Tantrics Of Old Read online

  Adri’s wound didn’t catch too much attention among the other wounded on the street. Many people were bandaged. Everyone looked rough and struggling. Signs of a meagre survival. Many carried backpacks similar to Adri’s. People walked together, but they walked fast—conversations were quick and to the point. No time for dallying. They weren’t noticed much; though this suited them fine, the siblings did feel that the first real crowd of people in Old Kolkata felt rather cold to them. They were quite disturbed by the condition of the people. The streets were dirty, littered with all kinds of garbage—old newspapers, plastic bottles, empty cartons, everything tossed around by the evening wind as they walked, and they constantly stepped on something or the other, rarely finding the road itself. Some people seemed to be collecting all the trash into huge, boulder-sized mounds that they were tying up, and Maya guessed they would be sold—no one in a city struggling to survive would be bothered with civic duties. Somewhere, a man was screaming his lungs out in loud argument, and a baby bawled as they began to cross residential complexes. The buildings were all densely populated, candlelight burning inside every window. The gates were shut tight, padlocked. An occasional security guard. Without weapons.

  ‘How’re you doing?’ Gray asked Adri, who had been hobbling along silently, without any audible protest; except for his sudden grunts of pain when he stumbled and lost his footing.

  ‘We’re close,’ Adri replied.

  Maya could see that it had taken Adri a lot of strength to just utter the words, and she did not ask any questions of her own. Adri moved off into a side street from the main road, then down an alley, into a web of buildings. They walked for about a quarter of an hour down narrow lanes, occasionally lit with lamp posts that burned with magical fire, taking sharp, sudden turns. Then Adri stopped all of a sudden, clambering up the few stairs leading to the front door of a house. It was a duplex, grey, wasted, squashed in the middle of two extremely tall apartment buildings—its windows boarded up. The front door, however, was a dark, rich wood; a touch of class, even in the semi-darkness. Even the pounding sounded rather nice as Adri knocked thrice, loud and impatient.

  They waited.

  ‘Anyone home?’ Gray asked Adri.

  ‘He’s always home,’ Adri grunted.

  Right on cue, a loud sound was heard—a latch being pulled back—and the door opened a mere crack.

  ‘Look who’s here!’ a booming voice spoke.

  ‘I’ve got a couple of friends with me,’ Adri replied.

  The man who shut the door behind them didn’t have a name so far; Adri was too informal with him to call him by one. Not that Adri was talking much. Clearly knowing his way around the house, he had disappeared right after they entered. Maya and Gray watched in silence as the man locked the door, latched an age-old latch in place, and then finally slid a heavy chain around the handle. He was quite tall and huge. As he turned, they caught a proper glimpse of his countenance—shiny bald head, a huge black beard covering most of his lower face, and a thick, stubby nose. His features coupled with his size would’ve made him look formidable if not for his eyes—they glimmered with a light of their own, almost immediately making him look livelier, like the owner of a sense of humour. From the looks of it, he seemed to be in his fifties.

  When he spoke, his voice boomed. ‘He already scarpered inside, did he?’ His voice was loud, rather brash, but had an uncanny texture to it; the siblings knew they would never forget this voice again. ‘No matter. Come this way.’ He led them down a long, dark corridor at the end of which they could see light. They emerged into a living room which seemed surprisingly comfortable—there was a fireplace where a fire crackled, lit for the express purpose of illumination; Old Kolkata was rather hot throughout the year. Two well-padded sofas stood facing the fire. An enormous rug lay under their feet, which their muddy boots were leaving marks on—not that the man seemed to notice—and various paintings and photographs ornamented the walls that otherwise would look bleak with the peeling wallpaper and windows boarded up. Adri’s bag lay near a sofa, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘You two get some rest, right? Can see that you’ve been running. I’ll go see what Adri’s up to.’ The siblings nodded, and as they settled in the two sofas by the fire, the man spoke again. ‘We haven’t been introduced, I believe. You can call me Smith.’

  ‘I’m Maya, and this is Gray.’

  ‘Good to know. Well Maya, Gray, I’ll be back with your friend soonest I can.’

  Smith made his way up the stairs. He knew where Adri would be. He thought he had seen blood on Adri’s shoulder as the young Necromancer had hurried by. Smith opened the door to his infirmary, and sure enough, there Adri was, shirtless, looking down at his shoulder, stitching a wound.

  ‘Would it hurt you to stay out of trouble for at least a short while?’ Smith asked, lighting another torch. Adri laughed harshly. Smith moved closer and peered at the wound. ‘Witches? How serious is it?’

  ‘The cut was deep, but she didn’t release too much of the paralysing agent; she didn’t consider me a threat until I made her taste mercury.’ There was distaste and anger in Adri’s voice as he continued stitching. ‘Speaking of which, I have only three quicksilvers left. Which brings me to you.’

  ‘Not a problem, you can stay here for as long as you see fit. But where did the Dynes get you? They never come this side.’

  Adri paused mid-stitch. ‘I have some rather bad news, Smith.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I was hoping you would know something about this, but now I see I was wrong. My house, here in Patuli, has been burned down. Father is missing. The house Familiar is missing. There is no trace.’

  Smith was grim. ‘Did you perform a—’

  ‘Yes I pyromanced, and the results are unsettling. I saw an Infernal.’

  Smith was silent. ‘I did not know anything about this,’ he said finally.

