‘All right,’ Ben agreed. ‘All for one, and one for all. Is that what you want? The Three Musketeers?’
All eyes were trained on him as slowly, one by one, they nodded their heads.
‘OK. I’ll tell you everything I know, which isn’t much,’ said Ben.
For the next ten minutes the Chowbar Society heard the unedited version of his tale, including his conversation with Bankim and what Sheere’s grandmother had said. After his account, it was question time.
‘Has anyone ever heard of this Jawahal?’ asked Seth. ‘Siraj?’
The walking encyclopedia’s only answer was an unambiguous ‘No.’
‘Do we know whether Mr Carter could have been doing business with someone like that? Would there be anything about it in his files?’ asked Isobel.
‘We can find out,’ replied Ian. ‘Right now, the main thing is to speak to your grandmother, Sheere.’
‘I agree,’ said Roshan. ‘Let’s go and see her and then we can decide on a plan of action.’
‘Any objections to Roshan’s proposal?’ asked Ian.
A ‘no’ resounded through the ruins of the Midnight Palace.
‘Fine, let’s go.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Michael.
The friends turned to listen to the quiet pencil virtuoso who chronicled the adventures of the Chowbar Society.
‘Has it occurred to you that all this might be connected to the story you told us this morning, Ben?’
Ben gulped. He had been asking himself that same question, but hadn’t been able to find a link between the two events.
‘I don’t see a connection, Michael,’ said Seth.
The others thought about it for a while, but none of them seemed inclined to disagree with Seth.
‘I don’t think there’s a connection either,’ agreed Ben at last. ‘It must have been a dream.’
Michael looked him straight in the eye, something he hardly ever did, and held out a small drawing. Ben examined it and saw the shape of a train crossing a desolate plain dotted with run-down shacks. At the front a majestic wedge-shaped engine crowned with tall chimneys spat out steam and smoke into a sky filled with black stars. The train was swathed in flames and hundreds of ghostly faces peered through the carriage windows, their arms outstretched, howling amid the blaze. Michael had faithfully translated Ben’s words onto paper. Ben felt a shiver down his spine.
‘I don’t see, Michael …’ Ben murmured. ‘What are you driving at?’
Sheere went over to them and her face grew pale when she saw the drawing and realised the link Michael had identified between Ben’s vision and the incident at St Patrick’s.
‘The fire,’ she said softly. ‘It’s the fire.’
ARYAMI BOSE’S HOME HAD been closed up for years, inhabited only by books and paintings, but the spectre of thousands of memories imprisoned between its walls still permeated the house.
On the way there they had agreed that the best plan would be for Sheere to go into the house first, so that she could tell Aryami what had happened and explain that the friends wanted to speak to her. Once this first phase had been completed, the members of the Chowbar Society thought it would also be better to limit the number of representatives at the meeting. The sight of seven strange youths was bound to slow her tongue. It was therefore decided that only Ian, Sheere and Ben would be present at the conversation. Once again Ian agreed to act as ambassador for the society, although he was beginning to suspect that the frequency with which he was chosen for the job had less to do with his friends’ trust in his intelligence and moderation than with his harmless appearance, which was perfect for winning ove
r adults and authority figures. After walking through the streets of the Black Town and waiting a few minutes in the jungle-like courtyard surrounding Aryami Bose’s home, Ian and Ben entered the house at a signal from Sheere, while the others waited for their return.
Sheere led them to a room that was poorly lit by about a dozen candles floating on water inside glass containers. Drops of melted wax formed petals around the candles, dulling the reflection of the flames. The three friends sat down in front of the old lady, who gazed at them in silence from her armchair. In the darkness around them they glimpsed hangings covering the walls and shelves buried under years of dust.
Aryami waited for their eyes to meet hers and then she leaned in towards them.
‘My granddaughter told me what happened,’ said Aryami. ‘But I can’t say I’m surprised. For years I’ve lived with the fear that something like this might occur, although I never imagined it would happen in this way. First of all, you must realise that what you’ve witnessed today is only the beginning and that, after hearing me out, it will be up to you either to let these events continue or to put a stop to them. I’m old and I don’t have the courage or the strength to fight against forces that are far stronger than me and that with each passing day I find harder to understand.’
Sheere took her grandmother’s wrinkled hand and stroked it gently. Ian noticed Ben biting his nails and gave him a discreet nudge.