‘About a hundred and twenty kilos,’ he calculated.
‘Exactly,’ de Rozio confirmed. ‘Have you ever tried moving an adult who weighs a hundred and twenty kilos?’
Seth thought about it.
‘I have no recollection of such a thing, but-’
‘Just a minute!’ cried Michael from some invisible point behind the ring binders, boxes and piles of yellowing paper that filled the room. ‘I’ve found something.’
‘I hope it’s a pillow,’ protested de Rozio, raising his bulk.
Michael appeared from behind a column of dusty shelves carrying a box full of papers and stamped documents that had been discoloured by time. Seth raised his eyebrows, praying that the discovery would be worthwhile.
‘I think these are the court records for a murder trial,’ said Michael. ‘They were underneath a summons addressed to Chandra Chatterghee, the engineer.’
‘Jawahal’s trial?’ cried Seth excitedly.
‘Let me have a look,’ said de Rozio.
Michael deposited the box on the librarian’s desk, raising a cloud of dust that choked the cone of golden light projected by the electric lamp. The librarian’s plump fingers carefully flicked through the documents, his tiny eyes examining their contents. Seth watched de Rozio’s face, his heart in his mouth, waiting for some word or sign. De Rozio paused at a page that seemed to have a number of stamps on it and brought it closer to the light.
‘Well, well,’ he mumbled to himself.
‘What is it?’ begged Seth.
De Rozio looked up and gave a broad feline smile.
‘I have in my hands a document signed by Colonel Sir Arthur Llewelyn. In it, citing reasons of state security and military secrecy, he is ordering the discontinuance of trial number 089861/A in court number four of the Calcutta High Court, in which a citizen named Lahawaj Chandra Chatterghee, an engineer by profession, is charged with alleged involvement and withholding and/or concealment of evidence in a murder investigation, and he instructs the transfer of the case to the Supreme Military Court of His Majesty’s Armed Forces. All previous rulings are therefore overturned and all evidence provided by the defence and the prosecution during the hearing is declared null and void. It’s dated 14 September 1911.’
Michael and Seth stared at Mr de Rozio in amazement, unable to utter a single word.
‘So, you two,’ the librarian concluded, ‘which of you knows how to make coffee? This could be a very long night …’
The four-wheeled lock gave an almost inaudible click, and a few seconds later the two sides of the heavy iron door swung open, letting out a breath of air that had been trapped inside the house for years. Standing in the dark, Ian’s face went pale.
‘It opened,’ he said in a whisper.
‘How observant of you,’ Ben remarked.
‘This is no time for jokes,’ Ian replied. ‘We don’t know what’s in there yet.’
Ben pulled out his matchbox and rattled it in the air.
‘That’s only a matter of time. Would you like to go first?’
‘I’ll leave that honour to you,’ Ian said, smiling.
‘I’ll go,’ said Sheere, entering the house without waiting for a reply.
Ben quickly struck another match and followed her. Ian took one last look at the night sky, as if he feared this might be his last chance to see it, and after taking a deep breath plunged into the engineer’s house. A moment later the large door closed behind them, as gently as it had opened to let them in.
The three friends huddled together as Ben held the match up high. The spectacle that unfolded before their eyes far exceeded any of their expectations.
They were standing in a hall supported by thick Byzantine columns and crowned with a concave dome covered with a huge fresco. This depicted hundreds of figures from Hindu mythology, forming an endless illustrated chronicle set in concentric rings around a central figure sculpted in relief on top of the painting: the goddess Kali.
The walls of the hall were lined with bookshelves forming two semicircles over three metres high. The floor was covered by a mosaic of brilliant black tiles and pieces of rock crystal, creating the illusion of a night sky studded with stars and constellations. Ian looked carefully at the design and recognised various celestial figures Bankim had told them about at St Patrick’s.
‘Seth should see this,’ whispered Ben.
At the far end of the room, beyond the carpet of stars, was a spiral staircase leading up to the first floor.
Before Ben had time to react, the match had burnt down to his fingers and gone out, leaving the three in total darkness. The constellations at their feet, however, continued to shine.
‘This is incredible,’ Ian murmured to himself.
‘Wait till you see upstairs,’ said Sheere a few metres beyond him.
Ben lit another match. Sheere was already waiting for them by the spiral staircase, and without a word Ben and Ian followed her.
The spiral staircase rose in the middle of a lantern-shaped shaft, similar to structures they had studied in drawings of castles built on the banks of the Loire River. Looking up, the friends felt as if they were inside a huge kaleidoscope crowned with a cathedral-like rose window that fractured the moonlight into dozens of beams – blue, scarlet, yellow, green and amber.
When they reached the first floor, they realised that the needles of light issuing from the lantern’s crown projected moving drawings and shapes against the walls of a large hall.
‘Look at this,’ said Ben, pointing at a rectangular surface about forty metres square that stood one metre above the ground.
All three walked over to it and discovered what appeared to be an immense model of Calcutta, reproduced with such precision and detail that when you looked at it closely you felt as if you were flying over the real city. They recognised the course of the Hooghly, the Maidan, Fort William, the White Town, the temple of Kali to the south, the Black Town, and even the bazaars. For a long time Sheere, Ian and Ben stood spellbound by the extraordinary miniature, captivated by its beauty.
‘There’s the house,’ said Ben, pointing.
The other two drew closer and saw, right in the heart of the Black Town, a faithful reproduction of the house they were standing in. The multicoloured beams from the ceiling swept across the miniature streets, revealing the hidden secrets of Calcutta as they passed.
‘What is that behind the house?’ asked Sheere.
‘It looks like a railway track,’ said Ian.
‘It is.’ Ben followed the outline of the track until it came to the sharp, majestic silhouette of Jheeter’s Gate, on the other side of a metal bridge spanning the Hooghly.
‘This track leads to the station where the fire happened,’ said Ben. ‘It’s a siding.’
‘There’s a train on the bridge,’ Sheere observed.
Ben walked round the model to get closer to the reproduction of the train. As he examined it, an uncomfortable tingling ran down his spine. He recognised the train. He’d seen it the previous night, although he’d thought it was only the product of a nightmare. Sheere walked over to him and Ben saw there were tears in her eyes.
‘This is our father’s house, Ben,’ she murmured. ‘He built it for us.’
Ben put his arms round Sheere and hugged her. At the other end of the room Ian looked away. Ben stroked Sheere’s face and kissed her on the forehead.