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Ash Mistry and the City of Death
He checked his hair in the mirror as he slid his gel-coated fingers through his thick black locks. He’d grown them out over the last few months and they were getting perilously long; the gel barely held his hair under any sort of control. “Pass us the Levi’s T-shirt,” he said. “The black one.”
“They’re all black.” She picked up a random T-shirt. “What happened to all your other clothes?”
“Thought it was time for a new look. Anyway, a lot of my old stuff didn’t fit any more.” After his time in India, he’d come back a different shape. The old Ash had been ‘cuddly’; this new Ash was as sharp as a razor.
“So you’ve decided to go all skintight and superhero-ish?”
“Something like that.”
As Ash took off his shirt, he saw the scar – a pale white line locked in the dark skin, wedged between hard muscle at the top of his stomach. He drew his fingernail along it. That was where Savage had pushed the arrowhead in. Another Ash had died that night in the ancient capital of the demon king. Another boy had bled to death on the sand-covered flagstones before the Iron Gates. Now Ash was a dead man walking, brought back to life by Kali to be her weapon.
“Do you miss him?” he asked Lucky. “The old Ash?”
“You’re still here. Same as you ever were.”
Ash slid the T-shirt on. “We know that’s not true.”
“Where it matters, it is.” She glanced at the mirror. Ash stood there, the T-shirt taut across his chest, clinging to the contours of his torso. He double-knotted his Converse All Stars. It wouldn’t do to go tripping over a loose shoelace.
Ash pulled out his shirt drawer and dropped it on the floor. He stretched his arm to the back of the dresser and felt around. His fingers touched bare steel. The object was taped to the back panel of the cabinet. He ripped the tape off.
Hands tightening round the hilt, Ash pulled out his katar.
The Indian punch dagger was thirty centimetres long, the blade almost half the length. Its handle was shaped like an H, gripped along the short, horizontal bar, with the wide triangular blade jutting forward, so the attack was delivered via a straight punch. The tip was diamond-hard and designed for penetrating steel armour. It was like no other weapon in the world, unique to India.
Lucky drew in her breath. “I didn’t know you still had it.”
Ash checked the edges. Still razor-sharp. “You approve?”
“No.” She sat up. “I don’t want you getting involved with Parvati.”
Ash took out a folded piece of leather. He’d made the scabbard himself one evening at the school workshop, doing some after-hours work to earn more credits. He slipped his belt through the straps and then put it on. The katar went into the leather sheath, nestling in his lower back.
“Ash…”
“I’m just doing her a favour, that’s all.” Ash put his Victorian Army greatcoat on over the katar, a knee-length number, his ‘Sherlock Special’. He checked himself in the mirror. The coat hid the katar perfectly, but with a flick he could instantly grab it. Lucky peered over his shoulder.
“You’ll knock ’em dead,” she said before grimacing. “But not in the literal sense. OK?”
“OK.”
“And Gemma will be there.” Lucky sniffed the deodorant and wrinkled her nose. “Who knows, you might get your first real kiss tonight.”
“I’ve kissed a girl before.”
“Really? Who?”
There was a long pause. “Parvati.”
“Parvati? As in daughter of Ravana? As in half-demon assassin?” Lucky leaned forward. “What was it like?”
“All I remember was the abject fear and the sense that I was about to suffer a slow and hideous death.”
“I’m sure it’ll be better next time round,” she replied.
Ash checked his mobile phone. Parvati wanted to meet at the Royal Bengal Restaurant. He went along Shaftesbury Avenue, with its theatres showing musicals and Shakespearean plays. The Lyric had a revival of Faustus, and a glaring red devil loomed over the passers-by, his face split by a bloody grin. Ash turned down Great Windmill Street and away from the bright lights and bustling streets into a very different part of Soho.
Soho still had an edgy, forbidden atmosphere, especially for a boy with parental locks on his computer. His parents would go mental if they knew he was wandering around here at night. In spite of the gleaming towers and flash shops, most of London still lay upon ancient streets and winding lanes, which made Soho a labyrinth of seedy, dark alleys where dimly seen figures lurked in the doorways and the encroaching fog seemed to choke all colour, fading it to grey. Ash kept his eyes down.
