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The Tale of the Muscular Manservant


CardiMuscleman

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Chapter Seventeen

“Around the world in eighty days!” said Professor Frack after Phileas had explained why they were in Egypt, “it seems fitting that a man of your expertise should be attempting such a challenge!”

“Ja” replied Professor Frick, “if your knowledge of schedules is anything like your knowledge of ancient history, you will complete the journey with time to spare!”

“You’re too kind!” said Phileas, a slight blush coming to his cheeks and seeking something to move the conversation on, he picked up a clay tablet with some ancient writing on it.

“I say” he said, “this sounds interesting. On the fourth day in the fifth month, the pharaoh came to visit the temple and sought advice from the gods” and placing the tablet on the table asked “Have you found the next bit?”

Both Professors looked at Phileas in stunned amazement and Phileas wondered what he had done.

“That is cuneiform text” said Professor Frack, “written in the sixth century BC!”

“And” added Professor Frick, “untranslatable to this day, until now!”

“Well” replied Phileas, “once you have understood Latin and Persian, everything else is a doddle really, but I don’t like to mention it, I say!”

Both professors looked at each and nodded and Professor Frick took something out of his pocket that was wrapped in a cloth. As he slowly unwrapped it he said “It is fitting that a man of your knowledge about the ancient world should see this!” and as he unwrapped the final piece of cloth, Phileas gasped in amazement.

“A golden scarab!” he breathed and as it was placed in the cloth into his hand, he whispered “To think, the last person to hold this was a priest during the reign of Ptolemy. Gentlemen, you honour me!” and nodded his head in appreciation.

“That is precisely when it was made, Herr Fogg” said Professor Frack

“I think you have missed your true calling!” smiled Professor Frick and as Phileas smiled, his hands supporting his head, he wondered if he had missed his true calling as a professor of history.

“Excusez moi, monsieurs?” asked Jean, holding a ring, “but can I ask what this is please?”

“That is a sun clock” came the reply, “one of the first things that we found. The original markings were lost to the sands of time, but over the two years we have been here we have added new marks. Here, let me show you!” and with that Professor Frick took the ring and the four gentlemen went outside the tent where the sun was low on the horizon.

“First” explained the Professor, “you move this hole to the month that you are in. In this case O for October, then you point the hole towards the sun like so and, there, see that little slot of light, you then read the number from the inside. Herr Fogg, could you please confirm that it is a little after five o’clock in the afternoon, Egyptian time!”

Phileas took out his pocket watch and smiled “It’s five minutes past five, precisely!” and continued “That clock is a masterpiece of engineering”

“Then have it” replied Professor Frack, taking the instrument from his brother, “as a thank you for all the letters you have sent us over the years!”

“Oh, I couldn’t” came the reply, “I…I…It should belong in a museum!”

“We insist” both men said in unison, handing it to the gentlemen who then handed it to Jean and whispered “You deserve this more than I do, my lover!” which caused Jean to well up a little, but dismissing his tears as “dust in my eyes” he thanked his master and the professors for their gift.

Fifteen minutes later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Phileas and Jean remounted their camels and thanked the Professors for their time. As the hosts wished them all the luck in the world on their adventure, Phileas geed his camel and as it rode off towards the horizon he called back “And carry on writing, my friends!”

The following morning, having a good night’s sleep on board the Mongolia, the ship that was to convey them to Bombay, both gentleman and manservant disembarked bright and early in order to do some shopping. Whilst Jean bought food and fresh clothes, Phileas bought a pack of cards and some pencils in order to play whist on the journey to India. When they arrived back, they encountered another passenger who was clearly in a hurry.

“Oh!” said the gentleman dressed in army fatigues, “I am so sorry!”

As Phileas dusted himself down, he smiled saying “No, sir, I am the one who should be sorry” and with that doffed his hat but the army officer wasn’t having any of it.

“No” he replied, “I was the one not looking where I was going, it is I who should apologise! Therefore, you board first!”

“I simply refuse to until you get on first!” replied the gentlemen and as the two men proved why England was the politest nation in the world, Jean, who looked as if he needed to go to the toilet exclaimed “We’re going to miss the boat, monsieur!”

“I will take advantage of your generous behaviour!” smiled the army officer, “and hope that one day I shall be able to repay your kindness!” and with that he embarked followed by the gentleman and the manservant. Five minutes later, the ship started to move away from the docks with Phileas and Jean leaning on the railings watching the busy harbour.

“I SAY” shouted an English voice, “HOLD HARD THERE!”

Phileas looked up and saw two gentlemen charging through the docks as if there was no tomorrow.

“Oh dear!” he chuckled and shouted “Do you require passage?”

“YES PLEASE!” came the reply.

“Jean” commanded his master, “we need a rope, a life ring and some good old fashioned muscle!”

“Oui, monsieur!” replied Jean and seconds later came back with the requirements. Wrapping the rope around his cane, Phileas gave it a good tug and then pulling his arm back shouted “Gentlemen on the quayside, CATCH!” and threw the cane with every ounce of power in his arm. The more senior of the two men grabbed hold and shouted “Drummond, hold on to me now!” as he was pulled along the quayside. Hesitating, Drummond ran at the man and grabbed hold at the last second and as they sailed through the air Phileas shouted “Legs, sir!”. The senior man braced for impact, however the impact on the side of the ship was so strong that the two men fell into the sea. As Jean threw them the life ring, they clambered into it and a few moments later were sitting on deck, covered in a towel sneezing their heads off with their wet clothes hanging on a clothes line above them.

As the two policemen recovered from their experience, Phileas asked Jean to try and cheer them up and so he performed the song that he had last sung after cleaning the house from top to bottom and just as then, the gathered crowd on board enjoyed the performance and even joined in. And although, it was most unseemly for him to do so, Phileas joined in as well and so as the ship started on its long voyage to India everyone on board was having a whale of time. However, behind one of the packing cases on the deck, a familiar face peered around at the scene and snarled.

