The Spiritualist

by Noah Alexander

  Maya shrugged his statement and went about inspecting the room in the same thorough manner that she had applied the day before. She found the same muddy bare-feet marks soon enough. And yet again they were spread only across the room and not outside. The mud was the same fine red dirt whose origin she could not ascertain.

  She then produced the symbols from the previous day and compared them to her latest discovery. Though the structure of the two codes was identical there was no more similarity. The letters and numbers were seemingly random. She held her notebook to the professor, “Do these make any sense to you,” she asked.

  The professor gave them a long penetrating look, then shook his head.

  “No, he said. Apart from the fact that I understand that they are English alphabets and numerals, I know nothing more.”

  Maya kept the notepad back inside her bag and looked around the room. These symbols were meant for someone on the street. The intruder had drawn them to be visible and read by an outsider, an accomplice. But why had he drawn them, why couldn’t he just go out and tell them. Or could he not?

  Maya took out her one remaining shoe and bent down on the wooden floor. She went about tapping the floor with the heel of the shoe.

  “What are you doing?” asked the professor.

  “Trying to find the way the man entered the room.”

  “But my dear lady,” said Chinew smiling like a teacher at a dim-witted student, “spirits don’t need doors and windows. That is the first principle of spiritual physics. These beings are not exactly solid. They can pass through doors and windows without caring if they are open or close. It is possible though, according to some Hindoo sages, to stop spirits by spell tampering. I was actually reading a book by a gentleman called Harol Longhorn who has extensively toured India and has come up with an exhaustive list of spells to do just that. I was thinking of reading some of them aloud.”

  Maya ignored Chinew completely and went about tapping the floor and the walls by her shoe. The professor observed her in a queer silence, he did not understand how tapping the floor could help her find an arcane entrance to the room, but stopped short from expressing his incredulity. In the brief time that he had known Maya, Prof. Chinew had formed a clear impression of the strange lady. She was smart but equally irascible. It would take little to anger her and the old man did not want to bear the brunt of her rage. He had a few secrets which he did not want her to decipher from the dust on his shoe or from the half-eaten sandwich lying in the room.

  Maya’s efforts produced no significant results and after half an hour of toil, she threw her shoe on the floor in frustration and sat down tired upon a wooden crate.

  “I can find nothing,” she said hardly trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. There seemed to be no hidden passage to the room. The intruder had not gotten through the door, or the window nor were there any hidden passageways to the room. How did he then enter the place? Was it really a spirit that flew in through the walls? A spirit with muddy feet. And why did it draw these symbols? She opened her notebook again and looked at the symbols. What did these alphabets and numbers mean? Could they refer to someplace, an address? Maya rummaged through her bag and took out a map of Cardim. A postal code perhaps? She converted the alphabets into numbers based on their position and tried to compare the resulting code to the actual postal codes in Cardim. There were no matches, the numbers were not postal codes. Could they then be an encrypted message? Perhaps a cipher code with some common book as a cipher. If she turned to a specific page and word she could decipher the message. But what could that common book be? There were endless possibilities.

  Maya held her face in her hand.

  “Did you say anything?” asked the professor suddenly.

  “No!”

  “Oh, you were muttering I thought you were talking to me,” said the professor doubtfully.

  “No,” said Maya distantly, “I was talking to myself.”

  The professor nodded. “So,” he said in time, “you agree now that this is the work of a spirit, right?”

  “I am not sure,” Maya conceded. “It does look like the work of something not entirely human. I don’t see how any man could just appear and disappear into rooms.”

  The professor beamed with triumph, “I told you. I know the work of a spirit when I see one.”

  Maya scratched her head and got up reaching for her bag, “It is late today,” she said, “I’ll head home now. I’ll report to Mr. Camleman about the affairs tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” said Chinew cheerfully, “ask him to come tomorrow and have a look. I am sure he would not believe until he saw it for himself. Also, tell him to carry 50 Cowries with him.”

  Maya nodded heading out of the room.

