Page 51 of The Secret Keeper of Jaipur

But the bigger question is why brick was even being used. From the palace engineers I’d learned that cement concrete reinforced with rebar—a far stronger material—is preferred for load-bearing columns. Bricks are used only in conjunction with cement concrete. Was inferior cement the problem? If I asked Ravi, would he just manufacture false invoices—like he did before? I dare not ask Samir, who would be quick to cover Ravi’s tracks if he thought his son had done anything untoward. Now I remember that Samir made no comment about the bricks when he and I talked at the cinema house last night.

I realize I need to find and take another look at those receipts for the bricks and cement—the ones Hakeem thought I’d entered incorrectly earlier. The same ones I’d then taken to Ravi, who merely crossed out one figure and inserted another. I get up from the desk and go to the ledger where I recorded the invoices weeks ago. Then I look around for the cabinet where paid invoices are kept in chronological order. I spot it and search by date, grateful for once to Hakeem for his annoying meticulousness. For there, attached to the invoice for that time period, are the receipts in question, the ones I need. Here is the receipt from Chandigarh Ironworks for the purchase of bricks and cement. Except...these receipts are clean, unmarked. These aren’t the ones on which Ravi had transposed the quantities with his fountain pen.

Quantities... I double-check them. They’ve been switched! These receipts show more cement being purchased than bricks, the opposite of what I’d noted previously. That should mean the ledger won’t agree. But am I right? I run to Hakeem’s desk and check the open ledger. The amounts there match those on the receipts in my hand. How could that be?

I lower Hakeem’s gooseneck desk lamp to take a closer look at the ledger. Hakeem’s penmanship is so precise the numbers look like they were typewritten instead of formed in ink (Hakeem, of course, has a special fountain pen specifically for this purpose, which he forbids anyone else to use—yes!). Someone has carefully scraped off the old entry with a fine razor blade and inserted the new figures. I recognize this old trick from my time at Bishop Cotton. It’s how certain boys changed their test scores when the masters weren’t looking.

But why in the world have the entries and the receipts been changed? And who changed them?

I can think of only two explanations: the original receipts were incorrect and had to be updated.Or—and this one makes the hair on my arm stand up—someone has doctored the information to match whatshouldhave happened—that more cement concrete should have been used to shore up the balcony. If the right amount had been used, there would have been no collapse.

I drum my fingers on Hakeem’s desk. Manu said Mr. Reddy had admitted that he sold too many tickets, and the balcony was overcapacity. There had been more weight on the balcony than it could support.

So, was the theater manager telling the truth or had the receipts been in error?

I’m so lost in thought I don’t hear his footsteps.

“Abbas?”

I look up, startled, from the ledger. Hakeem is standing in the open doorway to his office.

“Yes, Sahib?” I keep my voice calm, as if what I’m doing is entirely normal.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,Ji. I’ve fallen behind in my estimate of the cinema house reconstruction. I found your door unlatched and thought that instead of carrying ledgers back and forth to my desk, I would do the work here.Maaf kar dijiye.” I pull both my earlobes in apology.

He glances at the doorknob—had he not shut the door properly?—and brushes his mustache, frowning.

“Sahib, what areyoudoing here?” I’d learned this tactic long ago, when I was caught swiping a comb for Omi or candy for one of her kids from a stall at the Pink City bazaar. When under attack, it’s best to counterattack.

“I left my umbrella here, yes? I was just at dinner with a friend who said it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, and I don’t like to catch a chill when it’s wet.”

“Good thinking. Yes.” I pray he doesn’t come any closer to examine the contracts, receipts and ledgers I’ve spread on his desk. I fight the urge to cover the paperwork with my hands.

He gathers his umbrella, which is leaning by the door. “Don’t stay up too late. The work will always be there, young man. Yes?”

He gives me an indulgent smile. For now, at least, I’m his hardworking protégé.

“You’re right,Ji.Zaroor.” I nod reassuringly at him and begin stacking the ledgers and papers.

As soon as I hear the front door click close, I drop my head in my hands. Will Hakeem tell Manu about my being in his office? I doubt it. Hakeem knows I’m at the palace offices as a special favor to Manu Uncle and it might be politically imprudent to call me out. But Hakeem might wonder if I’ve been telling him the truth.

And, if not, why.

I check my watch. Lakshmi’s train should be arriving soon.

19

LAKSHMI

Jaipur

At the Jaipur train station, I look for the Agarwals’ black Ambassador sedan. It’s early evening, and I’ve been traveling for nearly eleven hours. But instead of their driver, Baju, Malik steps out of the driver’s seat. I’m so happy to see him I feel like crying. I’ve missed him. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black trousers.

“I thought Kanta was sending Baju to pick me up,” I say.

Malik offers me a strained smile. “Would I let you ride alone with that lech?” He’s keeping his tone light, but I can sense he’s holding something back. The whole of the Pink City must be buzzing with news of the cinema tragedy. I can only imagine the toll it’s taking on the Agarwal family, the palace, the families of the injured.

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