ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH (14 page)

veryone ignored Ash when he got back to the cemetery. The other rakshasas didn’t even look in his direction, and there was no place by the campfire for him when they gathered round it for supper. All their backs were turned to him, and the only looks he got were scowls. John just shrugged when Ash found him and then went off to get some food from one of the street vendors, while Ash parked himself away from the main party.

Parvati had lied to him, and he didn’t see how he was in the wrong. How could he ignore what he’d seen in his vision?

Still, they needed to clear the air. He didn’t feel like asking any of the others where she was. But he should speak to her, apologise for the things he’d said, get on with what was important. Finding Savage.

Ash went looking for Parvati without success. She and Mahout were gone. But he did find Khan, not far away, snoozing under a crude lean-to made of palm leaves. The tiger rakshasa lay flat on his back, arms behind his head with a scarf covering his eyes. The thin, light cloth fluttered with his soft snores.

“Khan? You awake?”

Khan peeled the cloth away and blinked the sleep dust out of his eyes. “What have you done now?”

“Where’s Parvati?”

“No idea.” He rolled over, turning his back to Ash. “I’m busy.”

“You’ve been sleeping all day. Get up.”

With a melodramatic groan and a lot of scratching and stretching, Khan stood up. “What’s the problem?”

“Parvati. You think I should say something?”

“Haven’t you said enough? Still, it proves one thing. She must really,
really
like you.”

“How so?”

“You’re still alive. The old Parvati would have had her fangs in your neck for humiliating her in front of everyone like that. It must be hanging out with mortals – it’s made her mellow.”

Mellow? That wasn’t a word Ash associated with Parvati. “She makes it so hard; she’s become totally stuck up. Look at the way everyone bows and scrapes in front of her.”

Khan gave a low whistle. “Oh, and you’re not stuck up at all, Mr Ash ‘Kali-aastra’ Mistry? You’re just as bad. And Parvati’s got a lot of responsibility now that Ravana’s dead.”

“Meaning what? She wants to take over the demon nations?”

“Better her than Savage, don’t you think?” Khan picked at a canine tooth with his long forefinger nail. “Was that why you woke me, to talk politics?”

“She knew the Koh-i-noor was a Brahma-aastra. Why didn’t she tell me?”

“You want to know about the Brahma-aastra, is that it?”

“You knew too?” They’d all been keeping secrets from him. Why? It didn’t matter, as long as he found out about it now. “Can it raise the dead?”

Khan leaned against a tree trunk. “It’s better we start at the beginning. Let me tell you about the Koh-i-noor. I first saw it in Lanka, back when Ravana was still alive and before all that trouble with Rama. He’d got it off some prince or king, I forget who.”

“But rakshasas can’t use aastras.”

“That didn’t stop him from trying. We’re talking about Ravana, the demon king. Most of the rules didn’t apply to him. Remember I told you he’d once been a Brahmin? He was devoted to all the gods and he gained all his magic from them, but he became so powerful that he started to think he was better than them. He had learned all the mantras, the spells, of Brahma, the Creator, and he thought he could awaken the Koh-i-noor using one such spell.”

“Did he?”

“Not as far as I know. But soon after that stories started spreading that the diamond was cursed. Following Ravana’s defeat, the diamond became part of the booty handed over to Rama, and since then it has passed from one human king to another.”

“But what about the mantras? Someone surely knew how to awaken the aastra?”

“I reckon some imperfect understanding of the awakening mantra is all that exists now. The spell was passed down from one generation to the next, copied from scroll to scroll or recited from master to student. Over the centuries errors crept in and the spell changed. Your friend, Savage, probably
thinks
he knows how to activate the Koh-i-noor, though I seriously doubt it. But what he does know will cause a huge amount of trouble.”

“Trouble? How can raising the dead be trouble?”

Khan smiled, and instead of his usual self-confident arrogance this smile was softer, almost sympathetic. “The ones who come back are never the ones who left, Ash. Gemma, the girl you knew – she is gone and gone for ever. Do not be tempted by false hopes. Look at Savage, what he is, what he does, all in his quest for life beyond his natural span. His search for immortality is a fool’s one. He’s trying to catch a cloud. You mortals have just one life, and that is for a reason. It is that knowledge that drives you to do the things you do, both good and evil. Humans excel because they know the limits of their time here. Remember the dead, honour them, but let them be. And that pain you feel, that loss – hold on to it.”

Ash shook his head. Thinking about Gemma brought the pain back: a cold blade high in his chest and ice that crushed his lungs. “I don’t want to feel it.”

“To feel it is human. The day that agony goes, the day you care nothing about death, that is the day you become a monster, Ash.”

Rain began to fall – first a few heavy drops, then it was as if the entire sky opened up and sheets of water descended. Ash stood under the cover of a mausoleum doorway, soaked through within seconds. He waved as John appeared, carrying two wrapped packets.

“Try this,” said John as he joined Ash. “Fresh and hot.”

Ash opened the paper and held a samosa with his fingertips. The triangular deep-fried pastry smelled delicious. He bit into it and savoured the spiced vegetable filling. John smiled as Ash gave a thumbs up. “Thanks, John.” At least he had one friend he could depend on.

“Well? How did it go with Ujba?”

Ash shrugged. “Badly. I don’t know what Rishi was thinking when he agreed for me to train with him.”

“That deal was made when Rishi was alive. Ujba wouldn’t have dared try anything while the old
sadhu
was around.”