  “Do you think it would do any good if I stay up and keep an eye,” asked the professor when they were at the door, “I might even catch a spirit with my own eyes.”

  “No, no. you shouldn’t do that,” said Maya with emphasis and in a voice louder than necessary, “You should sleep and let the spirits be, or I suppose they might get angry. And I would also advise that you take your regular dose of morphine or you’ll have trouble sleeping.”

  The professor gave her a penetrating glance, “You are right. It’s better to sleep and let the spirits do their stuff.”

  “Good night, Sir,” she said stepping out.

  “Good night, my dear lady,” said the old man smiling.

  SIX

  Dark Night

  Maya walked past a couple of houses on Mill Street then stopped in her tracks. She turned back to cast a sly glance at the professor's house. Chinew had gone inside and the door was closed. Maya turned and walked back to the house. She stood near the gate to the garden and observed the symbols on the window.

  She hopped a few steps to the right and glanced at the window again. Then she jogged past Chinew’s house and stood on the other side to look at the window again. The symbols had to be read, she concluded finally, either by someone from the house directly in front of the professor’s house or a passerby on the street. The former couldn’t be the case as the house was locked, and a pile of unopened newspapers lying on the doorstep told her that it had been closed for at least a week. This left only one possibility. Someone in the street went past the house each night to note the mysterious symbols. The intruder had returned for two consecutive nights, there was reason to believe that he would return tonight as well.

  The clock at the Temple Bridge tolled 9. It was an important night, Maya had to be prepared.

  She walked over to the tamarind tree two houses past the professor’s house to lay waiting for the intruder’s accomplice. She had contemplated waiting inside the house as well but suspected that the intruder, whoever he was, might not make an appearance if he found anything suspicious. That was the reason she had asked the professor to not lay awake, as that could have discouraged the intruder. Sitting on the pavement gave her the best chance to identify the intruder’s accomplice who would, without doubt, lead her to the intruder himself.

  Maya studied the pavement, then opened her purse to produce a dirty jute sack which she kept at all times in her bag. She spread it on the ground, lay down upon it with her head on her bag, and pulled a ragged sheet, also in her purse, upon herself. People passing on the street would now consider her no more than a sleeping beggar. There were so many beggars in Cardim that people thought nothing of them, they ignored them like one ignores birds and stray dogs. That was the reason that beggars were often the most resourceful informers in her line of work.

  Maya found it hard to lay still though. The jute sack had a family of bugs which made her wait painful and itchy. But more than that, just the excitement of being so close to a breakthrough in the mystery caused her body to shiver and twitch in anticipation. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the professor’s door. If she was lucky, she might even see the intruder break into the house, though she did not think there was a great chance of that. For one she did not think that t
he intruder ‘broke into’ the house.

  A constant stream of people passed through the street but no one gave a significant enough glance upon Chinew’s house. An old man stopped just in front of the professor’s gate and for a moment Maya actually felt that she had found the man she was looking for. But he merely rummaged through his pockets, then turned and left without glancing towards the house. An hour into the night, Maya got up and went over to the house to look at the window, there were no new symbols, not on the two windows already painted nor on the one window left untouched. Maya checked the watch in her purse, it was 10 already, the man she was waiting for should come soon. She went back to her place and lay in wait, but the man never made an appearance.

  As the night turned darker, the stream of people passing through the street dwindled gradually, till, at midnight, the street became shorn of any being apart from a few stray dogs looking for a place to retire for the night. Maya’s initial excitement had slowly ebbed as the night wore on. It seemed like the intruder had decided against drawing the symbols tonight. Had he already fulfilled what he wanted to? Were there only two codes to be shared? She could only speculate. When the Temple Bridge clock tolled 1, she decided to get up and walk away. The bug bites from the jute sack were becoming unbearable. Maya folded the sack and the sheet and dusted herself. The street had been devoid of any traffic for the last one hour but as soon as Maya got up she saw a face she least expected to find at this hour.

