SIR HAROLD AND HINDU KING

Part 3 of 5

by

Christopher Stasheff

Copyright © 1995

 

Dawn was breaking as they came to the city gate, so they didn't have to wait long until it opened.  The invisibility spell had worn off after the first couple of hours, so Shea had no trouble seeing Randhir as he said, very casually, "It would be nice if there were somebody here who could simply command the porters to open the gate for us."

"It would," the Rajah agreed in a wooden tone.

"But there isn't, of course," Shea sighed.  If the guards recognized the "thief" of the night before and heard him issue a royal command, they would run for their lives the second the king was through the gate—and probably keep on running all the way to the ken and warn all the other thieves, too.  The king was out to capture them, not just inconvenience them.

So they waited until the gates opened, three travelers among the many who gathered, waiting.  When the huge panels swung wide, they poured into the town—and Randhir led Shea and Chalmers unerringly toward the gleaming dome of the royal palace.

As they came up to the gates, Chalmers dropped behind Randhir a few steps and pulled Shea alongside.  "He is going to reveal his lofty station to us, Harold.  Be suitably impressed."

"Oh!  Yes, of course."  Shea smiled brightly.

Randhir marched right up to the gates, and the guards stared, amazed at the insolence of the "peasant."  Then they clashed their spears together, blocking his way.  The Rajah halted and told them, "Summon your captain."

The guards began to look angry, and the older of the two said, "We take no orders from ruffians!"

"You do not know me, then?"

"Know you?" the younger cried.  "We have never seen you in our lives."

"That is reassuring."  The Rajah took out his knife and cut the horsehair.  His nose, freed, swelled back out to its royal proportions, somewhat resembling a cross between an eagle's beak and a seaside promontory.  "Do you know me now?" he demanded.

The men stared, then bowed low.  "My King and sovereign!"

"I am indeed.  Now summon your captain."

One guard ran to call his boss, and Chalmers leaned over to mutter, "Most interesting.  He made sure neither had been among the thieves last night, before he risked revealing his identity."

"Very wise," Shea agreed.  "Of course, they might have been lying."

"Quite so, but I'm certain it was only double-checking; he would have recognized them if he had seen them last night."

"If he could have," Shea said.  "He's got a much better memory for faces than I have."

"Well, yes," Chalmers agreed, "but that would not take much, would it now?"

Shea turned a look of indignation on him.  "Well, thank you, Mr. Memory Wizard!"

Chalmers was saved from an answer by the arrival of the guard captain, who took one look at Randhir and blanched.  "Seize him," the rajah commanded.

The captain reached for his sword, but the guards managed to react to their surprise fast enough so that it never cleared the scabbard.  A spear-point touched his chest, and he froze; then a fist cracked into his jaw, and he folded.

"Chain him in the dungeon," the rajah commanded, "and bind his mouth; make sure he speaks to no one.  He is a thief, and has betrayed us all."

As the guards carried the man away, Shea conceded, "I guess he does have a good memory for faces."

"Yes," Chalmers agreed, "but very poor recruiting procedures."

Finally, Randhir turned to Shea and Chalmers.  "Now you know whom you have accompanied this evening."

Shea stared and took a step back—right into Chalmers, who muttered, "Pure ham."  It was a good thing—Shea had been on the verge of sticking his hands in the air and crying, "I surrender, Sheriff!"  Instead, he risked a glance at Chalmers, who was simply staring, pure and simple, then began to tremble ever so slightly.

Randhir saw and smiled, sure of his power and majesty.  "Do not be afraid, for we have been comrades in danger.  Come with me now, and refresh yourselves."

He turned and marched before them.  As they passed through the gates, Shea suddenly became sure of safety, and felt himself go limp—limp with relief, but also weariness.

"Do not relax yet."  Chalmers' voice was heavy with exhaustion.  "One misstep, and we could still lose our heads."

"That's right—the Rajah has no reason to think we're not foreign thieves."  Shea managed to muster a few grams of remaining strength, enough to imagine the Rajah's face swollen with anger and his voice shouting, "Off with their heads!"  The result was remarkable—adrenaline surged through him, stiffening his backbone and brightening his eyes.  He managed to keep his step brisk as he followed Randhir.

Into the palace they went, but by a side door that led into a room with long tables adorned with knives.  For a moment, Shea thought the Rajah had led them to his torture chamber.  Then he saw the garbage bins, and realized they were in the kitchens.

