‘You’ll have to talk to my grandmother,’ Sheere sighed.
‘That’s exactly what I plan to do.’
‘Great idea,’ Roshan said. ‘You made a wonderful impression on her yesterday.’
‘Oh ye of little faith!’ Ben retorted. ‘What happened to our vow? As members of the society, we have to help Sheere find her father’s house. Nobody leaves this city until we’ve found it and unravelled its mysteries. And that’s that.’
‘Count me in,’ said Siraj. ‘But how are you going to do it? Are you going to threaten Sheere’s grandmother?’
‘Sometimes the word is mightier than the sword,’ Ben declared. ‘I wonder, who said that?’
‘Voltaire?’ suggested Isobel.
Ben ignored her sarcasm.
‘And which powerful words might you be using?’ asked Ian.
‘Not my own, that’s for sure,’ Ben explained. ‘The words of Mr Carter. We’ll get him to speak to your grandmother.’
Sheere looked down and shook her head despondently.
‘It won’t work, Ben. You don’t know Aryami Bose. There’s nobody as stubborn as her. It’s in her blood.’
Ben gave a feline smile, his eyes shining.
‘I’m even more stubborn. Wait till you see me in action, then you’ll change your mind.’
‘Ben, you’re going to get us into trouble again,’ said Seth.
Ben raised an eyebrow and looked at each of them in turn, crushing any hint of rebellion.
‘If anyone has anything else to say, speak now or for ever hold your peace,’ he said solemnly.
Nobody protested.
‘Good. Motion approved. Let’s go.’
Carterinserted his key in the hole and turned it twice. The lock clicked open and Carter entered the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t feel like seeing or speaking to anyone for at least an hour. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and walked over to his armchair. It was then that he noticed a figure seated in the chair opposite and realised he was not alone. The key slipped from Carter’s fingers but didn’t hit the floor; an agile hand, sheathed in a black glove, caught it as it fell. A sharp face peered around the wing of the armchair, its lips twisted in a doglike snarl.
‘Who are you and how did you get in here?’ Carter demanded, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.
The intruder stood up and Carter felt the blood drain from his cheeks as he recognised the man who had paid him a visit sixteen years earlier. His face hadn’t aged a single day and his eyes still blazed with the ferocity the headmaster remembered. Jawahal. Clutching the key in his hand, the visitor walked over to the door and locked it. Carter gulped. The warnings Aryami Bose had given him the night before raced through his mind. Jawahal squeezed the key between his fingers and the metal bent as if it were a hairpin.
‘You don’t seem very happy to see me, Mr Carter,’ said Jawahal. ‘Don’t you remember the meeting we arranged sixteen years ago? I’ve come to make my donation.’
‘Leave this place immediately or I’ll call the police,’ Carter threatened.
‘Let’s not worry about the police for the time being. I’ll call them when I leave. Sit down and grant me the pleasure of your conversation.’
Carter sat in his armchair struggling to keep his emotions in check and appear calm and in control. Jawahal gave him a friendly smile.
‘I imagine you know why I’m here.’
‘I don’t know what you’re looking for, but you won’t find it here,’ replied Carter.
‘Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,’ said Jawahal casually. ‘I’m looking for a child who has now become a man. You know which child I mean. I’d hate to feel obliged to hurt you.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
Jawahal laughed. ‘Yes,’ he replied coldly. ‘And when I threaten someone, I mean it.’
For the first time, Carter considered the possibility of crying out for help.
‘If you’re thinking about screaming,’ said Jawahal. ‘Let me at least give you a reason to do so.’
As soon as he’d uttered those words, Jawahal spread his right hand in front of his face and calmly began to pull off the glove.
Sheere and the other members of the Chowbar Society had only just stepped into the courtyard when the windows of Thomas Carter’s office on the first floor exploded with a thunderous blast, and fragments of glass, wood and brick cascaded over the garden. For a moment the young people froze in their tracks, then they immediately rushed towards the building, ignoring the smoke and the flames issuing from the gaping hole that had opened in the facade.
When the explosion took place, Bankim was at the other end of the corridor, looking through a pile of documents he was preparing to take to Carter for his signature. The shock wave knocked him down; when he looked up through the cloud of smoke that filled the corridor, he saw that the door of the headmaster’s office had been blown off its hinges and smashed against the wall. Bankim jumped up and ran towards the source of the explosion, but as he approached he saw a black silhouette emerge, wreathed in flames. It spread its dark cloak and swooped down the corridor like a huge bat, moving at incredible speed, before it disappeared leaving behind it a trail of ash and with a sound that reminded Bankim of the furious hiss of a cobra.
Bankim found Carter lying on the floor inside the office. His face was covered in burns and his clothes were smouldering. Bankim crouched beside his mentor and tried to sit him up. The headmaster’s hands were shaking and Bankim noticed with relief that he was still breathing, albeit with difficulty. Bankim shouted for help and soon the faces of some of the boys appeared round the doorway. Ben, Ian and Seth helped him lift Carter off the floor, while the others moved rubble out of the way and prepared a space in the corridor.
‘What the hell happened?’ asked Ben.
Bankim shook his head, unable to answer, clearly still in shock. Between them they managed to carry the wounded man into the corridor while Vendela, her face as white as porcelain and a desperate look in her eyes, ran to alert the nearest hospital.
Gradually the remaining members of St Patrick’s began to appear. Nobody understood what had caused the blast and they did not recognise the body that lay scorched on the floor. Ian and Roshan formed a cordon round Mr Carter and told everyone who approached that they needed to keep the way clear.
The wait seemed infinite.
The ambulance from Calcutta General Hospital seemed to take for ever to negotiate the labyrinth of city streets and reach St Patrick’s. For another half an hour everyone waited restlessly, but just as they were beginning to give up hope, one of the doctors from the medical team came over to Bankim and the group of friends while three other medics continued to assist the victim.
When they saw the doctor approaching, they all crowded round him anxiously. He was a young man with red hair and intense eyes, and seemed decidedly competent. Or maybe they just hoped, and prayed, he would be.
‘Mr Carter has suffered serious burns and there seem to be a few broken bones, but he’s out of danger. What worries me most now are his eyes. We can’t guarantee that he’ll recover his eyesight completely, although it’s still too early to know for certain. He’ll have to be taken to the hospital so that we can sedate him properly before treating his wounds. He’ll certainly have to undergo surgery. I need someone who can authorise his admission papers.’
‘Vendela can do that,’ said Bankim.
The doctor nodded.
‘Good. There’s something else. Which of you is Ben?’
They all stared at him in surprise. Ben looked up, confused.
‘I’m Ben,’ he replied. ‘Why?’