"Dif," Adaira muttered beside me, fingers clamped tightly onto her nose, "if not how I imagined my firft tropical adventure."

"Really?" I glanced over towards her and sniffed. Strange...I couldn't smell anything at all. "In my experience, this is how things usually go. Either you are trudging through mosquito-infested jungles, or hellish deserts, or, well..." I gestured at the surrounding mouldy darkness, the cavernous ceiling of the tunnel, and the...what was that oddly-shaped rotten thing floating down the canal not far away? Well, not important.

"How are you not affected at all?" Adaira demanded.

Reaching over, I patted my silent husband's shoulder. "You can thank your brother for that. During the last few days, when we were in hiding, he helped me gain immunity to any kind of odour, even the worst stench imaginable."

"Really?" She lit up, then turned to her brother and sent him the best glare she could manage with her fingers still clamped over her nose. "Why didn't you tell me about dat?"

Silence.

"Oy! How about you fare that miraculouf mefod with your beloved little fifter?"

More silence. Which was probably for the best, since she most likely wouldn't appreciate knowing that the "miraculous method" consisted of spending several days in the loft above a giant dung pile. After that, trudging through recently flooded sewers didn't seem so bad anymore.

And speaking of trudging through sewers...

"So," I started in a conversational tone, "does anyone here actually know where we are going, or are we just walking straight ahead in the hope this passage leads out of the city rather than into a watery grave?"

Wordlessly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

"Is that a map of the sewers?" I enquired hopefully.

"No."

"Oh."

A pause.

"So...?"

"It's a street map of Delhi. I noticed gutters on both sides of the streets above. Thus, I deduced that the sewers in this city, as in many others, follow the same pattern as the streets."

"And, um, Mr Ambrose...?"

"Yes?"

"What if the sewers don't follow the street pattern? What if the rain starts again, and the sewers are flooded with rainwater?"

"Then I will quickly gain a lot more liquid assets."

"Now of all times is not the time for you to discover your sense of humour!"

"Who says I was joking?"

"I can't believe I have to say this, but...being in a sewer during a flood is not a good thing!"

"Indeed?"

"You—!"

Before I could get out another word, my husband whirled around and captured my cheek with his hand. Even down here in the dark, I could see his arctic eyes boring into me.

"Being in a sewer during a flood may not be a good thing," his voice rumbled, "but being caught in a city during the attack of a hostile army is even worse. Listen!"

Thanks to instincts honed during countless hours of office work, I did as he said. At first, the only thing I heard was the dripping of dirty water all around us, accompanied by the occasional unhealthy sound as the carcass of a half-rotten rat bumped against the edges of the canal. But then...

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound was distant. Deep. Almost inaudible. Yet...

I swallowed. "Are those...marching boots?"

"Indeed."

"It...it could just be a group of rebels, right?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to. Because the sound of marching boots clearly wasn't coming from above us. Faint as it was, I could clearly tell it was coming from far ahead. And, a moment later, the sound of marching feet was joined by drums and trumpet signals—very familiar ones I had heard back home at parades in England.

"Indeed?"

It was truly incredible how much meaning he could squeeze into that one single word.

The four of us exchanged looks. Down here in the darkness, we could barely see our own hands down here in the dark, much less each other's expressions, but somehow, we came to a silent agreement.

"Let's get out of this city fast, shall we?" Adaira suggested. "I don't think it's a problem if we get a little wet."

"I love swimming," I added.

"I do not guarantee I will be able to stop myself if I encounter British soldiers." Karim cracked his knuckles. "So we had better leave quickly."

We all looked at Mr Ambrose.

"Like I said." He cocked his head. "Liquid assets."

I opened my mouth to demand he not joke about such things now of all times—only to catch a glance of his granite face and decide that, possibly, he might actually be serious.

Note to self, Lilly: just in case, get out of here before it starts to rain.

"All right. No objections?" I asked, receiving only silence in return.

"Then we're all agreed," my husband concluded. "The exit down at the river should be that way. The faster we get out of here the better."

"Ehem..." Captain Carter—or at least a shadowy figure vaguely shaped like him—raised a hand. "Does anyone care about my opinion?"

"No," came Mr Ambrose's immediate reply.