“Just you wait, Phileas” Timothy said, “you’ll never reach India alive, I swear it!”

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Chapter Eighteen

The Mongolia, the ship taking Phileas and Jean to India, belonged to the Peninsular and Oriental Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons’ burden, and five hundred horse-power, and plied regularly between Brindisi and Bombay via the Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest steamers belonging to the company, always making more than ten knots an hour between Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay. So it was no wonder that it’s captain was more than pleased that Phileas had chosen the vessel to travel to India and in recognition of this invited him to dine with him that evening. As the two travelers sat down, Jean breathed “To be asked to dine at the Captain’s table, c’est honeur!”

“It most certainly is” replied his master and as he noticed the captain arrive he stood up in order to thank his host for the privilege. Accompanying the captain was the man that they had allowed on board before them and the Captain introduced him as Brigadier Cromarty, the commanding officer of Her Majesty’s Army in Benares. As Phileas smiled politely, the Brigadier kept a martial pose the whole time and asked if he was addressing the man who was attempting to travel the world in eighty days.

“You are, sir!” Phileas replied and with that put out a friendly hand in order to shake the soldier’s hand. However, his politeness was met with “It’s impossible, of course, but then having an adventurous spirit is part of being an Englishman, eh, what?” with that sat down at the table leaving Phileas looking a little perplexed. Had he been commended for taking on such an endeavour or made to look a fool? As he sat down, he just smiled politely and let the comment pass.

As the captain nodded to the head waiter who brought the first course to the table, Inspector Fix couldn’t help but lick his lips.

“There’s no justice in the world” he moaned to his companion, “There’s that thief sitting at the Captain’s table wining and dining as if there’s no tomorrow and what do we get? Leftover Spaghetti Bolognese. I mean, I ask you Drummond, where’s the justice in that?”

Drummond just sat opposite the Inspector in silence as the Inspector placed a large helping on his plate despite bemoaning it a few second ago and as he was about to put some on the constable’s plate, he said “No thank you, sir, I’m not hungry”.

“Oh, come on, Drummond” he smiled, “it’s not that bad!” but the constable was resolute in his determination.

Just then a comment of “Captain, I cannot remember a better tasting meal” came drifting over from the Captain’s table and the inspector started to bemoan the situation again saying “Look at them, Drummond. Why, I would wager that they are having squid as a starter, then octopus stew as a soup followed by…”

“Please do not talk about food, sir!” came the stern reply and then as the Constable felt something move inside him he added “My stomach feels something awful” and then closed his mouth prompting the Inspector to move his food out of the way instead the contents of the Constable’s stomach came back up.

Back at the Captain’s table, the first course was being enjoyed and as was customary polite conversation ensued starting with the Brigadier asking Phileas’s route. As he explained that they would disembark at Bombay, catch the newly completed cross Indian service to Calcutta and then catch a boat to Singapore, the Brigadier declared “That means that you must travel through Benares then!”

Phileas thought for a moment and then nodded.

“I am on my way there to rejoin my garrison” replied the Brigadier and with that stood up, stood to attention and announced “Permission to join your journey, sir, at least to Benares?”

“Permission granted” smiled Phileas, but Jean was worried. This was the second person who just happened to be on the same mode of transport and going to a place along his master’s route in less than a week and as the Brigadier engaged the Captain, he leaned over and whispered “Master, can we trust him?” to which the reply came, “Don’t worry, he is who he says he is!” and with that took a copy of Burke’s from his jacket pocket and showed Jean the Brigadier’s entry.

“BY JOVE!” declared the Brigadier suddenly, thumping his fist on the table, “Sir, I am an Englishman, and if there is anything I can do to help you complete your journey within the time schedule then you only have to ask!”

“Thank you for the kind offer!” replied Phileas in a tone of voice that made Jean think that his master was rather embarrassed, but if he was, he wasn’t showing it. And when the Brigadier asked the Captain for a bottle of his best champagne to toast the success of the journey, Jean noticed a small smile cross his master’s face and he smiled as well. It was clear that his master was being a cause celebre, as his fellow Frenchmen would call it, and he was more than happy to be part of that cause.

Whilst in the dining room with drinks were being poured with abandon, on deck the Inspector was tending to his poor colleague and reassuring him that everything would be all right and that all was needed for a strong stomach was the application of the concept of mind over matter.

“But, sir” moaned the Constable, as he heaved again, “my stomach is doing things that resemble a worm!” and unable to hold it in, he hurled over the side of the ship. As the Inspector gently patted his back, he moaned “Did you have to mention worms?” and soon both men were heaving over the side.

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Chapter Nineteen

As the following morning progressed, Jean came up on deck to do an alternative to his morning constitutionals. Because his and his master’s cabin was on the small side, he elected to let his master have the run of the place, despite the fact he would love to see his master’s muscles bulge as he challenged himself, but the idea of running laps around the deck filled him with glee. And so, as he lined up at the bow of the boat, he waited for the ship’s hooter than signaled the start of breakfast, and as it sounded he was off like a shot. It only took him forty-five seconds to run down the port side of the deck, however as he started on the starboard side he screeched to a halt next to a bench where two very familiar figures were still asleep. As he politely enquired to their health, one of them woke up with a start.

“Oh” he moaned, as he started to come around, “it’s you. The person who sang that song to cheer us up yesterday. Thank you, sir, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”

“Passepartout” replied Jean, “but you may call me Jean. Are you feeling alright?”

“Thank you” the man replied adding “Actually, my colleague is feeling a little under the weather” and with that he gently shook the man sleeping next to him and whispered “Drummond, wake up, we have company!”

“Please, sir” moaned the constable, “Can’t we go back to London?”

“And may I ask where your master is?” asked the inspector, trying to cover the constable’s remarks

“In his cabin!” came the cheery reply, “preparing himself for the day ahead” and as Jean closed his eyes, he envisioned his master straining himself, pushing himself to the peak of human perfection.

“If it is not too much of a proposition” continued the inspector, “is he going to Bombay?”

