The Devil's Assassin (Jack Lark) by Paul Fraser Collard

Author:Paul Fraser Collard [Fraser Collard, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2015-01-29T05:00:00+00:00

Jack’s lungs rasped as he struggled for breath. It had been a long night already, and he could hear his own tortured gasps echoing in his ears as he raced along.

The fleeting shape of the fleeing Persian teacher was still ahead. The detritus of the British camp flashed by as Jack’s boots pounded into the hard-baked ground. He blundered through the areas between the tents, careless of knocking into stands of rifles, the clatter of the falling weaponry barely registering in his mind.

‘What the fuck!’

He crashed past a redcoat staggering back from the latrines, the shouted oath left to linger in the quiet of the camp as he raced onwards, never once taking his eyes from the figure ahead. He could feel the muscles in his thighs beginning to burn. His breath scorched as he forced it into his straining lungs. He would have cursed against the pain, but it was all he could do to maintain his pace.

Then the Persian teacher turned.

Jack saw the flash of a knife, the blade reflecting the light of the nearest campfire. His boots scrabbled for purchase on the dusty soil and he slewed to a halt no more than half a dozen paces away from the man he had been chasing. They were close to the edge of the camp’s lines, in an open area free of tents where the nearest battalion would form up when they stood to with the dawn. It gave the Persian room to manoeuvre. Space to fight.

‘Put it down.’ Jack’s voice rasped in his throat. He would have dearly loved to bend double and suck in a revitalising lungful of air, relieving the pain in his abused body, but he could sense the sudden change in mood and his hand moved instinctively to hover over the hilt of his talwar.

The Persian said nothing. Jack saw the man’s tongue flicker nervously over his lips, his eyes roving around, looking for a way to escape. He was in the midst of a British army encampment. There were sentries to all sides; Outram had issued orders that the camp should be well protected at all times, no matter that the enemy army was supposed to be some fifty miles distant. There was no escape for the munshi.

‘There’s nowhere to run to.’ Jack spoke more clearly as his breathing started to return to a more normal level. ‘Come with me. You won’t be hurt.’

The Persian spat on the ground. He did not reply. He did not need to. His face revealed exactly what he thought of Jack’s offer.

‘Don’t be a fool.’ Jack felt the first prick of anger. ‘Do as you are fucking told and drop the knife.’ He had never been good at diplomacy.

The Persian looked around once more before dropping into a crouch, the knife held low in his right hand.

‘You stupid bastard.’ Jack’s left hand slipped to his side. In one practised movement he pulled his revolver from its holster, bringing it up smoothly so that it pointed at the Persian’s heart.

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