THE CAMBODIAN CURSE AND OTHER STORIES

by Gigi Pandian

  Sanjay hopped down from the stage, walked up the aisle, and sat down next to me. “I can’t win,” he said. “I can’t concentrate either way. You have this mysterious theory that you came up with after the silver half of the chess set was returned. Are you ready to tell me what you’ve got?”

  “Clayton Barnes isn’t crazy.”

  “The philanthropist alchemist guy?” Sanjay said. “Why does his sanity matter? I thought you were going to figure out what happened to the chess set for Daniella’s show?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I said. “Check it out. Clayton Barnes, the descendant of an old inbred English family who’ve been wealthy for centuries. A family of selfish jerks who blew all their money gambling and spending lavishly—until Clayton came along. The black sheep of the family with a few screws loose. But he turned their fortune around. He’s been forgiven by British society and the public because he’s from this prominent family and because he’s seen as a nice guy in spite of his eccentricities. He’s donated millions to various charities, and loaned out many of his gold acquisitions to charities to put on display to raise money from other wealthy donors. In other words, he’s done a lot of good.”

  “That’s great history, Jaya. I get it that you’re a historian so you like researching this stuff. But what does this have to do with the theft of the chess set?”

  “His charities of choice,” I said. “They’re all arts organizations. They give him memberships and also special invitations to private showings—all related to his interest in alchemy.”

  “Gold,” Sanjay said.

  “Exactly. And for every few special gold exhibits he’s attended, there’s been a theft within the following year.”

  Sanjay perked up.

  “And that’s just the exhibits where he’s been listed by the press.”

  “He was casing the places,” Sanjay said.

  I nodded. “Clayton acted upset about the theft of the gold chess set, but he wasn’t nearly as upset until he found out Feisal didn’t have insurance. I don’t think he meant to hurt his friend. He never wanted Feisal to be implicated. That’s why he set things up to make Izzy look guilty, and why he returned the silver half of the chess set after he learned Feisal hadn’t insured it. He wanted Feisal to at least be able to recoup some of his losses. But he kept the gold.”

  “Sounds like he’s even crazier than people think,” Sanjay said. “Hoarding all that gold.”

  “He’s not crazy,” I said. “He let his guard down with me, since I didn’t have any preconceived notions about him. He didn’t think I’d look into the theft—in fact, he’s been trying awfully hard to convince me to forget about it, and to make Daniella forget about it, too. I don’t think he realized how much people cared about Izzy. Izzy isn’t turning out to be the simple fall guy he and Astrid thought he would be.”

  “Hang on,” Sanjay said. “How could someone so recognizable pull off all these thefts?”

  “Can you tell me what he looks like?” I asked.

  “Seriously? He’s got to be one of the most recognizable—”

  “His clothes are recognizable,” I said. “And his gold glasses and Sherlock Holmes hat. But what about him? Do you know what color eyes he has? Or even what color hair?”

  “Do you?” Sanjay said.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t. That’s the point. If he takes off those silly ‘eccentric’ clothes of his, puts on jeans and a dress shirt, and leaves the hat and glasses at home, would anybody recognize him? I doubt it.”

  “I should have thought of it,” Sanjay grumbled.

  “This is a calculated plan,” I said. “Clayton Barnes is a thief and con artist who’s been selling gold treasures to finance his family’s crumbling fortune.”

  FOURTEEN

  I shut the computer and looked for my phone to call the police with what I’d found out. After a few seconds of searching through my messenger bag, I remembered the police had my phone.

  “Let me use your phone,” I said to Sanjay.

  “Why?”

  “I’m calling the police.”

  “With your theory that Clayton isn’t crazy and is a criminal mastermind?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But with less dramatic language. Now let me use your phone.”

  Sanjay punched in some numbers on his phone. I held out my hand, but he refused to hand it to me. A few moments later, he was put through to the detective in charge. I listened as he gave a brief summary of my research—with the key difference being that he said eccentric Clayton Barnes was hoarding gold. When he was done speaking, he listened in silence for almost a minute.

  “Oh,” he said, frowning. “Yes. Mmm hmm. Yes, of course.”

  He hung up.

  “What is it?”

  “It seems,” Sanjay said, “that the police have suspected Clayton for quite some time. They put two and two together, just like you did. But they’ve never been able to prove it. Apparently they’re out at his castle right now with a search warrant. Clayton is at the police station and said they were welcome to search his home. That doesn’t sound like the reaction of someone who’s guilty.”

  I swore. Why had I thought I could figure out something like this that the police couldn’t solve?

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Sanjay said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “It was a good idea. Too bad both you and the police were wrong.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “But didn’t you just hear? He’s given them permission to search—”

  “He’s guilty, all right,” I said. “But the gold isn’t hidden at his mansion where the police can find it.”

  I stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Sanjay asked.

  “I’m going to do what I do best. Historical research. I was stupid and arrogant to think I could identify a suspect, when that’s what the police do best. But history is what I do best. I know how to find the set and save Daniella’s show, clear Izzy from suspicion, and save Feisal’s business and his home.”

  “How?”

