Maya looked around the hall, locked doors were not much of a problem for her (she had spent two years of her life assisting the renowned escape artist Harry Lockbreaker) but breaking into her chairman’s cabin was more of an issue. If Mr. Grington found that she had intruded in his cabin, her job was as good as gone. With her reputation of laxity at work, he only needed one good reason to fire her.
She tried to brush the thought aside once more and focus on the book. It was all for the best, she could not afford to lose her job.
But the thought still lingered in front of her eyes, dancing teasingly.
There was no other way. She had to confirm her theory.
Maya got up and looked around the hall. The guard was not about. Maya tiptoed stealthily to the cabin door, took out a hoop of skeletal keys from her bag, and silently opened the lock.
Mr. Grington’s small cabin was flush with orange evening light. On a large table in the center of the room, lay a collection of pens and multicolored inkwells as well as a thick bundle of papers, while a wicker basket in the corner of the table, carried a collection of envelopes. Maya drifted to the table to check the envelopes. They were all either bills or business correspondence.
Disappointed, Maya arranged the envelopes back as they had been and scanned the room for any other place where the letter could be hidden. Her glance went to the cupboard near the door. It was locked.
Maya wielded her skeletal keys once more and opened the door. There was no mistaking the envelopes at the root of the mystery. They lay half peeking from within a diary. She snatched them out, took out the three slips of paper, and sat down on Mr. Grington’s chair to analyze them.
They had been put together by a young man, she deduced, the letters had been cut by a shaving razor, not by scissors (A few slice marks on the paper upon which the alphabets had been stuck told her that). There was a tiny spot of blood on the second letter which said that the man was in haste.
Then from her bag, Maya took out the seven newspapers which she read each day. Each newspaper used its own distinct custom typeface which differentiated it from all others. If she could find out which newspapers were used to cut out these alphabets, she might be able to get some more clues about the author of the notes.
She took the first note and held it successively against each of the seven newspapers. But there were no matches. The newspapers that Maya had in her bag were the most widely read dailies of Cardim and it was strange that there were no matches. However, the second and third notes were surely cut out from The Dusk. The typeface matched exactly.
Why then was the first note different? She took it in her hand and gave it a greater scrutiny. It took her a minute to figure out. She hadn’t looked at the postage stamp on the envelope. This letter hadn’t been sent from Cardim at all but from Madras. While the last two letters had been sent from Cardim, the first letter had been posted from a different city altogether. That was interesting. The blackmailer knew Mr. Grington, was a young male and had moved from Madras to Cardim within the last two weeks. The answer was clear as soon as she had repeated it in her mind. Grington’s 18-year-old son studied in Madras and he had recently returned to Cardim.
Maya jumped in joy. The mystery was clear. Mr. Grington’s son had found about his father’s infidelity and was blackmailing him in the hope of some added allowance. Maya didn’t blame the boy, she was sure that he saw very little of the money that his miser father and his firm made.
Maya let out a sigh. Now that she knew the secret, it felt like a huge boulder had lifted off her head, she felt pleasant and sane, and remarkably light.
She was hopping about the cabin, basking in the glory of her correct deduction when she heard steps outside the room. The guard of the office had come on his hourly inspection. Quickly, she pocketed the letters and bent down to hide below the table.
Trying not to breathe too loudly, Maya saw the heavy leather boots of the guard emerge at the door to the cabin. He must have seen the room open and had drifted in to inspect. Maya’s gaze followed the shoes as they wove around the room looking for anything suspicious. The guard did not bother to bend down and peek under the table and after a brief inspection which produced no significant results, he turned to walk out the room closing the door behind him. Maya waited for a couple of minutes before getting out from under the table.
But there was a problem, the door was locked from the outside. The guard, who had all the keys to the office, had put a lock outside. With no access to the keyhole, there was no way that she could open it.
Maya walked about the cabin thinking of a possible escape. Could she just call the guard and ask him to let her out? She could tell him that she had some urgent business in the cabin and had drifted in. But that would lead to a lot of uncomfortable questions. She would not be able to explain how she had drifted into a closed room. Maya could also wait inside until the morning when Mr. Grington would open the cabin. But that would be even worse. She chuckled imagining the face of Mr. Grington as he opened the cabin in the morning and found her sprawled in his chair. No! She had to think of something else.
Could she jump out of the window?
The office of Grington and Basse was on the fifth floor of the building. Maya opened the large window and peered down onto the street. A collection of sewer pipes ran along the wall close to the window all the way down to the road. There were window sheds on the way down as well which she could use as supports during her descent. It was certainly a risk but Maya had no other choice. She adjusted her skirt and put a leg outside the window, then, taking the support of the shutters heaved herself upon the window sill. Maya did not have a great fear of heights, as a child, she had walked on a tightrope for a while in circus. Slowly, she held one of the pipes running along the wall and pulled herself upon it, latching to it like a lizard. But the pipe was leaking, and it was hard to grip its slippery surface. Just a yard into her descent, Maya narrowly avoided slipping to her death by grabbing a window shed at the last moment. She gathered her breath dried her hands and tried once more. This time she managed to clamber down two floors before she had to take the support of the window once again. A couple of passersby on the busy street below had noticed her climbing down a window and had begun to excitedly gesticulate at her. If she did not hurry she might make the newspapers tomorrow and her hopes of keeping her intrusion into Mr. Grington’s cabin a secret would suffer a fatal blow. Taking a deep breath, she once again pulled herself to the pipe. But there was a crack in the plumbing that she hadn’t seen and as soon as she put her weight upon it, the pipe snapped from the middle and peeled off the wall like banana skin throwing Maya two floors down to the street.