“Nice coat,” said Parvati as Ash entered the restaurant. The place was packed with diners and smelled of spices – fried onions, cardamom and garlic. A waiter slipped past holding a sizzling balti tray. Molten butter shone on the fresh naan bread. Ash’s mouth watered. “Dinner first?”
“Just tea.” Parvati pointed out of the window. “Monty’s flat is round the corner.”
The neon lights from the bar opposite filled the front window with garish colour, and it took Ash a second to realise there was someone waiting at the table for them.
“This is Khan,” said Parvati, taking a seat.
Khan stood up and reached across to greet Ash. “Namaste.” His voice was a deep, rumbling growl – the sort of sound that wouldn’t be out of place in a jungle. Over six feet tall, the guy had bronze skin with cropped light brown hair, and the stitches on his dark purple shirt strained against the pressure of his muscles. He met Ash’s gaze with confident, amber eyes. Despite his size, he moved with feline grace.
Ash felt Khan’s nails prick his skin as they shook hands. He sat down, acutely aware that everyone in the restaurant was watching him. No, they were watching Khan. The phrase ‘animal magnetism’ sprang to mind.
Dark stripes marked Khan’s arm. Ash didn’t need any more clues to know what sort of rakshasa this guy was. “Tiger,” Ash said. “Yes?”
Khan nodded. Once, and not that long ago, Ash hadn’t believed in rakshasas. They were the bad guys in Indian mythology, immortal shape-changers that had fought humanity thousands of years ago over rulership of the world. The Ramayana was the story of that long-ago war, recounting how Prince Rama had defeated Ravana, the biggest and baddest of the rakshasas, and led humanity to victory.
Rakshasas were legends. Now here Ash was having tea with two of them.
Parvati put her hand on Khan’s arm. Ash’s blood boiled at the way she smiled at the tiger demon. “Khan and I go way back. He’s here to help.”
Khan grinned. “Sikander, wasn’t it? You were leading the maharajah’s infantry to the left, I was with the royal bodyguard.” He stretched out his arms and the grin grew even wider. “Now that was a fight. Nothing gets the blood going like an elephant charge. I don’t care what the historians say – Sikander crapped his pants.”
Sikander? Ash frowned. Wasn’t that the Indian name for…
“You fought Alexander the Great? Seriously? What was he like?”
Khan put out his hand, holding it around shoulder height. “Shorter than you’d imagine and, on that day, in need of a change of underwear.”
Ash stared at the two of them. Khan was showing off, name-dropping Alexander like that, but Ash had to admit the story was still pretty awesome. He was into history, thanks to Uncle Vik. What his uncle would have given to be here, sitting with a pair who had been part of all the history he could only read and guess about. But the two of them treated it so casually, barely acknowledging the legends they’d met. Maybe if you were a legend yourself things like fighting Alexander the Great didn’t seem like such a big deal.
Parvati laid her mobile phone on the table and pointed at the map on the screen. “There’s an easy way into Monty’s place from the side alleyway. It’s blocked off so no one goes down there.”
“Any visitors we should know about?” asked Ash.
“Like Savage?” replied Parvati. “Let’s ask Monty. Nicely.”
“Nicely?” Ash grinned. “You’re terror made flesh, Parvati.”
Parvati stopped and looked at him in a particularly meaningful way. “That’s an interesting phrase, Ash,” she said. “Where did you hear it?”
“Dunno. Just made it up, I suppose.” Ash couldn’t miss the way she was looking at him now. Worried. “Why?”
Parvati shrugged. “I thought I’d heard it before. Some time ago.”
A minute later they were climbing over a large rubbish bin that hid the alleyway from view. A greasy kitchen exhaust duct rattled and spat above their heads, and black plastic bin liners, stinking with rotten vegetables, lay scattered under foot. A mangy dog tore at one of the bags and sniffed at the spilled rubbish. Khan gave a throaty growl. The dog whimpered and fled.
“I don’t like dogs,” said Khan.
“It’s high up,” said Parvati, ignoring him.
She was right. There was a single window facing into the alley, but it was about four metres up and semi-opaque.
Khan shrugged. “Will that be a problem?”
