AND BEYOND

17 The Flying Swords

A strong hand shook me by the shoulder, waking me from a deep sleep.

'Wha… who?'

I tried to blink away my drowsiness and noticed that it was still dark. The glow of a candle in his hand outiined the troubled face of Sherlock Holmes, and told me at a glance that something was amiss.

'Come, Hurree,' he cried, 'the game's afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come.'

'Why, Mr Holmes? What is the…' I began to ask, but he had already left the room. I did as I was ordered and was ready in a trice.

Tying the lappets of my old rabbit-skin cap under my chin, I ran out through the living room to the courtyard, where some of the servants were hurriedly saddling our ponies. In a very short time Mr Holmes, Tsering and I were on our steeds and out of the gates, Tsering leading the way through the dark, deserted streets.

For the bally life of me I could not comprehend what was going on. I attempted to ask Mr Holmes, but it was difficult to make enquiries when riding single file in narrow alleyways. I thought it indiscreet to shout. When we came to the outskirts of the city it was possible for the ponies to travel two abreast, and I thought that I would take this opportunity to ask Mr Holmes the reason for this nocturnal excursion. But no sooner had I begun to get my pony beside his, than we came to the Western Gate of the city, and were soon galloping furiously on the dirt road that led to the Jewel Park. No conversation was possible then.

A bright summer moon occasionally lit our way as it scudded through a cloud-patched sky.

A hard twenty-minute ride brought us before the main entrance of the Jewel Park.

Two soldiers, with rifles at the ready, ran out of a sentry box and challenged us. Tsering quickly dismounted and identified himself. He also made some enquiries, though I could not discern his exact words as he spoke softly.

'But it is very late,' one of the soldiers replied. 'He must have retired hours ago.'

'… and we cannot disturb him now,' said the other soldier. Sherlock Holmes dismounted and walked over to them. 'Even as I speak…'he said gravely,'… the life of the Grand Lama is threatened by a terrible danger. It is vital that we see the Lama Yonten.'

'But we have our orders,' one of the guards replied, slightiy shaken by Mr Holmes's portentous declaration. 'We cannot desert our post.'

'A most commendable course of conduct,' replied Holmes rather sardonically, 'but surely one of you can guard the gate while the other goes to fetch the Lama Yonten.'

'Well, I don't know, Sir,' the soldier scratched his head bemusedly.

'If anything happens to the Grand Lama, I shall personally hold the two of you responsible,' said Sherlock Holmes in that stern, masterful way of his, which rather rattled the two simple fellows. 'Get a move on, man,' he urged.

Bewildered and not quite sure of themselves, they reluctantly opened a small door set into the main gate. One of the soldiers went through it and disappeared into the darkness.

We waited. Sherlock Holmes extracted a dark lantern from his saddle-bag and proceeded to light it. He then closed the shield and handed it to me. No gleam of light escaped but the smell of hot metal and oil told me it was ready for instant use.

'Keep it handy. We may have urgent need of it.'

Sherlock Holmes paced restlessly about in a fever of suppressed frustration, occasionally throwing out his hands as if chafing against the inaction. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, the gate opened and the small, cloaked figure of the Chief Secretary appeared, accompanied by our soldier, and a giant warrior monk.

'Mr Holmes, what a surprise…' said the Lama Yonten.

'Reverend Sir,' interrupted Holmes, 'we have no time to lose. I fear an imminent attack on the person of His Holiness.'

The Lama looked up at Sherlock Holmes in a queer sort of way. Not puzzled or bewildered, mind you, though a bit dazed; but on the whole reassured and pleased. 'Then we must do something about it,' he said firmly. 'What are your orders, Mr Holmes?'

'Quick, follow me,' cried Sherlock Holmes, leaping past them and running into the Jewel Park. Mr Holmes was decidedly a swift runner and it was all we could do to keep up with him. We were permitted a brief pause by the inner wall, as the Lama Yonten ordered the gates opened. Then once again we were racing through the dark gardens. I must admit to tripping and stumbling a few times, but recovered swiftly enough to just about keep up behind Mr Holmes. He must have had the eyes of a panther for he sprinted unerringly in the darkness towards the palace building. On arrival, he paused briefly near the door to wait for the rest of us. As soon as I arrived he grabbed the lantern from me and entered the building. Past the reception hall we ran, coming to a long corridor with a number of doors on either side.

'This is His Holiness's bed-chamber,' whispered the Lama Yonten, pointing to the second door on the right. But Holmes did not seem to have heard him, for he quickly strode up the corridor to the fifth door on the left, and there paused to open the metal shield on the lantern and draw a revolver from the pouch of his Ladakhi robe. He then signalled me to push open the door. Slightiy apprehensive, I leaned against it.

The door swung back somewhat awkwardly on its clumsy wrought-iron hinges. A shaft of light from the lantern cut through the darkness of the room to reveal a terrifying red face with long white fangs sticking out of a grimacing mouth. I gave a littie start. Actually, I nearly screamed, but recovered my wits sufficientiy -and in the jolly nick of time – to realise that the fearful apparition was nothing but the idol of a yidam, a wrathful deity of the Lamaist pantheon. We were obviously in some kind of chapel. Mr Holmes did not betray any surprise but kept the lantern shining steadily on the idol. Then he slowly moved the beam of light across the room, revealing more images of fierce tantric deities, peaceful Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, all disconcertingly life-like in the silence and gloom of the chapel. The heavy scent of juniper incense contributed to the mystery of the place.

The clear, effiilgent beam of the lantern rested on the image of a divinity (or demon?) attired in black and holding two short swords, one in each hand. Its head was entirely wrapped in a black scarf, revealing only a pair of dark sinister eyes that glittered like moonstones.

Then they blinked!

'My gosh!' I exclaimed

'Look out! He's armed,' shouted Holmes, raising his revolver as the figure sprang forward to attack us.

Just as swiftly another figure – our warrior monk – leapt forward to confront the assailant. Our monk had also unsheathed his weapon – a heavy piece of iron in the shape of a large key, suspended from the end of a leather thong – which he whirled and flicked about him with practised dexterity and deadliness. Uttering savage yells both the protagonists gave battle. For a few minutes there was a confused melee of hurtling limbs and flashing weapons. By the solitary light of the lantern it was difficult to follow clearly the full course of the fray.

Awakened by the pandemonium, more guards and servants came shouting down the corridor, carrying candles and lamps. In the relative glare of the collective illuminations, our masked intruder appeared to become somewhat discomposed.

Then suddenly he initiated a flurry of wicked thrusts with his swords that caused our warrior monk to fall back a pace. That was all the masked intruder needed. He spun around, and running to the side of the room, jumped out of an open window -probably the same one he had entered by.

'After him!' shouted Holmes.