Giff blinked into the dimly shadowed face leaning over him. Recognition flittered into his fogged brain. “Sattar?”
“It is I, Sahib. I gained entry, but I can remain but a moment. Sahib, I have much to tell you.”
Struggling, Giff dragged himself onto his elbow, setting off a shriek of agony in his thigh. He winced and hissed in a breath.
“You are wounded, sahib. One told me this.” The well-known tones of Giff’s faithful Indian servant deepened to severity. “You cannot be a day without Sattar but you are getting yourself shot. Such a reckless boy you are, sahib. What would Sahib Favell say?”
A flicker of amusement lit Giff’s dulled mind as he thought of his stepfather, but he croaked his response. “He would say be damned to the devilish imp! Throw him to the tigers!”
Sattar made no answer, but a glass appeared before Giff’s face. “Drink!”
His hand wavered as he tried to take it, but his henchman put the glass to his lips and he sipped the water, realising he was parched. Done, his strength failed and he slid heavily back onto his pillow and closed his eyes.
Sattar grunted. “This uncle drugged you, I think. Listen well then, sahib.”
Giff forced his lids apart and reached out. “Proceed. I hear you.”
The old man’s strong fingers gripped his. “I tracked the man as you bade me, sahib. He met with two others. Rough were they, one evil in the eye.”
Vague remembrance surfaced. “Must have been he who shot me.”
“I know not, sahib. But what I know is I have seen him here as I came to find you. You told me this was the place if ever I missed you. I found you not at the alehouse where we lodged, so I came here.” His tone darkened again. “To find you laid by the heels with bullets in you, careless boy!”
“Never mind that. Besides, I have no bullet in me. It passed through the flesh, my uncle said.”
A harsh laugh greeted this. “Always you have the devil on your side, sahib.”
Giff was growing more alert, forced to it by the intelligence his servant brought. “You saw the man here? When?”
“As I approached, sahib. He was with another, but him I could not swear to. They were afoot, drinking without the tavern, but I saw a horse tethered. He spoke with that man and others. I fear me he seeks to get news of you.”
“He’ll get nothing. I came in by the church and was not seen.”
“Yes, you have learned well our ways. Nor was I seen, you may be sure. But better it is if I watch and listen. Thus must I go quickly, sahib.”
Giff nodded, but when Sattar would have risen, detained him. “Where did you see my cousin meeting with the men?”
“In a beggar’s alehouse, sahib. Faugh!”
“In Dorchester?”
“It was so. At once I knew they must be these same rogues who are dogging your steps ever since you so foolishly went to this Village Keep.”
“Waldiche Keep, Sattar. Waldiche.”
“What difference, sahib? Did not I tell you it was folly to walk into the tiger’s den?”
A mulish irritation came into Giff’s breast. “It’s not his den. It’s mine.”
“So said Master Favell. Yet this man may hold if he possess.”
“I’ll oust him, never fear.”
Sattar banged his fist on the bed. “You cannot oust if you are dead, sahib! Did not I say you must await me?”
Giff sighed. “It was sheer chance they caught sight of me. And I would have escaped them unmolested, if not for the wench.”
The memory of his flower girl leapt into his head. Delia! What had become of her?