“Oui, monsieur” Jean replied, still thinking of his master and wishing he could have been present to witness the feat of endurance he was going through.

“Well, isn’t that a coincidence!” exclaimed the inspector, “that’s where are heading to as well” and with that bowed his head slightly and said “I’m the regional director for the Polar and Oriental company” he said and whispered “So please don’t tell anyone I almost missed this boat!”

Jean smiled and promised he would not and with that bade the inspector a cheery “A bientot!” and resumed his running around the deck leaving the inspector to wipe his brow. His story of being an employee of the Polar and Oriental company had been swallowed hook, line and sinker and that meant he could wander around the ship for the entire journey and not arouse suspicion. All that he needed to do was for wait for Phileas to come on deck and he could tail him from that moment on.

Phileas didn’t appear on the deck until much later on that morning and when he did, he was accompanied by the Brigadier who remarked to Jean “Your master has such a knowledge of the military, I might have to pinch one from you one day!” and chuckled although Jean felt sure that Phileas blushed a little at the statement. However, watching the scene was someone who was about to spoil Phileas’s day in the only way he could and as Timothy smiled wickedly, his eye seemed to glint with pure malice, and with that he made his back to his cabin. His plan was ingenious yet simple at the same time. Earlier that day, he had stolen the keys to every cabin on that deck of the ship and as he span it around his finger, he opened a trunk with his other hand inside of which was a collection of disguises. As he found the clothes he was looking for, he sang a song that he had written himself when celebrating a previous triumph over the police.

“I’m already winning ‘cos I act a like a snake, it is part of my job and I must always state that I’ll win in the end, Yes, in the end, Yes, in the end! The only light that’s finding is coming from my beady eye. One day you will see me but I’ll be in disguise. Then it will be the end, yes, the end, yes the end!”

As he sang he pulled out a jacket, waistcoat, a pair of trousers and a hat and as he got changed he couldn’t help but smile. This plan would see the ruination of Phileas and allow him to pocket his five-thousand-pound prize.  When he finished, he was a complete spitting image of Phileas himself even down to his cane and smiling face. As he put the hat on to complete the look, he chuckled to himself and turned around.

“Perfect” he announced, “no one looking at me would spot the difference” and turned to the next part of his plan, Phileas’s voice. As he remembered how Phileas spoke to him on board the train to Paris, he concentrated on the words he used and his tone of voice and started to speak. “Good morning my dear sir, and how are you today? I am very well indeed, thank you and yourself?” and with that he chuckled “Oh, I am in the best possible mood” and with that picked up the keys he had stolen earlier and let himself out of his cabin being careful not to be seen. As he made his way along the rows of cabins, he stopped outside Phileas’s cabin and peered through the keyhole. There it was, his target, the bag of money. He would use the keys he had stolen to unlock the door, grab the bag and then either burn it in the engines or throw it overboard. He hadn’t decided on which way he would dispose of the money but as he placed a key into the lock he thought “I’ll deal with that in the most diabolical way possible” and with that turned the key.

However, the door refused to unlock, but Timothy was a patient man and so selected the next key on the ring. That didn’t work either and so he chose the next key. He was just trying the fifth key on the ring when he suddenly heard a groan. He span around and found to his horror he was being witnessed. The man in front of him looked horribly ill and so Timothy decided to chance it.

“Good day sir” he said, in Phileas’s educated tones far removed from his gruff East End accent that he was born with, “I hope that you will excuse me, I am just off for a stroll on deck. Perhaps we can meet again sometime, shall I book you for tomorrow lunch?” and with that walked away before breaking into a sprint as he turned a corner. Making sure that the coast was clear again, Timothy resumed his attempt to break into Phileas’s quarters but was getting nowhere fast. He was down to the last key on the ring and if that didn’t turn then his grand scheme had been in vain, so he placed it in the lock and taking a deep breath tried to turn it. There was a click and Timothy breathed, however just then there was a voice in the distance.

“Oh, sir” it said, “I don’t want to!”

Timothy panicked and in doing so locked the door and found that he couldn’t pull the key out. Struggling against the lock he could hear the voices getting closer.

“You’re nothing but a baby, Drummond, you hear me, a baby!”

Timothy now resorted to brute strength and pulled on the key with every fibre of his being.

“Get around that corner!” shouted a voice and as the person who had spied him was flung to the ground, Timothy pulled the key out of the door and was thrown backwards against the opposite door. Grabbing his hat, he made a run for it before the person recovered cursing his luck as he did. Back in his cabin, Timothy threw the hat to the floor in disgust. The keys were useless and as he threw them to the floor as well, a new scheme started to form in his mind, a scheme of such evil intent that even the greatest villains in the world would have clamoured at him not to do it.

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Chapter Twenty

After lunch, the Brigadier and Phileas played each other at whist with Jean and a reverend from Goa making up the quartet, however as the game went on it was clear that Phileas’s skill at the game far exceeded that of his partners and by the end he had garnered some more money that could be used for any accidental expenses on the journey. Seeking some way to get back the money he had lost, the Brigadier chirped as they came onto deck, “Shuffleboard, Phileas?”

“Shuffleboard?” asked Phileas, “what’s that then?”

The smile on the Brigadier’s face was so big than Jean wondered for a moment if it might fall off.

“It’s a common game on board ships” he replied and twisting his moustache he added “and I just happen to the best practioner of it in the British army” and with that he placed a friendly arm around Phileas’s shoulder and walked him towards the board.

“We each have five turns” he said, still beaming, “to score as many points as we can” and with that he picked up a yellow disc and placed it behind a line and then picking up a device that reminded Jean of a broom but without the brush, he pushed the disc along the deck where it slid into the section of the board marked with a ten. As Jean applauded, the Brigadier bowed and asked if the manservant fancied having a go himself. Accepting the Brigadier’s kind offer, he followed the instructions and pushed the disc as if he was pushing a ball. Sadly, that was too strong and the disc sailed past the board and reached the bow of the ship, where a wave crashed over and washed the disc back to the board.

