The Untamed Bride Read Free Page B

surprised the others felt the same.
    He signaled the barboy for another round. When it came, and the boy withdrew, he lifted his glass. “India has made us wealthy, given us more than we ever otherwise would have had. It seems only right to pay the country back by taking down”—glancing at Rafe, he grinned—“by beheading the Black Cobra, and if, as it seems, that will lead us back to England, then that, too, seems fitting.” He met the others’ eyes. “We’re all in this together.” He raised his glass, held it out for them to meet it with theirs. “Here’s to our eventual return to England.”
    “Home,” Rafe echoed, as the glasses clinked.
    They all drank, then Gareth, ever practical, asked, “So how are we faring getting our proof?”
    They’d spent the last three months—ever since they’d convinced themselves that Roderick Ferrar, second adjutant to the Governor of Bombay, had to be the Black Cobra—trying to turn up evidence of Ferrar’s secret identity, all to no avail. Each now reported their latest forays into what was fast becoming known as “Black Cobra territory,” each thrust aimed at uncovering some trail, some clue, some solid connection back to Ferrar. All they’d uncovered were terrorized villages, some burnt to the ground, others with empty huts and no survivors, with evidence of rape and torture all around.
    Wanton destruction and a liking for violence for violence’s sake were fast becoming the Black Cobra cult’s trademark, yet despite all the carnage they’d waded through, not a single piece of evidence had emerged.
    “He’s clever, I’ll give the bastard that,” Rafe said. “Everytime we find one of his cultists, they’ve got their instructions from someone else, who they either don’t know, or, if they can point a finger, the trail only leads to some other local—”
    “Until eventually you hit one who again doesn’t know.” Logan looked disgusted. “It’s like that game of whispers, only in this case, no one has any clue who whispered first.”
    “The way the Indians relate to one another—the caste system—plays into the Black Cobra’s hands,” James said. “The cultists unquestioningly obey, and never think it unreasonable that they know nothing about their masters—just that they are their masters, and so must be obeyed.”
    “It’s a veil,” Gareth said. “The Black Cobra operates from behind a deliberately maintained veil.”
    “And being a cult wreathed in all the usual mystery,” Rafe added, “the cultists think it only right that the Cobra is never seen, never directly heard—for all we know he sends out his orders on bits of paper passed through that damned veil.”
    “According to Wolverstone and Devil,” Del said, “the entire Ferrar family is widely known to be viciously exploitative—that’s why the Earl of Shrewton is in the position he’s in. In that respect, Roderick Ferrar seems very much a twig off the same trunk.”
    “So what’s next?” Rafe asked.
    They spent the next half hour, and another beer, discussing the villages and outposts they thought worth a visit. “Just riding up, flag waving, will be seen as a challenge,” Logan said. “If we can provoke a response, perhaps we’ll capture someone with some useful knowledge.”
    “Getting them to talk will be another matter.” Rafe glanced at the others. “It’s that yoke of fear—the Black Cobra’s got their tongues well-leashed with fear of his retribution.”
    “Which,” James added, “is admittedly ghastly. I can still see the man I cut down last week.” He grimaced.
    “Nothing we can do other than press harder,” Del said. “We need that proof—the incontrovertible evidence implicating Ferrar. Gareth and I will concentrate on trying toshake something loose through Ferrar’s contacts with the princelings—we’ll start interviewing those he’s had dealings with via the governor’s office. Given his temperament, he has to have made enemies—with