The Anatomist (Maya Mystery Book 2)

by Noah Alexander

  The man’s expressions changed from fear to one of resignation.

  “Hello captain,” he said smiling ruefully, “I knew you’d get me one day, like you got all the others. I am Bernard Knowles.”

  Bernard! This was the same man who the lady in the pub was looking for.

  Ernst would have dwelled on the matter for a bit longer had he not suddenly been alerted to the presence of someone else behind him. The High Guard turned to find the muzzle of a rifle staring at his face.

  32

  Rattan Singh's Last Job

  Rattan Singh hobbled over to his room, raging at Maya. The nosy woman had chosen the worst possible time to break into the house. The night was an important one. Millions were on the line. Millions belonging to dangerous men, who wouldn’t flinch to resort to violence if they lost some money.

  It was the night that he had been preparing for three weeks now, receiving goods daily from clandestine delivery boys and spending nights in the warehouse overseeing all the packing that needed to be done. All the millions of Cowries worth of stuff in the warehouse had to be transported today, a ship lay waiting at the old Harbor ready to depart with the treasures for America. It was the biggest shipment that he had ever been a part of, quite possibly the biggest in the history of Cardim and it was his job that everything went just right. And it would have, had it not been for that snoopy woman.

  He had an army of boats and porters waiting for him at the river bank to transfer the consignment in the storehouse to the harbor. But to do that, he first needed to go to the riverbank, bring along a few men to the storehouse to fill the trolley with the stuff, and ask them to push it upon the rail track to the bank. It would take at least ten rounds to transport all the things. But most of the night had been wasted by that crazy lady’s midnight fracas. It was too late now to venture to the warehouse and finish the delivery before dawn.

  Something had to be done about her, Rattan Singh thought, opening the door to his room and glancing at the clock on the wall. It showed 12 AM. He might still be able to shift a few of the most important things. Not everything, that would take too much time, but at the very least he could get rid of that cursed skull. It was far too much trouble for all its worth. He didn’t know why he had even been asked to deal in it. Who would be interested in buying the head of an overtly tall man? But he had little choice in these matters. Rattan Singh worked as an intermediary in the biggest smuggling syndicate in Cardim. Contraband goods going from or to Cardim had to flow through him and his warehouse. He received the information about the delivery of the goods in clandestine letters. Once he received a letter on the date of the delivery, he would make sure that the delivery material was ready. He would take care of the logistics as well as the inventory and the accounts. The money would flow through him as well. Rattan Singh liked to think that he was the most important cog in the business and his belief had some merit.

  He had joined the syndicate as an occasional accomplice during his time in the East Indian Army, accompanying smuggling caravans through dangerous territories. Then the mutiny of 1857 made it hard for him to walk for long, let alone accompany the smugglers on their lengthy sojourns, so he had retired from the army and become a helper to the old man who managed the Rabitsnare warehouse which had recently been expanded and a railway track laid. When the old man died, killed by members of his own gang for betraying secrets, Rattan Singh inherited the position. That was five years ago. The house under which the warehouse lay was owned by a businessman from Calcutta who seldom came to Cardim giving Rattan Singh virtual ownership of the place and freedom to run the affairs as he pleased. But that changed 3 years ago when the old man suddenly gave the house to his daughter and son in law who shifted here and severely hurt Rattan Singh’s interests. He could no longer receive supplies from the front gate and had to rely on the back rail near the river for any supplies and deliveries. Even the activities inside the warehouse of packaging and loading and unloading had to be done carefully, so as not to alert the inhabitants of the house. Rattan Singh himself now had to be in the house to cater to the owner’s needs which was always problematic. A lot of illegal goods were now flowing through another warehouse some miles down the river, if something was not done soon, he would be out of work. The old man could not afford that, so he had been working to improve the situation by plotting to send the couple back to Calcutta, but that hadn’t had the desired effect. Not yet but there was still hope.

  Tonight, though, he had to focus on other things.

  Rattan Singh moved to the washing closet and closed the door behind him. He then carefully removed the chamber pot from its place. Below it was a wooden trapdoor. He opened the door and stepped inside the hole, slowly lowering into the underground warehouse.

  Rattan Singh had spent so much time here that as soon as he stepped into the warehouse, he could feel that something was not right. It was in the air, clear and obvious.

