The Doc Justice Files- Scales on Stone part 1
by Direwolf

Chapter 1- A chance meeting

The midday sun shown hot in the sky over Calcutta as Justin Collins and Lord Gawaine Paget walked through the narrow twisted streets near the waterfront. Countless sights, sounds and smells engulfed them; the slow lap of waves from the harbor, the calls of the market vendors proclaiming the virtues of their wares, the rich aroma of curry and saffron rice cooked over a charcoal fire, the rainbow hues of the women in their saris who watched the two Westerners from behind their scarves. Go-on spotted one pair out for a stroll with a massive bodyguard behind them. He tipped his straw hat and smiled charmingly, pantomiming loosing his heart to them. The ladies covered their mouths and giggled.

Justin shook his head. "Go-on, you are incorrigible!"

"Glad to hear you say it, old boy. Proves you are paying attention around me. Wonderful powers of observation, simply wonderful."

The women passed, hips swaying suggestively.

"I say, my brother keeps telling me I should find a wife and settle down. Think either or both of them would do?"

"Those two are already married, you can tell by the marks on their foreheads."

"Right-o, then you could say I found a wife!"

Justin didn't bother answering. A street vendor with a bolt of lovely, sea green silk had caught his eye. He'd promised to bring something back for Lucas to send to his mother and this might be just what he was looking for.

"Greetings, good sir. I could not help but notice the fine quality of your wares. I am sure they are far more then a poor traveler such as myself can afford."

The vendor stood, mouth agape for a few moments. Not only had the foreigner addressed him in perfect Hindi, but the accent was even local. But his surprise didn't last long. He was a professional and could tell this stranger had money.

"Not so over-priced that an honest man such as yourself can not afford them. All are more than reasonable and of the finest quality!"

Go-on stood by smiling at the local ladies and ignoring beggars. He knew better than to offer them coins. He and Justin would be inundated if he did. After a good quarter of an hour, Justin and the peddler reached an agreeable price. Money and fabric changed hands and the two parted with much bowing and offering of compliments.

"By the way he's smiling, I'm sure that villain over charged you," Go-on comment.

"Oh, I'm sure he did. But I can afford a few extra pennies a yard and the chance to brush up on the local dialect was worth it."

Go-on laughed and the two of them walked off into the market. They made a striking pair that attracted a lot of notice.

Lord Gawaine Paget, or Go-on to his friends, was slightly less than six feet tall with the slender, athletic build of a cricket player. His black hair was slicked back with a slightly floral hair cream and a black walking stick swung jauntily as he walked. As always, he was dressed in the height of fashion, a cool white linen suit with a straw boater.

Justin Collins was well over six feet tall with roan brown hair and dark gray eyes. He wore a pair of khaki pants tucked into sturdy boots and his cotton shirt had come undone at the top, exposing his neck. His coat was thrown over his shoulder and if he'd started the day with hat it was long gone. His broad shoulders and corded neck spoke of great strength though the ease with which he wove through the press of people in the crowded street showed a cat-like agility. He smiled as he chatted with Go-on, obviously enjoying this time in the market.

As the sun moved west, the two friends meandered through the market stopping to sample the foods and buy things for their associates. Justin found an illustrated copy of the Mahabarata that he was sure Fu Lee, his Chinese butler, would enjoy and a truly hideous brass elephant statue that Go-on agreed would send Murray Rosenbaum, Justin's patent attorney, into fits of pleasure. Go-on found a silken gauze dress that he said would be sure to cause a scandal when his sister wore it in public and a Damascus steel knife that would appeal to Miss Aleksandra Gregory.

"She likes sharp things, like my wit," he had quipped while buying the knife. By the size and weight of the blade, Justin would have called it a dagger.

The afternoon had been an enjoyable outing but Justin had noticed the undercurrent of tension running through the city. Handbills on walls spoke of Mahatma Gandhi and his move to oust the colonial government. Armed patrols of British solders moved through the street, eyes alert for any signs of sedition. An area of silence seemed to proceed and follow each patrol, a silence strengthened by hostile eyes. Groups of men would watch the solders pass, then put their heads together for muttered conversation.

To make matters worse, the Viceroy of India, Lord Mountbatten, was in Calcutta to meet a royal delegation. The Prince of Wales was on tour and visiting the colony despite the unrest bubbling below the surface. Justin could sense the mood of the city. There was a dark undercurrent but he didn't think it would erupt into violence. Mr. Gandhi has always been emphatic that the way to freedom for India was not by war but by peaceful resistance. Justin hoped that all of Gandhi's followers agreed and that the English Colonial powers were wise enough not to try to stamp out the movement by force. Hopefully, it would be a contest of moral wills rather the bullets and knives.

