Chapter Seven

Nearly all the lights around the ballroom were extinguished. Lieutenant-Colonel Havor, Captain Pugh, and lieutenants Brine, and Wolcott had come to see the performance and had joined Dryden. Now they stood silent on the edge of the ballroom floor waiting. Somewhere on a balcony above the dance floor, a pale blue light shone down on the stage. All the guests were packed in around the edge of the ballroom watching expectantly. Dryden felt someone slip in next to him and slip their arm around his. He blushed slightly and saw that it was not Lady Belfair as he might have expected, but Lady Julia Gorst, Lady Belfair’s friend. He had not seen or danced with her tonight and only knew her in passing, but he had admired her from afar. He stood somewhat awkwardly and was relieved when somewhere in the darkness a musician began to drum slowly. After several drum beats, another player, hidden in the shadows, began to pluck a stringed instrument matching the slow pace of the drummer. Then the music stopped and all the lights went out. A moment later a single shaft of lime light beamed down into the middle of the ballroom to illuminate a dancer.

The woman was dressed extravagantly. Her dress was bright red with huge streaming tail feathers that made her look like a bird of paradise. Everywhere on her outfit were sewn gems that sparkled in the light. She wore a headdress that was adorned with still more feathers and gems. Her dark olive skin, large almond-shaped eyes, black hair, and high proud cheeks marked her as southern Vuruni. She was, in his eyes a remarkable beauty. She was also adorned in a multitude of jewellery. A chain went from her ear to her nose, her arms were covered in bangles, and she had all manner of bejewelled rings and necklaces. Dryden felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of her. Then the music began again, this time the drum and stringed instrument were accompanied by a flute of the Vuruni kind, and the woman began to dance.

The dance was everything that would make a Vastrum man uncomfortable. It was sensual, sultry, with an air of defiance to it. The woman danced around the room to the music and as she went the music slowly sped up. Light flashed off the gems and she sparkled in the light. The dance went faster and she twirled, and writhed, letting the gown flow through the air around her. Dryden found himself utterly enchanted by the woman. Just as the dance and the music were reaching its crescendo, someone screamed in the darkness. The music stopped and suddenly there was shouting from across the ballroom, near where the Shah was seated. Chaos broke out. People around the dance floor looked on in confusion and concern. The dancer stopped and looked around, as confused as anyone. In the darkness, there was little to see.

“With me,” Havor said, then rushed out onto the dance floor towards the chaos.

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“If you’ll excuse me,” Dryden mumbled to Lady Gorst as he dropped her arm and followed his commander.

The other cavalry officers, Pugh, Brine, and Wolcott, followed their leader too. There was more yelling as they crossed the ballroom. Someone squealed; a sound that was almost like a sow being gutted. There was a crash followed by the guttural sound of men being butchered. Then the lights turned back on and the dancer in the middle of the floor put her hand to her mouth and screamed again. A group of men dressed as servants were laying into the Shah’s guard with khukuri, hacking into the surprised guards like butchers. Men were already down and blood was smeared across the floor. Havor never broke stride, he simply drew his sword and charged the group of men who were disguised as servants.

Dryden pulled his dress sabre from its scabbard as he ran. The sword was pretty and made for parade, but it was still deadly sharp. He charged point first into the side of a man who was swinging a khukuri at a bloodied guard. The man was skewered by the sword and blood spurted out onto Dryden’s hands. The enemy only grunted and went limp as the sword slipped into some vital place. Together they fell into a heap as chaos reigned around him. It was bloody, but it was no battle, and it ended quickly. The group of servants and several of the Shah’s guards lay scattered on the floor. Others held closed their own gaping wounds caused by the khukuri in shock.

Dryden got to his feet and tried to pull the sword from the dead man. It was stuck in his spine. He put a foot on the man’s back and worked it free, the body twitching with every tug. When he had retrieved his sword he saw that the end of it was snapped and he tossed it back onto the ground next to the dead man with a curse. Such was the quality of dress swords. Havor came over to him frowning, his face covered in spattered blood. He pointed to one of the dead bodies. It was the Shah. Guranji’s corpulent form lay sprawled in blood on his own white marble floor.

“Fuck.” Pugh said as he joined them and made note of the body, “That’s us done for in Vurun, isn’t it?”

“Some party.” Wolcott quipped.

The dancer was still in the middle of the room staring at the body. Her hands covered her mouth. Her dark eyes were filled with grief. Tears muddied her dark eyeliner. Finally, she moved, crawling on her hands and knees towards the carnage, then more urgently she nearly leapt to the body of the Shah, her hands taking his lifeless face in her hands and pressing her forehead to his own, tears streaming down. She let out a moan that was filled with grief. Havor stepped next to her and took her by the arm and pulled her up from the corpse. She looked up at him with something close to hate and tried to shake away from him but he held her firmly. He signaled to one of the Shah’s servants who led her away. No words were spoken in the exchange.

“Who was she?” Brine asked.

“The Shah’s daughter,” Pugh replied quietly.

Then Havor turned to his officers, “Let someone else clean up this mess. We’ve done our duty here.” He turned away and stalked off. The rest of them followed in his wake.