One more drawer. He nearly left it. It was not worth the risk just for more account books. But this was Hugo’s inner sanctum. After so long on his quest, Adam was desperate to know everything he could about his enemy. He opened the last drawer and pulled out a fistful of papers.

  A door banged downstairs in the house. The noise startled Adam; the sheaf of papers slipped from his hands and spilled over the floor.

  He swore. The house was coming alive again. He heard servants calling to one another, opening shutters and pulling cloths off the windows. The guns had fallen silent, but there was a commotion in the garden. People were shouting, boots stamping and elephants trumpeting. Had they broken into the garden?

  Adam had no time to see what it was. He took the gold-chased pistol and fled down the corridor back to Clare’s room.

  Clare was awake. She had put her petticoat on and was being laced into her dress by an Indian maidservant who had appeared as if from nowhere. The maidservant gasped at Adam’s nakedness.

  ‘Get away from here,’ Clare hissed. Her face was screwed tight with fury. ‘And for God’s sake get dressed.’

  Adam’s breeches and shirt were hung over a chair. A servant must have retrieved them. Adam struggled into the breeches, his panicked fingers fumbling with the buttons.

  ‘Not in here!’ Clare cried. She was not angry, Adam realised – she was terrified. ‘Another room. If he finds you like this, he will kill us both.’

  Adam had managed to get into one leg of his breeches. Pulling on the other, he grabbed his shirt and hopped towards the door. He grabbed the handle to open it and . . .

  The door swung out a split second before Adam touched it. Adam stumbled forward, into the man on the landing. The man was taken completely off balance. He stepped backwards. His foot caught the top step of the staircase and slipped. Windmilling his arms, he began to fall, eyes wide with shock.

  The stairs were solid marble, curving down two storeys. Falling to the bottom would crack a man’s skull open. Without thinking, Adam reached out and clasped the man’s hand. His grip was solid. Adam took the strain and heaved the man upright until he found his footing.

  The man shook his hand free. Adam moved away. Belatedly, he realised he was still wearing nothing but his breeches, with another man’s wife in the bedroom behind him.

  ‘Who the devil are you?’

  The man Adam had saved advanced from the staircase. He was huge. Adam stood six feet in his stockings, but this man had another six inches on him, and breadth to match. He had jet-black hair, green eyes, and a deep scar across his cheek that gave him a permanent sneer. His scarlet uniform was heavy with gold braid, with the star of the Order of the Garter pinned to his breast.

  The guns Adam had heard were not exercising: they had been a salute. The elephants in the garden were part of the official travelling procession.

  Hugo Courtney had returned. And Adam had saved his life.

  Skirts rustled from the room behind Adam. Clare had managed to dress in a green gown, though it did not hide what she had been doing. Her hair was unkempt and she had powder and lipstick smeared over her face. In the close corridor, you could smell the sex radiating from every pore of her skin.

  ‘Welcome home,’ she said. Her voice was cool and poised.

  Hugo stared at her as if he wanted to wring her neck.

  ‘Who is this?’

  He didn’t look at Adam.

  ‘Captain Adam Courtney. I think you are related.’

  Adam’s and Hugo’s eyes locked. The world seemed to stop as the two men stared at each other across the landing, each man’s eyes mirroring the other’s hatred. Adam had waited months for this moment. Now here he was, face to face with his enemy.

  And he was unarmed.

  ‘Well, husband . . .’ Clare seemed to be enjoying the moment, and it occurred to Adam that perhaps her dalliance with him had only ever been a way of hurting Hugo, the only way she could. ‘Will you not defend my honour?’

  With a roar of fury, Hugo sprang at Adam. Adam retreated, but Hugo moved with surprising speed for a man his size. He grappled Adam and drove him back into Clare’s bedroom. Adam could not hold Hugo’s weight. He went down with Hugo on top of him.

  Adam was pinned to the floor. He was not a weak man, but Hugo’s weight crushed down on him. He did not try to dislodge it. Instead, he grasped Hugo tight and hugged him closer. If Hugo had space to swing a clean punch, he could knock Adam senseless with a single blow. Adam’s only chance was to keep him at close quarters.