The light of dawn showed him an old woman who was snoring in a chair by the window.  "Up!" Randhir commanded, but his voice was gentle.  The woman's eyes snapped open; she saw the Rajah, and pushed herself painfully to her feet.  "Water," Randhir commanded, and the woman hobbled away to dip water from a bucket into a silver bowl.  She hung a clean cloth over her arm and brought both to her King.  He peeled off false eyebrows and washed his face thoroughly, taking away some of the coloring, then dried it and began work on his moustaches, twisting them down from the corners of his eyes to blend in with his beard.  The woman handed him a comb, then went to bring a richly brocaded robe.  Randhir combed his parted beard back into one single, well-trimmed mass, then doffed his rough tunic and slipped into the robe the old woman held out for him.  He tied a sash about it, then exchanged his black cotton turban for one of purple silk with a peacock's feather held by a golden brooch to the front and turned to face them, magically transformed into the very image of a Hindu king.  "Come, friends of my night's adventure!  You must tell me what you have seen, so that we have as full an account of this night's work as we may!"  But he didn't give them a chance to talk, only led them out of the kitchen and through a narrow hallway into a broad one, then up a broad flight of steps and into a room floored with cool marble and roofed by an azure dome upheld by columns of alabaster.  At the far end, on a dais surrounded by more columns, stood a great chair covered with gold.  Randhir stepped up and sat in the throne as casually as Shea might sit in his office chair.  "Now, my guests!  Tell me what you have seen."

"You... you're the Rajah!" Chalmers spluttered, and Shea took his cue, staring as though still stupefied.  "You?"

Randhir permitted a slight smile to play over his lips.  "Indeed.  Your companion of the evening's search is truly the Rajah Randhir—and I gather, from your conduct and the strangeness of your garb, that you are no more thieves than I am."

"I assure Your Majesty that we most certainly are not!" Chalmers said.  "But surely our observations can be of little value when we have seen only what so esteemed a personage as yourself has seen!"

Trust Doc, all right.  When it came to knowing how to lay it on, he had no peer.

"Ah, but before our separate groups joined together, you saw what I did not see!  Come, tell me of it!"

"We saw some men finishing the looting of a house," Shea said slowly.  "Then we saw the rest of the gang gathered out in the street, getting ready for the night's work and practicing their skills.  A few of them even practiced them on passersby, killing them for the few coins in their purses."

"It would seem you have indeed seen no more than I have myself," Randhir sighed, "for from that time on, we were together.  However, you can join us when we march against them, to help me remember the way, and the means of entering."

Shea wasn't all that sure he liked that idea, so he changed the subject—quickly.  "Your Majesty must have been willing to sacrifice your pride enormously, to consort with such low-lifes for a night!"  He didn't say anything about aiding and abetting a burglary.

But the stroke seemed to please Rajan Randhir.  He nodded, saying, "The good of my subjects demanded such a sacrifice, since the spies I sent on that errand did not return.  I could see that if I wanted knowledge of the thieves' ways, I should have to go myself.  Now I know why, and it is fortunate that I disguised myself so thoroughly, for a number of the thieves were my own people—watchmen and guards, patrolmen and spies."

Chalmers stared.  "Surely not the spies you sent to ferret out information about the gang!"

"The very same, and a merry laugh they must have had at their assignment.  I do not think they shall laugh tomorrow."

His tone chilled Shea, and reminded him of the coldblooded killing he had witnessed.  "Are you sure none of those men worshipped Kali?  They seemed bloodthirsty enough to be genuine Thuggee."  Even as he said the word, though, he realized that it only meant "rascals"—at least literally.

"Many of them were," Randhir admitted.  "I lied to you at the time to prevent you from panicking, for I saw you knew of Kali, and that her worshippers sacrifice human lives to her.  They whom you call Thuggee are more accurately termed Phansigars; you could tell them by the kerchiefs they wore round their necks—the kerchiefs with which they strangled women and men alike.  Others worshipped Bnawani; those with little bags slung under the left arm were Dhaturiya-poisoners.  Even some among Kartikeya's crew are dedicated to murder—for example, those who wore their poniards at their waists; they are stabbers by profession."

Shea shuddered.

