The Midnight Palace

by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

  Halfway along, he stopped to look back and saw that the head of the train was already lost in shadow. As he was about to resume his walk, he noticed a face pale as death staring at him from one of the windows of the nearest carriage.

  He turned his head abruptly and his heart skipped a beat. A boy of about seven was watching him attentively with penetrating dark eyes. Ben took a step in his direction. The boy opened his lips and flames issued forth, setting fire to the image which then crumbled in front of Ben like a piece of dry paper. Ben felt an icy cold settle on the nape of his neck as he continued walking, ignoring the horrific murmur of voices that seemed to be coming from some hidden place within the train.

  When he finally reached the guard’s van he walked up to the door and pushed the handle. Inside, hundreds of candles were burning. Ben stepped inside and the faces of Isobel, Ian, Seth, Michael, Roshan and Siraj lit up with hope. Ben gave a sigh of relief.

  ‘Now we’re all here, maybe we can start the game,’ said a familiar voice next to him.

  Ben turned and saw Jawahal’s arms locked round his sister. The door of the van slid shut, like an armour-plated hatch, and Jawahal let go of Sheere, who ran over to Ben.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, hugging her.

  ‘Of course she’s all right,’ Jawahal snapped.

  ‘Are all of you all right?’ Ben asked the members of the Chowbar Society, who were handcuffed on the floor.

  ‘Perfectly fine,’ Ian confirmed.

  They exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Ben nodded.

  ‘If any of you has the slightest scratch,’ Jawahal said, ‘it’s only due to your own clumsiness.’

  Ben turned to Jawahal, moving Sheere to one side.

  ‘Tell us what you want.’

  Jawahal looked surprised.

  ‘Nervous, Ben? In a hurry to get it over with? I’ve waited sixteen years for this moment; I can wait a little longer. Especially now that Sheere and I are enjoying our new relationship.’

  The possibility that Jawahal had revealed his identity to Sheere was gnawing at Ben. Jawahal seemed to read his mind.

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Ben,’ said Sheere. ‘This man killed our father. Whatever he says is as worthless as the dirt covering this dump.’

  ‘Harsh words to say about a friend,’ Jawahal remarked.

  ‘I’d rather die than be your friend.’

  ‘Our friendship, Sheere, is only a matter of time,’ Jawahal whispered.

  His smile suddenly disappeared, and at a signal from his hand, Sheere was sent flying towards the other end of the van, as if she’d been hit by an invisible battering ram.

  ‘Now get some rest. Soon we’ll be together for ever …’

  Sheere crashed against the metal wall and fell unconscious to the ground. Ben rushed towards her, but the iron pressure of Jawahal’s hand restrained him.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said. Then, throwing an icy glance at the others, he added, ‘The next person to say anything will have his lips sealed by fire.’

  ‘Let go of me,’ groaned Ben. He felt as if the hand holding him by the scruff of the neck was about to dislocate his vertebrae.

  Suddenly Jawahal let go, and Ben collapsed on the floor.

  ‘Get up and listen to me,’ Jawahal ordered. ‘I hear you have some kind of secret fraternity in which you’ve sworn to protect one another until death. Is that right?’

  ‘It is,’ said Siraj from the floor.

  An invisible fist hit the boy hard, knocking him over like a rag doll.

  ‘I didn’t ask you, boy. Ben, are you going to reply, or shall we play a little game with your friend’s asthma?’

  ‘Leave him alone. It’s true,’ replied Ben.

  ‘Good. Then allow me to congratulate you on the fabulous job you’ve done so far by bringing your friends here. First-class protection.’

  ‘You said you’d give us a chance,’ Ben reminded him.

  ‘I know what I said. How much do you value the life of your friends, Ben?’

  The boy turned pale.

  ‘Do you not understand the question, or do you want me to discover the answer in some other way?’

  ‘I value their lives as I value my own.’

  Jawahal gave a fiendish grin.

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘I don’t care what you believe.’

  ‘Then let’s see if your fine words tally with reality,’ said Jawahal. ‘I promised this was going to be fun, so here’s the deal. There are seven of you, not counting Sheere. She’s out of the game. For each one of you, there’s a closed box containing … a mystery.’