  Ernst Wilhelm trundled through the street, swaying unsteadily from one side to the other. Maya had first met the Junior Lieutenant a few months ago while working on the case of a mysterious grave robber. He was an officer in the Vasco Constabulary and together they had solved the mystery. The two had crossed paths often after that. Usually dressed immaculately in his uniform, Ernst surprised her by his shabby appearance. His bright blue shirt was untucked and he had unbuckled his belt and put it on his shoulder. The High Guard seemed to be drunk. He peered curiously at Maya, his eyes twinkling in recognition. Maya suddenly became very conscious of her appearance, her hair, she realized were disheveled and sequined with twigs and dirt, her skirt was white with dust, and jute threads lingered all over her frame. Maya tried to walk away hiding her face but Ernst was quick to catch up with her.

  “Maya!” he exclaimed, visibly overjoyed. The officer reeked of alcohol and found it hard to keep steady. “I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you from far off, but it is you all right. Are you not,” he grinned idiotically swaying from side to side, “Are you having a party as well? Like me.”

  Maya straightened her hair and fidgeted her feet looking for an excuse.

  “I was at a friend’s house but suddenly remembered that I had to be at home, so I am going back now.”

  Ernst didn’t seem to be in any condition to scrutinize her excuse.

  “Do you want me to walk you to your house?” he asked.

  “No, it’s quite all right. I think I can keep myself safe.”

  The High Guard smiled, “yes I know that.”

  Not so long ago Maya had saved Ernst from a bunch of occult monks adamant at sacrificing the High Guard to get arcane powers.

  “What are you doing here though,” asked Maya, “are you working night shift.”

  “Night shift!” exclaimed Ernst, “What makes you think I work in shifts. I have no shift. I work the whole day and the whole night and the time between. This damned city is teeming with criminals, it wouldn’t do if I work in shift. They would run riot, these rascals.” Ernst puffed up his chest and grinned, “I took tonight off though. I was not working.”

  He suddenly lost his footing and had to grab a lamppost to steady himself.

  “Tonight I was with a few colleagues celebrating in a pub nearby, just round this street. One of my fellow officers has left the department. He is moving to South Africa, says he has an uncle there whose fortune he is inheriting. Lucky bastard! He is leaving the day after in the Ship to Cape Town. So, a dozen of us friends thought that we’d give him a farewell.”

  Maya nodded. “If you don’t like your job you too have a reasonable fortune to inherit,” she said. Ernst Wilhelm was the only son of one of the richest merchants of Cardim, but he had become a High Guard, much against his father’s wishes, because he had no interest in running a business. He had even left his sprawling bungalow and lived in a shabby apartment.

  Ernst grinned again. “Don’t take me too seriously,” he said, “I don’t think you realize that I am very slightly drunk.”

  “Oh are you?”

  “Don’t tell no one.”

  “I will not.” Maya prepared to take leave.

  “I should go now?” she said, “I would be able to get a hansom from the bridge.”

  “No, no!” Ernst protested, “It is not safe. I will accompany you. Let’s go.”

  He held her hand and pulled her along.

  “Wait,” said Maya, “the bridge is on the other side.”

  The High Guard scratched his head. “You are right. I am slightly drunk you know.”

  He turned slowly, careful not to lose his footing, and took a step towards the Temple Bridge but was jerked back. Maya, whose hand he still held, stood rooted to her place. She had cast one final glance at the professor’s house before leaving and found that the third window was no longer blank. It too was covered in the same strange symbols as the other two windows.

