Ash nudged his sister. Lucky opened her eyes instantly, her body tense. Then she saw him and slowly relaxed.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Rishi hopped off the boat and held out his hand for her. “The old city. You will be safe here.”
A minute later they stopped at a stout door with a heavy iron knocker in the shape of an elephant’s head.
“Ujba?” called Rishi, banging the door.
Nothing.
“Ujba!”
A face appeared at a window above them, and a few more people gathered on an old crumbling balcony, all children. Some were younger than Lucky, others older and bigger than Ash. One boy, maybe sixteen or so, pushed his way through the crowd and hopped on to the balcony edge, squatting there, eating an apple. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the long drop.
“What do you want, old fool?” he shouted. A few children behind him giggled. Some peered down at Ash and Lucky, curious.
“Where’s your guru?” Rishi used the old word for ‘master’, or ‘teacher’.
Was this some school? Ash stepped back. It didn’t look like a school.
“Come back tonight,” the older boy shouted. “He’s out.”
“Let me in or I’ll blow the door down.”
Rishi spoke quietly, but the power in his voice frightened a flock of birds. They launched themselves away, wheeling overhead before scattering in all directions. The door opened. A young child gazed at Rishi with undisguised terror. As Rishi stepped in, the boy immediately bent and touched his feet: a show of respect tainted by fear. He scurried away, leaving Rishi, Ash and Lucky in a dark, shadow-cast hall. The building was cold and gloomy, the only light coming from the internal courtyard beyond, and a few small high windows that were mostly roosts for pigeons.
“The maharajah of Rajasthan built this three centuries ago,” said Rishi. He touched the mildewy walls. “It’s called the Lalgur, the Red House.”
The children came out of all corners and formed a wary crowd. The sixteen-year-old appeared – he obviously ran things when Ujba wasn’t around. Even in the gloom Ash could see he wasn’t to be messed with. Taut, lean muscles slid under his glossy dark skin. Faint, healed-up scars marked his arms and his bare chest. His hair was long and slick, loose over his shoulders, and beneath the fringe gazed out a pair of hawkish eyes. He wore a pair of loose cotton trousers and was barefoot, like the others. A red sash covered his waist and something metal glinted among the folds. The boy’s hand rested on it.
A katar. An Indian punch dagger. Ash had seen one just like it in Savage’s study. But Savage’s had been gold and studded with gems, while this was plain and simple, designed for killing and nothing else.
“Give these two food and a room to rest in,” ordered Rishi.
“No way I’m staying here,” said Ash. “I want a phone.”
“Do not think of venturing outside these walls. Savage will have his men and demons scouring the city for you. He has spies everywhere.” Rishi turned to leave. “I have some business to attend to.”
“Wait!” Ash grabbed his arm. “You can’t just leave us.” The kids had a hungry, feral look about them. He leaned closer and whispered, “I don’t trust them.”
“They will not harm you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Otherwise they will answer to me,” said Rishi, “and I don’t think anyone here is foolish enough to want that.” He faced the boy with the dagger, who scowled but took a step back. Rishi drew Ash closer and whispered, “But the aastra, keep that to yourself, for now.”
Once Rishi had gone, the gang of street kids gathered around Ash and Lucky. Ash turned to the boy with the dagger. Whatever issues the guy had with Rishi were nothing to do with Ash.
“My name is Ash. This is Lucky. We’re here—”
“I don’t care why you’re here or what your names are.” The boy grabbed one of the other kids. “Give them a room.”
“Which one, Hakim?”
Hakim. So that’s his name. The one to watch out for.
Hakim kicked the boy’s butt. “Just do it.”
Rubbing his sore behind, the other boy beckoned Ash and Lucky and gave them the once-over. He sighed and beckoned them towards the steps. “Come on then.”
They followed him up a narrow staircase went round and round, up and up. Eventually they came out on to a flat roof that was being used for drying clothes. But among the walls of bright cloth fluttering in the wind was a small room, a box, sitting alone on the roof and overlooking the river. The walls were carved stone latticework, and the triple-domed roof would have been pure white, except it was covered in pigeon droppings. Tonnes of them.
