Sarwat Chadda: Ash Mistry and the City of Death

“You fought Alexander the Great? Seriously? What was he like?”

Khan put out his hand, holding it around shoulder height. “Shorter than you’d imagine and, on that day, in need of a change of underwear.”

Ash stared at the two of them. Khan was showing off, name-dropping Alexander like that, but Ash had to admit the story was still pretty awesome. He was into history, thanks to Uncle Vik. What his uncle would have given to be here, sitting with a pair who had been part of all the history he could only read and guess about. But the two of them treated it so casually, barely acknowledging the legends they’d met. Maybe if you were a legend yourself things like fighting Alexander the Great didn’t seem like such a big deal.

Parvati laid her mobile phone on the table and pointed at the map on the screen. “There’s an easy way into Monty’s place from the side alleyway. It’s blocked off so no one goes down there.”

“Any visitors we should know about?” asked Ash.

“Like Savage?” replied Parvati. “Let’s ask Monty. Nicely.”

“Nicely?” Ash grinned. “You’re terror made flesh, Parvati.”

Parvati stopped and looked at him in a particularly meaningful way. “That’s an interesting phrase, Ash,” she said. “Where did you hear it?”

“Dunno. Just made it up, I suppose.” Ash couldn’t miss the way she was looking at him now. Worried. “Why?”

Parvati shrugged. “I thought I’d heard it before. Some time ago.”

A minute later they were climbing over a large rubbish bin that hid the alleyway from view. A greasy kitchen exhaust duct rattled and spat above their heads, and black plastic bin liners, stinking with rotten vegetables, lay scattered under foot. A mangy dog tore at one of the bags and sniffed at the spilled rubbish. Khan gave a throaty growl. The dog whimpered and fled.

“I don’t like dogs,” said Khan.

“It’s high up,” said Parvati, ignoring him.

She was right. There was a single window facing into the alley, but it was about four metres up and semi-opaque.

Khan shrugged. “Will that be a problem?”

“No,” said Ash. He stepped back and focused on the small window. Closing his eyes, he drew down within himself, feeling his mind, his senses, descending into a dark swirling maelstrom somewhere where his soul might be.

Ash shuddered and enjoyed the electric thrill as preternatural energy swelled within him. It was the rush of riding a tidal wave. No, like riding a tsunami.

Ash opened his eyes and gazed about him.

Every sense buzzed on overload. He could see the very grains of the brickwork, each stroke of the brush on the paint that covered the walls. He smelled and separated every odour, however faint: the pungent, moist cabbage leaves that covered the floor, the gurgling drains with old, sooty rainwater, the sharp, sweet stink of petrol.

He looked up at the window and merely reached for it. It wasn’t much of a jump; he barely flexed his muscles, and then he flew upward. A moment later he touched down on the narrow window ledge, balancing on his toes four metres above the ground. He perched there for a moment, ear pressed against the window. Nothing.

Ash curled his fingers and drove his fist through the glass. He peered into the darkness beyond; to him it was as bright as day. A small, simple, smelly old bathroom. He climbed in.

There was a snarl from behind him and suddenly Khan was there. His nails were a few centimetres longer than before, and Ash saw the faint ripple of black-striped fur across his arms.

Parvati slipped in behind Khan, and suddenly the bathroom was awfully cramped.

“This is cosy,” she said. “Shall we wait here for Monty to join us?”

Ash opened the bathroom door and entered Monty’s flat.

Aged, yellowed wallpaper hung off the walls and patches of snot-green mould stained the ceiling. They went into the living room and found it covered with discarded books and tottering piles of newspapers that went back years, decades even. The furniture looked like it had been collected from skips. The table was missing one leg and rested on a pile of bricks. More books filled the shelves, stuffed in with no sense of order. Ash registered the number of titles specialising in Indian jewellery. Flies buzzed around an unfinished meal. Green mould covered the cups, and the plates were encrusted with who knew what. And his mum complained about his room being untidy. She would have a heart attack if she saw this place.

“There’s no one at home,” said Ash. He picked up an old bowler hat. Strange, it was the only clean thing here. A set of clothes sat, neatly folded, beneath it.

“Thanks for stating the blindingly obvious,” said Parvati.

“Disgusting,” said Ash. “There are mouse droppings everywhere.”

Parvati turned to him, finger to her lips.

Ash listened, not sure what for – something that didn’t fit, something that was wrong.

There, behind the pile of magazines. He could hear a scratching. Too steady to be an accident. The noise stopped, as though something was aware it had been heard. There was even the delicate huff of a breath being held.

Parvati’s hand shot out and a second later she had a rat dangling from her grip.

A rat. Great.

Parvati took off her glasses and held the rodent tightly. It squealed as it stared into her cobra eyes. She flexed her jaw, widening it far beyond normal dimensions.

“For heaven’s sake, Parvati, you need to eat it right now?” said Ash.

“Hear that?” asked Parvati. She was addressing the rat. “Looks like you’re dinner.” Her jaws widened and her fangs sprang out, each slick with deadly poison. Her tongue, forked, flickered out across its whiskers.

The rat scrabbled desperately but vainly. It twisted, head straining, and the tiny black eyes looked straight at Ash, imploring him for help.

“Please!” it squeaked in a tiny voice. “Don’t let her eat me!”

arvati held the rat upside down by its tail, swinging it slowly back and forth. “I’m going to let you go. Don’t even think about fleeing, or the only hole you’ll be running down will be my gullet. Understand?”

It looked like the rat was trying to nod. Not easy, being upside down.

“I’m sorry, but can we have a reality check?” said Ash. “That rat. It talked.”

The rat fell, and in a second it was on its feet, nose and whiskers twitching. It rubbed its eyes and Ash swore it stamped its foot. Then it shook itself like a dog coming out of a pond. But instead of water, minute hairs tumbled off its body. The pink, oily skin pulsed and bubbled as the rat spasmed. Its squeak rose to a high, sharp violin screech as it blew up like some distorted balloon. Arms stuck out of the pink, swelling flesh and irregular patches of black hair spiralled out from its deformed head. The arms lengthened and the claws twisted into hands. Within seconds the rat was gone, and a pale, naked man stood before them.

The man grinned as he covered his privates with his hands and stood at an awkward, gawky angle. A stumpy pink tail still flicked back and forth. He glanced around. “You couldn’t pass me my clothes, could you?” he said. “It’s just a bit draughty.”

Parvati tossed him his bowler hat.

“Who are you?” asked Ash.

“The name’s Monty.”

Parvati’s own nose wrinkled up in a look of disgust. “A common rat demon.”

“Now, there’s no reason to be rude, your highness.” Monty shifted his shoulders, trying to strike a more proud stance, not easy while holding a bowler over his private parts. “Common. Of all the cheek.”

“Let’s play with it,” said Khan. His nails were five-centimetre claws. He tapped them on the table, dragging little grooves through the wood.