“Mais non” came the sad reply, “I am too strong!” and with that Jean handed the broom back but offered to keep score instead.

“Tell you what!” said the Brigadier, “how about a penny a point eh?”

Phileas nodded as Jean began to wonder whether everything that Englishmen did turned into a wager of some kind and even thought that the Battle of Waterloo, that saw the defeat of the Emperor Napoleon some sixty years previously, was decided on a wager.

“Well” smiled Phileas as he changed his cane for a brush, “let’s see what happens then?” and with that placed a yellow disc behind the line, lined it up and gave it a good shove. The disc sailed along the deck and ended up scoring nine points.

“Not bad” replied the Brigadier and took his shot, however although his disc went just as far it was the wrong side of the line and ended up only scoring a three. A score that prompted the Brigadier to sigh with disappointment.

Phileas lined up his shot, aiming to repeat his last one, however as he shoved it, it was clear that he was in danger of hitting the Brigadier’s disc which is precisely what happened and as Phileas’s disc ending up scoring a five, the Brigadier’s disc was pushed out of play. Turning to the Brigadier, Phileas was about to apologise when the Brigadier asked “Are you sure you’ve never played this game?”

“Never” came the reply, “although it is very similar to the game of bowls that I used to play as a student at Eton. Did I mention that I was school champion three years in a row?”

As the Brigadier took his shot, he began to wonder if he had bitten off more than he could chew but praised Phileas’s efforts as was befitting an Englishman of his caliber to which Phileas replied “Thank you, sir, I appreciate the comment coming from an expert like yourself” and with that the game continued for the rest of the afternoon with Phileas continuing to dominate the game so it should come as no surprise to hear that the Brigadier, desperate to try and regain some money, called the last round “double or nothing”. Even the sea began to become an element as thanks to the speed of the Mongolia, waves started to crash on the deck at regular intervals making the game even more challenging. Indeed, one of the Brigadier’s discs was washed back and as he dried it on his uniform he stated “When that happens, I get to go again” and he did so.

That was the Brigadier’s penultimate disc and as Phileas took his last shot, which only scored a one, the Brigadier knew what he had to do. Score a nine to draw, and ensure that he didn’t have to pay any money or a ten to win and have Phileas pay him a guinea and so he knelt, examining the board like a military tactician, sizing up all the options in order to do what he needed to do. Completing his assessment, he stood up again and placed his disc behind the line and focusing on the number nine on the board whispered under his breath “A nine to tie!”

“LOOK OUT, BRIGADIER” shouted Phileas and he dived to the ground, but the Brigadier was too focused on his game and as he shoved the disc, he was propelled forward by a large rope that had detached itself from the mast and sailed into the distance, his screams fading as he did. As Phileas looked up, he immediately sized up the situation.

“Overboard, is he?” and was about to command Jean to inform the captain when the Brigadier’s voice could be heard.

“Mr. Fogg!” he called, “I’m okay but trapped on the bowsprit” and then proving that the English nation can be exceptionally calm in a crisis announced “Any chance of coming back on board?”

Phileas immediately took control of the situation and sent Jean to get a line whilst reassuring the Brigadier that he would be back on board within a few moments. As Jean fetched the line, an orca whale, one of the largest animals in the oceans broke the surface and immediately started to take a fancy to the Brigadier, as it leapt to within feet of him. But the Brigadier remained brave and told it “Shoo, go away!”

Jean arrived back with the line moments later and as he did, Phileas wrapped it around his cane and employing his throwing arm again launched the cane and rope to the Brigadier who caught it with one hand. As the Brigadier wrapped the rope around himself, Phileas and Jean held the line at the other end. As he did, he turned to his manservant and said gently, “This is going to take all our strength. So, let’s see just how strong the famed Jean Passepartout is eh?” and with that he smiled. Jean nodded in return and braced himself.

“When I count to three, Brigadier” came the shouted instruction, “let go of the bowsprit!”

“Ready, Mr. Fogg!” came the reply

“One, Two, Three!” shouted Phileas and as the Brigadier let go, both men pulled with every fibre of their being allowing the Brigadier to swing down parallel to the deck. However, just as the two men were congratulating themselves, the orca whale made another appearance and caused the Brigadier to scream something that whilst loud enough to be heard by the entire ship was certainly not something that would ever appear in dispatches.

“PULL!” shouted Phileas and as both men yanked the rope up the determination writ on their faces and in the case of Jean, on his trousers as well, the orca whales’ hopes of an easy dinner was thwarted. With both men now straining, the Brigadier managed to grab the railings on the side of the ship and hauled himself onto the deck and as he did, both Phileas and Jean collapsed on the deck as well, breathing hard but a sense of satisfaction that they had saved the life of the Brigadier washing over themselves.

As they recovered, Jean found the rope that had propelled the Brigadier and as he examined it, he gasped. It had been cleanly cut and looking up to where the rope had come from, he was convinced that he saw a figure disappear. As his master and the Brigadier shook hands, he could feel his anger starting to build. This was the third time that someone had dared to attack them on this journey and he was determined that if he ever found out who it was, they would know what it was like to upset “The Strongest Man in the Circuses of France!”

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Chapter Twenty One

As the Mongolia sailed into the harbour of Bombay, Jean sighed with content. They were now in Asia, and although it would take them nearly forty days to cross the continent, he knew that they would be able to do it. Comparing him to the manservant who complained bitterly at the thought of having to travel anywhere ever again, he was a changed man but then, as he said to himself, he now had a man he would follow to the ends of the earth and so saying, his master and lover appeared on deck closely followed by the Brigadier and as his master thanked the captain for all his assistance in making up the lost time in Suez, Jean couldn’t help but notice his master was looking particularly refreshed and wondered how much of that was due to their lovemaking the previous day.

As the travelling party disembarked, the Brigadier took a deep breath and said “Smell that, that’s British India” and was soon sprouting all manner of details about the jewel in the crown of the British empire and Jean noticed that his master was soaking it all in.

“Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls” the Brigadier announced, “The British Crown exercises a real dominion over the larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra, not to mention a small garrison at Benares!”

“But British India, only embraces seven hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten million inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent!” he continued, and Jean was sure that he spotted a scowl cross the Brigadier’s face at the mention of those rajahs.

“And the celebrated East India Company?” asked Phileas

The Brigadier in reply took off his pith helmet and held it in front of him as if mourning the loss of a soldier, “passed away” he replied, “leaving the British possessions in India directly under the control of the Crown” and with that he placed his helmet back on his head and cheerily asked Phileas if he would like to taste some Indian cuisine before getting on the train to Calcutta.

Phileas consented and asked Jean to do some shopping in order that they might sample India as they travelled through it. Just as they left, the Brigadier nudged Phileas and said “Just be careful about the rabbits!” and with that strode off towards the station laughing, leaving Phileas and Jean mystified, but as his master followed the Brigadier, he reminded Jean that he had to be back at the station within four hours.

Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and food, he took a leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of many nationalities—Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas with round turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres, and long-robed Armenians—were collected. It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival. These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster—the thriftiest, civilised, intelligent, and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted the richest native merchants of Bombay—were celebrating a sort of religious carnival, with processions and shows, during which Indian dancing-girls, clothed in rose-coloured gauze, looped up with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect modesty, to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines. It is needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance was that of the greenest booby imaginable.

He then suddenly became aware of some music and turned around to find a man, sitting crossed legged on the ground, playing something like a trombone in front of a basket. Naturally assuming that the basket was a receptacle for coins thrown by a grateful audience, Jean decided to follow his master’s instincts and took a shilling from his wallet, however as he was about to place it into the basket, a cobra slowly raised its head. Jean instantly took a step back; he had encountered cobras in the circus before. They were known for their venom that was so strong just a single bite could kill an elephant. However, as he watched, he became convinced that this cobra was under the complete control of the man playing the instrument.

“It’s a snake charmer” he declared and watched the demonstration for a few moments before an idea planted itself in his mind that caused the manservant to chuckle. And so, fueled by his idea, he stepped forward, knelt next to the basket and stared intently at the cobra. To start off with the cobra, ignored him, but as he started to move his hands around, the cobra started to pay attention.

“You are getting sleepy” intoned Jean, “your eyelids are getting heavy!”

Slowly, but surely, the cobra started to follow Jean’s movements.

“You cannot resist the power of my mind” Jean continued, and then with a sharp note he said “SLEEP!” and with that snapped his fingers. Instantly the cobra fell and was completely unconscious. Turning around, Jean bowed and soaked up the applause when he suddenly felt a sting at the back of his heel. He looked down and gasped in horror as the cobra was now snapped onto his heel. As he shook it off, he could feel the venom pouring into him. This was it, Jean Passepartout, the famous gymnast, fire sergeant and strongman, was to die in India but as he lapsed into unconsciousness his last thought was for his master whispering “Forgive me, my lover!”

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Chapter Twenty Two

“Excuse me, honourable sir” said a voice, “have you finished with my snake?”

Jean opened his eyes to find the snake charmer standing over him.

“Am I in heaven?” Jean asked

“Bombay!” came the reply, “and why did you faint like that? My snake is very old and has no fangs” and as if to prove the point he opened the snakes mouth and pointed the lack of fangs. Jean was alive and as he jumped to his feet in joy, he did a couple of somersaults and found himself standing next to his master.

“Ah, there you are!” he said, smiling, “Glad I found you. Now, we’ve got a small problem, well, a large one actually. Thanks to an elephant sleeping on the tracks just outside Bombay, our train’s been delayed by about five hours, still, I suppose it’s our fault. We will colonise these indolent countries, anyway, basic upshot is you’ve got some more time to explore. Tell you what, I seem to recall from one of the many articles I have read, that the Mount Pillaji pagoda over there, is one of the most beautiful things to see in the whole of India, so how about you go and see what it is like whilst I drain the Brigadier’s wallet a bit more, eh? Okay then, see you in five hours then!”

“Thank you, master!” came the reply and as Jean headed off to the pagoda, Phileas smiled, but this wasn’t a smile of affection to his lover, it was a smile that just oozed wickedness and with that he set off back to the station. As he walked through one of the many markets, he hovered by a stall selling fruit and deciding that he fancied an apple, took one. But, instead of waking the owner and paying him, he simply walked off, munching the apple.

Suddenly, his arm was grabbed from behind and as he turned around, a man bellowed “Phileas Fogg, I arrest you in the name of Her Majesty” and before he could react, another man grabbed his other arm. There was a brief struggle, the arrest was complete and Inspector Fix couldn’t help but note the irony as he said “You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, Phileas” and with that Phileas looked at the apple.

Unware of his master’s fate, Jean found the pagoda that his master had pointed out to him and decided to pay closer inspection to it. If the Brigadier had been with him, he would have grabbed him by the arm and told him that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples, and that even the faithful must not go in without first leaving their shoes outside the door but the Brigadier was probably being forced into bankruptcy by his master so Jean went inside. He was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging.

He looked up to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell upon him; tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in knocking down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorous application of his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legs could carry him. Soon, a crowd of about thirty of the vicious assassins followed him into the main town. As he did he screamed for help at the top of his voice, hoping that the famed British policemen who patrolled the streets would come to his aid.

The British policemen who Jean was most familiar with, however, were sitting on a settee in the office of the commissioner of police for Bombay and between them was Phileas, sitting with his arms and legs folded and refusing to answer any questions save that he did not steal the apple.

“Well of course he would!” said the Inspector to the commissioner who seemed more interested in smelling the incense burning on his desk than the potential bank robber sitting just feet in front of him, “so just give me that warrant that should have arrived here by now, and I will allow Scotland Yard to deal with this ourselves!”

