‘What’s missing?’ she asked Veda as they sat in the almost empty library at lunch. A typewritten notice, pinned to the board, informed students about the death of Wagle. He had been just 32 years old and had a tiny son.
Maya had a lump in her throat. She joined Veda at a table at the far end of the library, and they hunched over the sheet of paper with its musical clues. Veda examined it with minute attention and then turned it over. Again, Maya noticed the hastily sketched grid on the other side of the sheet, and the faint words that Father Lorenzo had scrawled in a corner. ‘What’s this?’ Veda asked. ‘What has Father Lorenzo written?’
Maya blushed. ‘I was planning to check,’ she mumbled. ‘But I forgot. In all the excitement over the musical clues and Raz and—’
‘You and Lola make quite a pair,’ Veda expostulated. ‘All you think about is boys. Anyway. Let’s see what he’s written.’
Veda held the paper close to her eyes and furrowed her brow. ‘It’s really small,’ she complained, and marched up to the front desk of the library. This was being manned by a weedy youngster, clearly convinced that he had been thrust into a war zone. After Wagle’s tragedy, the library seemed fraught with danger.
Veda returned with a businesslike magnifying glass and, after some clucking and harrumphing, she started to read, ‘The hues of the Pichkari and Copper Pod, the colours of our city.’
‘Pichkari?’ Maya said. ‘Copper Pod? What does that mean? Isn’t Copper Pod a tree? The one with all those cheerful yellow flowers?’
‘Maybe …’ Veda said, holding up a hand, ‘There was something in his diary … something about colours …’
‘I wish we could check,’ Maya said.
Veda skewered Maya with a steely glance. ‘We can,’ she said finally. ‘If you promise you won’t tell anyone—no matter what happens—where I have hidden the diary.’
‘I promise,’ Maya said in a meek voice.
‘OK then,’ Veda muttered. She stood up and headed into the innards of the library, crouched down near the uninviting tomes at the very back, stuck her hand into a gap and pulled out a squarish book with a brown leather cover. The pages inside were filled with the familiar, cramped writing.
‘Father Lorenzo’s diary?’ Maya asked, thrilled. ‘It’s been in the library all this time? That’s brilliant.’
Veda leafed through the diary. ‘Here,’ she said, and started reading aloud. ‘For the stained-glass panels I have chosen colours that reflect Bombay, the flowers of the native trees, the sea, the sunshine and costumes of the people. Here you will find the yellow of the Copper Pod, the orange of the mango fruit and the blue of the Arabian Sea.’
Veda scanned the room as she returned the diary to its hiding place. Then she and Maya walked past the librarian, who looked bereft when he saw them leave. Standing in the empty corridor, Maya mused, ‘Copper Pods are yellow flowers. But what does he mean by Pichkaris? Pichkaris are those water guns that are used in Holi. But could it also be the name of a flower?’
Veda fished out her large Ruler-Of-The-Universe mobile phone and tapped away at the screen. Then she shook her head in wonder, ‘You’re right. This is from some blog about local flowering trees. Spathodea campanulata, is commonly known as the Fountain Tree, African Tulip Tree and Pichkari.’’
‘What colour are the flowers?’
Veda turned the phone towards Maya, who clapped her hands in delight. ‘Oh, I know this tree. There’s one near the High Court. I love it in summer. The flowers are the most glorious red.’
‘It spreads so fast that it’s considered an invasive pest in New Zealand,’ Veda said with pursed lips. ‘That’s what they write here.’
‘So? It’s a beautiful tree,’ Maya said indignantly. ‘In summer the top of the tree is a blaze of red. Why are you being such a killjoy—’
‘So the Pichkari is red and the Copper Pod is yellow?’ Veda interrupted. ‘Only, I can’t remember any stained glass in the chapel that was red and yellow. Can you?’
Maya shook her head. Mentally, she reviewed the stained -glass windows that they knew so intimately by now. ‘We can take a quick look in the chapel, but I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Maybe somewhere else. Maybe Professor Kekobad might know.’
‘Yes, we better meet him. He must be wondering what we’re doing,’ Veda agreed, thumping down the stairs. ‘Lunch is almost over. Let’s hurry.’
