Read Online The War of the Grail by Geoffrey Wilson - Free Book Online

side of the cottage … and saw a figure hunched beside the door.
    So, he’d been right. But what was the person doing? Listening? Waiting for Jack to come out?
    Whatever the case, Jack would have to take a closer look.
    The figure’s head appeared to be turned away, so Jack lifted himself up, swung his legs over the window sill and splashed down into the mud outside. The rain battered him, drenching his nightshirt and plastering it to his back. His hair was stuck to his scalp.
    He tightened his grip on the knife and crept forward. The mud squelched and sucked beneath his naked feet, but there was little chance of him being heard over the wind.
    The figure didn’t move. Good. Jack hadn’t been seen. All he had to do now was sneak forward a few more feet and then he could pounce.
    He moved faster, the rain pouring over him. A flash of lightning lit up the walls of the huts nearby for a second. More thunder racked the sky.
    The figure remained still.
    And now Jack could see that the person was sprawled before the door, as if they’d collapsed. They appeared to be wearing an overcoat and some sort of hat.
    Jack froze. That was no hat. It was a turban. A scarlet, army-issue, officer’s turban.
    The figure was a Rajthanan.
    Why had a Rajthanan officer sneaked into Folly Brook? A dark thought crossed Jack’s mind – had the army already arrived in Clun? That was unlikely. They couldn’t have marched from Ludlow in such a short space of time. And in any case, why would an officer come all the way to Folly Brook alone?
    Jack couldn’t wait any longer for answers. He charged the last few feet, leapt upon the man and held the knife to his throat. The man was strangely limp and offered no resistance. He did nothing other than give a low moan.
    ‘Who are you?’ Jack shook the man.
    The figure groaned again and slowly turned his turbaned head.
    Jack recognised the thin, bearded features through the slanting rain.
    It was Kanvar.
    The Sikh’s face was gaunt and his cheeks were streaked with dirt. But he was unmistakeable. His eyes wandered about, as if he were drunk, before they finally focused on Jack.
    Jack dropped the knife in surprise, and it plopped into a puddle. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
    The rain beat against the side of Kanvar’s face and dribbled down from his beard. He opened his eyes wider, gripped Jack’s shirt and tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a hoarse croak. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed against the door.

5

    E lizabeth placed a blanket over Kanvar’s shoulders. The Sikh sat shivering before the flames in Elizabeth and Godwin’s hut. His sodden tunic, cummerbund and trousers had been removed and he instead wore a loose nightshirt that Godwin had lent to him.
    Elizabeth went to untie his turban, but he raised his hand to stop her.
    ‘But it’s soaked through,’ Elizabeth said.
    ‘It is all right,’ Kanvar said. ‘A Sikh must wear a turban.’
    Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and flicked a look across at Jack. Jack nodded at her to leave the turban. He knew the Sikhs had as many strange customs as the Rajthanans.
    The storm outside had eased, but the rain still rattled on the shutters and the wind still whined through the cracks in the walls.
    Jack cast his eye around the fire. The little group that had been sitting about the hearth a few hours earlier – Saleem, Elizabeth and Godwin – had reassembled. Jack hadn’t wanted to wake them, but he’d needed help with Kanvar, who’d seemed near death.
    At least Kanvar was now less pale and was able to sit upright unaided.
    ‘You’re looking better,’ Jack said.
    Kanvar stared back with his wide, fish-like eyes. ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘What happened to you?’
    ‘I became weak. I had to use many powers in order to get here. I had so little strength that I was unable to even open the door to your cottage.’
    ‘You’re lucky I heard you out there. And why were you wearing that Rajthanan