The Cloud Maker

Chapter 47

‘Please, Mr Matthews, we must hurry.’

Dorje padded down the corridor with Luca following a few feet behind. The monk’s arms swung briskly by his sides, the hem of his robe wafting behind. He glanced over his shoulder, checking on Luca’s progress, then swept down yet another staircase.

‘I have been instructed by His Holiness the Abbot to take you to see Miss Shara immediately,’ he said, eyes fixed ahead in search of the correct door.

‘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 Chinese 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.’