The girls jogged across the quadrangle, which was hot enough to sizzle a brownie. They were just two steps from Professor Kekobad’s office when they saw what they had been seeing every single day.
This time, though, they saw it with new eyes.
The swingy door that led to Professor Kekobad’s office was embedded with small squares of glass. Red and yellow jewels arranged in a higgledy-piggledy pattern.
Both girls froze and stared. ‘We’ve found it,’ Maya crowed, and gave Veda a fond squeeze that surprised them both.
Maya indulged in a small gloat. But Veda’s brain was not the sort to take chai breaks. It clicked and whirred as she gazed at the familiar door. ‘Just think,’ she instructed Maya. ‘If the yellow squares in the middle are like the white squares in a crossword puzzle—you know, the place where the words are to be written—then what happens?’
‘What words?’ Maya asked. Veda might as well have been talking in Tagalog for all the sense she was making.
‘The musical clues,’ Veda replied. ‘You really aren’t in top form today. Come on, let’s go in before someone sees us. And let’s tell Professor Kekobad what we’ve found.’
The two girls tumbled into the office. The stuffy air quelled Maya’s enthusiasm but Veda was jubilant. ‘Professor Kekobad,’ she asked, ‘can we come in for a minute.’
‘Yes, yes,’ the professor said, sounding resigned. ‘Seeing as you are already in. What is it? Have you found the last key?’
Maya winced but Veda gave him a quick summary. ‘So we think … we hope … that your door will help us crack the last clue,’ she ended breathlessly. ‘That’s what we wanted to tell you.’
The professor’s ill-humour evaporated as he looked across the room at Father Lorenzo’s portrait and let out a dusty, scratchy chuckle. ‘So I’ve been sitting here, guarding your clue for all these years,’ he khrr khrred. ‘Without a suspicion in my head. You really are a canny one.’
The portrait gazed back, stern and unamused. Clearly, Father Lorenzo was not accustomed to such levity.
Veda, meanwhile was counting the yellow squares in the midst of the red squares. ‘There are five lines of yellow squares, and we have five clues. Let’s see if they fit,’ she instructed. ‘The first line has five squares. What is the first clue?’
Maya pulled out her pad, turned to the right page and said, ‘DAGGA. It fits.’
‘The second line has seven squares.’
‘CABBAGE. Yessss.’
‘Then nine squares and nine squares.’
‘FABACEAEA and FAGACEAEA.’ By this point Maya was hopping on one foot and then the other.
‘The last line has five squares.’
‘BACCA,’ Maya cheered. ‘They fit.’
Veda was examining the door again. ‘One square on each yellow line is transparent,’ she remarked. ‘Professor, did the stained glass break? Did you have it replaced with transparent glass? Or was it always like this?’
Professor Kekobad had the historian’s reverence for old objects. ‘Certainly not,’ he replied, offended. ‘Nothing has ever been damaged on my watch. Everything here is just the way Father Lorenzo left it. Everything here is just the way Father Lorenzo designed it. As I’ve told you before, I see myself merely as a custodian.’
The two girls looked at each other with mounting glee. ‘Let me see which alphabet falls on the transparent glass,’ Veda said, ignoring the professor’s hectoring tones. ‘Maya, write them down. A … B … A … C … A.’
‘Abaca,’ Maya exclaimed. ‘It’s the name of a furniture shop … we bought our dining chairs from
there … I think it means bamboo or something like that … just check …’
Briskly, Veda fished out her phone, muttered about the poor signal and then exhaled. ‘Here it is. Abaca is a plant in the banana family. Which means?’
‘Which means we have a pretty good idea about where Father Lorenzo has hidden the key in the Ebbe Herbarium,’ Maya said, leaping to her feet and hot-footing it to the door.
‘Stop,’ Professor Kekobad ordered. ‘Where are you going? This is a busy time at the herbarium. One of the researchers will see you. There’s too much at stake to throw caution to the wind.’
Maya hovered near the swing door with its revealed secret. ‘But,’ she protested, ‘we can do it discreetly. Let’s just get it over with.’
