The Indian man turned to the boy with a smile. “Well, as you see – I am.”
“What you doin’ down ‘ere then? It’s a bit… I dunno… nasty for you, ain’t it? Ain’t you an Indian prince or somethin’?”
The man called Desai inclined his head, an amused look on his face. “Not exactly, but close enough.”
Rémy, confused, looked up at Thaddeus.
“These are Mr Desai’s men, Rémy. They rescued me. I only got out of that contraption because of them,” he explained, gently. “Tell her, Professor.”
“That is so, indeed, Rémy,” said the Professor, stepping forward with a reassuring smile. “They are no more in league with Abernathy than you are. When I realized the tide of the Thames was about to turn and you were still not back, I went looking for help. Now, here I have to confess to some slight subterfuge.” The Professor reached out and touched the bottom of Rémy’s jacket, at the hole in the hem. “As you slept in the workshop before you all left on your adventure, I secreted one of my devices in this convenient hole.” From the tear, he pulled a small, intricate device, something that Rémy did not recognise, but that Thaddeus seemed to have seen before.
“But – Professor, I thought you said the listening device would not work underground,” said the policeman, reaching out to take the instrument.
“I was not at all sure it would,” the Professor admitted, “and indeed, it ceased to work at all after a short period of time. But it did give me somewhere to start, if only I could find some assistance.” He turned to offer a brief bow to Desai, who returned the gesture. “Mr Desai here was kind enough to provide that. He sent his men after you so that you wouldn’t get caught. When he heard where you were, he was as worried as I was, and evidently with reason.”
“Worried! They – they tied me up! They – they,” she pointed to her mouth, momentarily forgetting the English word in the midst of her fury, “they gagged me!”
Thaddeus winced. “I’m sorry. That was my fault. I told them you would probably make a lot of noise and fight like the devil.”
“You?”
“Well, you did, didn’t you?” Thaddeus protested defensively.
“Children, children,” soothed Desai’s voice. “This is all a tremendous shock, I am sure of it. But we must go. We have other, safer places to be.”
Rémy crossed her arms. “I am not going anywhere with you. I do not even know who you are.”
Desai inclined his head in an elegant half-bow. “I understand. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Maandhata Desai, formerly consul to the British East India Company at the city of Hyderabad in Andhra Pradesh, now unfortunate fugitive from both my people and the British government. You must come with us, please. We really are not safe here.”
* * *
Desai and his men led them out of the tunnels and back up to the surface. They found themselves in the crypt of a church, the damp, musty atmosphere barely better than they had experienced underground. Desai walked ahead, up a flight of steep, white stone steps and into the open, empty nave of the church.
A lone figure turned to look at their odd procession as they crossed the vast stone floor. It was the priest, dressed in pale robes that flowed almost as richly as Desai’s own. Desai bowed his head as they passed. The priest echoed the gesture in reply, and then turned away, as if deliberately removing them from his sight.
Outside, Rémy was relieved to find that there was a dull light in the sky – it was morning. After being so long in those oppressive tunnels, it was wonderful to be outside again. She breathed in, thankful to be out in the open air at last, even if it was still tainted by the sour smog that always hung over the city.
Beside her, she felt Thaddeus pause. He looked up at the tall, imposing spire of the church. It was so high that it threatened to pierce the rainclouds gathering overhead.
“This is St Anne’s!” he exclaimed in surprise. “We’re still in Limehouse!”
“We are,” Desai acknowledged. “And that is all the more reason for us to keep moving. Quickly, please. It does none of us any good to be out in the open at the moment, I think.”
He took them down to the torpid, greasy waters of Regent’s Canal, and then walked further east and over a failing wooden bridge into another tangle of streets. Weaving this way and that, they eventually reached a small warehouse that looked as if it had long been abandoned. Its walls were crumbling and overgrown, its high windows cracked and broken. To Rémy, even the roof seemed unsafe.
Inside, though, it was warm and dry – pleasant, even. There was a fire burning in a brick-built hearth in the corner and straw on the floor. Large curtains had been hung in one corner. Desai strode towards them, sweeping them aside to reveal comfortable-looking cushions strewn across a large, patterned carpet.
“Sit, please,” Desai ordered, moving his arm expansively. “Make yourselves comfortable. My men will bring us tea.”
Rémy looked around to see two of Desai’s escort standing guard beside the door. The other two had vanished. She glanced at the Professor. He was looking around as curiously as the rest of them, as if he had never been there before. She didn’t know what to make of his sudden appearance underground. Thaddeus obviously still trusted his friend, but there had been that moment when Rémy had seen something unsettling in his eyes…
“Now,” said Desai, interrupting her worried thoughts. “Please, sit down. Tell me what three youngsters such as yourselves were doing in such a dangerous place as Abernathy’s tunnels. I am all amazement that you even knew they were there.”
Rémy looked at Thaddeus, uncertain. He shrugged, and after a moment she turned back to the Indian. “We were looking for something. Something that we believe Lord Abernathy stole.”
Desai inclined his head. “Ah, yes. The Darya-ye Noor, no doubt.”
“How do you know that?” Thaddeus asked in surprise.
