THE CAMBODIAN CURSE AND OTHER STORIES

by Gigi Pandian

“He wouldn’t—” Daniella began, but stopped short of saying more.

  “Well, you and I didn’t do it,” Astrid said, “and why would Feisal steal his own chess set? I’m telling you, it was Izzy—”

  “May I have your attention, everyone!” A fair-haired man in a policeman’s uniform stood on a chair near the reception desk to address the crowd with a thick Scottish accent. The din of the crowd lessened slightly, but didn’t cease, which was probably because the policeman looked all of twenty years old. As someone who was often mistaken for an undergraduate while I was finishing my PhD, I should have been more forgiving of people who look young but need to exert their authority. In two weeks, I’d be teaching undergraduates as an Assistant Professor of History. I was twenty-nine but had inherited the same small bone structure as my Indian mom. I knew I was a good teacher, so I hoped I’d be perceived by my students as having more authority than this poor policeman.

  “The other floors of the hotel will be opened up soon enough,” the young officer said, raising his voice to be heard above the chatter. “But not immediately. Please go about your business and you should have access to your rooms again within an hour or two.”

  The crowd gave a collective groan. The police officer looked in our direction, then jumped down from the chair and walked straight to us. When he reached us, he glanced at the cell phone in his hand. On the screen was an image of the Fool’s Gold poster with a picture of the two actresses.

  “Daniella Stuart and Astrid Moreau?” he asked.

  He asked Daniella and Astrid to go to the station for a few questions, since they were staying in the suite with the theft. In spite of the respectful manner in which the request was made, it didn’t seem like a voluntary request.

  “Of course,” Daniella said. “Jaya, I’ll meet you back here as soon as we’re done.”

  Instead of finding out why a security guard of questionable character was guarding the chess set, I watched Daniella and Astrid disappear out the door.

  Clayton removed his gold glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I hope their input can shed some light on this mess,” he said. “God, this is awful. Join me for a pint while we wait?”

  I didn’t want a beer, but my stomach rumbled loudly. Clayton and I made our way through the lobby toward the hotel’s restaurant. At least that’s what we tried to do. It was entirely possible I would be crushed to death weaving my way through the crowded lobby. But the policeman’s words were beginning to have an effect on the hotel guests. The crowd thinned out and I spotted two seats at the end of the bar.

  I passed a woman speaking with her young son, who fell silent and turned to stare open-mouthed at Clayton as we passed. It wasn’t just the woman. Several people turned their heads to stare at him as we walked by. Though his outfit was outrageous, the rude behavior surprised me.

  I kept on walking until I reached the empty seats. I sat on a high-backed wooden stool and set my messenger bag at my feet. I expected Clayton would remove his Sherlock hat when we sat down, but he left it on.

  “I knew Feisal’s trusting nature would get him into trouble one of these days,” Clayton said. His shoulders slumped as he rested his elbows on the bar.

  “You think Feisal’s security guard stole the chess set?” I asked.

  “I fear so,” Clayton said. “I’ve known Feisal for years. I’ve bought many antiques from his London shop, and he’s become a good friend over the years. He was born in Egypt, educated in London. He fell in love with our great country and has been here ever since. He’s a good man, but he lets his emotions get the better of him when it comes to business decisions—such as whom he hires.”

  We ordered food from the bartender and I asked for a coffee to go with my leg of lamb since it was a bit early in the day for a beer. But as soon as the bartender set down a cup of instant Nescafé front of me, Clayton’s dark beer looked much more appealing. I should have known better than to order coffee in a Scottish bar.

  “Unless the gold chess pieces are recovered soon,” Clayton said as he raised he glass, “I may end up drinking far too many of these.”

  “The police must know something they aren’t sharing,” I said. “Otherwise they would have questioned all the guests, not just the four of them staying in the suite.”

  “I suspect they will be arresting Izzy, if they haven’t already.”

  “Why are you and Astrid so sure he’s guilty?” I asked. “Shouldn’t a security guard be the least likely person to be suspected?”

  “It’s his past,” Clayton said. I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t.

  “Which is?” I asked.

  “I don’t like to gossip about others,” Clayton said, drawing his lips together and adjusting his glasses. “It creates a negative energy that isn’t good for my alchemical transformations. You needn’t concern yourself with our problems. You’re here to enjoy the festival. So tell me, what do you do in America?”

  I couldn’t figure out Clayton Barnes. He seemed sincere in what he was saying and oblivious to the stares brought by his flamboyant Victorian clothing.

  He also had a good point. There wasn’t anything I could do. I was only being nosy. I would wait for Daniella to return from the police station, since I said I’d wait for her, but then I would go buy myself some clothes and enjoy the city. There was a tour of the castle scheduled in a couple of hours that I had been hoping to attend. I love guided tours because it’s interesting to see which parts of history the guides talk about.

  “I’m about to begin teaching history at a university in San Francisco,” I said.

  “Oh, a historian! How lovely. That’s why you asked if I studied historic alchemists. You don’t study them, do you?”

  “I specialize in Indian history,” I said. “My research is on the British East India Company.”

  Clayton squinted at me through his glasses. “You’re of Indian descent?”

