Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress

by Sarwat Chadda

  Mayar laughed so deeply that the cabinets rocked. It was a laugh full of cruel mockery.

  “Forgive me, Master,” Mayar said, clearly not meaning any of it. “But the bullock was too tasty to waste. Or would you rather we ate among your guests?”

  Savage spun round and smashed his cane into the man’s head. Mayar crashed backwards, shattering the nearest cabinet. Ash clamped his hand over his mouth as the shrunken heads and the bottles of monsters tumbled across the floor. As Mayar fell, his sunglasses bounced off, landing at Ash’s feet.

  Oh, no. Ash’s feet were visible right at the bottom of the curtain. If they found him now, he was dead. Instinctively he kicked the glasses away.

  Oh, please don’t see me. Please.

  Mayar was big and muscular, far larger and stronger than Savage. But he grovelled on the floor as Savage pressed his foot against the man’s throat.

  “Do not try my patience, rakshasa,” warned Savage.

  Rakshasa? Why did that word ring a bell? And why did it make Ash cold?

  “I… meant no disrespect, Master.”

  Savage lifted his foot. “Get up.” He turned and stepped out the door. “And put on your glasses. I don’t want you scaring the mortals.”

  Mortals? What’s going on?

  Mayar stood up and straightened himself. He muttered something that probably wasn’t complimentary about Savage, then picked up his glasses with a grunt.

  As he raised them to his face, Ash saw his eyes and gasped. They were yellow, and the pupils were a pair of black, vertical slits.

  The eyes of a reptile.

  Mayar slipped the glasses back in place and the two of them left. Ash suddenly remembered what a rakshasa was. The old Indian legends were full of them, but they had a different name in English.

  It was demon.

  sh stayed paralysed behind the curtain. The formaldehyde from the broken bottles stank out the room and his eyes watered, but any second now the door would open and Savage – or worse, the rakshasa – would burst back in. No, he couldn’t move; too dangerous.

  Ash blinked, staring past the fog that rose from the spilt chemicals. The snake with the baby’s head had unravelled from its jar, and Ash saw it had two tiny arms tucked across its chest.

  What was going on? Did that man really have those reptile eyes or had Ash just imagined it? Savage had called him a rakshasa, or had he misheard? Yes, that must be it. This was the real world. Maybe the man had some sort of disease. There was a lot of that in India. He wasn’t a demon. Just a man.

  Just a man with crocodile eyes.

  Ash slowly drew back the curtain. He held his breath, ears attuned to any noises from outside, then stepped cautiously into the room. He had to get out, right now. There was the door but what if Savage and Mayar were still there?

  Ash peered out of the window. Bloody hell, it was a long way down. The stones were coarse and weathered. Easy. But as he leaned over, his head swam with vertigo. Yes, easy if you were a ninja. No way was this going to work.

  Think think think!

  Ash went to the door. He tried not to panic, tried not to imagine either Mayar or Savage just outside the door, silently waiting for the thief to emerge. Heart thudding, Ash drew it open.

  The corridor ahead was dark, silent and empty.

  Thank God.

  That was bloody close. Ash wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve. Just get out. That’s all. Find the others and get out.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the big, dusty mirrors. He looked like death: pale, sweaty and if his eyes had been any wider they’d have fallen out of their sockets.

  Then he saw a man standing right behind him.

  Ash screamed as he was spun round and thrown against the mirror. Bony fingers tipped with jagged, talon-like nails dug into his cheeks.

  “What have we got here?” the man hissed. “A spy? A thief?” Tall and exceedingly gaunt, the man was twice Ash’s height but so hunch-backed they were face to face. A long, hooked nose dominated the thin face and the man was bald, utterly hairless in fact, with no eyebrows. His eyes were obscured behind a pair of round, pink-lensed glasses.

  “No, I was just looking for the loo.” Ash pleaded.

  The man shook his head and his skin, two sizes too big for his body, flapped under his chin. “You’re lying. I can see it in your eyes.” He pushed his thumb nail into Ash’s face until it pierced the skin. “Those plump, juicy eyes—”

  “Hello? Ash? Are you there?” It was Uncle Vik.

  The man dropped Ash instantly. Ash ran straight into his uncle’s arms. He’d never been happier to see anyone in his entire life.