5
The Disowned Peacock
Captain Ernst Wilhelm trundled to his desk in the Vasco constabulary and threw his cap upon the dirty table, where it formed a veritable blue dome upon a tower of unopened files. The High Guard then loosened the buttons of his shirt, tucked it out of his trousers, and stood straight. He put his hands up in the air stretching his frame taller until his ribs cracked and the strained muscles of his calf and thighs tensed. He twisted his torso right and left and finally took a deep breath. The exercise produced no noteworthy effect, Ernst still felt sleepy. He pulled his chair out, blew the dust of it, and dropped into it like a log.
He would have gone through the files on the table and the notes and memos which flapped like severed colorful tongues under a pen stand, but he was too tired. The High Guard had not slept in three nights. All thanks to a bunch of folks intent upon making a fortune by looting dead men in graves.
Captain Ernst Wilhelm was the chief of the Grave Robbery department of the Vasco Constabulary. His designation was the cause of envy of many others in the Constabulary given that he had joined the High Guards just two months ago. They obviously had little knowledge that the department he led had three people in all, including himself. One young High Guard and two elderly Longstaff Constables fighting the army of grave robbers in the city o
f Cardim. It was no surprise that he hadn’t slept for three nights.
He looked around the constabulary, all six desks in the hall were empty. No one in the office pulled in so early on a Sunday morning. Ernst dragged his chair further back, kept his aching legs upon the table, and sprawled back in his chair as much as he could. He had learned in the last month to savor these brief moments of rest as much as he could, he could never be sure when he would be allowed to taste them next.
Ernst closed his eyes and couldn’t help but wonder how his father would react if the old man saw him in this state. Incredibly, he could not visualize his father’s face at all. Even though just two months had passed since he had seen him last, he had trouble remembering Friedrich Wilhelm. Perhaps, when his father had banished Ernst from his estate and property, he had also revoked all access to his memories. A fitting punishment to a disobeying son.
Till he was disowned two months ago, Ernst was Friedrich Wilhelm’s only son and the heir apparent to the Wilhelm Bank. Destined to one day succeed his father as the chairman. His life had been decided on the day of his birth. Writ on his forehead by the iron will of his father who had picked him up from the crib in the hospital and put him on a long and winding rail track headed straight to the chairman’s throne. Braced in the railway trolley, Ernst did not have too much say in his future. His father had planned his lifetime in advance. Since the age of three, he spent his days in the company of private tutors learning mathematics, accounts, and languages (he knew seven). By the age of 16, he was ready to go to the university to learn more about business and managing people. Four years more and everything was set for the final crowning (Friedrich had already started to explore other interests to enjoy in his retirement). But when Ernst passed out of the university at 20 to finally replace his father as the chairman, he realized that he wasn’t so keen about the prospect anymore. In fact, by that time he had been so tired of preparing to lead the bank that it was the last thing he wanted to do with his life. He didn’t really have anything against the profession, but it was just the idea of doing what he had been told to do all his life. It felt like if he chose to succeed his father in the bank he would surrender his personality, he would become one of those puppets in the puppet show who seemed like they were dancing and having a good time but they were being controlled by other invisible hands. So, to break those puppet shackles Ernst had decided to skip succeeding his father in the bank and chart his own course in life. And for good measure, he had decided to choose a profession that would pose a struggle. The unexpected rebellion had been too much for Freidrich who had overreacted dramatically and kicked him out of the house.
Now, sitting on his desk, his dress soiled, his eyes red from lack of sleep and legs aching from exertion, Ernst Wilhelm wondered if he would have been better off heading to the bank. He knew he had signed up for a challenge when he had joined the High Guards, but even he had never anticipated what would follow in the next two months.
Eager eyed and high in spirits, Ernst Wilhelm had been assigned to the newly created department of grave robbing on his first day at the job. The Captain was initially stationed under a Sergeant officer but four days into his stint, the Sergeant had to be taken off to be assigned to a case of double murder in Sophia and Ernst was left to lead a team of two Longstaffs to break the back of the grave robbers of the city. One young High Guard who knew nothing about policing and two elderly Longstaffs who couldn’t run 50 yards at a stretch.
The team had all the signs of being a success.
By the least estimate, a couple of hundred grave robbers operated at any given day in Cardim. To ask three men to deal with them felt like an exercise in failure. A week into his job, Ernst had gathered the courage to complain to his senior about the lack of resources. He was promptly told that there were no other men to spare. It was hard enough to take care of the living in this city of 15 Million. To squander men and resources on the dead was absurd. In any case, Ernst was told, no one really expected him to succeed in the endeavor. The creation of the department was merely an exercise of public relations, the Minister of Order wanted to show the people that something was being done about the growing problem of grave robbing in the city. Even if that something was ridiculously little, it did not matter.
