‘Shara?’ Luca said, hurrying forward. ‘But you said we were going to see Bill. What’s going on, Dorje? The Abbot gave me his word on this.’
‘Plans change!’ Dorje exclaimed, raising his hands into the air. ‘You will get your wish, Mr Matthews, but not everything in this monastery revolves around you.’
Luca stared at the perfectly shaved back of Dorje’s head, wondering what had made him so agitated. He had only ever seen Dorje meander through the monastery, his pace infuriatingly slow, yet today he was striding forward as if his life depended on it. The habitual sense of calm had vanished, and for the first time since Luca had met him, Dorje looked decidedly flustered. Luca paced behind him, wondering what could have rattled the monk so badly.
Eventually the corridor came to an end with a large wooden door barring their way. It was ornately carved and, after a moment, Luca recognised it as the same door he’d found on the night he’d broken out of his room. It led to the chamber filled with books and piles of parchments — the one he’d guessed was the monastery library.
Dorje strained to get the heavy door open, waving away Luca’s attempt to help before he finally succeeded in drawing it back on its hinges. In front of them stood the same long line of bookshelves. This time, however, the room was brightly lit by the line of iron candelabra that stretched back along its immense vaulted ceiling.
In the light, Luca could now see just how vast the room was. It must have occupied a huge proportion of the entire monastery. But despite its obvious size, the main part of the chamber was concealed beyond the line of the bookshelves.
‘Wait here, Mr Matthews,’ Dorje said sternly, and quickly paced forward. At the end of the shelves, he turned left into the main chamber and disappeared from view. Luca was leaning against the wall watching him go, when he heard a soft murmuring sound. It was faint, almost imperceptible. He listened harder. It sounded as if someone was murmuring an unintelligible stream of words. Then he realised — it wasn’t just one person speaking, there was a whole cross-current of voices.
The noise was coming from somewhere past the endless line of books. His eyes traced across them, at the spines running back in a crooked sea of colour. Most were weighty tomes, inches thick, with decrepit old covers that had long since seen better days.
What was that noise?
Luca guessed the top of the shelving was about twelve feet high. With the toe of his boot pressing down on the first row of books, he suddenly sprang upwards, reaching his right arm up and over the top. His fingers gripped the dusty wooden surface before he swung his left arm over as well and pulled himself higher. The top of his head slowly craned above the line of the shelving and he was able to look down into the room behind.
About thirty monks were seated at individual writing desks spaced neatly in rows across the central part of the room. Each of them sat with a huge book open in front of them and an old-fashioned quill pen in their hands. Some were at the beginning of their volume while others were on the final few pages, but all of them had their eyes half-closed and were rocking back and forth in their seat, their pens scratching across the pages in continual movement.
As their pens moved so did their lips, working in time with the soft undercurrent of murmuring. They were all saying different things, each one reciting his own endless monologue. Luca pulled himself a little higher, staring down at the monk closest to him. His pen moved in a constant flow, only stopping for a second as his left arm whipped across the desk and turned the page to begin once again. There were no spaces in the writing, no large gaps or punctuation. The words were coming out as if melded together by memory.
Luca could feel his muscles straining, but knew he could hold the position for a little longer and resisted the gentle tremor in his forearms. His eyes passed from monk to monk, watching their heads sway up and down. It was as if they were all in some kind of trance. For the entire time he had been watching, not a single one of them had paused to draw breath.
What were they writing? And how could they keep going without a moment’s hesitation?
As he was about to lower himself back down, he suddenly caught sight of Dorje standing over one of the desks. For a moment he saw Shara’s long black hair swaying in time with the others, then Dorje placed his hand on her shoulder and she seemed to break out of the spell. She stared up at him, confused, then slowly put down her pen and took the scroll that he was offering. She read it in front of him then briskly stood up, following him along the line of desks and out towards the bookshelves.
As Luca landed on the floor, he saw them both turn the corner and approach.
‘We must talk in private,’ Shara said, without further greeting. Luca looked from her to Dorje as she led him by the arm into the corridor outside.
