A blush spread across Akash’s face. “I’m trying it out.”
They fell into contemplative silence, and Danny’s smile disappeared. His body was stiff with soreness and fatigue, and on the edges of his consciousness he felt the delayed effects of his escape creeping closer.
“It’ll be dangerous,” Danny whispered.
“I am aware.”
There was nothing more to say.
The Imperial Assemblage had collected on a plain four miles northeast of Delhi, beside the infamous ridge where Indian rebels had clashed with British soldiers twenty years before. Danny didn’t know whether choosing this spot had been accidental or not, but it cast an ominous tone over the upcoming celebration.
As they flew to Delhi, Danny told Akash about what he had learned.
“We heard of what happened in Edava,” Akash said. “Meena and Miss Ri—Daphne were upset, but the major wouldn’t send either of them to investigate. You saw it with your own eyes?”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
“Are you sure about what you heard, though? About the viceroy?”
“Very sure.” Danny flexed his right hand. A tremor had been going through it since Zavier zapped him with that metal rod. “I can’t say how they’re planning to assassinate him, though.”
“Did this man, Zavier, say anything more about the attack? Did you see anything suspicious?”
Danny sighed and tried to think back. He had told Akash about the ship, the people he had met, the pieces here and there that had made up the whole of his imprisonment. It was shocking to look around and find he wasn’t still on the Prometheus.
“I tried to read some of his papers, but I couldn’t understand them. There was even one in French. Think they might be dealing with other foreign contacts?”
“French? What did it say?”
Danny tried to rub his face with his hands, but he was still handcuffed. They would have to do something about that. “I’ve never been good with French. I think it was foo-duh-jwa?”
“Feu-de-joie? Furious joy?”
“Yes! You speak French?”
“No, Daphne and I saw the same message in Lucknow. She translated it back in Agra. We don’t know what it means, though. Do you?”
Danny slumped back in his seat. “No idea.”
There was a closed-in hangar for private aircrafts to dock outside the city. Delhi was massive, and the sheer scale made Danny sweat. It was cooler now in December than it had been when they’d first arrived, but the humidity still made him feel as if his skin were shrinking. The air hit him like an arid ocean swell when Akash opened the door.
Danny climbed down the ladder as best he could. Akash eyed the handcuffs with a frown. He climbed back into the plane and reemerged carrying a scarf, which he wrapped around Danny’s hands. “It’ll have to do. Wait here while I get the Silver Hawk registered.”
That done, they headed into the city. “What’s the plan?” Akash asked.
“The plan is to make a plan.”
Delhi was packed with people, and Danny’s breaths grew shallower, his senses overwhelmed after his month of near-isolation. The smell of smoke and the press of sweating bodies nearly did him in until Akash pulled him into a shadowed alley.
“I want you to sit here, out of the way, while I find help,” he said. “Can you do that?”
“I’m not a child.”
“I won’t leave unless you agree.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
Akash walked to the alley’s mouth, looked both ways, then slipped back into the throng.
Danny sat at the base of the stone building. It smelled like piss and rotting sewage, but he didn’t care. His mind was riffling through scenarios and theories. What did furious joy mean? How would Viceroy Lytton be targeted? How much time did they have? When would Zavier find him again?
He laid his forehead on his knees. He couldn’t go back to that airship, to those people. Enfield, Colton, his parents—they needed him. As soon as this was over, he would go back to London and …
And what? Let Zavier and his cronies destroy more towers?
“Bollocks,” he whispered. “No one can win here, can they?”
A noise made him look up, but it was only Akash coming back. He knelt before Danny, out of breath and wearing a victorious smile.
“Hold out your hands.”
Danny shifted and did as he was told. Akash unwrapped the scarf, then picked up a wicked set of shears. Danny recoiled.
“You’re going to chop one of my hands off with those! Where did you get them?”
“A blacksmith wasn’t looking.”
“You’ve done this sort of thing before, haven’t you?”
Akash shrugged. “Meena and I were bored as children. We needed something to pass the time.” When Danny’s lips thinned, he laughed. “We always gave back what we took. Now show me your hands.”
Danny reluctantly extended his arms again. Akash studied the handcuffs, then wedged the shears between the metal cuff and his right hand. Danny closed his eyes tight, felt a pinching sensation by his thumb, and heard metal clatter to the ground.
“Once more,” Akash said. Danny peeked as the shears bit into the metal of the remaining cuff, and then he was free.
He rubbed his wrists. “Now what?”
“Now, I return these.”
When Akash came back ten minutes later, Danny said, “The only thing I can think to do is find the highest-ranking officer we can and tell him what we know. That way, the soldiers have more information about the terrorists and the rebels, and they can put a stop to the assassination before it’s too late.”
Akash frowned, doubtful. “Do you think they will believe you? Major Dryden is one thing, but he’s in Agra.” Danny ignored the hint of accusation in his voice. “No one here will know who you are, nor will they trust you. Especially with me at your side.”
“We have to at least try. Do you know where the nearest billet is?”
“I’ve run messages here many times. Follow me.”
They waded against the stream of people, toward an eastern section of the city. The smell of roasting lamb and potatoes made Danny’s stomach tighten, but he forced himself to stay on course.
The squat, whitewashed building was separated awkwardly from those around it. Akash gestured to Danny to go in first. He was almost immediately stopped by a British private.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Danny floundered, but Akash thought quicker on his feet. “We need to see the senior officer here.”
The private raised a self-important eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“We’re messengers. We bring word from Major Dryden in Agra.”
The private considered this, eyeing them contemptuously. They were rumpled and likely carried the smell of the alley with them. “Our officers have gone to the durbar already. We’re to follow in the morning. I’m afraid you won’t find who you’re looking for here.”
“There has to be someone,” Danny insisted. “Surely they left behind a few soldiers in charge.”
“There’s Corporal Fledger, but good luck speaking to him. He’s busy with the preparations.”
“May we at least try?”
Shrugging, the private turned and led them down a hallway. He knocked on a door and a voice barked out, “What?”