“Warrant?” asked the commissioner, “I have no warrant!”

Inside the Inspector seethed with anger. That warrant was starting to become a right nuisance, but he withheld his anger and turned his attention to Phileas. “Life is strange isn’t it, Mr. Fogg?” he asked, with a smile, “You were well on your way to escaping with the bank’s money. But then you decided to pinch an apple, like a schoolboy, and now you’re heading to jail. Do you have anything to say, sir?”

“No” came the reply which made the Inspector lose his temper

“Now, listen here, you” he bellowed, “Admit it. You stole fifty-five thousand pounds from the Bank of England on September 29th 1872, didn’t you? Go on, admit it!” and with that he stared at the impassive face hoping to generate a reaction, but none came and with that he sat down and admitted defeat.

“Sir” asked the constable, “If this gentleman isn’t going to help us with our inquiries, can I…?” and with that started to bend his arm in a threatening manner.

Suddenly, Phileas reacted, punching the Inspector in the stomach, kicking the Constable in the groin, and then using the table that was in front of them as a launching pad, jumped through the window showering the floor with glass much to the surprise of the commissioner who reacted with a concerned “Oh!”

As the two policemen recovered from the attack, the constable asked why he had attacked them. In all of their encounters, he had acted like a gentleman. The inspector was about to reply “Remember Brindisi” when the commissioner noticed something caught in the now broken window.

“Goodness” he said, “I hope that he’s not in too much pain?” and produced a hand. However, as the Inspector examined the body part, he noticed flecks of pink colouring on his gloves. He licked a finger and ran it along the hand and found it covered with more pink flecks. It was a glove disguised to look like a hand. “It is becoming clear” he said, holding the glove in the air, “that was not the real Phileas Fogg” and raising his voice in anger he roared “THAT WAS AN IMPOSTOR!” and with that he threw the glove to the ground in anger and charged out of the commissioner’s office and out into the boiling heat of the Indian autumn determined to stop the real Phileas leaving on the train. Running faster than he had ever done in his life, he arrived at the station just in time to see it disappear into the distance. Cursing his luck again, he turned around and found his companion trying to placate a large number of people. Taking control of the situation with a powerful “Can I help?”, a shoe was thrust into his face. Examining the shoe closely, he knew whose it was. It was the manservant of the criminal he was trying to catch and as he listened to the tale of treachery committed at the pagoda, he began to smile. Placing his arm around one of the worshippers he said “Gentlemen, I believe I can help you!” and with that led the crowd back to the commissioner’s office.

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Chapter Twenty Three

“Just how big is India?” asked Jean as he stared out of the window of the train that was conveying them across the subcontinent.

“Well” chuckled the Brigadier, “think of it like this. You could fit the whole of Britain into India at least twice over, with a bit to spare. I hope that you get used to looking at it, you’ve only seen about a quarter of it so far!”

Jean sat back into his seat and sighed and as he did he waggled his feet prompting the Brigadier to say “Look, if it’s about your shoe don’t worry. We can always get another one can’t we, Mr. Fogg?”

“Oh, almost certainly” came the reply, even though Mr. Fogg was absorbed in his Bradshaw’s

“Thank you, monsieurs” he replied, “but I cannot accept. That shoe was made by the finest shoemaker in all of Paris, any other shoe wouldn’t do” and with that he got up and left the compartment to wallow in his own regret. As he did, the Brigadier leaned over to Phileas and said quietly “You do run the risk of having some difficulty about this worthy fellow’s adventure at the pagoda you know, The Government is very severe upon that kind of offence. It takes particular care that the religious customs of the Indians should be respected, and if your servant were caught…?”

“I am fully aware of the laws of India, Brigadier” came the slightly sharp reply, “if he had been caught he would have been condemned and punished, and then would have quietly returned to Europe. I don’t see how this affair could have delayed his master!” and with that he resumed his investigation of the routes across India leaving the Brigadier to wonder what sort of man Phileas was.

In the corridor, Jean was walking from the front of the train to the back constantly asking the same question “Oh, why, oh, why did I come on this trip?”. He stopped by a window and taking out his gift from the Professors in Egypt, moved the dial to O and held it up to the sun and as a beam of light hit the number twelve he got out his watch to compare and noticed that it was reading half past six. As he scratched his head thinking why the clock that he had set to the chimes of Big Ben, as per his master’s instructions were now at least five hours out, but as he tried to figure it out, the train started to slow down and slid into a station.

“Burhampour” announced the guard and before Jean knew what was happening, he was bustled outside by a swarm of people. Recovering from the assault of humanity, he realised that they had stopped for refreshments and so finding his master’s carriage from the outside, knocked on the window and asked what he and the Brigadier would like. Passing a few coins through the window, Phileas ordered some bananas, a pineapple, an apple and a melon whilst the Brigadier asked for nothing more fancy than a few freshly baked bread rolls. As the manservant completed his task, still wearing only one shoe, a canny merchant stepped in front of him and presented him with the opportunity to buy a pair of slippers ornamented with false pearls. However, no matter how hard he tried to convince the merchant that he was happy with one shoe, he was forced into buying them and boarded the train wearing them.

As the train carried on its journey, Jean found himself falling asleep very easily. For someone who liked to keep himself busy, all this sitting down doing nothing was very boring, however his dreams kept him active just as the dream he was having now was. He had somehow, but as with all dreams never sought to ask how, become a member of that fine military organisation of seventeenth century France, the Musketeers, and having demonstrated his strength against the so-called Titan, had earned the friendship of the man who although formally called the Baron du Vallon was known to his friends as Porthos. Indeed, in the dream he was experiencing, Porthos and Jean were being tested to the limits.

"So, the newest recruit to the corps believes that he can beat me, does he?"

As Jean stood ready, his sword drawn and inches from the Cardinal's neck, he growled "No-one, no-one threatens the life of my friend and gets away with it, monsieur!"

"My, you do instil them with courage don't you Porthos?" and with that the Cardinal snapped his fingers and a curtain fell to reveal...