  The bald man cleared his throat. “The poor boy was lost. I was just bringing him to you, Professor Mistry.”

  “Thank you, Mister…?”

  “Jat. My name is Jat.”

  With his uncle beside him, Ash faced the man who’d grabbed him. Another one of Savage’s bizarre white-suited servants. Ash tightened his hold on Uncle Vik’s hand.

  “I really want to go home,” he said.

  Of course Lucky was right there, playing catch with a couple of other kids. Ash and his uncle joined his aunt as she chatted with another guest.

  “Auntie, I feel really sick.”

  It was true. Extremely sick. With fear.

  “Very well, Ash.” She broke off from the conversation, her eyes bright. “You won’t believe what’s just happened.”

  “I’ve some amazing news, Ash,” said Uncle Vik. His free hand tapped his breast pocket, where he’d put the cheque.

  “Great. Let’s go.” Ash glanced back at the hallway door.

  Jat was there, talking to the big man, Mayar, and Jackie.

  “Freaks,” Ash whispered to himself.

  Jackie snapped round and looked straight at him. Had she heard? From way over there? She grinned, then returned to the conversation.

  “No. No. Wait.” Uncle Vik carefully drew out the cheque and, using only his forefingers and thumbs, gently unfolded it. “Look what Lord Savage just gave me.”

  Up close Ash saw the cheque was from Coutts Bank and a larger size than normal. It would be, wouldn’t it? The Queen banked there. Savage’s handwriting was copperplate, old fashioned and elegant, his signature a gracefully drawn series of narrow loops and swirls.

  Ash looked back to the door: the three were gone. “Can’t we talk about this later? I want to go home.”

  Uncle Vik waved the slip in front of Ash. “This is two million pounds, nephew. Two million.”

  “But why?” Ash glanced around. He couldn’t see them anywhere. But they had to be quick. “It’s not right, is it? He could employ a whole university with that. Why just you?”

  “He needs my expertise. You don’t understand, Ash. There are some translations that he wants done and I’m the only one who can do them. We’ll be making history.”

  “A man just gives you two million quid. Don’t you think that’s strange?” Ash checked over his shoulder, but none of Savage’s white-suited henchmen, or the man himself, were near. “Savage is a freak. He surrounds himself with freaks. Give the money back, Uncle.”

  “Lord Savage is an… unusual man.” Vik took off his glasses and turned them over, looking at them. “But his reputation, Ash, his reputation is second to none.”

  “He’s a freak. Are you blind or just stupid?” Ash shouted it out and a few guests turned his way. He wanted to shake some sense into his uncle.

  Aunt Anita glowered at Ash. “Ashoka Mistry, how dare you speak to your uncle like that.”

  Ash was angry, and scared. He looked up at his uncle. “That’s not what I meant.” But it was too late, he’d struck a nerve and saw the hurt in his uncle’s eyes.

  “You don’t understand, Ash. This is a golden opportunity for me to prove myself.” Uncle Vik nodded as if he was accepting Ash’s apology, but he wasn’t really listening. “Don’t you think we all deserve some recognition? Some small proof that our lives meant something?�
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  Ash looked down at his Converse, unable to meet his uncle’s gaze.

  “My dad thinks a lot of you,” said Lucky, taking her uncle’s hand. “He’s always talking about you and what you did for him.”

  Uncle Vik cleared his throat. “Lord Savage wants me to start immediately. He’ll have our belongings transferred here. Everything will be taken care of.”

  “Here?” gasped Ash.

  Aunt Anita glared at Ash. She certainly hadn’t forgiven him for insulting Uncle Vik. “And what exactly is wrong with that?”

  “I… I just wanted to stay in Varanasi.”

  “You hate Varanasi.”

  “No. No, I don’t.” He had to think quickly. Tell them the truth? That Savage employs demons? No. Lie. “I’m really interested in looking at the temples. And stuff.” Ash smiled at his uncle. “You know, to find out more about my heritage.”

  Just keep smiling, Ash. Keep smiling.

  Aunt Anita looked at Uncle Vik. Uncle Vik looked back at Ash.

  They don’t believe me. Keep smiling.