  Rattan Singh cocked the rifle up in his hand to investigate the cause of his ill-feeling. He found it soon enough. There was an intruder in the place and he had found Bernard. Not only that, from his uniform, he also seemed like a peacock. Rattan Singh tiptoed behind him stealthily. He then carefully hit his hand with the butt of the rifle to disarm him. Kicking the pistol away, he pushed the man towards Bernard’s cage and stepped back pointing the rifle at him.

  “I am sorry that I had to hit you, sir,” said Rattan Singh, “But you have come here at the worst possible time,”

  “Wait!” shouted the peacock, “I am a High Guard and you are dealing with illegal goods here.”

  “That I am sir, I confess.”

  Rattan Singh laughed but then composed himself. He had no time for fooling around. He took an aim at the High Guard’s head. This man had to die.

  “Wait,” said the man trying to cover his face with his hands, “What are you doing?”

  But Rattan Singh had already pulled the trigger.

  33

  Afterworld

  The blast that ensued confused Ernst.

  He couldn’t understand how a gunshot could ring out so loud. He also did not understand why he felt no pain from the bullet sundering his head. He did feel some pain but that was in his ribs and legs.

  Ernst opened his eyes slowly, so that if he woke up in the afterworld he would not stun himself from the shock of his divine surroundings.

  The place was hazy, dirt motes skittered around the surrounding vivaciously. This was definitely not the afterworld. He was still in the warehouse and the blast wasn’t of the gunshot but of some other explosive altogether which had blown the far wall to pieces sending wooden crates and artifacts kept beside the wall flying all over the place. The old man with the gun was badly wounded. Some stones had come flinging from the wall and hit him, while a wooden crate had voyaged from the shock to land on the man. Ernst got up gingerly, moaning slightly from the pain. He first collected the rifle from the fallen man’s outstretched hands, then turned to observe Bernard inside the cage. The grave robber had fainted from the shock of the blast but was fine physically. It was then that Ernst noticed a chink in one of the bars of the cage. The bullet had missed his head, then glanced from the cage behind him and hit something which had caused the explosion and made a hole through the wall. The smell of burning sulfur told him that it was gunpowder.

  The cavity in the wall intrigued Ernst. He had expected the hall to be surrounded by solid earth. But it was clear that the hollow in the wall opened to another room. Ernst walked slowly to the hole. He was sure he had seen some movement on the other side.

  34

  Hole in the Wall

  The blast was so powerful that Maya was flung back to the stone floor near the door of the crypt. When the dust settled and blood returned back to Maya’s head, she sat up to fathom the sudden explosion. In front of her lay a debris of stone, mortar, and dirt. The far wall of the basement had exploded to form a hole that opened into another darkened room just like this. Cecilia Melcrose, w
ho had been a mere three yards from the wall had been thrust back against one of the stone basins and now lay on the floor dazed and covered in white rubble. As for Camilla, she was nowhere to be seen.

  Maya trundled to Cecilia to shake her awake but the woman did not budge. Maya felt for her chest and was relieved to find her heart still thudding inside.

  She left her on the floor and moved gingerly towards the wall to inspect the hole. Her head was swimming violently.

  What had caused the explosion? And was it a man emerging through the hole, and why did the face seem familiar. Maya could fathom nothing anymore, her legs buckled under her and she too fell down unconscious.

  35

  Evening Dinner

  Maya looked at Mr. Grington’s cabin again and quickly withdrew her glance. The old man was still looking at her. He didn’t seem to be in any mood to let her leave office today. Not without first receiving the files that he had dumped upon her table in the morning.

  Maya took a deep breath and pushed her head down towards the files. She stared at the account entries for a long time, pen held steady in her hand, without doing anything. Her mind was not on work. She didn’t know why she was having trouble focusing on work today. Her head was clear, there were no unresolved mysteries clamoring for attention, she had recently solved a case that often brought at least a week’s worth of peace. And yet, small snakes were crawling all over her brain, not allowing her to focus on work.

  Was it her evening appointment with Ernst?

  But why should that trouble Maya? She had no clue. Ernst had come to her office yesterday to ask her out for dinner the next evening. Maya maintained that the meeting was purely professional. They were going out just to discuss the case of Charles Melcrose and Rattan Singh’s smuggling syndicate. Nothing else was on the agenda.

  And yet.

  Was it more than just an official meeting? No, it wasn’t, Maya convinced herself.

  She dropped her pen in frustration and looked up again. Mr. Grington was still eying her from his cabin.

