The Place of Dead Kings (43 page)

She looked into the flames. ‘I told you. I don’t want to talk about that.’

He sighed. Sonali was full of secrets. But if she didn’t want his help, what could he do? Still, while he was here he had to find out as much as he could about Mahajan. ‘Do you know anything about Mahajan’s experiments?’

She looked up quickly. ‘What do you mean?’

Should he risk revealing to her what he knew? He had to if he wanted answers. ‘The Brahmastra. Ever heard of that?’

Her mouth dropped. ‘You know about that?’

‘A bit. I know it’s a kind of weapon. Is it real?’

‘Maybe. I think so.’

‘Has Mahajan made one?’

‘He believes so. He’s been trying for a long time. He discovered an ancient manuscript. Or rediscovered it. It was in a private archive, but everyone had forgotten about it. It was in an old, secret language that no one knows any more, but he deciphered it.’

‘And that told him how to make a Brahmastra?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at her hands. ‘It’s a manuscript of the Kapalika siddhas. It contains many evil things.’

‘Kapalika?’

She looked up, her face traced by the firelight. ‘They were an order of siddhas who practised . . . unspeakable things. They believed in achieving powers through destroying purity. They tried to defile themselves in every way.’

Jack remembered Mahajan’s words earlier. ‘Become savages?’

‘Mahajan believes that, yes. The Kapalikas somehow stole the secret of the Brahmastra, a long time ago. They weren’t meant to have it.’

‘And this Brahmastra. Is it really as powerful as in the stories?’

‘I hope not.’ She shivered.

‘Would Mahajan use it?’

‘I’m certain he would. He follows the teachings of the Kapalikas. They worshipped death and destruction. Their sign was the skull – that’s why Mahajan makes the Cattans wear it.’

‘So, who would he use the Brahmastra on? Who’s he fighting for?’

‘Fighting for?’ She snorted. ‘For himself. For his own power. He’s mad.’

‘A madman shouldn’t have a weapon like that.’

‘No. Perhaps you can help. Can you get a message out?’

‘I can try.’

‘I’ve sent word before. Many months ago. A native servant. He said he’d take my message all the way to England.’

Jack sat back. ‘Perhaps he made it. The empire knows about the Brahmastra.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘That’s why I’m here. The army sent an expedition to see what Mahajan’s up to.’

Sonali gripped the edge of her shawl. ‘If they know, surely they’ll send another party.’

‘Maybe. They aren’t sure whether to believe the story.’

‘You have to make them believe it.’

‘I’ll do my best. Where’s the Brahmastra now?’

‘I’ve never seen it. But Mahajan spends all his time in a workshop under the inner bailey. It’ll be in there somewhere.’

‘I’ll take a look.’

She shook her head. ‘You won’t get in there either. There are many, many guards and the doors are locked with yogic powers.’

‘You said there weren’t many guards at night.’

‘There are around that room. And the dungeon. Believe me.’

There was no reason for him to doubt Sonali. She knew the castle well and had done nothing but help him so far. If she’d wanted to, she could have turned him over to the guards half an hour ago. He had to trust her.

But there was one last thing he wanted to know. ‘You know anything about the Grail?’

She frowned. ‘No.’

‘Mahajan’s never spoken about it?’

She shook her head. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing. Just an old story.’ He stood. ‘Now, let’s see if the guards are gone. I can’t wait around here all night.’

S
onali slid the door open, peered outside, then turned to Jack. ‘It’s still clear.’

He nodded. Having seen that the guards had left, Sonali had explained the layout of the castle to him. So long as he could remember her directions, he should be able to find both Mahajan’s workshop and the dungeon.

He went to leave, but paused for a moment. He couldn’t help looking at the torc about Sonali’s neck. It glinted in the dull light and dug slightly into her soft flesh. ‘I’ll be back in a few hours.’

She frowned. ‘You have to get out of the castle.’

‘I can’t leave you here.’

‘Go. While you can.’

He wasn’t going to abandon her but there was no point arguing about it now. Instead, he said a curt farewell and slipped out of the door.

The stone corridor stretched in both directions. Candles cast wavering light across the walls, but left large patches of shadow. Doors led off to both sides.

He ran through Sonali’s directions in his head again, then struck off to the right, treading softly and listening for the sound of anyone approaching. What would he do if a Cattan appeared? Fight? Run? He would have to gauge the situation when it came and make a quick decision.

He turned into another hall, as Sonali had instructed. He was heading to Mahajan’s workshop first – Sonali had said that was closer than the dungeon, and the journey would be along passages that were often empty.

After he’d gone a few paces, he heard footsteps and men’s voices behind him, coming from the passage he’d just left. He ran to the end of the corridor, skidded around the corner and pressed himself against the wall. His chest trembled and his head swam. He’d felt better while he was resting in Sonali’s room, but now that he was moving around again his injury was worsening.

The footsteps came closer, slapping against the wooden floor and echoing down the hall. Had the men heard him? Seen him?

Then the footsteps began to quieten and recede.

He breathed out. So far, luck was with him.

He pressed on down the passage and hesitated beside a window with a half-open shutter. He listened intently. There were no footsteps. He could risk stopping for a moment.

He eased open the shutter and peered out into the darkness. From this angle he had a good view of the front of the castle. The walls and bastions were outlined by splashes of light from windows, the vague moon and specks of luminous ash. He spied a black expanse that must be the inner bailey, beneath which lay Mahajan’s workshop.

He heard voices coming from further down the corridor, so he slid the shutter closed and moved on.

He came to the corkscrew staircase he’d run up earlier in the day. The scent of sattva and coal spiralled up. A tremor crossed his chest, his legs weakened and black spots spun before his eyes.

