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“Amazing,” said Ashoka. “Totally amazing. But I don’t believe a word of it.” He’d calmed down now and was putting it all together. Attacked by demons? It had been a set-up. Clever special effects, plus it had been dark and he’d been scared. Things look different in the dark. Masks might look real, things like that. Any second now Ant and Dec were going to leap through the doorway. This was some new TV series, about freaking people out with stories of time travel and demons and alternate selves. Ashoka inspected the boy before him. It had been dark and he’d been in shock when he’d first seen him. Sure, he did look a lot like him, but there were subtle differences. Stuff that the make-up and whatever prosthetics they used couldn’t disguise. The eyes were darker, more haunted. His lips harsh and stiff. Things this boy had seen and done lay under his skin. Shadows of his deeds flickered in his penetrating gaze. Why had they picked an actor like him? Same height but definitely not the same physique. Ash had the body of an Olympian, all hard edges and harder muscles. Though the months of pulling a bow had built the muscles on Ashoka’s arms and back, they were still hidden under layers of podginess.
“Any second now,” he said. Maybe the presenters were getting their make-up sorted first.
Ash and Parvati looked at each other. “Any second now what?” said Ash.
Even with bad traffic, his parents and Lucky should have been home by now. It was almost ten.
Ashoka smiled. They must be in on the joke.
His mobile rang. It was Dad.
Ashoka sighed with relief. He’d freaked when he’d seen Ash and the girl, Parvati, freaked some more when Ash had told him his bizarre story of gods and monsters, but now normality had returned.
“OK, Dad, where are you? Joke’s over.”
“This is no joke, boy.” It was a man’s voice, but not one Ashoka recognised, or liked.
“Who is this?” Ashoka asked.
“Speak to him, child,” said the voice.
Ashoka heard sobbing and a sniff. This wasn’t some game or TV show. As cold dread crept through his veins, Ashoka realised his world had changed and all the earlier stuff, the easy life, was about to end. Right now.
“Ashoka?” said a young girl’s voice.
“Lucks?” Ashoka’s fingers tightened around his mobile. “Where are you?”
His sister sobbed again and then she screamed.
“Don’t you dare hurt her!” yelled Ashoka. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”
“Give us the Kali-aastra, boy,” said the man. “Do that and your family go free.”
Kali-aastra? Wasn’t that some sort of magical weapon? A weapon of the gods? What made them think he had it?
“I don’t have any Kali-aastra. I’ve told you already – this is some big mistake. Please, let my family go.”
“He was with you tonight.”
He? That made even less sense. An aastra couldn’t be a person. Could it?
Ashoka looked at Ash. He’d seen Ash in action. How he’d taken out the two rat-demons without breaking a sweat. How he’d knocked aside a bullet. If anyone could be a weapon, it was Ash.
Kali’s weapon. Kali, the goddess of death and destruction, was the most terrifying of all the gods, more feared than the demons she fought. If Ash was her weapon, then maybe Ashoka should be as afraid of him as of the demons, if not more.
He should give them Ash. No question.
Ashoka put his hand over the mobile. “They want you.”
“It’s a trap.”
“Yeah, and my family are in it and I want them out, right now. You need to turn yourself in.”
“That would be a mistake.”
“The only mistake is you being here! It’s a straightforward swap. You for them.”
Ash shook his head slowly. “The moment you do that, they’ll have no reason to keep them. They’ll be killed.”
“No,” said Ashoka. “You’re just saying that. I can’t risk it.”
“Give me a chance to save them.” Ash’s gaze hadn’t shifted. He drew a deep breath. “But it’s your choice.”
Ashoka lifted his hand away.
“Ashoka?” said Lucky. “Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” What should he do? He shouldn’t be making these sorts of choices! It was as if he’d gone into an alternative universe too, one with demons and death and horror. Ashoka closed his eyes, but no wish was going to change things. He had to act. “He’s … gone.”
Lucky yelled as the mobile was snatched from her. “Where is he?” the man snarled.
“He didn’t tell me. I think he went after that Jackie woman,” Ashoka replied. “He said he’d be back tomorrow.” He gulped and steadied himself. “Please, as soon as he comes back, I’ll call you.”
“Do that,” said the man. “Or I promise you I will eat your sister’s eyes for dinner.”
The mobile went dead.
“What have I done?” Ashoka stared at the mobile, tempted to call right back and tell them the truth. Tell them to come and get Ash right now and give him his family back. That’s all he wanted.
Parvati spoke. “They were only taken a few hours ago. They can’t be far.”
“London’s a big place,” said Ashoka. “How will we find them?”
“We’ve some help,” said Ash. “Come on.”
Ashoka looked around his kitchen. His home. It felt shockingly empty.
Lucky grinned at him from a photo, sitting proudly on her black and white pony, Domino. She’d nagged and nagged, and right after coming back from India, Dad had got her one. She’d almost exploded with happiness and Ashoka had just acted all cool, ignoring her excitement. Now he’d do anything to have her back. “Promise you’ll find them.”
“They’re my family too,” said Ash. “You need anything?”
He had a state-of-the-art games system upstairs. He had his books and gear and clothes and trainers and everything. But that was all junk. The only things that mattered were gone.
His gaze fell to his bow and he picked it up.
“You got any arrows for that?” asked Ash.
“No. Dad said they had to stay at the club. He was worried I might put one through a neighbour’s window by accident.”
Ashoka pressed open the catches and disassembled it in a matter of seconds.
Parvati look across at him intently.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she replied.
“If Jackie’s just hired help, then who’s she working for?” asked Ashoka as they headed down into Brixton tube station. Ash and Parvati stood either side of him, scanning for trouble.