“No,” said Ash. He stepped back and focused on the small window. Closing his eyes, he drew down within himself, feeling his mind, his senses, descending into a dark swirling maelstrom somewhere where his soul might be.
Ash shuddered and enjoyed the electric thrill as preternatural energy swelled within him. It was the rush of riding a tidal wave. No, like riding a tsunami.
Ash opened his eyes and gazed about him.
Every sense buzzed on overload. He could see the very grains of the brickwork, each stroke of the brush on the paint that covered the walls. He smelled and separated every odour, however faint: the pungent, moist cabbage leaves that covered the floor, the gurgling drains with old, sooty rainwater, the sharp, sweet stink of petrol.
He looked up at the window and merely reached for it. It wasn’t much of a jump; he barely flexed his muscles, and then he flew upward. A moment later he touched down on the narrow window ledge, balancing on his toes four metres above the ground. He perched there for a moment, ear pressed against the window. Nothing.
Ash curled his fingers and drove his fist through the glass. He peered into the darkness beyond; to him it was as bright as day. A small, simple, smelly old bathroom. He climbed in.
There was a snarl from behind him and suddenly Khan was there. His nails were a few centimetres longer than before, and Ash saw the faint ripple of black-striped fur across his arms.
Parvati slipped in behind Khan, and suddenly the bathroom was awfully cramped.
“This is cosy,” she said. “Shall we wait here for Monty to join us?”
Ash opened the bathroom door and entered Monty’s flat.
Aged, yellowed wallpaper hung off the walls and patches of snot-green mould stained the ceiling. They went into the living room and found it covered with discarded books and tottering piles of newspapers that went back years, decades even. The furniture looked like it had been collected from skips. The table was missing one leg and rested on a pile of bricks. More books filled the shelves, stuffed in with no sense of order. Ash registered the number of titles specialising in Indian jewellery. Flies buzzed around an unfinished meal. Green mould covered the cups, and the plates were encrusted with who knew what. And his mum complained about his room being untidy. She would have a heart attack if she saw this place.
“There’s no one at home,” said Ash. He picked up an old bowler hat. Strange, it was the only clean thing here. A set of clothes sat, neatly folded, beneath it.
“Thanks for stating the blindingly obvious,” said Parvati.
“Disgusting,” said Ash. “There are mouse droppings everywhere.”
Parvati turned to him, finger to her lips.
Ash listened, not sure what for – something that didn’t fit, something that was wrong.
There, behind the pile of magazines. He could hear a scratching. Too steady to be an accident. The noise stopped, as though something was aware it had been heard. There was even the delicate huff of a breath being held.
Parvati’s hand shot out and a second later she had a rat dangling from her grip.
A rat. Great.
Parvati took off her glasses and held the rodent tightly. It squealed as it stared into her cobra eyes. She flexed her jaw, widening it far beyond normal dimensions.
“For heaven’s sake, Parvati, you need to eat it right now?” said Ash.
“Hear that?” asked Parvati. She was addressing the rat. “Looks like you’re dinner.” Her jaws widened and her fangs sprang out, each slick with deadly poison. Her tongue, forked, flickered out across its whiskers.
The rat scrabbled desperately but vainly. It twisted, head straining, and the tiny black eyes looked straight at Ash, imploring him for help.
“Please!” it squeaked in a tiny voice. “Don’t let her eat me!”
It looked like the rat was trying to nod. Not easy, being upside down.
“I’m sorry, but can we have a reality check?” said Ash. “That rat. It talked.”
The rat fell, and in a second it was on its feet, nose and whiskers twitching. It rubbed its eyes and Ash swore it stamped its foot. Then it shook itself like a dog coming out of a pond. But instead of water, minute hairs tumbled off its body. The pink, oily skin pulsed and bubbled as the rat spasmed. Its squeak rose to a high, sharp violin screech as it blew up like some distorted balloon. Arms stuck out of the pink, swelling flesh and irregular patches of black hair spiralled out from its deformed head. The arms lengthened and the claws twisted into hands. Within seconds the rat was gone, and a pale, naked man stood before them.
The man grinned as he covered his privates with his hands and stood at an awkward, gawky angle. A stumpy pink tail still flicked back and forth. He glanced around. “You couldn’t pass me my clothes, could you?” he said. “It’s just a bit draughty.”
