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Ash Mistry and the City of Death
She stepped back and looked at him.
“You’ve changed,” she said.
“For the better, right?”
“That remains to be seen.”
Oh, nice to see you again too, Parvati.
“How have you been?” he asked. “It’s been ages and I haven’t heard anything.”
“You missed me? How nice.”
“I didn’t say that. But I thought you might have dropped me an e-mail at least.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Blimey, Parvati.” He’d forgotten she didn’t do sensitive. “I’m just saying, it’s good to see you.”
“So who’s this Gemma?” she asked. “Found true love, have we?”
“What?” How did she know about Gemma? Ah yes. Because he’d been shouting her name in the hallway. “Er, she’s just a friend.”
“Is she the one you wrote the poem about?”
Despite the cold air coming through the open window, Ash suddenly became very hot. And bothered. “You know about that?”
“I’ve been keeping up to date. Checking the blogs and boards. We do have the Internet in India, in case you didn’t know.”
“What did you think?” He had to ask. “Of the poem?”
Parvati tapped her chin, brow furrowed in contemplation. “Deeply disturbing. On many levels.”
“Thanks, Parvati. A lot.” She obviously knew nothing about poetry. “I assume you’re not here to discuss my literary endeavours, so why are you here?”
Parvati didn’t answer. Her attention was on a photo on the wall. Ash knew exactly which one.
An Indian couple, in black and white, sat stiffly looking at the camera. The man’s hair was glossy ebony with oil. If he’d used any more, it would have been declared an environmental disaster. His black plastic-framed glasses sat firm on his thin nose.
The woman wore a traditional sari and had a puja mark on her forehead. She had a large gold nose ring, and thick kohl circled her deep black eyes.
Uncle Vik and Aunt Anita.
The photo had been taken years and years ago, when they were newlyweds. Had they imagined how their lives would go? How their lives would end?
It had happened in Varanasi, the holiest city in India. Uncle Vik had been an archaeologist, teaching at the university. But there they’d met Lord Alexander Savage. The English aristocrat had asked Uncle Vik to translate some ancient Harappan scrolls, translations that were crucial to Savage’s plans to resurrect Ravana. When Vik ultimately refused, Savage had killed Ash’s uncle and aunt.
Savage was over three hundred years old, and when Ash had first met him, he’d looked it. A living skeleton with skin flaking off his withered flesh, the man was only kept going by his magic, and even that was beginning to fail. His plan had been to resurrect Ravana, the master of all ten sorceries, in the hope that the demon king would give him immortal youth in exchange for bringing him back from the dead. And it had all been going well for him until Ash had turned up and put his fist through Ravana’s chest, ending him once and for ever.
Ash could still picture the young, rejuvenated Savage, fleeing through the chaos that had followed Ravana’s destruction. He had wanted to go after the English sorcerer, but in the end, he knew where his priorities lay. He had a sister, parents and a home. This was where he belonged. It was Parvati’s job to hunt down Savage – she had her own grudge against him. But Ash’s anger was still there. He missed his aunt and uncle, and Savage needed to pay for what he’d done.
“Have you found him?” asked Ash.
“No. But I’m still looking.” Parvati put her hand on Ash’s shoulder. “I will find him. I promise you.” She looked him up and down. “How are you, Ash?”
“Great. Better than great.” That was true. He was in perfect health. Beyond perfect.
“You certainly look good.”
Ash nodded. “Don’t need to sleep, eat, anything like that. I can run a hundred miles a day without feeling tired. Never get ill, not even a cold. There was a super-flu going around a month ago and half the school was off.”
“I heard about that,” said Parvati. “Made the news back in India.”
Ash slapped his chest. “Not even a sniffle.” He sat down and picked up an apple.
“It will fade, over time,” said Parvati. “You’ll return to being… more human. But never quite all the way.”
“It’s kinda cool being a superhero.”
Parvati arched her eyebrow. “Just don’t start wearing your underpants outside your trousers. It’s not a good look for you.”
“Thanks for the fashion tip.”
“So you’re managing?” She toyed with her sunglasses. “Restraining yourself? Not letting people see exactly who you are? What you are, I should say.”
“Is that why you’re here? To make sure I haven’t fallen to the Dark Side of the Force?”
