by Ada Haynes
“I need to go to the Valley for a moment, Sally. Will you prevent anyone entering the room while I’m away?”
She nodded, not even asking what his intentions were. She was probably exhausted. This drama happening right after the death of her grandfather was just too much, Ekbeth realized. He tried to comfort her by squeezing her shoulder, then asked Nukri to transfer him back to the Valley he had left not even two hours ago.
Finding Bers’el was not difficult. The old and far too fat As’mir was always in his lab—if such a chaotic collection of test tubes, curiosities and books could be called that. And when he heard what had happened, he immediately accepted the request to help Ekbeth.
What Ekbeth had not expected was that the old As’mir had every intention to go back to the Other Side with Ekbeth.
“I just need my kit.”
Ekbeth frowned. “Lyrian is banished from the Valley, Bers’el. I don’t want problems because you helped a banished person.”
At that the old man laughed. “You’ve probably heard of the Hippocratic Oath, Ekbeth. I apply it as well, even though it’s a human concept. Meaning I would still help my worst enemy if I had to. We’ll just have to keep this to ourselves.”
Thirty minutes after Ekbeth had left the hospital room, he returned with the other As’mir. Bers’el na Saoilcheach examined Lyrian, while asking questions neither Sarah-Lysliana nor Ekbeth could really answer.
“We were not there when they found him, Bers’el. And we are no doctors.”
“Ah. Who’s the professor treating his case?”
Sarah-Lysliana told him. A bright smile appeared on Bers’el’s face. “You lucky woman! He’s one of the best in his field! You hardly need me here, believe me.”
Ekbeth was astonished. “You know this professor?”
“Of course, he was one of my brightest students! I’ve followed his career with interest.”
It was the first time Ekbeth heard Bers’el had ever set a foot out of the Valley and his surprise must have shown because the old man laughed. “Aha! Got you there, didn’t I? Now leave it to me! I’m going to find the professor and ask him the questions you could not answer.”
Ekbeth had no time to hold the man back. Bers’el was already out of the room. Sarah-Lysliana giggled. “I wonder what the staff is going to think of him with his purple hair and his velvet robes?”
Ekbeth groaned. “My feeling exactly.”
He went after the older As’mir. As it was, their concern was not needed. Because Bers’el Na Saoilcheach quickly found the professor, whose acknowledgement of that weird man as a friend apparently reassured the rest of the hospital staff.
“My, Dr. Silk,” the professor gushed, “you don’t seem any older than the last time I saw you! What are you doing here?”
Ekbeth managed to hide his amusement. Dr. Silk—he? Bers’el did not seem offended by the mispronunciation of his family name. He probably was used to it, Ekbeth supposed.
“I was visiting the City, intending to stay with my friend Ekbeth here, when I heard of what happened to his cousin Lyrian. And you know how good I am with sedatives. I thought I could help.”
His former student sobered up and looked at Ekbeth. “Well, I can’t discuss the treatment without the family’s approval.”
Bers’el patted the professor’s back. “Since when do you respect protocol? Don’t worry; they agree. Right, Ekbeth?”
Ekbeth nodded.
The two others discussed the specifics of Lyrian’s case in technical jargon that Ekbeth could not follow. But he stayed nonetheless.
Bers’el rummaged through his heavy bag and extracted a small vial. “Stop injecting him with whatever you are giving him and replace it with a two percent solution of this. It should help. If not, we can increase the dose.”
The professor looked suspiciously at the vial. “What’s in there?”
Bers’el looked offended. He said, scolding, “Are you doubting me, young man? Don’t forget who taught you your job. At least partially. Do as I say!”
Subdued, the professor took the vial and went looking for a nurse to prepare the new infusion. Ekbeth went back to Lyrian’s room with Bers’el. Lyrian was still feverishly murmuring his figures.
Suddenly Ekbeth realized what those figures meant: the alarm and security codes of the bank! His cousin had an equal level of security clearance as his. Basically, he had access to every account and transaction. He also had the codes to enter the office building when it was closed for the night.
Ekbeth immediately called his secretary. “Orsina? Can you please ask if anyone entered the building the night my cousin was kidnapped? And it there were some logins in any computers? Call me back.”
Ekbeth began pacing in the small room. Maybe Kimiel was not involved in this after all. He did not think she was interested in the bank accounts.
Orsina called him back ten minutes later. “Someone entered the building, but there was no login in the computers. The expert is certain of this.”
He ordered all the codes to be changed, and hung up. So, whoever had tortured Lyrian to get the codes was not after virtual money. What else was there? They had no safe. Any valuable was on the Other Side, in the Aiarz’i branch. Ekbeth thought hard about what was there in the Zurich office that might interest thieves. Not much in fact. A few meeting rooms, the trading room, his and Lyrian’s offices. It was an old building, with wood panel walls, and some cleverly crafted little niches, where he and Lyrian had placed a few personal possessions, among which…
Oh no! Damn, damn that woman!
