Ash Mistry and the City of Death. Sarwat Chadda

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      “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.”

      He looked at her a moment longer. He didn’t need Marma Adi to see Elaine’s weaknesses; her smoking habit was enough for anyone to have a guess at what was killing her. The lungs glowed brightest, but her veins and arteries were clogged and thin, the blood circulation poor. Death covered her, a ready shroud. She didn’t have long.

      She went pale. “What do you see, lad?”

      He shook his head. “Nothing. I see nothing.”

      She looked at the half-empty packet. “I suppose I should cut down. Maybe quit.”

      “It wouldn’t make any difference.”

      Elaine cleared her throat and put the packet back in her pocket. “Just watch yourself. You read these stories about kids who get hold of their parents’ guns and… bang, someone ends up very sorry and someone ends up very dead.”

      “Are you saying I’m a kid with my dad’s revolver?”

      “No, I’m saying you’re a kid with a thermonuclear device, with a big red button saying PRESS ME.” She tapped Ash’s hand. “Keep out of trouble, lad.”

      

nd just like that, Parvati was back in his life. Ash stood in the hallway, bewildered, well after the van had disappeared.

      What should he do now?

      He’d spent months wondering if he’d ever see her again, waiting every day for some message, getting none. First he’d been angry, then he’d tried to have a ‘quiet’ life. And just when he thought it was all back to normal, there she was, having tea in his kitchen! His guts felt like they were on spin in a washing machine.

      A pair of bright headlights lit up the driveway. His parents were home. Ash opened the door just as his mum was unbuttoning her coat.

      “Hi, Ash,” she said, ruffling his hair as she entered. Briefcase went alongside the small table beside the door as her raincoat went over the banister, and she brushed imaginary dust from her smart navy-blue suit jacket. She gave a weary sigh and took off her shoes, wiggling her toes for a moment. She tucked her glasses in their case as she glanced at the answering machine for any messages. Then she turned slowly. “Anything wrong?” she asked. Ash was still by the door.

      “Girl trouble, I bet,” said Sanjay, Ash’s father, as he followed his wife inside, his gaze on his BlackBerry. “That right, son?”

      “Like you wouldn’t believe,” said Ash.

      Ash’s mum lifted the BlackBerry from her husband’s hands. “That’s enough, Sanjay.”

      “See what I mean?” Dad shrugged. “Girl trouble.” Ash’s mum was about to protest, but Sanjay took her hand and twirled her, clomping about in his boots. His own suit wasn’t quite as neat or as smart as his wife’s, but Sanjay worked as an engineer and spent half the week on building sites, making sure the walls stayed up and the roofs stayed on. He was at least half a metre taller and quite a bit wider than his wife, so when he pulled her towards him, Ash’s mum was pressed against the globe of his belly.

      “Is it Gemma?” asked Mum.

      “The girl in the poem?” said Dad, and there was an irritating smirk across his face, the sort of smirk all parents get when they are about to mortally embarrass their children.

      “Hold on. You know about that?” Ash said.

      “I think it’s very romantic,” said Mum. “I would have been flattered if some boy had written me a poem.”

      Ash wanted to die, right there and then. Was there anyone in the Greater London area who didn’t know about his stupid poem? It was meant to be private, and it СКАЧАТЬ