"But how is it," Chalmers asked, "that Your Majesty found this gang of low-lifes worth your own personal attention?  Should that not have been left to hired spies?"

"It should," Randhir confirmed, "but as I have told you, my spies disappeared; I have no doubt the thieves found them out and slew them."

"That leaves only one question," said Chalmers.  "How did the thieves know who your spies were?"

"Because they had spies, Doc," Shea said, before the rajah could answer.  "In fact, they had spies among the king's spies."

"It is true," said Randhir, "and the merchants of my city have become extremely upset over their constant losses, while the whole populace has begun to live in fear of the murderers.  To make all worse, the kingdom to the east of mine has seen the weakness these thieves make in my land, and have begun to assemble armies near the border; I have no doubt their rajah means to invade.  It became vital to find out these thieves and break up their gang, slaying the murderers and punishing the thieves."

"And since no one else could do it," Chalmers said slowly, "you undertook it yourself."

"That is a part of my dharma, the duty of the station in life to which I was born," the rajah confirmed.  "Now, though, I know where they lair, and how many they are—so this night, I shall take my archers and my soldiers and set upon them."

"But what if their spies warn them you are coming?" Chalmers asked.

"Ah, but now I know who the men are that they managed to plant in my household," Randhir reminded him.  "At last I have found the rats hidden in the walls of my palace, and can trap and exterminate them.  First, though, I must find some cats.  Will you be among them?"  The look he gave assured them that if they weren't, they would swing with the rest of the thieves.  Apparently he still wasn't entirely sure of their innocence.

Well, at least they had a chance to survive the raid.  Shea glanced at Chalmers, caught his infinitesimal nod, and turned back to the Rajah.  "Why, sure, Your Majesty!  After all, we know where the rat-hole is."  Then he remembered how the robber chieftain had thought such holes were good omens, and swallowed.

A guard stepped up behind them and bowed.

"What is your message?" Randhir snapped.

"My Rajah," said the man, "a deputation of merchants awaits to heap upon you their grief over this last night's losses."

Randhir sighed.  "Let them enter."  Then, to Shea and Chalmers, "Do you stand against the wall, and you shall see the agitation and misery these thieves have caused."

Shea started to protest that he already had a pretty good idea, but Chalmers beat him to it.  "Of course, Your Majesty.  We are honored by the privilege of observing your court."  He bowed, and Randhir gave him a gracious nod, apparently pleased by his courtesy.  Shea began to understand how Chalmers had become Director of the Garaden Institute.

They stepped over next to one of the guards, maintaining a discreet distance from his spear, and watched the merchants file in.  They wore plain white pyjamas, but the robes they wore over were of silk or damask, as were their turbans.  They lined up in front of Randhir and bowed.

"O Pearl of Equity!" said the one who was presumably oldest, to judge by his gray hairs and lined face.  "Only yesterday, you consoled us with the promise of some contrivance by the blessing of which our houses and coffers would be made safe from theft—but our goods have never yet suffered so severely as during the last twelve hours."

"The Rajah hears; the Rajah's heart bleeds with your own," Randhir assured them, "and I do indeed speak of blood, for I know men were slain this night past.  Still, an elephant grows not in a single night, nor by eating only one heap of hay—so it is not likely to be slain by a single arrow.  Go back to your shops and guard your goods and your family as well as you may; let none go out on the streets after the sun has set, but let them stay within doors.  Tomorrow, or surely in two days' time, I shall, with the blessing of the Bhagwan, relieve you of further anxiety."

"But what more can you do?" asked another merchant.  "You have hired watchmen, you have changed your officers, and you have established patrols; nevertheless the thieves have not diminished, and plundering is constantly taking place."

"Indeed," said a third, "we have suffered more in this night past than ever before!"

"Be sure that you do not suffer more sorely yet," Randhir told them.  "Read the Thieves' Manual, and guard against the methods it teaches!  Close your shops and sleep today, then guard each the inside of his own shop this night, with sword and club—for if you are vigilant, it may be effort wasted, but if you are not, it will surely invite disaster!"

The merchants shuddered at the idea.

"The end of this siege is in sight," the Rajah said in a consoling tone, "but that end may be long in coming—or short.  Go now, each to his own house, and pray that disaster passes you by—but pray also to strengthen your Rajah's arm, for I will destroy these men of violence, or myself die in the attempt!"