“You think Ujba was scared of Rishi?”

“Rishi was the master of the mantras of the gods. Ujba is just a big, ugly bruiser. No contest.”

“I wish Rishi
was
around right now. He’d sort it all out.” Ash finished the samosa, licking the crumbs off his fingertips. “That was most excellent.”

“No luck with finding Savage, then?” said John.

“We’re getting nowhere with anything. We’ve only the word of a rat rakshasa to go on, and maybe Monty was lying.” Ash looked out across the jungle. “Savage could be anywhere. I don’t think he’s even in Kolkata.”

“I’ve an idea,” said John. “I’ve been thinking about that map of Parvati’s.”

“Yeah?”

John picked up a long, drooping palm leaf and held it over them like an umbrella. “Come on.”

The downpour was in full torrential mode as they hit the streets, which had transformed into small rivers. Dirty tan streams ran across the pavements, and the drainpipes, unable to cope with the immense water flow, spouted water from every joint. Ash could see a group of rickshaws with their brightly polished fenders and decorated canopies parked along the front of one of the grander hotels. The drivers sat hunched on the wall, heads tucked into their shoulders, sharing cigarettes. No one wanted to be out in this drenching rain.

“A lot of bookshops here, have you noticed?” said John in a meaningful tone, gazing into a shop window.

“Maybe Amazon doesn’t deliver this far east.”

“Kolkata’s built on books.”

Now that John mentioned it, Ash realised it was true. There
were
a lot of bookshops. They were standing in front of one, in fact. Ash looked up at the shop sign, written in English and Hindi.

Education Centre.

Kolkata was a famous intellectual centre, he knew that, with lots of big universities. And universities needed bookshops. He peered into the window himself, barely able to see the store within; the glass was semi-opaque with dust. A few books on display had gone yellow with age and sun exposure, their pages crinkled in the corners.

“Looks like it hasn’t changed in two hundred years,” said Ash. “I bet Savage probably shopped here for his first Hindi-English dictionary.”

“Exactly,” said John with a smile. He opened the door. “C’mon.”

The shop smelled damp and mouldy. All this paper and all this rain wasn’t a great combination. There were a few bestsellers on the table nearest the counter, all neatly wrapped in plastic to keep them pristine.

The shelves were made of dark wood and absolutely stuffed with books. A local turned a squeaking rack, inspecting political pamphlets. A student hummed and hahhed as he flicked through some heavy engineering textbook.

“What are we looking for?” asked Ash.

John went to the counter. A woman in an orange sari sat behind an old-fashioned till, a copy of some black-and-red-covered paranormal romance in her hand.

“Begging your pardon, miss, but do you have any maps? Old maps?” John asked.

“Of where?”

“Of British Calcutta.”

The assistant tucked a strip of ribbon into the book before closing it. She headed for the back, John and Ash a few paces behind her.

“You’ve lost me,” said Ash.

“When was Savage first here?”

“Mid-nineteenth century. Back when the East India Company was in charge.”

“Don’t you get it, Ash?”

“Let’s assume I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’ll be easier.”

The assistant touched a stack of papers. “Here you are.”

John began rearranging the items on the table, moving books off it so he could work through the pile of maps carefully. “Savage doesn’t know modern Kolkata. Does he?”

“No, he’s only recently come back to India. He’s spent the last century out in the Far East.”

“So doesn’t it make sense he’d base himself somewhere he knew?” John was turning over the maps quicker and quicker.

“A place that existed back then?”

“Yes.” John stopped at one of the maps, leaning over it to read the faint copperplate calligraphy. “We need to compare a map from the 1850s with ours. We need a map of old Calcutta, not modern Kolkata. Find out which locations appear on both.”

Ash quickly unfolded the modern map they’d been using. They’d marked all the one hundred and fifty potential locations on it with red felt pen. Only half had been checked so far.

“We want this one,” said John.

The map he held had been printed in 1849. Calcutta was a fraction of its present size then, but Ash recognised the snaking path of the Hooghly River, the octagonal Fort William, the neatly arranged Botanical Gardens and the main Kali Temple. Palaces of local rulers were also outlined, as were the various military compounds that housed the East India Company’s troops, there to keep an eye on their mercantile and political interests.

The maps had been drawn to different scales, and the earlier one lacked the satellite accuracy of the modern one Ash had, but by using the river, the fort and the temple as reference points, they could quickly tick off which locations were common to both. Some had already been checked, others dismissed as blatantly inappropriate for Savage, being too public and exposed. But there was one…

“The cantonment.” Ash pointed to a large rectangle on the outskirts of the city. “Here.”

The word ‘cantonment’ was still used in India for a large, enclosed compound. It usually referred to civil servant accommodations, with offices and facilities like hospitals and shops within the walls. A city within a city, originally set up by foreign armies to house their troops.

“It’s isolated, large, and judging by the main building, suitably palatial,” said Ash.

“Perfect for Savage, don’t you think?” John couldn’t help but smile.

“Totally.” Ash checked his wallet. The map wasn’t cheap, but he had enough. “Let’s get this and take it to the others.”

“Don’t you think we should check the cantonment out first?” said John. “If we go in loud and noisy, Savage will just run away and we’re back to the beginning. Anyway, this is only an idea. He may not be there. Let’s just snoop and make sure.”

What better way to make it up with Parvati than to find Savage? Ash grinned. “You’ve changed a lot, John.”