Ash Mistry and the Savage Fortress. Sarwat Chadda

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СКАЧАТЬ Ash said.

      “Go and say something.” Lucky nudged him again. “Go on.”

      “She’s not looking at me,” he repeated.

      “Your loss. She’s going anyway.”

      Ash spun round. The stool was empty. He caught a glimpse of green silk enter the busy crowd, then the girl disappeared into the ever-moving river of people.

      He could have said something.

      Ash turned back to his computer again. And said what? Nothing. Girls like that weren’t interested in guys like him.

      Over the next few days the mood in the house changed. Uncle Vik was busy and excited by the translations and reckoned he’d be finished within two weeks. There was talk of a new house, holidays abroad, even a pony for Lucky. Everyone was happy.

      Except Ash.

      Something still niggled at him. It was like a mosquito bite just under the skin. He could scratch all he liked, but it wouldn’t go away.

      “Ashoka!” Aunt Anita called from the front door.

      “What?”

      “You coming or not?”

      Drat. He’d forgotten they were going to meet Uncle Vik at the dig for a picnic.

      “Do I have to?”

      He’d planned to go do some more research online down at the Cyber Café. Check out the best prices for the computer hardware. And she might be there, the girl in green. But that wasn’t why he was going. Honestly. Just research. He slipped into his Nike T-shirt and checked himself again. It was his lucky T-shirt and if he held his stomach in a bit, it wouldn’t sit over his belly like a tent.

      And if she did just happen to be there, this time he’d speak to her. See if she wanted to hang out or something. But not a date. Definitely not a date.

      Ash went to the door.

      “I’ve got stuff to do. I’ll go next time.”

      Anita glanced at her watch. “The taxi’s waiting. You’ll be OK?”

      “He’s going to look for his girlfriend,” said Lucky, sucking orange juice from a large curly straw.

      “You have a girlfriend?”

      “No. Lucky’s being an idiot. As usual.”

      “Then why are you wearing the Nike, then?” Lucky turned to her aunt. “He thinks it makes him look athletic. As if.”

      “What’s her name?” asked Aunt Anita.

      “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

      The taxi horn honked outside and Aunt Anita picked up a large wicker picnic basket. “Well, I hope you are not mixing with bad girls, Ashoka. I’m sure when the time comes, your mother will pick a most suitable girl for you from a good, respectable family.”

      Lucky made smooching motions from behind Aunt Anita’s back. Ash glowered, but forced himself to keep quiet.

      You just wait, Lucks.

      He went back to his room and picked up his wallet. He tossed it aside. He should just face it, she wasn’t going to be there at the café. He tossed it aside.

      He didn’t want to go with them and there was only one reason why: he was scared. Scared of Mayar, Savage, all of them. Even now, days later, when his uncle had been back and forth and everything was going right, all Ash wanted to do was hide.

      What was he afraid of? Rakshasas that didn’t exist?

      Stupid. You’re being stupid.

      And why would any girl want to go out with a guy who couldn’t even leave his house? Best face up to it now.

      Ash ran back out. “Hold on!” he shouted. “I’m coming!”

      Uncle Vik was waiting for them on the riverbank, collecting a lantern from the boot of the Mercedes.

      “The bridge still down?” asked Aunt Anita as she saw the rowing boat up on the bank.

      “Welcome to India,” said Uncle Vik.

      Ash looked at the boat, then at his uncle. “You can row?”

      “Just get in.” Uncle Vik waved at Eddie, calling out, “You go. I will bring them home.”

      Vik pushed off with the oar and, after a few seconds of faffing, found his rhythm and took them across the Ganges.

      The far bank was about half a kilometre away, but the river flowed at a languid speed, like it knew it was too hot to hurry. Ash peered into the water and watched his face ripple and part in the black, shiny waters.

      “See anything?” asked his uncle.

      “Just me.” Ash leaned back. “How can anyone be so ridiculously good-looking?”

      “So modest also,” said Uncle Vik mockingly. “Just like your father.”

      “What’s that?” Lucky pointed at something upstream.

      It looked like a half-submerged log, wrapped up in cloth. The current brought it closer and Ash swung the lantern towards it.

      A woman’s face gazed at him. Her mouth was partially open and filled with weeds. The skin was sallow and waxy, her eyes misty, and a damp thread of white hair hung over her wrinkled skin. She’d been wrapped in a rice sack: Ash recognised the Elephant logo of the Varanasi Best Rice Company.

      Anita turned Lucky’s face away from the corpse, but Ash just stared, in spite of the tightness of his throat and the accelerated beating of his heart.

      “Why didn’t they cremate her?” Ash asked. His uncle grunted as he strained with his strokes, eager to get them away from the dead woman.

      Vik sighed. “Not everyone can afford the wood, Ash.”

      So they just dumped her in the river. Ash watched the woman float away until she was lost in the darkness.

      The boat bumped against the bank. Trousers rolled up, Ash helped his uncle haul the boat out of the water. Uncle Vik pointed up the slope. “We’ll head up to the Seven Queens. It’s a good place for a picnic. You’ll have a great view over the countryside.”

      Ash stopped as a sudden rush of coldness spread over him. “The Seven Queens?” What had Savage said about them?

      “You’ll see,” said Uncle Vik.

      The four of them clambered up the slope and on to the flat terrace of fields. The countryside was divided by shallow dried-out riverbeds that would only fill during the monsoon. A few bare trees dotted the landscape, and ahead were huts and tents, a few parked vehicles. They were all white Humvees, bearing the poppies and crossed-sword emblem of the Savage Foundation.

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