“The maharajah would rest here,” said the boy, “when it was hot and when he wanted to watch the sun rise.”
“I’m Ash,” Ash started again. “This is my sister—”
“Lucky. I heard the first time,” said the boy. He was still rubbing his rear. That must have been one sharp kick. He pulled back the bolt on the wooden door of the latticework room. “I’ll get some food brought up.”
“What’s your name?”
“John.”
“John?” That wasn’t very Indian.
“Ujba found me in outside the Church of St John,” he replied. “Can’t remember what I was called before that.”
Ash gazed about him. “What is this place?”
“It’s where we live. With the master. We train here too.”
“Train? To do what?”
John paused, like this was the most stupid thing he’d ever heard. Seeing Ash’s confusion, he gave a small, sly smile. “You’ll find out.”
“You all live here? What about your homes? Your families?”
John shook his head. Second stupid question. “Think we’d be here if we had families? We’re here cos we’re orphans.” He pushed open the door and revealed a square, breezy room with a couple of wooden-framed beds. “Just like you.”
“We’re not orphans,” snapped Ash as he and Lucky entered the room. But right now his parents, his home in London, seemed as far away as the moon.
John shrugged. “Whatever. Orphans or not, you’re here now.”
When John left, Ash shut the door.
“I don’t like it here,” said Lucky.
“Me neither.”
“Then let’s go.”
Ash nodded. He was sure Rishi was right; Savage would be hunting for them. They had to be careful. But Varanasi was one big labyrinth of alleyways; it should be easy to hide. “We’ll wait until tonight.” He picked up a pile of sheets off the rickety table and began unfolding them over the beds. “We’ll eat and rest here for a couple of hours, then sneak out and get a message to Dad.”
And tell him Aunt Anita and Uncle Vik are dead.
So much had happened, Ash couldn’t believe this time yesterday they were all alive and happy. Yes, happy. He hated how he’d moaned and fussed over things that seemed so stupid now. His constant complaining. There were things he should have said to his uncle and aunt, that he appreciated them, that he loved them.
But it was too late for anything but regrets.
Lucky gazed morosely at the wall. She was trying not to cry, but her shoulders shook.
“It’ll be OK, Lucks. I promise.”
“You can’t promise those sorts of things.”
He said nothing, because she was right. They had no power, no friends. Then he drew out the aastra, watching the sunlight catch its edges.
No power? Maybe that wasn’t totally true.
“Just rest, Lucks. You’ll see.”
sh opened his eyes a few hours later and found himself face to face with a rat. A bloody big rat. A bloody huge rat. It sat on the bedpost, rubbing its nose, staring at him with black beady eyes.
“Get lost,” snapped Ash. He flicked his foot, and the rat jumped down and ran off through a crack in the wall.
The sun was high and the air oven-hot. He shielded his eyes against the blinding inten
sity of the sunlight shimmering on the white-washed roofs around them.
Ash and Lucky got up and scooped water over their faces and heads from a bucket. John stood in the shade of the doorway. Ash wondered if he’d been there all night, making sure they didn’t make a run for it.
“Is Rishi back?” Ash asked. He touched the cold metal arrowhead dangling from his neck, pressing the metal against his skin. Last night he’d smeared it with some dirt and bound it up with twine, turning it into a crude, cheap-looking amulet… nothing anyone would notice or want.
“No.”
“Then when?”
John shrugged. “Who knows? There’s lunch downstairs.”
Bad. Very bad. The old man was the only protection they had and now he was gone. Maybe he had realised it was hopeless and split. Rishi had been lucky last night, taking those rakshasas by surprise. The rakshasas were bad enough, but Ash had seen Mayar grovel at Savage’s feet, so Savage had to be way, way worse. Maybe he was out of Rishi’s league. So Rishi had run, abandoning them. It was the only thing that made sense.
