The Amber Trail by M. J. Kelly Page A

as he was
handed a decorative piece of paper. A heading inscribed below the
picture read: Girish Survana – Doctorate in Botany – Delhi
University.
    “ A botanist
huh?”
    Raj glanced at the picture. “Yes,
Dad and I manage the crops around here.”
    “ Impressive. Our
company uses your hops to make our beer. We think they could be the
best in the world.”
    Raj lowered his glass to the
table and studied Dig, his eyebrows furrowed. “You‘re lucky,” he
said. “We don’t export many hops. Most are kept for our own
production.”
    “ But how do you get
the hops out of here?”
    “ Same way you came
in.”
    “ What, by
motorbike?”
    “ By rail. Deliveries
leave most evenings.”
    “ But—I didn’t see any
trains?”
    “ Don’t need them,”
said Raj, smiling. “Now stop asking questions and I’ll drop you
over for your meeting.” He beckoned Dig to the door.
    They remounted the motorbike, and
Raj steered it through a pair of deep wheel ruts that traced the
edge of the river. They bounced through potholes as the imposing
frame of the brewery grew closer. Dig clenched his teeth and held
tightly to the frame of the bike.

10
    RAJ EASED THE BIKE TO A STOP in a
dirt car park outside the rusted, corrugated building. A cluster of
motorbikes were lined up on one side of the clearing; a long
container truck was parked opposite. Flank ing the edge of the river were a cluster of squat trees with branches that stretched
wide over the dirt, and roots that hung down in curtains. Dig
recognised the banyan trees from the invoice in his
pocket.
    He followed Raj toward a wide,
open roller door that revealed the shadowy interior of the brewery.
As he passed the container truck he spotted a set of circular steel
railway wheels on the machine that were set forward of the normal
rubber tyres.  
    “ The truck also has
rail wheels?”
    “ It’s a hi-rail,” Raj
said. “It travels on both.”
    Dig raised his eyebrows and
nodded.
    A dented orange forklift drove
out of the building, supporting a pallet of green boxes with Banyan Bitter marked on the side, and headed to the rear of
the container truck. As the machine lowered the pallet into the
container, the thick-bearded driver watched Dig with narrowed eyes.
Dig took a deep breath and followed Raj through the
door.
    The inside of the building opened
out to a high ceiling of exposed steel rafters. A pair of pigeons
took flight above them; the flapping of their wings echoed around
the space.
    At ground level, a boxy office
building of peeling green paint was set against the near wall.
Further inside, hissing pieces of rusted brewing equipment were
clustered together in groups. A sulphuric odour hung in the
air.
    Dig followed Raj around the
corner of the office to see a group of three men standing over a
weathered steel vat. One was elderly with hunched shoulders, wild
grey hair and a thick beard. He wore only a length of fabric tied
around his waist. The other men poured bags of grain into the vat,
their hair spotted with barley husk. Raj walked past the m and headed toward the office, with Dig behind
him.
    “ Hey!” said a high
pitched voice. Dig turned to see the elderly man staring at him as
he scratched his face. “Who...is this?” Dig recognised him as Raj’s
father, Girish, from the pictures inside the house.
    “ His name’s Dig,” Raj
said. “I’m taking him in for a meeting with Max.”
    Girish blinked rapidly. “What?
Um...no Raj! Max is out at the docks today, in the Goa office.” He
continued to scratch at his face. “But, who is this?”
    An awkward silence filled the
room. Nausea churned in Dig’s stomach as he stepped forward and
extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Dig.”
    “ Stop.” Girish folded
his arms. “What are you doing here?”
    “ Please. I apologise
for turning up unannounced, but I need to have a quick talk to Max.
Or if he isn’t here, then maybe we can have a quick
chat.”
    Girish’s brow furrowed. “No, no.
I don’t do... chats .