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?’
‘He wants to speak to you,’ said the doctor, his tone implying that he’d tried to dissuade Carter and that he disapproved of his request.
Ben nodded and hurried off towards the ambulance.
‘Just one minute,’ warned the doctor. ‘Not a second longer.’
Ben went over to the stretcher on which Thomas Carter was lying and tried to smile reassuringly, but when he saw the state the headmaster was in he felt his stomach shrink and the words just wouldn’t come to his lips. One of the doctors standing behind him gave him a nudge. Ben took a deep breath and nodded.
‘Hello, Mr Carter. It’s Ben.’ He wondered whether Mr Carter could hear him.
The wounded man tilted his head slightly and raised a trembling hand. Ben took it and pressed it gently.
‘Tell that man to leave us alone,’ Carter groaned, his eyes still shut.
The doctor gave Ben a look and waited a few seconds before leaving.
‘The doctors say you’re going to get better …’ said Ben. Carter shook his head.
‘Not now, Ben.’ Each word seemed to require a titanic effort. ‘You must listen to me carefully and not interrupt. Understood?’
Ben nodded. ‘I’m listening, sir.’
Carter squeezed his hand.
‘There’s a man who is looking for you and wants to kill you, Ben. A murderer,’ Carter said, struggling to articulate his words. ‘You must believe me. This man calls himself Jawahal and he seems to think you have some connection to his past. I don’t know why he’s looking for you but I do know he’s dangerous. What he’s done to me is only a shadow of what he’s capable of. You must speak to Aryami Bose, the woman who came to the orphanage yesterday. Tell her what I’ve told you, explain what has happened. She tried to warn me, but I didn’t take her seriously. Don’t make the same mistake. Find her and talk to her. Tell her Jawahal was here. She’ll tell you what to do.’