The Midnight Palace Read online

  ‘Well?’ asked Isobel.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ replied Ian.

  ‘Try the worst part,’ Seth suggested.

  ‘Everything is the worst part,’ said Ian.

  The others went quiet and looked at him expectantly. Ian contemplated his friends and gave a weak smile.

  ‘Ten ears are listening,’ said Isobel.

  Ian repeated what Aryami had just revealed inside the house, not omitting a single detail. The end of his narrative was dedicated exclusively to Ben and Sheere – who were still inside – and the fateful sword they had just discovered dangling over their heads.

  By the time he finished, the entire membership of the Chowbar Society had forgotten the stifling heat that pressed down from the sky like some infernal punishment.

  ‘How did Ben take it?’ asked Roshan.

  Ian frowned. ‘How would you have felt if you were him?’

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ asked Siraj.

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Ian.

  ‘A lot,’ Isobel stated. ‘Anything rather than sit here roasting our behinds when there’s a murderer out there trying to kill Ben. And Sheere.’

  ‘Anyone against?’ asked Seth.

  They all answered, ‘No.’

  ‘Very well, Colonel,’ said Ian, looking pointedly at Isobel. ‘What are your orders?’

  ‘First, somebody should find out everything there is to know about this accident at Jheeter’s Gate and the engineer,’ said Isobel.

  ‘I can do that,’ offered Seth. ‘There must be newspaper cuttings from the time in the library of the Indian Museum. And books, probably.’

  ‘Seth is right,’ said Siraj. ‘The fire at Jheeter’s Gate caused a great scandal in its day, and a lot of people still remember it. There must be records on the subject. Goodness knows where, but they must exist.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to search for them,’ Isobel said. ‘They could be a good starting point.’

  ‘I’ll help Seth,’ said Michael.

  Isobel nodded vigorously. ‘We must find out everything we can about this man, his life, and also the amazing house which is supposed to be somewhere near here. Tracing it might lead us to the murderer.’

  ‘We’ll look for the house,’ suggested Siraj, pointing at himself and Roshan.

  ‘If it exists, we’ll find it,’ Roshan added.

  ‘Fine, but don’t go inside,’ warned Isobel.

  ‘We didn’t intend to,’ Roshan reassured her.

  ‘What about me? What am I supposed to do?’ asked Ian. He couldn’t think of a task that would suit his particular skills as easily.

  ‘You stay here with Ben and Sheere,’ said Isobel. ‘For all we know, Ben might start getting crazy ideas into his head before we even realise it. Stay by his side and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. It’s not a good idea for him to be seen out on the streets with Sheere.’

  Ian agreed, aware that his was the most difficult task of the whole lot.

  ‘We’ll meet in the Midnight Palace before it turns dark,’ Isobel concluded. ‘Any questions?’

  The friends looked at one another and quickly shook their heads.

  ‘Good, let’s get going.’

  Seth, Michael, Roshan and Siraj set off at once to carry out their respective tasks. Isobel stayed behind with Ian, quietly watching them leave through the heat haze rising from the scorched dusty streets.

  ‘What are you planning to do, Isobel?’ asked Ian.

  Isobel turned to him and smiled mysteriously.

  ‘I have a hunch,’ she said.

  ‘I trust your hunches as much as I trust earthquakes,’ Ian replied. ‘What are you plotting?’

  ‘You mustn’t worry, Ian.’

  ‘When you say that, I worry even more.’

  ‘I might not get to the Palace by this evening,’ said Isobel. ‘If I haven’t appeared, do what you have to do. You always know what has to be done, Ian.’

  He sighed. He was worried. He hated all this mystery and the strange glint he noticed in his friend’s eyes.

  ‘Look at me, Isobel,’ he ordered. She obeyed. ‘Whatever your plan is, forget it.’

  ‘I know how to take care of myself, Ian,’ she said with a smile.

  Ian, however, could not return the smile.

  ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ he begged. Isobel laughed.

  ‘I’ll do one thing you would never dare to do,’ she whispered.

