Again, she wondered if her assignment here was nothing more than a diversion. Her stomach curdled at the thought.
Narayan picked up her hand. “You here, come back?”
“Yes, I hope to come back and see you again. Then you can tell me more about your dreams.”
Her heart was heavy as she ate lunch alone in her room, thinking about what might happen if the terrorists struck Lucknow before she could act, or if they struck elsewhere while she was distracted, useless.
Three taps at the window. Right on time. Pushing her plate away, she crossed the room and opened the latch. Akash leaned against the windowsill, smiling. He looked boyish when he smiled like that, his black hair swept casually across his forehead, and for some reason this made her happy.
“Shall we walk?”
“We shall.”
Their method was aimless, their destination unknown. It was nice just to walk and look, memorizing as many details as she could to take to her mother back home: the lizards on the ceiling of her room, the little shops hidden in narrow alleyways, how rich the milk tasted.
“You should have worn your new clothes,” Akash said.
“I suppose I’m still nervous about it.”
“There’s no need. Wear it tomorrow, please? Please?”
“I don’t know …”
“Pleeee—”
“Stop that.”
“—eeee—”
“For heaven’s sake! I’ll wear it.”
He laughed and ruffled his own hair, then smoothed it down again. “Very good, Miss Richards.” Like it had been her idea in the first place.
“I told you, call me Daphne.” But he was looking across the street now, eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?”
He hesitated. “I haven’t eaten lunch. Are you hungry?”
“I already ate.” Although she had only taken two bites of her kedgeree. “I suppose I could eat something more.”
They moved toward a vendor selling chapatis, which smelled wonderful. They came right off the pan, hot and steaming and slathered with a type of clarified butter Akash called ghee. There was a small line in front of the vendor and his daughter. The former made chapatis behind a wooden stall while the latter handed them to customers and accepted their money. As Daphne and Akash joined the queue, she drew out a couple of annas.
“Allow me,” Akash said in Urdu. Daphne began to protest, but Akash held up a hand. She rolled her eyes.
He paid for two chapatis, then said something to the chapati maker in Hindi, which Daphne couldn’t make out. The man looked up from his work, nodded solemnly, then bent over his pan again.
A minute later, the girl handed them their food. Daphne smiled at her, but the girl only looked back with fear in her large, dark eyes. Unsettled, Daphne turned to let the next customers order.
She bumped into a man who had been hovering behind her. Both their chapatis fell to the ground.
“I’m so sorry!” She stooped and picked them up, trying to brush off the dirt. “I’m really—here, I’ll pay for another. Is that all right?”
The man nearly ripped the bread from her hand, cursing. Spittle landed near her eye and she winced.
Akash put a hand on the man’s shoulder, steering him away. They argued loudly until the man stormed off.
Daphne clucked her tongue at his back. “I offered to pay for another.”
Akash shrugged. “It was nice of you to offer. Shall I get you a replacement?” He had already wolfed his chapati down, leaving behind nothing but greasy fingers.
“It’s only a little dirt. I’ll be fine.” She rubbed the surface of her chapati, then frowned. “There’s something written on it.”
Sure enough, there were words stamped into the bread. Not the letters of any Indian alphabet, but letters she could identify. The language, however, was not English.
“Feu-de-joie,” she said slowly.
Akash was staring at the chapati as if it were covered in more than just dirt. “That’s French, isn’t it?”
“It is. I think joie means joy, but the phrase itself, I’m not sure.” She glanced up, but he was still staring at the bread in her hands. “What is this about?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know.”
“Do Indian people usually stamp messages on their bread?” Akash shook his head again. “Strange.”
Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm. She instinctively swung out, hitting her assailant in the ear. He released her with a howl of pain.
It was the same man she had accidentally run into. She thrust the chapati at him. “Look, just take it, all right? Take the bloody thing and leave me alone!”
The man snatched the bread, bloodshot eyes watering from the pain in his ear. He looked at the chapati, then began to breathe like a bull.
“You! This not for you!”
“I’m sorry! Please, leave me alone.”
Akash tried speaking to him, but the man shoved him away and charged at the vendor. Those waiting in line scurried away as the man shook the bread in the vendor’s face and shouted, a vein bulging in his neck.
“What’s going on?” Daphne demanded.
The man reached around the cart and pulled the girl away by her thin wrist. She shrieked.
“Let her go!” Daphne yelled, but no one paid her attention. “Hey!”
Something clicked on her right. Looking over, she gasped and backed away from the pistol Akash aimed at the man.
“Drop her!” Akash said in Hindi. “Step away!” His voice shook, but not with fear. Daphne had heard the same rage-filled timbre in her mother’s voice enough times to know the difference.
The man saw the gun and slowly released the girl. The vendor ushered her back around the cart, where she clung to him, sobbing loudly into his apron. People looked on, too riveted to leave, too scared to interfere.
The man muttered something, spat at their feet, then turned and stalked down the street. When he was gone, Akash lowered the gun. Daphne hurried to the girl.
“Are you all right?” she asked. The girl kept crying, her thin body shaking.
“Leave them,” Akash murmured. “They’ll get over the shock sooner if we’re gone.”
Daphne wavered, then dug inside her pocket. She took out the two pills she’d kept there since the Notus’s crash and handed them to the father, who took them uncertainly.
“Please give these to your daughter. They’ll calm her.”
Footsteps pounded down the street. They braced themselves, but it was only Lieutenant Crosby.
Sweat rolled down his face as he panted out, “What in the devil’s name is going on here? Miss Richards, what on earth—?” He stopped, frantically waving his hands about. “No, you can tell me later. I must speak to you both.”
“What’s happened?”
“We’ve received word from Meerut.”
Judging by his tone, it wasn’t good news.
Daphne made sure she packed everything before going to the tonga that waited outside. As she and the soldiers rode through the city, she held her stomach, feeling sick.