The man raised his head as far as he dare. Even so—

‘Ghufoor Khan!’ gasped Fairbrother.

‘What—’

The Khan sprang like a hare and made for the bastion.

Fairbrother fell cursing at a leg thrust his way.

Hervey gave chase, pulling pistol from belt.

A ball from Acton’s carbine glanced the Khan’s shoulder but failed to slow him.

Hervey took aim, full stride.

Too late; Khan was into the bastion before he could draw bead.

Dragoons came running.

Hervey followed into the gloom, Acton close at heel.

Along the corridors, checking every room, every cell, every nook and cranny.

The length of the dank, dark bastion.

Until just the snake pit stood between the panting Khan and his escape.

Torches blazed on the walls. There was no more hiding.

Hervey stopped, took a breath and raised his pistol. ‘Halt, Ghufoor Khan! There is no escape.’

But the Khan wouldn’t yield. He snarled, cursed, and then leapt as he’d never leapt before – even to use the roomal.

He gained the other side, but with a foot only.

His fall was heavy.

Hervey lowered his pistol and edged towards the pit.

The spreading hood rose like a ship making sail as the Khan curled in a ball. Hervey brought his pistol up fast, but the hamadryad struck – once, twice, a third time and then a fourth.

A single bite would have been enough.

Hervey grimaced; looked away. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for – deliberate, judicial, by the rope.

Nor was it instant.

But death would come in hours, at least, not days, for the hamadryad was a ‘good’ snake.

But a painful death.

Ghufoor Khan began pleading. ‘Huzoor …’

Hervey recoiled. The man who’d murdered hundreds, even thousands, by his command or by his own hand; the man who in order to save his own skin had borne witness against those who’d followed him, and who had then, plainly, broken his parole to join this company of thieves and murderers; the man with the blood of Mira Bai still warm on his hands – Mira Bai, who’d been faithful to her Ranee even unto death; that such a man should plead to be spared a painful end …

Hervey turned to walk away.

Acton looked at him, puzzled. ‘Shall I, Colonel?’

Hervey stopped, then turned back. ‘No; the duty’s mine.’

When they came out, it was to the hijdas’ excited gesturing again. There at the foot of the tower in a bloody pool lay the body of Ashok Acharya.

‘Mine,’ said Fairbrother grimly.

It hardly mattered. A battle never ended tidily, the trumpet sounding ceasefire and all fire ceasing. There were always ‘loose ends’ to tie up – random shots. He’d not said ‘no quarter’; but there was ‘discretion’. The details, if needed, could wait. It was anyway convenient.

His, Hervey’s, mission was done – as far, at least, as the Company was concerned. There were a great many thugs he’d sent to their maker, one way or another, and His Majesty’s troops were in possession of the capital of the lapsed state of Chintal. There remained just the Ranee, the would-be ‘tigress’; but instead a poor, caged thing; a ‘paper tiger’, as they said in China – che lo foo, a mere false device to frighten people.