Chapter nine: a visitor in the night

"Dunno about you, but I'm even hungrier than I was before," said Ron. "I'm going to go down to the kitchens, see if I can find some real food. You want to come."

"No, I'll stay. Bring me some though."

"Alright" Ron left, leaving Harry alone in the bedroom. Harry sighed and fell backward onto the bed. He remembered that the servants had cautioned them to stay in there rooms. "Pankot is not the same at night," they had said, "best to stay hidden."

Still, Harry felt that he was rapidly losing the trail of the Sankara stones; the conversation at dinner had only helped to seal that. If there was evil at the heart of Pankot Palace, Harry felt that the Maharajah had no part in it. Of Chatter Lal, Harry had no such doubts.

Still, he had one night, if he were going to find the villager's children's well as their sacred stone. Harry didn't like the odds.

Harry got up and crossed to the dresser, he realized that, assuming Pankot Palace had the necessary animal and materials, he could send an owl to the Ministry, explaining their absence, as well as the villager's plight. But after fifteen minutes of searching, he had found no owl, or even quill, ink and parchment.

As Harry was going through the chest of drawers, wondering why he was looking there, as who on earth would keep their owl in a chest of drawers, he missed something very important. The room had no window, so it was lit by a ball of magic light, inside a lantern. Though this worked well enough, it left the corners of the room in shadow. However, since Harry's turn, one of the silhouetted figures would have proved a bit more three-dimensional than the others. Not to mention that it was breathing lightly.

Harry was about to give up in his search, when something was quickly looped around his neck from behind, pulled tight. It was a yellow scarf. Harry had not known to take a last deep breath, so his lungs quickly deflated. He tore at the scarf around his neck, but it stayed fast, secured by the assassin behind him. Harry decided that this was definite proof that there was something wrong at Pankot Palace; however, the only problem was he might not live long enough to discover the source.

Harry twisted suddenly, yanking his attacker of their feet, and then rammed them back into the wall. He heard a grunt of pain, so he tried it again. Though this was in no means comfortable for the assassin, it did not unhinge them to let go, or even loosen their grip.

Groping, Harry's fingers found a small table. Grabbing it with one hand, he summoned all his strength, and smashed it over, what he believed to be, his attacker's head. The scarf loosened, just for a second, and Harry managed to slip out of it. After stumbling away from the wall, he turned to face the assassin.

It was a woman, which surprised Harry slightly. She wore dark clothing, with a red sash around her waist. There was blood-red body paint on her face, twirling into an ornate design that meant nothing to Harry. What interested him most were her eyes. Though they were a normal brown shade, but there was something else about them. They were not blank; she was no victim of the imperious curse. In fact, there seemed to be an extra intelligence in her eyes. Something evil.

The assassin dropped her scarf, pulling a wand from her sleeve. So his attacker was magical, this gave Harry even more to think about. He had a much more unpleasant thought, as he realized that his wand had been set on a bedside table a few yards away.

Harry dived across the bed, as an orange spell tore through the air beside him, singing his hair. He ducked by the bed, snatched up his wand, and rolled to his feet.

"Stupefy!"

"Protego!" she blocked easily.

"Petrificus," she sidestepped the spell. And retaliated with a nonverbal curse that set Harry's right arm swelling uncontrollably. He returned it to normal with a few taps of his wand, but this made him unable to react in time to the next spell. The jet of purple light hit him in the chest, blasting him back off his feet, to slam into the wall.

Advancing on him, she raised her wand. Around her, the room tore itself apart. Above her, the ceiling fan tore free, plaster fell from the ceiling. The beds collapsed, the mattresses torn. The various tables and chairs lifted into the air and where hurled at Harry. He rolled to the left to avoid the chest of drawers he had been searching through moments earlier.

Time for my signature spell, he thought dryly.

"Expeliarmus!"

The assassin's wand was torn form her grip, flying across to the room to fall behind a long couch that had been inching toward Harry. Harry got to his feet. The woman crouched, her stance ready for battle, but she did not move. Harry held her at wand point.