His tone rang through the marble hall, and the merchants winced at the sound.  They lost no time in bowing, then hurrying out, so quickly that they almost trod on each others heels.

When the merchants had left, Randhir stared after them, looking grim.  Suddenly he turned and said to a guard, "Bid a score of archers sleep long during the heat of the day, then hold themselves in readiness for service."

The man bowed and left the throne room on the run.

Randhir turned to another guard and said, "Bid ten come."

The man bowed and, like the first, left on the run.  Randhir sat still in his chair, brows drawn down over glaring eyes, staring straight ahead, not moving a muscle.  His face was so grim that even Shea and Chalmers held still, watching, feeling the tension building about the man, waiting for the storm to break.

The guard reappeared with ten soldiers behind him.  "They are come, O Guardian of the Poor!"

"Follow!" Randhir snapped, and fairly leaped down off his throne.  He darted a glance at Shea and Chalmers, snapping, "You, too!"

Under the circumstances, they weren't about to disagree.

Randhir led the way to a small gate in one wall at the rear of the palace.  There he brusquely ordered the guard who stood by it, "To barracks with you!" and to two of the soldiers he had brought with him, "See that he talks to no one until tomorrow morning."

A sudden look of terror crossed the man's features, but he was smoothing them out even as his fellows marched him off.

"You don't know that he was one of the thieves," Shea objected.

"No," the Rajah agreed.  "If I did, he would be dead.  There is small doubt of his guilt—how could his fellow thieves have come and gone without his connivance?—but since I have no proof, he may live until I do."

The gate opened, and a guard's voice outside said, "The way is clear."  A villainous-looking man in soldier's livery came through, not exactly sneaking, but certainly not making any unnecessary noise—not even when the Rajah himself clapped a hand over the man's mouth, holding him from behind, and commanding a soldier, "Slay him."

The sneak's eyes widened in horror for a few seconds before his fellow soldier plunged a dagger into his breast.  The man's eyes rolled up and he went limp.  The king let him fall, then nodded to the man who had slain him.  "Well done.  Lug him away to the burning-ghats.  You, assist him!"

Another soldier helped the first pick up the dead one.

"Send more men," the Rajah told him.

The soldier nodded and went, carrying the body.

"Stand ready as sentry," the rajah told another man, "and when next a man comes through that gate, if I nod to you, like this..."—he gave a short, curt nod—"…catch and gag him, as I did even now."

The man nodded, poker-faced, and took his station.

"Uh, Your Majesty," said Shea delicately, "isn't this a little drastic?"

"The dead," said the Rajah, "do not, like grandmothers, tell tales."

Shea stared, aghast.  "You killed them to keep them from sending word to their gang?  Wouldn't gags have worked just as well?"

"Gags, a dungeon, and many guards?"  Randhir nodded.  "But it would have come to the same fate in the end.  They were guilty of robbery one and all, and many guilty also of murder—but without exception, since they were members of the Rajah's household and bore information to his enemies, their fellow thieves, they were guilty of treachery."

"You, uh, couldn't maybe have given them a little time to think things over and see the error of their ways?"

"To what end?  I have set forth laws; they have broken those laws, and would still have to receive the punishment.  The penalty for murder is death," the Rajah informed him, "and so is the penalty for treachery.  Be sure he deserved his fate, for I recognized him from the robbers' ken."

"His Majesty is the Incarnation of Justice," Chalmers said, with a very meaningful look at Shea and a tone that clearly said, Shut up!

The Rajah nodded, with a thin smile.  "What greater justice could he wish, when the Rajah himself is witness, and his judge is the highest in the land?"

It took Shea a second to realize the Rajah was talking about himself.  With it came the realization that from Randhir's point of view, everything he had said was perfectly true.  In a kingdom in which the Rajah was not only the executive and legislative power, but also the ultimate court of appeals, Randhir was the highest judge in the land, and surely the most reliable witness!  He was sentencing men he had seen the night before with his own eyes, and was witness, prosecutor, judge, and jury all in his own right.  All that was missing was the executioner.

Apparently he was willing to be that, too.  As the next thief tiptoed in through the door wearing his civilian garb (a gardener), Randhir gave the guard the nod, and the man caught the thief in a wrestling lock, with his free hand over the thief's mouth.  He barely had time to realize what was happening to him, and his eyes were just widening in the horror of that realization, before Randhir's dagger plunged into his heart.

