It felt too big sometimes, what he was and what it meant. So he liked to be normal at school. That was why he hid his powers. It was nice to pretend, to escape, even if it was just for a few hours a day.
He registered that it was cold, but it didn’t bother him. He wore the sweater merely for show nowadays. It had just turned half past four, and the long, late autumn shadows led him home.
Ash stopped by his garden gate and looked up and down the road. For what? Gemma following him home? Not bloody likely, given his pathetic performance in the lunch hall.
You blew it.
So much about him had changed and not changed. He still didn’t understand maths and he certainly couldn’t get a date.
He turned into Croxted Road and saw a battered white van parked outside their drive. Must be to do with Number 43; they were having their house repainted. He’d ask them to move it before Dad got home. If they didn’t, he could do it himself. It looked about three tons. No problem.
Lucky opened the door before Ash even knocked. His sister was still in her school uniform, green sweater and grey skirt, grey socks that came up to her knees. Her long black ponytail flicked across her face as she turned back and forth. “Ash—”
“Before you ask, the answer is no.” Ash went in and threw his rucksack into the corner. “I did not ask Gemma out.”
“Ash—”
“Just give it a rest, will you? Who says I’m interested in her anyway?” He passed through the hall to the kitchen. He really needed some comfort food right now, and that packet of doughnuts up on the sweets shelf would do nicely. Lucky grabbed his sleeve as he turned the door handle.
“Ash!”
“What?”
Lucky was the only one who knew what he’d been through in India, but she didn’t treat him any differently, which was why, even though she was eleven and way too smart for her own good, he would die for her.
Had died for her.
You would think that would count for something, wouldn’t you? But right now she was being a typical younger sister. Which was irritating.
Lucky stared hard at him, as if she was trying to project her thoughts directly into his head. Alas, while he could kill with a touch, Ash couldn’t read minds. Maybe that would come later.
“What is it?” he said. Then he paused and sniffed the air. “Is Dad smoking again? Mum will go mental if he’s doing it in the house.”
“This is nothing to do with Dad.” Lucky frowned and crossed her arms. Not good. “You’ve got visitors.” Then she spun on her heels and stomped upstairs to her room. The whole house shook as she slammed the door.
Gemma? Had she come over to see him? She did live just down the road. It had to be. He checked that his fly was up and quickly wiped his nose. Then he opened the kitchen door.
So not Gemma. A gaunt old woman leaned against the sink, blowing cigarette smoke out of the half-open window. Her hair would have suited a witch: wild, thick as a bush and grey as slate. She dropped her stub into Ash’s Yoda mug, where it died with a hiss.
The old woman smiled at Ash, her thin lips parting to reveal a row of yellow teeth. It wasn’t pretty. She searched her baggy woollen cardigan and took out a packet of Marlboro Lights. She flicked her Zippo and within two puffs the fresh cigarette was glowing.
“You’re not allowed to smoke in here,” Ash said. He’d been brought up to respect his elders – it was the Indian way – but there was something thoroughly disrespectful about this woman.
“So you’re Ash Mistry,” she said. “The Kali-aastra.”
Ash tensed. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Elaine.”
“I don’t know any Elaines.”
“She’s a friend of mine.”
Ash spun round at the new voice, one he recognised.
An Indian girl stepped out from behind the fridge. That was why he hadn’t seen her, but then she was very good at being invisible. She played with a silver locket as she gazed at him through her big black sunglasses. She wore a pair of dark green trousers and a black cotton shirt, its collar and cuffs embroidered with entwined serpents. Looking at her, a stranger would guess she was about fifteen. They’d only be off by about four thousand years.
She took off her glasses, and her pupils, vertical slits, dilated with sly amusement. The green irises filled out the rest of her eyes, leaving no whites at all. Her lips parted into a smile, and Ash glimpsed a pair of half-extended venomous fangs where her canines should have been.