  “All right,” said Uncle Vik, slowly drawing out the word as though testing it. “If you’re that keen—”

  “I am. Very keen.”

  “It’s not far,” Uncle Vik said to Aunt Anita. “I could just drive out here in the morning. Back for dinner. It’ll be normal office hours.”

  “What’s he want you to do, exactly?” asked Aunt Anita.

  “Translations. He’s found parallel texts for the Harappan pictograms. Think about it, Anita.” Uncle Vik’s voice was high with passion. “A hundred years ago, no one even knew this civilisation existed. Now we’ll unlock their language and who knows what we’ll find.” His eyes shone. “Plus there’s a big dig out in Rajasthan.”

  “Rajasthan? But that’s a thousand miles away,” said Aunt Anita.

  “I suppose I might have to go there sooner or later. But he’s got plenty of work for me here first.”

  That’s because Savage is looking for something. Something to do with…

  “What are the Iron Gates, Uncle?” Ash asked.

  Uncle Vik frowned. “No idea. Nothing to do with the Harappans. They were a Bronze Age culture. Iron technology didn’t come along until well after they’d gone. Why?”

  Ash shook his head, but said nothing. Savage had said something about opening the Iron Gates. And a key, buried here in Varanasi.

  Two archaeological digs. One way out in the desert, the other right here. Rakshasas. Scrolls written on human skin and freaky servants and serpent babies in jars.

  What did it all mean?

  “Ash, are you sick?” Anita put her hand against his forehead. “You look pale.”

  “The boy’s not well,” said Vik. “Perhaps we should go home.”

  Ash sighed with relief. He stayed with his aunt and Lucky while Vik said goodbye to the woman in the spider-web sari.

  They drove back in silence. Eddie Singh had barely turned on the engine when Lucky fell asleep, her head resting on Anita’s lap.

  Ash leaned back into the creaking leather, his eyes closed.

  What an insane evening. He just wanted to get back and leave Savage, his strange henchmen and tales of Harappans all behind him.

  “What do you think?” whispered Uncle Vik. “Do you think the boy is right?”

  Ash opened one eye, just a slit.

  Uncle Vik unfolded the cheque and held it out to Aunt Anita. She peered at it, but seemed afraid to touch it.

  “I don’t know, Vikram,” she said. “It is a lot of money.”

  “I’m tired of being poor, Anita,” said Uncle Vik. “Tired of accepting charity from my younger brother. Tired of all the hard work I’ve done and tired of having nothing to show for it.”

  Aunt Anita touched her husband’s hand. “Sanjay loves you very much.”

  Ash’s ears pricked at the mention of his dad’s name. He knew his father sent Uncle Vik money every month, but not as charity – as thanks.

  They’d lost their parents early on so Uncle Vik had raised Sanjay. He’d worked from childhood to support Sanjay, to make sure his younger brother had an education, had clean clothes for school and a full belly every morning, even if it meant Uncle Vik going hungry.

  That’s how Sanjay had ended up with a scholarship to a British university, a job, family and life far from the struggles of India. Meanwhile Uncle Vik and Aunt Anita had grown old without children of their own, barely managing on a lecturer’s wage.

  Uncle Vik had made huge sacrifices for his younger sibling. Ash’s father had often said that was a debt he could never repay.

  Ash’s gaze fell on Lucky. Could he ever be that sort of brother to her? No, life was too easy nowadays. He’d never been homeless or hungry, he’d never missed a meal in his entire life. Part of him wished he could be better, part of him was pleased he didn’t need to be.

  Uncle Vik folded the cheque and put it back in his breast-pocket.

  The rhythmic rocking and constant drone of the engine was making Ash soporific. His eyelids drooped and soon he was dreaming of walking crocodiles and broken men.

  sh, you have got to see this.”

  “Go away. I’m dead.”

  “No. Get up.”

  “Go away. Now.”

  Lucky began cranking open the metal window shutters. Ash groaned as the rusty steel plates screeched.

  “A real sister would let her elder brother sleep.” He checked his watch. Seven. Seven! On his so-called holidays. “But I suppose you can’t help it. Being adopted and all.”

  “I was not adopted.”

  “It’s true. Found in the dustbin. Mum and Dad wanted to sell you to the organ traffickers. I stopped them. You should be grateful. Now go away.”