“Probably too late for that.” Parvati laughed, and Ash’s heart quickened. He’d forgotten how her laughter was like the chiming of silver bells. “But no, that’s not why I’m here. I need your help.” She looked towards Elaine. “My friend had best explain.”
Elaine rummaged around in her pocket and put a postcard on the table. The card was a cheap one that you could get in any tourist shop in London. It showed two bejewelled crowns, a sceptre and a golden orb, each one sitting regally on a red cushion.
“The Crown Jewels?” said Ash. He’d visited the Tower of London loads of times on school trips. Every school kid in Britain recognised them.
“You’ve heard of the Koh-i-noor?” asked Parvati.
“Of course I have.” He looked at the humongous diamond sparkling in the centre of one of the crowns. “The Mountain of Light.”
“Stolen by the British in the mid-nineteenth century from the maharajah of Lahore,” Parvati said. “It was given to Queen Victoria. The original stone was much bigger than what it is now. The British cut it in half and put the largest piece in here.” She tapped the central image. “The Queen Mother’s Crown.”
“Not any more,” said Elaine. “It was stolen five days ago.”
“Impossible. It would have been in the news,” said Ash.
Elaine shook her head. “No. This sort of news is kept very quiet. Why would the government want to admit a national heirloom has been stolen? You can count on the prime minister’s office to cover this sort of thing up to avoid a scandal.”
Ash sat down. “Why was it nicked? To sell it?”
“It is up for sale, that’s for certain,” said Elaine. “It’s the buyer we’re interested in.”
“It is an aastra, Ash,” Parvati replied.
“Ah,” said Ash.
An aastra was anything made by a god – usually weapons. Ash had found one, a golden arrowhead, in an underground chamber in Varanasi, where a splinter of the aastra had entered his thumb. That minute piece of god-forged metal was the source of all his power and all the trouble that had followed: the death of his uncle and aunt, Lucky’s kidnapping and his own demise and return.
“Will it work? The British cut it in half, didn’t they?” he asked.
“You only have a fraction of the Kali-aastra, far less than a half, and it’s served you well,” replied Parvati.
She had a point. Ash peered at his thumb, at the scar marking where the splinter had entered. The sliver of metal was long gone, bound to every atom of his body.
“Whose aastra is it?” he asked. Each aastra was different, depending on which god had forged it. The aastra of Agni, the fire god, gained power from heat and fire. Could the Koh-i-noor be another Kali-aastra like his? That didn’t bear thinking about.
Elaine looked down at her boots as she lit another cigarette and gave a slight shrug. “That we don’t know.”
Ash frowned. “Parvati? Any idea?”
“No,” she declared. “The Koh-i-noor is exceedingly ancient, but I’ve never known anyone to successfully awaken it.”
“Awakened or not, we can’t risk letting it fall into the wrong hands,” said Elaine.
“And by the wrong hands, you mean Savage, don’t you?”
Elaine nodded. “Savage has been a thorn in our side for a few hundred years.”
“What do you mean, ‘our side’?”
Elaine smiled. “I represent certain… interested parties. It’s our job to know what’s going on.”
Ash leaned back in his chair. The Koh-i-noor was perhaps the most famous diamond in the world, and the most cursed. Every Indian knew the story of how it had been passed down through the ages, how many of its owners had come to hideous deaths.
“How did it get nicked?” asked Ash. The security around the Crown Jewels would be intense.
“Swapped, somehow, while the jewels were being given their monthly polish.” Parvati inspected the fruit bowl and picked out an apple. Ash couldn’t help but notice how her canines, slightly longer than normal, sank into the flesh and two thin beads of juice ran off the punctures. “The jeweller turned round for a moment, and when he turned back, the Koh-i-noor was gone and a piece of glass was there instead.”
“No one else came in, was hiding behind the cupboard? Under the sink?”
“No.”
“So we’re not talking about a normal thief, are we?” said Ash. The stakes were getting higher every passing second.
“No, we’re not.”
“Any ideas who?”
“Name of Monty. He specialises in stealing such esoteric items. Word has got around that he’s putting it on the market.”
“We going to make him an offer?” said Ash.