Fine. Ash would look after himself and Lucky both. But how?
His stomach rumbled loudly. First things first. Get some food in you, then make a plan.
Ash looked at Lucky. Her eyes were dark and tired, her face drawn. He took her hand and they followed John down from the roof into the cool shadows of the Lalgur, the Red House.
The derelict palace was built round a central, internal courtyard designed to keep the dust, heat and noise of the city out. There were four floors, each guarded by a balcony that ran round the courtyard’s edge. The balcony walls had collapsed in places, but none had been repaired. Ropes crisscrossed the empty space above the courtyard floor.
Children walked along the ropes, slowly crossing from one side of the courtyard to the other. They bustled in an impatient queue as one child after the next made his or her way across. Even the lowest rope was four metres above the stone floor and there was no safety net. The highest was sixteen metres above ground. Ash watched a girl no older than Lucky walk across, blindfolded. She held a cup of water in each hand and seemed more focused on not spilling any than staying upright and alive.
On the ground floor, other children jumped and tumbled and juggled and bent their bodies in impossible shapes, contorting spines and limbs like they were made of rubber.
“Ujba runs a circus?” Ash asked John. Not what he’d expected, but that did explain how they made their living.
And this is what Rishi wants for us? How is juggling going to turn me into a ‘hero’?
“Think that’s easy?” said John. “You need balance, and courage. Ujba teaches us to master our bodies, our minds, our emotions. That’s just for starters; wait till you see what happens in the basement.”
Lucky let go of his hand and went to sit against the wall, watching the others. A girl came up and offered Lucky a small toy, a broken doll. Lucky, usually the first one to spring up and join in, just stared blankly. The girl shrugged and left.
Lucky seemed like a broken doll herself.
But what could he say? There, there, it’ll be OK. Don’t worry, Lucks, it’ll be fine.
It would never be fine, ever again. People were dead. The only family they had was thousands of miles away. They were being hunted by demons.
Ash closed his eyes and a sudden, clear memory of his aunt came flooding back. It hit him so hard he stumbled back, slumping against the wall. Her final words.
Look after your sister.
Yes, whatever else, he would take care of her. He would keep Lucky safe.
And to do that, they needed to get out of here. He sat down beside her.
He was taking a sip out of a tin cup, thinking about escape, when a foot darted past and kicked it out of his hand.
“Who are you, English?” Hakim, the older boy, stood over Ash, his fingertips resting on the punch dagger tucked into his waistband.
Ash peered up. “My name is Ash.”
“We don’t like English here.”
“I’m not English.”
Hakim sniffed. “Smell like English.” He poked his toe into Ash’s ribs. “Feel like English: soft and weak. Like a sack of puke.”
The other children went quiet. Ash knew no one was going to come to his rescue. He’d faced guys like Hakim all his school life. They were the sporty ones, the cool, good-looking ones. The ones who pushed him around in the playing fields and classrooms. They’d kicked the back of his chair and stolen his lunch money.
Ash gazed at the bigger boy. That was then.
He stood up.
Hakim’s fingers tightened round the dagger and drew it out. Ash didn’t blink.
“Well, English?” The blade was a few centimetres from his eye.
“Sorry, are you expecting me to be scared?” Ash replied.
Yes, he should be scared, but he wasn’t. Last night his entire world had collapsed, and now the threats of a school bully just didn’t amount to much. What could Hakim do that was worse than what had already happened?
“If you’re going to use the knife, then use it.” Ash’s jaw stiffened as he snarled. “Otherwise get that thing out of my face and let me finish my breakfast.”
The katar was poised in the space between them. Hakim’s eyes narrowed. Then he pushed Ash’s head against the wall and stalked off.
John scurried over. “You must have a death wish.” He poured Ash a fresh cup of water. “But that was seriously cool. No one stands up to Hakim. You’re lucky he didn’t slice you.”
“Thanks for the back-up,” Ash said sarcastically.
John scratched his head. “Listen, you don’t live here. You don’t know the rules. Come with me. We’ll eat somewhere with a bit of privacy.”