  “My mom was Indian and I was born there. But after she died, my brother and I grew up in California with my dad, who’s American with typical mixed European descent.”

  “There were some extraordinary Indian alchemists,” Clayton said. “Arguably the Egyptians did the most to further the study of alchemy, but there’s a great tradition of Indian alchemy going back centuries.”

  “Really?”

  “The Bhairavis focus on mercury, not gold, with the goal of prolonging life rather than transforming metals, but the processes are the same.”

  “Turning lead into gold is the same as the secret to eternal life?”

  “They’re both about transformation,” Clayton said. “There’s real science behind these transformations. Modern chemistry is a branch of alchemy. Isaac Newton was an alchemist. He believed his alchemical work to be integral to his scientific studies. Aristotle was an alchemist, as was Socrates.”

  “You are a historian,” I said.

  “You caught me.” He grinned and loosened his ascot. “One needs to study the masters in order to learn their secrets.”

  “Let me ask you this,” I said. “Why doesn’t everyone go around turning lead into gold, if it’s possible? And why don’t we all live forever?”

  Clayton frowned. “You’re a skeptic. I understand. Most people are. They say I’m eccentric, that I have a screw loose. No, no. It’s true. I know what they say. It’s only natural. Most people can’t achieve the highest forms of alchemy, so it’s perfectly reasonable that they doubt what they cannot see for themselves.”

  “Couldn’t you show them?” I asked, thinking about Sanjay’s tricks.

  “It’s not easy to transform metals,” Clayton said. “Nor is it easy to transform oneself. And it’s not something that can be done in public.”

  “Since you’re one of the few people who have succeeded in this difficult process,” I said, “why don’t you make enough gold to solve all of the world’s problems?”


  “As a historian, surely you realize that money alone won’t solve the world’s problems.”

  “True enough,” I admitted. “But it could help.”

  “And I do,” Clayton said, a huge grin forming on his face. “You’re not from here, so you don’t know who I am. You see, I’m quite well known. I’m from a prominent old family, and I do a lot with charity causes.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. That explained why so many people in the crowd had been glancing in our direction. Clayton was famous.

  It wasn’t the Scottish people who were crazy. It was me who was ignorant. I’d been so caught up in my dissertation the last few years that even when living in London I hadn’t heard of him. I hadn’t had a television in my flat, and most of my reading was related to my research.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t realize—”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Clayton said. “That’s one of the reasons it’s been such a pleasure to speak with you. I’ve spoken more to you about alchemy this afternoon than I’ve done with anyone in ages, because you haven’t treated me condescendingly.” He paused and reached into his breast pocket. “I’m hosting a little party for charity at my castle tonight, since so many people are in town for the festival. The process to create gold is draining, so I do what I can, and donate much of it, but I need to convince others to do so as well. I hope you’ll attend—no donation expected, of course. You saw how upset Daniella is. You should help her take her mind off of this theft.”

  The elegant invitation he placed in my hand was printed on thick cream-colored paper with lettering that looked like gold leaf. Behind the letterpress text with information about the event was a light sketch of a stone castle surrounded by a forest.

  “I’m supposed to attend the opening night of my friend’s magic show tonight,” I said, “but if the timing works, I’d love to come. Thank you.”

  Clayton pursed his lips. I expected he wasn’t used to people turning down invitations to his castle.

  “I think you would be a big help to Daniella,” he said. “You can distract her from this nonsense. The castle is just outside the city, so it takes no time at all to get there.”

  He tossed off the word “castle” as casually as if he was saying “apartment.”

  “It’s only a small castle,” he said, reading my expression. “No real fortifications. It’s a glorified manor house with some beautiful gardens. It was owned by a sixteenth century alchemist. That’s why I bought it. He’s the one who named it Black Dragon Castle.”

  “Black Dragon?”

  “It’s an alchemical term,” Clayton said. “It symbolizes stages of transformation. The dragon is key to transformations. Integral,” he paused, “but dangerous.”

  FIVE

  We’d finished eating and I was halfway through a pint of strong post-lunch beer when a familiar face appeared.

  Daniella scanned the bar before spotting us and rushing up to me. She squeezed my hands, looking into my eyes with desperation. Smudges of eyeliner and mascara dotted her cheeks. She looked as if she might burst into a second round of tears any second.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked, realizing it was a stupid thing to say as soon as it came out of my mouth.

  “Where’s Feisal?” Clayton asked. “How did you get here first?”

  “Everything is wrong,” Daniella said. She wiped an errant tear off her cheek.

  “The theft is awful,” I said. “But it doesn’t sound like anyone got hurt. And surely Feisal has insurance.”

  “That’s the problem,” Daniella said. “He does. He spent the last of his reserves insuring this production. He’s nearly broke. His business suffered when the economy tanked. This was his last attempt to get the business back on track. The police are still questioning him. They think he stole his own chess set as insurance fraud.”

  “Oh dear,” Clayton said. “The police can’t really believe Feisal would steal his own chess set, would they?”

  “That’s what they seem to think,” Daniella said.

  “Desperate times make people do desperate things,” I said.

