ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH (16 page)

sh had dreamed of what it would be like to hear that voice again. It was rich, proud and arrogant, the voice of a man who thought he owned the world and everyone in it. Its deep, powerful timbre made him shiver with dread and anger. That voice had haunted his dreams and given birth to his darkest nightmares.

The statue lumbered side to side as it settled down into a kneeling position. Still holding Ash within its inescapable grip, it turned its hand so he was facing the gathered assembly below him. The vast crowd of statues – animal, human and monstrous – stood immobile. But there were others among this field of stone and iron, and the closest was a figure in a white suit.

Lord Alexander Savage stood there, looking up, his hands resting on his tiger-headed cane. Ash stared, slack-jawed. Savage was not how he remembered him. The last time he’d seen him, Savage had been young, beautiful and inhumanly perfect.

This man was anything but perfect. The suit hung off a skeletal frame with withered, parchment-thin skin that flapped upon the spindly limbs. Huge, dark liver spots covered the hairless scalp, and large yellow teeth dangled from shrunken gums. The lips were pale, thin and cracked. He looked ready to collapse, and leaned heavily upon the cane.

But his eyes – his eyes shone with feverish power. Black upon black, they were the eyes of night, of pure darkness.

Beside him were Jackie and John. John trembled as the rakshasa put her clawed hand on his shoulder. Just at the edge of the moonlight, half hidden in the jungle, were Savage’s hyena rakshasas, cackling.

Ash looked at Savage, hate rising in his chest, churning in his guts. The distance between them wasn’t great, but held as he was it might as well have been a million miles. The Englishman’s smile widened.

“So glad you could accept my invitation,” said Savage.

Ash tried to move a little, but the statue only tightened its grip, crushing his chest until he was gasping for breath. It lowered him until he was just off the ground, eye level with his enemy.

“You look upset, Ash,” said Savage.

“And you look like the Elephant Man’s less handsome older brother.”

“Very amusing, boy. Is that what passes for wit in this day and age?” He tutted and shuffled closer, bringing with him a putrid rotting odour. Not only did Savage look like a ten-day-old corpse, he also smelled like one. “Ravana made me young again, as you well remember, but his magic failed the moment you killed him. And here I am, back where I started, thanks to you.”

Yes, it was true. Savage had been a living skeleton when Ash had first met him. “Glad I did something right,” he said.

Savage didn’t appear to hear. He plucked at the shirt hanging loosely over his chest. “Now only my magic, such as it is, keeps the flesh and soul together. But it’s falling apart. I can feel it.”

“More good news.”

Savage paused and looked at him, eyes filled with hate. Then he smiled and pointed up at the giant statue with his cane. “What do you think of my Jagannath?”

“What is it?” Ash asked.

“This one I found down south, at an abandoned temple near Bangalore. The Jagannath is the god Vishnu in his aspect as lord of the world. You will not believe how much trouble I had getting him here.”

“And you got him – them – all to move?”

“Yes, my
loha-mukhas
.” He tapped a nearby statue. “The Jews call them golems, but they must build their creatures from scratch. My magic can transform any inanimate object into some semblance of life. It’s a trick I learned in China, near Xian.”

Ash slumped in the thing’s grip. Ujba had told him he needed to learn all the powers of the Kali-aastra but, in his arrogance, Ash had thought he had everything he needed.

“It took me a while to realise what had happened with the Kali-aastra,” continued Savage. “It broke, didn’t it? You had a part, the part that allowed you mastery over death, the ability to kill any living thing, didn’t you?”

Ash said nothing.

“And when I used it, I got the part that allowed me to destroy – to smash things apart. That’s how I was able to open the Iron Gates, you see. If you had tried, you would have failed. We both got what we wanted from the Kali-aastra.”

Until now
, thought Ash. What he would give to be able to destroy his stone trap.

“Where’s the arrowhead now?” asked Ash.

Savage sighed. “Buried under a billion tons of sand out in Rajasthan. Like my dreams.” His eyes flickered red for a moment before darkening to midnight. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you again, Ash, and, I must admit, it turned out even better than I had hoped, thanks to your friend here.”

John backed away. “I’ve done what you wanted. I’ve told you where the Koh-i-noor is and brought him here.”

Savage smiled slowly. “The English Cemetery – correct?”

John gulped. “Yes. The demon princess is there, with her followers.”

“Hardly a concern.” The Englishman gave Jackie the slightest nod. “Yes, I should reward you.”

They’re going to kill him.

For a second, just a second, Ash wanted John dead. He wouldn’t be here, trapped and helpless, if it wasn’t for him. Ujba had been right; John had lied to him. Even now it didn’t seem possible. But, right or wrong, John had done it to help his mum. Would Ash have done any different? If Ash had thought more about John’s needs, he would have helped him more to find his family. Instead he had let Savage do it. Could he really blame John?