Ekbeth called his assistants again. “Orsina? Would you please go to Lyrian’s office? There is a Chinese ivory puzzle ball on his desk. You know, those little things with multiple layers of spheres.” Orsina did as he asked. “You can see it? Can you just align the holes on the spheres? Till you see the hollow core? Is there anything inside?”
He waited. Prayed.
After a few moments, Orsina said, “Yes.”
So he had been wrong? But then his assistant added, “It’s a small jade stone, Sir.”
His heart missed a bit. “A stone?”
“Well, more the size of a pebble, really. And it’s very smooth.”
Ekbeth thanked her and hung up. He was probably the only one, along with Lyrian, who knew where the Kadj’dur had been hidden since Lyrian had divorced his wife.
Matheson had told Ekbeth about Kimiel’s mission. And about how tenacious she could be. He had just forgotten to warn his cousin to hide the Kadj’dur in a better place than that little ivory ball.
Ekbeth closed his eyes, trying to contain his anger. The Kadj’dur. Kimiel had tortured his cousin to get hold of the Kadj’dur. Worse, she had replaced the ring with her oracle pebble. He did not need to see the pebble to know what it was.
How dare she provoke him in that way? He was going to find the woman and drag her back to the Valley by the hair. And pour Ara’s water himself in her mouth!
31
She was all pain. Breathing was painful, moving was painful. Her tormentor kicked her in the face, viciously. Even screaming was painful.
“Where is the White Lady?”
She could not answer. Her mouth was full of blood.
Another slap. “Answer!”
She forced her eyes open. She forced herself to look into the face of her tormentor.
Kellerman.
Shona jerked awake, screaming, and heard the soft steps running toward her.
“Are you all right, Madam?”
The stewardess looked concerned, and the other passengers were staring.
Of course not. She was not all right at all! Her heart was pounding so hard that she could hear it.
She forced herself to smile and look at the flight attendant. “Sorry. Bit of a nightmare.”
The stewardess relaxed. “Would you like a glass of water?”
Shona nodded.
Damn. She had tried not to fall asleep but had failed miserably. She forced herself t
o breathe deeply, calmly. It had been a nightmare. Only a nightmare. One she had had every single night since she had returned from Zurich.
Damn Lyrian Farrill. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Seeing him tortured brought back memories she’d rather have forgotten.
She looked at the screen display in front of her. Two hours until the plane landing.
Another reason for her bad dreams—she was not ready for what was waiting for her there. She would never be ready.
“Your water, Madam.” She took the glass from the stewardess with thanks.
She should have used Toshio’s jet. No one would have been there to witness her weakness. But she did not want to make it too easy for Ekbeth to find her. He was bound to find out Toshio had a private jet and would check the flight log. Of course, knowing she was in Kolkata was not going to be a big help to him, but the fewest clues she gave him, the better. So that meant flying on a commercial airline and frightening a stewardess and a few passengers with her screaming.
Ekbeth had probably found out about the Kadj’dur by now. She wished she could have seen his reaction. But then, remembering Farrill’s whimpering body as she had last seen it, it was perhaps better that she could not.
She allowed herself a tiny smile, remembering how she had felt after taking the Kadj’dur out of the ivory puzzle ball. She had had plenty of time to admire her latest acquisition during the flight back to London.
She considered herself quite an expert in jade objects, and this little thing was one of the most exquisite carved rings she had ever seen. She had seen enough of the As’mir decorative art by now to instantly associate the Kadj’dur with it. The pattern appeared to be traditional, intricate Celtic braiding, but inspecting it under a magnifying glass revealed that each little braid was carved with what looked like small flowers and birds. Considering that the ring was not even one inch in width, considerable skill was involved.
It had been difficult to leave it behind, but it was much more secure in the Castle safe. Keremli had certainly sounded satisfied when Shona had called her to tell the news, though the old woman’s joy had tempered a bit when Shona had explained how she’d acquired it.
So, that mission was accomplished! It had cost her a lot, she reflected, but she had managed it. Just as she was going to manage whatever awaited her in a few hours.
*
The weather was as bad as she had expected. Sometimes being forewarned did not help. She hated being drenched. Her clothes clung to her body in an uncomfortable and flagrantly revealing way. And there was that permanent smell of mold in the air. Yuck. It was monsoon time in India.
The flight to Calcutta, or Kolkata as it was now called, had been the easiest part, even with the long stopover in Delhi. No one took a second look at her passport at British Customs. A good sign that Ekbeth was not yet home.
And Shona was now in India—with an entry stamp on her passport! The first step of her long trip to the tiny valley in the northeast of Bhutan.
It was not the first time she was travelling to the remote kingdom from there. There was a bus going daily from Kolkata to Phuentsholing, the only Bhutanese border town that foreigners could use to enter the country by road. She had missed today’s departure, but she knew of places to spend the night near to the bus station—important because the bus left around seven in the morning.
The hotel at which she registered had not improved over the years. The weather was rapidly doing its damage in this place. But the staff was just as nice as they had been in the past. Thankfully, though, they did not recognize her name or face. She was not sure she would have been able to answer questions about how the rest of her family was faring.