"Plus, would you really disagree?" Adaira glanced down at herself in her rebel's uniform. "I would prefer not to encounter British soldiers while dressed like this."

"Point taken." The captain nodded. "Let's go."

Without further ado, we all started down the grimy tunnel. Mr Ambrose marched ahead, and I was right behind him, doing my best to keep up with his swift strides. By now, I was far less worried about the rain that might soon come from above than the army that was marching towards the city this very moment. I just hoped we could get out of here before the shooting started. Because cannonballs most likely wouldn't stop because of a few flimsy old tunnel bricks.

Well, at least the attack on the city isn't likely to start down here. Generals don't usually invade cities through sewers, right? They're not Mr Rikkard Ambrose, after all.

With my dear husband in the lead, we made a left turn, then a right, doing our best to move in a straight line in this filthy maze. Avoiding a large pile of unidentifiable muck, I turned another corner and—

—and I froze in place, eyes widening as I stared down at the floor.

"Err...Mr Ambrose?"

"Not now. We don't have time to waste at this ti—"

"Mr Ambrose!"

My tone stopped him in his tracks. Turning around, he followed my outstretched arm with his eyes, gaze focusing on the thing on the dirt-stained stone floor I was pointing at.

A footprint.

"I...don't think we're alone down here."

"What the—!" Captain Carter appeared beside me, frowning down at the imprint in the dirt. "Soldiers? Down here? Are they trying to sneak into the city via the sewers?"

"No. Look." Mr Ambrose pointed at the footprint, then gestured down the tunnel. "It's pointing away from the city, not towards it."

Hmm...you're right." The captain squatted next to my husband, temporarily seeming to have forgotten Mr Ambrose's desire to squash him like a bug. "Besides...those aren't the footprints of a soldier. I've seen more soldiers' boots than I care to remember, and this wasn't left by one."

"So, what?" Adaira demanded. "Someone running away from the city?"

"Most likely, yes." Mr Ambrose straightened. "We should still be careful, but it probably is just some British refugees trying to get away from the 'savages' in the city. They won't be any danger to us."

His words sounded logical and reasonable. Very reasonable. So...why exactly, when we set off down the tunnel once more, did I have a foreboding feeling deep down inside?

***

"Your...your Lordship, are you sure we are going the right way?"

Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh glanced back over his shoulder at the lone bodyguard disdainfully. If the man weren't the only pack mule he had left, he would have shot the idiot for his incessant yammering long ago.

"Do you really think I would be wandering through this cesspit of a place without knowing where I'm going?"

"Um, well..." The man started—then stopped and decided it might be wiser to close his mouth. Hm. So he wasn't a complete idiot, was he?

"Get a move on." With a jerk of the head, Dalgliesh indicated the dark tunnel ahead. "It won't be long now. We're nearly there."

"Nearly there? Nearly where, Your Lordship? We're still far away from the city wall."

"Ha! You think I want to leave?"

"Y-you don't?"

"Not a chance." Flexing his fingers as if, by doing so, he could wrap them around a rebel's neck, Lord Dalgliesh gave a low chuckle. "Not yet at least. I will leave this city, yes—but not before I teach both it and the savages here why any sane man would never ever betray me."

"Pardon your Lordship, but...how?"

"With the help of my loyal men, of course."

"Err...loyal men, Your Lordship?" The guard looked from left to right to check if he was missing something—or someone—then, after finding nothing, gave his lord a doubtful look. He was apparently starting to wonder whether his employer had lost his marbles. "I'm the only one here, right?"

"Here? Yes. In Delhi? Hardly. You don't believe that the only people I employ in Delhi are my personal guards, do you?"

The man was about to reply—but he didn't get the chance to. Lord Dalgliesh stopped next to an inconspicuous mark in the wall and nodded to himself. "Here we are."

Then he lifted his fist and pounded on the mark.

Strangely, instead of the sound of flesh hitting brick, there was a dull, echoing thud, like from pounding on a large drum. Or a hidden passage.

A moment of silence followed.

Then...

"Password?" a raspy voice came from beyond the wall.

"Noblesse oblige," Dalgliesh answered smoothly.

There was another moment of silence, before...

"That is not the usual password. My...My Lord? Is that you?"

"Yes."