The man smiled. “Unfortunately for you, Mr Rec, you have become famous. Look, here.”
He threw something to Thaddeus. “A penny paper? Why do you –” He stopped abruptly, staring at the front page of the newspaper.
Rémy leaned over to see what had shocked him into silence. There was a remarkably accurate sketch of Thaddeus, along with the headline “Fallen Policeman Steals Famed Jewel”.
“You see, Mr Rec,” said Desai. “So, now – tell me. Why would you want to steal the Ocean of Light?”
“He didn’t!” Rémy blurted out. “Thaddeus didn’t – I did! Or… or I tried to. He was just…”
“In the wrong place, at the wrong time?” Desai asked quietly.
Rémy felt suddenly hot. She stood up, pulling off the jacket the Professor had given her. “I did not mean for him to be blamed. I just – had to have the jewel. And now neither of us has it. Abernathy does instead, and –”
She trailed off. Desai had got to his feet and was staring at her intently.
“What?” Rémy asked. “Why – why do you look at me that way?”
“And how is it that you come to have that?” Desai asked, in a low voice, pointing at her throat.
Rémy touched her fingers to her skin, feeling the old chain that always hung around her neck. “This? It is… it is an opal, monsieur. It is my opal. It belonged to my mother. It is all I have left of my parents.”
“Is that so?” Desai asked, moving closer and brushing away her fingers so he could examine the stone. “And who is your mother, that she would give you such a gift? Was she rich? A noblewoman, perhaps?”
Rémy shook her head, mesmerized by his eyes, now staring into hers. “No… no, she belonged to the circus, like me. She died when I was very small. My father, too.”
“Then how do you know this was a gift from your mother, and not a trinket given you by someone else?”
“I… Claudette gave it to me. She told
me it was my mother’s. She told me my mother wanted me to have it when she died.”
“Ah, I see. And do you trust this… Claudette?”
Rémy blinked. “She is my oldest friend. She is – like a sister. I have no one else. Yes, I trust her. I trust her with my life.”
The Indian smiled, a surprisingly gentle gesture that instantly softened his face. “I see. You are lucky to have such a friend. And lucky that you can be so sure of her. Your mother, I suspect, was not so lucky. Not if she was able to give you that.”
Rémy stepped away from him. The opal slipped from his fingers, falling once more against her chest. It felt warm. “What do you mean?” she asked. “What do you know about my opal? Gustave said something about it, too. That it had powers I did not know about.”
Desai’s eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Is that so? And who is Gustave?”
“My… my master. At the circus. It was he – he who wanted me to steal the Darya-ye Noor. He said no other stone would do. He said he had to have it, to break the curse. But he didn’t have time to tell me what the curse was, or what he meant about my opal.”
“A curse?” Desai repeated. “He said that? He said he needed the Darya-ye Noor because of a curse?”
“Miss Brunel has mentioned this curse before, in fact,” observed the Professor. “Though she could not tell us anything more about it.”
Rémy suddenly felt very, very tired. She put her hands up to her face, covering her eyes. “I know you will not believe me. But it is the truth. That is what Gustave said.”
“Why would I not believe you?”
She dropped her hands. “No one else does. Thaddeus did not.”
Rémy glanced towards the young policeman. He was standing a few feet away, listening intently. His cheeks coloured.
“I thought…” he began, and stopped. “That was when I thought you were untrustworthy. When I thought… when I thought you were just a thieving circus rat. But now…”
They stared at each other, confusion and tension bristling between them. Rémy wanted to ask him what he meant. At first he had thought she was nothing but a circus rat, but now? What did he think of her now?
Fourteen
The Curse
Abruptly, Thaddeus looked away. Rémy felt her face flush, the confusion of the moment – of everything – piling on her like a landslide.
Desai spoke, his deep voice cutting into the sudden silence like a knife. “Do you know where the Ocean of Light was mined, Miss Brunel?”
She looked back at him, blinking. “Yes – at Golconda, in India. Why?”
Desai stepped forward suddenly, raising his free hand to catch Rémy’s chin, holding her still as he examined her face. From the corner of her eye, she saw Thaddeus move quickly, as if he feared Desai were about to hurt her. The Indian must have seen it too, because he glanced at Thaddeus with a brief smile before turning his attention back to Rémy.
“Fear not, young man. I only want to see…” he turned her face, gently, this way and that. “Ah, yes. Interesting,” Desai said, releasing his hold and stepping back as he gazed once more at the opal.
“What?” Rémy asked. “What do you see, in my face? Please, explain.”
“You, my dear, are an Indian baby. You may have a French voice, and I have no doubt that your parents were French themselves. But you were conceived in India.”
“You cannot possibly know that,” Thaddeus protested before Rémy had a chance to speak. “Certainly not from looking at her face!”
“I have to say, that seems rather improbable, Desai,” added the Professor. “I’m not sure that science could use a physiognomy to determine place of conception, let alone the naked eye…”
Desai shot them both another long-suffering smile. “You may believe what you like, of course. But what I say is true.”
“What does it matter?” Rémy asked. “What does it matter where I was conceived?”