But Ernst hadn’t let the lack of expectations affect his work in any way. Like any diligent newcomer bubbling with excitement, he had taken to the job like a soldier. He got a map of the city, outlined all the major cemeteries and graveyards, then went through the FIR registers of the nearby constabularies and guard stations to highlight the areas where the problem was the most widespread. He had then made a priority list of Cemeteries that needed to be investigated. In the two months that he had been in the job, Ernst had already arrested 40 suspected robbers and identified 50 more. The frequency of grave robbing too had gone down immensely.
But this success had come at a cost.
For three nights now he had been camping in the graveyards in Vasco trying to nab a particularly notorious grave robber going by the name of Jack. His efforts had been in vain till now, but he hoped to be successful soon. Jack’s capture would be a big victory. He might even be able to afford a bit of a break after that.
The thought gave him some respite.
Ernst’s gaze was suddenly captured by a green memo on his desk. The green message chits were reserved exclusively for the director of the constabulary. He reached over to read the memo. It was indeed from the director.
Come to my cabin as soon as you can in the morning.
Director Horace Ibrahim, the Chief of Vasco Constabulary was a tall wide man with a bald head and no appetite for failure. He spent eighteen hours in his office daily, huddled in his cabin holding briefings with all the Department heads, occasionally berating them loud enough for the whole constabulary to listen. His booming voice, when he vented his frustrations on his juniors, made Ernst’s desk shiver and he was thankful for not being the one in front of the director. He had met Horace twice, once upon joining the Constabulary and more recently on the Annual day which had happened last month. On both occasions, he had shaken hands with the man and had been left with a lingering feeling that Horace didn’t quite like him. Others in the constabulary had that impression as well. Horace did not particularly like anyone around. And the dislike was mutual.
“Take a seat,” said Horace as Ernst dawdled into his cabin. The High Guard had spent a couple of minutes trying to tidy himself in the washroom but so much grit had accumulated upon his frame that the effort had produced little result. The director was sitting behind a large mahogany table, poring through a file. The scarlet blinds upon the large window of the cabin hadn’t been raised which made the room curiously red. As if with rancor.
“You do not look particularly well-rested,” Horace Ibrahim said as Ernst took his place. Sitting in front of the director, he was reminded of the only time he had been called to the principal’s cabin in his college. He had gotten drunk (for the first time in his life) and scaled the wall to the Principal’s residence to shout profanities at him.
“Yes sir,” said Ernst, “I have been busy on a case and…”
“I do not expect you to have too much rest in the coming days either.” The director signed the file that he had been reading, closed it, and took up another from the pile lying on his table.
“Sorry sir, I don’t understand”
“I’ve heard that you were responsible for filling the jail cells with grave robbers?”
“Yes sir, I lead the grave robbing…”
“Now I want you to do some real work”
The director opened the drawer to his table, took out a file from it, and pushed it towards Ernst.
“Mr. William Slughorn,” said Horace as Ernst flipped through the pages, “runs a museum of absurdities in Dorado. He exhibitions all sorts of human abnormalities. People who are too small or with two heads and limbs, people born with a tail, or with long necks. Recently he had acquired the skeleton of the
world’s tallest man. A man called the Ladder who was a part of the Madras Circus and passed away last month. He expected the skeleton to draw an immense crowd to his museum. The Ladder, as you might already be familiar, was one of the world’s most popular circus artists, and consequently, my friend had to part with a great deal of money for his remains. To the tune of 50,000 Cowries. But as luck would have it, before the skeleton could be transported from North Bank morgue to the Museum in Dorado, a thief somehow managed to break into the morgue at night and steal the skull, a thigh bone, and three fingers of the skeleton. That was around a week ago.
Yesterday, Sergeant Percy Williams who was investigating the case, arrested a man from the Flea Market who was charging 1 Cowrie from people to touch a finger bone of the Ladder, which he claimed would give the people, among other things, sexual powers. We have arrested that man but he does not know a great deal about the thief. He claims he won the bone from a man in a game of cards. Unfortunately for us, Mr. Slughorn happens to be the brother in law of the Minister of Order and as you can imagine he is putting a lot of pressure on us for a swift resolution of his problem. I had appointed Sergeant Williams on the case but he has had a terrible personal tragedy, his father who lived in Bombay has passed away and he has to go away for a week to his family there. In his absence, I want you to take up the case. Do you understand?”
Ernst nodded, still flipping absently through the file.
“Yes, sir,”
“So, when will you get me the stolen stuff,” Horace asked all of a sudden.
Ernst was slightly taken aback.
“Sorry, sir, I don’t think I can comment on that now. I have hardly looked…”
“I don’t have time Captain,” roared the director, “don’t blabber. Give me a date.”
The Anatomist (Maya Mystery Book 2) Page 3