Ghost Letters by Stephen Alter Read Free Book Online Page B

out.”
    Sikander doesn’t want to abandon his friend, but maybe if he runs for help, he might be able to save Lawrence from these men. Before Sikander has any more time to think, Tommy-one puts the barrel of his musket to his chest.
    â€œGo tell your friend’s rich father that we want a thousandrupees ransom. Tell ’im we’ll be in touch,” says Tommy-one. “We’ll be sending a letter to Mr. Roderick Sleeman, Esquire.”
    Dropping his fishing tackle, Sikander races down the hill, through the forest and out into the tea estate. Running as fast as he can, he reaches the planter’s bungalow, where he gasps out the news that Lawrence has been kidnapped.

12
Rattle Beach
    With all of the excitement of the skeletal hand, Gil had forgotten completely about the bottle he had thrown back into the sea. But now, as he tried to puzzle through everything that was taking place, he suddenly remembered the bright blue color of the glass, as if it had drifted into his memory again. After Nargis had gone home, Gil slipped out the kitchen door again and headed down the trail to Rattle Beach. By now the bottle was probably lying at the bottom of the Atlantic, or maybe it had washed on down the coast, but Gil felt an irresistible urge to find out if it was still there.
    Sure enough, as soon as he scrambled down the rocks onto the shingle beach, he saw the blue shape bobbing in the water, ten feet from shore. The tide was in and the waves kept splashing up onto the rocks. Gil didn’t want to get wet, but he had no choice. He took off his shoes and socks, then rolled his jeans up to his knees.
    When he stepped into the water, it felt as if his toes and ankles had been grabbed by claws of ice. The blue bottle rockingon the waves beckoned to him. Shivering with cold, he waded out into the surf, no longer caring if his jeans got wet. An incoming wave almost knocked him off his feet, which were completely numb by now. At the last minute he reached out and caught the bottle by its neck. Floundering back to shore, Gil rubbed his legs and feet until the circulation began to return, then put on his socks and shoes, even though he was soaking wet. He could see a message in the bottle and wanted to open it right there, but forced himself to wait until he got home to the Yankee Mahal.
    Prescott was in the kitchen, opening a can of chicken stew for dinner.
    â€œWhere did you disappear to?” he asked as Gil came in.
    â€œNowhere. I just went down to the beach.”
    Seeing how his jeans were wet, Prescott raised a questioning eyebrow but didn’t say any more as Gil headed upstairs. Once he was safely in his room, he uncorked the bottle and shook the message out onto the bed. He could see it wasn’t the same scrap of paper he had sent but a reply in a careful, deliberate hand from someone he’d never heard of before: Sikander Khan. Ajeebgarh. 5 November 1896.Yesterday. But 112 years ago!
    Just then, he heard a knock at the door. Though Gil was able to hide the message in his pocket, the blue bottle stood on his bedside table when Prescott came in.
    â€œAre you all right?” his grandfather asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” Gil said.
    â€œHow’d you get wet?”
    Gil looked around and saw the bottle. He shrugged, deciding there wasn’t any harm in telling half the truth.
    â€œI found this down on Rattle Beach. It’s pretty cool.”
    When he handed the bottle to his grandfather, Prescott held it up, admiring the color, then turned it toward the light, so he could read the molded lettering.
    â€œA. K. Jaddoowalla’s Finest Indian Gripe Water.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” asked Gil.
    â€œIt’s a mild kind of medicine that’s given to young children who suffer from colic,” said Prescott. “I remember we used to give it to your mother when she was a baby.”
    â€œColic?” Gil asked.
    â€œStomach cramps. Nothing serious, but your