The Midnight Palace (Niebla 2)

‘This track leads to the station where the fire happened,’ said Ben. ‘It’s a siding.’

‘There’s a train on the bridge,’ Sheere observed.

Ben walked round the model to get closer to the reproduction of the train. As he examined it, an uncomfortable tingling ran down his spine. He recognised the train. He’d seen it the previous night, although he’d thought it was only the product of a nightmare. Sheere walked over to him and Ben saw there were tears in her eyes.

‘This is our father’s house, Ben,’ she murmured. ‘He built it for us.’

Ben put his arms round Sheere and hugged her. At the other end of the room Ian looked away. Ben stroked Sheere’s face and kissed her on the forehead.

‘From now on,’ he said, ‘it will always be our home.’

At that moment the lights on the little train standing on the bridge lit up and, slowly, its wheels began to roll along the rails.

SILENT AS THE GRAVE, Mr de Rozio was devoting all his archivist’s cunning to the reports on the trial which Colonel Llewelyn had been so determined to bury. Seth and Michael were doing the same with a folder full of plans and notes in Chandra’s handwriting. Seth had found it at the bottom of one of the boxes containing the engineer’s personal effects. After his death, because no relative or institution had claimed them and he had been an important public figure, they had ended up lost in the museum’s archives

. The library was shared by various scientific and academic institutions, among them the Higher Institute of Engineering, of which Chandra Chatterghee had been one of the most illustrious and controversial members. The folder was plainly bound and its cover bore a single inscription, handwritten in blue ink: The Firebird.

Seth and Michael had hidden their discovery so as not to distract the plump librarian from his task and had moved over to the other end of the room.

‘These drawings are fantastic,’ whispered Michael, admiring various illustrations of mechanical objects whose specific function he couldn’t quite fathom.

‘Let’s concentrate,’ Seth reminded him. ‘What does it say about the Firebird?’

‘Science isn’t my forte,’ Michael began, ‘but if I’m right, this is a plan for an enormous flame-thrower.’

Seth examined the plans without understanding them in the slightest. Michael anticipated his queries.

‘This is a tank for oil or some sort of fuel,’ Michael said, pointing to the document. ‘This suction mechanism is joined to it. It’s a feeding pump, like the pump in a well, and it provides the fuel to keep this circle of flames alight. A sort of pilot light.’

‘But the flames can’t be more than a few centimetres high,’ Seth objected. ‘I don’t see how there can be any real power there.’

‘Look at this pipe.’

Seth saw what his friend was referring to: a sort of tube, rather like the barrel of a cannon or rifle.

‘The flames emerge round the rim of the cannon.’

‘And?’

‘Look at this other end,’ said Michael. ‘It’s a tank, an oxygen tank.’

‘Simple chemistry,’ murmured Seth, putting two and two together.

‘Imagine what would happen if this oxygen were ejected under pressure through the pipe and passed through the circle of flames.’

‘A flame-thrower,’ Seth agreed.

Michael closed the folder and looked at his friend.

‘What kind of secret could make Chandra design a toy like this for a butcher like Llewelyn? It’s like giving the Emperor Nero a shipment of gunpowder …’

‘That’s what we need to find out,’ said Seth, ‘and quickly.’

SHEERE, BEN AND IAN followed the train’s journey through the model until the tiny locomotive came to a halt just behind the miniature reproduction of the engineer’s house. Slowly the lights went out and the three friends stood there, motionless and expectant.

‘How the hell does the train move?’ asked Ben. ‘It must get its power supply from somewhere. Is there an electricity generator in the house, Sheere?’

‘Not that I know of.’