So this was why he'd been summoned. Alan narrowed his eyes."I was just delivering a file."
Mountbatten arched an eyebrow, the picture of aristocratic suspicion."Do you take me for a fool? If you had no ulterior motive, why spend an entire afternoon in my house—and at a time when no one else was home?"
Alan almost said, And you wonder why the IRA gets creative, but caught himself."I didn't even know you were away, sir. As for Lady Mountbatten's whereabouts… I couldn't possibly say. I merely happened to meet Pamela."
Before Mountbatten could retort, Sir Barron, ever the historian and diplomat, interjected."My aide was tied up at Government House, so I asked Alan to deliver it. He's young, yes, but that's precisely why he's careful. Waiting for you to return was perfectly reasonable."
Mountbatten relaxed—slightly. "Fair enough. Still… twenty-one, and already the Resident at Hyderabad. Unusual."
Alan inclined his head, offering nothing.
The conversation slid into Yalta. Mountbatten mused aloud: "At this rate, the European front will be over long before Asia is finished."
"We must retake as many colonies as possible," Viceroy Wavell said, "to prove that Britain's authority remains unshaken."
Alan barely heard them. His mind was already on Hyderabad. The Junagadh Resident had left Delhi days ago. The planned princely alliance—that was the real prize.
"Alan," Barron said suddenly, "when will you be returning?"
"The sooner the better. Hyderabad needs my attention," Alan replied, eager to escape the office. In here, he felt like an uninvited guest at someone else's club—listening to grandees congratulate themselves.
"Quite right," Barron nodded. "You should be there."
As Alan left, he caught Mountbatten muttering, "My daughter is still far too young."
Alan shut the door, muttering under his breath, "Self-absorbed peacock."
The war's next great battle—the Mandalay offensive—loomed over everything. For Mountbatten, it was more than a campaign; it was a chance to claim the glory of liberating Burma. He'd already reshuffled command: Giffard out, General Rees in, working with Slim—the man who'd stopped the Japanese at Imphal.
But Hyderabad had its own storms. When Alan arrived days later, the air was thick with the familiar stench of the city, the streets alive with beggars and ascetics. Compared to Delhi's manicured colonial quarter, it was a different world—and a reminder of why his position mattered.
He gathered his aides. "Any disturbances?"
Andi cleared his throat. "A small riot. Aligarh's troops suppressed it. Fewer than a thousand dead."
Alan nodded, unfazed. "Let me guess—Hindu protest?"
"Likely. Congress set up a local branch during a festival. The troops… objected." Alice added, "We've informed Delhi."
"Delhi is busy retaking Burma," Alan said. "No need to bother the Viceroy over such trifles. Our job is to maintain good terms with His Highness. Street brawls are an Indian matter."
But in truth, the news made him pause. Congress establishing grassroots networks in Hyderabad was… bold. Dangerous. And effective.
"Find out exactly how deep Congress runs in the south," Alan ordered. "Which towns, which factions, and what the locals think of them."
Later, sitting with the Nizam, Alan's voice was warm, almost sympathetic."People are rarely reasonable, Your Highness. You've built their railways, their schools—yet they always want more. Never grateful, always grasping."
And there it was—the coloniser's mindset, worn as comfortably as a tailored Savile Row suit. Alan no longer bothered pretending he believed in equality.It wasn't that he hated empires. He just hated empires run by other people.