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‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ asked Ben.
Jawahal raised a long forefinger and slowly shook his head.
‘Lying is one of the few things I don’t do, Ben. You should know that. Make up your mind. If you don’t have the courage to play the game and prove that your friends are as valuable to you as you would lead us to believe, say so now and we’ll let someone with more guts take their chances.’
Ben held Jawahal’s gaze and nodded.
‘Ben, no,’ Ian said again.
‘Tell your friend to shut up, Ben,’ Jawahal said. ‘Or I will.’
‘Don’t make it more difficult, Ian,’ Ben pleaded.
‘Ian is right, Ben,’ said Isobel. ‘If he wants to kill us, let him do it. Don’t allow yourself to be tricked.’
Ben raised a hand for silence and turned to face Jawahal.
‘Do I have your word?’
Jawahal looked at Ben long and hard and finally nodded in assent.
‘Then let’s not waste any more time.’
BEN EXAMINED THE SEVEN wooden boxes carefully, trying to imagine in which one of them Jawahal would have hidden the snake. Attempting to decipher the thinking behind the arrangement of colours was like trying to reconstruct a puzzle without being familiar with the image it formed. The asp could be in one of the boxes at the end or in one in the middle, in one of the brightly coloured boxes or the one with shiny black paint. Guesswork was superfluous, and Ben realised his mind had gone blank faced with the decision he had to take.
‘The first is the most difficult,’ whispered Jawahal. ‘Choose without thinking.’
All Ben could see in Jawahal’s impenetrable eyes was the reflection of his own pale frightened face. He silently counted to three, closed his eyes and quickly thrust his hand into one of the boxes. The seconds that followed seemed interminable, as he waited to feel the rough touch of a scaly body, followed by the sting of the asp’s fangs. None of that happened; after an agonising few moments, his fingers touched a wooden board and Jawahal gave him a smile.
‘Well chosen. Black. The colour of the future.’
Ben pulled out the board and read the name written
on it. Siraj. He looked enquiringly at Jawahal, who nodded. They all heard the click of the handcuffs restraining the frail boy.
‘Siraj,’ said Ben. ‘Leave this train and get out of here.’
Siraj rubbed his aching wrists and looked sadly at his friends.
‘I have no intention of leaving,’ he replied.
‘Do as Ben says, Siraj,’ said Ian, trying to control his tone of voice.
Siraj shook his head. Isobel tried to smile.
‘Siraj, go,’ she pleaded. ‘Do it for me.’
The boy hesitated.
‘We don’t have all night,’ said Jawahal. ‘Either you leave or you stay. Only idiots turn down a piece of good luck. And tonight you’ve used up your life’s supply.’
‘Siraj!’ ordered Ben. ‘Just go! Give me some help.’
Siraj looked desperately at Ben, but his friend’s expression remained unflinching. At last Siraj bowed his head in assent and walked over to the heavy metal door.
‘Don’t stop until you reach the river,’ instructed Jawahal, ‘or you’ll be sorry.’
‘He won’t,’ Ben replied for him.