She looked like a vampire, cold and with a terrible beauty. But no vampire could compare to her. She was the daughter of the demon king and born to end men’s lives.
“Namaste,” said Parvati.
hey looked at each other, neither moving. Then Ash came forward and somewhat awkwardly hugged Parvati.
She stepped back and looked at him.
“You’ve changed,” she said.
“For the better, right?”
“That remains to be seen.”
Oh, nice to see you again too, Parvati.
“How have you been?” he asked. “It’s been ages and I haven’t heard anything.”
“You missed me? How nice.”
“I didn’t say that. But I thought you might have dropped me an e-mail at least.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Blimey, Parvati.” He’d forgotten she didn’t do sensitive. “I’m just saying, it’s good to see you.”
“So who’s this Gemma?” she asked. “Found true love, have we?”
“What?” How did she know about Gemma? Ah yes. Because he’d been shouting her name in the hallway. “Er, she’s just a friend.”
“Is she the one you wrote the poem about?”
Despite the cold air coming through the open window, Ash suddenly became very hot. And bothered. “You know about that?”
“I’ve been keeping up to date. Checking the blogs and boards. We do have the Internet in India, in case you didn’t know.”
“What did you think?” He had to ask. “Of the poem?”
Parvati tapped her chin, brow furrowed in contemplation. “Deeply disturbing. On many levels.”
“Thanks, Parvati. A lot.” She obviously knew nothing about poetry. “I assume you’re not here to discuss my literary endeavours, so why are you here?”
Parvati didn’t answer. Her attention was on a photo on the wall. Ash knew exactly which one.
An Indian couple, in black and white, sat stiffly looking at the camera. The man’s hair was glossy ebony with oil. If he’d used any more, it would have been declared an environmental disaster. His black plastic-framed glasses sat firm on his thin nose.
The woman wore a traditional sari and had a puja mark on her forehead. She had a large gold nose ring, and thick kohl circled her deep black eyes.
Uncle Vik and Aunt Anita.
The photo had been taken years and years ago, when they were newlyweds. Had they imagined how their lives would go? How their lives would end?
It had happened in Varanasi, the holiest city in India. Uncle Vik had been an archaeologist, teaching at the university. But there they’d met Lord Alexander Savage. The English aristocrat had asked Uncle Vik to translate some ancient Harappan scrolls, translations that were crucial to Savage’s plans to resurrect Ravana. When Vik ultimately refused, Savage had killed Ash’s uncle and aunt.
Savage was over three hundred years old, and when Ash had first met him, he’d looked it. A living skeleton with skin flaking off his withered flesh, the man was only kept going by his magic, and even that was beginning to fail. His plan had been to resurrect Ravana, the master of all ten sorceries, in the hope that the demon king would give him immortal youth in exchange for bringing him back from the dead. And it had all been going well for him until Ash had turned up and put his fist through Ravana’s chest, ending him once and for ever.
Ash could still picture the young, rejuvenated Savage, fleeing through the chaos that had followed Ravana’s destruction. He had wanted to go after
the English sorcerer, but in the end, he knew where his priorities lay. He had a sister, parents and a home. This was where he belonged. It was Parvati’s job to hunt down Savage – she had her own grudge against him. But Ash’s anger was still there. He missed his aunt and uncle, and Savage needed to pay for what he’d done.
“Have you found him?” asked Ash.
“No. But I’m still looking.” Parvati put her hand on Ash’s shoulder. “I will find him. I promise you.” She looked him up and down. “How are you, Ash?”
“Great. Better than great.” That was true. He was in perfect health. Beyond perfect.
“You certainly look good.”
Ash nodded. “Don’t need to sleep, eat, anything like that. I can run a hundred miles a day without feeling tired. Never get ill, not even a cold. There was a super-flu going around a month ago and half the school was off.”
“I heard about that,” said Parvati. “Made the news back in India.”