‘I will take him to see Bill,’ she said to the monk.
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded his consent. ‘Very well, but be sure to keep me informed.’
As Dorje hurried off, Shara looked about her. Opening a small door just a few metres to their left, she beckoned Luca inside. It was a storeroom filled with urns of blue ink stacked against the far wall. A multitude of books were piled in high, tapering columns reached all the way up to the low ceiling.
Shara drew close to Luca, her voice dropping to a whisper.
‘We were followed by Chinese soldiers,’ she said, her face so close to his that he could smell her freshly washed hair. ‘They have been sighted just below the cliff-face.’
‘What?’ asked Luca, his voice rising defensively. ‘What the hell would soldiers want with us?’
Shara raised her hands, gesturing for him to be quiet.
‘It’s not you they’re after. Listen, Luca, the Abbot wants to know if you will help us. And, in doing so, he is putting an enormous amount of faith in you.’
She took him by his shoulders and stared directly into his eyes.
‘Can we trust you, Luca?’
‘Sure,’ he said, dismissing a sudden urge to lean forward and kiss her.
‘No. You need to think about your answer. What you decide now could alter everything.’
He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his pulse. ‘I promise you, Shara, you can depend on me.’
Shara seemed to steady herself, rubbing her wrists distractedly. In one hand she still held the scroll Dorje had given her. Luca could see her forefinger was stained with blue ink from the hours she had spent at her desk. No wonder this woman was getting under his skin — she was just so damn’ mysterious. What the hell had they been writing in the library?
‘OK,’ Shara said, glancing back towards the door. ‘For reasons that I can’t fully explain right now, we need to get a nine-year-old boy called Babu out of this monastery. That’s why the Chinese are here. It’s who they’re looking for.’
‘A nine-year-old boy?’ Luca asked, his forehead creasing in confusion. ‘What the hell do the Chinese want with a little boy?’
‘He’s not just a boy.’ Shara paused, glancing down. Every instinct screamed to her to keep his identity secret, but the Abbot had specifically instructed her to tell Bill and Luca. It was their help that was now needed.
‘Babu’s full name is Babugedhun Choekyi Nyima. He is the next reincarnation of His Holiness the eleventh Panchen Lama.’
Luca’s eyes widened.
‘Holy shit,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But that’s impossible. There were posters of him all over Lhasa. The Panchen Lama was this pale, older-looking guy.’
‘That’s the candidate the Chinese are preparing to install at the Linka Festival. And that is precisely why Babu is in such danger. They need to get rid of him before the festival takes place because if Babu’s true identity ever became known, the whole inauguration would become a farce.’
Shara’s hand tightened around the scroll, scrunching it in the middle. As she continued, Luca could hear a new edge to her voice, a hardness that he had heard once before at Menkom.
‘What few foreigners understand is that the C
hinese only hold on to this country by their fingertips. If you’d ever been in Lhasa after one of the uprisings, you’d have seen how deep the tensions run. If it ever became public knowledge that they had tried to assassinate the rightful heir to Tibet…’
She paused, trying to imagine the chaos that would ensue. Uprisings would spread throughout the land, rippling out along the spine of the Himalayas as the local tribes rose up against the military garrisons in each town. Every police station would burn, every Chinese shop window would be smashed. It had happened in the past on a smaller scale. This time, it would be unstoppable.
‘It would get very bloody,’ Shara said eventually. ‘They have already tried to kill Babu once, but we managed to get to him first. And now, with the Dalai Lama in permanent exile, the stakes are too high for the Chinese just to let him be. They won’t rest until he’s dead.’
‘Dead?’ Luca shook his head. ‘Jesus, I had no idea. The poor kid must be terrified.’
‘The only people to know of his identity are you, me and the Abbot. Dorje has only just been informed this morning.’
‘But Dorje’s just a guide here at Geltang. Why would he know?’
