Rafe snorted. “Any fool could have predicted that. Ever since we slapped them down in ’18, they’ve been spoiling for a fight-any fight, they’re not particular.”

“Exactly.” Hastings’s tone was acid, biting. “As you know, Ensworth is now governor in Bombay. He’s performing well in all other respects, but he’s all diplomat, no military man, and he freely admits that when it comes to the Black Cobra he’s in over his head.” Hastings’s gaze raked them, coming to rest on Del. “Which is where you gentlemen come in.”

“I take it,” Del said, “that Ensworth isn’t going to get his nose out of joint when we ride into his patch.”

“On the contrary-he’ll welcome you with open arms. He’s at his wits’ end trying to reassure the merchants while simultaneously balancing the books for London-not easy when every fifth convoy is plundered.” Hastings paused, and for a moment the strain of managing the far-flung empire India had become showed in his face. Then his jaw firmed, and he met their gazes. “I can’t overstate the importance of this mission. The Black Cobra has to be stopped. Its depredations and the atrocities committed in its name have reached a level that threatens not just the Company, but England herself-not just in terms of trade, but in stature, and you’ve all been here long enough to know how vital the latter is to our nation’s continuing interests. And lastly”-with his head he indicated the reports on his desk-“it’s India, and the people in those villages, who need the Cobra removed.”

“No argument there.” Rafe came out of his characteristic lounge and rose to his feet as Del and the others did.

Hastings let his gaze travel over them as they ranged shoulder-to-shoulder before his desk, a solid wall of red in their uniforms. They were all over six feet tall, ex-Guardsmen all, hardened by long years of battle and command. Expe rience etched their features, even MacFarlane’s; worldly knowledge colored their eyes.