  Jawahal pointed to a row of wooden boxes painted different colours that resembled a set of small letter boxes.

  ‘Each one has a hole in the front that allows you to stick your hand in, but you can’t remove it for a few seconds. It’s like a trap for inquisitive people. Imagine that each one of these boxes contains the life of one of your friends, Ben. In fact, that’s true, for in each one there’s a small wooden board bearing a name. You can put your hand in and remove it. Every time you pull out someone’s name, I will free them. But, of course, there’s a risk. One of the boxes, instead of life, holds death.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Have you ever seen an asp, Ben? A small beast with a volatile temper. Do you know anything about snakes?’

  ‘I know what an asp is,’ replied Ben, feeling weak.

  ‘Then I’ll spare you the details. All you need to know is that one of the boxes contains an asp.’

  ‘Don’t do it, Ben,’ said Ian.

  Jawahal gave him an evil stare.

  ‘Ben, I’m waiting. I don’t think anyone in the whole of Calcutta could make you a more generous offer. Seven lives and only one possibility for error.’

  ‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ asked Ben.

  Jawahal raised a long forefinger and slowly shook his head.

  ‘Lying is one of the few things I don’t do, Ben. You should know that. Make up your mind. If you don’t have the courage to play the game and prove that your friends are as valuable to you as you would lead us to believe, say so now and we’ll let someone with more guts take their chances.’

  Ben held Jawahal’s gaze and nodded.

  ‘Ben, no,’ Ian said again.

  ‘Tell your friend to shut up, Ben,’ Jawahal said. ‘Or I will.’

  ‘Don’t make it more difficult, Ian,’ Ben pleaded.

  ‘Ian is right, Ben,’ said Isobel. ‘If he wants to kill us, let him do it. Don’t allow yourself to be tricked.’

  Ben raised a hand for silence and turned to face Jawahal.

  ‘Do I have your word?’

  Jawahal looked at Ben long and hard and finally nodded in assent.

  ‘Then let’s not waste any more time.’

  BEN EXAMINED THE SEVEN wooden boxes carefully, trying to imagine in which one of them Jawahal would have hidden the snake. Attempting to decipher the thinking behind the arrangement of colours was like trying to reconstruct a puzzle without being familiar with the image it formed. The asp could be in one of the boxes at the end or in one in the middle, in one of the brightly coloured boxes or the one with shiny black paint. Guesswork was superfluous, and Ben realised his mind had gone blank faced with the decision he had to take.

  ‘The first is the most difficult,’ whispered Jawahal. ‘Choose without thinking.’

  All Ben could see in Jawahal’s impenetrable eyes was the reflection of his own pale frightened face. He silently counted to three, closed his eyes and quickly thrust his hand into one of the boxes. The seconds that followed seemed interminable, as he waited to feel the rough touch of a scaly body, followed by the sting of the asp’s fangs. None of that happened; after an agonising few moments, his fingers touched a wooden board and Jawahal gave him a smile.

  ‘Well chosen. Black. The colour of the future.’

  Ben pulled out the board and read the name written
on it. Siraj. He looked enquiringly at Jawahal, who nodded. They all heard the click of the handcuffs restraining the frail boy.

  ‘Siraj,’ said Ben. ‘Leave this train and get out of here.’

  Siraj rubbed his aching wrists and looked sadly at his friends.

  ‘I have no intention of leaving,’ he replied.

  ‘Do as Ben says, Siraj,’ said Ian, trying to control his tone of voice.

  Siraj shook his head. Isobel tried to smile.

  ‘Siraj, go,’ she pleaded. ‘Do it for me.’

  The boy hesitated.

  ‘We don’t have all night,’ said Jawahal. ‘Either you leave or you stay. Only idiots turn down a piece of good luck. And tonight you’ve used up your life’s supply.’

  ‘Siraj!’ ordered Ben. ‘Just go! Give me some help.’

  Siraj looked desperately at Ben, but his friend’s expression remained unflinching. At last Siraj bowed his head in assent and walked over to the heavy metal door.