  “Clayton said he bought his castle because it was once owned by an alchemist. What do you want to bet there are hidden areas of that house the police will never be able to find, even with their thorough search?”

  “You’ve just discovered the police aren’t stupid, Jaya. I’m sure they have the blueprints to the house.”

  “That’s where I know more than the police. Historical buildings built by people with something to hide—like persecuted alchemists—often made fake blueprints. I’m looking for local history books about alchemy that mention this historic castle.”

  Sanjay glanced at his phone. “Five hours until Daniella’s show,” he said.

  “Then we’d better get going.”

  I knew what I was after, so I was able to find it within two hours. The cab we caught at the Edinburgh University library dropped us off around the bend from the castle. We went on foot from there.

  Three hours until show time.

  The fountain stood where the historical description said it would. Water cascaded down the worn stone, pouring through the waterspout mouths of four gargoyles that faced outward around the circle.

  “It’s a working fountain,” Sanjay said, circling the structure. “I wasn’t expecting that. How is that a good entrance to a secret lair?”

  “It wouldn’t be a very good hiding place if it wasn’t working.”

  “If you tell me I have to swim to the bottom of that algae-filled fountain to reach this alchemy lab, I’m going to go get the police. I know that means they’ll hang onto the chess pieces as evidence for too long for Daniella and Feisal to use in the show as the draw. But I draw the line somewhere. And that line is slimy algae.”

  “I’m sure there’s a way in that wouldn’t leave the alchemists sopping wet when they reach their lab.
”

  “Those historical documents you found didn’t say?”

  “It wasn’t a how-to guide.”

  Without stepping inside, Sanjay leaned over the edge of the fountain and pressed the nose of the gargoyle in front of him. He leaned back and waited a moment. When nothing happened, he walked around the fountain to the second of two gargoyles and did the same.

  If I’d been an alchemist—a real believer—during a time of persecution, I’d have wanted the safest hiding place I could think of for my alchemical lab. Putting it outside the main house, and under a fountain, was a great idea.

  I sat down on the stone bench a few feet from the fountain. The bench faced both the fountain and the rose garden that lay beyond it on the way to the mansion. Beauty filled the grounds. Compared to the rest of the ornamentation, the stone bench was rather plain. A stone slab without any flourishes, but it looked like the same centuries-old stone. The flat slab itself was solid, but one of the cobblestones in front of it was loose. I stepped on it and it shifted a little. I knelt down and pressed on it. It moved a little but didn’t give.

  “Sanjay,” I said. He stood at the last of the gargoyles, scowling at the little monster. “Come over here and put your trapdoor skills to use.”

  “It wouldn’t be on the ground,” he said. “Too easy for a gardener to accidentally step on. But here…”

  He reached his hand under the bench. He ran his fingers along the base for a few moments. When his hand emerged, a faint sound of scraping stone echoed underground. But we didn’t see anything.

  “Oh, that’s ingenious,” he said.

  “I don’t see it.”

  “It’s a two-part mechanism,” Sanjay said. “Clayton Barnes hasn’t kept up greasing his door very well. We shouldn’t have heard that sound. We’re supposed to think pushing the button didn’t do anything.”

  “It didn’t.”

  “Oh yes it did,” Sanjay said. “It unlocked the secret passageway.”

  I stepped aside as Sanjay pushed at the slab of the stone bench. The first side he tried didn’t budge. He moved to the other side. The stone swung wide, revealing a narrow set of stone stairs leading down.

  FIFTEEN

  Sanjay and I looked at each other for a moment before following the steps.

  As we descended, it was clear the surrounding shrubbery had been strategically placed around the fountain and bench so that nobody outside of the immediate vicinity would see whoever was taking the hidden staircase.

  I was so in awe of the historical room we’d discovered that I wasn’t paying enough attention. When my foot hit the bottom step, the stone moved.

  Unlike the loose stone above ground, this stone wasn’t nearly tilting from age—it was sinking. I gasped and instinctively backed up, bumping into Sanjay. He swore in Punjabi at the same time another noise sounded. The stone bench was closing above us.

  Sanjay realized what the sinking stone had done, too. He turned on his heel and ran up the steps. It was too late. The thick stones came together, closing us off from the world.

  I didn’t think of myself as being afraid of the dark, but fear gripped me as pitch black enveloped us. This was definitely not the relaxing vacation I’d signed up for.

  The darkness lasted only a few moments. As soon as the stones clicked firmly into place, lights came on. The scene before us was amazing enough that I forgot my fear. A series of gas lamps hung along the stone walls, but that wasn’t what lit the room. A set of modern bulbs had been strung along the walls, leading to a room roughly the size of my San Francisco studio apartment.

  The room was a combination of old and modern. It hadn’t been professionally upgraded. A man of Clayton’s wealth could have afforded to do so, but he must have wanted to keep his secret from everyone.