‘Dorje is a great deal more than he seems. He is one of the High Lamas here at Geltang and along with Rega, second only to his Holiness the Abbot.’
Luca stared past her thoughtfully.
‘All this time and I thought he was just an interpreter,’ he said, remembering how Dorje skillfully seemed to dodge every question. ‘But, Shara, there’s something I don’t understand. The Chinese have still got to find a route up the rock-face and through the Kooms. Surely Geltang’s got to be the safest place for the boy right now?’
Shara shook her head. ‘There are other elements at work. He’s safe in the Abbot’s quarters for now, but we have to move him to another location, and to do that, we need mountaineers. The Abbot thought you and Bill would be willing to guide us.’
Luca stared at her quizzically.
‘Bill? Bill’s not going to be well enough. The last I saw him, he couldn’t even stand.’
‘I’ve checked on him many times and saw him yesterday. He is over the worst of the fever now. He hasn’t got all his strength but he can definitely walk.’
Luca’s eyes narrowed in frustration. ‘You saw him yesterday? So why haven’t I been allowed in?’
‘I’m taking you to him now,’ Shara replied evenly. ‘But the question still stands. Will you help us or not?’
As Luca stared into her eyes, a new energy seemed to flood through him. He raised himself up to his full height without a twinge from his back. The prospect of new adventure caused him to smile at the corners of his lips.
‘Yeah, I’ll do it. But if four of us are heading out into the mountains we’re going to need some more supplies. Only Bill’s rucksack made it out of the cave and there’s not much: an MRS stove, fifty metres of rope, some hardware.’
‘I’ve spoken to Dorje about it. He’s already organised supplies and extra clothing.’
‘OK,’ said Luca, his mind racing. ‘I’ll have to sort through them. When do we leave?’
‘Tomorrow morning at first light,’ Shara said, suddenly feeling caught up by Luca’s enthusiasm. Maybe the Abbot had been right all along. Maybe they really could depend on these men.
‘Wait a second,’ Luca said. ‘You haven’t even told me where we’re going.’
Shara didn’t answer for a moment, then a smile seemed to play across her lips.
‘You’re finally getting what you wished for,’ she said. ‘We’re heading for the pyramid mountain.’
Chapter 48
Four figures moved silently along the corridors of the monastery. They brushed past the countless doors, occasionally cutting through a faint beam of light from an outside window as the late-afternoon sun spilled in from the far mountain ridge.
It was dusk and time for personal reflection. All the monks were in their cells, deep in meditation, leaving every corridor deserted, every door closed. It was the perfect time to act.
Rega moved fast, his left hand dragging against the wall, guided by every contour and imperfection. He turned sharply down a flight of stairs, then into a corridor which tunnelled directly back into the mountain. As the natural light began to fade, one of the three figures following in his wake paused to pull a nearby torch from the wall. The flame leaped up as he held it high, illuminating Drang’s scarred face.
Eventually they came to the entrance to the Abbot’s quarters and paused. Despite the urgency of their mission, everyone but Rega stared up in wonder at the mighty pillars flanking the door, amazed by the golden swastikas dancing in the firelight.
‘Hide yourselves,’ he whispered, grabbing the torch from Drang’s hand. The others retreated a few paces, fading out of the circle of light.
Rega swung the base of the torch against the heavy door. A moment later a small wooden shutter was pulled back to reveal a pair of large brown eyes set in a young face.
‘Venerable Father,’ Norbu said in greeting, his voice high and wispy, ‘the meeting of the full moon is not for another three days.’
‘I have urgent information for His Holiness. Make way.’
Norbu blinked several times in quick succession.
‘But, Father,’ he stuttered, ‘the law decrees that information must be passed in writing unless His Holiness ordains otherwise.’ Norbu’s eyes stared through the hatch, studying Rega’s wizened face. ‘I have been instructed to allow no visitors.’
Rega moved closer still so that Norbu could smell the sour aroma of his breath. ‘How dare you quote the law to me, boy?’
‘I apologise, Father, but I am only passing on…’
‘Silence,’ Rega hissed. ‘Open the door.’
