Sarwat Chadda - Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress

Ash peered out of the window. Bloody hell, it was a long way down. The stones were coarse and weathered. Easy. But as he leaned over, his head swam with vertigo. Yes, easy if you were a ninja. No way was this going to work.

Think think think!

Ash went to the door. He tried not to panic, tried not to imagine either Mayar or Savage just outside the door, silently waiting for the thief to emerge. Heart thudding, Ash drew it open.

The corridor ahead was dark, silent and empty.

Thank God.

That was bloody close. Ash wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve. Just get out. That’s all. Find the others and get out.

He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the big, dusty mirrors. He looked like death: pale, sweaty and if his eyes had been any wider they’d have fallen out of their sockets.

Then he saw a man standing right behind him.

Ash screamed as he was spun round and thrown against the mirror. Bony fingers tipped with jagged, talon-like nails dug into his cheeks.

“What have we got here?” the man hissed. “A spy? A thief?” Tall and exceedingly gaunt, the man was twice Ash’s height but so hunch-backed they were face to face. A long, hooked nose dominated the thin face and the man was bald, utterly hairless in fact, with no eyebrows. His eyes were obscured behind a pair of round, pink-lensed glasses.

“No, I was just looking for the loo.” Ash pleaded.

The man shook his head and his skin, two sizes too big for his body, flapped under his chin. “You’re lying. I can see it in your eyes.” He pushed his thumb nail into Ash’s face until it pierced the skin. “Those plump, juicy eyes—”

“Hello? Ash? Are you there?” It was Uncle Vik.

The man dropped Ash instantly. Ash ran straight into his uncle’s arms. He’d never been happier to see anyone in his entire life.

The bald man cleared his throat. “The poor boy was lost. I was just bringing him to you, Professor Mistry.”

“Thank you, Mister…?”

“Jat. My name is Jat.”

With his uncle beside him, Ash faced the man who’d grabbed him. Another one of Savage’s bizarre white-suited servants. Ash tightened his hold on Uncle Vik’s hand.

“I really want to go home,” he said.

Of course Lucky was right there, playing catch with a couple of other kids. Ash and his uncle joined his aunt as she chatted with another guest.

“Auntie, I feel really sick.”

It was true. Extremely sick. With fear.

“Very well, Ash.” She broke off from the conversation, her eyes bright. “You won’t believe what’s just happened.”

“I’ve some amazing news, Ash,” said Uncle Vik. His free hand tapped his breast pocket, where he’d put the cheque.

“Great. Let’s go.” Ash glanced back at the hallway door.

Jat was there, talking to the big man, Mayar, and Jackie.

“Freaks,” Ash whispered to himself.

Jackie snapped round and looked straight at him. Had she heard? From way over there? She grinned, then returned to the conversation.

“No. No. Wait.” Uncle Vik carefully drew out the cheque and, using only his forefingers and thumbs, gently unfolded it. “Look what Lord Savage just gave me.”

Up close Ash saw the cheque was from Coutts Bank and a larger size than normal. It would be, wouldn’t it? The Queen banked there. Savage’s handwriting was copperplate, old fashioned and elegant, his signature a gracefully drawn series of narrow loops and swirls.

Ash looked back to the door: the three were gone. “Can’t we talk about this later? I want to go home.”

Uncle Vik waved the slip in front of Ash. “This is two million pounds, nephew. Two million.”

“But why?” Ash glanced around. He couldn’t see them anywhere. But they had to be quick. “It’s not right, is it? He could employ a whole university with that. Why just you?”

“He needs my expertise. You don’t understand, Ash. There are some translations that he wants done and I’m the only one who can do them. We’ll be making history.”

“A man just gives you two million quid. Don’t you think that’s strange?” Ash checked over his shoulder, but none of Savage’s white-suited henchmen, or the man himself, were near. “Savage is a freak. He surrounds himself with freaks. Give the money back, Uncle.”

“Lord Savage is an… unusual man.” Vik took off his glasses and turned them over, looking at them. “But his reputation, Ash, his reputation is second to none.”

“He’s a freak. Are you blind or just stupid?” Ash shouted it out and a few guests turned his way. He wanted to shake some sense into his uncle.

Aunt Anita glowered at Ash. “Ashoka Mistry, how dare you speak to your uncle like that.”

Ash was angry, and scared. He looked up at his uncle. “That’s not what I meant.” But it was too late, he’d struck a nerve and saw the hurt in his uncle’s eyes.

“You don’t understand, Ash. This is a golden opportunity for me to prove myself.” Uncle Vik nodded as if he was accepting Ash’s apology, but he wasn’t really listening. “Don’t you think we all deserve some recognition? Some small proof that our lives meant something?”

Ash looked down at his Converse, unable to meet his uncle’s gaze.

“My dad thinks a lot of you,” said Lucky, taking her uncle’s hand. “He’s always talking about you and what you did for him.”

Uncle Vik cleared his throat. “Lord Savage wants me to start immediately. He’ll have our belongings transferred here. Everything will be taken care of.”

“Here?” gasped Ash.

Aunt Anita glared at Ash. She certainly hadn’t forgiven him for insulting Uncle Vik. “And what exactly is wrong with that?”

“I… I just wanted to stay in Varanasi.”

“You hate Varanasi.”

“No. No, I don’t.” He had to think quickly. Tell them the truth? That Savage employs demons? No. Lie. “I’m really interested in looking at the temples. And stuff.” Ash smiled at his uncle. “You know, to find out more about my heritage.”

Just keep smiling, Ash. Keep smiling.

Aunt Anita looked at Uncle Vik. Uncle Vik looked back at Ash.

They don’t believe me. Keep smiling.

“All right,” said Uncle Vik, slowly drawing out the word as though testing it. “If you’re that keen—”

“I am. Very keen.”

“It’s not far,” Uncle Vik said to Aunt Anita. “I could just drive out here in the morning. Back for dinner. It’ll be normal office hours.”

“What’s he want you to do, exactly?” asked Aunt Anita.

“Translations. He’s found parallel texts for the Harappan pictograms. Think about it, Anita.” Uncle Vik’s voice was high with passion. “A hundred years ago, no one even knew this civilisation existed. Now we’ll unlock their language and who knows what we’ll find.” His eyes shone. “Plus there’s a big dig out in Rajasthan.”

“Rajasthan? But that’s a thousand miles away,” said Aunt Anita.

“I suppose I might have to go there sooner or later. But he’s got plenty of work for me here first.”

That’s because Savage is looking for something. Something to do with…

“What are the Iron Gates, Uncle?” Ash asked.

Uncle Vik frowned. “No idea. Nothing to do with the Harappans. They were a Bronze Age culture. Iron technology didn’t come along until well after they’d gone. Why?”

Ash shook his head, but said nothing. Savage had said something about opening the Iron Gates. And a key, buried here in Varanasi.

Two archaeological digs. One way out in the desert, the other right here. Rakshasas. Scrolls written on human skin and freaky servants and serpent babies in jars.

What did it all mean?

“Ash, are you sick?” Anita put her hand against his forehead. “You look pale.”