Sarwat Chadda: Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress

“The boy’s not well,” said Vik. “Perhaps we should go home.”

Ash sighed with relief. He stayed with his aunt and Lucky while Vik said goodbye to the woman in the spider-web sari.

They drove back in silence. Eddie Singh had barely turned on the engine when Lucky fell asleep, her head resting on Anita’s lap.

Ash leaned back into the creaking leather, his eyes closed.

What an insane evening. He just wanted to get back and leave Savage, his strange henchmen and tales of Harappans all behind him.

“What do you think?” whispered Uncle Vik. “Do you think the boy is right?”

Ash opened one eye, just a slit.

Uncle Vik unfolded the cheque and held it out to Aunt Anita. She peered at it, but seemed afraid to touch it.

“I don’t know, Vikram,” she said. “It is a lot of money.”

“I’m tired of being poor, Anita,” said Uncle Vik. “Tired of accepting charity from my younger brother. Tired of all the hard work I’ve done and tired of having nothing to show for it.”

Aunt Anita touched her husband’s hand. “Sanjay loves you very much.”

Ash’s ears pricked at the mention of his dad’s name. He knew his father sent Uncle Vik money every month, but not as charity – as thanks.

They’d lost their parents early on so Uncle Vik had raised Sanjay. He’d worked from childhood to support Sanjay, to make sure his younger brother had an education, had clean clothes for school and a full belly every morning, even if it meant Uncle Vik going hungry.

That’s how Sanjay had ended up with a scholarship to a British university, a job, family and life far from the struggles of India. Meanwhile Uncle Vik and Aunt Anita had grown old without children of their own, barely managing on a lecturer’s wage.

Uncle Vik had made huge sacrifices for his younger sibling. Ash’s father had often said that was a debt he could never repay.

Ash’s gaze fell on Lucky. Could he ever be that sort of brother to her? No, life was too easy nowadays. He’d never been homeless or hungry, he’d never missed a meal in his entire life. Part of him wished he could be better, part of him was pleased he didn’t need to be.

Uncle Vik folded the cheque and put it back in his breast-pocket.

The rhythmic rocking and constant drone of the engine was making Ash soporific. His eyelids drooped and soon he was dreaming of walking crocodiles and broken men.

sh, you have got to see this.”

“Go away. I’m dead.”

“No. Get up.”

“Go away. Now.”

Lucky began cranking open the metal window shutters. Ash groaned as the rusty steel plates screeched.

“A real sister would let her elder brother sleep.” He checked his watch. Seven. Seven! On his so-called holidays. “But I suppose you can’t help it. Being adopted and all.”

“I was not adopted.”

“It’s true. Found in the dustbin. Mum and Dad wanted to sell you to the organ traffickers. I stopped them. You should be grateful. Now go away.”

“Look, Ash!” Lucky pulled off his sheet. “Look!”

She never listened to him. Ash crawled off the bed and joined her at the window.

There was a car in the driveway. Which was weird since they didn’t own a car. Weirder still, it was a brand-new mirror-bright silver Mercedes S-Class Saloon.

“Savage,” said Ash.

“Can you believe it?” Lucky was at the door. “Come on.” She dashed out. Reluctantly, Ash followed.

Uncle Vik had a pink-walled bungalow in the grounds of Varanasi University. It was a staff perk. It was also an insect-infested concrete box with no air-conditioning. As Ash came out he saw there were dozens of students at the low garden wall. More than a few were taking photos of it with their mobiles. Most of the lecturers at the university still rode bicycles and here was a bank-breaking Mercedes.

“It’s amazing,” said Uncle Vik from the driver’s seat. The dashboard was all walnut trim with a 3D-map display, multimedia system, all the bells and whistles. There were TV screens on the back of the front seats. Any more gadgets and it would have had a NASA logo on it. “It was here when I woke up.”

Ash tensed. Savage had been here while they’d slept. “Did… did you see anyone?”

“No. But the guard said it was the Englishwoman who dropped it off.”

Jackie. At least she hadn’t come in.

“Isn’t this all too much?” said Aunt Anita. She sounded worried. “Maybe you should give this back, Vikram.”

“The only way they’ll get this off me,” Uncle Vik’s grip tightened round the steering wheel, “is from my cold, dead hands.”

Lucky opened the rear passenger door and started bouncing on the white leather seats.

“Ash, what’s wrong?” asked Uncle Vik.

This wasn’t right. The car. All that money. Savage had bought his uncle. It made him sick. “I just want some breakfast.”

Back in the kitchen, Ash poured out some cornflakes while Aunt Anita put on the kettle and toast.

“He’s dying, you know that,” said Uncle Vik.

Ash paused, the spoon a few millimetres from his mouth. “Who?”

“Lord Savage. A skin disease. Cancer. One of the guests told me last night.”

Aunt Anita filled up the white china teapot. “You think this business has something to do with his illness?”

“He wants to leave a legacy. See something done in his name,” said Uncle Vik, his gaze roaming to the window and the car outside. “He can’t take it with him, can he?”

“Still, two million pounds, Vikram. It’s not normal.”

Uncle Vik kissed his wife’s forehead. “Who knows what is normal to a man like him? Lord Savage wants immortality. If these excavations are a success, he’ll have it. He’ll be the one who unlocked the secrets of an entire culture. Two million doesn’t seem much for immortality.”

“And you’ll be rich and famous too, Uncle,” said Lucky. She shook her head at the toast and picked a banana from the fruit bowl. “Can I have a pony?”

Uncle Vik laughed. “What’s mine is yours. We’re family.”

“What about those freaks he has working for him?” asked Ash. “That skinny guy, Jat? Now you can’t tell me he’s normal.”

“Bodyguards,” said Vik. “Lord Savage is immensely rich, and India is not like London, Ash. He needs protection.”

That made sense. But things were clearly not right with Savage. Ash chewed his cornflakes as he went over last night in his mind. Memories of rakshasas and men with reptile eyes didn’t last long in the sunlight. If Jat was a bodyguard it was his job to scare intruders, and he’d certainly done that. It didn’t mean he really wanted to eat Ash’s eyeballs. Savage had called Mayar a demon, but that didn’t have to be literally true. Uncle Vik often called Lucky his little monkey, but that didn’t mean she had a tail.

Perhaps his mum was right and he should cut down on all those computer games. They were giving him an over-active imagination.

What was real? Believable? That Lord Savage was a terminally ill man with strange servants living in a rundown palace, trying to get his name in the history books – or that he was an evil monster, served by demons?

Well, put like that…

Ash was being stupid. If he carried on like this he’d be checking for monsters under his bed next.

After breakfast, Ash joined Uncle Vik as he prepared to drive over to the Savage Fortress. His uncle popped open the trunk and dropped in his briefcase.