Parvati smiled. It wasn’t nice. “One he can’t refuse.”
Elaine picked up the card and tucked it away. “I’ve got feelers out and should have his address any time now.”
Parvati spoke. “Such artefacts don’t turn up every day. Savage will be after it.”
“You think he might know how to use it?” asked Ash. Aastras were the Englishman’s speciality. He’d spent years searching for the Kali-aastra before Ash found it accidentally, so it made sense that he’d be looking for others too.
“I really don’t want to give him the opportunity. This is our chance to end this once and for all.”
A tremor of excitement ran through him. “How?”
“With your help. If you’re not too busy?”
“Can it wait until after Doctor Who?”
“Ash—”
“Joke.”
Elaine buttoned up her cardigan. “We’d offer our services, but we’ve got some of our own business to take care of.”
“What sort of business?” asked Ash.
“None of yours,” interrupted Parvati. She put on her sunglasses. “Elaine will text us the address. We’ll meet up later and visit this Monty.”
Ash showed them to the door, where Elaine suddenly checked her pockets. “My cigarettes. I think I left them in the kitchen. You go and wait in the van, Parvati, I’ll only be a minute.”
Parvati nodded, then, with a small bow and smile for Ash, left.
Elaine and Ash returned to the kitchen. She made a show of searching the table, the worktop.
“Try your left pocket,” said Ash. He’d seen her put them away and knew she knew that too. This was a ruse to have a quiet moment without Parvati listening.
“Ah.” Out came the packet. Elaine tapped it idly, her attention on Ash. “Rishi told me a lot about you.”
“You knew him?” Rishi had been the first person to realise that Ash was the Eternal Warrior, the latest reincarnation of some of the greatest heroes the world had ever known. The old holy man had started Ash on his training, but had been killed by Savage’s henchman before he could teach Ash more about his new nature, what he had become.
“Getting any urges? Beyond those normal for a hormonal teen boy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Rishi suspected you’d found the Kali-aastra and asked me to keep an eye on you if anything happened to him. He wanted you to continue your training.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Ash said, “but you really don’t look like the sort of teacher I need.” She was breathing heavily just unwrapping the cigarette packet.
Elaine drew out a business card and pushed it across the table. “Rishi gave me a list of contacts. Most are out in India. You call me if you need any help.”
“I’ve got Parvati.”
“There are things Parvati can’t teach you. And her agenda may not be the same as yours.”
“Meaning?” Ash didn’t like what she was implying.
Elaine glanced towards the door, checking that Parvati was out of hearing. “As much as I respect Parvati, I don’t trust her, and neither should you. While Rishi was around, he was able to keep her in check, but she’s a demon princess, and Ravana was her father.”
“She hated Ravana. She helped me kill him.”
“And now the throne of the demon nations sits empty.” Elaine shrugged. “Parvati is ambitious. It’s in her nature.”
Ash reluctantly picked up the card. “‘Elaine’s Bazaar’?”
“It’s a junk shop near Finsbury Park. Open all hours.”
He looked at her a moment longer. He didn’t need Marma Adi to see Elaine’s weaknesses; her smoking habit was enough for anyone to have a guess at what was killing her. The lungs glowed brightest, but her veins and arteries were clogged and thin, the blood circulation poor. Death covered her, a ready shroud. She didn’t have long.
She went pale. “What do you see, lad?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I see nothing.”
She looked at the half-empty packet. “I suppose I should cut down. Maybe quit.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference.”
Elaine cleared her throat and put the packet back in her pocket. “Just watch yourself. You read these stories about kids who get hold of their parents’ guns and… bang, someone ends up very sorry and someone ends up very dead.”
“Are you saying I’m a kid with my dad’s revolver?”
“No, I’m saying you’re a kid with a thermonuclear device, with a big red button saying PRESS ME.” She tapped Ash’s hand. “Keep out of trouble, lad.”
What should he do now?
He’d spent months wondering if he’d ever see her again, waiting every day for some message, getting none. First he’d been angry, then he’d tried to have a ‘quiet’ life. And just when he thought it was all back to normal, there she was, having tea in his kitchen! His guts felt like they were on spin in a washing machine.
A pair of bright headlights lit up the driveway. His parents were home. Ash opened the door just as his mum was unbuttoning her coat.