Ash slapped his chest. “Not even a sniffle.” He sat down and picked up an apple.
“It will fade, over time,” said Parvati. “You’ll return to being… more human. But never quite all the way.”
“It’s kinda cool being a superhero.”
Parvati arched her eyebrow. “Just don’t start wearing your underpants outside your trousers. It’s not a good look for you.”
“Thanks for the fashion tip.”
“So you’re managing?” She toyed with her sunglasses. “Restraining yourself? Not letting people see exactly who you are? What you are, I should say.”
“Is that why you’re here? To make sure I haven’t fallen to the Dark Side of the Force?”
“Probably too late for that.” Parvati laughed, and Ash’s heart quickened. He’d forgotten how her laughter was like the chiming of silver bells. “But no, that’s not why I’m here. I need your help.” She looked towards Elaine. “My friend had best explain.”
Elaine rummaged around in her pocket and put a postcard on the table. The card was a cheap one that you could get in any tourist shop in London. It showed two bejewelled crowns, a sceptre and a golden orb, each one sitting regally on a red cushion.
“The Crown Jewels?” said Ash. He’d visited the Tower of London loads of times on school trips. Every school kid in Britain recognised them.
“You’ve heard of the Koh-i-noor?” asked Parvati.
“Of course I have.” He looked at the humongous diamond sparkling in the centre of one of the crowns. “The Mountain of Light.”
“Stolen by the British in the mid-nineteenth century from the maharajah of Lahore,” Parvati said. “It was given to Queen Victoria. The original stone was much bigger than what it is now. The British cut it in half and put the largest piece in here.” She tapped the central image. “The Queen Mother’s Crown.”
“Not any more,” said Elaine. “It was stolen five days ago.”
“Impossible. It would have been in the news,” said Ash.
Elaine shook her head. “No. This sort of news is kept very quiet. Why would the government want to admit a national heirloom has been stolen? You can count on the prime minister’s office to cover this sort of thing up to avoid a scandal.”
Ash sat down. “Why was it nicked? To sell it?”
“It is up for sale, that’s for certain,” said Elaine. “It’s the buyer we’re interested in.”
“It is an aastra, Ash,” Parvati replied.
“Ah,” said Ash.
An aastra was anything made by a god – usually weapons. Ash had found one, a golden arrowhead, in an underground chamber in Varanasi, where a splinter of the aastra had entered his thumb. That minute piece of god-forged metal was the source of all his power and all the trouble that had followed: the death of his uncle and aunt, Lucky’s kidnapping and his own demise and return.
“Will it work? The British cut it in half, didn’t they?” he asked.
“You only have a fraction of the Kali-aastra, far less than a half, and it’s served you well,” replied Parvati.
She had a point. Ash peered at his thumb, at the scar marking where the splinter had entered. The sliver of metal was long gone, bound to every atom of his body.
“Whose aastra is it?” he asked. Each aastra was different, depending on which god had forged it. The aastra of Agni, the fire god, gained power from heat and fire. Could the Koh-i-noor be another Kali-aastra like his? That didn’t bear thinking about.
Elaine looked down at her boots as she lit another cigarette and gave a slight shrug. “That we don’t know.”
Ash frowned. “Parvati? Any idea?”
“No,” she declared. “The Koh-i-noor is exceedingly ancient, but I’ve never known anyone to successfully awaken it.”
“Awakened or not, we can’t risk letting it fall into the wrong hands,” said Elaine.
“And by the wrong hands, you mean Savage, don’t you?”
Elaine nodded. “Savage has been a thorn in our side for a few hundred years.”
“What do you mean, ‘our side’?”
Elaine smiled. “I represent certain… interested parties. It’s our job to know what’s going on.”
Ash leaned back in his chair. The Koh-i-noor was perhaps the most famous diamond in the world, and the most cursed. Every Indian knew the story of how it had been passed down through the ages, how many of its owners had come to hideous deaths.
