As Danny and Akash prowled through the tents, stars began to speckle the sky. In the cantonment, it wasn’t irregular to see soldiers drunk and singing at three in the morning. Since tonight was New Year’s, the soldiers were taking full advantage of having no curfew.
“Huh,” Danny said. “Tomorrow it’ll be 1877.”
“And your queen’s big day. Do you think Dryden has seen your message?” Akash asked as the gas lamps around them flared to life.
“I hope so. He must have the means to speak with Lytton.”
“And if Lytton won’t listen?”
Danny threw his hands in the air. “Then the man will just have to be—” He checked himself, swallowing the word. “Let’s not dwell on that, all right?”
“Danny,” Akash said softly, “why are you doing this, anyway? Whose side are you on?”
“What do you mean?”
“You see how they treat us. You haven’t even seen the worst of it. If I told you some of what I’ve seen and heard …” He shook his head. “I thought you knew this occupation was wrong.”
“Of course it’s wrong,” Danny whispered back. “I don’t want India to be a prize for the Queen. I don’t want our soldiers to humiliate yours. I don’t want a Black Raj.”
“Then why—?”
“Because you know what a second rebellion would do? People would die. Your people, and mine. And we’d be stuck in the middle of it all. Daphne and I might never be able to go home. I might never …”
He might never see Colton again.
“So your answer is to let this oppression continue,” Akash said, voice flat.
“No! That’s—I don’t know. There’s no black and white here. You think one side is the villain and one is the hero, but that’s not the case. It’s more complicated than that.” He paused. “Do you think I’m evil?”
“No, of course not.”
“Good, I don’t think you’re evil, either. Or Meena. What about Daphne? Think she’s evil?”
Akash’s eyes shifted. “No.”
“And yet there are cruel people on both sides of this potential rebellion. Violence will only create more violence. It won’t ever stop, don’t you see that?” Danny rubbed his eyes, exhausted. “Besides, if this plan succeeds, the rebels are going to help Zavier take down more towers. I can’t risk that.”
It was an argument he knew he shouldn’t even take part in, given who he was and where he was from. Akash and his people deserved better than that. In truth, Danny still didn’t know where right or wrong stood, or if he was even within sight of their horizons. Maybe it was enough to constantly be in search of the difference.
And hoping, in the end, he chose the lesser evil.
He dropped his hands and lifted his chin in the direction they’d been walking. “Let’s keep going.”
They studied the tents, looking for a senior officer. But the officers must have all been celebrating elsewhere; Danny and Akash only saw low-ranking soldiers, laughing and popping party crackers. One kept shouting “Happy New Year!” to anyone who passed by.
Danny slowed to a stop when he heard a voice say Lytton. Akash stopped beside him, and Danny motioned them to the tent from where he’d heard the voice. Standing in the shadows, they cocked their ears. The majority of words were in Hindi.
“What are they saying?” Danny whispered.
“I think there are a few rajas inside. They’re complaining about a party the viceroy held a few days ago. The British officers were making fun of the rajas in English, forgetting the rajas know English quite well.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “No one’s ever happy here, are they?” A thought struck him, and he let out a groan. “What if the rajas are in on it, too? What if some of them are rebels?”
Akash nodded reluctantly. “It’s possible.”
“You there!”
They spun around. A British lieutenant was moving in their direction, mustache aquiver.
“What are you two doing, loitering about in the dark?”
“We—We were just—” As Danny hesitated, Akash swayed beside him and leaned against his shoulder. He made a motion like he was doing up his trouser lacings.
“Had to relieve myself, sahib,” Akash slurred. “Haaappy New Year!”
The lieutenant looked him over, disgusted. “For Heaven’s sake, do that away from the rajas’ tents! I’ll have your head on a spike if I catch you at this again. You, there. Make sure this one gets to his tent tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant made to leave, but Danny sprang forward. “Sir? I was wondering what the schedule for tomorrow will be.”
“Your senior officer hasn’t told you?”
“I don’t believe so. Not in any detail.”
“The viceroy will give his speech in the morning. Each regiment has their own place on the parade grounds, so I would suggest asking your senior officer where that is. You lot will be toward the back, I wager. After the viceroy’s speech will be a feu-de-joie, and after the ceremony, you are to go back to your post immediately.”
Both Danny and Akash jumped at the now-familiar French phrase. “Feu-de-joie?” Danny repeated. “What does that mean?”
