The Midnight Palace - Carlos Ruiz Zafon [84]
‘Come and get me,’ he heard in his thoughts.
Sheere’s face came alive in Ben’s mind, and he began to claw his way towards the last remaining carriage. When he crossed the connecting platform he felt a gust of fresh air; the train must be about to leave the tunnels, he thought. They were heading straight towards the centre of Jheeter’s Gate.
IAN DIDN’T STOP TALKING to Sheere during the whole of their return journey. He knew that if she abandoned herself to the sleep that was laying siege to her body, she’d barely live long enough to see the light beyond those tunnels. Michael and Roshan helped him to carry Sheere, but neither of them managed to get a word out of her. Ignoring the anguish that was consuming him and burying it in the depths of his soul, Ian told her amusing anecdotes and made witty remarks, mining every last word in his brain just to keep her awake. Sheere listened to him and moved her head slightly, half-opening her glazed sleepy eyes. Ian held her hand between his, feeling her pulse as it weakened, slowly but inexorably.
‘Where’s Ben?’ she asked.
Michael looked at Ian, who smiled broadly.
‘Ben is safe, Sheere. He’s gone to fetch a doctor, which, in the circumstances, I find insulting. I’m supposed to be the doctor here! At least I will be one day. What kind of a friend is that? It’s not exactly encouraging. At the first sign of trouble he disappears in search of a doctor. Luckily, there aren’t many doctors like me. It’s something you’re born with. That’s why I know, instinctively, that you’ll get better. On one condition: if you don’t fall asleep. You’re not asleep, are you? You can’t fall asleep now! Your grandmother is waiting for us two hundred metres from here and there’s no way I can tell her what happened. If I try, she’ll throw me into the Hooghly, and I have a boat to catch in a few hours’ time. So please stay awake and help me with your grandmother. All right? Say something.’
Sheere started to pant heavily. All the colour drained from Ian’s face and he shook her. Sheere’s eyes opened again.
‘Where’s Jawahal?’ she asked.
‘He’s dead,’ lied Ian.
‘How did he die?’
Ian hesitated for a moment.
‘He fell under the wheels of the train. There was nothing we could do.’
‘You don’t know how to lie, Ian,’ she whispered, struggling with each word.
Ian felt he might not be able to go on pretending much longer.
‘The accomplished liar in the group is Ben,’ he said. ‘I always tell the truth. Jawahal is dead.’
Sheere closed her eyes. Ian told Michael and Roshan to quicken their pace. Half a minute later they reached the end of the tunnel and could see the station clock silhouetted in the distance. When they got there, Siraj, Isobel and Seth were waiting for them. The first rays of dawn were appearing, a crimson line on the horizon, beyond the large metal arches of Jheeter’s Gate.
BEN STOPPED AT THE entrance to the engine and placed his hand on the wheel that locked the door. The ring was burning hot so he had to turn it slowly, the metal biting into his skin. A cloud of steam was exhaled as Ben kicked open the door, but through the humidity Ben could see Jawahal standing by the boilers and gazing silently at him. Ben looked at the machinery and noticed a symbol carved on the metal: a bird rising from the flames. Jawahal’s hand was resting on the top of one of the boilers, seemingly absorbing the power that blazed within. Ben peered at the complex framework of pipes, valves and gas tanks.
‘In another life I was an inventor,’ said Jawahal. ‘My hands and my mind could create things; now they only destroy them. This is my soul, Ben. Come closer and you’ll see your father’s heart beating. I created it myself. Do you know why I called it the Firebird?’
Ben stared at Jawahal without replying.
‘Thousands of years ago there was a doomed city almost as wretched as Calcutta,’ Jawahal explained. ‘It was called Carthage. When the Romans conquered it, such was the hatred aroused in them by the spirited Phoenicians, they were not content with ravaging