“A principal goal of every expedition is to return home whole and well,” added Richard with a smile. “Gunshot wounds are a great hindrance, even if not fatal.”
“Have you ever been shot?” asked Halesworth. He’d been quiet so far, listening and watching with a faintly patronizing expression.
Richard didn’t like him, and it was a stupid question. Still, he looked evenly at the man. “Twice with a bow, once with a pistol. Those did not unnerve me so much as the time a Gurkha nearly cut off my head, though.”
Halesworth’s amusement faded. He looked back stony-faced.
“Decapitation!” Parker-Philips was delighted. “That’sadventure, right there! Don’t you say so, Woody?”
Brentwood nodded. He’d listened, rapt, to Richard’s story.
“India, was it?” Parker-Philips pressed. “Quite a lot of brutal savages running around there.”
Richard inhaled deeply. “Yes. You can know them by the red coats they wear.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, then Allen broke out in guffaws. “Well, we did send a load of rabble to India, Stumps,” he said jovially. “Campion must have run into them.If Wellington’s men were the scum of the earth, I daresay the Company’s men were virtually savage.”
“How did you escape decapitation?” Dunstan wanted to know. “The Gurkhas are reputed to be beastly in battle.”
“We had engaged a young man from Kathmandu to guide us through the valley, and he cried out before the man reached me.” Richard shook his head ruefully. “They believed we were English, but once he assured them we were Swiss... They were happy to let us pass.”
Allen gave another bark of laughter, and even Halesworth smiled.
Dinner was finished and Allen had sent for cigars and brandy before things took a bad turn.
“I hear you’ve been slaking your thirst for adventure in another way lately,” remarked Halesworth.
Richard smiled. “That explains my presence here tonight: a desire to see the Englishman in his native surroundings.”
Allen and Brentwood chuckled. Dunstan grinned. Halesworth’s eyes gleamed. “No, no. Or rather, not the Englishmen, but... a particular Englishwoman.”
Richard didn’t move, but the smile froze on his face. Beside him, Gerhard shifted in his seat and made a softtsk. “One thing you must know about the Swiss, sir... Women are at once more delicate, and yet also fiercer, than any man, and I have learned to treat them all with cautious respect, rather than scrutiny. We will not discuss a woman.”
“Oh, but this one is exotic and fascinating to all of us,” said Halesworth, now openly enjoying himself. “One can’t help but indulge in some scrutiny, or even, perhaps a little more...intimateexamination, if one dares.” Parker-Philips choked on a snicker, and Allen smirked a little. “I merely wanted your opinion of the creature, since rumor holds you’ve been making a close study.”
Richard imagined gutting him and leaving him staked on the ground for animals and insects to devour. He knew the man meant Evangeline, but he refused to engage. “I’ve no idea what you mean, Halesworth.”
“Why, my Lady Courtesan, of course.” Halesworth leaned forward, one elbow on the table, a malevolent twist to his lips. “The Countess of Cunny. Lady Lightskirt. You know the one.”
Richard turned his head toward Allen. “Of whom is he speaking?”
The question, asked so calmly and plainly, flustered their host. He cleared his throat and muttered, “Why, Lady Courtenay. I warned you about her, you know, years ago.”
Richard had an excellent memory. He remembered that. “Ah, yes. The lady you said you would like to fuck, when she was married to your own friend?”
Allen flushed purple. Halesworth chuckled. “Of course he wanted to fuck her. All of us did.”
“But only Swole here managed it,” put in Parker-Philips, who looked more eager than ever.
Halesworth had the smug smile of a viper. “That’s true.” He raised his brandy glass in Richard’s direction. “Man to man... It was worth it, wasn’t it?”
Richard glanced to his left, where Gerhard sat in apparent stunned silence. Gerhard caught his eye and gave the slightest nod.
Richard rose, sliding one hand inside his jacket. “I thought you would all like to see a souvenir I brought with me from our most recent journey. You in particular may find it interesting, Swole. I shall call you that, since it is appropriate. Swelled and puffed up, I believe it means?” He unsheathed the knife with a faint, supplezhing.
Allen’s brows shot upward. Parker-Philips’s mouth hung open, as did Dunstan’s. Brentwood seemed rather drunk, sohe just nodded earnestly, staring at the knife in unblinking fascination. Halesworth didn’t move.
“This is a khukuri,” Richard went on, turning the knife so the light gleamed along the razor-sharp curving steel. “The weapon of the Gurkhali soldiers in the Kathmandu Valley, whom we discussed earlier. It likely began as the tool of a farmer, meant to clear brush and skin game, but it is also known as a fearsome weapon. There is an interesting legend that says it must draw blood before being sheathed.” He looked up at Halesworth, the candlelight still burnishing the blade. “Perhaps you will oblige me, Swole?”
