The Anzu's Egg 2 Page 5

  At least it’s cool, and it hasn’t started raining, Biyu said. She must have picked up on my despondence.

  The rickshaw driver stuck out a hand. He waved to whoever was behind him to overtake. He couldn’t go any faster and the road ahead was clear.

  How’s Cubchick doing? I said.

  Biyu pulled the holdall’s zipper further back.

  It’s sleeping.

  Thank Khuda for small blessings.

  Can we take him onboard an airship in a holdall? I said. There must be regulations. Maybe it’ll have to go in the hold.

  Biyu patted her jacket and the papers in her inside pocket.

  From what I could decipher of the jargon in Tarigan’s quarantine document, Cubchick goes wherever we go with no questions asked.

  Our driver shook his head and continued waving at the car behind to overtake. Someone honked their car’s horn.

  I checked the rickshaw’s right wing mirror and saw a black car behind us. A red car swerved out of nowhere and drew alongside the black car. Its driver gestured, suggesting the driver of black car was a serial masturbator. The red car accelerated, passed the black car and overtook our rickshaw.

  I twisted round and looked out of the scuffed and scratched plastic rear window. The black car maintained the rickshaw’s speed and the fifteen feet between us.

  Biyu, I think we’re being followed. She turned, her dragon eyesight superior to mine. What do you reckon, Leyakians? Do their eyes look wrong?

  She rubbed the plastic window.

  It’s difficult to get a clear look. They might be Shani.

  I hoped they were.

  Would the Shani be so… obvious?

  Biyu turned to face the front.

  Whoever they are, we’ll get a better look at them in a few minutes. I should have flown us to Anganera.

  She was right on both fronts: the rickshaw passed a sign for another turn-off to the airport; and an airship—never mind a car—would have trouble keeping up with a dragon.

  I thought about Supervisor Pak. Had he survived Biyu’s dragonfire and got away? If he had, perhaps he continued to collaborate with the Leyakians—especially if they knew we’d found the egg and it had hatched.

  The rickshaw stopped outside the short-haul terminal and a few yards beyond Arrivals. As I paid the driver, I kept an eye out for the black car. I waited for my change and saw the car draw up and park outside Arrivals. A woman in a raincoat stepped out.

  ‘Keep the change,’ I told the driver, and hurried into Departures and a waiting Biyu.

  Biyu stood beside a souvenir booth crammed with temple district knick-knacks. She ignored the occasional glance cast by passers-by. Her floppy-brimmed hat and the sunglasses she carried were for when we arrived in Anganera.

  Check-in desk twenty-three, she told me.

  At both the check-in desk and then at passport control, a figure appeared from nowhere, whispered into the official’s ear and we were waved through. A label in red capitals announced that the zippered holdall was Security Cleared.

  If a problem were to arise, like a Leyakian problem, I said to Biyu as we strolled to the bus that would drive us to our airship, will those people doing the whispering help?

  The hum of a nearby airship’s electric motors sounded like a swarm of bees. Biyu boarded the bus before answering.

  They’d help, if the Leyakians made a grab for Cubchick.

  With no sign of the woman in the raincoat, the bus ride and the hour-long flight were uneventful. Cubchick’s night-long feedings and the morning’s events had exhausted Biyu and me. We slept until the airship juddered to a halt at Anganera airport. It was, the flight attendant informed us, midday.

  Two broad-shouldered officials in dark suits and dark glasses directed Biyu and me away from the shuttle bus to the terminal.

  Delon Utsmani stood beside a long limousine. Its buffed black paintwork resembled a mirror. White wavy hair formed a quiff that topped a caramel complexion. A white goatee tailed a strong chin and a friendly smile. Dressed in cream chinos with a white open-necked shirt beneath a blue single-breasted blazer, I felt underdressed in jeans, boots and a plaid shirt.

  He stepped forward and offered his hand.

  ‘Mrs Chopra, Mr Chopra, a warm welcome to Anganera.’

  I followed Bagh-e-Khuda etiquette and waited for Biyu to shake the governor’s hand before I proffered mine. Then I handed him Tarigan’s letter of introduction.