The professor raised a trembling hand and let out a volley of angry coughs till Veda succumbed, ‘Professor Kekobad is right. It will be terrible if someone sees us pulling something out of a folio. The herbarium shuts at five. But it should empty out around 4ish. Do you think about 4.30 p.m. is a good time to go?’
Professor Kekobad approved. Maya didn’t, but she just bit her lip.
‘I am so, so done with being bossed around,’ she thought. ‘Let this all end today. Please, please, let this be done today.’
CHAPTER 42
The afternoon expanded and contracted like a rubber band. Ten minutes stretched so that they felt like days; and then suddenly half an hour slipped by in the blink of an eye.
Father D’Gama put the class to work. Each student had to write about any one area in the city in 1920 from the point of view of an English Memsahib, a Bohra trader and a schoolboy. ‘You will be graded for research and imagination,’ he repeated time and again. ‘For content and structure. I hope you have been doing your reading.’
Maya tried to concentrate, but too many questions and doubts tugged at her.
Lola hadn’t come back from her hakka noodles with Raz. That was probably a good thing.
Amara was in class, stretching like a panther, twirling those raven curls, texting on her phone and watching Maya. That was definitely a bad thing.
Sanath was there too, sitting near a window and gazing outside with that brooding look that signalled one of his distant moods. He hadn’t acknowledged Maya’s tentative wave—and his eyes swept past her as if she was a patch of yellow-cream wall. The moment class was done, Sanath left the room with Amara.
That was definitely, definitely a terrible thing.
Maya’s face tingled as if she’d been slapped. Amara might be 130 years old. She might have horns. She might be nasty and sly. But Maya could see why any boy would prefer graceful, confident Amara to nerdy schoolgirl Maya.
‘I’m a fool,’ she raved to herself, as she shoved books and pens into her bag. ‘I wonder if he’ll even take me to the social. Probably come up with some excuse. In fact, let me tell him that I’ve changed my mind. If I see him today, I’ll tell him. Or I’ll message him.’
‘Maya, aren’t you coming? It’s time to go to the herbarium,’ Veda yanked Maya out of her purple funk. ‘What’s the matter? Why are you so upset? Don’t tell me you’ve spotted another Shadow.’
Maya shook her head wordlessly and followed the substantial maroon figure through corridors and staircases into the herbarium. She didn’t even bother glancing over her shoulders to see if they were being tailed. Nothing mattered any more.
The herbarium was almost empty. A couple of researchers were packing up for the day, sliding bulgy folios with their pressed treasures back into wooden cubbyholes along the wall. An elderly peon stopped short when he saw Maya and Veda. ‘We are closing in 15 minutes,’ he warned, before bustling into a small office at the side.
Veda didn’t waste a second. She rushed to the printed catalogues stuck next to the shelves, jotted down a number on her palm with a ballpoint pen and then stood on tiptoes and pulled out a folio. ‘In my opinion, Abaca should be in this folio,’ she said, propelling Maya to a table. ‘Do you think you can wake up, Maya? We need to work quickly. Look for Musa Textilis. It’s a species of banana and its fibre is used to make mats and paper. Just so you know what you are looking for.’
Both girls sat at the table, and turned heavy pages that revealed pressed leaves, pods and even thick branches. About eight pages down, both girls inhaled sharply. A fleshy, large flower had been taped onto a page of the folio. The label read ‘Musa textilis’.
But it was the second element on the page that grabbed their attention. A bulging envelope, the size of a visiting card, was stuck onto the bottom, right-hand corner. On it, in the now-familiar handwriting, was a single sentence. ‘Seeds are the key to life.’
Maya touched the envelope with a shaking finger and felt the firmness of metal beneath the thick, cream paper. She tried to prise the envelope open, but her fingers were rubbery with anxiety and the flap ripped. Veda stuck her stubby fingers into the slit and pulled out the metal object just as the bespectacled peon returned to the room chanting, ‘Time is up, time is up. Pack up now. I have to catch the 5.17 Fast to Kalyan.’
Veda and Maya barely heard him. They were staring at the object on the table in front of them.
It wasn’t a key.
It was a gleaming, new 10-rupee coin.
It seemed to be taunting them.