Parvati tossed him his bowler hat.
“Who are you?” asked Ash.
“The name’s Monty.”
Parvati’s own nose wrinkled up in a look of disgust. “A common rat demon.”
“Now, there’s no reason to be rude, your highness.” Monty shifted his shoulders, trying to strike a more proud stance, not easy while holding a bowler over his private parts. “Common. Of all the cheek.”
“Let’s play with it,” said Khan. His nails were five-centimetre claws. He tapped them on the table, dragging little grooves through the wood.
“Easy, tiger,” said Parvati. But there was a malicious edge to her voice.
Monty registered the deadly looks. He backed away, but just bumped against Ash. He sank to his knees, grabbing his hands and dropping his bowler hat. “Sir, you look like a reasonable man. Surely we can come to some arrangement?”
Khan spoke. “Whatever he says, it’ll be lies. The rats are the lowest caste of rakshasa. Hardly rakshasas at all.”
Ash slowly slid his hand out and wiped it on his trousers. “An arrangement?”
“Your protection, sir. In exchange for information.”
“Your information had better be top quality,” said Parvati. She’d revealed more of her own demon form, with green scales clustered round her throat and her cobra eyes acutely slanted, large and hypnotic. Her tongue flicked the air, tasting Monty’s fear.
Monty looked around at all three of them. “What do you want to know?”
“We’re looking for the Koh-i-noor. We understand you’ve just stolen it,” said Ash.
“The Koh-i-noor? You think I’d have something like that?” He shook his head. “Way out of my league. Try Sotheby’s. They’ve got a special department for that sort of stuff.”
Khan’s roar shook the windowpanes as he pounced, crossing the room in an instant. He lifted Monty up by the throat, pushing the rat demon high into the air until his head was touching the ceiling. Khan’s canines were long and much thicker than Parvati’s. What they lacked in venom, they made up for in sharpness. They could tear Monty open with minimal effort.
“Wrong answer,” Khan snarled.
“Oh, the Koh-i-noor!” cried Monty. “I must have misheard. It’s my ears; full of fur.”
Khan dropped him. The rat demon lay on the floor, coughing.
Ash helped him up. “So you steal. Is that what rat demons do?”
“We’ve all got to earn a living, put some cheese on the table, as it were,” said Monty. “I do a bit of this and a bit of that. It’s not like the old days, when we were top dogs.”
“The Plague Years,” said Parvati.
Monty sighed. “Golden days. I miss them. Demons nowadays got no sense of pride, no sense of history.”
“There still a lot of them around in London?” asked Ash.
Monty snorted. “Working for those big banks in Canary Wharf.”
Ash laughed. “There’s profit in misery.” It was the Savage family motto.
Monty put on a pair of trousers and a jacket. Then he scooped up his bowler hat and tapped it into place and sighed with satisfaction. “Now, to business.”
Ash looked at the demon. This guy had stolen probably the most heavily guarded items in the entire country? He looked more like the kind of bloke you’d find on a street corner selling knock-off perfume. “How did you do it?”
“Ah, sir, we have our professional secrets.”
Khan growled. Monty gulped. “Well, if you really want to know. The sewers.”
“Sewers? The drainpipes? Wouldn’t they have grilles and bars to prevent that sort of thing?”
“You’re a very clever lad, if I may say so. That’s what I’ve always said, brains always triumph over brawn.” Monty gave Khan a look of superior disdain. “The sewer defences are designed to prevent human-sized infiltration. Why, half my family lives down there. It was just a matter of time before we worked out which set of pipes led where.”
Parvati smiled, maybe with just a touch of admiration. “So you just crawled into the room?”
“I won’t say it was that simple, but fundamentally, yes, that’s exactly what I did. The guard went out for a minute to answer a call of nature. I clamped the diamond in my teeth, which is harder than it sounds, then dived back down the drain. Four hours it took me to get back. Almost drowned in a sea of—”
“Yes, we’ve heard enough,” said Khan. He uncurled his claws, holding out his palm. “Give us the Koh-i-noor.”
Monty looked from Khan, to Parvati, and finally to Ash. “Now let’s not be hasty. Surely we can come to some arrangement?”
