Path of the Tiger, стр. 423
‘So, this scruffy fellow out there on the horse … you figured out how to get him to construct his own cage, so to speak, then?’
‘Oh yes!’ Kelly answered gleefully. ‘From the very instant I first met the wretched fool, I saw that it would be very easy to ensnare him and keep him trapped. That’s why I was willing to take a gamble on him in the first place, see? A man who is in desperate need, who is possessed of a dire and aching longing, well, such a man makes for very malleable putty in the right hands. Oh yes, you certainly can believe me about that, Bingham, I say, I do say!’
Bingham sipped slowly on his brandy and swished it around his mouth for a while before continuing.
‘And what was that, specifically? Opium?’
‘Oh, he wasn’t smoking it when I first met. No, haha, I introduced him to that,’ Kelly stated with a proud chortle. ‘It was a very effective way of tempering his pain, while of course making him beholden to me, the one who supplies him with his little painkiller, to which he is now hopelessly addicted. But I work at the source of the pain as well, y’see. I keep it there, I keep the wound fresh and raw so that he needs that painkiller. Words, Bingham, never underestimate their power. Words, I say!’
‘Oh, I understand their power, Kelly, I do. But, pray tell, what words are the shackles that bind the limbs of this wretch?’
Kelly smiled coldly.
‘There are so many, dear Bingham! He’s full of grief and guilt, and blames himself for the deaths of his dearest friends. He’s guilty about deserting the army, too. But there’s also another malady that afflicts him with the greatest severity: love.’
Bingham laughed cruelly at this.
‘Well then, I see your point, Kelly, I see your point.’
‘Yes, the fool is hopelessly in love with some aristocrat’s daughter back in your part of the world, and of course as he owes me a lot of money and has none himself, he relies on me to maintain the flow of correspondence between himself and his sweetheart. Oh, and that, that I’ve gotten down to a fine art!’
‘How so?’
Kelly flicked a few curly locks out of his eyes before continuing.
‘Oh Bingham, if only you knew what wild tales I’m capable of spinning, if only you knew! I say sir, I do say! Why, it’s an ability I’ve had – or should I say, a power I have possessed, because it most certainly is a power – since I was a boy. As a child I had a neighbouring farmer’s slave flogged senseless, his punishment based entirely on a story I fabricated out of thin air about the unfortunate wretch. That’s when I discovered just how powerful a well-placed lie can make you.’
Bingham shook his head and smiled wryly.
‘You’re quite something, Kelly, quite something indeed.’
Kelly giggled and slugged on his brandy before continuing.
‘Bingham, you don’t know the half of it! No sir, not even the half of it! Anyway, this horseman of mine is absolutely reliant on me, not only for his supply of opium, but also for the stories I concoct and the letters I write to his lover in England.’
‘And what sort of stories might those be?’
‘As I said, I’m a masterful weaver of tales, sir! Masterful, utterly masterful! When I visited London a few years ago and discovered the “penny dreadful” novel sensation of which the lower classes are so fond, I immediately thought to myself, “why Niall, you could churn these lil’ works of fiction out by the boatload, and make yourself a fortune!”. I almost did get into the industry, but, well … other factors prevented me from staying in London. Anyway, this fool of mine is desperate to conceal the fact that he’s a deserter from the army from his lover, so I’ve concocted an elaborate tale about him being part of an elite British cavalry unit who perform secret missions in the darkest depths of India for your old Queen Victoria. It’s quite masterful, I say, I do say! The stupid cow he’s in love with still hasn’t caught on that it’s all a fabrication! Ha!’
Bingham nodded appreciatively, set his tumbler down and clasped his hands together.
‘An effective method, I’ll give you that,’ he said. ‘By Jove, I’d love to know where he learned to ride like that though.’
‘British cavalry,’ Kelly answered nonchalantly.
‘Oh really?’ Bingham said, rather surprised. ‘So he was actually part of the British cavalry? Most deserters are infantrymen, I’ve always found.’
‘Perhaps,’ Kelly said with a shrug and a quick swig of brandy, ‘but this one really was a cavalryman. Still has his uniform and everything. Believe it or not, this wretch charged with the Light Brigade at Balaclava two years ago.’
Bingham’s eyes were now locked on the horse and rider in the distance, and subtle furrows appeared on his brow as he studied them.
‘Well now, isn’t that interesting,’ he murmured, half to himself.
‘He was with the 17th Lancers before he deserted and fled here to India, and he told me he spent most of his life around horses. He said he grew up a stable hand in the Scottish Highlands.’
Bingham picked up the field glasses so that he could scrutinise the mounted man more intently.
‘He’s not much to look at, I must say,’ he remarked, ‘but by Jove he can ride. Rather impressive skills with the sword and lance as well.’
‘I make sure that when he isn’t chasing the dragon,