The Spanish Diplomat's Secret by Nev March

Author:Nev March
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

To keep ahead of the coming mid-Atlantic storm the Etruria was sailing at a good lick, her vibration sending untethered objects rattling about. Glasses knocked against the table-rail, pens rolled off the sideboard and frames thumped against the wall. Diana moved around the room with the quiet efficiency of a surgeon.

Shedding clothes I laid down, but despite bone weariness, my mind spun like a dervish.

The hours before daylight differ from sunset in some essential quality, different even from the later glow of sunrise. High on the north Indian slopes, with Nanga Parbat—the naked mountain above me, I’d found them a time of truth. At daybreak one could cover oneself in conversation, don one’s occupation and make plans for the day. But earlier, when only stars glimmer above, one’s mind is bare. The truth comes softly in such moments.

On one such morning, alone in a hospital ward, watching the sky brighten behind palm trees, I’d faced the truth about my military prospects. Both my mixed race and my injuries meant I had no future with the British Indian army. I could have begged a job in provisions or ordnance, but I had no excitement for it. The prospect of such a lifetime was an anvil pressing down on me. A moment of truth, painful yet precious.

Since sleep turned me away, I puzzled through the recent events. Diana’s mysterious “method,” her reluctance which had increased both its credibility and the implication of an occult hand at work. How had that key turned of its own accord? Diana had no reason to jostle it. If it had not happened under my fingers, I would not have believed it.

“All right, Jim?” Diana said, turning up a lamp. “You’ve been so restless. Can’t you sleep?” She reached for a bottle of lotion and smoothed it over her face.

I asked, “How’d you do it? The trick with the book and key?”

“There’s no trick, Jim,” Diana said, her eyes crinkled. “I don’t know how it works. I was a child the first time I saw it done. In Simla, when I lost my pup I was so upset—sometimes they’re carried off by wolves. Mama and my grana did the ceremony. They sat quietly, asking questions in the stillness. When Grana said, ‘Is he near the laundry?’ the key turned. We found my poor puppy, whimpering at the bottom of the chute.” She bent to put away her lotion.

“Looked like some sort of magic.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I’ve never been comfortable with things like that. And one shouldn’t ask too much from…luck, don’t you think? It’s as though…oh, this will sound foolish…as though there might be a—a price to it. That’s nonsense, but you see why, don’t you?”

“Hmm.” Diana’s reluctant admission astonished me. Accustomed to her practical manner, I’d not seen this part of her. Was she really fearful that our own good fortune would not last?

Instead, I said, “Can’t believe we missed seeing Mrs. Barlow. All that time, sitting in a lifeboat’s shadow.”

She came and perched on my bunk, frowning.

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