  ‘Don’t stop until you reach the river,’ instructed Jawahal, ‘or you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Ben replied for him.

  ‘I’ll wait for you,’ Siraj called from the steps of the van.

  ‘See you soon, Siraj. Now go.’

  The boy’s footsteps could be heard receding down the tunnel. Jawahal raised his eyebrows to indicate that the game should continue.

  ‘I’ve kept my promise, Ben. Now it’s your turn. There are fewer boxes. It’s easier to choose. Make up your mind and another of your friends could soon be saved.’

  Ben’s eyes rested on the box next to the one he’d chosen. It was as good as any other. Slowly he stretched out his hand and paused when he was almost touching the flap.

  ‘Are you sure, Ben?’ asked Jawahal.

  Ben looked at him in exasperation.

  ‘Think twice. Your first choice was perfect; don’t go and ruin it now.’

  Ben smiled scornfully at him and, without taking his eyes off Jawahal, he thrust his hand into the box. Jawahal’s pupils narrowed like those of a cat. Ben pulled out the wooden board and read the name.

  ‘Seth,’ he said, ‘get out of here.’

  Seth’s handcuffs opened immediately and the boy stood up.

  ‘I don’t like this, Ben.’

  ‘I like it even less than you do,’ Ben answered. ‘Now leave, and make sure Siraj doesn’t get lost.’

  Seth nodded gravely, aware that the alternative to following Ben’s instructions might put everyone’s lives at risk. He gave his friends a farewell wave and headed for the door. When he got there he turned and looked at all the members of the Chowbar Society.

  ‘We’ll survive this one, do you hear me?’

  His friends nodded with as much hope as the law of probability permitted.

  ‘As for you, sir,’ said Seth, pointing at Jawahal, ‘you’re nothing but a pile of dung.’

  Jawahal licked his lips.

  ‘It’s easy to play the hero when you’re about to abandon your friends to a certain death, isn’t it, Seth? You can insult me again if you like; I’m not going to do anything to you. It might even help you sleep better when you remember this night and when some of those present have become food for worms. You can always tell people that you, brave Seth, insulted the villain, can’t you? But, deep down, you and I both know the truth, don’t we, Seth?’

  Seth’s face reddened with anger and his eyes flashed with hatred. He began to walk towards Jawahal, but Ben threw himself in the way.

  ‘Please, Seth,’ he whispered in his ear. ‘Go now. Please.’

  Seth gave Ben one last look and nodded, pressing his arm firmly. Ben waited for his friend to leave then confronted Jawahal once again.

  ‘This wasn’t part of the deal,’ Ben reproached him. ‘I’m not going to continue if you keep tormenting my friends.’

  ‘You’ll do it whether you want to or not. You have no alternative. Still, as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll keep my comments on your friends to myself. Now continue.’

  Ben stared at the five remaining boxes. His eyes rested on the one on the far right. Without further ado, he stuck his hand in and groped about inside. Another board. Ben took a deep breath and heard a sigh of relief from his friends.

  ‘There’s an angel watching over you, Ben,’ said Jawahal. The boy looked at the wooden rectangle.

  ‘Isobel.’

  ‘The lady’s in luck,’ remarked Jawahal.

  ‘Shut up,’ muttered Ben, fed up with the comments Jawahal seemed to enjoy making with each new move in the macabre game. ‘Isobel, see you soon.’

  Isobel stood up and walked past her friends, her head bowed and her feet dragging as if they were stuck to the floor.

  ‘No last word for Michael, Isobel?’ asked Jawahal.

  ‘Leave it,’ Ben implored. ‘What do you expect to achieve out of all this?’

  ‘Choose another box,’ replied Jawahal. ‘Then you’ll see what I’m hoping to achieve.’

  As Isobel stepped down from the van, Ben considered the four remaining boxes.

  ‘Have you decided, Ben?’ asked Jawahal.

  The boy nodded and stood in front of the box that was painted red.

  ‘Red. The colour of passion,’ Jawahal remarked. ‘And of fire. Go ahead, Ben. I think tonight’s your lucky night.’