“Hi, Ash,” she said, ruffling his hair as she entered. Briefcase went alongside the small table beside the door as her raincoat went over the banister, and she brushed imaginary dust from her smart navy-blue suit jacket. She gave a weary sigh and took off her shoes, wiggling her toes for a moment. She tucked her glasses in their case as she glanced at the answering machine for any messages. Then she turned slowly. “Anything wrong?” she asked. Ash was still by the door.
“Girl trouble, I bet,” said Sanjay, Ash’s father, as he followed his wife inside, his gaze on his BlackBerry. “That right, son?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” said Ash.
Ash’s mum lifted the BlackBerry from her husband’s hands. “That’s enough, Sanjay.”
“See what I mean?” Dad shrugged. “Girl trouble.” Ash’s mum was about to protest, but Sanjay took her hand and twirled her, clomping about in his boots. His own suit wasn’t quite as neat or as smart as his wife’s, but Sanjay worked as an engineer and spent half the week on building sites, making sure the walls stayed up and the roofs stayed on. He was at least half a metre taller and quite a bit wider than his wife, so when he pulled her towards him, Ash’s mum was pressed against the globe of his belly.
“Is it Gemma?” asked Mum.
“The girl in the poem?” said Dad, and there was an irritating smirk across his face, the sort of smirk all parents get when they are about to mortally embarrass their children.
“Hold on. You know about that?” Ash said.
“I think it’s very romantic,” said Mum. “I would have been flattered if some boy had written me a poem.”
Ash wanted to die, right there and then. Was there anyone in the Greater London area who didn’t know about his stupid poem? It was meant to be private, and it had gone viral on the Internet. One day Josh was going to pay.
“How did it go, Bina?” Ash’s dad dropped to one knee while still holding his wife’s hand, cleared his throat, and began to recite. “‘If I may be so bold, to say your hair is like fallen gold, and that when I see you smile, my heart flutters for a while…’”
“Dad, just shut up. It’s got nothing to do with Gemma.”
Both looked at him with more than mild surprise. Dad lightly punched Ash’s arm. “Another girl? That’s my boy. Come on, do it.” He held up his fist. Ash groaned as he gave his father a fist bump. Parents trying to be cool. Seriously, had he been swapped at birth or what? “Just make sure it doesn’t affect your school work.”
Ash left his dad in the hallway undoing his boots and went back into the kitchen with his mum. The tap went on and soon the kettle was bubbling. She paused by the open window and sniffed suspiciously. “Someone been smoking?”
“Smoking? Of course not.” Ash grabbed the Yoda mug with the cigarette stubs. He really didn’t want to explain what had just happened. Frankly, it would sound quite mental. “Let me help wash up.”
“This girl, she’s someone important, isn’t she?”
Weird, wasn’t it? Normal girls like Gemma left him sweating and tongue-tied, but Parvati, a half-demon assassin? No problem.
There had been a moment when, well, if not exactly a girlfriend and boyfriend sort of set-up – there was a significant age gap between them – they had been something a bit more than just ‘friends’. She had kissed him, twice. Didn’t that count for something? But once he’d left India there hadn’t been a word. She’d completely forgotten him. And now, just when Ash himself was moving on, here she was, and it felt like not a minute had passed since they’d last seen one another.
“Mum, I just don’t know.”
The doorbell rang. Must be Josh. He’d planned to come over early so the two of them could head out to Dulwich Park together for Bonfire Night. Ash would have to tell him his plans had changed and he couldn’t come. Not that he’d want to go to the park anyway if it meant bumping into Gemma and having to relive the humiliation of what had happened in the canteen.
“Ash,” his dad called from the hallway. “It’s your friend.”
Ash went to the hall, and his dad winked at him as he passed. What was that about? Jeez, maybe it was Elaine again. What had she forgotten now – her walker?
Ash opened the door. “Look—”
“Hi, Ash.”
Oh my God. Gemma.
“Er, hi. Er, Gemma.” He looked around, wondering if she’d got lost or something. “Er, yes?”
He so wanted to punch his own face. Why oh why couldn’t he just talk to her like a normal person rather than a cretin?
“Can I come in?”