But now Savage didn’t need John any more. Even from here, Ash saw the hungry look on Jackie’s face, the saliva wetting her lips. She was waiting for the order, but Ash was not about to let another friend of his be killed by the jackal rakshasa. Begging them to let John go wouldn’t help; they’d take delight in killing him while Ash watched. So he needed to do the opposite. Ash needed to demand they kill him.

“The best reward is death,” Ash snarled. “The traitor deserves to die.”

Savage twisted the cane top, a silver tiger head with ruby eyes, revealing a few centimetres of blade. The cane was a swordstick.

“My thoughts exactly,” Savage said. He drew the narrow shining steel out and touched the tip against John’s heart. “I have a rule to use traitors only once. If someone is happy to betray his best friend, how on earth can I trust him?”

Sweat dripped down Ash’s brow and he flicked his damp hair out of his eyes. “Think I care?”

John yelled and turned to flee but Jackie leaped in his way. He ran to the side, but she was there. In the shadows beyond her, the hyena rakshasas prowled. Their bestial amber eyes were the only light in the otherwise complete darkness, and the trees shivered with their growls.

Jackie grabbed John and hurled him to the ground.

“Ash…” begged John.

“Your bed,” said Ash. “Lie in it.”

Savage’s eyes narrowed. “You have changed, boy. There’s a healthy ruthlessness there. You remind me of me when I was your age.” He spun the sword in wide arcs. “It’s such a shame we’re on opposite sides. Ah well.”

Ash grinned as Savage raised the blade. His eyes met Jackie’s and the grin broadened.

The sword flashed.

Then halted. Jackie held Savage’s wrist, the tip of the sword a finger’s width from John’s eyeball.

“Wait,” Jackie said. She glanced towards Ash. “He is the Kali-aastra.”

Savage frowned. Then he stepped back and laughed. He waved the sword at Ash. “Good, very good. Very, very good.”

They’ve fallen for it.

Savage lowered the blade. “What would happen if I killed this boy? His death energy would pass into you and make you stronger, would it not? And he’s a friend, someone you cared about. Lord knows, it might even be a Great Death. We can’t be having that, can we?”

Ash said nothing. But inside he sighed with relief. He’d saved John. Savage couldn’t kill his friend if it risked Ash becoming stronger, perhaps strong enough to break free of the loha-mukhas.

Savage turned to John. “Run, boy. Run fast and run far and do not look back.”

John got up and looked at Ash. Tears ran down his cheeks and he looked dead inside. Ash wanted to tell him it was OK, that he didn’t blame John. But if he admitted to caring for him, Savage might use that against him. Better John think Ash hated him. It would keep him alive longer.

Ash glared at him. “Better start now. Once I’m free, I will find you.”

John fled. Ash heard his sobs well after he’d vanished into the dark.

Savage gripped Ash’s face, meeting his gaze. “I so want to kill you. But I did that once already, and look what happened? You came back. You killed Lord Ravana.”

“This is just revenge?”

“Hardly. This is about the Koh-i-noor. You were an unexpected bonus. I need the diamond, the Brahma-aastra. The Life Giver will repair all… this.” He gestured to his hideous body.

“You know how to awaken it?”

“There is a way,” said Savage.

Ash’s heart leapt. Maybe they could save Gemma, like some true hero. He’d prove Parvati and Khan wrong. But before he could ask more, Savage hissed and panted, even emitting a brief, harsh scream as his body swelled and mutated. His spine stretched against the suit jacket and lumps grew on his skull. Then, chest heaving, the deformities reduced and Savage’s body reverted to its normal, frail shape. He stared up at Ash. “See what you’ve done? I have more power than ever, but my body cannot contain it. More magic than mortal flesh can bear.”

“I don’t feel bad about that at all.” Ash met the Englishman’s gaze. “So, the Koh-i-noor will repair you. Then what?”

“And like a comic villain I will tell you everything?” Savage shook his head. “No, I want you to know just enough so all that follows will be because of your failure. In our last meeting the game went to you. That was beginner’s luck.”

“Luck was you getting away that night.”

Savage bristled, but said nothing.

“So that’s it? You’re going to kill me? Skewer me with your sword?”

“Just stick you like a pig? After all we’ve been through together?” Savage waved the slim blade. “No, I’ve something far better in mind.”

he Jagannath twisted its wrist and pressed Ash into the ground. As it opened its fingers, he squirmed, but it pressed harder, flattening him into the earth until he felt as if he was under a steamroller. Then hard, unyielding hands gripped his arms and ankles. The Jagannath slowly released him, and two stone and marble monkeys, each the size of a man, lifted Ash and carried him through the cantonment. Branches and leaves brushed his face, and the monkeys’ hold was every bit as firm as the Jagannath’s. Twist as he might, Ash remained trapped in stone.

