Ash Mistry and the World of Darkness (27 page)

The eyes betray intent. And with a glimpse Spartacus knows. Fear, inexperience, lack of training. These things can decide the victor as much as skill at arms.

The retiarius throws his net too soon.

Spartacus ducks and surges forward, the net sails over him. The retiarius backs away, now weaponless, eyes darting to his companions for aid. He opens his mouth to scream …

Spartacus shoves the man back with his shoulder and down he goes, flipping over the railings. There is a cry and a splash.

Gladius and sica clash, the blades a finger’s width from his throat. The thraex is bigger and heavier than him, and uses his weight to press down. He glares, spittle drooling from between his clenched teeth. Spartacus, pushed to the railings, feels them bite into his back. His feet slide to the edge.

A bolt of steel rattles overhead and Spartacus twists. The heavy chain smashes the thraex across the shoulders and he grunts, his grip weakening for a fraction of a second.

That is a lifetime in this game of death.

Gladius slips free and strikes the thraex’s head, once, twice and a third time across the jaw and the man loses his teeth and his consciousness.

The chain flicks and traps Spartacus’s sword arm.

Mistake.

Spartacus throws his gladius in the air, catches it with his left hand and rams the tip into the laquearius’s belly. The man yelps and curls up, knees knocking the ground. Spartacus turns in a swift, powerful circle and the blow to his chin lifts the man back up to his feet and back down, flat on his back.

The arena erupts in celebration. Spartacus points his gladius at the editor of the games, in acknowledgement, in defiance, as the mob chants his name to the heavens.

“A
shoka?” Parvati nudged his back. “What have you done?”

Ashoka stared at the two unconscious men. His baton dripped blood and a tooth was embedded in the wood. The machete lay at his foot. He kicked it over the edge. Parvati just stood there, dumbstruck. She blinked, as if her eyes must be deceiving her. “I … That was amazing.”

The roar of the crowd still echoed in his head. Chanting his name.

Spartacus
.

Parvati nudged one of the unconscious crew with her toe. “Past life, yes?”

Ashoka nodded. He sank down on a crate. His head swirled with images and memories, the blur of faces in the arena, the smell of the sweat and the dust and sand in the air. The relish he felt as he struck, the drunkenness of victory. He felt euphoric. He felt sick. “What’s happening?”

“Aftershock. Get used to it.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” Ashoka dropped the baton and clutched his head, trying to breathe more slowly, trying to calm down. Now he was terrified. “Those men were going to kill me!”

Parvati patted his back. “Shall we toss them overboard?”

“They’ll drown. They’ll die.”

“And that is bad because …?”

“Parvati, no. We’ll tie them up and dump them in that lifeboat. No one will see them there.” Ashoka stood up. “What happened to the other one?”

Parvati peered over the edge. “Swimming back to shore, I think.”

There. He was up and not shaking. Wow. That had been weird, but already the memories of the gladiator were fading away. He picked up his baton, but it felt different, uncomfortable, less familiar. Not a weapon but a piece of clumsy wood. He didn’t know how to fight with this. Not any more.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually they had hauled the two men into the lifeboats, tied and gagged.

Parvati sounded a low whistle as she looked under a corner of one of the tarpaulin sheets covering the cargo. “Savage doesn’t do things by halves, does he.”

It was a missile. Sleek, narrow, black and shiny and just under two metres tall. The guidance fins were bright red and the surface decorated with strange symbols. Engraved on the warhead, which was made of glass and filled with green liquid, was some Hindi lettering.

“The Ravan-aastra. Tasteless and blasphemous,” said Parvati. “There must be hundreds.”

Ashoka peered under another sheet. She was right. The deck was covered with the missiles, all standing rank upon rank, metal and glass soldiers ready to bring death and horror to India. He tapped the cylinder and looked at the exhausts. “These are short-range rockets. Not enough fuel to get them across the country from here. Savage would need to fire them pretty close to the target city to be effective, but there are enough here to take out twenty cities at least.”

“Hire a convoy of lorries and spread them out over the country. Thank God we found them now. Once distributed, we’d never have tracked them all down.”

