Danger at Dahlkari Read Free

cool, and most of my other things had been shipped on ahead to Dahlkari two weeks ago. The matching parasol I carried warded off the fiercest rays of the sunlight.
    â€œI shan’t stay out too long,” I promised, “and besides, the sun has already started going down.”
    Ahmed nodded. “Soon we camp. We camp at the edge of the jungle. They must like what they see, Miss Gray, the sahibs, I mean. You have a very pretty face.”
    â€œWhy—thank you, Ahmed,” I replied, a bit startled.
    â€œYour complexion so creamy, soft pink at the cheeks like rose petals, yes? Your mouth is the color of coral, and your hair—it is, yes, I have it, it is the color of moonlight on teak.”
    My hair was a rich chestnut brown, and in a certain light it did indeed have a silvery sheen. Moonlight on teak. Ahmed was most poetic, and rather too forward, I thought. While Sally might relish his flowery compliments, I found them a trifle irritating. I knew that I was exceptionally pretty with my high, sculptured cheekbones and classic features, but it was not at all important, not nearly as important as my intelligence. While I had no vanity about my looks, I was inordinately proud of my mind.
    â€œYou find husband in Dahlkari?” Ahmed continued.
    â€œI—I’m not interested in finding a husband,” I retorted. “That’s not why I’ve come to India.”
    â€œNo? All the other English missys, that’s why they come—the ones not so pretty. They don’t find a husband in England, they take the ship to India to marry one of the soldiers. English missys very smart, know the English men in India don’t see many English girls, so even the not-so-pretty missys always get a husband. Is very smart.”
    â€œYou—you’re very observant, Ahmed.”
    â€œMe, I like the English. They my friends. I learn to speak the English well, no?”
    â€œYou speak quite nicely,” I replied.
    â€œIs good for business,” he confided. “My father, he doesn’t speak the English at all. Is bad. The English sahibs buy much silk for their women. Me, I do all the business with them.”
    â€œYour father must be proud of you.”
    â€œIs very proud, says Ahmed a shrewd fellow.”
    Ahmed grinned, pleased with himself. I detected a touch of arrogance, a purposeful determination that wasn’t at all in keeping with his affable façade. He was an exceedingly handsome youth, strong and virile, and if he swaggered a bit it was only natural. He walked beside me for a few minutes more, describing the ruined temple in the jungle ahead, then sauntered off to speak to one of the grim-looking natives who had joined the caravan. The two of them spoke in quiet voices, and once Ahmed laughed. He kicked at a pile of pebbles in the sand and paused to pick one up, scattering the rest in patterned disarray, then moved toward the back of the caravan and out of sight.
    As we drew closer to the jungle, I could see huge gray boulders near the edge that looked for all the world like herds of gigantic elephants. As the caravan moved slowly on, the steel-gray sky gradually turned to yellow as the sun began to set. When we finally struck camp, the sky was a darkening yellow-orange, deep golden streamers on the horizon. The tents were pitched. Fires were started. Horses and camels were herded together in a makeshift rope corral. We were camped in a large clearing, the enormous gray boulders looming up on three sides, the jungle forming a fourth. The protective boulders afforded a sense of security missing on the open sands, and everyone seemed far more relaxed that they had been the night before. I was more relaxed, too, my fears quite forgotten.
    â€œMore curry,” Sally said, strolling over to join me in front of our tent. “What wouldn’t I give for a nice slab of beef and some Yorkshire pudding.”
    â€œI thought you adored the native dishes,” I