  Ian stared at her, mystified. Then, her eyes still shining enigmatically, she moved closer to him and brushed his lips gently with a kiss.

  ‘Take care, Ian,’ she said softly. ‘And don’t go dreaming …’

  That was the first time Isobel had kissed him, and as he watched her disappear through the wilderness of the courtyard, Ian couldn’t help feeling a sudden and inexplicable fear that it might also be the last.

  ALMOST AN HOUR LATER Ben and Sheere emerged, their faces inscrutable but strangely calm. Sheere walked over to Aryami, who had spent all the time alone on the veranda, away from the discussions of Ian and his friends, and sat down next to her. Ben made straight for Ian.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ he asked.

  ‘We thought it would be useful to investigate this individual Jawahal,’ Ian replied.

  ‘So you’ve been left to babysit?’ Ben’s forced humour didn’t fool either of them.

  ‘Something like that. Are you all right?’ Ian motioned towards Sheere.

  His friend nodded.

  ‘Confused, I suppose,’ Ben said at last. ‘I hate surprises.’

  ‘Isobel says it’s not a good idea for you two to go out and about together, and I think she’s right.’

  ‘Isobel is always right, except when she argues with me,’ replied Ben. ‘But I don’t think this is a safe place for us either. Even if it’s been shut up for over fifteen years, it’s still the family home. And St Patrick’s isn’t any safer, that’s fairly obvious.’

  ‘I think the best thing would be to go to the Palace and wait for the others there,’ said Ian.

  ‘Is that Isobel’s plan?’ Ben smiled.

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘Where has she gone?’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘One of her hunches?’ asked Ben, alarmed.

  Ian nodded.

  ‘God help us.’ Ben sighed and patted his friend’s back. ‘I’m going to talk to the ladies.’

  Ian turned to look at Sheere and Aryami Bose. The old lady seemed to be having a heated discussion with her granddaughter. Ben and Ian exchanged glances.

  ‘I suspect the grandmother is sticking to her plan of leaving for Bombay tomorrow,’ said Ben.

  ‘Will you go with them?’

  ‘I don’t intend to leave this city – ever. Even less so now.’

  The two friends observed the development of the argument between grandmother and granddaughter for a few more minutes, then Ben whispered, ‘Wait for me here,’ and headed over towards them.

  ARYAMI BOSE WENT BACK into the house, leaving Ben and Sheere alone by the entrance. Sheere’s face was flushed with anger and Ben gave her a few moments until she was ready to speak. When she did, her voice shook with fury and her hands were clenched in a rigid knot.

  ‘She says we’re leaving tomorrow and she doesn’t want to discuss the matter any further,’ she explained. ‘She also says you should come with us, but she can’t make you.’

  ‘I suppose she thinks it’s for the best.’

  ‘That’s not what you think, is it?’

  ‘I’d be lying if I said I did,’ Ben admitted.

  ‘I’ve spent my whole life running from town to town, taking trains, ships, carts … I’ve never had my own home, my own friends or a place I could think of as mine,’ said Sheere. ‘I’m tired, Ben. I can’t keep hiding from somebody I don’t even know.’

  Ben and Sheere looked at one another. After a while she spoke again.

  ‘She’s an old woman, Ben. She’s
frightened because her life is coming to an end and she knows she won’t be able to protect us much longer. Her heart is in the right place, but running away again just isn’t an option. What use would it be to take that train to Bombay tomorrow? To get off at some random station and change our names? To beg for a roof in any old village, knowing that the following day we might have to move again?’

  ‘Have you said this to Aryami?’ asked Ben.

  ‘She won’t listen. But this time I refuse to run away. This is my home, this is my father’s city and this is where I plan to stay. And if that man comes for me I’ll stand up to him. If he wants to kill me, let him try. But if I’m to go on living, I’m not prepared to do so like some fugitive who has to give thanks every day simply for being alive. Will you help me, Ben?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied.

  Sheere hugged him and dried her tears with the tip of her shawl.