Norbu looked imploringly at him, the strain of this conversation making his cheeks flush red.
‘But, Father, please understand, I am not allowed… I was expressly told so.’
Rega inhaled deeply, stepping back from the door. His voice softened. ‘Well, in that case, I will have to trust you with what needs to be said. After all, the Abbot does speak most highly of you, young Norbu.’
The boy smiled nervously, tilting his head to one side so that his ear was pressed against the opening.
‘But what I tell you is of the utmost secrecy,’ Rega continued, breathing the words. ‘Our Abbot is in grave danger. We must warn him together.’
Norbu’s eyes widened in alarm. It took several seconds for him to fight his stammer.
‘Danger? But… who… who would harm His Holiness?’
‘There have been many murmurs of discontent while the Abbot follows the last stage of his path and many have become disenchanted with his rule. You must let me in so that I can warn him of the danger he faces.’
Norbu blinked, hesitating once again.
‘But if there is danger, I shouldn’t let anyone in… and His Holiness specifically said… said… that…’
Rega smiled, bringing the torch higher towards his own face.
‘Look at me,’ he said gently. ‘I am just an old, blind man. What possible danger could I be? Now open the door, young Norbu, and let us warn him together.’
There was a moment’s pause before Rega heard the heavy metal runners grating. The door opened an inch and Norbu’s head peered out cautiously.
‘Please, Father, come in quickly,’ he whispered. ‘I shall inform His Holiness you are here.’
As Rega stepped across the threshold he lashed out, shoving Norbu back with surprising strength. At the same moment three figures came crashing in behind him, Drang at their head. His sinewy right arm grabbed Norbu by the throat and wheeled him round, dragging him back into the main chamber. Norbu’s arms flailed pathetically as he squirmed in the iron grip, eyes bulging from the pressure on his windpipe. A few paces farther in and Drang flung him down on to the stone floor.
‘Simple fool,’ he whispered, his lips curled in disdain.
Rega now stood beneath
a vast screen illustrated with a picture of the Buddha and illuminated by a small row of lamps at its base. The crystal-blue eyes shone in the candlelight, staring out into the room with an otherworldly calm. With a sweep of his hand, he signalled for two of his aides to begin searching the maze of rooms at the opposite end of the central chamber.
Rega’s head turned towards Drang.
‘Tear it down,’ he said.
Drang gave the fabric of the screen a mighty wrench, pulling the entire thing from its fixings. The great cloth buckled, slowly collapsing in on itself, before dropping to the floor, snuffing out the lamps at its base.
Behind it, a figure was seated in the lotus position. Its eyes remained closed as Rega stepped over the fallen screen.
‘Your rule is finished,’ he whispered. ‘I am taking over the monastery.’
The eyes flickered open, staring at Rega as if he were a figment of his imagination. The Abbot had a broad oval face, etched with lines of old age. From the warm light of the room a gentleness seemed to radiate from his entire body, making it seem as if he were about to break into a broad smile at any moment.
His hair was cropped short, fading into baldness towards the crown, while his eyes stared out from beneath heavy black eyebrows. Ornate gold robes were wrapped around his body in tight folds, while his hands lay clasped on his lap.
‘You have left me no choice,’ Rega continued. ‘Hand over the boy. It is time for him to become known.’
The Abbot slowly raised his right hand, signalling to a large metal rod placed on a stand just before him. Its stem was made from unpolished gold with a string of jade beads hanging from one end. The seal of Geltang was etched into the other.
‘Then take the Dharmachakra,’ the Abbot said. ‘If it is what you most truly desire, take our Wheel of Law, and take my place as Abbot. But do not ask me for the boy. Show compassion for his innocence.’
‘His innocence is immaterial!’ Rega snapped. ‘He must take his place as rightful leader of Tibet. I cannot stand by any longer while you hide him from the outside world. I will do what you should have done and install him in Shigatse, his rightful place.’
The Cloud Maker Page 27