Desai nodded. “That is the right question, indeed. It matters because I also know where your opal came from. And together, these things mean that I believe that this curse you speak of is real and dangerous, and running within you as it did your parents. So. Would you like to hear more?”
Rémy nodded, her heart thumping painfully. Before this week, she had heard so little about her parents – less than little, really, nothing – that they had seemed insignificant in her life. But now, now that a past she had no idea about was looming so large in her present, it was all she wanted to know about.
Desai insisted that they sit, and so they all did – Rémy, for one, was relieved to finally rest. Once they were settled, Desai began to speak.
“Your opal, Rémy Brunel, was stolen from a very powerful Raja – one of the only true rulers of India left. He was so powerful that not even the French or the British colonists could displace him. They… tolerated him, instead. He bided his time and fomented rebellion where he could. It was an uneasy status quo. The colonists could not remove him, and he was not quite strong enough to attack them. I travelled to his court several times on behalf of the British government, and it was a wonder to behold, indeed. His collection of jewels was famed throughout the land, not only for their value and variety but also for their powers.”
“Powers?” Thaddeus asked. “What do you mean? Professor, you said something about these powers, too, and I didn’t understand you, either. Stones don’t have powers. They’re just… rocks.”
The Professor smiled. “Thaddeus, my boy, I am sure that Desai will explain far better than I ever could.”
Desai bowed his head, his face growing serious. “For many gems – most, even – it is true that they have no power. But not for all, my young sceptic. A stone may be just a stone, but it took it centuries to become one. Growing slowly beneath the surface, hidden away from prying eyes… one cannot pull such an ancient thing from its birthplace and not expect it to bring the wisdom of those ages with it.” He pointed to Rémy’s opal again. “Take a stone such as this, for example. Some say the colours in an opal are doorways to other places, other worlds. Some say they are angels, trapped by the devil in a fit of rage. Others say that opals are demons in their natural state, which is why they move in their settings.”
Rémy touched the gem again, absently. “Gustave said it had powers,” she said. “Do you know what he meant?”
“Have you ever been able to hear the thoughts of others?” Desai asked. “In your own head, as if they were your own?”
Rémy shook her head. “No, never. At least, I don’t think so.”
Desai smiled. “It may yet be sleeping. Stones do, you see. For centuries, sometimes, until they are woken. But even in its slumber it is a talisman against harm, which is probably why it was given to you in the first place. It was a good choice, too, for it would bestow none of these things upon someone who had stolen it. It must be given willingly and with love, for its powers to work.”
Rémy blinked, unsure whether she believed Desai or not. “The curse,” she said. “Can you tell me about that? Tell me what happened?”
“I believe that your parents stole a diamond from the same Raja that owned this opal. It was a famed jewel, at that time – as big and as valuable as the Ocean of Light, or even the Mountain of Light.”
“And?” Thaddeus asked, apparently as eager to hear as Rémy was herself. “What happened?”
Desai paused as one of his men appeared with a silver tray bearing a tea service and poured a cup for each of them before joining the circle. They all sipped the hot liquid gratefully.
“The story was,” Desai went on, “that the Raja welcomed a troupe of performers from Europe into his court and they stole the gem. They left as soon as the performance was over, intending to head back to their ship and escape. But the theft was discovered almost immediately and the Raja sent his best men after them. Ther
e was a struggle, and the stone was lost forever. It tumbled into the sea at Chinna Ganjam. The Raja was incandescent with rage, and ordered his magicians to send a curse after the thieves, their families and their master. It would only be broken when they returned a stone of equal power, beauty and worth to the Raja or his descendants.”
There was a brief silence as Desai stopped.
“Don’t stop there!” J said, evidently enthralled by the tale. “What was it? This curse you said ‘e sent after ‘em? What’d it do, like?”
Desai paused for a moment and sighed before continuing. “The curses were different, because the Raja perceived that the thieves and their master were different. Their master was greedy, and wanted only wealth. So he was cursed to never attain it, no matter how hard he tried. The two thieves… it was said they were very much in love with each other. And so their curse was to lose that love, and to drive each other away with enmity. The curse continued that their offspring would do the same to those who loved them.”
Rémy felt something cold clutch at her heart, but shook her head. “Well, that cannot be me. I am loved and I love. I love my friend, Claudette, and she loves me, I know she does. And her daughter, Amélie, she may as well be my own. So, I cannot carry the curse you speak of. Can I? It can’t have been my parents in your story.”
Desai looked at her steadily for a moment, before he said, “I do not think that is the kind of love the curse was concerned with, my child.”
Rémy tried to laugh. “What other love is there? If you are talking about being in love… who would want that, anyway? It is only another burden to carry, another owner to make happy,” she shrugged. “And so, if I never am – what does that matter? It sounds like a blessing to me!”
Desai smiled gently. “Be careful what you wish for, Rémy Brunel. If what you have told me is true – about who gave you that opal and who told you to steal the Ocean, then I believe this story must be about your parents. And I have never known a curse like this to turn out as a blessing. It will find a way to wound, unless you break it, which I believe you must.”
The Diamond Thief Page 12