Carlos Zafon - The Midnight Palace

‘Don’t listen to him, Ben,’ said Sheere. ‘This man killed our father. Whatever he says is as worthless as the dirt covering this dump.’

‘Harsh words to say about a friend,’ Jawahal remarked.

‘I’d rather die than be your friend.’

‘Our friendship, Sheere, is only a matter of time,’ Jawahal whispered.

His smile suddenly disappeared, and at a signal from his hand, Sheere was sent flying towards the other end of the van, as if she’d been hit by an invisible battering ram.

‘Now get some rest. Soon we’ll be together for ever …’

Sheere crashed against the metal wall and fell unconscious to the ground. Ben rushed towards her, but the iron pressure of Jawahal’s hand restrained him.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said. Then, throwing an icy glance at the others, he added, ‘The next person to say anything will have his lips sealed by fire.’

‘Let go of me,’ groaned Ben. He felt as if the hand holding him by the scruff of the neck was about to dislocate his vertebrae.

Suddenly Jawahal let go, and Ben collapsed on the floor.

‘Get up and listen to me,’ Jawahal ordered. ‘I hear you have some kind of secret fraternity in which you’ve sworn to protect one another until death. Is that right?’

‘It is,’ said Siraj from the floor.

An invisible fist hit the boy hard, knocking him over like a rag doll.

‘I didn’t ask you, boy. Ben, are you going to reply, or shall we play a little game with your friend’s asthma?’

‘Leave him alone. It’s true,’ replied Ben.

‘Good. Then allow me to congratulate you on the fabulous job you’ve done so far by bringing your friends here. First-class protection.’

‘You said you’d give us a chance,’ Ben reminded him.

‘I know what I said. How much do you value the life of your friends, Ben?’

The boy turned pale.

‘Do you not understand the question, or do you want me to discover the answer in some other way?’

‘I value their lives as I value my own.’

Jawahal gave a fiendish grin.

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I don’t care what you believe.’

‘Then let’s see if your fine words tally with reality,’ said Jawahal. ‘I promised this was going to be fun, so here’s the deal. There are seven of you, not counting Sheere. She’s out of the game. For each one of you, there’s a closed box containing … a mystery.’

Jawahal pointed to a row of wooden boxes painted different colours that resembled a set of small letter boxes.

‘Each one has a hole in the front that allows you to stick your hand in, but you can’t remove it for a few seconds. It’s like a trap for inquisitive people. Imagine that each one of these boxes contains the life of one of your friends, Ben. In fact, that’s true, for in each one there’s a small wooden board bearing a name. You can put your hand in and remove it. Every time you pull out someone’s name, I will free them. But, of course, there’s a risk. One of the boxes, instead of life, holds death.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Ben.

‘Have you ever seen an asp, Ben? A small beast with a volatile temper. Do you know anything about snakes?’

‘I know what an asp is,’ replied Ben, feeling weak.

‘Then I’ll spare you the details. All you need to know is that one of the boxes contains an asp.’

‘Don’t do it, Ben,’ said Ian.

Jawahal gave him an evil stare.

‘Ben, I’m waiting. I don’t think anyone in the whole of Calcutta could make you a more generous offer. Seven lives and only one possibility for error.’

‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ asked Ben.

Jawahal raised a long forefinger and slowly shook his head.

‘Lying is one of the few things I don’t do, Ben. You should know that. Make up your mind. If you don’t have the courage to play the game and prove that your friends are as valuable to you as you would lead us to believe, say so now and we’ll let someone with more guts take their chances.’

Ben held Jawahal’s gaze and nodded.

‘Ben, no,’ Ian said again.

‘Tell your friend to shut up, Ben,’ Jawahal said. ‘Or I will.’

‘Don’t make it more difficult, Ian,’ Ben pleaded.

‘Ian is right, Ben,’ said Isobel. ‘If he wants to kill us, let him do it. Don’t allow yourself to be tricked.’

Ben raised a hand for silence and turned to face Jawahal.

‘Do I have your word?’

Jawahal looked at Ben long and hard and finally nodded in assent.

‘Then let’s not waste any more time.’

Ben examined the seven wooden boxes carefully, trying to imagine in which one of them Jawahal would have hidden the snake. Attempting to decipher the thinking behind the arrangement of colours was like trying to reconstruct a puzzle without being familiar with the image it formed. The asp could be in one of the boxes at the end or in one in the middle, in one of the brightly coloured boxes or the one with shiny black paint. Guesswork was superfluous, and Ben realised his mind had gone blank faced with the decision he had to take.

‘The first is the most difficult,’ whispered Jawahal. ‘Choose without thinking.’

All Ben could see in Jawahal’s impenetrable eyes was the reflection of his own pale frightened face. He silently counted to three, closed his eyes and quickly thrust his hand into one of the boxes. The seconds that followed seemed interminable, as he waited to feel the rough touch of a scaly body, followed by the sting of the asp’s fangs. None of that happened; after an agonising few moments, his fingers touched a wooden board and Jawahal gave him a smile.

‘Well chosen. Black. The colour of the future.’

Ben pulled out the board and read the name written on it. Siraj. He looked enquiringly at Jawahal, who nodded. They all heard the click of the handcuffs restraining the frail boy.

‘Siraj,’ said Ben. ‘Leave this train and get out of here.’

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.