A Singular Hostage by Thalassa Ali

Author:Thalassa Ali
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: George Eden, War stories, Historical, Eden, Auckland, British - India, War & Military, India, British, Fiction, Frances, Historical fiction, Ranjit Singh, India - History - 19th century, Afghan Wars, Emily
ISBN: 9780553381764
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2002-11-26T01:56:35.438842+00:00

We have no information yet.” Faqeer Azizuddin motioned his assistant toward a pair of reed stools that waited in the shade. “If I knew your son's whereabouts, I would already have sent someone to bring him here.” He tipped his head toward the Maharajah's silent yellow tent, twenty yards away, the saddled horse tethered beside it.

“You would have sent someone to bring him here?” Hassan sat down wearily. “Why, Faqeer Sahib? Saboor is ill. He must be allowed to come home to us.”

The Faqeer drew his robe over his knees. “I know, my boy, I know your son should be with you. I have tried many times to persuade the Maharajah to send him home, but this is not the time to do it.” He patted Hassan's arm. “Do not fear. We will find Saboor, we will look after him, and we will return him after the durbar. That I have promised you.”

Hassan's eyes did not leave the Faqeer's face. “People say he was too weak to stand when he arrived at this camp.”

The Faqeer nodded. “Saboor was weak when he came, yes,” he agreed, “but he has recently become stronger. He has a reliable servant. The cooks have been ordered to make fresh food for him.” He leaned forward. “Hassan, you know how I love you and your father. I am desperate at your pain and at Saboor's loneliness, but the Maharajah, too, deserves our affection. Who else has his energy, his curiosity, his courage? Who else could have forged the Punjab, beaten and impoverished after a hundred years of plunder and destruction, into this great kingdom?”

He opened his hands. “Like all men, he has failings. He drinks too much wine, he eats and sleeps too little. These failings are killing him. There are times when he cannot move his limbs, when he cannot speak. He will not take his medicine of ground pearls. All he wants is Saboor. I know it is desperation and not reason that leads him to believe in Saboor's power to heal him, but I cannot stand by and see my king die without trying to give him what he wants. If, at this moment, I could bring Saboor to him, I would do it.”

“Will the Maharajah die because he is without my Saboor, or will Saboor die because he is with the Maharajah?” Hassan's tone was soft, but his face remained hard.

Faqeer Azizuddin did not reply. Both men looked up as a servant boy stepped from the parade ground and approached them. “Are you, sir, the Maharajah's Chief Minister?” the boy asked in a clear voice, after planting himself in front of the Faqeer.

“I am,” answered the Faqeer.

“Then this letter is for you.” The child held out a folded paper.

As the boy departed, Faqeer Azizuddin turned the letter over. “My old friend Shafiuddin,” he said warmly. “How well I remember his hand! I was so sorry to have missed him when he was at your father's house.” He smiled at Hassan. “Our friendship is as old as our childhood.

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