"Who are you," he said at last. "Why were you sent to kill me"?

"My name is not important," she whispered. Her voice was cold and emotionless, still not imperiosed, but something similar. "And you are an enemy of the mother."

"Do you mean Kali? Are you Thuggee?"

"I know of no such title, I serve the mother, and I obey"

"Do you know about any kidnapped children, or maybe sacred stones?"

"I will give you no more information. You may kill me now, but the mother will find you." She smiled after that, her teeth were stained with red, her voice taking on a note of joy, the first emotion Harry had caught. "And you are damned." Harry felt that she didn't mean that just in the swearing terms.

"I won't kill you," Harry sighed, lowering his wand.

"Then you are an enemy of the mother." Suddenly she was in the air, leaping toward him, a look of utter loathing on her reddened face.

The magic reacted before Harry did. A blast of white energy slammed into her. She was thrown across the room, to fall limply, blood trickling down her face. It took Harry a few minutes to realize that she was dead, by his hand. Though people had definitely died before, from his actions. But this was the closest he had come to the killing curse, and he hadn't even meant for it to happen.

Harry slipped out into the hall. If he was going to free the children and find the stone before the night was up, there was little time to waste. Harry saw no one, as he snuck quietly down the corridor. Though he had not learned much from his would-be assassin, Harry remembered that the Thuggee had used yellow scarves on their victims. Just like the one she had used. This was too much of a coincidence, the cult had to be responsible somehow.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed quietly (which is difficult) as he came into view. He was carrying a plate heaped with fruits of various shapes and styles. "So, what's up mate," he said throwing an apple to Harry. Harry caught it, but didn't eat; he had recently lost his hunger.

"There's a dead woman in our room."

"What? Not again…"

"No really. She tried to kill me, but she got the worst of it. I think she's Thuggee."
"You have all the fun," said Ron, though Harry knew he was joking. Then, "Wait, if they came for you…"

"Luna," said Harry, and broke into a run. Behind him Ron dropped the plate, which clattered conspicuously. It's not like it'll really make a difference, Harry thought.

Luna's room was unlocked. Harry wrenched it open after a few seconds of hammering on the door. Inside, it was similar to Harry and Ron's room. Though it was smaller, and had only one bed, it was still very posh. Luna herself was not to be seen.

Harry and Ron searched the room for hidden assassins, finding none. Luna arrived, about as they were finishing up. She still wore her dress from dinner, though she wore a jacket over it.

"Odd, for you to visit," she said. "I was just at your room. It's very untidy, more so than I expected."

"Yes, well," said Harry. "Where else did you go?"

"I went to see Mr. Blumbart."

"And how is he."

"I don't know. He's gone, and so is all his luggage and such."

"Was his room trashed?" asked Harry.

Luna shook her head, "No, it seemed to be in order.

"But, can you tell me why those flowers are bending, if there's no wind." She pointed to indicate the vase on a table in the corner. She was right; the flowers in it were indeed blown by some unseen wind. And there was no window for it to be coming from.

Harry walked to the table, to get a closer look. As he neared, he did feel a bit of a cold draft.

"There must be a secret passage," he realized. "And judging by how the flowers are blowing, it has to be coming from there." He pointed at a scene of statues cut into the wall. However, after a quick examination, he found no entrance to any secret passage, or anything that indicated one.

"It has to be coming from here," he said to himself. "But the wall…"

"What if the wall didn't exist in the first place," said Ron. Motioning for Harry to move, he stood directly in front of the wall.

"Alahamorha."

At Ron's spell, the wall seemed to melt away, revealing a dark space behind it.

"That was brilliant," said Harry, "How'd you know about that."

Ron shrugged. "One way illusions, I saw George working on them for the shop."

Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Harry took a few steps into the newly revealed space. It was a manmade tunnel, which sloped downward until it turned right some twenty yards along.

Harry also saw, by the entrance: a small picture painted on the wall. Though not identical, it was very similar to that picture that had been painted on the cloth Luna had been given by the escaped child. Everything was coming together.

"Let's go get our stuff," said Harry, "we have some exploring to do."