  ‘Please,’ Utsmani said. The car’s backdoor opened. ‘My home isn’t far.’

  Inside the car, a pair of seats, long enough to accommodate three passengers, faced each other. Biyu, still carrying the holdall, got in first. I slid in next to her. The leather interior was as polished as the car’s bodywork.

  Utsmani got in and sat opposite us. The motor driven door closed with a slow swing and hissed shut. The governor sat with one leg crossed over the other and both hands resting in his lap. He didn’t speak until the car began to move.

  ‘May I see the anzu please?’ he said, his gaze fixed on the holdall.

  Biyu glanced at me.

  Tarigan told him we were coming. I said. If he’d withheld information from the governor, Tarigan would have told us. We might as well.

  Biyu unzipped the holdall to provide a space large enough for the anzu to poke its head through, which it did, paws and all. Cubchick turned its head, raised it and then, as though bored by us and its new surroundings, yawned.

  One corner of Utsmani’s mouth creased and so did his brow.

  The governor of Anganera’s fractured composure troubled me.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ I said.

  Utsmani was cordial smiles again.

  ‘Although Mr Tarigan was generous enough to inform me of your imminent arrival, Anganera’s priests had already perceived a diviner searching for the sceptre.’ He raised his hand an inch as he waved it at us. ‘Which is why you’re here: to find the real sceptre.’ He pointed at the holdall. Cubchick had disappeared inside it. ‘Our priests and the prophesies of the Divine Monkey, Anjaneya, say nothing about an anzu, a creature I knew nothing about until an hour ago. We’ve been expecting someone to come for the sceptre, but nowhere in Anjaneya’s predictions is there a description of such an unusual creature.’

  Biyu zippered the holdall.

  ‘The sceptre belonged to a demon king,’ she said. ‘Anganerans are followers of Anjaneya, a divinity and not a demon. How did you come by the sceptre, and why would you keep such a thing?’

  Utsmani’s composure didn’t falter.

  ‘The sceptre originated on Arlanga, the island next door to ours. A great battle had been fought there centuries ago. And you’re right about the sceptre’s provenance, Mrs Chopra. The sceptre is a key. It opens a doorway between this world and Hell. It takes magic to unseal such a door. To bring an entire demonic army through a doorway is another matter. There are just a few places on earth where powerful magic, contained in an object such as the sceptre, will open a doorway large enough to allow an army through. Arlanga is one of those doorways.’

  Biyu shifted in her seat.

  Toojan said the sceptre was a means to a bigger end, she said. Now I understand why. It’s a key.

  Things keep getting better and better, I replied.

  I stared out of the car’s window. We had left the airport and drove through a forest. Ebony, teak and lychee whizzed by on both sides of the road.

  ‘There was a battle on Arlanga,’ Utsmani continued. ‘The island is home to monasteries of warrior monks whose sole existence is to guard the hellmouth. They fought a demon king and, against the odds, they defeated him. It was they who brought the sceptre to Anganera and placed it in the safe keeping of the Divine Monkey. Predictions made by the Divine Monkey do not mention the sceptre being returned to either a dragon or an anzu.’

  Biyu tested her door’s lock.

  What are you doing? I said.

  Utsmani cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘We’ve walked into a
fritting trap,’ Biyu said.

  Utsmani waved a hand.

  ‘The doors lock automatically for your safety,’ he said. ‘If you are who Anjaneya’s prophecy says you are, you have nothing to fear, Mr and Mrs Chopra.’ He raised a finger without lifting his hand. ‘No changing into a dragon, I beg you. My chauffeur is under instructions to gas this section of the car if either of you misbehave.’

  Biyu’s transparent third eyelids slid across her eyes. It had taken a little longer for me to understand the cause of her concern.

  ‘If the sceptre was left in your god’s safekeeping, then you don’t get to decide whether to give it to us. You have no intention of handing it over.’

  Utsmani shook his head.

  ‘Anganera is heavily warded. It would take an army to destroy the wards before a demon could set foot on it. Even if a demon were to do so, we wouldn’t surrender the sceptre so easily. We only safeguard the sceptre. It isn’t ours to keep. Anjaneya set two tests for anyone who wishes to possess it. If they pass them, the sceptre is theirs to do with as they please.’

