The Midnight Palace - Carlos Ruiz Zafon [81]
‘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.
‘Seth,’ he said, ‘get out of here.’
Seth’s handcuffs opened immediately and the boy stood up.
‘I don’t like this, Ben.’
‘I like it even less than you do,’ Ben answered. ‘Now leave, and make sure Siraj doesn’t get lost.’
Seth nodded gravely, aware that the alternative to following Ben’s instructions might put everyone’s lives at risk. He gave his friends a farewell wave and headed for the door. When he got there he turned and looked at all the members of the Chowbar Society.
‘We’ll survive this one, do you hear me?’
His friends nodded with as much hope as the law of probability permitted.
‘As for you, sir,’ said Seth, pointing at Jawahal, ‘you’re nothing but a pile of dung.’
Jawahal licked his lips.
‘It’s easy to play the hero when you’re about to abandon your friends to a certain death, isn’t it, Seth? You can insult me again if you like; I’m not going to do anything to you. It might even help you sleep better when you remember this night and when some of those present have become food for worms. You can always tell people that you, brave Seth, insulted the villain, can’t you? But, deep down, you and I both know the truth, don’t we, Seth?’
Seth’s face reddened with anger and his eyes flashed with hatred. He began to walk towards Jawahal, but Ben threw himself in the way.
‘Please, Seth,’ he whispered in his ear. ‘Go now. Please.’
Seth gave Ben one last look and nodded, pressing his arm firmly. Ben waited for his friend to leave then confronted Jawahal once again.
‘This wasn’t part of the deal,