  Hugo realised it, too. He pulled away, bucking like a stallion to shake Adam’s grip. Adam dug his fingers into the fabric of Hugo’s coat. For a moment, it held him. Then, with a shrug of Hugo’s broad shoulders and a tearing of fabric, it split in two. Hugo reared up, fist drawing back to strike.

  But though he was strong, it was a long time since he had fought someone who could hit back. Adam had been doing it all his life. With reflexes honed in the melee of quarterdeck brawls, he reached up with both hands. One hand closed around Hugo’s wrist; the other smothered the knuckles of Hugo’s balled fist and gripped it tight. Hugo’s arm was immobilised.

  Before Hugo could wrestle free, Adam twisted his hands. Hugo screamed with pain, but Adam continued twisting. If Hugo resisted, his wrist would snap. He had no choice but to roll with the motion, off Adam and onto the floor.

  Adam sprang to his feet. The pistol he had taken from Hugo’s desk lay on the dresser. He snatched it up and pointed it at Hugo before his enemy could rise.

  ‘I have two fresh battalions of sepoys outside.’ Hugo’s lip was bleeding; his right hand hung limp. ‘If you kill me, you will never escape.’

  ‘And if I let you live, you will let me walk out of here?’

  ‘We can discuss that.’

  ‘And did you discuss that with my family when you murdered them?’ Rage swelled in Adam’s heart. ‘There is nothing to discuss. Everything was decided years ago.’

  Without another word, he pulled the trigger.

  Hugo started to move – but he was too close. Adam could not miss. The tiger’s-paw hammer snapped forward. A spark flashed in the pan. A puff of smoke turned the air white and bitter.

  But there was no bang – only a muted pop and a wet fizzle.

  Sitting in the desk drawer for months in Hugo’s absence, soaking up the humid air, the powder had gone damp and rotten. And even if Adam had had fresh powder, there was no time to reload.

  Hugo rose, his face black with pain and anger. He swung at Adam; Adam blocked the fist with the pistol barrel, but the blow was so strong it knocked the gun from his grip. The pistol flew away and landed under the bed.

  ‘Now we are more fairly matched.’

  Adam would happily have killed Hugo with his bare hands. But – he knew from experience – it is surprisingly hard to kill a man without a weapon. Particularly if that man is six inches taller and forty pounds heavier than you. He circled away, scanning the room for anything he could use. There was a vase on the dresser with some wilted flowers. He hurled it at Hugo; Hugo dodged and it broke against the wall. Hugo retaliated with a brass ewer on a dressing table. It hit a mirror and smashed it. Dozens of wicked shards cascaded over the floor.

  Adam was barefoot; Hugo still wore his riding boots. He crunched over the broken glass as he strode to the bed, put his foot against the bedpost, and heaved on it with both hands. His strength was immense. The post was two inches thick, but he snapped the wood like a stick of sugar. The canopy sagged and collapsed. Now Hugo had a club in his hand.

  He hefted its weight, surveying Adam in triumph.

  ‘Adam Courtney. The hero of the Royal Navy. You are a long way from the sea now.’

  ‘You know why I am here. I came to avenge my family.’

  Hugo grinned. ‘I do not intend to give you that satisfaction. Instead, you have allowed me to complete what I began in Fort Auspice.’

  ‘You do not deny it?’

  ‘Deny it?’ Hugo leaned closer. ‘I enjoyed it, and I will enjoy killing you even more.’

  Adam had seen the way Hugo broke the bedpost. One swipe of the cudgel would be enough to dash his brains out. Clare must be nearby, but she had fled. Whatever she and Adam had shared, it was over now that Hugo had returned. She would not save him.

  ‘Wait.’ Adam dropped to his knees. ‘Have mercy. Have you not killed enough Courtneys?’

  ‘No.’

  Hugo’s face split in a leering grin at the sight of his adversary losing his courage. It might have been entertaining to make Adam grovel a while longer, to prolong the pleasure of his victory. But he had just returned from a long journey, and his patience had run out. He swung the club at Adam’s head.

  Adam was not defenceless. As he kneeled on the floor, pretending to beg for his life, he had picked up a broken fragment of the mirror – a piece of the wooden frame, with a sliver of glass emerging from it like the blade of a knife. He brought it up now, driving straight for Hugo’s belly.

