He suddenly, more so than since leaving Fort St George, wished that Kezia were beside him.

St Alban wouldn’t risk a fight, even one in which he knew that his and Corporal Johnson’s pistols and sabres would prevail. Not when he’d Georgiana and Annie in his care. This was not ‘the exigencies of the service’. Besides, the whole idea of being here was to apprehend these villain thugs, to turn some of them into approvers, and then to hang the rest – publicly, pour de´courager – or else transport them. And there was nothing like a gallop to stimulate the mind. By the time their quarry had come in sight he’d decided against detaining the ferry and instead to attempt a ruse.

‘Miss Hervey, do you know what is the word for “opium”?’

She didn’t, but the syce understood (if only the syce could string a few words of English together, or understand a few more, so that he, the adjutant of the 6th Light Dragoons, didn’t have to rely on a girl of fifteen or sixteen …).

‘Ahiphen, sahib.’

‘Mehrbanee, syce-bahadur.’ He turned to Georgiana, and looked resolute. ‘Miss Hervey, we are from the Opium Prevention.’

Georgiana couldn’t yet guess his game, but she began rehearsing the words in her mind.

They had but a minute before they overhauled the thugs.

‘Salaam!’ cried St Alban, pulling up sharp and raising his hand.

He wished he were in red, but blue would have to do. His cap and white face would probably be enough – that and the pistol holsters.

‘Salaam, huzoor!’ The party shuffled to a halt and made gestures of deference, the leader salaaming with particular cordiality.

‘I am an inspector of the Opium Prevention. You have contraband opium in your possession, and sowars from Sthambadree have been ordered to take you back there.’

He nodded to Georgiana. She turned to the leader and spoke quickly and fluently, with the same note of authority. The look on the leader’s face – innocence, puzzlement – told St Alban she translated well. He had to make an effort not to show his admiration.

‘But huzoor, we are pilgrims! See, here is our baggage. Search it – see for yourself!’

‘That’s as may be, but you’ll have to come back to the village you passed through last, to the customs post there, or you’ll be in trouble for evasion. If you have no contraband then you’ll be given a ticket of clearance to go on without further hindrance.’

It was Georgiana’s turn for hiding admiration. These thugs, these phansigars, these deceivers – they would know they had no contraband; not, at least, the type the ‘Prevention’ were looking for, so they’d get a pass from the authorities that would see them safely through the whole of the Circars. It was so clever of him! And it was they who were called ‘the deceivers’!

She repeated exactly what he’d said, looking as grave as she might.

The leader looked delighted (and again she had to suppress a smile). What was a delay of a few hours, of a night perhaps, to gain such a pass? He’d walk back gladly.