“That was you? Playing the ragas?”
Chandra smiled, and there was a flash of the old, superconfident prodigy. “For my sins. The instrument was not in great condition, and the technique is rusty — but she did not complain. I know the music of Bihar , the folk tunes and the festival dances of her native area. I think that I played well. Perhaps there is still more to life than jute.”
“But your fingers — I saw them last week. They were not in shape to play.”
“Indeed?” This time the smile was different, a sad glint of oriental resignation. “Now you mention it, I think I noticed.”
He held up his left hand. The soft fingertips were bloodied and torn from the pressure of the vina’s seven thin strings.
“It was in a good cause. My suffering was nothing compared to hers. And now she is asleep, peacefully, without drugs.”
He looked at his watch, and I realized that it was late afternoon. He had spent the whole day here. “Chandra, what about your work? I’ve already taken more of your time than a friend should ask.”
“Assume that I do this for Ameera — not for a feringhee with no sense. Do you still talk of running off to Riyadh , now that you know what may face you there? Your enemies have more knowledge and more resources, and they are ruthless. How will you know what to do there?”
“How did I know what to do in Calcutta ?” Despite the logic of his argument, my resolve was strengthening. “Chandra, there are other factors involved here. Earlier today, you were playing the Bhairava raga for Ameera. Correct?”
“True enough. What of it?”
“I recognized that piece.”
“So? It is famous enough.”
I shook my head. “To you. But I don’t know Hindu music at all. Yet I recognized it. Don’t you see what that means? I’m getting some of Leo’s memories. I was told this would happen, and it has started.”
He pouted and shrugged his chubby shoulders. “That is excellent. But if you stay here longer, you will receive more memories. Why not wait until you know exactly where to go, and what you are doing? There will be risks in Riyadh , but here you will be safe.”
“That’s not the whole story.” I was stammering, and cursed myself for my lack of control. “I’m getting Leo’s memories, and they will help — that’s the good news. But I’m also getting flashes of sensory distortion. When I was first waking up here everything seemed out of proportion and the time scale went crazy. If I’m going to follow Scouse and Xantippe to Riyadh , I’ll have to do it soon. The doctors warned me to watch for those symptoms. A few days from now I’ll be in no condition to chase Zan, Scouse, the Belur Package or anything else.”
I paused. My manner was much too emotional to persuade Chandra. Perhaps it was the sight of Ameera, a tiny child-figure with her bandaged feet and rope-cut wrists, that upset me so.
“I must go now,” I said at last. “Time is short. If I can find a charter jet at Dum-Dum Airport and leave tonight, there’s a chance that I can be in Riyadh before Zan or Scouse.”
Chandra was behaving oddly, too. At my last sentence his face had twisted into a scowl, and now he was shaking his head violently.
“Before you think of going within a thousand miles of that — that woman, you must know one other thing. She expects you to follow. Can you not see the danger? She plans to trap you in Riyadh . Look at this, and then tell me if you wish to be in that city when she is there.”
He had gone over to the window sill and picked up a sheet of paper. “Here.” He held it forward. “A message, Lionel — for you alone.”
I stared down at the thick, creamy notepaper. A white rose from the front garden had been pinned in the middle of the sheet. Above it sat an imprint in lipstick, a vermilion mouth shaped to kiss, and written beside those full lips were six words in dark red ink: durch Blut und Eisen, te inveniam.
Chandra was watching me closely. “There is no doubt who the message is intended for, and I assume that there is no need for me to translate it. Do you know why she did this?”
“Durch Blut und Eisen, te inveniam — through blood and iron, I’ll seek you out.” I muttered the words, while the full red lips seemed to glow at me from the paper. I struggled to control my voice. “It’s Zan, following Scouse’s orders. I’m sure he wants to make sure I don’t follow them. Psychological pressure. He wants me too frightened to go on to Riyadh .”
And he’s doing pretty damned well, I felt like adding.
Chandra nodded over to the bed, where Ameera was still sleeping soundly. “So why didn’t Xantippe kill Ameera, as well as Chatterji? Then you could not have followed.”
“She couldn’t be sure I didn’t know it anyway.” I thought of Ameera, and a chill certainty grinned within my mind. “And she wants me to follow — never mind what Scouse wants, Zan has her own desires. I know how she looked at me in Belur’s house. Ameera has just whetted her appetite. She missed her chance with me twice now, once in London and once in Cuttack . Third time lucky.”
Chandra gave a nod of relief. “It is settled then. You will stay here.”
“No.” The red lips were smiling at me above the rose. “I’m going. Chandra, I’m going tonight. I won’t let those bastards win. If they get away with this, Ameera suffered and Chatterji died for nothing.”
He was staring at me, wide-eyed. “But Ameera—” he began, then paused. “You are right. Revenge is a universal emotion. It should be ours.”
He was heading for the door. “Be ready quickly. Let me take care of Ameera, and do not worry about this house. If there is a charter jet of any kind at the airport tonight, you have my word that it will be yours.”
- 15 -
Calcutta had been easy: all the time in the world to wander the city while I waited for some kind of subliminal clue from Leo to lead me to his contacts. But in Riyadh I would have only a few hours before Scouse and his bullyboys came after me.
Right.
Calcutta had been, at least to my knowledge, quite safe. But Riyadh would hold a crew of known killers, waiting for the next chance to slice fillets from my delicate flesh.
No denying it.
I had a personal friend in Calcutta , a man who was willing to drop his work at a moment’s notice and come to help me. In Riyadh I had no close friend.
Absolutely true.
Beyond question, Chandra was perfectly logical. He had made all these, and a thousand other arguments, in the hours before I flew out of Calcutta . And yet, despite everything, I was right. On to the Arabian Peninsula and Riyadh , as soon as the plane could take me, and never mind every argument that a subtle, devious, and devoted Indian mind could conjure to hold me in Calcutta . That was the way to go.
I was right, and Chandra was wrong.
He didn’t have all the feelings that lay behind the cold facts.
I spoke maybe a hundred words of Arabic, picked up in travels from Morocco to Iraq , but I felt at home in Riyadh . The city fitted my inner self. My first concert there had been back in ’88, when I was only nineteen years old. I had played the obligatory Tchaikovsky Number One in the brand-new concert hall, before a vast (and, I suspect, mystified) audience who had been dragged in from the streets for the inaugural concerts. Most of them were receiving their first taste of western music. That was the year the king decided to import European culture. Between the movements I had sensed a dignified and baffled silence.