CHAPTER 43
‘You told them,’ Veda erupted as soon as the two girls left the herbarium.
‘No,’ Maya said, but even to her own ears her voice sounded thin and unconvincing.
‘Of course, you did,’ Veda fumed. ‘I never should have trusted you. You are their agent. A spy. A traitor.’
‘Veda, listen,’ Maya interrupted. ‘Listen to me for a minute. I’ve been with you all afternoon, and I haven’t talked to a single person. And you can check my phone again. I haven’t texted or called anyone. So unless you think I’m telepathic, please let me explain. This just isn’t fair.’
Maya was too flustered to find her phone so she collapsed onto the rough stone steps in the dark stairwell and finally yanked it out. ‘Here,’ she said, handing the iPhone to Veda. ‘Look for yourself.’
Veda sat down next to her, took the phone and systematically checked the calls, SMSes and WhatsApps. She took her time, and the herbarium assistant who came jogging down the stairs to catch his train tutted in aggravation. ‘Give side, give side,’ he ordered.
Finally, Veda returned the phone to Maya. ‘You have a message,’ she said, sounding conciliatory. ‘I think it’s from Them. Is it?’
Maya saw the 8787 number and felt a swell of nausea. She tapped the screen and her brow furrowed.
The question was two words long. ‘Found it?’
Maya almost smashed holes into her phone as she pounded, ‘You hgave the kkkkey. You foundd in gherbariym.’
A volley of replies came mere seconds later. ‘NO!!!!’
‘We have two keys. You have the third.’
‘Are you double-crossing us?’
‘WE DON’T HAVE THE LAST KEY.’
Maya felt the panic and confusion emanating from the glowing screen. The Shadows were liars and traitors, but this time she believed them. ‘They don’t seem to have the third key,’ she said.
‘Then who does?’ Veda asked. ‘What’s going on? I don’t understand.’
‘Maybe a Shadow found it years ago,’ Maya said slowly. ‘It doesn’t have to be now.’
‘Maybe, but wouldn’t this bunch know about it? And it can’t have been that long ago. The 10-rupee coins are pretty new. Could it have been someone else who found it? Some botany researcher, maybe?’
Maya shrugged. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We have two keys. Even if they have the third key, they can’t open the box.’
‘What if they don’t believe us? They’ve already done horrible things to you,’ Veda said. ‘They’ll continue. This won’t end till it really ends. I wonder … could they … could they be working against each other? Could one have the key and the others not know?’
Maya looked up,
startled. She thought about the living dead who had gathered in Mumbai from their lairs across the world.
Amara, with her predatory grace, veil of dark curls and permanent sneer.
Minty, with her winsome charms, sweet-as-candy smile and acidic tongue.
The Girl with the Green Eyes (how come I still don’t know her name?), who hovered on the sidelines, oozing malice and power.
Owais, handsome and—if truth be told—a little stupid.
Aniruddh, with his ruthless streak and iron grip.
‘They all seem to be working together,’ she said, pressing throbbing temples. ‘They seem to be friends. But I don’t know. Could there be someone else involved as well? That would explain many things.’
‘There’s the odd business of Father Furtado. We thought that the Shadows had kidnapped him. But now it seems as if the Shadows are looking for him as well. So who really has him?’
‘Then there’s the mystery of this key. It’s not with us. And it’s not with the Shadows. So where is it?’
‘Also, the Shadows always know where we are. How is that possible?’
There was nothing more to say. Unnerved by the thought of another, even shadowier enemy, the two girls skittered down the darkening stairwell into the slanted evening rays.
Dutiful Veda went to give Professor Kekobad an update.
Maya headed for the exit, trying to untangle the knot of possibilities.
She was almost at the end of the quadrangle, when she caught a flash of movement on the first floor verandah. She glanced up and for a moment, her heart soared. Then she remembered and it sank.
It was Sanath. He was hunched over the parapet, talking on his phone with rapt attention.
The mix of jealousy and resentment that had been simmering all day, boiled over. Maya hurtled up the stairs. ‘Slime ball,’ she sobbed in her head. ‘I’ll tell him that I’m not going with him to the social. I’m not a charity case.’
What Maya Saw Page 25