  “I’ve known him for years,” Daniella said. “He’s involved in London’s theater community. He acquires specialty set pieces for high budget shows.”

  “I don’t believe it either,” Clayton said. “Feisal would never do that. I wouldn’t say the same of everyone he employs…” He let the unspoken accusation hang in the air.

  “Izzy,” Daniella said, “would not have done this.”

  “Well, somebody had to have done it,” Clayton snapped. “Unless you think it could have vanished into thin air?” His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. “Sorry,” he said a moment later. He looked up at the ceiling as he took two deep breaths. “It’s this situation. The gold…I can’t believe it’s gone.”

  “This is the worst timing for getting it back,” Daniella said. “The police have too much going on with so many people in town for the festival. There’s an inexperienced officer assigned to the case. He wants to wrap things up quickly, and the insurance fraud angle is simple.”

  Clayton groaned.

  “Don’t police often start with the assumption that it’s an inside job?” I said. “That doesn’t mean they’ll continue to believe it if that’s not where the evidence takes them. It doesn’t sound so strange that that’s where they’d begin.”

  “That’s not the weird part,” Daniella said. She turned to Clayton. “You weren’t wrong when you said the chess set vanished into thin air.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “There were a dozen witnesses in the hallway,” Daniella said. “A German tour group in town for the festival. After the safe was blown opened, nobody came out of the room through the hotel room door. The police found the door hadn’t been forced either. That means it was one of our keys that was used. It’s both an inside job and an impossible job. There’s no way the thief could have gotten out of that room. The chess set and the thief simply vanished.”

  SIX

  “They can’t simply have vanished,” I said.

  “Obviously,” Clayton said with a scoff. “Izzy had to have gotten out somehow.”

  “Don’t,” Daniella said. Her voice was soft but firm. “Just because of his past—”

  “I warned Feisal not to hire him,” Clayton cut in.

  “What am I missing?” I asked.

  Daniella and Clayton looked sharply at each other, ignoring me. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Daniella looked away. She tucked a lock of her messy hair behind her ear and stared at the floor.

  “It doesn’t matter what we think,” Clayton said. “The police will discover his culpability.”

  “But he didn’t do it!” Daniella cried. “And now they’re looking into Feisal. I know he didn’t do it either. From what they said to me when they questioned me, I could tell they were just about to arrest him.”

  “The police aren’t going to arrest an innocent man,” I said in a voice I hoped sounded much more confident than I felt.

  “Feisal!” Clayton called out. “We’re over here!”

  From a distance, I would have guessed the charismatic Feisal, with his thick black hair and thin build, was a young man. As he joined us I realized he must have been in his fifties. His face was lined with worry, making him appear even older.

  “Clayton,” Feisal said, shaking his hand heartily as he joined us at the bar. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to the picnic.”

  “What’s the matter with you?” Daniella said. “That’s the least of your problems.”

  “Proper respect is of the utmost importance at all times,” Feisal said. “That’s what will see us through this. I’m Feisal Khattabi,” he added, turning to me.

  “Jaya Jones.”

  “Ah, yes, Daniella’s American friend,” he
said, shaking my hand. “You are perhaps part Egyptian? Your beautiful features suggest—”

  “I was actually wondering if you were part Indian. You remind me very much of a great uncle of mine—”

  “Have you all gone crazy?” Daniella cut in, nearly shouting. “You’re exchanging pleasantries and family histories while the chess set is missing, you’re possibly going to be thrown in jail, and my play is supposed to open tomorrow!”

  “Perhaps we should order Daniella some tea to calm her nerves,” Clayton suggested.

  “Quite,” Feisal agreed.

  “I. Don’t. Need. Tea!” Daniella cried.

  “Yes,” Clayton said. “I see your point. This bar is no place for proper tea. Now that you two are here, we can adjourn elsewhere.” He raised a finger in an understated motion to catch the attention of the bartender.

  I knew about the reserved English, but Daniella had a point. Their forced calm was making my nerves tingle.

  “Feisal,” I said. “From what Daniella said, I’m surprised to see you here so soon. It sounded like the police were focusing their attention on you.”

  “They questioned me,” Feisal said, “but they had no evidence to hold me. They had a theory about insurance fraud, but they now see that cannot be the case.”

  “What do you mean?” Daniella asked.

  Feisal held his head high and cleared his throat. “After the fees to set up this show and to pay Izzy…” He broke off and looked past us at the row of spirits behind the bar. “I didn’t have sufficient assets to adequately insure the set.”

  “But you told me—” Daniella said.

  “I didn’t want you to worry, Daniella,” Feisal said. “I needed you to feel comfortable acting with the chess set on stage with you. A big part of the publicity needed to be that your play was a marvelous show. I couldn’t have you nervous about the chess set.”

  “Feisal,” Clayton said, his voice clipped. “You know better than to go without insurance.”

  Feisal pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “Quite,” he said. “The one time I neglect to get insurance…but never mind.” He tucked the handkerchief back into this pocket with a shaky hand. “I’m sure the police will catch the thief and recover the set. Yes, we must have faith in the police. The theft seems impossible…but it can’t be, can it?”