  ‘Do you know, Ben,’ she said, ‘last night, with your friends in that old house, your Midnight Palace, while I was telling you my story I kept thinking that I’d never had the opportunity to be a child. I grew up surrounded by old people, by fear and lies. The only company I had was beggars and people I met on our travels. I remember I used to invent imaginary friends and spend hours talking to them in station waiting rooms or on the long journeys we made in covered carts. Adults would look at me and smile. To them a little girl who spoke to herself seemed adorable. But it isn’t adorable, Ben. It’s not adorable to be alone, as a child or as an adult. For years I’ve wondered what other children were like, whether they had the same nightmares I had, whether they felt as miserable as I did. Whoever said that childhood is the happiest time of your life is a liar, or a fool.’

  Ben observed his sister and smiled.

  ‘Or both,’ he joked. ‘They usually go hand in hand.’

  Sheere blushed.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m a chatterbox, aren’t I?’

  ‘No,’ said Ben. ‘I like listening to you. Besides, I’m sure we have more in common than you think.’

  ‘We’re brother and sister.’ Sheere laughed nervously. ‘What more do you want? Twins! It sounds so strange!’

  ‘Well, you can only choose your friends,’ Ben said, ‘so having family is a bonus.’

  ‘I’d rather you were my friend,’ said Sheere.

  Ian had come over to them and was relieved to see they both seemed in good spirits. They were even cracking jokes, which, given the circumstances, was no small achievement.

  ‘As long as you know what you’re letting yourself in for. Ian, this young lady wants to be my friend.’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ said Ian. ‘I’ve been his friend for years and look at me. Have you come to a decision?’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘Is it what I think?’

  Ben nodded again and this time Sheere joined in.

  ‘What is it you’ve decided?’ came Aryami Bose’s embittered voice behind them.

  The three youngsters turned to see her standing motionless, half-hidden in the shadows beyond the doorway. The silence was tense.

  ‘We’re not taking that train tomorrow, Grandmother,’ Sheere replied eventually. ‘Not me, not Ben.’

  The old woman looked at each one in turn, her eyes ablaze.

  ‘So the words of a few senseless children have made you forget, in just a few minutes, what I’ve been teaching you for years?’

  ‘No, Grandmother. It’s my own decision. And nothing in the world is going to make me change my mind.’

  ‘You’ll do as I say,’ retorted Aryami, although the pain of defeat could be heard in every word.

  ‘Please—’ Ian began politely.

  ‘Be quiet, child,’ snapped Aryami, her voice cold.

  Ian suppressed his desire to answer back and lowered his eyes.

  ‘Grandmother, none of us is a child any more. That’s why I’m not taking that train,’ said Sheere. ‘And you know it.’

  Aryami glared at her granddaughter but said nothing.

  After a long pause she finally spoke again. ‘I’ll be waiting for both of you tomorrow at dawn, in Howrah Station.’

  Sheere sighed and Ben noticed her face going red again. He touched her arm and motioned for her to drop the argument. Aryami turned away and her footsteps disappeared inside the house.

  ‘I can’t leave things like this,’ Sheere murmured.

  Ben let go of his sister’s arm and she followed Aryami into the candlelit living room, where the old lady had sat down once more. Aryami didn’t turn her head when she came in, ignoring her granddaughter’s presence. Sheere drew closer and put her arms around her.

  ‘Whatever happens, Grandmother,’ she said, ‘I’ll always love you.’

  Silently Aryami nodded, and her eyes filled with tears as her granddaughter walked back to the courtyard. Ben and Ian, who were waiting outside, greeted Sheere with the most optimistic expressions they could manage.

  ‘Where will we go?’ asked Sheere, trying to hold back her tears, her hands trembling.

  ‘To the best place in Calcutta,’ replied Ben. ‘The Midnight Palace.’

  THE LAST LIGHT OF day was beginning to fade as Isobel caught sight of the ghostly angular structure of Jheeter’s Gate Station emerging from the mist by the river. Holding her breath she stopped to gaze at the eerie sight before her: a thick framework of hundreds of steel beams, arches and domes, a vast labyrinth of metal and glass shattered by the fire. Spanning the river to the station’s entrance on the opposite bank was an old ruined bridge.

