutely certain of this?”

  “Positive,” replied the Bengali.

  “And Suyodhana’s there as well?”

  “He must be.”

  “Then wouldn’t little Darma have been taken there?” asked Sandokan.

  “It’s probable, but I’m not completely certain. She was kidnapped to succeed her mother as Priestess of the Sacred Temple; it seems the logical place they would have taken her.”

  “Is she in danger?”

  “None whatsoever, the Priestess of the Eastern Temple is precious to Kali; she’ll be revered as a goddess.”

  “Then no one would dare harm her?”

  “Not even Suyodhana,” replied Tremal-Naik.

  “How old is Darma?”

  “Almost four.”

  “And she’ll be revered as a goddess!?!” exclaimed Yanez. “She’s just a child!”

  “She’s the daughter of the Priestess of the Eastern Temple. Ada served Kali for seven years,” said Tremal-Naik, stifling a sob. “Her blood is sacred on Rajmangal.”

  “Little brother,” said Yanez, turning toward Sandokan, “you said you had an idea?”

  “Yes, and I’ve since added to it,” replied the Tiger of Malaysia. “However, before we act, we must be absolutely certain the Thugs have taken Darma to their island.”

  “How can we find out?”

  “We’ll capture a Thug and force him to confess. There must be a few of them hanging about Calcutta.”