  The high-ceilinged room was stocked like an old-fashioned chemistry lab. In the back of the cave-like room was a large clay oven. Two stone dragons stood taller than me on either side of the oven. A small trickle of water dripped down one side of the open mouth of the oven. The ceiling in that section of the room was lower than the rest of the room. That wall must have been directly under the fountain. Wooden tables lined the two walls flanking the oven, with crowded shelves above. Glass jars filled with powders of metallic colors, beakers of liquid, metal tongs for lifting hot vessels. In a corner near the oven, a primitive faucet hung over a copper bowl.

  “The alchemist’s lab,” I said. “The fountain even gives it running water.”

  “It looks like a chemistry lab from Houdini’s time,” Sanjay said. “He’s preserved it perfectly. It’s not even dusty.”

  An acidic smell filled the air. Fresh, not musty. That was curious. Even more curious: a small glass bowl of gold flakes lay on the table closest to us.

  One look at Sanjay and I knew he was as confused as me.

  “You don’t think he actually…?” Sanjay’s voice trailed off.

  “No,” I said, more confidently than I felt. “Definitely not. This isn’t real. There has to be a logical explanation.”

  Sanjay picked up the bowl of gold, raising it to eye level.

  “It looks real,” he said.

  “What do you know about gold?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “I’m waiting for a host from a reality TV show to jump out from behind the clay oven,” I said.

  Sanjay walked over to the oven.

  “I didn’t really mean—” I began.

  “I know,” he said. “Can I see that magnifying glass you always carry around?”

  “You could if it hadn’t disappeared with the rest of my luggage.” I mentally kicked myself again for putting so many things I didn’t want to lose into that checked bag.

  “Look at these ashes,” Sanjay said, kneeling down. He picked up a handful of blackened ashes and watched them flutter through the air as they slipped through his fingers. “This oven is in use. Why would it be in use if he wasn’t practicing alchemy?”

  “Burning evidence?” I suggested.

  Brushing off his hands, Sanjay considered the idea with a thoughtful expression. “Speaking of which,” he said, “I don’t see the gold half of a chess set anywhere. You don’t think you were wrong about him, do you?”

  “No,” I said. “My theory makes sense. It’s a con. He’s hiding something. You saw how well hidden this lab is.”

  As I spoke the words, I was reminded we were trapped in a room nobody besides Clayton Barnes knew existed. I shivered, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the damp chill.

  “If he believes he’s an alchemist,” Sanjay said, “then he believes he needs to hide this lab so he won’t be persecuted. I mean really, look at this place—”

  “Sanjay,” I interrupted. “There’s got to be a way out of here, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly, looking away. “The problem is we need to find it.”

  “You’re good at this stuff,” I said. “You found the way in here.”

  “That was one clever entry system,” Sanjay said. “This lab is hidden away below several feet of stone. We need to find the way out ourselves. Nobody is going to find us here.”

  SIXTEEN

  Sanjay’s cell phone didn’t get any reception, even from the highest step we could climb. For the next thirty minutes, he meticulously tapped every few inches of the walls, floor, and stairway, looking for our way out. I picked up the containers on the tables and went over the table tops and legs. None of it revealed the opening of a secret door. When we regrouped in front of the fireplace, Sanjay’s knuckles were raw.

  “The stone door we came through is the only way out,” he said. “There has to be a trigger, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is.”

  I had been so confident Sanjay would figure it out. I trusted him completely. Just like I knew my own strengths that led us to this alchemy lab, I knew Sa
njay’s. I hadn’t been as frightened as I knew I should have been because I knew he would be able to escape from this room. But what if I was wrong?

  Sanjay sighed and sat down on the well-swept floor. He leaned his back against one of the dragons. Watching him, an idea clicked into place in my mind.

  “The dragon,” I said.

  “I already tried it,” Sanjay snapped. “I tried everything.”

  “The black dragon,” I said.

  “There’s no black dragon. They’re both gray stone.”

  “But the scales carved into the stone,” I said. “Look at this. There’s a black one.”

  “That’s natural discoloration,” Sanjay said. “It’s been worn…”

  His voice trailed off as I pushed on the black scale on the chest of the dragon. It didn’t move.

  “The black dragon is a meaningful term to alchemists,” I said. “Clayton mentioned it, and there was also a tapestry of a black dragon in his castle.”

  I pushed harder on the black stone. It shifted. The carved stone scale was a lever. The movement dislodged something I hadn’t planned on. A large stone fell forward.

  I jumped back, but I wasn’t fast enough.

  The rock smashed into my left arm, a jagged edge tearing through my sweater. I horrid crack sounded. I screamed as pain enveloped me.

  As searing pain shot through my arm, I realized the bone was most likely broken. Not only did I have a broken bone that needed medical attention, but I was trapped in an underground cave with no cell phone reception, and nobody knew where I was.

  “Jaya!” Sanjay cried, pulling me further back from the avalanche. But it was only the one stone that fell.

  Pain made its way from my forearm up to my neck. I hadn’t broken a bone since I was a kid, but the memories flooded back. I was five years old when I fell out of a tree along the water near our house in Goa. More than the pain, the thing that stuck out in my mind was the difference in what I smelled—I associated a broken arm with fresh air and the scent of bananas, but now the air was stifling and musty. I felt as if I might choke.