The sound of frantic scrambling came from behind the wall, followed by the scraping of stone on stone. A moment later, high up on the ceiling, a stone slid aside, and a rope ladder fell down. Without hesitation, Lord Dalgliesh grabbed hold of it and climbed up, not even sparing a glance at his now disposable minion behind him. Finally, he once more had men to command!

Said men were waiting for him in the secret underground room that he had arranged to be built so long ago, just in case this exact situation were ever to occur. Not that he had believed those savages would ever dare to rebel. But now that they had...

He gritted his teeth.

They would burn. They would all burn.

"My Lord."

The men lining the walls, clad in dark garb and cloth masks, bowed the moment he emerged through the trap door in the floor.

"Report!" Dalgliesh ordered.

"The city has completely fallen, Your Lordship," the head agent, whose name Dalgliesh didn't bother to remember, stated. "We have been lying low as per your previous instructions for extreme situations. Do you wish us to aid you in escaping the city?"

"No." Lightly, Dalgliesh shook his head. "Not yet. We're going to warehouse five."

"Warehouse five?!" The man's head shot up. "But that's where the East India Company keeps its secret stash of—"

"Yes," Dalgliesh cut him off, his eyes flashing dangerously. "And now it is time to put it to good use." Turning back towards the trap door, he gestured for the men to follow. "Come on. We have little time, and lots of work to do."

***

"Shh!"

I nearly bumped into Mr Ambrose as he abruptly stopped right in front of me. Luckily for my nose, I barely managed to stop myself before it slammed into a certain bedrock-hard back.

"What the—?!"

"Did you hear that?"

For a long moment I listened—then shook my head. "I didn't hear anything," I whispered. "What are you talking about?"

"I thought I heard footsteps."

I froze, looking around vigilantly. My right hand landed on my revolver, and, next to me, I could see Captain Carter, Adaira and Karim mimicking the motion.

"Where?"

Face stonier than ever, Mr Ambrose pointed down a tunnel to the left. "From over there."

"Shall we evade, Sahib?" Karim's grip on the hilt of his sabre tightened. "Or shall I take care of the matter?"

"No. Don't!" Quickly, Mr Ambrose raised a hand to stop his bodyguard.

"He's right." I nodded. "Don't you remember that we concluded these people are most likely just some British refugees fleeing the city? Why would we attack them?"

Mr Ambrose nodded. "That, and if you do try to go after them, they might make noise and lead to us being discovered." His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "On the other hand, if we manage to take them down in a surprise attack, we could get some decent meat shields. Might be useful on the way out of the city."

One corner of my mouth twitched. After having seen Mr Ambrose tickle his baby son and having felt him carry me gently in his arms, I sometimes forgot that he was a man who had walked out of the blood-stained wilderness as the richest man of the British Empire. He might be gentle when it came to his family, but he didn't give a fig about anyone else. After all, figs were expensive.

"I see. As you command, Sahib." Positioning himself in front of us, he stalked down the tunnel Mr Ambrose had pointed out, ready to pounce on some unsuspecting refugees at any moment. Truly, I pitied any poor sods we might run into.

***

Some distance away down a dark tunnel, dark figures were climbing down from a hole high up on the wall via a rope ladder. Once they were all assembled, a full three dozen armed men stood in line on both sides of the sewer tunnel, awaiting orders. Awaiting their master.

A moment later, a lone figure began to descend the rope ladder. Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh had rid himself of his tattered clothes and regained the regal appearance that elicited fear and respect wherever he went.

"It's time," he announced, letting his aquiline gaze sweep over the men who would die for him. And, more importantly, kill for him. "The rebels and the rabble that follows them...it's time they learn the error of their ways." Dalgliesh placed a hand on the brand-new pistol at his hip. "Together, we will give the people of this city an experience they will not forget till their dying day." The corners of his mouth lifted in a gentle, aristocratic smile. "Or, in other words, today."

-------------------------------

My dear Readers,

Uh-oh... Dalgliesh seems to be up to something very nefarious. Keep your fingers crossed for our intrepid heroes, please.

By the way, I do apologize if the description of the Delhi sewers is not correct. Even if I could fly over to India to check out the locations of my story in person, I don't think I would go as far as going into the sewers to insure historical accuracy. I'm afraid my dedication to realism doesn't go quite that far ;-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob