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‘Understood.’
‘My agents in India report that Dalgliesh is facing problems. Discontent in the population is mounting. A sense of cohesion, of unity is growing among the various peoples of the different princely states, as well as the areas under British control. Soldiers in the Indian army are less and less certain why they should uphold what begins to seem like a tyranny over their own people. Trouble is brewing for Dalgliesh—but so far he hasn’t had an excuse to act. He’s chomping at the bit to squash the dissenting voices in the country.’
Guizot nodded. ‘That matches with my information on the subject.’
Not with mine, but that might be because I didn’t have any. It really was a hardship sometimes to not be an insanely powerful megalomaniac with spies on every continent.
‘And what makes the situation worse,’ Mr Ambrose continued darkly, ‘is that we’ve played right into his hands—or at least I have.’
Guizot frowned, and I didn’t feel any less confused.
‘How so?’
‘Let’s call a spade a spade, Minister. I faked last night’s assassination attempt.’
Silence.
Except for the echo of the words I’d never expected to be spoken aloud. Neither, apparently had the minister, to judge by the look on his face. Still, he managed a suitable ministerial nod.
‘I surmised as much.’
‘I thought I was preventing war between Britain and France. But now, with a British representative arriving, the situation changes completely. Because of my actions, there has already been one supposed “assassination attempt” in the name of French revolutionaries. What do you think Britain would do if those same revolutionaries were to kill, say, the governor-general of India?’
Guizot’s face hardened. He didn’t even hesitate with his response. ‘There would be war.’[38]
‘Correct.’
Silence descended over the room. This time, it held, and held, and held. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘So what are we going to do?’
The only answer was more silence.
*~*~**~*~*
The door of the foreign ministry closed behind us. Karim didn’t stop, but marched until he reached the nearest pillar supporting the front porch and delivered a blow to it that made me very glad indeed that I wasn’t a pillar.
‘Careful. Remember, the minister said he’d like the building to remain standing for now.’
He ignored me. Breathing heavily, he stared off into the distance and muttered Punjabi under his breath. Finally, he whirled around to face us. I took a step back. I had never seen him like this.
‘Things are bad enough in my homeland as they are! But if the so-called “governor” were to be killed…’ His paws clenched into fists. ‘Oh, if only I were alone with that piece of human filth that calls himself a lord!’
Mr Ambrose put a hand on Karim’s shoulder. ‘Calm yourself, Karim. You and I both know that this problem is bigger than Dalgliesh. You don’t kill the hydra by cutting off its head.’
The Mohammedan took a deep breath, his eyes glittering darkly. ‘True, Sahib. We need to light a fire for that.’
Turning away from the ministry, we started on our way home—or what we considered to be ‘home’ in this city that suddenly didn’t seem quite as hospitable and romantic as before. We were silent all the way, while around us the people of Paris chatted merrily. When we finally arrived in front of the palatial façade of the opera house and stopped in our tracks, I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose.
‘We can’t return home yet, can we?’
‘No. Not until the matter of the governor-general is resolved and the man is safely out of Paris.’
One corner of my mouth curled up in a half-hearted smile. ‘Dang! And I was so looking forward to getting back home in time to ruin Aunt Brank’s birthday.’
‘Perhaps I can offer you something equally satisfactory.’
One of my eyebrows rose. Mr Rikkard Ambrose offering something? On his own accord? ‘I’m intrigued. Pray, tell me more.’