  AS SHEERE OPENED HER eyes she saw Ben approaching the red box, his arm outstretched. A stab of panic ripped through her body. She sat up abruptly and hurled herself towards Ben as quickly as she could – she couldn’t let her brother put his hand in that box. The lives of those boys were meaningless to Jawahal; they were nothing but a convenient way of pushing Ben towards his own destruction. Jawahal needed Ben to hand over his own death willingly in order to clear a path for him. That way the accursed spirit could enter her and escape from those dark tunnels; be reincarnated in a being of flesh and blood.

  Sheere had realised there was just one option remaining, one sole action capable of ruining the puzzle Jawahal had constructed around them. Only she could alter the course of events, doing the one thing in the universe that Jawahal had not foreseen.

  The moments that followed became etched in her mind like a series of minutely detailed sketches.

  Sheere covered the six metres that separated her from her brother at breakneck speed, avoiding the remaining three members of the Chowbar Society, who lay manacled on the floor. As Ben turned round, his first look was of confusion and surprise, then of horror. Jawahal had risen and each finger of his right hand was ablaze, transforming it into a fiery claw. Sheere heard Ben’s scream fade into a distant echo as she crashed against him, pushing him down and pulling his hand away from the hole in the red box. Ben fell to the floor and Sheere saw Jawahal rising above her, stretching out his burning claw towards her face. She fixed her eyes on the eyes of the murderer and read the despairing refusal taking shape on his lips. Time seemed to stand still around her.

  Tenths of a second later Sheere was thrusting her hand through the opening in the scarlet box. She felt the flap close over her wrist like the petals of a poisonous flower. Ben yelled out and Jawahal clenched his fiery fist in his face, but Sheere smiled triumphantly and at some point she felt the asp strike her with its mortal kiss. The blast of poison lit up the blood running through her veins like a spark igniting a stream of petrol.

  BEN PUT HIS ARMS round his sister and pulled her hand out of the red box, but it was already too late. Two bleeding puncture wounds shone on the pale skin on the back of her wrist. Sheere gave a brief smile as she began to lose consciousness.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she mumbled, but before she could utter another syllable her body started shaking, her legs gave way and she collapsed on top of him.

  ‘Sheere!’ shouted Ben.

  He felt an indescribable nausea take hold of his whole being and the strength seemed to be running out of his body. He held Sheere and settled her on his lap, stroking her face.

  Sheere opened her eyes and smiled weakly, her face as w
hite as chalk.

  ‘It doesn’t hurt, Ben,’ she whispered.

  Each of her words felt like a kick to the stomach. Ben looked up in search of Jawahal. The spectre was observing the scene, his expression impenetrable. Their eyes met.

  ‘I never planned it this way, Ben,’ he said. ‘This is going to complicate matters.’

  Ben felt the anger growing inside him like an enormous crack, parting his soul in two.

  ‘You’re nothing but a murderer,’ he muttered.

  Jawahal took one last look at Sheere, who was trembling in Ben’s arms, and shook his head. His thoughts seemed to be far away.

  ‘Now only you and I remain, Ben,’ said Jawahal. ‘It’s heads or tails. Say goodbye to her then come in search of your revenge.’

  Jawahal’s face was suddenly swathed in a veil of flames and he turned away, passing through the door that connected the guard’s van to the rest of the train and leaving behind a breach that dripped with red-hot steel.

  Ben heard a crunch as the lock on Ian, Michael and Roshan’s handcuffs was released. Ian ran over and, grabbing hold of Sheere’s arm, he brought her wound to his mouth. He sucked hard and spat out the poisoned blood, which burnt his tongue. Michael and Roshan knelt down in front of the girl and looked at Ben in despair. He was cursing himself for having allowed precious seconds to go by without realising that he should have done what his friend was doing now.

  Ben raised his eyes and noticed the trail of flames Jawahal had left behind him, melting the metal like a cigar burning through paper. The train gave a sudden jolt and began to move through the tunnel as the engine’s thunderous roar filled the labyrinth of Jheeter’s Gate. Ben looked intently at Ian.

  ‘Take care of her.’

  ‘No, Ben,’ Ian pleaded, reading Ben’s thoughts. ‘Don’t go.’