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!”
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.
“Easy, tiger,” said Parvati. But there was a malicious edge to her voice.
Monty registered the deadly looks. He backed away, but just bumped against Ash. He sank to his knees, grabbing his hands and dropping his bowler hat. “Sir, you look like a reasonable man. Surely we can come to some arrangement?”
Khan spoke. “Whatever he says, it’ll be lies. The rats are the lowest caste of rakshasa. Hardly rakshasas at all.”
Ash slowly slid his hand out and wiped it on his trousers. “An arrangement?”
“Your protection, sir. In exchange for information.”
“Your information had better be top quality,” said Parvati. She’d revealed more of her own demon form, with green scales clustered round her throat and her cobra eyes acutely slanted, large and hypnotic. Her tongue flicked the air, tasting Monty’s fear.
Monty looked around at all three of them. “What do you want to know?”
“We’re looking for the Koh-i-noor. We understand you’ve just stolen it,” said Ash.
“The Koh-i-noor? You think I’d have something like that?” He shook his head. “Way out of my league. Try Sotheby’s. They’ve got a special department for that sort of stuff.”
Khan’s roar shook the windowpanes as he pounced, crossing the room in an instant. He lifted Monty up by the throat, pushing the rat demon high into the air until his head was touching the ceiling. Khan’s canines were long and much thicker than Parvati’s. What they lacked in venom, they made up for in sharpness. They could tear Monty open with minimal effort.
“Wrong answer,” Khan snarled.
“Oh, the Koh-i-noor!” cried Monty. “I must have misheard. It’s my ears; full of fur.”
Khan dropped him. The rat demon lay on the floor, coughing.
Ash helped him up. “So you steal. Is that what rat demons do?”
“We’ve all got to earn a living, put some cheese on the table, as it were,” said Monty. “I do a bit of this and a bit of that. It’s not like the old days, when we were top dogs.”
“The Plague Years,” said Parvati.
Monty sighed. “Golden days. I miss them. Demons nowadays got no sense of pride, no sense of history.”
“There still a lot of them around in London?” asked Ash.
Monty snorted. “Working for those big banks in Canary Wharf.”
Ash laughed. “There’s profit in misery.” It was the Savage family motto.
Monty put on a pair of trousers and a jacket. Then he scooped up his bowler hat and tapped it into place and sighed with satisfaction. “Now, to business.”
Ash looked at the demon. This guy had stolen probably the most heavily guarded items in the entire country? He looked more like the kind of bloke you’d find on a street corner selling knock-off perfume. “How did you do it?”
“Ah, sir, we have our professional secrets.”
Khan growled. Monty gulped. “Well, if you really want to know. The sewers.”
“Sewers? The drainpipes? Wouldn’t they have grilles and bars to prevent that sort of thing?”
“You’re a very clever lad, if I may say so. That’s what I’ve always said, brains