Ashoka took out one of the jars. “Let’s get busy. I’ll go down the right—”

“Starboard.”

“Whatever. You go down the left—”

“Port.”

“
Whatever
. Save one each for the bridge, OK?”

“That wasn’t the plan, Ashoka. We stick together. Remember?”

Ashoka grinned. “Things have changed. I kick butt now.”

“Fine. Let’s hope the next past life you summon isn’t Charlie Chaplin.” Parvati gave a mock salute and went on her way.

Ashoka entered the ranks of the Ravan-aastras. He worked his way along the deadly cylinders towards the centre of the deck. He tore off the paper seal and settled the first jar gently on the floor. Out came his pocket knife and off came the wax plug. He’d leave them like this, then throw the last one from the bridge. That would burst into flame and set off the ones on deck in a chain reaction. He hoped that would give the crew enough time to abandon ship. He put two more deep among the missiles and emerged at the prow of the ship. A large covered mechanism stood at the very front of the deck, supported by a thick steel column and connected to power cables running along the rusty steel floor.

Ashoka pulled the sheeting off.

Four Ravan-aastras sat loaded in a missile launcher, each missile garlanded with marigolds. The launcher had been bolted in place and was so new Ashoka could smell the paint. It was military hardware, designed to be fired from warships at targets onshore. It confirmed his guess that the missiles were all short-range: Kampani was just a couple of miles away.

There was no obvious ‘fire’ button so Ashoka guessed that it would have to be launched remotely, probably by the captain on the bridge. He needed to disable it, but there was no way he could lift one of those missiles off by himself. He looked around and found a toolbox. He quickly grabbed a couple of screwdrivers and rammed them into the gears so the launcher couldn’t move or change its aim, then he set to work uncoupling the power cables from the driver motor. He whacked the receiver box with a large spanner until it fell to pieces on the deck. He kicked the pieces off into the sea and slung the sheeting back over.

Those missiles weren’t going anywhere.

The backpack was a lot lighter now he’d got rid of three of his four jars so he jogged back and found Parvati waiting at the foot of the steps leading up to the bridge. She put her finger to her lips and then signalled ‘four’, pointing up.

Four crew up there. Ashoka nodded and let her lead the way.

This James Bond stuff was easier than he’d thought. Maybe he should apply for a work placement at MI6 during his holidays.

The bridge overlooked the deck and was raised about six metres above it. The windows were thick, tilted downwards, and gave the crew an almost 180-degree view. A small array of radio and satellite equipment hung off brackets on the front and the roof. The steel structure had seen better decades, but was still sturdy, despite the pockmarks of rust, and the door was heavy with a watertight seal.

Parvati sneaked a peek through the porthole window in the door, then crunched down and whispered, “I’ll go in. Keep this door closed in case one of them tries to make a break for it. I’ll give you the all-clear when I’m done.”

“Don’t kill anyone,” said Ashoka.

She pouted. “You’re no fun.” Then she changed into a cobra and slithered into a run-off pipe just under the door threshold. Ashoka grabbed hold of the door handle with both hands.

There’d be a drain, a gulley, in the bridge to allow any water to drain out. Ashoka could imagine Parvati sliding along the steel pipe, through the bends and slopes and up the drain into the room. He reckoned she’d be out about—

A man yelled.

About now, in fact.

A loud, terrifying hiss followed and the door jolted as someone tried to open it. Ashoka braced himself against it, gazing at the petrified face yelling at him from the other side of the glass. The man, cap askew and face white, banged on the door. “Open the door! Please! Please!” His breath steamed up the porthole window. Then he screamed again as he was dragged away.

Something smashed. Something heavy, a body maybe, thumped against the door. The window overlooking the deck cracked as one of the crew was hurled against it. Hisses, screams, cries and thumps, and the sound of things cracking, breaking and bruising broke out, and someone rattled the door handle desperately, sobbing on the other side. There was a pitiful whimper. “Please, oh God, please …”

Then a single, long, high-pitched scream. Then all was silent.

The weight on the door handle dropped away.

“All clear,” said Parvati from the other side.

Ashoka turned the handle, dreading to see the carnage. It sounded as if she’d torn them limb from limb. The walls were probably drenched in blood and internal organs. The bile was rising up his throat in anticipation. He opened the door.