He shook his head to keep himself from passing out. He had to keep going. He couldn’t fail now.

He started down the stairs, listening carefully for anyone coming the other way. Pipes began knitting across the walls, heat wafted up and the distant hum of industry vibrated in the air. Wherever there was metal, he noticed the uneasy shifting he’d seen when he’d first arrived at the castle. Nothing seemed stable and certain. Everything had the quality of smoke.

Blackness hovered about him. He paused and tried to clear his head, but the darkness enveloped him further. He stuck out his hand to steady himself, his fingers finding and then gripping a pipe that was warm and slightly damp to the touch. He felt the faint quiver of machinery through the metal.

Concentrate. Don’t faint. Don’t fall down now.

The blackness parted and he could see clearly again. He was breathing heavily but the pain in his chest eased a little.

Christ. How much longer did he have now? Days? Hours?

And what about the Grail? Despite his scepticism, despite his lack of belief in his people’s superstitions, he’d been hoping the Grail was real, hoping that Mahajan had found it. Even when he’d come to the castle hours earlier he’d let his thoughts run away with the idea that this place was the Corbenic of the old stories. But Sonali had never heard of the Grail. Mahajan hadn’t mentioned it.

He had to give up on the idea of the Grail now. If there were any secret in the castle, it would be a monstrous weapon.

Nothing was going to save him.

He swallowed. He was feeling strong enough now to continue and slipped on down the stairs.

He heard voices coming from above, then footsteps in the stairwell. He went more quickly.

And then suddenly he was at ground level. He’d travelled faster and further than he’d realised and lost track of which storey he was on. He was back in the hallway which led to the boiler room. Heat and coal smoke washed over him and in the distance dim figures laboured, their skin shining in the ruddy light. It seemed the men needed to work continuously to keep the castle running.

He headed away from the boilers, turned down a few gloomy passages and finally reached the set of stairs that led to the catacombs. Sonali had explained there was a complex maze of halls and chambers beneath the castle. A few had survived from earlier times, but most had been built by Mahajan.

He looked around. There was no one in the area. No one had seen him come to this place. So far, everything was going according to plan.

He scurried down the stairs and came out in a hall lit by pale, silvery light that seemed to come from no particular source. Seething tubes encrusted the walls. Steam hissed from valves, water gurgled deep within the ironwork and black ooze leaked out from between rivets. The metal continually shifted and slipped around as he tried to concentrate on it. But like everywhere else in the castle, it was solid when he touched it.

He crept down the passage, took a turning to the left and then to the right. The wheeze of steam and the chugging of machinery grew even louder. The air was moist and warm.

Finally he reached a long hall that Sonali had told him led to Mahajan’s workshop.

He heard footsteps echoing behind him. He glanced around. There was nowhere to hide in the corridor, but there was an opening in the wall about thirty feet away. He slipped down the passage and paused by the exit. The room beyond was dark and he could only just see the outline of the metal swarming over the walls.

The footsteps rattled louder. Whoever was coming would soon turn into the hall.

He slipped into the room. The footsteps stopped, then continued. Two people were walking towards him and would soon reach the entryway. If he stayed where he was, they would see him.

He went through an opening to his right and sneaked down a further hall. He was leaving the route Sonali had described to him, but he had no choice at the moment. The light was so dim now he could barely make out the way ahead.

A dense chirping sound grew louder, drowning out the rumble of machinery and the clatter of the footsteps. It became more shrill the further along the passage he walked.

He stopped for a second. The trilling was all around him, seeming to come from the walls only inches away.

He stared into the darkness. He sensed slight changes in the air, as if several small fans were fluttering.

Christ. What was that?

He noticed a light ahead and stumbled towards it. As the glow brightened, he began to make out the walls, which were plastered with the usual contorted metal. As before, the pipes seemed to move. Only now they were shivering rapidly. This wasn’t the shifting he’d noticed earlier, it was flickers and ripples, like branches and leaves moving in the wind.

The sizzling noise was so loud now it made his ears ring.

An arch opened to his left – the light was spilling out from the room beyond. He stumbled through the entrance and froze instantly. The hair shot up on the back of his neck.

He was in a small, octagonal chamber, the walls of which were smothered by a quivering mass of steel creatures.

Avatars.

Some of the beasts looked like fish, others like crustaceans, still others like bloated insects. They shuffled wings, wriggled antennae and scraped legs against the stone. At first he thought they were clinging to the pipes, but then he realised they were in fact part of the metalwork itself. It was as though they’d been impaled on the tubes and left writhing in agony.

On the far wall hung a circular metal plaque, on which was engraved the image of a turbaned figure holding aloft a shape that looked like an animal foetus.

Jack’s skin crawled. He recognised the design. He’d seen it once before – in an abandoned mill near London. The picture had been on a plate on the base of a device he believed was used to create avatars. He recalled the machine now – it had looked like a five-foot-wide claw of wire and steel, with the plate in the centre.

His breathing was shallow and pain flickered in his chest. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised Mahajan had been creating avatars – the whole castle was something like a mill, after all. At least these beasts seemed harmless. They were trapped within the piping and were more part of the castle’s machinery than separate beings. But still, he wasn’t going to stay where he was any longer.

He stepped out into the dark corridor and made his way back the way he’d come. He was going to return to Sonali’s route – there was no knowing what he’d find in the maze if he wandered off any further.

The whine of the avatars decreased as he neared the end of the passage.

Finally, he paused. He could see the way out to the main hall ahead of him. His heart was beating fast, but it was slowing now that he’d left the avatars behind. He listened but could no longer hear the footsteps. He crept closer to the opening and pressed himself against the warm, wet pipes. He still heard nothing.