  Perhaps he was only impressed by her appearance. Maya had draped herself in her finest dress today. She had also invested, much to Maisie’s intrigue, a full 10 minutes combing her hair and polishing her sandals. Maya justified her efforts by reasoning that she was meeting a High Guard on official business. It was easy to ignore that she had never bothered about her appearance even when meeting more senior officials. That was a mystery in itself, her desire to look presentable in today’s appointment with Ernst, and she planned not to solve it. She didn’t think she would like the answer. Instead, she decided to run Charles Melcrose’s case through her head once more. It had been an incredible effort. Maya had not only discovered a necrophiliac husband but also helped find a wanted grave digger and bust a syndicate of smugglers.

  If this wouldn’t help her become a detective in the Bombay Detective Agency, she didn’t know what would. Ernst had been grateful as well. He had told her, asking her out to dinner yesterday, that his director had recommended his name for the Young High Guard Medal for being able to bust the racket of smugglers. Though Maya had a little role to play in that, the High Guard had thanked her nonetheless and Maya didn’t mind, neither the thanks nor the dinner. Charles Melcrose had been arrested for misusing corpses and Mrs. Melcrose had left for Calcutta. Bernard Knowles had also been put in jail for the twin crimes of grave robbing and theft while Rattan Singh was in the hospital recovering from his injuries. Ernst had already prepared to interrogate him once he got well to find out about the other members of the smuggling gang.

  All and all the curious mystery had been satisfactorily brought to a conclusion.

  Maya looked at the watch. It was 5:30 in the evening and most people had left the office. She was supposed to meet Ernst at St. Sebastian Square at 6. She didn’t want to accept but she looked forward to it with anticipation. It was a strange feeling, one which Maya had not felt before. She wondered how long this would last, casting a glance more at Mr. Grington who had finally turned his eyes away from her and was busy reading a letter.

  This was her time. Maya quietly closed her file and tiptoed out of the office.

  Enjoyed Maya’s adventure? Join my mailing list to get another book for Free

  Click Here to get the book

  The Spiritualist - Maya Mystery Bonus Book

  Dr. Chinew's first night in his new house is disturbed by a break-in. The intruder steals nothing but leaves behind a message - Death Comes to All.

  Get the book here

  Maya maintains she is not crazy, only different. Henry Camleman, the chief of Bombay Detective Agency, disagrees. He cannot think of any other reason why a (as far as he knew) reputable 21 year old woman would want to become a detective in his agency. Solving crimes in Cardim, a city teeming with crime and criminals, is fraught with danger and involves dealing with the kind of people he wouldn't imagine a woman mingling with in a thousand years. To humor the stubborn woman, however, he gives her a fairly harmless domestic case. A celebrated spiritualist claims that there are spirits in his house and Camleman wants Maya to prove otherwise. He hopes the case would keep Maya indulged in a puzzle of ghosts and spirits while keeping her safe from the grime of actual crimes.

  Little does Camleman know the true extent of the affair.

  As Maya delves deeper into the mystery, it takes her little time to uncover a web of theft, deceit, betrayal and murder which would test the skills and perseverance of the amateur detective to the fore. Will she pass the first exam of her professional career?

  Get the book here

  Enjoyed this book? Help others find it

  An year ago I decided to give up writing. I had spent full six burning the midnight oil to write a book which I thought would make a dent in the world and pummel me to the heights of literary nobility, only to realize, quite painfully, that no one was interested in it.

  Then something magical happened. A reader, a complete stranger, wrote a review saying that he really enjoyed my book and hoped to read more.

  A single sentence, nothing more. I doubt it would have taken that blessed soul more than 20 seconds to write it. And yet, it resurrected my hopes of becoming an author. If you have reached this page and liked the book, it’s down largely to that single line of benevolence.

  I hope I have made it clear how much a review can mean to an author. Given that, I would now like to request you to spend just a few moments to leave a review for this book.

  It is simple, just a single honest line generally does.

  Review the book on Amazon

  Review the book on Goodreads

  About The Author

  Noah Alexander is a TOI Write India winner and a Juggernaut Selects author based out of Delhi. During the day he works as a consultant, helping firms realize their topline aspirations while his nights are spent buried in the same laptop trying to further his own literary ambitions.

  To know more about him visit www.noahalexanderauthor.com

  You can also write to him at noah.z.alexander@gmail.com