Parvati’s eyes narrowed and a soft, dangerous hiss slipped from between her lips. She sat on the edge of the table, quite still – but in the stillness was a lethal pause. Beside her stood Khan, his predatory eyes on the rat. His claws clicked and clicked with anticipation, about to take feline-rodent relations to their usual bloody conclusion. This was a glimpse into the demon heart of Parvati, and Ash wasn’t sure he liked it. His friends were dangerous people.
And what does that make me?
Monty put his hand to his throat and backed away. “A teeny-tiny arrangement?” He swallowed and sweat dripped off his long nose. “Fine. Have it your way.” He went to an old cathode ray-style TV in the corner. He unscrewed the back with his nail. “You have the diamond and we’re even, right?”
“We’ll see,” said Parvati.
The back cover fell off and Monty searched inside, coming out with a small brown cardboard box. Parvati took it off him and opened it up.
The diamond caught every speck of light and amplified it within the countless facets on its surface. According to Indian legend all diamonds had their own sort of life, and seeing the Koh-i-noor glowing within the dingy room, Ash believed it. There was power, ancient and even malevolent, within its flawless heart. Rumoured to be cursed, it was said that he who possessed it would hold all the treasures of the world, and all its miseries.
Ash turned to Monty. “Has anyone else made an offer for this?”
Monty’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”
Ash’s voice dropped with cold anger. “Did Savage want it?”
“Easy, Ash, I’ll deal with this,” said Parvati.
“Oh my God.” Monty backed away. “You’re Ash Mistry, aren’t you? The Kali-aastra?” There was true, deep fear in Monty’s voice. He cringed in the corner, eyes wide and breath coming in desperate pants.
Rakshasas died, like everyone else. But unlike humans, the demons were reincarnated with their memories and powers intact. It might take a few years for them to remember everything, but they didn’t fear death the way mortals did.
Yet they feared Kali, the goddess of death and destruction. She was true annihilation. The end of existence. If a demon was killed by Kali or her weapon, there was no coming back. Ever.
And Ash was exactly that, the weapon of Kali.
Monty seemed to shrink. “Yes. He did. Savage wanted it.”
“We’ve got company,” interrupted Khan. He was peering through the curtains at the main street. Ash joined him.
A large white Humvee had rolled up on to the kerb, and Ash watched as a tawny-haired woman in white stepped out. Jackie, Savage’s right-hand woman. She was a jackal rakshasa and one of the two directly responsible for killing his uncle and aunt. Three men also got out of the big car, rakshasas for sure, but no one he recognised. With his enhanced senses, he knew Savage wasn’t in the car.
Ash gripped the curtain. He wanted to tear it off and leap down and fight them. Kill them. The power inside of him stirred and swelled, urging him on.
“Not now, Ash,” warned Parvati. “We don’t want to give Savage any warning.”
Ash spun round and grabbed Monty. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know, honestly!”
Three points of light along Monty’s neck, two on the left, one at the base of his throat. A couple on either side of his head. Activating his knowledge of the kill points, of Marma Adi, was getting easier and easier. Ash tightened his right fist. Glowering at the petrified rat, he whispered. “I am going to count to three. Then, if the answer isn’t the one I want, I will put my knuckles through what little brain you have. One…”
“Kolkata! He’s in Kolkata!” Monty’s gaze widened and his tail twitched in panic. “I only spoke to him today – check the area code on the mobile phone if you don’t believe me. He told me he was sending his servants over with the cash. It’s true!”
“Where in Kolkata?” asked Parvati.
“Two…”
“Somewhere out of the Savage Foundation. That’s all I know, I swear!”
The doorbell below rang.
“Well?” asked Khan. “Let’s kill him and be gone.”
“No, you promised,” muttered Monty. “Please, I won’t tell them anything.”
Parvati sighed. “Sorry, but we know that’s not true, don’t we?” She looked at Ash. “Do you want to do it or shall I?”
Kali destroyed rakshasas. It was her holy duty. It was Ash’s duty to serve her. Killing this rat demon was holy work. Ash would be cleansing the world. The desire to kill was like a fever, filling his head and heart. The black, swirling darkness urged him to do it: it struggled to take control of his body, to take over and then destroy.