The first stars were dotting the deep blue sky by the time Justin and Go-on reached their hotel, the Calcutta Hilton. Go-on had made the reservations for this trip and had insisted on the best possible rooms since the colonial government was paying. Justin had been called in to consult on upgrading the electrical system for the port city and since more power lines would be needed, he brought Lord Gawaine to assess possible routes. They had finished up early today. Go-on had suggested checking the British embassy building for a cricket game but Justin had insisted on a trip to the markets. Now, their ambling concluded for the day, they agreed to meet in the dining room for dinner in half an hour.

Doctor Justin Collins, world famous linguist and electrical engineer, was late to dinner. He had found a number of telegrams waiting for him, all business related, and had to send off quick responses. At times, he wondered if the trying to maintain his many business interests was worth the headaches. He'd much rather have spent his time exploring the odd corners of the world in search of adventure. But having a steady income sure helped finance adventures and running a company like Collins Enterprises kept a lot of people employed as well.

The hotel dining room was filled to near capacity. The royal visit had brought in every nabob or would be nabob in the Western half of the subcontinent. Justin scanned the room, looking for his friend.

"I say, right over here, old boy!" a familiar voice cut through the clamor. Go-On was standing on a chair, waving at him from across the room.

Justin wound his way through the tables to find Go-on seated with two other men.

One of them was dressed in a captain's uniform of the British Royal Engineers. The other wore a simple cotton twill suite. The Royal Engineer looked like he might have stepped off a recruiting poster, his uniform was impeccable from the flaming bomb emblem on his collar to the mirror polish on his black shoes. Even his sandy brown hair was perfectly combed. His mustache stood out in two waxed points that made him look Prussian. The civilian looked far more rumpled. His thinning mouse-brown hair was askew and his eyes, behind thick glasses, seemed to be watering. Justin also noticed a decided flush to his skin. By the plate of curry in front of the fellow, Justin assumed he knew the cause.

"Well, fellows, here he is, more or less as promised. This is my good friend and the only one who has ever seen my inner genius and given me a real job, Doctor Justin Collins, PhD., chief executive officer of Collins Enterprises, globe-trotting adventurer and expert in the sweet science. If he were just a better dresser and played a musical instrument, he'd be perfect. Justin, let me introduce two old friends of mine from school." At this point, Go-on got down from the chair. Justin flushed red as the ring of eyes from the surrounding diners all settled on him. He wondered how many of them were sizing him up as potential bridegroom material.

"This is Captain Nigel Brackenberry, a distant cousin of mine and quite a fine fellow, despite the whole Army thing."

Brackenberry stood up and took Justin's hand.

"Quite pleased to meet you, sir. Anyone who can make a working man out of Go-on here has got to be some sort of miracle worker in my book!"

"My pleasure, captain, and anyone who went to school with Lord Gawaine and still thinks of him as a friend has to be resilient, to say the least."

"Oh, go on you two! And the fellow trying not to breathe flames over there is Howard Pintar, who hopes one day to take the modern philosophy chair at Oxford. I think he should look for less reputable employment, such as a seat in the House of Commons. Howard, this is Justin, who is what passes for a wit in America."

"Pleased to meet you, sir" Howard gasped.

"Likewise. One thing about the hotel, if you ask for a curry to be authentic, that's what you get. Try some bread to get rid of the burn. Water won't help."

"A bit late for me, I think. Do sit down." Howard gestured to the empty fourth chair at the table.

A waiter materialized almost instantly. Justin order in Hindi, asking for whatever pullao rice and curry the chef recommended and a mango lassi. The men got acquainted over dinner, with most of the conversation consisting of Go-on and his two olds school mates catching up on events over the intervening years. Afterwards, they retired to the garden to sip coffee and enjoy cigars.

"So, what brings you two to India?" Go-on asked after topping off his coffee from a convenient hip flask.

"Simple enough," Nigel answered, gesturing with his smoldering cigar. "I've been posted to His Majesty's detail. Dreadful thing, no real soldering, but it will look good on my service record.

The marine lowered his voice. "I think his nibs wants me to have a look at the defenses as well, just in case we can't avoid a dust up, either with the locals or perhaps, outside forces. The Russians have always wanted India, I doubt their new government is any different."

"I simply took the opportunity to come along to learn something of the religion. A fascinating belief system, one of the oldest still practiced." Howard set down his coffee and took a small book out of his jacket pocket, flipping it open. "In fact, one of the oldest temples in India is located right here, in Calcutta, a small island off the coast. I've convinced Nigel to go along for a look-see tomorrow along with seeing the rest of the sights as well. Sort of make a day of it."

"Sounds like a grand time of it, " Go-on proclaimed. "There is a quite a lot to do and see in this city, believe you me."

