Sarwat Chadda: Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress

Uncle Vik nodded. “Yes. The only way to translate an unknown language is to have an example of it in another, already-known language. That’s why we know almost nothing about the Harappans. We have so much writing from their culture, but no key to unlock it.”

“Until now,” said Savage. He put his hand down on the scroll. “This is that key. An identical message in Harappan, Sumerian cuneiform, and Old Kingdom Egyptian. And since we know cuneiform and Egyptian…”

“We should be able to translate the Harappan.” Vik stared at the scroll. “My God, you’re right.” He straightened, his face glowing with delight. “Lord Savage, you’ve achieved a miracle.”

“No, Professor Mistry. The miracle will be yours. I would like you to complete the translation.”

Uncle Vik brushed his fingers along the edge of the scroll. “This fire damage is recent. What happened on the dig?”

Ash saw how Savage’s gaze cooled as he and the big guy exchanged a brief look. The Englishman stroked his chin before speaking.

“Trouble at the site,” Savage said. “Are you a superstitious man, Professor?”

“Why?”

“The local villagers believe the site to be home to evil spirits. There have been several attempts to sabotage the excavations.” Savage reached into his jacket and drew out a slip of paper. “Consider my offer.”

Uncle Vik took the slip: a cheque. His eyes widened as he read the figure in the box. Ash squinted – he couldn’t make out the number, but there were a lot of zeroes. A lot.

“You’re joking. I can’t accept this.” Vik shook his head and tried to hand the cheque back. “It’s two million pounds.”

Oh My God.

“I am happy to double it.” Savage opened his fountain pen.

“No. No.” Uncle Vik put his hand on the desk to steady himself.

“We will change the world with this knowledge, Professor Mistry. The Harappans were a thousand years ahead of their time. They used technologies that weren’t seen again for many centuries. What other knowledge did they have that we’ve lost? The answers are in this scroll,” said Savage. “And I’m willing to pay any price to find them.”

Savage’s eyes shone with desire. A spider of fear crept along Ash’s spine and rested its cold legs against his neck as he watched the Englishman lick his lips. He was telling the truth, and it was terrifying. Savage was a man capable of doing anything to achieve his goal.

“Do we have a deal?” Savage carefully peeled off his glove. Wrinkled skin hung loosely round bone and stringy flesh. It was the hand of a dried-out skeleton. Uncle Vik looked at the hand.

Two million. TWO MILLION. What couldn’t the family do with that sort of cash?

But why did it feel so wrong?

No. Don’t. Ash wanted to cry out but couldn’t. He was frozen. And the look in Savage’s eyes told him that if his uncle refused, Savage would smash his head open with his silver-topped cane.

“A deal.” Uncle Vik took Savage’s hand.

A feral smile spread over Savage’s lips. He put his glove back on. The big man handed out the drinks.

“Thank you, Professor.” He tapped his glass against Uncle Vik’s. “I will arrange for all the paperwork to be brought here.”

Uncle Vik gulped down the whiskey. “You don’t want me out in Rajasthan?”

“No, not yet. The translations refer to some important artefacts buried here in Varanasi.” Savage emptied his glass. “Now, if you would return to the party. I have some business to discuss with Mayar.”

Oh no. How long were they going to stay here? Ash wasn’t sure he could stand still much longer. If he just ran out to Vik, they couldn’t do anything, could they? But before he could act his uncle left, closing the door behind him.

Savage sighed with relief. “The excavations here are going too slowly, Mayar,” he said.

“The men are suspicious. They will not venture near the Seven Queens.”

“I do not pay them to be suspicious. See to it tomorrow.” Savage walked to the window. He rested his hands on the balcony and looked out, standing only a few centimetres from Ash. Ash’s heart beat so loudly he was sure Savage would hear it.

“Why not send him to Rajasthan now?” asked Mayar.

“The work there is nearly complete; the Iron Gates have been found. What I want is the key to open them, and the key, my dear Mayar, is buried here in Varanasi. Once the scrolls have been translated, I’ll know exactly where.” Savage’s fingers traced the grooves that crisscrossed his face. “I’m running out of time.”

“I will encourage the men to greater efforts.”

Ash didn’t like the way Mayar said ‘encourage’. It sounded painful.

“One more thing,” said Savage. “What did I tell you about feeding near the fortress?”

Mayar laughed so deeply that the cabinets rocked. It was a laugh full of cruel mockery.

“Forgive me, Master,” Mayar said, clearly not meaning any of it. “But the bullock was too tasty to waste. Or would you rather we ate among your guests?”

Savage spun round and smashed his cane into the man’s head. Mayar crashed backwards, shattering the nearest cabinet. Ash clamped his hand over his mouth as the shrunken heads and the bottles of monsters tumbled across the floor. As Mayar fell, his sunglasses bounced off, landing at Ash’s feet.

Oh, no. Ash’s feet were visible right at the bottom of the curtain. If they found him now, he was dead. Instinctively he kicked the glasses away.

Oh, please don’t see me. Please.

Mayar was big and muscular, far larger and stronger than Savage. But he grovelled on the floor as Savage pressed his foot against the man’s throat.

“Do not try my patience, rakshasa,” warned Savage.

Rakshasa? Why did that word ring a bell? And why did it make Ash cold?

“I… meant no disrespect, Master.”

Savage lifted his foot. “Get up.” He turned and stepped out the door. “And put on your glasses. I don’t want you scaring the mortals.”

Mortals? What’s going on?

Mayar stood up and straightened himself. He muttered something that probably wasn’t complimentary about Savage, then picked up his glasses with a grunt.

As he raised them to his face, Ash saw his eyes and gasped. They were yellow, and the pupils were a pair of black, vertical slits.

The eyes of a reptile.

Mayar slipped the glasses back in place and the two of them left. Ash suddenly remembered what a rakshasa was. The old Indian legends were full of them, but they had a different name in English.

It was demon.

sh stayed paralysed behind the curtain. The formaldehyde from the broken bottles stank out the room and his eyes watered, but any second now the door would open and Savage – or worse, the rakshasa – would burst back in. No, he couldn’t move; too dangerous.

Ash blinked, staring past the fog that rose from the spilt chemicals. The snake with the baby’s head had unravelled from its jar, and Ash saw it had two tiny arms tucked across its chest.

What was going on? Did that man really have those reptile eyes or had Ash just imagined it? Savage had called him a rakshasa, or had he misheard? Yes, that must be it. This was the real world. Maybe the man had some sort of disease. There was a lot of that in India. He wasn’t a demon. Just a man.

Just a man with crocodile eyes.

Ash slowly drew back the curtain. He held his breath, ears attuned to any noises from outside, then stepped cautiously into the room. He had to get out, right now. There was the door but what if Savage and Mayar were still there?