“Lord Alexander Savage,” said Ash.
Ashoka stopped. “Savage? He can’t be. Savage is one of the good guys.” He looked around until he saw a poster on the wall across the street. “See that? The Savage Foundation. He owns it. It’s his charity. It saves millions of lives. Medical supplies, fresh water to villages in Africa, humanitarian aid to war zones. He’s an amazing man. And a friend of ours.”
Parvati snorted. “No, he’s not.”
“Savage is just a businessman. He wouldn’t get mixed up in demons and kidnappings. Why should he?”
“Savage is much more than a mere businessman,” said Parvati. “He’s a three-hundred-year-old sorcerer. He’s been looking for the secret of immortality and it looks like he’s finally found it.”
They rushed down the escalator on to the platform, looking around them as they went. Not too many people about, and definitely no rakshasas.
“My uncle works for him,” continued Ashoka. “We stayed with him in India last summer. Savage gave me that bow. Why bother if he wants me dead?”
“You’re just bait, Ashoka,” said Parvati.
“Bait? For what?”
“Save it for later. The train’s coming. Look sharp …” Ash forced Ashoka back a step, “… and stay close, all right?”
The train carriages weren’t busy at this time of night and they kept Ashoka wedged between them, both Parvati and Ash watching the other passengers, ready for the first hint of trouble. It freaked Ashoka out that Ash had exactly the same greatcoat as him, his Sherlock Special.
But Ash looked really cool in his. Way cool.
How were they the same guy?
They weren’t, not in a million years. Ash was the Kali-aastra.
He’d read about aastras. They were super-weapons, made by the gods and carried by the great heroes of Indian mythology. Rama, the prince, had used an aastra to destroy the demon king, Ravana. Ashoka loved that story, the Ramayana. Rama and his brother Lakshmana had spent years searching for Rama’s wife, the beautiful Sita, who’d been kidnapped by Ravana and taken to his island fortress of Lanka. The story had climaxed with a massive battle where Rama and Lakshmana had fired aastra after aastra, killing tens of thousands of demons with each shot and destroying Lanka.
And what would an aastra of Kali do? That was a no-brainer. It would be the ultimate weapon, the ultimate killing machine.
Was that what Ash was? Some divine terminator?
They came out at Finsbury Park station and on to the streets again.
“What are we doing here?” said Ashoka.
“Keeping you safe,” said Ash. “We’ve a friend—”
“Acquaintance really,” interrupted Parvati.
“… Who knows the situation. We’ve been staying with her for the last month. She’s helping.”
Ashoka turned up the collar of his coat to cut out the chill wind. The only place open was a kebab shop and the only people around were tramps loitering under the bus shelters.
Everywhere they looked were boarded-up shops. A man stood guard outside an off-licence, a snarling pit bull tugging at its leash. The car parked opposite had smashed windows and no wheels.
“Nice neighbourhood,” said Ashoka.
Ash pointed to a shop on the corner.
Elaine’s Bazaar.
It was a junk shop. Steel grilles covered the windows, not that what was in there looked worth stealing. Old dust-covered VCRs, a kid’s bike, mannequins wearing last century’s clothes, and cheap Formica furniture. The paint on the overhead sign, three golden balls, was turning green and flaky with age. The shop had an apartment above it and lights shone within. Ash got out some keys.
“This is your secret hideout?” asked Ashoka. He peered through the shop window. Was that a stuffed bear inside? “It’s not exactly Wayne Manor, is it?”
“And you’re not exactly Bruce Wayne,” said Ash.
The interior smelt musty. The stuffed bear wore a feather boa and a top hat. Clothes spilled out of battered trunks. A small door behind the counter opened up and a light came on.
An old woman wearing a faded tartan dressing gown paused to look at them. Her wild grey hair stuck out in all directions and she was scrawny, her skin wrinkled and thick on her bones. A cigarette glowed between her yellow teeth. “Where are the others?” she said.
“Captured,” said Ash. He took the cigarette out of the woman’s thin fingers. “And I’ve spoken to you about these already.”
Parvati interrupted. “Ashoka, meet Elaine. She’ll be your host for the next few days.”
Elaine peered at Ashoka. She didn’t look impressed, but then neither was Ashoka. Wasn’t there somewhere better than this dump? Like a cardboard box under a bridge?
“Were you followed?” asked the old woman.
“Please,” said Parvati. “Give us some credit.”
Elaine pulled the dressing gown up to her neck and double-locked the door behind them. “I just don’t want any unexpected guests, that’s all. Not safe for an old woman like me, living all alone.”
Ashoka felt exhausted. The last few hours, all the panic and fear and running, were catching up with him. He wasn’t used to this. “This is not my life,” he muttered.
“It is now,” said Ash, not too unkindly. “I’m sorry.”
Elaine turned around and started back upstairs. “I’ve a room for you, boy.”
The apartment upstairs wasn’t exactly flash, but, unlike the shop below, it was at least neat and tidy. There were some photos on the wall, a frame with Arabic calligraphy and a painting of a scene from the Bible. He spotted a statuette of Ganesha on the mantelpiece and a menorah beside it. Sticks of incense smouldered in a narrow brass fluted pot, the sweet smell mixing with coffee and nicotine. Ashoka picked the sofa with a Rajasthani cover and fell on it.
He’d never been so beaten in his entire life. Every part of him was on the verge of collapse.
Rakshasas. Time travellers. Kidnappings. And Savage. Was it true? Was Savage behind all this? It was too much to take in.
He put his face in his hands.