Engines revved and headlights came alive in the dark. After a few minutes a convoy of trucks emerged along the road. Savage glanced back as he stepped into the lead vehicle. “He’s coming with us.”

The trucks had high-sided wooden walls painted with garish scenes and designs – panoramic mountain views, the paint smeared with oily smoke and the wood chipped. A whole field of headlights shone from the front, joined with strings of multicoloured Christmas lights that flickered on and off randomly. The line of vehicles was less a convoy and more a parade. It might seem stupid to have such distinctive vehicles, but here in India, the trucks and minivans were all the same, brightly and extravagantly painted and lit. These blended in perfectly.

The monkeys clambered into the back of the lead truck and squatted down among wooden crates and trunks, Ash suspended between them. Then the engine shifted gears noisily and spewed out a cloud of black smoke, and they were on the move, rocking from side to side as the truck bounced over the uneven ground and in and out of the pot-holes that punctured the old cantonment road. Ash winced with each jolt; it was like being on the rack, dangling by his ankles and wrists, the sockets stretched ’til they almost popped.

Where were they taking him? Ash twisted his head as they drove, but all he could see was the moonlight shimmering on the glossy black surface of the river.

The truck rumbled deeper into the countryside, past sleeping villages and the occasional herd of cattle resting by the road. Other trucks roared past with horns blaring and engines thundering. Ash glimpsed all this through the ill-fitting wooden panels on the side of his truck. He also caught a better look at the crates in the back with him. They were all large, at least two by two metres. One had its lid off and was filled with packing straw. As the truck interior was briefly illuminated by the headlights of another passing car, Ash glimpsed a stamp on the side of one box.

INDIAN RAILWAYS ROUTE
2841.

Savage was taking a train ride. But where to?

Ash didn’t have time to ponder as the truck jerked and the wheels rumbled upon the echoing frame of another bridge.

The brakes shrieked and one of the crates slid forward. It slammed into the first monkey and the stone beast tottered forward as there was a sharp crack.

The corner of the crate had broken and a stone face gazed out of the straw. It turned its head, that of a snarling demon with a leonine mane, then sank back down into the straw as if hibernating. More loha-mukhas.

The rear panel crashed down and the headlights from the vehicle behind filled the truck with harsh, blinding light.

“Bring him down. Just you,” said Savage.

The two monkeys moved swiftly. One released Ash’s ankles while the other wrapped its arms tightly round his chest, trapping his arms within its embrace. Even with his legs now freed, Ash could do nothing. The monkey had to weigh a couple of hundred kilos. It hopped down, its stone feet clanging on steel.

The entire convoy had halted on a bridge. Ash hoped that someone might be passing, but they were in the depths of the countryside, isolated and miles from anywhere. Savage gazed out at the river roaring between the supports beneath them. The bridge was another iron monstrosity, all vaulting beams and wide spans and fist-sized rivets. The iron bore patches of orange rust and the road itself was poorly tarmacked, cracked in places so the river could be seen, the headlights catching its flashing, foaming white spray as it collided with the vast, monolithic concrete supports.

A sudden, dull crash was followed by a sharp snap as a tree trunk collided with one of the plinths and shattered into a million slivers. The river was in full spate, swollen by the monsoon rains.

“Come here, Ash, close to the edge,” said Savage.

“I’m perfectly fine here.”

The monkey stepped forward. Ash pushed his feet against the railings, trying to stop it from getting to the edge, but the monkey was too strong, and he cried out as his feet slipped and the ragged edge of the iron beam scraped the back of his leg, ripping open his trousers.

Jackie laughed and joined Savage. She leaned over the edge and worked a bolt back and forth, the steel grinding against its socket. She gave it a hefty kick and the side fell away. It tumbled for a sickeningly long time before it splashed into the raging waters, more than twenty-five metres below.

“A bit closer – the view is rather splendid,” said Savage.

Ash dangled over the black, churning waters. The monkey still held him to its chest, its own feet just barely on the bridge, its long toes curled round the rusty iron edge.

Savage let slip a low whistle. “I wonder how many thousands of gallons are flowing under this bridge every second. Look how high the river is; you can barely see the support plinths. Do you know, I remember when the only way across this river was a spindly old rope thing, like a cat’s cradle.” He tapped the metal with his cane. “That was a hundred years ago. Wonder what’s down there? You’d be surprised what gets washed up against the legs. Boats, cars, houses even, swept away in floods and trapped, too big to get between the foundations.”

“Thank you for the history lesson, Savage. I’d like to get back in the truck now.”

Savage turned to face him and smiled. “Goodbye, Ash.”

Holding Ash tight, the monkey jumped.