"Why not go with them, then?" Justin suggested. "I've got a number of meetings planned for just about all day tomorrow and it's nothing you need to sit in on, just talking load capacity, length of lines, that sort of thing. I can handle it. You take the day off. As your boss, I insist."

Go-on beamed. "I have the most indulgent task-master in the world, gentlemen. If only he weren't so parsimonious with a penny. Still, once he marries into the family, that should change and I'll be sponging off him as much as I do my older brother. Looks like he's the ant tomorrow and I'm the grasshopper!"

Justin wasn't listening. He'd noticed a furtive movement in the shrubbery by the terrace quite near their table, movement that couldn't be explained by the light breeze. Suddenly alert, Justin stood and looked over the railing. Ten feet bellow, amid the hedges, the ground was lost in shadows. Justin stared intently, trying to pierce the darkness by force of will.

There was a flow of movement along the edge of the wall. Justin vaulted over. His powerful legs absorbed the impact as his knees flexed, dropping into a crouch. From above came shouts of consternation and alarm. The shadowed form suddenly accelerated. Justin got a quick look at a short, wide shouldered man dressed only in a loincloth as he burst from among the shrubs and raced across the moonlit grass, heading for the trees. Justin sprinted after him.

Whoever the lurker was, Doc Collins figured out quickly that he was fast and running to evade pursuit, dodging around trees and going through shrubs in his path. He was heading for the garden wall. Justin lengthened his stride in an effort to catch the fleeing man.

They met ten feet from the wall. Breath sawing in his chest, Justin put on a final burst of speed and threw himself at the running form. He hit the man in the legs, knocking them both to the grass. Justin tried to hang on but the man slipped free as they tumbled. Justin realized his skin felt oily, as if greased.

Justin recovered quickly, rolling into a crouch between the figure and the wall. He settled back into a fighting stance. The man stood, his face lost in the shadows.

"Die here then, interloper, your blood for the goddess!" the man snarled.

Justin realized the man wasn't speaking Hindi but an older language called Dravidian, a primal language that was nearly as old as civilization on the subcontinent. That surprise nearly cost him his life. The man attacked, the dark glint of a knife flashing in his hand.

The blade lashed in at Justin, a low wicked disemboweling stroke. He jumped back, the blade missing him by inches. Before the knife man recovered, Justin launched a spinning kick that caught the assailant in the side of the head. He rocked, fell back a pace and stuck again with the Knife. This time, the blade cut through Justin's shirt and drew a line of blood. But the attack left the man open. Suddenly switched fighting styles Justin hammered in two quick punches. The first caught the knifeman square in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs in a hiss of surprise, the other clipped him on the point of his chin as he doubled over. The man dropped the knife and fell.

Justin paused to catch his breath. Between the run and the fight, he was somewhat winded. He stepped away from the cover of the trees to examine his arm. Between the cut and the blood, the shirt was ruined. But the slash wasn't too bad, running from just above the wrist to a couple of inches below the elbow. His left arm was going to be sore for a while though.

A sudden rustle of movement caught his attention. The man he'd knocked down was up and headed for the wall. Justin growled a curse and sprang forward. He wanted to ask this fellow a few questions. But this time, the stocky man made it to the wall first. He swarmed up the stone face as quick as a monkey escaping a tiger and vanished over the top. Justin didn't follow. He knew the man would be gone in the warren of streets before he made it over the wall.

But there was one thing he could do.

Justin took out a short flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. It took a few moments to find the fallen knife. The blade was nearly a foot and a half long with a carved wooden hilt and a short crosspiece. The knife was dark metal, most likely iron, with a sinuous, "S" curve to the blade and thickened spine for strength. There was a pattern hammered into the blade as well, one that took a closer look to discern. It looked as though scales had been laboriously etched into the metal and wood.

Justin was still examining the recovered knife when Go-on and the restaurant manager arrived.

"Right-o! What happened?" Go-on asked.

"I realized someone was lurking in the shrubs by the restaurant. I tried to follow him but he escaped over the wall after giving me a scratch on the arm."

"I am so sorry, sir!" the restaurant manager exclaimed. "Sometimes we have problems with the beggars coming into the garden to sleep at night! And now one of those ruffians has attacked a guest. This must not be allowed. I shall alert the authorities at once, sir."

"A knife-wielding beggar, eh? Sounds a bit odd," Go-on said as the manager left in a fit of righteous anger.

Justin hefted the knife. It was old, or at least of a very old design, and well-made, heavy and solid. This was a weapon designed to kill a man. It wasn't the sort of thing a beggar would carry for protection.

"Maybe," Justin mused, "or maybe not. Do me a favor; keep your eyes open tomorrow. Something doesn't seem right."

To be continued...