  “Look, Ash!” Lucky pulled off his sheet. “Look!”

  She never listened to him. Ash crawled off the bed and joined her at the window.

  There was a car in the driveway. Which was weird since they didn’t own a car. Weirder still, it was a brand-new mirror-bright silver Mercedes S-Class Saloon.

  “Savage,” said Ash.

  “Can you believe it?” Lucky was at the door. “Come on.” She dashed out. Reluctantly, Ash followed.

  Uncle Vik had a pink-walled bungalow in the grounds of Varanasi University. It was a staff perk. It was also an insect-infested concrete box with no air-conditioning. As Ash came out he saw there were dozens of students at the low garden wall. More than a few were taking photos of it with their mobiles. Most of the lecturers at the university still rode bicycles and here was a bank-breaking Mercedes.

  “It’s amazing,” said Uncle Vik from the driver’s seat. The dashboard was all walnut trim with a 3D-map display, multimedia system, all the bells and whistles. There were TV screens on the back of the front seats. Any more gadgets and it would have had a NASA logo on it. “It was here when I woke up.”

  Ash tensed. Savage had been here while they’d slept. “Did… did you see anyone?”

  “No. But the guard said it was the Englishwoman who dropped it off.”

  Jackie. At least she hadn’t come in.

  “Isn’t this all too much?” said Aunt Anita. She sounded worried. “Maybe you should give this back, Vikram.”

  “The only way they’ll get this off me,” Uncle Vik’s grip tightened round the steering wheel, “is from my cold, dead hands.”

  Lucky opened the rear passenger door and started bouncing on the white leather seats.

  “Ash, what’s wrong?” asked Uncle Vik.

  This wasn’t right. The car. All that money. Savage had bought his uncle. It made him sick. “I just want some breakfast.”

  Back in the kitchen, Ash poured out some cornflakes while Aunt Anita put on the kettle and toast.

  “He’s dying, you know that,” said Uncle Vik.

  Ash paused, the spoon a few millimetres from his mouth. “Who?”

  “Lord Savage. A skin disease. Cancer. One of the guests told me last night.”

  Aunt Anit
a filled up the white china teapot. “You think this business has something to do with his illness?”

  “He wants to leave a legacy. See something done in his name,” said Uncle Vik, his gaze roaming to the window and the car outside. “He can’t take it with him, can he?”

  “Still, two million pounds, Vikram. It’s not normal.”

  Uncle Vik kissed his wife’s forehead. “Who knows what is normal to a man like him? Lord Savage wants immortality. If these excavations are a success, he’ll have it. He’ll be the one who unlocked the secrets of an entire culture. Two million doesn’t seem much for immortality.”

  “And you’ll be rich and famous too, Uncle,” said Lucky. She shook her head at the toast and picked a banana from the fruit bowl. “Can I have a pony?”

  Uncle Vik laughed. “What’s mine is yours. We’re family.”

  “What about those freaks he has working for him?” asked Ash. “That skinny guy, Jat? Now you can’t tell me he’s normal.”

  “Bodyguards,” said Vik. “Lord Savage is immensely rich, and India is not like London, Ash. He needs protection.”

  That made sense. But things were clearly not right with Savage. Ash chewed his cornflakes as he went over last night in his mind. Memories of rakshasas and men with reptile eyes didn’t last long in the sunlight. If Jat was a bodyguard it was his job to scare intruders, and he’d certainly done that. It didn’t mean he really wanted to eat Ash’s eyeballs. Savage had called Mayar a demon, but that didn’t have to be literally true. Uncle Vik often called Lucky his little monkey, but that didn’t mean she had a tail.

  Perhaps his mum was right and he should cut down on all those computer games. They were giving him an over-active imagination.

  What was real? Believable? That Lord Savage was a terminally ill man with strange servants living in a rundown palace, trying to get his name in the history books – or that he was an evil monster, served by demons?

  Well, put like that…

  Ash was being stupid. If he carried on like this he’d be checking for monsters under his bed next.

  After breakfast, Ash joined Uncle Vik as he prepared to drive over to the Savage Fortress. His uncle popped open the trunk and dropped in his briefcase.