The bridge was cramped with screens and controls and there was a rack of very new and shiny gas masks hanging on a wall. In case of any leaks of RAVN-1, Ashoka supposed.

Parvati sat on the captain’s chair, her foot resting on a body. Four others, one on the control panel, lay unmoving. A tea tray lay on the floor among broken crockery. The wall was dented and the main window fractured like a spider’s web. She wore the captain’s hat. “Warp factor ten, Mr Sulu.” She grinned. “Always wanted to say that.”

“I thought I told you not to kill anyone.” Still, the walls were surprisingly blood and gore free.

“Just unconscious. I promise.”

“All that screaming! It sounded like they were facing their darkest nightmares.”

Scales spread over Parvati’s face and her fangs stretched down to her chin as her eyes glowed with green malevolence. “I gave them my fright face. You’d be surprised how effective it can be, given the right environment. Low lights, alone in the sea. It creates the right ambience. Never underestimate the power of theatrics.” She handed over her backpack. “Let’s get these four into the lifeboats.”

It wasn’t easy getting four unconscious men down a narrow, steep and slippery staircase. Ashoka dropped one and winced as he rolled down to splat on the deck with a moan.

Parvati stifled a laugh. “I’ll drag them into the lifeboat. You set this off on the bridge,” she said, passing him her last jar.

Ashoka went to the top of the stairs, tore the seal off a jar and threw it over the deck. It smashed among the missiles and a white bloom of fire sprang up instantly, flooding the deck with light. It burned like a magnesium flare, blindingly intense, each spark generating another, before settling into a brilliant blaze of golden flame. Another jar caught and burst over the ship with devastating whiteness. Droplets flew into the water and sank, glowing fairies going for a midnight swim.

A fire alarm burst into life, clanging across the bridge, the decks and no doubt into the cabins of the rest of the crew.

Ashoka opened the door to the bridge and entered. The lights on the console blinked and the alarm was deafening in here. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t staying long. He ripped off the seal from his final jar, cut the wax plug out and then poured the contents over the ship’s controls.

The door slammed shut. Ashoka ran to it. It wouldn’t open. What was going on? He kicked the steel door, heaved his entire weight against it. It didn’t budge a millimetre.

Sparks exploded as the dragonfire ate into the metal and the wiring. Ashoka coughed as black smoke rolled up into the ceiling in a dense layer just above his head.

The PA system hissed and crackled. “I’d be careful breathing any of that. The plastic on the wiring is quite toxic when burnt.”

Ashoka stared at the speaker. “Savage?”

“Ah, young Ashoka. What a shame we meet under such sorry circumstances.”

Ashoka wrestled with the door. “Let me out!”

“Dear boy, that won’t do at all.”

Ashoka ran to the window and started hitting the glass. Parvati was just climbing up into one of the lifeboats. She met his gaze as she put out a foot towards the deck—

The crane arm swung the lifeboat out, away from the ship and over the water. Ashoka and Parvati stared as the rope unwound. She stretched out, but too late, and the lifeboat fell away into the sea.

The flames covered the floor and Ashoka covered his mouth, choking as the smoke stung his eyes and filled his lungs. He grabbed one of the gas masks and put in on, pulling the straps tight.

“Poor magician I’d be if I couldn’t manipulate matter,” said Savage. “Did you really think I’d leave this last ship unprotected? After you’d sunk all my other plague ships? Still, dragonfire, very good.”

Glass shattered in the heat. Ashoka stood up. He had to jump. But a wall of flame stood between him and the broken windows. Molten steel dripped off the ceiling and ran over the floor. The structure groaned as holes opened up under his bare feet. He could barely stand, the ground was so hot.

“I’ve waited too long for this. This is the first day of a new world, Ashoka. My world. Observe.”

The missile launcher up in the front of the prow groaned. The gears clunked, grinding against the screwdrivers he’d wedged between them. The missiles rose, aiming themselves towards the shore.

Among the flames, separate from the hundreds of missiles exploding on the deck, floated another four Ravan-aastras, slowly turning to face the city a mile away. Flames ignited within their exhausts.