Satisfied with what he saw, Hastings nodded. “Your mission, gentlemen, is to identify and capture the Black Cobra, and bring him to justice. You have a free hand as to ways and means. I care not how you do it, as long as justice is seen-and known-to have been done. As usual, you may draw on the company’s account, and on its troops as seems fit.”

Typically it was Rafe who put their collective thoughts into words, albeit his words. “You mentioned beheading.” His tone was light, his habitual ineffable charm on show, as if he were at some tea party and speaking of croquet. “With cults that’s usually the most effective approach. Can we take it you would rather we went direct for the leader-or are we to play cautious and try to defend the convoys wherever possible?”

Hastings met Rafe’s guileless blue eyes. “You, Captain, wouldn’t know caution from your elbow.”

Del’s lips twitched; from the corner of his eye, he saw Gareth’s do the same. Rafe, nicknamed “Reckless” for good cause, merely looked innocent, continuing to meet Hastings’s cynical gaze.

Hastings humphed. “Your supposition is correct. I expect you to target the Black Cobra specifically, to identify and eliminate him. For the rest, do whatever you can, but the situation is urgent, and we can no longer afford caution.”

Again Hastings’s gaze raked them. “You may interpret my orders in whatever way you wish-just bring the Black Cobra to justice.”

August 15, five months later

The Officers’ Mess

The Honorable East India Company Bombay Station

“Hastings did say we could interpret his orders as we wished-that we had a free hand as to ways and means.” Rafe settled his shoulders against the wall behind him, then raised one of the glasses the barboy had just set on the table, and took a long draft of cloudy amber beer.

The five of them-Del, Gareth, Logan, Rafe and James-were seated around the corner table they’d claimed as theirs in the bar off the officers’ mess.