The lieutenant grunted. “The salute, boy, the gun salute.”
Gun salute. “Thank you, sir.”
The lieutenant gave Akash one last look of disgust before he turned and walked away.
Danny swore. “The assassin might be planning to shoot the viceroy during the salute.”
“How do we stop him?”
Danny shook his head. He had no idea.
There was a sudden commotion as the countdown to midnight began. The soldiers called out “Three! Two! One!” before a tumultuous cheer rose above the tents. Danny clapped along with the rest, but the moment’s impact was lost on him. He was already living several hours from now, in the light of an uncertain dawn.
They found Akash’s tent first. Other sepoys had taken off their shoes outside. Akash did the same, but looked helplessly at Danny.
“What if the real Chopra is inside?”
“Then pretend you’re drunk and sleep on the floor.”
Akash glanced up and down the street, then leaned in, lowering his voice. “There’s nothing we can do if the rebel’s plan is already in motion. You must know that.”
“We’ll see what the morning brings.”
Danny found his own tent and slipped inside, hoping no one would talk to him. A few of the cots were empty. Danny took off his boots and the outer jacket of his uniform, then curled up on a cot with his back to everyone else. He wondered where the real Wilson was, and if he had been assigned to another tent. That was, quite honestly, the least of his worries.
He held the small cog as the other soldiers settled down, wishing that he could Stop time, that he could prevent this disaster from happening.
But this wasn’t Enfield.
Really, who was the villain here? Zavier? The rebels? The British?
He didn’t know.
He was afraid to find out.
Morning came an eternity later, and Danny still had no ideas. The soldiers got up to shave and don their best uniforms, but Danny had to settle for wrinkled trousers.
He found Akash in the mess, where the soldiers shoveled porridge into their mouths like it was a competition. Akash didn’t look like he’d slept, either.
“What are we going to do?” Akash asked.
“Just look out for anything suspicious. If we see an officer, we can try to convince him. Otherwise, we’ll have to wait for Dryden.”
If Dryden was even coming.
And there was still the matter of the clock tower. Danny’s power kept straining toward it; he wished he could duplicate himself and guard the tower with the soldiers inside the city. Zavier was nearby, he was sure of it. He could imagine him on the observation deck of the Prometheus, waiting for his chance to strike.
The soldiers filed out of the mess into a clear yet strangely chilly dawn. The men were in high spirits, their hair slicked back and boots shined to perfection. Danny noticed a few disapproving glances at his messy state.
On the parade grounds, ranks of infantry and cavalry marched with banners and standards fluttering in the wind, their drums puncturing the air with deep, reverberating pulses. The rhythm synced with Danny’s heartbeat and made his chest ache. He looked at the other regiments already in position, flawless squares of bodies all turned toward the dais where the replica of the Queen’s throne sat. Someone had brought a large portrait of Her Majesty and placed it on the throne, a gaudy if necessary reminder of why they were all gathered.
To the right, Danny noticed an assembly of riflemen standing at ease, guns perched on their shoulders. His breath caught.
“That’s them,” he hissed at Akash as they got into position.
“Should we do something?”
Danny bit his lip. A colonel was walking down the line, hands behind his back, making sure not a hair was out of place. Danny was about to draw his attention when a roar went through the ranks. Viceroy Lytton had taken the stage.
Lytton was a composed-looking man with dark hair and an impressive beard. He was neither portly nor broad, but held himself in a way that made him seem large, as if his reputation had a direct correlation to his stature. He cut an interesting figure in a long blue satin mantle, an insignia of Knight Grand Commander sewn onto his breast.
Lytton held up his hands to quiet the cheer before gesturing to the portrait of Victoria.
“This day belongs to our beloved Queen, now Queen-Empress of India. And what a fitting title it is. Her Majesty …”
His voice droned on as Danny looked around, waiting, searching, hoping. Dryden had to come. He had to be here.
“And now, the proclamation.” Lytton stepped back and allowed a man dressed in a herald’s tabard to come forward. The herald began to read the official proclamation in English, then read it again in Urdu. Danny’s eyes kept darting to the riflemen, but not one of them had moved.
Who will it be? When is it coming? Sweat dripped into his eyes and his breathing grew uneven, body humming with the urgent need to move.
If Dryden wasn’t coming, he would need to take matters into his own hands.
One soul against thousands.