Hotel Kopara Danta
30 June, 1888
Bombay, India
Edouard,
I am sorry to hear that your
endeavours with the Guild are not going quite to plan. It is a genuine travesty
that the good people who work so hard to fulfill the dreams of modern day
England are being so heinously cheated. We, as a whole, are so fortunate and
oft times take it for granted. It is not much unlike the squalor and working
conditions I have taken note of here in Bombay.
I wired mother a day ago. I had
an hour to spare before my third attempt at meeting with Mister Sharma. I
regret to say our first and second meetings were dreadfully interrupted. You
were correct, per usual in deducing the identity of our interloper mentioned in
my previous correspondence. I regret to say that in the time I was seeking to
tail Hargrave he had been tailing me, disguised as a boil-ridden Untouchable. A
brazen and brilliant scheme, I say; and in my inherent arrogance as a British
tourist I paid him little mind and a handful of cupperoons to keep his distance.
I shall not be underestimating Mister Emmerson Hargrave again. Forgive my
digression, I was about to tell you of my meetings with Mister Sharma.
Monday last, I met with Mister
Sharma at a café and hookah lounge only two streets distance from my Hotel.
When I arrived, Mister Sharma was already there. I had not even been seated
with our friend before an altercation broke out between him and a trio of men at
the next table. They were all clad in all black with sashes of burgundy and a
curious device upon their breasts. It was a simple bronze brooch depicting a gilded
elephant trumpeting and rearing at a tiny man. I was unable to get close enough
to examine the details of the brooch. Much to my dismay, these men bared
firearms against Ravi. He spoke to them in a sudden flurry of his native tongue
and the men were subdued only after landing a blow to Ravi’s cheek telling him
to get out.
Ravi left at
once. He regarded me with a significant nod and I knew that it was too
dangerous to be his lunch companion that afternoon. As I was walking back to my
hotel I first noticed the “Untouchable,” but I did not suspect him just then.
Three days later I met Ravi at the restaurant of the Hotel. Over tea and
pastries, I gave him the notebook and the photograph. He was very much dismayed
by the state of both items and the simple fact that I have been since unable to
find the good Professor. A waiter came to our table then with an urgent message
for Ravi. He read the telegram, puzzled that anyone knew he was here, for he
was not checked into the Hotel. The message, a series of letters and numbers—7C481SM3—seemed
to disturb and confound him and he concluded our meeting with the promise that
when next we met he would have information for me. I should have wired you the
message posthaste but I was unsure whether or not it had any significance in
our current matters. Ravi, while being without fault, seems to have many who
would send him spiraling into a whirlpool of tribulation. It was nearly a week
before he contacted me again.
He asked me to
meet him yesterday at a very specific market stall. I arrived very early at the
market and my “Untouchable” shadow revealed himself, as I dallied by a fabric
seller’s stall. I found a few bolts of a very unique fabric for Mother. It is a
light, silky fabric, dyed black and woven with thread strains of iron. Clever
use of magnetics could result in brilliant artistry or useful concealment. I
purchased a few bolts and had them sent back to the Hotel.
It was then that Hargrave threw
off his disguise and pointed a pistol at the poor old woman peddling her fabric.
He spoke to her in rough Hindi and she wept, ducking down behind the stall,
praying. Hargrave mistook her for the contact I met a bit later with Ravi. I
disarmed Hargrave as he moved behind the stall and—for want of keeping a
genteel tone to this missive—I gave him something else to remember me by. I
daresay, in addition to being a preposterous looking little man, he shall be
more easily recognizable with a pronounced limp in his left leg. I left him
there, incapacitated, at the stall, allowing the poor fabric seller to alert
the proper authorities.
It was then that I wired mother
and went off to meet Ravi at the appropriate stall. An elderly man, very
appropriately called Nidhish Singh kept it, selling a number of novelties. He
sold beautiful clockwork lockets, a pair of which I have purchased for my
darling sister and her good husband. Among his other wares were steam-powered
falcons supposedly capable of sending brief correspondences over short
distances when keyed in with a proper series of coordinates. He sold canes
that doubled as firearms and concealed knives, all manner of jewelry, and a
small selection of steam-propelled and clockwork child’s toys. As Ravi greeted
Mister Singh, the elderly man brought forth the item he had been holding for
Ravi. When we asked Mister Singh about how he acquired the kaleidoscope, he
stated that Professor Mahajan had left it with him in haste along with a fat
purse of carolinas, telling him that a young, sulky sort of British woman would
be inquiring about it. Mister Singh knew nothing definite of the whereabouts of
the professor but mentioned that he had an aging father in Berar. I paid him
for his troubles and Ravi and I returned to the Kopara Danta to examine the
Kaleidoscope. It is, I admit, the most beautiful and well-crafted device I have
seen beyond your own designs, Father. The colors are beyond reckoning and the
patterns with which it spins are stunning. It would be a perfect gift for Mother,
were it not so obviously the center of some scheme. Ravi was able to point out
a compartment in the underside of the barrel sealed with no apparent way of
opening it. I refused to pry it open for fear of damaging something so
enchanting. I have sent it along to you as an unassuming and plain parcel. I
hope you and the Scotsman will be able to make sense of it.
I will continue my search for
Chandra with renewed hope that he is alive and well. Mister Hargrave should be
far easier to identify now, when he assumes his little disguises. I expect to
be leaving Bombay for Berar in one week’s time. Until then you can reach me at
the Kopara Danta. I do hope that my cloak arrives soon, elsewise I shall have
the Hotel hold it for me until I can retrieve it. At Ravi’s insistence I shall
be taking a travel companion to assist with baggage and translation, a young
man called Ranbir Rajkumar. Ravi regretted he could not join me himself but
insisted that Ranbir is gallant and trustworthy. I shall contact you the moment
I arrive in Berar or the moment new information surfaces. I miss you dearly, Father.
Please give my love to everyone at home.
Sincerest Regards,
Hattie
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