  SEVEN

  Man in a Coat

  Maya hurried to the door of the professor’s house, leaving Ernst fumbling on the pavement. She had nicked the key hoop from the professor’s pocket before taking his leave in the evening. There were half a dozen keys in the hoop and it took three attempts for Maya to finally open the main door and step inside. The house lay in complete darkness and apart from the faint rhythmic snoring of the old man it was wrapped in a veil of silence. Maya lit a match and hopped softly to the room whose window had been subjected to the latest bout of calligraphy. It lay to the right of the living room and the door was locked. Carefully Maya again tried the keys to open the door and this time found success in the very first attempt. Unlike the rest of the house, the room was not dark, a candle was lit on a tall circular table just beside the window, perhaps to make it easy for the outsider to see the symbols. Maya took the candle and surveyed the room. It was empty, there was no piece of furniture other than the tall circular table upon which the candle had been kept, no place for the intruder to hide. And yet there was no sign of the person who had drawn the symbols. Bending down, Maya found the same muddy footsteps all over the place. There was no other clue, no place where the man could have vanished. The floorboards all looked solid, so did the walls. How could someone just vanish in thin air? Exasperated, Maya studied the symbols, again the same pattern of 8 characters with no specific meaning. She was copying the symbols in her notebook when she suddenly saw some movement out on the street. A man in an overcoat and a top hat had stopped just in front of the house and was gazing curiously towards the window, a notepad in hand.

  Maya’s heart stopped beating for a moment. This was the man.

  Maya opened the window to get a better look at him. But it was too dark and as soon as the window opened, the man pocketed the notepad, pulled his overcoat around his face, and began to flee. Maya could not let him escape. She grabbed her purse and dexterously (her years in circus jumping through flaring hoops helping her) jumped out of the window. The man was tall and had long quick strides. When Maya emerged onto the street, there was already a gap of a hundred yards between the two. She looked back towards Ernst but the High Guard was lying on the pavement snoring. The young woman took off her one shoe and began to run like a being possessed. She had to catch the man, there was no other way. This was her only chance at solving this mystery.

  Cold night breeze rushed past her disheveled hair as she crossed rows of sleeping houses. Stray dogs dozing on the wayside behind garbage bins peered at her with droopy eyes, the more industrious ones stood up and followed her
barking. The tall man looked back once or twice but the distance between the two was so great that his features were not visible at all. At the end of Mill Street, the man stood still for a moment looking towards both sides, as if making his mind, then took a left towards the temple bridge. It was clear that he was not from this area. Maya gave chase breathlessly, the distance between the two actually seemed to have reduced by a dozen yards. The two ran on almost empty roads until the man entered the stone archway to the Temple Bridge. The Temple Bridge, a living breathing structure, with houses and shops built on an ancient stone bridge was crowded even at this time of the night. A narrow paved path threaded through the packed rows of houses and wooden shops. Underneath the bridge, the Arabian Sea heaved and hissed. The man glanced once more towards Maya before turning and clattering into a fisherman with a basket full of fishes upon his head. He got up, adjusted his hat, then slipped once on the slimy water before continuing onwards even as the fisherman aimed a fish at him as well as a flurry of swears. The bridge was bustling with activity – hawkers on carts, washermen venturing to work, fishermen with baskets, people throwing garbage out into the sea. It was hard to keep pace in the crowded lane, harder still to keep an eye on the running man. There was no way that Maya could overtake him through the crowd. She looked around. On the left, the rows of houses and shops with their gabled roof provided a better vantage point. Maya rushed towards a wooden cart parked beside a house, clambered upon it even as the people around stopped on their tracks to observe the crazy woman. Maya then stepped upon a window, climbed above onto the window arch, then crossed one window more and emerged onto the gabled roof. From her high vantage point, she scanned the crowded bridge. It took her little time to locate the man on the road below. He was still running, glancing at times behind him to locate his follower. Maya began to rush forward on the roof, jumping from one house to the next and soon was exactly above the man. The hat upon his head prevented her from getting a clearer view at him, he seemed to have also tied a handkerchief around his face. In another fifty yards the bridge would end and the man would emerge once more on the open road, he might even be able to board a hansom and it would be impossible to get to him then. Maya decided to rush onwards then clamber down into the street and intercept the man. But there was a problem, the continuous row of houses was broken in the middle by an empty space where a house had recently been demolished. A space of more than 20 feet lay between Maya and the next house. If she clambered to the street here, she would still be behind the man she was following. She had to get over to the other side. A single jute rope hung from the roof to the other side. Maya stepped upon the rope. It had been three years since she had practiced the trick of walking on a rope but figured she could still do it. Failure would mean certain death. But there was no other choice.