The Peacock Stone (The Stone Collection Book 2) by Nick Hawkes

Author:Nick Hawkes [Hawkes, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780648110323
Publisher: Hawkesflight Media
Published: 2019-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Jayanti scolded herself for being childish. She was timing the number of seconds between beeps of the horn. The maximum was twenty-two seconds. Their driver was impatient to get to his elephant.

As the jeep climbed up into the high country along a twisting road, she became too interested in the view outside to continue her game. They’d been driving for almost four hours, and the views outside were spectacular. Massive slabs of granite soared into the sky from the green mosaic of the tea plantations covering the hills. Lines of trees had been planted among the tea bushes, presumably to help break up the wind.

Deliciously, the temperature outside was cool—a consequence of being at an elevation of over four thousand feet.

Jayanti was sitting in the back seat watching a waterfall cascading down the rocks beside the road when the crash happened.

There was a skid and a sickening crunch. She spun around in time to see a motorbike bounce off the front of the car ahead of them, flinging its driver so that he skidded across the road on his face.

Jayanti screamed as their jeep swerved and braked violently to avoid the car in front.

The motorbike was not the usual lightweight bike, but a heavy, diesel powered Enfield, an old-fashioned looking bike considered a status symbol by India’s young men. It was big enough to cause so much damage to the car in front, that the car’s driver was not able to accelerate off, and escape the crash site.

Almost immediately, people from the nearby village started gathering at the scene. Jayanti had seen too many accidents in India to be under any illusions as to what would happen next. If the car looked to be driven by someone who was well off, they would be dragged from the car, beaten by the crowd and hauled to the police where they would be made to pay—regardless of who was at fault.

The motorbike rider was soon surrounded by the curious, the calculating and the concerned. They were waiting for someone to lead them into a general consensus as to who was to blame: whom they should direct their anger toward.

Ravi was fingering his head. It was evident that he’d hit it on the dashboard. Jayanti could see blood on his hands. But before she could voice her concern, he’d opened the door and was pushing through the crowd standing over the body of the motorcyclist.

Jayanti followed.

When Ravi turned the young man over, Jayanti gasped in shock. His lower jaw and mouth were a bloody mess. A gurgling noise told her that the man was drowning in his own blood.

She knelt down beside Ravi as he tried to clear the man’s airways. He shook his head in frustration. “Jayanti, get me a knife.”

Jayanti yelled the request for a knife at the crowd in Malayalam.

In short order, a kitchen knife was thrust into her hand. She handed it to Ravi.

The crowd pushed in closer to watch. Ravi yelled at them in Hindi to keep clear.

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