  Hugo saw the glitter of the blade halfway through his stroke. He jerked back in time to avoid the jagged point that would have ripped him open. The club swung over Adam’s head and struck the wall.

  Adam jabbed at Hugo again. Hugo sprang back, brandishing the club in defence. Adam might have got inside his guard if he had followed up the attack, but Hugo was in the middle of the field of broken glass. In his bare feet, Adam couldn’t get close enough.

  Hugo’s attack had left the door unguarded, with only the bed in the way. In one bound, Adam leaped on the bed. With another, he sprang off the mattress and out of the door. He ran down the stairs to the first-floor landing. There were pikes on the wall in the front hall. If he could grab one of them, he would have a fighting chance against Hugo.

  Shouts sounded from the ground floor. Boots thumped on the lower steps. Looking down, Adam saw red-jacketed sepoys advancing up the stairs. They had heard the smashing of furniture as Adam and Hugo fought, and come to investigate.

  Adam might have talked his way past them. It was a brave sepoy who would defy orders from a white man. But Hugo appeared, leaning over the banisters from the top floor.

  ‘Stop him!’ he bellowed.

  The sepoys lowered their muskets. Adam turned. If he ran down the corridor, they would have a clear shot at him. He opened the nearest door, dived in and slammed it shut.

  He was in a large first-floor dining room, with tall windows overlooking the front of the house, the roof of the portico and the grounds beyond. It looked as if the house was under siege. The garden was filled with soldiers, field guns and elephants. Hugo had brought an army with him.

  And some of them were at the door. Musket butts thudded against the wooden panels. Adam put his shoulder against it, but he was outnumbered. His bare feet slithered on the mahogany floorboards, varnished as slick as ice. He would not be able to hold them.

  He stepped aside and let go. The sepoys stumbled through the door. Adam stuck out his leg and sent one sprawling to the floor. His musket flew out of his hands and skidded away. Adam grabbed it. Before the second sepoy could gain his balance, Adam punched him in the stomach with the butt of the musket, then again against the side of his head. The man went down.

  More men were coming. Adam was trapped. He ran to the window, but it was latched fast. The sepoy he had tripped was getting up.

  ‘Courtney!’

  Hugo strode in, kicking the prone sepoy aside. He seemed to have grown still taller in his rage, a towering presence. Only the dining table stood between him and Adam.

  Except that Adam had the musket. In his haste, Hugo had entered unarmed. Adam pulled back the hammer and checked the pan was well loaded with dry powder. Hugo stopped abruptly.

  More soldiers flooded into the room behind him. The sight of Adam with his musket trained on Hugo threw them into confusion. Even if they had been prepared to shoot, Hugo was in their way.

  ‘You will not live to enjoy your victory if you shoot me now,’ he warned Adam.

  ‘At least I will die knowing I fulfilled my father’s wishes.’

  The gun in Adam’s hands stayed rock-steady. He only hoped that word of what he had done would somehow reach Rob.

  ‘So will I.’ Hugo gave a small shake of his head, a man discovering unexpected wisdom. ‘I wonder, do we avenge our father’s sins – or suffer for them?’

  Adam had no answer. He knew there was a truth in Hugo’s words, but his mind was such a whirl he could not contemplate it.

  You know what is true, he told himself. You must kill Hugo.

  He curled his finger around the trigger. Hugo’s eyes narrowed, the look of a cornered animal with no hope of escape. Adam put his cheek against the musket to sight it, though at that range he could not possibly miss.

  A scream sounded from the door. Not a woman’s scream, but the cry of a child in anguish. Ralph stood there. He was wearing a soldier’s uniform, a replica of Hugo’s, with a wooden sword and a wooden pistol. He must have dressed up to welcome his father home, every inch the brave soldier. Now his face was a mask of tears, his lip quivering and his eyes red.

  ‘What are you doing to my daddy?’

  It was too late. Adam had already pulled the trigger. But in that instant as the spring uncoiled, Hugo’s words played again through Adam’s mind.

  Do we avenge our father’s sins – or suffer for them?

  Was that what he wanted to inflict on this child? The boy he had played cricket with, who had looked at him like a surrogate father.