Shea had to look away, feeling ill.  Randhir noticed; his frown turned to concern.  "You do not look well, friend Shea."

"It is your burning Hindi sun," Chalmers explained, ever glib.  "We folk of the north are not used to its rays being so direct—so bright, and so hot."

"So that is why you were abroad at night!  Well then, go into the palace, and tell a porter that I said to find you a chamber.  Sleep well, for I shall need your vigilance tonight."

Shea took that as ominous, but since the Rajah turned away, obviously dismissing them from his thoughts, they turned away too.  When the porter showed them the bed, Shea fell into it without undressing, without even taking off his swordbelt.  It had been a long day followed by a sleepless night, and very, very stressful.

Under the circumstances, he wasn't surprised to see a torch flaming in a sconce on the wall when Chalmers shook him awake.  "The Rajah summons us, Harold.  There is time to wash and eat, though, before we join him."

Shea remembered the executions he had watched.  "Don't know if I have much appetite, Doc."

"Nor have I, to judge by the odors wafting from the kitchens—I never have been partial to curry.  But we shall have to find something palatable, for I do not doubt that we shall need all our energies tonight."

"Don't know if I'm up to watching any more coldblooded killings," Shea said.  "Do you suppose we could plead headaches?"

"Randhir's cure would probably be to cut off our heads, Harold.  He is still somewhat suspicious of us, and would take any hesitation as evidence of guilt."

"I suppose so," Shea sighed, and pushed himself to his feet.  "Doc, what about Florimel?  So far, whenever a god or a magician has sent us out of his universe, we've wound up in the next one Malambroso has sent her to.  It seems we've been following her magical trail, sort of."

"An interesting notion."  Chalmers frowned.  "Perhaps Malambroso's spell moving her on has weakened the barrier between universes, and the next spell ejecting us has hurtled us onward along the path of least resistance."

"But if that's so," said Shea, "where is she in this universe, Doc?"

Chalmers spread his hands in a shrug of helplessness.  "She could be anywhere, Harold!  It may have been only luck that led us to her before this."

"Or it may have been magic of her own!  She has learned something about the art, Doc!  Can't you sic a direction-finding spell on her?"

Chalmers' gaze became distant.  "An interesting notion..."

"But not immediately," Shea said quickly.  He hadn't meant to distract Chalmers into an academic trance.  "First we have to survive the night and prove we're not thieves."

That brought Chalmers back to the needs of the moment with a vengeance.  "An excellent point, Harold.  Come, let us find some chapattis."

"But we're already dressed!"

"No, chapattis are food," Chalmers sighed, "a sort of Hindu tortilla.  They, at least, should not be too highly seasoned.  Let us dine."

Fed and armed, they were ready when the guard appeared at their door and summoned them.  They followed him through only two short corridors and down one flight of stairs—they were near the kitchens, only one step above servant quarters, though their room had been furnished with cushions and silken hangings.  They came out into the courtyard into a darkness relieved only by starlight, to find a hundred archers and fifty spearmen milling about, conversing in very low voices.  Suddenly they stilled and turned toward a doorway in the palace wall itself, for through it came Rajah Randhir, clad in steel helmet and breastplate, sword on his hip and small shield on his arm.  A murmur of amazement ran through the troops, for Randhir had tied the horsehair round his nose again, and his waxed moustaches stood up to the corners of his eyes like the horns of a Brahma bull.

He looked about him, gave a single nod of satisfaction, and said, "Yes, I am Rajah Randhir, though I have disguised myself as a thief.  Follow me and do not ask why.  Shea and Chalmers!  Stand by me!"

Shea swallowed with great difficulty and walked down an avenue that opened magically within the troops, Chalmers one step behind him.  As they came up to Randhir, the Rajah said, "If I mistake the route, you will correct me.  Come!"  He turned about and strode away into the darkness.  Shea followed, grimly reflecting on the unspoken proviso—that if Shea or Chalmers betrayed him, they would be handy for instant execution by the Rajah himself.  Somehow, Shea wasn't eager for the honor.

Through the darkened town they went, and Shea wondered at the quietness.  Then, remembering that the moon was down, he realized that it was so late that the thieves had finished their bloody work and gone back to their ken.  There was a singular lack of dead bodies, though.  Apparently the merchants had heeded the Rajah's warning and passed on the advice, and everyone had stayed indoors.