  His answer confused me.

  If we pass his tests, I said, will he just stand by and let us give the sceptre to the demoness?

  Biyu squinted.

  Are you mad? she said. Why would we give a demoness a key that unlocks Hell?

  With Utsmani watching us, I didn’t shake my head.

  No, we wouldn’t do that. But Toojan says everything that’s happened, including us finding the anzu, is connected. I left the temple district with the distinct impression we were meant to retrieve the sceptre. I only wish Toojan had figured out what we’re supposed to do with it.

  The car slowed to a halt, and the doors emitted the faintest click.

  Set in the middle of a forest, branches hung above the three-tiered concrete and glass, flat-roofed mansion.

  The chauffeur held the car door open. Utsmani got out first. I followed, reached in and took the holdall from Biyu so she could slide out. While I waited for her, I took in the building and wondered if, by some optical illusion, treetops grew from out of the roof.

  ‘We were once forest dwellers, Mr Chopra,’ Utsmani said. ‘To us, cutting down a tree is sacrilege. We prefer to build around our trees and incorporate them into our homes.’

  If it weren’t for Anjaneya’s tests and the unspoken consequences of failing them, I’d be impressed.

  ‘Come,’ Utsmani said, after Biyu had joined us. A woman wearing a sleeveless, faun summer dress appeared in the mansion’s open doorway. ‘Let’s get the first test out of the way,’ he continued. ‘Then we can all relax.’

  He approached the waiting woman. Without a word, she turned and led us to the mansion’s atrium and a copse of five macadamia trees. Before we reached the trees, she turned right. A glass door opened inwards. Uplighters flickered on ahead of her as we entered a corridor, its walls and ceiling lined with dull metal.

  Lead, Biyu said. I can smell and feel it. The University uses it to dampen a relic’s magic.

  We stopped while the woman ran her hand over the wards on a lead-free doorframe. She fed her qi into the wards, turning the three concentric circles tattooed on both of her shoulders golden.

  The lock’s attuned to her qi and powered by it, I told Biyu. Magic alone won’t open it. They’re serious about their security.

  Then why don’t I see anyone guarding the place? Biyu said.

  The door opened with a hum, and we stepped into what I could only describe as a grove. Sunlight dappled a jumble of tree roots poking above a mat of grass and leaf litter. The edges of the grass stopped short of the walls, exposing polished concrete beneath. A thick branch from one tree cut a diagonal swath across the space, one end of it disappearing behind a wall. In its crook lay a glass box. Inside the box hung a copper bar, tapered at both ends and ending with an onion-shaped knob: the original sceptre.

  Two women sat on the grass and flanked the glass box, their heads bowed. Like the woman who’d brought us here, they wore a short sleeveless dress. But unlike her caramel-coloured complexion, their skin was the same colour and texture of smooth grey-brown bark.

  Nymphs, I said to Biyu.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Chopra,’ Utsmani said. His voice made me jump. I’d forgotten he’d followed behind us. ‘Please remove the anzu from the bag and approach the yakshini.’

  The nymphs stood as if germinating seedlings. They pushed back their heads.

  Biyu gasped.

  Their faces, she said.

  Both women smiled.

  I glanced at the woman we’d followed. She and the yakshini shared the same features. The woman, however, didn’t smile.

  I think this is the first test, I said. And I wouldn’t trust those smiles.

  Biyu opened the holdall. Before she could reach in, the anzu jumped out and trotted over to the glass box. Cubchick’s immature wings flapped with a crazy desperation.

  One of the yakshini reached out to stop Cubchick, her smile never wavering. The anzu vaulted her hand, but not fast enough for the other hand to grab it by the scruff. Cubchick’s limbs hung limply, its head bent forward. The yakshini held out the anzu.

  Utsmani and the human woman traded a look of surprise. The woman faced us.

  ‘The yakshini wants you to take the anzu from her,’ the woman said.

  A shiver stiffened my spine. Biyu hissed.

  This test felt more like a trap.

  I’ll go, I said, and strode towards the yakshini. If anything happens, destroy the sceptre and get out of here.

