Bengal, 1857

They’d just been voices in the dark to each other in the
first few days. The familiarity of English accents and the
simple relief at not being alone were stark comforts none
of them had ever experienced. In an ancient pitch-black
oubliette, unsure of their ultimate fate, they’d observed
the rituals of introduction and exchanged names and shaken
hands as if they were in the foyer of a music hall in
Brighton and not standing ankle deep in muck in an raja’s
dungeon in the bowels of his stronghold.

Galen.

Michael.

Josiah.

Ashe.

John.

Darius.

Rowan.

Sterling.

Eight men of various walks of life, but their paths had led
them each to India and now to this… And even without
knowing the speaker, their personalities had almost
immediately declared themselves and a unique alliance was
formed.

“No one else in our travel party was taken, I think. But
it happened so quickly, I can’t be sure.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I lost track, but not more than a few days. Four or five?”

“This is ridiculous. We’re British citizens! Our
kidnapping is not going to go unanswered by the imperial
regiments or—“

“The regiments have their hands full of other duties than
tracking every British citizen, I suspect.” The
interruption resonated with calm authority.

“What the hell is this place?”

“An old cistern, I think. The walls feel carved, as if
chiseled out of rock and of course…” The sound of a boot
being pulled from the wet kiss of the mud around it was
unmistakable. “There’s evidence of water.”

“We’ll not last in here.”

“That may be the intent, unless you experienced a different
welcoming committee than I did.”

“Gentlemen,” another man spoke, “we’re facing two possible
outcomes. One, we’ll be killed immediately as a show of
strength, or to please someone’s taste for revenge and
rebellion.”

“Or?” One of them pressed as if asking about the odds of a
game of whist.

“Or we need to figure out how to survive a long stay,
considering our host’s accommodations and hospitality.”

The sound of a rat or some other subterranean inhabitant
underlined his words, and the men unconsciously shifted to
stand nearer to each other.

“Damn! I hate it when I’m only offered two choices and
they’re both unacceptable.”

“As you wish, third option. The raj has eight beautiful
daughters and each one of us will get to choose an exotic
beauty for wife and live like princes in a penny novel.”

“Now that is more like it!”

Soft chuckles broke out and the choking darkness was
momentarily forgotten.

“We’re going to die.”

A long silence answered the words, until one of them
summoned a reply. “Undoubtedly, but let’s do our best to
wait until we’re grey old men sitting by a warm fire in
England, shall we?”

“To hell with that! I’ll have a warm wench astride my lap
when I make my farewells! You may keep your dusty hearth
to yourself.”

“I will. Especially if you’re going to pop off and scare
the lights out of some poor dollie!”

The men laughed again.

“He’s right. You’d better leave a few extra coins in your
waistcoat to make it up to the poor creature.”

“My God, how many coins cover that sort of thing?”
They’d laughed even harder until the sound of metal on
metal had ended their first “party”. The door at the head
of the steep tunnel entrance had opened, and a single torch
had blinded them enough to make it easy for the guards to
move in and start to remove them. A few had struggled, but
were quickly overpowered with punishing blows from short
weighted sticks that the guards carried. They’d been taken
out through a labyrinth of dim passageways with stale air
and damp walls. Each man’s sense of direction was tested
as the floors rose and fell, until none of them were sure
that they were ten feet or ten thousand feet from the
surface.

Finally, they’d been pushed into a four-chambered cell with
musty straw on the floor and made to understand that the
airless cave with its elaborate iron bars was, for now,
home.

Half their number was chained by one wrist to the outer
walls, and the others were unshackled. No pallets or
provisions were evident, and when the guards closed the
heavy door behind them, they took their torches with them
and robbed the men once again of light.

Minutes passed in the cloying dark until at last, someone
spoke.

“So much for playing cards to pass the time…”

And then they’d laughed until they’d cried.