"Non, Jean, it's a trap!"

"Mon Dieu, what is that thing?"

"It's called a rack, mon amis" smiled the Cardinal wickedly, "and all it takes is this!" and with that he called "Begin the torture of the Titan"

Instantly the rack that Porthos was tied to began to creak and as it did Porthos, naked save for a loincloth, gritted his teeth grunting, "Jean, mon amis, it is you they wanted. They knew that they would get nothing out of me, so captured me to lure you here so you would have to choose!"

"Yes" added the Cardinal, "choose, monsieur, tell me the secrets of your connection to the Habsburg Empire and I will release your lover, if not, then..." and as Porthos grunted against the strain, the Cardinal nodded and said "Five minutes, monsieur, five minutes to save your lover's life" and with that left the chamber leaving Jean torn.

"Jean" grunted Porthos, and as Jean approached his lover, Jean started to moan with desire saying "Porthos, to see your strength, raw, oh, my love, this is a nightmare and a dream!"

"You're a Musketeer" grunted Porthos, "you know what you have to do!" and with that nodded towards Jean's sword.

"Non, but...!"

"I am dead, already" came the grunted reply, "Not even I can withstand this for ever, better to kill me now, kill me knowing that my strength is preventing me from succumbing to the torture that would make lesser men scream. Kill me and keep your secrets safe!"

As Jean placed his hand on Porthos's chest, he moaned with desire as he felt the Titan's heart pounding deep in his chest. This was Jean darkest desire come true, Porthos, almost naked, his strength being tested to his limits and yet, he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill his lover, but knew that Porthos was right and so bidding adieu to his lover, clambered on him, kissed him on the lips, unsheathed his sword and held it above his lover's now heaving chest.

"Do it, Jean!" grunted Porthos, "DO IT!" 

Just as Jean was about to plunge the sword into Porthos's muscular chest, without any warning, Jean felt himself flying and woke up to find him lying on the floor of the carriage, his arms and legs spread out. As he clambered to his feet, his master woke up as well and shaking the sleep out his eyes wondered what was going on. Jean, leapt to his feet and went outside to find out. As he did, he found the train rapidly emptying and the train stopped a few yards from a pair of buffers. Wondering what a pair of buffers was doing in the middle of the Indian jungle, the manservant went around them and got the shock of his life.

"Mon dieu!" he stammered, "What's happened to the tracks?"

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Chapter Twenty Four

“Stuff and nonsense!” exclaimed the Brigadier as Jean reported back his findings, and with that took out an edition of the Bombay Times dated from a month previously and read the lead article.

“The Indian Continental Railway Company is pleased to announce that from September 1st 1872, passengers will be able to travel all the way from Bombay to Calcutta by means of our first ever train service across this great continent. Tickets start at two hundred thousand rupees and can be purchased from any booking service!”

As Phileas, Jean and the Brigadier examined the buffers a few moments later, the Brigadier was left speechless.

“This…This can’t be happening!” he said

As Phileas looked around for someone to ask, a guard clambered down from the train and so attracting his attention, Phileas asked for a reason as to the strange termination.

“Oh” replied the guard, “you were not told?”

“Told what?” asked the Brigadier

“The train terminates here at the village of Kholby. From here all passengers are requested to provide their own transport to Allahabad where the service continues from there to Calcutta!” came the reply

“NOW, YOU LOOK HERE” roared Jean and ran up to the guard and proving that you should never annoy a Frenchman started to remonstrate with the guard shouting “WE PAID A LOT OF GOOD MONEY IN BOMBAY FOR A TRAIN THAT WENT TO CALCUTTA. IF YOU HAVEN’T EVEN BUILT THE RAILWAY, THEN WHY DID THEY SELL US THE TICKETS?” and with that he put his fists and was ready to pound that guard into the ground.

“I am not the man who sold you the tickets” came the calm reply, “if you wish to lodge a complaint, you must do so in Bombay!”

Now it was the Brigadier’s turn to lose his temper, but as you know when Englishmen lose their temper, the reaction is now quite what you would expect and so with his eyes full of anger, the Brigadier reached for a pad in his pocket and a pencil and said as he wrote “To the Editor of the Times of London, from Brigadier Cromarty, commanding officer of the garrison of Benares, British India. Sir, I wish to complain in the strongest possible terms about the appalling service that I have received travelling on the railway between Bombay and Calcutta…” and with that carried on writing the letter of complaint. All the while, Phileas had been thinking and calmly replied “If my memory serves me correct, it’s about eighty miles to Allahabad, therefore let us start!” and with that he twirled his cane under his arm and walked off in the direction that the railway would go in once completed.

“Sir” exclaimed the Brigadier, pausing in his letter of complaint, “you can’t seriously expect to walk through eighty miles of jungle. It would take you forty hours at least and the jungle is a dangerous place. I…I will not allow you to endanger your life”

“Then I am open to suggestions” replied Phileas and with that he got back on the train and moments later was consulting his Bradshaw’s looking for an alternative method of transport leaving the Brigadier and Jean to find what most people would have deemed impossible. Transport in the middle of the Indian jungle.

They soon reached a small hut, near which, enclosed within some high palings, has the very thing that Phileas was looking for. An Indian came out of the hut, and, at their request, conducted them within the enclosure and introduced Jean and the Brigadier to the enclosure’s only occupant, an elephant called Kiouni. When the two travelers asked if it could travel rapidly for a long time, the owner agreed with that statement and so they asked him to accompany them back to the train and soon Phileas was standing next to, perhaps the strangest method of transport he was like to use, but, in default of any other means of conveyance, Phileas resolved to hire him.

A process that was easier said than done for when Phileas proposed to the Indian to hire Kiouni, he refused point-blank. Phileas smiled politely and offered ten pounds an hour for the loan of the beast to Allahabad. But again, the owner refused and what followed could only be described as an auction with Phileas increasing the bid every time, and yet the reaction from the owner was the same. Twenty pounds? Refused also. Forty pounds? Still refused. Jean and indeed the Brigadier looked at each other in disbelief as the bids kept climbing. Phileas, without getting in the least flurried, suddenly changed tack and proposed to purchase the animal outright, and at first offered a thousand pounds for him. The Indian, perhaps thinking he was going to make a great bargain, still refused.