He found out later that he'd been more right than he knew—not only had everyone stayed sensibly indoors for once, the merchants had hired bodyguards and patrolled their shops and houses on the inside.  When they had heard scraping at one place, they had hurried to it, and when the first head had poked through the hole, they had brained it neatly with a cudgel.  The thieves' partners had pulled him out at once, of course, but the bodyguards had stabbed through the hole with a spear.  There had been an outcry on the other side, then silence, and after a while, the householder had taken up the patrol again, leaving one bodyguard at the hole.  The only booty the thieves had taken that night had come from the few bodyguards who had been thieves themselves, and had knocked their employers senseless (or, in some cases, slain them), then let their fellows in—but there had been only two or three successful in such ruses.  All in all, it had been a grumbling, dissatisfied band who had wended their way home that night—but it had included three fraudulent bodyguards who had overheard some very interesting gossip from their employers.

At the moment, though, neither the Rajah nor any of his men knew that.  They padded through the unnatural hush of the night until the city wall rose up before them.  There, the Rajah gave the rhythmical knock he had heard the robbers give.  After a moment, the huge portal opened, and the porter stuck his head around, hissing, "What has kept you so late?  The others have all gone on long before you, and..."  He broke off, staring in horror at the array of armed men.  Randhir clamped a hand over his mouth and yanked him through; one of his soldiers, apparently primed for the task, leaped past.  Shea heard a howl of fright, suddenly cut off into a horrid gurgling, even as he saw a soldier transfix the captured porter with a spear.

Randhir dropped the body and dusted his hands.  A soldier hauled the gate open, and the troop filed out after their Rajah.

"The term 'rough justice' comes to mind," Chalmers murmured.

"Rough, but legal," Shea reminded him.  "You can't call him a vigilante when he is the government, can you?"

"Are you there, Shea?" Randhir called softly.

"Right behind you, O Lightning of Indra," Shea called.  After that little display, he certainly didn't want to be in front of the rajah.

As they neared the meadow, Randhir called them to a halt, then murmured briefly with his soldiers.  When he went on, Shea and Chalmers had followed him for a good ten paces before they realized that the soldiers had stayed behind.  Chalmers' step faltered, but Randhir took him by the arm, saying, "The thief-sentries will recognize you two and think nothing amiss.  As for me, you see I have disguised myself as I did last night.  We three, at least, will hold the attention of the guards without alerting them.  Come!"

Chalmers gave Shea a look that clearly said they had no choice.  They really didn't—the Rajah had a grip of iron, and his men were watching.

Randhir whistled twice through his fingers, just as the robber captain had done the night before.  There was a pause during which Shea's heartbeat seemed to him the loudest night sound of all; then he heard the hooting of an owl.  The Rajah replied with an excellent imitation of the robbers' jackal-scream, making Shea wonder if it was a standard part of the military training in this part of the world.  The six robber-sentries rose from the grass like specters, and their leader advanced to receive the password—but before he could, Shea found out why the soldiers had stayed behind.

They hadn't, really—they had just filed around the edges of the meadow, then wormed their way forward toward the Rajah.  Now they rose from the grass and fell on the robbers, silencing them with clubs and knives, then tying up the ones who still lived.

"It is well done," the Rajah said, smiling at the sergeant who came forward, breathing heavily.  "Are any hurt?"

"Only two of our own men," the sergeant answered.  "Ramjit is wounded in the right arm and will be unable to fight more tonight.  Kamal bleeds from a cut in the ribs, but protests that he can still fight."

"Then let him see Ramjit safely home," the Rajah said, "but not until we are done with this night's work.  Bid Ramjit come with us, and wait while we assail the robbers—but see them bandaged first."

"We have done so."  The sergeant glanced to the side, saw another soldier's wave.  "They are tended; Ramjit bears the pain well.  We can march, O Sword of Justice."

"Let us go, then."  Randhir turned away into the night.

But as they came in sight of the sheer rock wall, a figure rose atop it against the light of the predawn sky, and a shrill whistle sounded.  Instantly, a hail of arrows fell on the rajah and his men.

"Back!" the rajah cried.  "The thieves be in ambush!  We have been betrayed!"

 

TO BE CONTINUED...