  Jump. I will catch you.

  All of that crossed his mind in the split second before the hammer struck the spark. It was enough. Adam moved the barrel of the musket – only an inch or two, but enough to make the difference. The ball flew over Hugo’s shoulder and hit the door frame next to Ralph. Jagged splinters flew off and struck the boy’s face. He clutched his eye and sank to the floor, howling in pain.

  Hugo did not glance at his son. Triumph blazed in his eyes.

  ‘You missed your chance,’ he told Adam. ‘Just like the rest of your family.’ He stepped aside and turned to the sepoys. ‘Kill him.’

  Adam’s ears were still ringing from the shot he had fired. The reply – half a dozen muskets crashing out at once – deafened him. But his reflexes were faster than the sepoys’. He threw himself to the floor, behind the dining table, so that the bullets went harmlessly over his head and smashed through the window behind.

  Before anyone could move, Adam hurled himself after them. The broken glass gave easily under his weight, though shards left deep cuts over his naked arms and torso. He ignored the pain.

  He had landed on the roof of the rounded portico that projected over the front steps. He vaulted over the edge and slid down one of the ornamental pillars, gripping it with his knees like a mast. Trails of blood from the cuts on his chest smeared the white stucco red. A servant stood on the steps, gazing at him in disbelief. Adam almost knocked him over as he landed on the balls of his feet and turned to sprint away.

  He would not get far. The drive was blocked by a dozen elephants draped in rich red saddlecloths and gilded howdahs, standing in a row like carriages lined up after a ball. Beyond them, the garden had turned into a parade ground. Indian sepoys in bright red coats and white shorts stood in long ranks, muskets ready. They looked uncertainly at Adam.

  ‘Stop him!’ Hugo’s voice bellowed across the lawn from the upstairs window.

  That decided the sepoys. The front rank spread out, moving towards Adam to circle round him.

  Adam ran straight into them. In their midst, they couldn’t fire for fear of hitting their own men. He ducked and weaved between them. Hands grabbed for him, but his skin was slick with blood and sweat and they could not get hold of him. He saw an upturned musket raised to strike, and ducked away just in time.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the tree that Ralph had been playing in a few days earlier. The hornets’ nest was hanging off the high branch. The servants had not yet managed to remove it.

  Adam ran towards it. The pursuers dropped back, scared off by the huge yellow-jacketed hornets buzzing around the tree. Adam climbed into the tree and along the branch where Ralph had got stuck. He reached up and grabbed the nest with both hands. Hornets started to emerge. Bolts of pain lanced through Adam’s skin where they stung him, but he kept hold until he had twisted the nest free. It vibrated in his grip with the furious buzz of a thousand angry insects.

  With all his strength, Adam hurled the nest at the nearest elephant.

  The nest broke against the animal’s hide. A cloud of insects swarmed out of it like smoke from an explosion: shocked, frightened, driven to rage. They swarmed up the animal’s trunk and into the folds of its eyelids, stinging blindly in their anger.

  The elephant reared up on its hind legs, trumpeting in panic. The gilded howdah with its velvet curtains was shaken free. It crashed down and smashed on the ground. That only spooked the elephant more. It thundered away, with the broken howdah dragging behind.

  Panic was infectious. The other elephants in the train broke away from their handlers and began blundering about. Their mahouts hurled themselves from the animals’ backs. The garden became a melee of thundering beasts, human screams and animal shrieks. Some of the sepoys were trampled underfoot; the rest separated and fled. The elephants charged blindly. Statues were destroyed, flower beds crushed, trees uprooted. Adam saw Ralph’s cricket stumps disappear into the earth under a great grey foot.

  As everyone fled, Adam ran against the crowd towards the nearest elephant. The rope that had fastened the howdah to its back trailed down its side. Adam ran alongside it, feeling the earth shaking under his feet. He snatched the trailing line, took a good grip and swung himself up. Dust swirled around him, punctuated by hornets caught up in the maelstrom. The rope bucked and cracked; if Adam had let go, he would have fallen under the pounding feet.

  But it was not so different from climbing rigging, and Adam had done that often enough. He hauled himself up the rope onto the animal’s back, spread-eagling himself across it to stay on.