“Here?” Yes, he should punch his own face repeatedly. “Of course.”
Gemma stood in the hall. “Hi, Lucks.”
Lucky sat at the top of the stairs, chin on her knees, watching. She waved back. “Hey, Gemma, my brother was—”
“Go away, Lucks,” Ash said.
Lucky didn’t move. She was totally immune to his threats.
“Please, Lucks?”
Lucky blinked. She didn’t know how to respond to politeness. She blinked again, then left.
So. Gemma. Him. Standing in the hall. Well.
She’d tied back her hair, but a few curls had slipped free, framing her face. She looked uneasy. “Listen, Ash. I just came to say I’m sorry about Jack. He’s not usually—”
“Such a git?”
She smiled. Ash felt another poem coming on. “Git. Just the word I was going to use.”
“Is that why you’re here? To apologise for him?”
“No. I never answered your question.”
“Question?”
“About Bonfire Night.” She smiled at him. “I am going. What about you?”
“No. Plans have changed.”
“Oh. All right then.” She gave a shrug. “Well, I’ll see you later. At school.” She adjusted her rucksack in an ‘I’m about to leave now and you’ve totally blown it’ sort of motion.
Hold on. He rewound the last few seconds, trying to understand the complex subtext of that last conversation. Somewhere he’d gone wrong.
“What I meant to say was I… yes, I am going. Totally. I am.”
“Great. What time?”
She was asking him. She was asking him. That hair flick in the canteen had meant something!
Time to play it cool. For once in your life.
Ash glanced at his watch. “I dunno, about eight?”
“Shall I pop over?” Then she laughed. “D’you remember when we were at primary school? I was here almost every day. Playing that board game.” Gemma frowned. “What was it called?”
“The Orpheus Quest.”
She snapped her fingers. “Down into the underworld to rescue the princess, right? You still have it?”
Ash shrugged. “Went to the charity shop years ago, sorry.”
“What happened? We used to hang all the time. I only live round the corner.”
“I stayed in the Nerd Herd and you didn’t, I suppose.” Ash put his hands in his pockets. “We ended up in different crowds. High school’s a big place.”
“Do you think I’ve changed that much?” she asked.
“We all change, Gemma.”
“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
Ash’s mobile phone buzzed. It was Parvati, with an address. She wanted to meet at six-thirty.
Typical. Of all the days since time began, why today?
Gemma glanced down at the glowing screen. “Problem?”
“No. There’s just something I need to do, but it shouldn’t take long. I’ll meet you there. In case I’m late or something.”
“Oh, OK.” Gemma paused by the door. “Bye, Ash.”
“Bye, Gemma.” He closed the front door behind her.
Ash’s parents both fell silent as he entered the kitchen. They were each staring intently at their mugs.
Ash’s mum turned to his dad. “That Gemma, I know her family well. Very respectable.”
“Yes, her father is a dentist. Perfect teeth, both Gemma and her sister. Have you ever seen more beautiful smiles?” said his dad. “There is the dowry, him having two daughters. But no rush. We will wait until Ash has finished university, then the wedding.”
“But can she cook curries?” asked his mum. “It is simple to fix. I will teach her once they are married.”
“Just…” Ash backed out of the kitchen. “Oh, just shut up.”
This was turning out to be more fun than he’d thought.
Lucky shoved his clothes off the bed and threw herself on it. Resting her chin on a pillow, she surveyed the wardrobe scattered across the carpet. “How many T-shirts can one person need?” she asked. “And Mum told you to tidy up.”
“This is tidy,” Ash said. There were no clothes on the floor that didn’t belong there, most of his books were up on the shelves, and the bed was made, sort of. You could even see some of the carpet. Disney wallpaper for a fourteen-year-old was social death, so it had to be covered up with posters, though poster selection was a minefield. The posters told any visitors who you were, what you were, your religious beliefs. Ash was going through a major superhero phase. Batman. The X-Men. Even a vintage Bond from the 1960s. It informed the casual observer that Ash was either a dangerous outsider with superpowers, or a total geek. It just so happened he was both.
Ash sniffed his deodorant. According to the ads, this particular brand would attract a whole planeload of European supermodels. He’d better use just a small amount.
