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hooves. The creature s breath was hot and intimate on my face, and we stared
into each other s eyes while its legs thrust towards me, its tusks yearning
for my vitals with an urge so all-consuming that it overpowered any awareness
of the steel blade driving ever more deeply into its chest. It grunted and
strained, then suddenly my vision went pink as the breath blowing across my
face went bloody, and through the red mist on my spectacles I saw the boar
give a last convulsive push. The spear snapped, his legs buckled, and he came
to rest with his upper tusk pressing against the leather of my outstretched
boots, his back legs still twitching with effort. And then he died.
At some time in the past minute hour? the maharaja had come down from his
horse, and was standing at my shoulder with his spear at the ready. But he had
held off using it, and now he allowed its point to rest on the ground.
 Again, congratulations, Miss Russell, he said.
I stared up at my host, trying to make sense of his words. I lay sprawled at
the prince s feet, filthy, scraped, and sore, my hair in my face and my topee
nowhere to be seen. After a moment I shifted my gaze to the impaled animal
against my boots, and the world abruptly rushed back in, tumbling about me in
all its size and complexity. I felt like whooping with exhilaration.
By God, pig sticking was indeed a game of games.
The maharaja helped me to my feet and said in a mild voice,  It s not
generally recommended that an amateur attempt spearing a pig on foot.
 Yes, I can see why, I told him.  But your horse wouldn t stand still.
 The pig would have bled to death soon enough. But I have to say, I m glad to
have been witness to that manoeuvre.
The beaters came up then, exclaiming and, it seemed to me, abjectly
apologetic, even terrified, although I was not sure if it was over the danger
to me, or to their master. I was not even certain why they were apologising.
Did we imagine they ought to have battered the vicious creature to death with
their blunt sticks? One of them gave me a pristine linen cloth with which to
clean my bloody face and spectacles; another brought the mare, holding her
firmly; a third knelt that I might use his knee to step up. I needed the help,
despite the mare s lack of stature, and on the way back to the road I was
glad, too, that I was not riding the hard-mouthed gelding. I felt weak as an
infant.
Pig sticking, it seemed, was over for the day, although the cheetahs were
being readied for coursing, and three large enclosed bullock-drawn carts
rattled and jerked with the motion of whatever the cats prey was to be. I
apologised, and told my host I preferred to return to The Forts, thank you.
Taking my leave, and with a pair of mounted servants at my back, I
rode slowly, slowly back to the castle and crept upstairs to submit my bruises
and bashes to the ministrations of my hot-water geyser.
Page 125
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Chapter Seventeen
Iwas greatly tempted to remain chin-deep in hot water until midnight, but
after an hour I forced myself to leave the comforting porcelain nest. As I
dried myself with the thick towel, I discovered a number of sensitive patches,
and moved over to look at my exterior in the glass. Oh, my.
A long gouge across my collar-bone recalled where a branch had snapped into
me, and the butt of the spear had left an angry swelling the area of a man s
hand where it had braced against the hollow of my left shoulder. There was a
smaller welt on the outside of my right arm that I couldn t remember
incurring, and several interesting bruises (as well as a general tenderness)
where my backside had met the hard earth. I pulled on long sleeves, and with
difficulty got my hair into place.
The day s hand-lettered itinerary said that tea would be served, again on the
terrace. With longing glances at the soft bed, I left my rooms: The rest of
the party would be away until dinner, and I badly wanted another conversation
with my host s distant cousin before his return.
To my disappointment, Gay Kaur was not there. Nor was Sunny, although her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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