He frowned. "Good God, you sound like a nagging fishwife. I said I'd come, didn't I?"

"Sorry." She finished the rice on her plate. "You're not eating."

"It's too hot to eat." He refilled his glass from the bottle on the table. "And even if I were hungry I couldn't stomach this slop. I don't see why you had to send Li Sung to Narinth. I haven't had a decent meal since he left."

She hurriedly glanced down at her plate. "Sula isn't a bad cook. I needed someone in Narinth to make sure the work on the station was going well."

"No one would pay any attention to the orders of a chink." He flushed defiantly as he saw the expression on her face. "Well, they wouldn't."

"No more than they would a w,oman," she agreed. "But he can watch and report if we're being cheated by the subcontractor you hired to do the work." She stood up and began to stack the dishes on the table. "Try to eat a little, or you'll have a bad head in the morning."

"Later." Patrick lifted the glass to his lips and she knew he'd leave the meal untouched. "That friend of the prince's came with the maharajah."

She stiffened. "Pachtal?"

Patrick nodded. "Seems a pleasant enough fellow. He said to give you his regards."

"Really?" She tried to make her tone noncommittal. "Did he say anything else?"

"No." Patrick made a face. "The maharajah said it all. He wanted to know where his locomotive was and when we'd finish laying the track."

"You told him the locomotive would arrive in a few days?"

"If the damn boat doesn't sink to the bottom of the river with it," Patrick said gloomily. "It would be just our luck. Nothing else has gone right on this job." He brightened. "At least, he'll be pleased with the locomotive. It's going to sport so much brass, he'll well nigh be blinded by it."

Her gaze flew to his face. "How could we afford to do that? We barely had enough cash left to afford the engine itself."

"I managed to cut a few corners." Patrick didn't look at her as he sipped his whiskey. "The maharajah likes a little flash and glitter, and we need to keep him sweet-tempered."

"That's true enough." She stood looking at him, frowning. "What corners?"

He waved a vague hand. "I just eliminated a part here and there. Nothing important."

"You're sure?"

"I said so, didn't I?" Patrick's tone turned testy. "I've been a railroad man since I was a lad of fourteen, Jane. I think I know what I'm doing."

"I just wanted to be—"

"It's too hot in here." Patrick pushed back his chair, stood up, and grabbed his glass and bottle. "I'm going out on the veranda, where it's cooler."

And where there were no troublesome questions to make him uncomfortable, Jane thought as she watched him walk toward the door leading to the screened veranda. His step was a little unsteady, but he wasn't staggering, which meant he probably hadn't been noticeably inebriated during his interview with the maharajah and Pachtal.

Pachtal. Both his presence and his message were obviously meant as a warning that she had not been forgotten by Abdar. During the past two weeks she had been scrupulously careful not to leave the encampment. Abdar must be seething with frustration, she mused. She smiled with grim satisfaction as she carried the dishes to the kitchen adjoining the dining room.

The tall, sari-clad servant woman was in the process of scraping bits of chicken into Sam's bowl and straightened with a guilty smile as Jane entered the kitchen. "I know the dog is not supposed to be in here, but I thought only this once?"

"It's all right, Sula. Just don't let the sahib see him."

Sula nodded. "The meal pleased you, memsahib?"

"Very good." Jane gave her an abstracted smile as she set the dishes on the countertop. She then bent and patted the dog's silky head. Perhaps she shouldn't be so complacent about Pachtal's visit, when it might have signaled the end of the waiting game Abdar had been playing. She had meant to visit Zabrie before this and ask her to set up a way for Kartauk to leave the city, but the pressure of work had caused her to ignore everything but the laying of the track. She should really go see the woman tonight.

No, not tonight. She could feel the cold lethargy of exhaustion dragging at every limb. Why did she care anyway? Li Sung was right; Kartauk was using her as much as she had used him. But it made no difference; she did care. She had never been able to bear the idea of cruelty to the helpless—though the idea of Kartauk being helpless was ironic. Yet while Abdar held the power in Kasanpore, Kartauk was without—

Dear heaven, her mind must be as weary as her body to meander like this. She would wash up and go to bed and try not to think of Abdar, his father, Kartauk, or the monumental pressure of the work waiting for her tomorrow.

As she crossed the living room on the way to her bedroom she heard Patrick humming to himself on the veranda. For a moment she felt a flicker of fierce resentment. He was happily drowning his worries in his bottle of whiskey, leaving her to solve their problems.

"Jane?" Patrick called.

She stopped but did not turn toward the veranda. "Yes?"

"I meant it about you staying in bed tomorrow." His tone was soft, caressing, almost affectionate. "We can't have you falling ill again. Whatever would I do without you?"

Jane's resentment vanished. He did care about her and God knows he needed her. "I won't be ill. I'm just a little tired."

"Well, take care of yourself."

Easy to say but almost impossible to do when the work never ended, she thought ruefully. "I will." She started quickly toward the bedroom door again, but a little of the lethargy and discouragement had dissipated in the surge of warmth she had felt for Patrick. He might use her, as Li Sung claimed, but he had rescued them both from Frenchie's and given them freedom and a roof over their heads. For that alone she would always be passionately grateful.

She lit the oil lamp on the table beside her narrow mosquito-net-draped bed and started to unbutton her loose shirt. She felt better now and would feel still better when she had washed away some of the sweat and dirt of the day. It would be foolish to put off going to see Zabrie when Abdar was clearly becoming an active danger again. The bath would revive her. Then she would be restored enough to set out for the city and deal with Zabrie.

"What is this place?" Ian whispered, peering at the large two-story sod house across the street.

Ruel's gaze never left the doorway through which Jane Barnaby had just passed as he answered. "Zabrie's. The Kasanpore version of a house of ill repute. Not exactly the kind of place a respectable lady visits."

"Zabrie . . . ah, yes, Abdar mentioned the place, didn't he?" Ian frowned. "Abdar could have lied about its purpose."

"He didn't."

"How do you know?"

"I spent two nights here last week."

"You didn't tell me."

Ruel murmured, "I'm hardly accustomed to consulting with anyone when I visit a whorehouse."

"I don't suppose you found out anything about Kartauk?"

"No, I could hardly go from whore to whore asking questions."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Before you dig for a rich vein you have to survey the claim," Ruel said. "And this particular survey was not without its pleasures. Zabrie is an ardent student of the Kama Sutra."