As Carey sat there sweating and out of breath, the train began to slow down a little owing to the treacherous terrain up ahead. The Princess woke up and looked at him with curiosity- she immediately guessed that he must have had some kind of vision.
“What is it Mr. Carey? You look, pale,” she asked.
“Oh, you never going to believe what I saw, Shamballa! I was there, I saw how beautiful and peaceful it was and how it disappeared,” he replied.
“Disappeared? I don’t understand,” she replied getting closer.
“Let me tell you everything,” he said and started to narrate his dream.
Minutes later, the Princess sat in awe after listening to his tale. This was beneficial to their journey but they still had to find out what happened to the kingdom of Shamballa and where it disappeared. She now began to appreciate the fact that even though he was a foreigner in this land he was deeply connected to its roots. Carey was filled with renewed enthusiasm, he began to look at his map to find out more clues.
“Yes, I got it, look here, deep in the mountains of the Kathmandu valley, there lies this mysterious waterfall that remains dry most of the year. But during a certain period of time when the moon is in a certain position in the night sky, the water reappears mysteriously for one day and one night and disappears again for the entire year, look at this journal of Blavatsky, she has clearly mentioned it right here- you see, she was gathering clues but could not continue her search for Shamballa,” he explained.
“And how does it relate to the Orb?” she asked.
“Ah! You see, she has written about it here- there’s a time when the waters of the mysterious fall appears out of nowhere and flows through the valley and joins the river but there’s a small stream that branches out from it and flows upwards into the hills, I have found traces of said stream and I believe that at the end of it lies the beginning,” he said quoting the journal.
“Yes but it also says that she has heard this in local folklore and it might be just a myth,” she pointed out.
“Yes but lately the line between myth and reality has been gradually fading for me, we have to go there and find out for ourselves,” he replied.
“Hmm, in the end lies the beginning, what could it mean?” she remarked.
“That’s what I intend to find out, it could mean that at the end of the stream there could be the answer to how it all began, i.e. the beginning of the disappearance of Shamballa, whatever it is, I am quite sure that we shall find another piece of the Orb in there,” he replied.
“I hope so Mr. Carey but where did you get this strange journal, it looks so old and European,” she asked.
“Ah, this journal belonged to Madame Blavatsky, my employer handed it to me,” he replied taking the journal in his hand.
“Your employer? I don’t understand,” she remarked.
“Yes, oh, I haven’t told you yet, I was employed by some very wealthy gentlemen in London to come here and find out about Shamballa,” he replied.
“Strange, how did they come to know of it? And why are they so interested in finding the lost kingdom?” she asked again.
“Well, I- I do not know but I’d like to think that they are a group of scholars such as me who are keen in learning the ancient history of this land, now if you’ll excuse me, I will go wash my face,” he said and walked out of the cabin.
The Princess felt that there was something more going on with the employers of Mr. Carey. She knew that anyone interested in locating the Lost Kingdom would not be merely looking for it out of curiosity- they must have ulterior motives. Not everyone was as simple as Carey who only had a thirst for knowledge. She felt like it was her duty to protect this innocent man until he finds Shamballa. If his employers could sponsor him on such an arduous journey based on nothing but a tall tale or a myth, then they must have sent someone to assure that Carey stays on the right path. She knew well enough not to trust those power hungry foreigners- they would double cross anyone for right price!
The train came out of the mountains and into a small station located at the heart of a local town and slowed down. Carey stood at one of the open doors near the luggage compartment and felt the warm breeze in his hair. His eyes soon fixated upon a group of soldiers standing in a circle over a poor old man who seems to be lying on the ground begging for mercy. The train slowed down substantially and Carey had ample time to witness the incident. The soldiers were beating the poor man black and blue while a woman nearby was crying and begging them not to. He was not entirely sure what the matter was, but whatever it might have been, it clearly did not require such brutality on their part. He had seen his fair amount of injustice during his stay and he had tried to help out as much as he could. But it seemed that the government officials and even the foot soldiers would do as they please in the name of upholding the law. He watched helplessly as the man finally went unconscious and was left to die on the platform. His heart grew heavy and his eyes teared up, but what could he do? The train began to speed up again as if conspiring against him, making him watch the horrors of colonial rule…
“You got a match?” said a voice from behind.
Carey turned around to find a middle-aged gentleman in a striped coat with a cigarette under his lips.
“Oh, no sorry, I don’t smoke,” he replied.
“Enjoying the view I see,” said the man putting the cigarette back in his pocket.
“Yes, it’s truly inspiring, makes you look inside,” replied Carey his eyes taking in the beauty of the majestic mountains.
“Wise words! I’m Baxter, Ray Baxter,” said the man extending his hand.
“I’m Arthur Carey,” replied Carey shaking his hand.
“You on a trip to Kathmandu Mr.Carey?” asked Baxter.
“Ah, yes, I’ve always wanted to visit the valley, I’m an archaeologist,” replied Carey.
Something about Baxter seemed a little odd, maybe it was the name, or maybe it was the accent which seemed European or maybe it was the mannerisms. He seemed to be calm and confident but something inside him felt cold and malevolent. Suddenly Carey began to see the auras again, he could see a black fog of negative energy engulfing Baxter. He rubbed his eyes and looked again- a demonic presence floated over his head-
“Ah, I should get back,” said Carey rushing back to his cabin unsure of what he had just seen, he still had to embrace his gifts.
“Everything okay Mr. Carey,” asked Baxter, but Carey was already running towards his cabin in confusion and panic.
“What did I just see? Wh-What was that- who was that?” he kept thinking as he rushed into his cabin.
Baxter slowly took out a lighter from his pocket and lit his cigarette. He was pleased to make first contact with Carey and assess him personally, but Carey had no idea that he shook hands with the person who might someday will be the cause of his untimely death. Baxter was none other than the Dutchman himself in disguise and he was beginning to think that Carey would be so much easier to take down instead of spying on him but that was not how the League wanted to do things…