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.
Ash pulled off his coat and dropped his katar on the dining table. “You’ve had a busy day. Get some sleep and we’ll go over everything in the morning.”
“How can you be so calm?” Ashoka snapped. “They’ve got my family.”
Parvati smiled at him. “Please, Ashoka, we’re here to help you. Get some rest.”
Elaine came through with a bundle of linen, a pillow and a duvet. “Here you go.”
He wasn’t happy, but Ashoka took the pile off the old woman. She directed him through a doorway and Ashoka entered a small room with a single brass bed and table. There was a window, but it faced a brick wall. He dropped the duvet over the mattress and dropped himself on to the duvet.
He was asleep before he hit the bed.
Parvati stood at the door, listening. “He’s asleep.”
Ash turned back to the dining room as Elaine put a mug down. She shook out another cigarette, then caught the look in his eye and put it back with a forlorn sigh. “Well, what next, boss?” she said.
“A shower.” Ash sniffed his clothing. “I stink of rat-demon.” There were flecks of blood on his sleeves. “Then we talk.”
He entered Elaine’s bathroom and dumped his clothes on the cold tiles. The pipes rattled as he turned the hot tap full on. The shower head gurgled, then steaming hot water blasted out. He put his head under and let it burn him.
The water turned pink and Ash watched it swirl around the plughole.
Calm? Ashoka thought he was calm? Couldn’t he see how terrified he was?
Ash felt along his chest, from the smooth skin, taut across his muscles, to a ridge on his solar plexus. To the scar.
He glanced down at his thumb. There was a small cut. Last summer a sliver
