Chapter 25: A Stormy Night’s Conspiracy

The man walked through the winding corridors at the back of the palace with his head lowered. From time to time he passed guards. None of them stopped or questioned him, for they all knew this man was Udayana, attendant to Prabu Kamandaka. All matters of the king’s household were under his care.

At the great back door of the palace, Udayana paused, then crossed a small courtyard and entered the doorway of a finely built smaller house. Here, two guards crossed their spears to bar him.

“I wish to meet Raden Werku Alit,” Udayana said.

“What business do you have with him?” asked one guard.

“He already knows.”

“Wait here.” One guard went inside while the other remained at his post. Not long after, the first returned. “You may enter.”

Udayana nodded and stepped into the house. In a wide chamber, Werku Alit himself greeted him, patting his shoulder.

“Well? Any new developments…?” asked Werku Alit, tall and lean, his long moustache drooping like a rope, in the style of old Chinese emperors.

“No new developments, Raden… But there is one piece of news. Perhaps it may be of some use to you.”

“Good. Speak, Udayana.”

“Tomorrow at midday, Rara Murni, younger sister of Kamandaka, will depart for Kalijaga to visit her grandaunt. She will go by carriage with a modest escort.”

“Hmmm…” Werku Alit stroked the length of his moustache-rope. “I do not yet see how this ties into my plans. Wait… let me think…”

The hand that had been twisting his moustache now pressed at his brow. Suddenly, he clapped Udayana on the shoulder so hard the man nearly jumped. “I see it now! Send one of our spies to summon Kalasrenggi. Tell him I wish to speak with him tonight at the old hut outside the city walls.”

Udayana bowed. “As you command, Raden.” With that, he quickly departed.

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The entire army of Pajajaran was divided into five main divisions, each split into two wings, each wing commanded by a Kepala Prajurit, or Captain of Soldiers. Kalasrenggi was one such captain. As a commander, he was of course a man of skill and experience.

Many even said that among the five, Kalasrenggi’s martial knowledge was the deepest. But alas, this captain had been seduced into the foul schemes of Werku Alit and Mahesa Birawa. Persuaded and inflamed, he had pledged to join their plot to overthrow Prabu Kamandaka.

Earlier that day, a messenger from Werku Alit had delivered the summons: meet tonight at the old hut beyond the kingdom’s walls. And so, that night, Kalasrenggi went alone to the appointed place.

The “hut” was hardly worthy of the name — the old structure had no walls, its roof eaten away by time. More a shelter than a house. It stood silent, no one in sight. Kalasrenggi thought: surely Werku Alit has not arrived yet. So he waited.

He lit a cigarette and gazed at the sky. Clouds gathered, stars vanished, the moon hid. The wind grew cold and restless. His patience wore thin. His smoke was nearly finished when, just as he tossed the butt to the ground, three shadows appeared at the bend of the path. Two halted, while one approached the hut.

“Have you waited long?” asked the one who came forward. It was Werku Alit.

“Long enough,” Kalasrenggi replied. “What is it you wish to speak of, Raden?” As he spoke, a drizzle began to fall, the wind rising sharper.

“There is a task for you tomorrow, Kalasrenggi,” Werku Alit said.

“What task, Raden?”

The drizzle turned to heavy rain. Thunder cracked, lightning split the sky. And in that blinding flash, they glimpsed a white figure sprinting swiftly toward the hut. Both Werku Alit and Kalasrenggi stiffened, hands flying to the hilts at their waists.

“Damn this rain!” cursed the newcomer. Then he turned toward them and said, “Brothers, I’ll be sharing your shelter tonight.”

Werku Alit and Kalasrenggi studied him sharply. He was young, broad-shouldered, with long, unkempt hair. His sudden appearance made them wary, though in truth there was reason enough for him to be here — simply to seek refuge from the storm.

“Who are you?!” Kalasrenggi barked, eyes fierce, left hand sliding toward his belt.

The young man stared back, wide-eyed. “What, I can’t take shelter here, Brother?!”

“I asked who you are — answer me, no questions!” Kalasrenggi roared.

The youth whistled and grinned. “No need to shout. Make a fuss over a small thing, and you might stir up a bigger mess than you want!”

With an impatient growl, Kalasrenggi stepped forward to strike the young man. But his step halted when he caught a faint gesture from Werku Alit. The would-be rebel prince had no wish for a quarrel here — it might expose his schemes. So, smiling tightly, Werku Alit stepped closer to the youth, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Brother,” he said smoothly, “forgive us. My friend here is hot-tempered, just lost at gambling! Come now, it’s late, it’s raining, it’s cold. No need for trouble, eh?”

“Ah… well said, Brother,” the youth agreed.

Werku Alit smiled. Then, quicker than lightning, two fingers of his left hand darted out, stabbing a vital point on the youth’s left side. The poor fellow collapsed at once, half his body sprawled beyond the roof’s edge, his legs soaked by pouring rain.

Werku Alit threw back his head and cackled. “Foolish brat, daring to act so bold!”

“But what if he is no mere brat, Raden? He could be a spy…” Kalasrenggi muttered.

“Bah! Look at his stupid face — how could such a blockhead be a spy? One touch and he drops like a sack!”

Kalasrenggi eyed the body lying face-down on the ground. He thought of searching it, but Werku Alit waved a hand.

“Leave the ape. We’ve work to discuss. According to my secret informer, tomorrow Rara Murni will depart for Kalijaga. Your task is to seize her, hold her at the old temple in the Valley of Limanaluk. Once done, report to me — I will decide the next move!”

“A simple task, Raden,” Kalasrenggi replied. “But tell me — who will be with Rara Murni?”

“I’ve no word of that. What matters is this: capture her alive. The others, if they resist, kill them. That’s all.”

“Very well, Raden. Before nightfall tomorrow, I’ll send word that the task is finished.”

Werku Alit clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. I’ll take my leave.”

Kalasrenggi watched as the three figures vanished into the stormy dark. Then his gaze returned to the body beneath the ruined shelter. Bending, he was about to search it — the impulse from earlier returning — but then he thought, Why bother?

With a smirk, he kicked the prone body. It flew several paces through the air, landing in the mud with a splash. With that, Kalasrenggi turned and strode away into the night.