The Brigadier took Phileas aside, and begged him to reflect before he went any further; to which that gentleman replied that he was not in the habit of acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand pounds was at stake, that the elephant was absolutely necessary to him, and that he would secure him if he had to pay twenty times his value and returning to the Indian, whose small, sharp eyes, glistening with avarice, Phileas offered first twelve hundred, then fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds by which time Jean very nearly fainted. However, the deal was done prompting Jean to declare “What a price for an elephant!”

This now brought up another problem, who could possibly guide them through the jungles of India? The Brigadier was asked first but he apologised saying that he only really knew the area around Benares. The owner of the elephant however had an idea and a few moments later, a younger man, with an intelligent face, offered his services, which Mr. Fogg accepted, promising so generous a reward as to materially stimulate his zeal. This man didn’t have a name, at least that the travelers could tell, but as preparations for the journey got underway, Jean was already thinking up names, names that all had one thing in common, they were descriptions of the man’s lean physique and his almost gymnastic like slenderness. The Parsee, who was an accomplished elephant driver, covered the elephant’s back with a sort of saddle-cloth, and attached to each of his flanks some curiously uncomfortable howdahs. Phileas paid the Indian with some banknotes which he extracted from the famous carpet-bag, a proceeding that seemed to deprive poor Jean of his vitals. Then he offered to carry the Brigadier as well which he gratefully accepted, as one traveler more would not be likely to fatigue the gigantic beast. Provisions were purchased at Kholby, and, while the Brigadier and Phileas took the howdahs on either side, Jean got astride the saddle-cloth between them. The Parsee perched himself on the elephant’s neck, and a mere hour after the train had suddenly stopped, the animal was marching off through the dense forest of palms by the shortest cut, their journey resumed.

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Chapter Twenty Five

It had been eighteen hours since the Englishman had bought himself an elephant and the unusual method of transport was paying its master in spades. Walking it would have taken the company at least twenty-eight hours to get to Allahabad and that was assuming that they did not get pounced on by any of the wild animals that lived in the jungles, but as the guide resumed the journey after a good night’s sleep, Phileas knew that they would arrive that evening and only lose a fraction of the forty-eight hours that they were ahead by and so as they continued, they took in the sights of the lower spurs of the Vindhias. Towards noon they passed by the village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches of the Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep the open country, which lies along the first depressions of the basin of the great river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north-east. They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was amply partaken of and appreciated. At two o’clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended several miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods. They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the journey seemed on the point of being successfully accomplished, when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped and a few moments later, a sound could be heard.

It now seemed like a distant concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments. Jean was all eyes and ears, whereas Phileas patiently waited without a word. The guide jumped to the ground, fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket. A few moments later he came back and without a word unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at the same time putting his fingers to his lips. He held himself ready to bestride the animal at a moment’s notice, should flight become necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession of the faithful would pass without perceiving them amid the thick foliage, in which they were wholly concealed.

The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer, and now droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals. The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees, a hundred paces away; and the strange figures who performed the religious ceremony were easily distinguished through the branches. First came the priests, with mitres on their heads, and clothed in long lace robes. They were surrounded by men, women, and children, who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals by the tambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn a car with large wheels, the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each other. Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus, stood a hideous statue with four arms, the body coloured a dull red, with haggard eyes, disheveled hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted with betel. It stood upright upon the figure of a prostrate and headless giant.

A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round the statue; these were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts whence their blood issued drop by drop. Some Brahmins, clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman who faltered at every step, followed. This woman was young, and as fair as a European. Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold, and covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her form. As she came into view she suddenly fell to the ground and pleaded “Please, don’t do this, I beg of you!”

Her words seemed to have a strange effect on Phileas who was watching intently. This woman was, he couldn’t find the words, but whatever those words were, she was. As the guards surrounding her thrust their spears to her and replied “You should be honoured, to die on the funeral pyre of your late husband is the highest honour a Rajah’s wife can experience”, Phileas’s mood changed instantly. The emotions flowing through him were ones he had never felt before, at least not towards a woman. He wanted to kiss her, hold her passionately in his arms, reassure her that she would not die, knock those guards for six and then, make mad, passionate love to her all that night. No, he was inverted, he only loved muscular men like his manservant, but this woman, he, he had to kiss her, he had to know what it was like to…

As Phileas was struck by internal torment, the guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists, and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man, gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban embroidered with pearls, a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere sewed with diamonds, and the magnificent weapons of a Hindu prince. Next came the musicians and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the noise of the instruments; these closed the procession and still Phileas was looking into the distance, his eyes still remembering the beauty of the woman.

As the procession’s noise faded, the Brigadier shook his head sadly and said “A suttee!” to which the guide nodded.

“A settee?” asked Jean, mispronouncing the word.

“Suttee!” corrected the Brigadier, “a human sacrifice, but a voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow at the dawn of day!”

Phileas seemed to snap out of his trance at the Brigadier’s explanation and as Jean declared “the scoundrels!” Phileas left his hiding place and stood in the middle of the track looking towards the procession that was now far in the distance. “Is it possible,” he asked, his voice betraying not the least emotion, “that these barbarous customs still exist in India, and that the English have been unable to put a stop to them?”

The Brigadier nodded sadly and said “These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India but we have no power over these savage territories, and especially here in Bundelcund. The whole district north of the Vindhias is the theatre of incessant murders and pillage.”

As Phileas continued to stare into the distance, he felt himself going hard. He couldn’t explain why or indeed how this was possible but as he felt the sensation in his trousers he made a statement that shocked his companions to the core.

“Suppose we save this woman?” he asked

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