Read Online The Ninth Buddha by Daniel Easterman - Free Book Online

anything of importance while in your care, whether you recall anything that seemed significant at the time.”
    The missionary looked sharply at Christopher.
    “What would you deem significant?   How am I to judge?   I have already given an account to Mr.   Frazer and to Norbhu Dzasa, the Tibetan Agent here.”
    “But perhaps there was something that seemed trivial to you and was not put in your report, and yet would be of interest to me.   I’m trying to find out how he came to Kalimpong, where he came from, whom he had come to see.   You may have some clue that would help me.”
    Carpenter reached up, removed his spectacles, and folded them up
    carefully, one leg at a time, like a praying mantis folding an even
    tinier victim in delicately articulated forelegs.   For a moment, the
    mild-mannered missionary had gone, to be replaced by another man
    entirely.   But the substitution lasted only a second before
    Carpenter regained control of himself and straightened the mask he had allowed to slip.   As carefully as before, with the same insect like deliberation, he unfolded his spectacles and replaced them exactly as they had been.
    “The man was dying when he was brought to us,” he said.
    “He died the next day.   All that is in the report.   Would that I could say he had gone straight to the arms of a merciful Saviour, but I cannot.   He spoke deliriously of things I did not understand.   I speak a little Tibetan, but only what suffices for conversations with the dzong-pongs and the shapes when they come to visit me.”
    Christopher interrupted.
    “Did anyone like that visit you while the monk was here?   The Tibetan Agent, perhaps.   I forget what you said his name was.”
    “Norbhu Dzasa.   No, Mr.   Wylam, there were no visitors, unless you count Doctor Cormac.   This man Tsewong died among strangers, I regret to say.”
    “You say he spoke deliriously, that he muttered things you did not understand.   Did he say anything at all about a message?   Did he mention the name Zamyatin?   Or my name, Wylam?”
    Christopher was sure the little Scot reacted to the questions.   He seemed to grow pale and then flush.   Just for a second, the mask slipped again, then Carpenter was back in control.
    “Absolutely not.   I should have noticed something of that kind, I am sure.   No, it was all gibberish about the gods and demons he had left behind him in the mountains.   You know the sort of thing I mean.”
    Christopher nodded.   He did not believe a word of it.
    “I see,” he said.
    “Are any of your staff Tibetan?   Or perhaps some of your orphans?”
    Carpenter stood up and pushed his desk back.
    “Mr.   Wylam,” he expostulated, “I really would like to know just where you are driving with these questions.   You are verging on the impertinent.   I am willing to answer anything within reason, but questions about my staffer the children in my care pass the bounds of what I regard as proper or allowable.   You are not, I take it, a policeman.   Nor a government official, presumably.   In which case, I would like to know what right you think you have to come here prying into my affairs and the affairs of this institution.   In fact, I think it would be best all round if you were to leave at once.”
    Christopher remained seated.   He had succeeded in rattling the man.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to seem impertinent.   I think it will be best if I explain.   My son William was kidnapped two weeks ago.   As yet, the motive for the kidnapping is not known.   But I have reason to believe he was abducted on instructions contained in a message carried out of Tibet by this man Tsewong.   I’m not at liberty to tell you why I think that to be the case.   But I assure you my reasons are very serious.”
    Carpenter sat down again slowly, as though something very sharp had punctured him.   He looked more rattled than ever.
    “Where exactly was your son when he was ..