The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald
I could hear the sounds of music and drunken revelry, and then the door was opened, and I was being ushered inside, blinking in the lantern-light as I stared round, panic mounting in my throat.
There were four men seated there, looking at me. To my left, in dark shirt, breeches, and boots, his face vulpine in the lantern-ray, was Laborde; next to him, solemn for once, his fat chops framed in his high collar, was Fankanonikaka; to the right, slimly elegant in his full court dress, was one of the young Malagassy nobles whom I knew by sight, although I’d hardly spoken to him, Baron Andriama. And in the centre, his handsome young face tense and strained, was Prince Rakota himself. His glance went past me as the door closed.
“No one saw you?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
“No one,” says Rakohaja behind me. “It is safe to begin.”
I doubted that – I really did. Drunk or not, I can smell a conspiracy when it’s pushed under my nose, and the presence of royalty and several of Madagascar’s most eminent citizens notwithstanding, I knew at once that there was mischief brewing here, but Rakohaja’s hand was on my shoulder, firmly guiding me to a seat, and any lingering doubt was dispelled as the Prince nodded to Laborde, who addressed me.
“There is very little time,” says he, “so I shall be brief. Do you wish to return to England, in safety, with your wife?”
The honest answer to that was high treason, and the knowledge must have shown in my face, for little Fankanonikaka broke in quickly; it was a sign of his agitation that he spoke, not in fluent French, but in his bastard English.
“Not frightening, no alarms, all’s well, Flashman. Friends here, liking you, telling truth, like old boys, ain’t we?
If the Queen’s own son, and her secretary and most trusted minister were in it – whatever it was – there could be no point in lying.
“Yes,” says I, and the Prince sighed with relief, and broke into a torrent of Malagassy, but Laborde cut him short.
“Pardon, highness, we must not delay.” He turned to me again. “The time has come to depose the Queen. All of us whom you see here are agreed on that. We are not alone; there are others, trusted friends, who are in the plot with us. We have a plan – simple, effective, and involving no bloodshed, by which her majesty will be removed from power, and his highness crowned in her place. He will give you his royal word, that in return for your faithful service in this, he will set you and your wife at liberty, and return you to your homeland.” He paused; his words had come out in a swift, incisive rush, but now he spoke slowly. “Will you join us?”
Could it be a trap? Some d---lish device of Ranavalona’s to test my loyalty – she was fiend enough to be capable of it. Laborde’s face said nothing; Fankanonikaka was nodding at me, as though willing me to agree. I glanced at the Prince, and the almost wistful expression in the fine dark eyes convinced me – nearly. I was sober enough now, and as frightened as any decent coward has any right to be; it might be dangerous to agree, but just the feel of Rakohaja’s grim presence at my elbow told me it would be downright fatal to refuse.
“What d’you want me to do?” I said. For the life of me, I couldn’t see why they needed me at all, unless they wanted me to strangle the black slut in her bath – the mind shuddered at the thought – no, it couldn’t be that – no bloodshed, Laborde had said—
“We need someone,” Laborde went on, as though he’d been reading my mind, “who is in the Queen’s confidence, entirely above suspicion, yet with the power so to dispose of the armed forces that they will be unable to protect her. Someone who can ensure that when the moment comes, her Hova guard regiment will not be able to intervene. Those guards within the palace can be dealt with easily – provided there is no reinforcement to assist them. That is the key to the whole plan. And you hold the key.”
So many thoughts and terrors were jumbling in my mind by now that I couldn’t give them coherent utterance for a moment. The prospect of freedom – of escape from that monstrous Poppaea and her ghastly country – I shivered with excitement at the thought … but Laborde must be crazy, for what could I do about her infernal soldiers? – I might be G-d Almighty on the drill-ground, telling them where to put their clodhopping feet, but I’d no authority beyond that. Their plot might be A1, and I was all for it, provided I was safe out of harm’s way – but the thought of doing anything! One hint of suspicion in those terrible eyes—
“How can I do that?” I stuttered. “I mean, I’ve no power. General Rakohaja here, he could order—”
“Not possible, Queen not liking, all thinking bad of General, chop undoubtedly—” Fankanonikaka waved his hands, and Rakohaja’s deep voice sounded behind me.
“If I, or any other noble, attempted to move the Hova Guards more than a mile from the city, the Queen’s suspicions would be instantly aroused. And I do not have to tell you what follows on her suspicions. It has been tried, once before, and General Betimseraba lingered in agony for days, without arms or legs or eyes, hanging in a buffalo skin at Ambohipotsy. He was plotting, as we are, but not so carefully. He forgot that the Queen has spies in every corner – spies that even Fankanonikaka does not know about. Yet all he did was try to detach two companies of the guard to Tamitave. Nothing was proved – but he failed the tanguin – and died.”
“But … but – I can’t move the Guards—”
“You have done so, twice already.” It was Andriama, speaking for the first time. “Did you not give them training marches, one of two days, the other of three? Nothing was said; the Queen was undisturbed. What would excite immediate suspicion, if done by a noble of whom the Queen is jealous – and she is insanely jealous of all of us – may be easily accomplished by the sergeant-general, who is only a slave, and well beloved by the Queen.”
Fankanonikaka was nodding eagerly; his lips seemed to be framing the words “jig-a-jig-a-jig”. I was going faint at the thought of the risk I’d already run, quite unawares.
“Don’t you understand?” says Laborde. “Don’t you see – from the moment I saw you in the slave-market, months ago, we have been scheming, Fankanonikaka and I, to bring you to the position where you could do this thing? The Queen trusts you – because she has no reason to suspect you, who are only a lost foreigner. She thinks of you only as the slave who drills her troops – and as a lover. You know how cautiously we have proceeded – so that no hint of suspicion could attach to you; his highness has kept your wife in safety, even beyond the eyes and ears of his mother’s spies. We have waited and waited – oh, long before you came to Madagascar. This is not the first time we have plotted in secret—”
“She is mad!” the Prince burst out. “You know she is mad – and terrible – a woman of blood! She is my mother – and … and …” He was shaking, twisting his hands together. “I do not seek the throne for greed, or for power! I do it to save this country – to save all of us, before she destroys us utterly, or brings down the vengeance of the world upon us! And she will – she will! The Powers will not stand by forever!” He stared from Laborde to Rakohaja and back again. “You know it! We all know it!”
I couldn’t fathom this, until Laborde explained.
“You are not alone, Flashman. Only last month a brig named the Marie Laure was driven ashore near Tamitave; her master, one Jacob Heppick, an American, was taken and sold into slavery, like you. I had him bought, through friends of mine—” He snorted suddenly. “There are five European slaves whom I have bought secretly this year, to save them from worse; castaways, unfortunates, like you and your wife. They are hidden with my friends. But there have been inquiries from their governments – inquiries which the Queen has answered with insults and threats. She has even been foolish enough to abuse the few foreign traders who put in here – men have been taken from their vessels, put to forced labour, virtually enslaved. How long will France and England and America endure this?
“Even now” – he leaned forward, tapping my knee – “there is a British warship in Tamitave roads, whose commander has sent protests to the Queen. She will