OK?” Ash asked Lucky. She looked pale. “Sit here,” he said, and swapped places with her so she could sit next to the window and get some fresh air. She hadn’t adjusted to the food the way he had and all this jumping up and down surely wasn’t helping her digestion.
The sun left a bloody smear across the sky as it sank below the horizon. Their driver, Eddie Singh, took them off the main road and they bounced down a winding track. The car seemed to have a supernatural knack for finding the largest rocks and deepest pot-holes. The old Ambassador wasn’t designed for off-road. It barely managed on-road.
“Taxi service and full body massage, no extra charge,” laughed Eddie as he wrestled with the steering wheel.
“Is this really necessary?” asked Auntie Anita, struggling to keep her sari in place. “I thought the main road led to the bridge.”
“The bridge is down. Loose foundations or something,” said Vik. “Lord Savage has made arrangements.”
“What arrangements?” asked Ash.
“There.” Lucky pointed ahead.
Cars lined the river’s edge, their drivers chatting and smoking. A woman in a white cotton suit directed guests into a flotilla of rowing boats, tied up along a rickety wooden platform on the bank. A steady stream of guests were being rowed to the opposite bank while boys ran back and forth with lanterns. Eddie parked up beside the other cars.
Dammit, that hurts. Ash stretched as he got out, uncurling his spine and hoping no permanent damage had been done. His bum felt as if the seat springs had left deep impressions in both buttocks.
Brittle leaves rustled in a nearby bush and something moved within it. Lucky grabbed Ash’s sleeve as a scrawny vulture, stringy red intestine trailing out of its beak, raised its head out of the bush to watch them. It twisted its neck back and forth and the guts tore free.
Ash stepped closer to inspect the feast. A dead water buffalo lay on the muddy bank, its hind legs gone. Its eyes were open and big, shiny and black. The vulture dipped its beak into the socket and drew out the plump ball. Ash thought he heard it pop as the vulture swallowed.
“That is totally pukey,” Lucky said, her nose wrinkling.
“Professor Mistry?”
The woman in white approached them, smiling in greeting. She was Caucasian and very tanned, and despite the oncoming darkness, she still wore a pair of sleek sunglasses. Her thick unkempt blonde-streaked hair was loosely held in place with ivory pins. She pressed her palms together. “Namaste. I’m Jackie, Lord Savage’s personal assistant.” Her accent was English, and posh.
“Vikram Mistry, at your service.” He took Aunt Anita’s hand. “And this is my wife.”
“Namaste, Mrs Mistry,” said Jackie.
“Call me Anita,” she replied, smoothing out the creases in her silk sari. The cloth was a shimmering pearly silver embroidered with gold. She only wore it for special occasions, like visiting rich aristocrats.
“What a perfectly beautiful child,” said Jackie, catching a glimpse of Lucky. She knelt down and stroked Lucky’s cheek with a long nail, her smile widening. “Why, you look good enough to eat.”
Lucky cringed and took a step behind Ash. Jackie’s smile thinned, then she slowly straightened up and faced Uncle Vik.
“Lord Savage is very keen to meet you,” Jackie said. “He’s a great admirer of your work.”
“I am flattered.”
Jackie gestured at the boats. “I’m so sorry about this, but I hope you’ll be OK. There’ve been a lot of heavy trucks crossing back and forth because of the excavations. This morning one of them went over the side. A bad business.” She snapped her fingers and a local boy ran up bearing a kerosene lantern. “The bridge will be out a while for repairs.”
“Excavations?” asked Vik. “I didn’t realise there were any digs in Varanasi.”
“In Varanasi and elsewhere,” said Jackie. “The Savage family have been staunch supporters of Indian archaeology for many centuries. Lord Savage’s weapons collection is one of the finest in the world.”
Weapons collection? thought Ash. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a total loss.
“Is this why Lord Savage wants to meet me?” his uncle asked.
“All in good time, Professor.”
“What happened there?” said Ash, pointing at the half-devoured buffalo.
“Marsh crocodile. The river has a few,” said Jackie. “Not the place for a dip.”
Ash couldn’t help but notice how her gaze lingered on the dead buffalo. And was she licking her lips? The woman was pure freak show. That’s probably what happened to Brits if you stayed out here too long.
Jackie led them to the pier, a rickety row of mouldering planks held together by near-rotten rope. The only thing solid about it was the pair of stone pillars that stood at the end, each carved in the shape of an elephant. A boat and boatman waited for them.
The boat looked like one of the punts Ash had been in during a day trip to Cambridge; shallow and low in the water. Not very crocodile-proof.
“This does not look entirely safe,” said Ash. “Where are the life-jackets?”
Aunt Anita shook her head. “Just get in the boat.” It wobbled as she stepped in. “And keep your fingers out of the water.”
The boatman pushed them off with his oar and they drifted away from the bank. Ash peered back at the scattered vehicles until their shining headlamps dwindled to mere spots in the darkness.
“Look!” Lucky jumped to her feet and the boat rocked perilously.
“Sit down!” snapped Aunt Anita.
A path of lanterns shone along the wide stone steps that lined the opposite bank. A cliff-like mass stood on the riverside, rising high straight out of the water. Torches flared, one by one, along its battlement walls. Polished marble and the soft egg-curve shape of a roof glistened in the torchlight. Vines and climbers were as much part of the immense walls as the marble and sandstone. Black glass sparkled like ebony diamonds from the balcony windows.
Uncle Vik had told them the building had once belonged to the maharajah of Varanasi, but had been abandoned and left to rot for decades. Now the monolithic palace would be grander than ever. It had a new owner and a new name.
The Savage Fortress.
The torch-lit battlements loomed over their boat as it drifted towards the bank. Apart from the fortress, the land was empty of any other buildings or life. It was as if the Savage Fortress had devoured everything, leaving only dried-out streams, a few stunted trees and, in the distance, what looked like a small shanty town of tents and crude hovels. Lorries lined the road and Ash could see a few big bulldozers, presumably from the excavations Jackie had mentioned.
“Wonder what’s out there,” said Vik. He wiped his glasses and cast a critical eye over the wide field. “Whatever he’s doing, he’s serious about
