Siraj rubbed his aching wrists and looked sadly at his friends.
‘I have no intention of leaving,’ he replied.
‘Do as Ben says, Siraj,’ said Ian, trying to control his tone of voice.
Siraj shook his head. Isobel tried to smile.
‘Siraj, go,’ she pleaded. ‘Do it for me.’
The boy hesitated.
‘We don’t have all night,’ said Jawahal. ‘Either you leave or you stay. Only idiots turn down a piece of good luck. And tonight you’ve used up your life’s supply.’
‘Siraj!’ ordered Ben. ‘Just go! Give me some help.’
Siraj looked desperately at Ben, but his friend’s expression remained unflinching. At last Siraj bowed his head in assent and walked over to the heavy metal door.
‘Don’t stop until you reach the river,’ instructed Jawahal, ‘or you’ll be sorry.’
‘He won’t,’ Ben replied for him.
‘I’ll wait for you,’ Siraj called from the steps of the van.
‘See you soon, Siraj. Now go.’
The boy’s footsteps could be heard receding down the tunnel. Jawahal raised his eyebrows to indicate that the game should continue.
‘I’ve kept my promise, Ben. Now it’s your turn. There are fewer boxes. It’s easier to choose. Make up your mind and another of your friends could soon be saved.’
Ben’s eyes rested on the box next to the one he’d chosen. It was as good as any other. Slowly he stretched out his hand and paused when he was almost touching the flap.
‘Are you sure, Ben?’ asked Jawahal.
Ben looked at him in exasperation.
‘Think twice. Your first choice was perfect; don’t go and ruin it now.’
Ben smiled scornfully at him and, without taking his eyes off Jawahal, he thrust his hand into the box. Jawahal’s pupils narrowed like those of a cat. Ben pulled out the wooden board and read the name.
‘Seth,’ he said, ‘get out of here.’
Seth’s handcuffs opened immediately and the boy stood up.
‘I don’t like this, Ben.’
‘I like it even less than you do,’ Ben answered. ‘Now leave, and make sure Siraj doesn’t get lost.’
Seth nodded gravely, aware that the alternative to following Ben’s instructions might put everyone’s lives at risk. He gave his friends a farewell wave and headed for the door. When he got there he turned and looked at all the members of the Chowbar Society.
‘We’ll survive this one, do you hear me?’
His friends nodded with as much hope as the law of probability permitted.
‘As for you, sir,’ said Seth, pointing at Jawahal, ‘you’re nothing but a pile of dung.’
Jawahal licked his lips.
‘It’s easy to play the hero when you’re about to abandon your friends to a certain death, isn’t it, Seth? You can insult me again if you like; I’m not going to do anything to you. It might even help you sleep better when you remember this night and when some of those present have become food for worms. You can always tell people that you, brave Seth, insulted the villain, can’t you? But, deep down, you and I both know the truth, don’t we, Seth?’
Seth’s face reddened with anger and his eyes flashed with hatred. He began to walk towards Jawahal, but Ben threw himself in the way.
‘Please, Seth,’ he whispered in his ear. ‘Go now. Please.’
Seth gave Ben one last look and nodded, pressing his arm firmly. Ben waited for his friend to leave then confronted Jawahal once again.
‘This wasn’t part of the deal,’ Ben reproached him. ‘I’m not going to continue if you keep tormenting my friends.’
‘You’ll do it whether you want to or not. You have no alternative. Still, as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll keep my comments on your friends to myself. Now continue.’
Ben stared at the five remaining boxes. His eyes rested on the one on the far right. Without further ado, he stuck his hand in and groped about inside. Another board. Ben took a deep breath and heard a sigh of relief from his friends.
‘There’s an angel watching over you, Ben,’ said Jawahal. The boy looked at the wooden rectangle.
‘Isobel.’
‘The lady’s in luck,’ remarked Jawahal.
‘Shut up,’ muttered Ben, fed up with the comments Jawahal seemed to enjoy making with each new move in the macabre game. ‘Isobel, see you soon.’
Isobel stood up and walked past her friends, her head bowed and her feet dragging as if they were stuck to the floor.
‘No last word for Michael, Isobel?’ asked Jawahal.
‘Leave it,’ Ben implored. ‘What do you expect to achieve out of all this?’
‘Choose another box,’ replied Jawahal. ‘Then you’ll see what I’m hoping to achieve.’
As Isobel stepped down from the van, Ben considered the four remaining boxes.
‘Have you decided, Ben?’ asked Jawahal.
The boy nodded and stood in front of the box that was painted red.
‘Red. The colour of passion,’ Jawahal remarked. ‘And of fire. Go ahead, Ben. I think tonight’s your lucky night.’
As Sheere opened her eyes she saw Ben approaching the red box, his arm outstretched. A stab of panic ripped through her body. She sat up abruptly and hurled herself towards Ben as quickly as she could – she couldn’t let her brother put his hand in that box. The lives of those boys were meaningless to Jawahal; they were nothing but a convenient way of pushing Ben towards his own destruction. Jawahal needed Ben to hand over his own death willingly in order to clear a path for him. That way the accursed spirit could enter her and escape from those dark tunnels; be reincarnated in a being of flesh and blood.