Carlos Zafon - The Midnight Palace

‘Just before sunrise a parcel was delivered to him by a beggar. It contained a large medallion – the piece that had led Jawahal to commit his first murder – and a note. In it Jawahal explained that after spying on them for a few weeks and discovering that your father was now a successful man with a dazzling wife, he wished them well and would perhaps soon pay them a visit, so that they could “share what belonged to them both, like brothers”.

‘The following days were strewn with panic. One of the sentries Peake had employed to guard the house at night was found dead. Your father’s dog was discovered at the bottom of the well in the courtyard. And every morning the walls of the house were daubed with new threats, written in blood, which Peake and his men were powerless to prevent.

‘Those were difficult days for your father. His finest work had just been built, the Jheeter’s Gate Station on the western bank of the Hooghly. It was an impressive, revolutionary steel structure, the culmination of his project to establish a railway network throughout the entire country, to encourage development of local trade and modernise the provinces so that they could eventually overcome domination by the British. That was always one of his obsessions, and he could spend hours speaking passionately about it, as if it were some divine mission he’d been entrusted with. The official opening of Jheeter’s Gate was taking place at the end of the week, and to mark the occasion it was decided to charter a train that would transport three hundred and sixty-five orphans to their new home in western India. They came from the most deprived backgrounds, and your father’s project would mean a whole new life for them. It was something he had pledged to do from the very start, his life’s dream.

‘Your mother was desperate to attend the ceremony for a few hours, and she assured your father that the protection offered by Lieutenant Peake and his men would be sufficient to keep her safe.

‘When your father climbed into the train and got the engine going that was supposed to take the children to their new home, something unexpected happened. The fire. A terrible blaze spread through the various levels of the station, fanning out along the train’s carriages so that as it entered the tunnel, the train was transformed into a rolling inferno, a molten tomb for the children who travelled inside. Your father died that night, trying to save the orphans, while his dreams vanished for ever amid the flames.

‘When your mother heard the news she almost lost you. But fate grew weary of sending misfortune to your family, and you were saved. Three days later, when she was only a few days from giving birth, Jawahal and his men burst into the house and after proclaiming that the Jheeter’s Gate tragedy had been their doing, they took your mother away.

‘Lieutenant Peake managed to survive the assault and followed them to the very bowels of the station, which by then was an accursed place nobody had set foot in since the night of the tragedy. Jawahal had left a note in the house swearing he’d kill your mother and the child she was about to deliver. But something happened that not even Jawahal had expected. It was not one child, but two. Twins. A boy and a girl. You two …’

Aryami Bose told them how Peake had managed to rescue them and bring them to her home, and how she had decided to separate them and hide them from their parents’ murderer … but neither Sheere nor Ben was listening to her any longer. Ian stared at the white faces of his best friend and the girl. They hardly blinked; the revelations they had heard from the old woman’s lips seemed to have turned them into statues. Ian heaved a deep sigh and wished he’d not been the one selected to attend this strange family reunion. He felt extremely uncomfortable, an intruder in the drama that was unfolding around his friends.

All the same, Ian swallowed his dismay and focused his thoughts on Ben. He tried to imagine the storm Aryami’s account must have unleashed inside him and he cursed the abruptness with which fear and exhaustion had made the old lady reveal events that could potentially have consequences far greater than they imagined. For the moment he tried not to think of what Ben had told him that morning about his vision of a blazing train. The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle were multiplying with terrifying speed.

He recalled the dozens of times Ben had asserted that they, the members of the Chowbar Society, were people without a past. Ian was afraid that Ben’s encounter with his own history in the gloom of that derelict house might cause him irreparable damage. They had known each other since they were small, and Ian was familiar with Ben’s episodes of melancholy and realised it was always better to support him without asking any questions or trying to read his mind. Judging from what he knew of his friend, the impressive front behind which Ben usually hid his feelings must have suffered a tremendous blow. And he was sure Ben would never want to speak about it.

Ian placed a hand gently on Ben’s shoulder, but his friend didn’t seem to notice.

Ben and Sheere, who only a few hours earlier had felt a strong bond growing between them, now seemed incapable of looking at one another, as if the new cards dealt in the game had given them an unfamiliar modesty, a primal fear of exchanging even the simplest glance.

Aryami looked anxiously at Ian. In the room silence reigned. The old woman’s eyes seemed to be begging them for forgiveness, the pardon granted the bearer of bad news. Ian tilted his head slightly, signalling to Aryami that they should leave the room. The old lady hesitated for a few seconds, but Ian stood up and offered her his hand. She accepted his help and followed him to the adjoining room, leaving Ben and Sheere alone. Ian stopped in the doorway and turned towards his friend.

‘We’ll be outside,’ he murmured.

Without looking up Ben nodded.

The members of the Chowbar Society were wilting in the crushing heat of the courtyard when they saw Ian appear through the front door, together with the old woman. The two exchanged a few words. Aryami nodded wearily and then sought the shade of an old carved-stone veranda. Ian, his expression severe, which his friends took to be a bad sign, walked over to the group and stood in the shady spot they had left for him. Aryami watched them from a few metres away, a doleful expression on her face.

‘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.