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device are feasible and not a monster’s dream. He called it Kali’s Scream.”
    “Kali’s Scream?” Esme put down her cup. “Kali is an Indian goddess, Lord Shiva’s wife. Gupta and Lajli can explain the intricacies of Hindu belief better than I can, but I know Indians call Kali the Destroyer. She dances on the battlefield and threatens the order and stability of life.”
    Jed released a long sigh. “Well, that’s appropriate to the sort of devastation the device is hypothetically capable of. Lajli, I must know the full story of who you stole the wallet from.”
    “My employers.”
    “Yes.” He held on to his patience. “I need to know who they are, because there was more than a plan for building Kali’s Scream in the packet of papers. There was some talk of using it. The notes discuss methods for making Kali’s Scream resemble a rich man’s toy. Then they go on to mention the planned royal visit of the Prince of Wales to India.”
    A seagull flew low over the dunes, and sunlight glinted off the silver tips of its wings. It shrieked its mournful, lost-soul cry.
    “No.” Esme’s eyes met his.
    He tipped his head, satisfied that he had her complete engagement. “It’s possible. The sonic amplifier is a deceptively simple device—if the blueprints are to be trusted. Given as a gift…when the prince wound it up, the vibrations of the unnatural music would bring the walls of the palace down around him.”
    “He’d be killed,” Esme said. “And everyone with him.”
    “More. The British Raj would seek vengeance.” Gupta stared at Jed. “They would kill and kill for the insult. The blood that stains Indian soil. It would be worse than the 1857 Mutiny.”
    “And here in Swan River…we’re not perfect, but there is respect, engagement with the Indian community and its traditions. Like with the Diwali celebrations. If Indian anarchists were to kill the prince, they’d light a powder keg of civil violence against all Indians.” Esme was appalled. “I can’t—won’t—let that happen to my friends.”
    Lajli pushed away her second cake, half-eaten. “Very bad.”
    “You!” Gupta turned on her. “You stole this.”
    “Easy,” Jed said. “The notes give only hints of such a plan. We don’t even know if the device works. If it does, Lajli’s theft may have given us a chance to prevent a tragedy. I need to know everything of how she came by the wallet.”
    “Yes.” She straightened in her chair. “I tell you. I am a thief. That is the family’s honor. We are good thieves, clever. Auntie Abha, she married Gupta’s father and took his family’s honor. They are traders. She is very honest now—or as honest as traders can be.”
    Gupta shifted restlessly, but a look from Jed kept him from interrupting.
    “Three babus, they moved into a house near where my family lives, just far enough away that they, strangers, would not know what I am. I got a job as a maid. Busy, busy, because they very messy babus.”
    “Babus?” Jed queried. Lajli’s tone of voice had indicated it wasn’t a compliment.
    “Indian men educated in the European system,” Esme said. “They are educated, capable and yet denied the position and power of their abilities because they are Indian, not Anglo. It is a terrible waste.”
    “Nobody likes them,” Lajli said. “They want to be pukka sahibs, but they are babus. ”
    “I r-respect them.” Gupta tugged at the sleeves of his jacket, tailored in imitation of Jed’s. “They are learned men.”
    “Go on,” Jed said.
    “The babus were all talk, talk, talk and meetings. One had a room I was not to enter. No cleaning ever. He said it was dangerous because of things he made in there. I slipped in one night. It did not look dangerous, but it was dirty and smelly with oil and the guts of machines everywhere. I was glad I did not have to clean it.”
    “More chai?” The waiter hovered.
    “Yes, please, Tukaram.” Esme found a smile for him.
    He took their empty