Immune to any soothing ambience, Hastings continued to pace heavily. “These depredations on our convoys cannot go on-we’re losing face with every day that passes, with every attack that goes unanswered.”

“I understand”-Del’s own drawl was the epitome of unruffled calm, a sharp contrast to Hastings’s terse tones-“that the Black Cobra’s activities have been escalating for some time.”

“Yes, damn it! And the Bombay station didn’t think it worthwhile reporting, let alone acting, until a few months ago, and now they’re bleating that the situation’s beyond them.” Pausing by the center of his desk, Hastings exasperatedly rifled a stack of documents, fanning out a selection before pushing them across the polished surface. “These are some of the recent reports-just so you know what anarchy you’re heading into.”

The four men seated to Del’s right glanced his way. At his nod, they reached out and took one of the documents each; sitting back, they perused the reports.

“I’ve heard,” Del went on, reclaiming Hastings’s attention, “that the cult of the Black Cobra first reared its head in ’19. Does it have any previous history, or was that its inception?”

“That was the first inkling we had, and the locals in Bombay hadn’t heard of it before then. No saying it hadn’t been lurking in some backwater somewhere-God knows there’s enough of these secretive native cults-but there’s no reports, even from the older maharajahs, of its existence prior to mid-’19.”

“A de novo cult suggests the arrival of a particular leader.”

“Indeed, and it’s him you’ll need to eliminate. Either that, or do enough damage to his forces”-Hastings flung a hand at the documents the other four were reading-“the rabble he uses to murder, rape and pillage, to make him scurry back under whatever rock he slithered out from.”