Other than going out to dinner and to get some provisions for the coming journey, she spent the remainder of that day inside her room. She had always found the city a bit overwhelming—a bit too much for her senses with its vibrant colors, the raucous noises and the constant crowd pressing against her. With Yeshe, she had laughed at her cowardice. Now she just wanted to avoid it.
The bus trip to Phuentsholing was not much better, as far as the mass of people was concerned. The bus was mostly filled with Indian people, hoping for a temporary job in the Dragon country, along with their possessions. There was no room for legs to stretch, even for a moment, and the stops were too short. Also, she had forgotten how nerve-wracking the travel was on that crater-pocketed road. The trip took twenty-six hours—a record slowness due in part to the fact that the bus broke down along the way.
When she finally arrived in sight of the familiar Bhutan Gate, she was exhausted and suffering from an aching back, but she forgot about all of that, and allowed the multitude of emotions evoked by her return to Bhutan to take over.
Despite the eight brightly decorated pillars that supported it, the decorative carving below the intermediate red roof, and the graceful windows that led up to the curves of the final roof, the gate itself was not particularly remarkable. She had seen much more impressive gates in other Far-East countries, especially in China.
But this gate was a symbol for her. Beyond that monumental gate, was her past. She dreaded going beyond it, but she had decided it was time and was ready to go forward.
The administration was not so forthcoming.
She arrived just in time to enter the Customs and Visa Application Office before it closed. The first officer she talked to, just closed her passport and handed it back to her with a piece of paper, explaining in perfect English that foreigners were not given a visa at this desk. She would have to book a tour and apply for a visa through any local travel agency, which should take ten days. Have a nice day.
She pushed her passport back across his desk with a smile, and explained in Dzongkha, the officer’s language, that she had been married to a Bhutanese and so had a special status and was granted access to the country without a tourist visa. No, she had no paper to prove it, but the information could probably be found in the foreigners’ register that he, no doubt, had in his computer.
This was met with much suspicion. But the officer called his superior, who politely invited her to share a cup of tea. After the greeting formalities, he asked, “Where is your husband?”
There was no point lying. “He’s been dead for almost four years now.”
“Ah. Why would you want to come back here, then?”
She had expected the question. Bhutan was not really hostile to foreigners, but they did not encourage marriage between Bhutanese and foreigners, with the result that, most of the time, foreigners returned to their country of origin after the Bhutanese spouse’s death.
She lowered her eyes. “I want to make a Puja to his memory.”
“Surely his family has done that.”
She was also Yeshe’s family, damn it! No point to say that, though. She had to remain patient. “His family is dead. They are all dead. I’m the only one alive.”
That took the officer by surprise. Family in Bhutan tended to be on the extensive side. No one could really be an orphan. There would always be at least a neighbor who would take care of a child in need, and that child would become part of the neighbor’s family.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
The officer thought for a moment. “This is most unexpected. I will have to check. Do you have your wedding certificate with you?”
She shook her head. “I should have explained. My husband and his family died in a huge fire, with everything they had. Including my marriage certificate.”
Again, Shona was met with suspicion.
“Really? Where were you at the time?”
Taken away by monsters…
“I was visiting a friend in Lhuentse. My husband’s family farm is in a secluded place, a three-hour walk from the village. When I came back, it was too late.”
The officer was visibly ill at ease with the situation. “Mmh. Lhuentse is very far. It is going to take a long time to check what you are saying. Especially now with the monsoon season. Why didn�
��t you ask for a copy of this certificate at the time?”
“Circumstances. I was not myself, grieving. Then my mother got really ill at the same moment. I had to leave the country in a hurry.”
“Still, it was four years ago. Why wait so long for a Puja?”
Shona kept lying. “My mother was very ill until recently. Her illness cost us a lot of money. I have only been able to afford a ticket to Kolkata since last month.”
The man was not convinced. Damn. Maybe she should have booked that tour and applied for a visa. It would have cost her only ten days.
She made a last attempt. “The Khenpo of Lhuentse Dzong—he knows me. Maybe you could call him?”
“Uh-uh. Come back tomorrow.”
There was nothing else to do other than wait. And knowing the Bhutanese, “tomorrow” probably meant that it would be a week before the senior civil servant would call the Dzong. She just would have to be patient—go to the office every day and politely remind them about her case. Patience was something she had learned from living in this country. It had been that or get crazy.
She found herself a cheap hotel in the neighborhood and borrowed a pile of books from the owner. There was not much else to do except go on the Internet. This was very tempting because Ekbeth was now probably back from the Valley, and she would love to hear the latest news from Jeffrey. But they had agreed contact was out of the question, so she was not going to send any message.
The first thing she did when she entered the small room was to take a shower.
Then she lay down on the narrow bed and gazed at the ceiling. In the next moment, she was sleeping deeply. And blessedly, this time, without nightmares.
32
Ekbeth had not heard the details of what Kalem had done in London. He was still sorting out his emails when he received a phone call from Matheson.
