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Chapters (45)
  1. The Man With No Face
  2. Also by
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. INTRODUCTION
  9. CHAPTER ONE
  10. CHAPTER TWO
  11. CHAPTER THREE
  12. CHAPTER FOUR
  13. CHAPTER FIVE
  14. CHAPTER SIX
  15. CHAPTER SEVEN
  16. CHAPTER EIGHT
  17. CHAPTER NINE
  18. CHAPTER TEN
  19. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  20. CHAPTER TWELVE
  21. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  23. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  25. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  26. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  27. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kale opened the shutters on the first light of morning and looked out on the grey mist that hung over the city. He had his coat on already, his bag packed and sitting on the end of the bed.

It had been a bad night with little sleep. He had dreamt of the long, cold dormitory, the voices of little boys crying beneath their covers. The harsh discipline, the loneliness of the place; both had left their mark on him. But he had never cried as others had. He had never succumbed to the authority of the housemasters. Rather, it had strengthened in him that which set him apart. The boys had known it, and so had the masters. He sensed their fear of him. They did not know how to deal with his sullen, silent rebellion against their establishment. The beatings, the solitary confinement, the withdrawal of privileges. All had been met with the same mute acceptance that so baffled them. The dark eyes that blazed their hatred; a boy who was only nine. It had all left its mark, and none of it had been without pain. But they would never know it.

Kale turned away from the window and lifted his bag from the bed. He was unsettled, anxious now to be away. But there were still four hours to pass before he could collect the remainder of his money from the locker at the Gare du Midi. He left the room and got into a lift that hummed and clattered its way slowly down to reception. The desk clerk looked up as he swung the lift gate open.

‘Your bill, Monsieur?’

Kale nodded and laid his bag on the floor beside the desk. The clerk lifted the bill off a shelf behind him and pushed it across the counter.

‘Are you not having breakfast?’

Kale shook his head and the clerk shuffled uncomfortably as Kale counted out the notes from his wallet. The clerk had seen them come and go in an establishment like this, but this one was different. There was something dark and vaguely sinister about him. Nothing you could put your finger on. His wallet was amply filled, but his clothes did not suggest money. The clerk noticed these things. When there is so much time to pass in a day, you begin to look for them. The button missing from the coat, the slightly frayed cuff.

Kale lifted his bag and turned away, but stopped as he noticed a rack filled with the French-language Belgian daily, La Dernière Heure. ‘How much?’ he asked.

‘Fifteen francs, Monsieur.’