He took them into a small room on the first floor. There was a low wooden bed, a table and some Bollywood posters on the wall.
Ash looked at John as he perched himself on the bed. He was smaller than Lucky, though probably close to Ash in age. Years of malnourishment had given him a small frame and little muscle. His jaw seemed too big and his eyes too large, sitting in a head that was all angular cheekbones and cavernous sockets.
“Don’t look at me like that,” said John. “That ‘poor Indian’ look. You Westerners all have it.”
“That obvious?” said Ash. “What are you doing here, John?”
“Don’t know,” John winced. “Mum left me here a few years ago.”
“Your mum abandoned you?”
“Dad died. Simple as that.” John spoke plainly, like it was hardly news at all. “Mum couldn’t afford to keep us. It’s better here. I earn my own keep, enough to pay for food and a bed. It could be a lot worse.”
“How’d you earn money?”
“I’m a fully qualified doctor, of course. Can’t you tell?” John shook his head, grinning. “I steal. Pick pockets, open locks. Climb up a drainpipe and on to people’s roofs – they don’t expect that. Sneaking in is easy when you’re this size.”
“What do you take?”
“Wallets. Cameras. Mobile phones. Anything some tourist might put down for a second and look away. We all do it. It’s better than begging.”
Mobile phones. That was it.
“Call home,” Lucky whispered, guessing exactly what he was thinking.
“Look, John, I need your help,” Ash said. “I need to get a mobile.”
“You think Ujba lets me hang on to them? The moment we get anything Hakim takes it off us to give to the guru. If he caught me hiding a mobile he’d beat my brains out. Forget it.”
“John, just listen. What would you give to be with your mum again?”
“She left me. Why would I want to be back with her?”
“You said so yourself; she couldn’t afford to feed you. You help me and my dad will give you a reward – all the money you could ever want. You could be with your mum tomorrow, easy.”
A flash of pain shot through John’s eyes. Ash felt guilty, playing on the boy’s weaknes
s, on what must be his secret dreams, things he wouldn’t allow himself to acknowledge.
“We’re all alone here, John.” A lump rose in Ash’s throat and he choked out the words. “But my dad will come and get us. I just need to call him. Please, get me a mobile.”
John met his gaze, biting his lip with indecision. Then, abruptly, he shook his head.
“No. Sorry. I can’t.”
“Lucks. Get up. We’re leaving.”
Lucky opened her eyes instantly. She sprang up and checked the door, making sure no one was around. “What’s the plan?” she asked.
“The plan is to get the hell out of here. Good enough?”
“Certainly is.”
Night had come. They’d rested and eaten and were now ready. No one had bothered to check on them for the last few hours. If John wasn’t going to help them and Rishi had run off, then they couldn’t count on anyone, not any more. It was a bitter thought, but he and Lucky were getting out tonight.
Ash tied his shoelaces together and hung his Converse All-Stars round his neck. No point making any more noise than totally necessary.
In the distance the temple bells chimed and somewhere nearby dogs barked and fought. The chatter of Varanasi drifted up from the crowded streets of the old city, and the air carried the scent of cooking oil, spices and the musty water slowly evaporating off the Ganges.
“Come on.”
Ash dragged the door open. They’d head down into the streets. There were loads of Internet cafés. They’d call Dad from there, get out of India, and put this nightmare behind them. His hand rested on the door handle. They’d sort out Savage. But first they needed to leave.
Lucky grabbed Ash’s arm.
A living line slithered across the roof. The moonlight shone on its dark green scales, glistening like oil. Two green eyes blinked in the darkness.
Ash moved back as the snake came closer. It curled up in the doorway, blocking their exit, then rose. Its tongue flickered between its ivory fangs. Its hood spread as it swayed.
A cobra.
Lucky stepped up on to the bed, pulling the sheet up.
“Don’t move,” Ash whispered. Now what? He reached for the door again, but the snake hissed loudly, its head weaving towards his hand.
Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress Page 8