Carlos Zafon - The Midnight Palace

As he walked along, humming to himself, he could never have imagined that behind him the four circles of the combination lock had slowly started to turn again, and that this time the four-letter word they would form when set in a vertical line was not Dido, but the name of a goddess much closer to home: Kali.

In his dreams Ben thought he heard a crash. He woke to find the room in total darkness. His first thought, in his initial daze after waking abruptly from a long deep sleep, was that night must have fallen and they had slept for over twelve hours. But a moment later he heard the dry thud again and realised that the room wasn’t dark because it was night-time; something was happening in the house. The shutters were slamming shut like the tightly sealed sluice gates of a canal. Ben jumped out of bed and ran to the door in search of his friends.

‘Ben!’ he heard Sheere yelling.

He raced over to her room and opened the door. His sister was standing behind it, trembling and unable to move. Ben hugged her and led her out of the room, watching in horror as, one by one, the windows of the house were blocked out.

‘Ben,’ Sheere whispered. ‘Something came into my room while I was sleeping and touched me.’

Ben felt a shudder run through his body. He led Sheere to the middle of the room containing the model of the city. Seconds later they were surrounded by nothing but darkness. Ben put his arms round Sheere and told her to remain silent as he scanned the room for any hint of movement. He couldn’t make anything out in the dark, but they could both hear a murmur that seemed to be invading the structure of the house, a sound like tiny animals scuttling under the floors and between the walls.

‘What’s that, Ben?’ whispered Sheere.

Before her brother could find an answer, something else stole the words from his lips. Little by little the lights in the model city were coming on, and the two siblings witnessed the birth of a nocturnal Calcutta. Ben gulped and Sheere clung on to him tightly. In the middle of the model the headlights of the little train flashed and its wheels slowly began to turn.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ hissed Ben, guiding Sheere frantically towards the staircase that led to the ground floor. ‘Now!’

They had only taken a few steps when they saw a circle of fire boring a hole through the door of the room where Sheere had been sleeping. In an instant the flames had consumed the wood, like a red-hot coal passing through a sheet of paper. Ben’s feet were rooted to the floor as he watched blazing footsteps coming towards them from the doorway.

‘Run!’ he shouted, pushing his sister towards the staircase. ‘Go on!’

Sheere hurled herself down the stairs while Ben remained glued to the spot, right in the path of the fiery footsteps. He felt a breath of hot air impregnated with the stench of burnt paraffin against his face as a footstep fell only centimetres from his feet. Two red pupils glowed in the dark like red-hot irons, and Ben felt a fiery claw clamping his right arm. In an instant it had burnt right through his shirt-sleeve and scorched his skin.

‘It is not yet time for us to meet,’ whispered a piercing cavernous voice. ‘Get out of my way.’

Before Ben could react, the iron grip had shoved him aside and sent him sprawling to the floor. Ben touched his wounded arm then looked up to see an incandescent vision descending the spiral staircase, destroying it as it went.

Sheere’s screams of terror gave Ben the strength to get back on his feet again. He ran towards the staircase, which was now scarcely more than a skeleton of metal bars cloaked in flames. Realising that the steps had disappeared, Ben threw himself through the gap. His body struck the mosaic on the ground floor and a wave of pain raced up his burnt arm.

‘Ben!’ shouted Sheere. ‘Help me!’

Ben looked up and saw Sheere being dragged across the floor of shining stars, cocooned in fire, like the chrysalis of some infernal butterfly. He jumped up and ran after her, following her abductor’s trail towards the rear of the house and trying to dodge the furious impact of hundreds of books that were cascading off the shelves of the circular library. Suddenly he felt a blow to the head and fell flat on his face.

His sight began to cloud over but he could see the fiery visitor stop and turn to look at him. Sheere’s face was distorted by panic, though her screams were no longer audible. Ben tried to claw his way along the floor, which was now covered in glowing coals, fighting against the drowsiness that was urging him to give up. A cruel wolfish smile appeared before him, and through his blurred vision he recognised the man he had seen in the ghostly train that travelled through the night. Jawahal.

‘When you’re ready, come and find me,’ the fiery spirit whispered. ‘You know where I am …’

A second later Jawahal grabbed Sheere again, pulling her through the wall of the house as if it were merely a curtain of smoke. Before he passed out, Ben heard the echo of the train as it rode away into the distance.

‘He’s coming round,’ murmured a voice hundreds of miles away.

Ben tried to make out the fuzzy shapes moving in front of him and soon recognised some familiar faces. Hands made him comfortable and placed a soft object under his head. Ben blinked repeatedly. Ian’s eyes were red and despairing – he was watching his friend anxiously. Next to him were Seth and Roshan.

‘Ben, can you hear us?’ asked Seth. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

Ben suddenly remembered and abruptly tried to sit up. The three boys made him lie down again.

‘Where’s Sheere?’

Ian, Seth and Roshan looked at one another.

‘She’s not here, Ben,’ Ian replied at last.

Ben felt the sky falling on top of him and closed his eyes.

‘What happened?’ he asked after a moment.

‘I woke up before you two,’ Ian explained, ‘so I decided to go out and find something to eat. On the way I met Seth, who was coming over to the house. When we returned we saw that all the windows were closed and there was smoke coming from inside. We found you unconscious. Sheere wasn’t here.’

‘Jawahal has taken her.’

Ian and Seth exchanged a look.

‘What’s the matter? What have you found out?’

Seth ran both hands through his thick shock of hair, pushing it away from his forehead.

‘I’m not sure that this Jawahal exists, Ben,’ he declared. ‘I think Aryami lied to us.’

‘What are you talking about? Why would she lie to us?’

Seth summarised the discoveries they’d made at the museum and explained that there was no mention of Jawahal in any of the documents relating to the trial, except for that one letter addressed to the engineer and signed by Colonel Llewelyn, who had covered up the matter for some reason. Ben listened to their revelations in amazement.

‘That doesn’t prove a thing,’ he objected. ‘Jawahal was sentenced and imprisoned. He escaped sixteen years ago and that was when his crimes began.’

Seth sighed, shaking his head.

‘I went to the Curzon Fort prison, Ben,’ he said glumly. ‘There was no escape and no fire sixteen years ago. The jail burnt down in 1857. Jawahal could never have escaped from a prison that had ceased to exist for decades before his trial took place. A trial in which he isn’t even mentioned. It just doesn’t add up.’

Ben stared at him open-mouthed.

‘She lied to us, Ben,’ said Seth. ‘Your grandmother lied to us.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘Michael is out looking for her,’ Ian explained. ‘When he finds her he’ll bring her here.’

‘And where are the others?’

Roshan looked hesitantly at Ian. Ian nodded gravely.

‘Tell him,’ he said.