  I cupped a hand beneath the anzu’s feathered tail. The yakshini released Cubchick, and I pulled it to my chest before it could fall.

  Biyu scooted over with the holdall. The second yakshini stood to one side so she could get closer and I could lower the now scrabbling Cubchick into the bag.

  ‘Ow,’ I whispered. ‘Stop scratching me, you little sh—’

  I drew the zipper closed.

  From inside the bag came a yowl. The sides of the holdall bulged and buckled as Cubchick wrestled to find a way out.

  What’s wrong with it? I said. It seemed okay in the holdall until we opened it in here.

  I read confusion in Biyu’s eyes.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Chopra,’ Utsmani gestured at the door we’d entered through. ‘You passed the first test. Refreshments await us.’

  Biyu stood and left me to carry the holdall.

  ‘What do you mean we passed the first test?’ she said.

  Utsmani bowed, his chin an inch from his chest. He straightened his back and marched to the glass box.

  ‘Father,’ the woman called.

  Utsmani didn’t stop.

  ‘They deserve an explanation, Damini.’

  Before I could react to the news that this woman was the governor’s daughter, a bone-shaking shriek filled the room.

  From nowhere the two yakshini brandished staffs, their ends inches from Utsmani’s face. More ape than human, the nymphs bared huge incisors as they snarled at the governor.

  Frit, Biyu said. That was the first test?

  Cold sweat trickled down my back.

  ‘Anjaneya placed the sceptre in that box,’ the woman said. Utsmani had called her Damini. ‘He left it here for the children of those who govern the island to protect. Two seeds fell from this Ashoka tree on the day I was born. They grew and replaced the pair of yakshini who resembled my mother. Only I and those who wish to destroy the sceptre may approach them.’

  Utsmani retreated a step.

  ‘As you can see, Anjaneya doesn’t consider me worthy of such a task.’ He took another backward step. Each yakshini’s staff shortened to a rod, which they dropped behind the neckline of their dresses. Their muzzles sunk into their faces, and their lips, cheeks and brows shifted to match Damini’s. ‘Anjaneya has chosen you, Mr and Mrs Chopra,’ Utsmani continued. He cleared his throat before turning his back on the yakshini and approaching us. ‘Lunch is being served in the drawing room.’

  This time, Dami
ni joined her father. The two of them led us out of the room. Before the door closed, I looked behind to see both yakshini sitting on the grass, their heads bent forward as if asleep.

  If Anjaneya hadn’t chosen us, do you think we’d be joining the governor and his daughter for lunch?

  Biyu shook her head.

  Those yakshini would be having us for lunch.

  Utsmani had introduced his daughter before we’d taken our seats for a lunch of salad and cold meats. Cubchick had calmed down, and after Biyu had fed it three slices of chicken—the anzu didn’t care much for the ham or the goat’s meat sausage—it had gone back to sleep in the holdall. Of the five of us, Cubchick ate as if it were the hungriest.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Utsmani said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. ‘Introducing you to the yakshini first was rude and improper. The Leyakians’ increasing interest in magical relics makes it difficult to trust anyone nowadays. When it comes to the sceptre, I let the yakshini decide for me.’

  The demoness telling the Leyakians about the anzu’s egg suggested she might also use them to get the sceptre. With the governor aware of the Leyakian threat, perhaps she’d sent Biyu and me in their place. But, had she known about Utsmani’s tests and how the yakshini would react to us?

  He needs to know about the demoness, I told Biyu.

  Biyu put down her fork.

  Good idea, brainiac. He’s relieved we’re not Leyakian, and now you want to tell him we’re worse, because the last person who should have the sceptre sent us here to get it.

  If I told him, the governor’s hospitality would come to an abrupt end.

  It’s not like Toojan to advise us to do something that would do more harm than good. And Tarigan wouldn’t have bought us those air tickets if he thought us getting ahold of the sceptre would put the archipelago in danger. There’s a bigger scheme in play. I don’t think we’ll know what it is, discover the missing pieces, if we withhold something so important as who sent us here.

  Biyu sunk in her chair. She eyed her surroundings, searching for ways of escape.