“How did it get nicked?” asked Ash. The security around the Crown Jewels would be intense.
“Swapped, somehow, while the jewels were being given their monthly polish.” Parvati inspected the fruit bowl and picked out an apple. Ash couldn’t help but notice how her canines, slightly longer than normal, sank into the flesh and two thin beads of juice ran off the punctures. “The jeweller turned round for a moment, and when he turned back, the Koh-i-noor was gone and a piece of glass was there instead.”
“No one else came in, was hiding behind the cupboard? Under the sink?”
“No.”
“So we’re not talking about a normal thief, are we?” said Ash. The stakes were getting higher every passing second.
“No, we’re not.”
“Any ideas who?”
“Name of Monty. He specialises in stealing such esoteric items. Word has got around that he’s putting it on the market.”
“We going to make him an offer?” said Ash.
Parvati smiled. It wasn’t nice. “One he can’t refuse.”
Elaine picked up the card and tucked it away. “I’ve got feelers out and should have his address any time now.”
Parvati spoke. “Such artefacts don’t turn up every day. Savage will be after it.”
“You think he might know how to use it?” asked Ash. Aastras were the Englishman’s speciality. He’d spent years searching for the Kali-aastra before Ash found it accidentally, so it made sense that he’d be looking for others too.
“I really don’t want to give him the opportunity. This is our chance to end this once and for all.”
A tremor of excitement ran through him. “How?”
“With your help. If you’re not too busy?”
“Can it wait until after Doctor Who?”
“Ash—”
“Joke.”
Elaine buttoned up her cardigan. “We’d offer our services, but we’ve got some of our own business to take care of.”
“What sort of business?” asked Ash.
“None of yours,” interrupted Parvati. She put on her sunglasses. “Elaine will text us the address. We’ll meet up later and visit this Monty.”
Ash showed them to the door, where Elaine suddenly checked her pockets. “My cigarettes. I think I left them in the kitchen. You go and wait in the van, Parvati, I’ll only be a minute.”
Parvati nodded, then, with a small bow and smile for Ash, left.
Elaine and Ash returned to the kitchen. She made a show of searching the table, the worktop.
“Try your left pocket,” said Ash. He’d seen her put them
away and knew she knew that too. This was a ruse to have a quiet moment without Parvati listening.
“Ah.” Out came the packet. Elaine tapped it idly, her attention on Ash. “Rishi told me a lot about you.”
“You knew him?” Rishi had been the first person to realise that Ash was the Eternal Warrior, the latest reincarnation of some of the greatest heroes the world had ever known. The old holy man had started Ash on his training, but had been killed by Savage’s henchman before he could teach Ash more about his new nature, what he had become.
“Getting any urges? Beyond those normal for a hormonal teen boy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Rishi suspected you’d found the Kali-aastra and asked me to keep an eye on you if anything happened to him. He wanted you to continue your training.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Ash said, “but you really don’t look like the sort of teacher I need.” She was breathing heavily just unwrapping the cigarette packet.
Elaine drew out a business card and pushed it across the table. “Rishi gave me a list of contacts. Most are out in India. You call me if you need any help.”
“I’ve got Parvati.”
“There are things Parvati can’t teach you. And her agenda may not be the same as yours.”
“Meaning?” Ash didn’t like what she was implying.
Elaine glanced towards the door, checking that Parvati was out of hearing. “As much as I respect Parvati, I don’t trust her, and neither should you. While Rishi was around, he was able to keep her in check, but she’s a demon princess, and Ravana was her father.”
“She hated Ravana. She helped me kill him.”
“And now the throne of the demon nations sits empty.” Elaine shrugged. “Parvati is ambitious. It’s in her nature.”
Ash reluctantly picked up the card. “‘Elaine’s Bazaar’?”
“It’s a junk shop near Finsbury Park. Open all hours.”
ASH MISTRY AND THE CITY OF DEATH Page 2
