Dishonored by Maria Barrett Read Free Book Online Page A

conscious
     of nothing but the silence. The silence enveloped.him. He was listening so hard for the eagle that his whole body strained
     and it seemed the silence would go on forever.
    Then he started.
    The cry came twice. The first time it was muffled, smothered by the cloud, the second time it was high and clear almost as
     if the bird circled overhead. It was the signal; they had come for him. Jagat looked down at his father. He leaned forward,
     kissed the icy brow and stroked it with his fingertips. Then he stood, took the knife from his belt and went to the door.
     He banged, thumping his fists hard against it, and shouted for the guard. He called out that his father was dead, knowing
     this was the only way the door would be opened and positioning himself, he held the knife ready. As the man came into the
     cell, Jagat gripped him from behind, and swiftly and silently cut his throat.
    Nanda waited. He sat by the roadside with his bearer in the cover of the trees and glanced every few minutes at the horizon.
     They were forty miles west of Moraphur where the border of Jupthana met the next state. From there it went on to Balisthan
     and out of British jurisdiction. They had everything ready.
    The next time he looked out he saw the dust. Spurring his horse forward, he made off in that direction, leaving the bearer
     with the spare mounts, and, nearing the riders, he slowed to a trot, realizing there were only two.
    “Jagat?” He drew alongside his friend’s son. “What’s happened? Your father?”
    Jagat shook his head. He couldn’t look at Nanda.
    “Dead?” Nanda reached out to touch the boy. “What…?” He saw the pain in Jagat’s eyes and broke off. “Come,” he said,
     “you need to rest a while…” Turning the horse, he led the way back to the bearer.
    The bearer had set a pot of water over a fire and Jagat sat near it, the firelight illuminating his face, a face much older
     than its seventeen years. He drank his tea in silence, conscious of the relief to be able to drink without guilt. Unlike his
     father, Jagat had eaten to keep alive, every mouthful tasting foul in the knowledge that it was deeply against his religion.
    Nanda watched him as he drank, his own sadness at the loss of his friend mixed with a deep pity for the boy. He had secured
     him a future, with the help of the maharajah, but it was nothing compared to what he had lost. The British government would
     requisition his inheritance and he would never be able to set foot in the state again. He had escaped execution but Nanda
     was still not sure if that was preferable to a life of shame.
    “Jagat?” The boy looked up. “It is time for you to go. You must be out of the state before they find you have gone.”
    Jagat stayed where he was. “But my mother, where is she?”
    “She is safe, Jagat,” Nanda answered. “She is in hiding with one of the maharajah’s relatives. She will wait for you to send
     for her.” He stood. “Please, Jagat, you must leave!”
    Finally Jagat nodded and slowly got to his feet. Nanda walked with him to the horses while the bearer stamped out the fire
     and began covering traces of it. The two men faced each other, then Nanda embraced his friend’s son.
    “Jagat, you must avenge the gods for this murder,” he said quietly. “You will find a way.”
    Jagat held on to Nanda and the years fell away; he felt like a child again. “I know…” his voice broke. Moments ater,
     he turned away.
    “Here.” Nanda handed him a small leather pouch. Your papers, letters from the maharajah, money…” He waited while Jagat
     checked through the information, then he held out a small cloth-covered bundle. “Jagat, after the soldiers had gone, your
     mother, when she went back to the house…” He saw the boy flinch at his words, hit by the sudden realization that his
     home had been ransacked. He topped and gave him a little time. “This,” he went on, a few moments later, “she found this, she
     wanted