  Isobel approached the bridge and began to negotiate the rails that traversed it, a siding that led into the heart of the monumental carcass the station had become. The sleepers were rotten and black, with wild vegetation creeping over them. The rusty structure of the bridge groaned beneath her feet and Isobel noticed signs forbidding trespassers and warning of an impending demolition order. No train had crossed that bridge since the fire, and judging from its condition nobody had bothered to repair it, or even walk over it, she thought.

  As the east bank of the Hooghly receded behind her and Jheeter’s Gate loomed in front of her, silhouetted against the scarlet canopy of sunset, Isobel began to toy with the idea that perhaps her decision to come to this place had not been so sensible after all. From the dark tunnels hidden in the bowels of the station came a breath of wind impregnated with ash and soot, accompanied by an acrid stench. She focused on the distant lights of the barges that ploughed the Hooghly River and tried to conjure up the company of their anonymous crews as she covered the final stretch of the bridge separating her from the station. When she reached the end she stood and looked up at the huge steel pediment before her. There, obscured by the damage from the fire but still visible, were the carved letters announcing the station’s name, like the entrance to a grandiose mausoleum: JHEETER’S GATE.

  Isobel took a deep breath and readied herself to do the thing she had least wanted to do in her sixteen years of life: enter that place.

  SETH AND MICHAEL WORE the saintly smiles of model students as they faced the merciless scrutiny of Mr de Rozio, head librarian of the Indian Museum.

  ‘That’s the most ridiculous request I’ve heard in my life,’ de Rozio concluded. ‘At least since the last time you were here, Seth.’

  ‘Let me explain, Mr de Rozio,’ Seth improvised. ‘We know that normally you’re only open in the morning, and what my friend and I are asking you might seem a little extravagant—’

  ‘Coming from you, nothing is extravagant,’ de Rozio interrupted.

  Seth suppressed a smile. Mr de Rozio’s caustic sarcasm was always a sign that he was interested. There was not a person on earth who knew his first name, except perhaps his mother and his wife, if in fact there was a woman in India brave enough to marry such a specimen. Beneath his Cerberus-like appearance, de Rozio had a renowned Achilles heel: his curiosity and love of gossip, albeit with an academic slant, made even the loud-mouthed women in the bazaar look like rank amateurs.<
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  Seth and Michael eyed one another and decided to offer him some bait.

  ‘Mr de Rozio,’ Seth began in a melodramatic tone, ‘I shouldn’t tell you this, but I feel obliged and must rely on your well-known discretion … There are a number of crimes connected with this matter, and we very much fear there’ll be more unless we put a stop to it.’

  For a few seconds the librarian’s penetrating eyes seemed to grow.

  ‘Are you sure Thomas Carter is aware of this?’ he enquired.

  ‘He’s the one who sent us here,’ replied Seth.

  De Rozio observed them once more, searching their faces for clues that might betray some skulduggery.

  ‘And your friend …’ de Rozio retorted, pointing at Michael. ‘Why is he so quiet?’

  ‘He was born a mute, sir. A very sad story,’ Seth explained.

  Michael gave a tiny nod as if he wished to confirm this statement. De Rozio cleared his throat tentatively.

  ‘You mentioned this had something to do with some crimes?’ he said with studied indifference.

  ‘Murders, sir,’ Seth confirmed. ‘Quite a few.’

  De Rozio checked his watch and, after a few moments’ reflection, he shrugged.

  ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘But let this be the last time. What’s the name of the man you want to investigate?’

  ‘Lahawaj Chandra Chatterghee, sir,’ Seth replied quickly.

  ‘The engineer? Didn’t he die in the Jheeter’s Gate fire?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but there was someone with him who didn’t die. Someone who is very dangerous and who started the fire. That person is still out there, ready to commit new crimes.’

  De Rozio smiled. ‘Sounds vaguely interesting,’ he murmured.

  Suddenly a shadow crossed the librarian’s face. De Rozio leaned his considerable bulk towards the boys and pointed at them sternly.