The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller by Peter May (learn to read books .TXT) 📕

her. ‘Right speech,’ he droned on, ‘meaning telling the truth, avoiding rumours, swearing and conceited gossip; Right action, meaning the decision not to kill or hunt any living thing, not to steal or to commit adultery . . .’

The houseboy was kneading a little ball of hot paste on the convex margin of the bowl, and Lisa smelled for the first time the pungent sweet odour of fresh opium.

‘. . . Right effort, meaning the conscious choice of good over evil; Right mindfulness, meaning the awareness of the divisions of contemplation: the body; sensation, the mind, and the Dharma . . .’ The General guided her to one of the leather armchairs and indicated she should sit. She sat uneasily as he crossed to his desk and poured them each more wine from a small porcelain jug. ‘And Right concentration, meaning the mental absorption on actions to be performed rightly.’ He handed her a cup and paused. ‘Was that seven or eight?’

‘I lost count,’ Lisa said nervously

The General laughed. ‘So did I. I think I may have forgotten one. But, then, forgetfulness is one of the privileges of old age.’ He turned to his boy and barked something in Thai. The boy nodded and the General drained his cup in one draught before crossing to the bed. ‘Excuse me, my dear. I like to make myself comfortable.’ He arranged himself on the bed, propping himself up with several pillows. Lisa watched with a fascinated horror as the houseboy plunged a needle into a tiny cavity in the centre of the bowl, and with a practised flick of the wrist released the opium and reversed the bowl over the flame. He held the pipe steady as the General leaned forward and took the end of it between his lips. The bead of opium bubbled gently as he inhaled in one long smooth pull before lying back on the pillows, slowly releasing the smoke from his mouth and nostrils. He sighed with a deep satisfaction and visibly relaxed. He barked something again in Thai and the houseboy immediately began preparing another pipe. ‘I have asked him to prepare you a pipe,’ he said without looking at her.

Lisa sat frozen in her chair. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. But there was uncertainty in her voice, something seductive in the sweet smell of the smoke. Her head swam with confusion and alcohol and the temptation of something forbidden. She took a mouthful of rice wine.

The General rolled over on to his side, propping himself on one elbow, his fat smiling face almost beatific. ‘But you must. We are on this earth for such a short time. It would be criminal not to taste the fruits that it offers at least once. And once tasted, never forgotten. You will not regret it, I promise you.’ But still she hesitated. He shrugged, arching his eyebrows in a gesture of regret. ‘Of course, I cannot force you.’ He spoke again to the boy, who plunged the needle for a second time, flipping the pipe over the flame and holding it steady for his master. The General sucked long and deep and lay back again, eyes closed, as the smoke drifted up from his open mouth.

Lisa finished the wine in her cup and rose unsteadily to her feet. Her resolve seemed to ebb away, her throat constricting in anticipation. She seemed drawn, irrevocably, to the pipe, sudden desire overcoming all doubts. ‘Alright,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.

The General uttered a short command to the boy and rolled over on to his side once more. His eyes, though dark and strangely glazed, shone brightly. He held out a hand. ‘Come.’

She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it, watching fascinated as the houseboy kneaded a third ball of the hot paste on the convex margin of the bowl. She was aware of the General shifting on the bed beside her, of her shoulders being taken gently in his hands. The room seemed darker than when they had entered it. All fear, all doubts had gone, as though somehow she had left her will to resist downstairs among the Buddha images. Her mouth was dry and her face flushed hot. The General’s voice was soft and breathy, very close to her. ‘Do not try and draw it all in at once. You will find it hot on your throat at first. You may choke. Try and draw as much of it into your lungs as you can and release it slowly. The second pull will be easier.’

The boy plunged the needle, released the opium and flipped the bowl over the flame. The General eased her gently towards the outstretched pipe till her lips touched the ivory mouthpiece. The boy held it patiently as she took her first tentative draw, breathing it in as the General had told her. At once the smoke burned the back of her throat and she choked in a fit of coughing. The General held her firmly. ‘Again. Don’t be afraid, it will be easier this time.’ Her mouth and nostrils were filled by a musty, sweet taste, her throat still burning. She drew again and this time felt the smoke filling her lungs. And as she slowly exhaled, a soft relaxing wave seemed to break over her. ‘Again,’ the General’s voice was softly urging. She drew a third and fourth time before exhausting the opium and lying back, filled with a wonderful warm sense of euphoria. She closed her eyes, hardly aware of the General gently lifting her to lay her out along the length of the bed. Weightlessly she drifted back through space. Falling. Flying. Free.

When, finally, she opened her eyes the room seemed oddly cool. She shifted her head a little to one side. The oil lamp had been doused and the houseboy was gone. A hand turned her head back to face front, and soft wet lips pressed against hers, a tongue forcing them apart, flicking into her