Sacred Mountain by Robert Ferguson Read Free Book Online Page A

Philip. “I don’t suppose you have anything you could pass onto us, information that you’ve already sent to your paper but which we are yet to hear?”
Philip shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ve cornered the wrong man. I only arrived yesterday and haven’t really caught up. You’ll have to ask Arthur Hutchinson if you want the latest.”
“Hutch?” the Indian replied, shaking his head. “We have more chance of climbing Everest ourselves than getting a crumb of information out of him. You know he lives in Delhi so we know him well, but when he did the communications for the Swiss expedition last year we got absolutely nothing out of him, despite a lot of whiskey being consumed.”
Philip laughed, looking down at his food which had just arrived. “In which case I don’t think I can help,” he said picking up a battered fork with only two prongs and giving it a good wipe with his handkerchief. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Navel nodded courteously and turned back to his table, allowing Philip to pour himself a glass of tea and cut into his omelette. It tasted wonderful, rich egg stuffed with a pungent cheese and slivers of sliced vegetable. He was feeling more settled, memories of his nightmare the previous night fading away in the warm sun. Hearing the language spoken again after so long, seeing the people all around had made him anxious as to what memories it might bring back. But now he was in a different place in happier times. People were going about their normal lives, there was laughter in the square and a relaxed atmosphere in the city that made him feel calm and safe.
His food finished, he downed the last of the tea and put some rupees on the table to cover the bill. He was just standing to go when he saw Navel. He’d been leaning forward talking quietly to his companion for much of the time. Now he turned and offered Philip a piece of folded paper.
Philip glanced at it and then looked at the man’s face. “What’s this?”
“It’s the address of the hotel I’m staying at in case you think of any information that you might be able to spare us.”
Philip shook his head, leaving the man’s arm outstretched. “I’m leaving Kathmandu tomorrow for the mountain so I won’t be around to help even if I could.”
The Indians eyes didn’t leave Philips. “Perhaps an occasional dispatch could be sent to this address instead,” he replied, head angled enquiringly. “Nothing exclusive, just a little general information on what’s going on. I’m sure,” he added slowly, “it would be made worth your while. Say ten pounds per dispatch?”
Philip returned the man’s stare before shaking his head slowly and turning away. “I’m afraid not,” he said coldly and strode off.
“Fifteen, Mr Armitage, but we would require a little more specific information at that price.”
Philip continued walking, calling over his shoulder, “You can have all the information you want for free. Just buy yourselves a copy of The Times and read what James has written.”
He was soon lost in the crowd and relieved to be so, disconcerted by the experience at the café. If he’d bumped into two journalists so quickly, there must be plenty more in Kathmandu all circling around for the story. It was going to be trickier than he’d thought keeping James dispatches a secret, especially if people were prepared to pay such good money for it. He wandered on, following the main street from the square, enjoying the freedom of just meandering along with nowhere specific to go.
He drifted down another street and then turned into an alley that caught his eye because of the hundreds of prayer flags, small colourful squares of cotton with Buddhist mantras stamped on them, that hung from all its ornately carved balconies and window frames. He stopped to look at a small shrine to the Hindu God Ganesh that adorned the doorway of one house, its elephant head garlanded with a chains of dried flowers and sprinkled with rose petals.
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