  Adri was silent.

  ‘Have you eaten? I will make something for the three of you, then. It’s late. Let your friends sleep off, then we will talk.’ He left.

  Adri continued with his wound. Minutes ticked away, and to help hide the pain, Adri thought about his next move. Stocking up on ammunition was the most important thing. Never again would he be at the mercy of witches; he needed to perform some protective enchantments too, call in some spirits for defensive purposes. He had forgotten, for one day, how dangerous and unpredictable the city could be; it had almost gotten him killed. If the shot he had fired hadn’t connected with the Dyne, none of them would be here right now.

  The door behind him opened again. Adri didn’t turn around until he heard Maya’s voice. ‘Adri?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, continuing to stitch.

  Maya crept into the room. Adri was facing the other way, sitting on what seemed to be an operating table, with a complete set of tools next to him. The walls, wooden, had only shelves and more shelves—the room reeked with the smell of medicine and blood. She looked at Adri, and in the guttering yellow light she saw the inscriptions—old writing that crawled over his arms, then continued down his bare back in perfect symmetry. Tattoos. Her eyes were lost in the black swirls, in the intrinsic movement of the designs—they seemed to be moving in the torchlight; all of a sudden she realised that Adri was shirtless, and that he might not want her to see him like this.

  He didn’t. Adri was quite uncomfortable, but he continued tending to the wound.

  ‘I was slightly worried, and Smith, he told me the way here,’ Maya said.

  ‘I’m okay. It’s not too deep. It could’ve been worse.’

  Maya moved closer. Scars. Too many, for his age. Adri’s skin was battle worn with scars, little and large, recent and old, on his back and on his arms.

  ‘You have a lot of scars,’ she said without thinking.

  Not all of them physical. He said nothing.

  ‘What did the Dyne use?’

  ‘Claws. Sharp. But I’ll tell you how I got lucky. If they want they
can secrete a kind of venom from their claws, a paralysing agent. It was there in this slash, but not enough to work immediately.’

  ‘Oh my god. So is it still at work?’

  ‘No, it’s worn off. I just have to finish with this,’ Adri fiddled with the needle, tore the string with his teeth, and then dropped the needle next to him, into a pan full of hot water. The blood slowly left the needle and swirled in the water, as both of them watched.

  ‘You need help with the bandage?’

  Adri grunted. Bandaging was one part he could not manage alone; if he did, it would be terribly clumsy. Maya seemed glad to be able to contribute somehow—she took the bandage roll that he handed her and got to work. Adri watched her slowly bandage him, and tried not to feel awkward. It was.

  ‘I don’t like the effect they have on me, Adri,’ she spoke all of a sudden. It had either been on her mind, or she was trying to make the bandaging less uneasy.

  ‘The witches?’

  ‘Yes, the witches.’ Her eyes glittered in the firelight. Adri noticed for the first time that they were black. Not brown, not blue, not green. Black. What a strange thing to notice. ‘They make me want to give up all hope,’ Maya continued. ‘I feel like I’m on the verge of tears.’

  ‘The influence. It’s terribly strong in the first few encounters.’

  ‘How do you fight it?’

  ‘I told you, I’ve had training.’

  ‘Will we be seeing more witches in the future?’

  Adri did not reply. He wanted to know what Maya was getting at without having to ask. Either she wanted to learn to fight the influence, or she wanted out. Should he be honest?

  ‘We might be,’ Adri said. ‘I’ll be better prepared for them from now. I wasn’t really—’

  ‘That’s not what I want to know. Train me.’

  ‘Took years.’

  ‘You’re so brutal,’ Maya frowned.

  ‘I’m honest,’ Adri replied dispassionately.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. You learnt at an early age, I bet. Try me now, I think I’m older than you were.’

  ‘Thus your consciousness is more developed. It will be tougher for you.’

  ‘Why are you constantly dissuading me?’

  Adri sighed. ‘There’s not much to it—ow!’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘—yes, not much to it, but fine, I will tell you what I know.’

  Maya finished bandaging the shoulder and took a step back, inspecting her handiwork. ‘How does it feel?’

  Adri moved his left arm slowly. ‘It’s tight. But it will heal. Thanks.’

  Maya smiled. ‘You’re welcome. Glad I could do something!’

  Adri smiled back rather grudgingly.

  ‘There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you, since you do tend to leave a lot unexplained,’ Maya continued.

  ‘Yes, I tend to do that. Ask.’ Adri hoped it wasn’t going to be about the amulet she was sure to have spotted hanging from his neck.

  ‘Witches,’ she said, and Adri breathed once more. ‘You told me they could mark someone.’

  Adri nodded. ‘Yes, when they do that, they gain a certain amount of power over that individual. What happens then is that the individual’s smell gets recognised by the entire Coven. Think of it as a most wanted poster. All the witches will immediately recognise the marked person by smell and come after him as soon as he’s in range of their abilities.’

  ‘That sounds ghastly.’

  ‘It is quite tiresome,’ Adri said, and brought his left palm in the light, where a burn mark, scorched into the flesh, stood out black and circular.

  Maya’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re marked?’

  Adri nodded, a grim smile playing on his lips.

  Maya shook her head in disbelief. ‘You are so full of surprises.’

  Adri chose to not reply, again. There are reasons why I do not tell you everything.

  ‘This house, for example,’ Maya continued, ‘and Smith. Who’s he?’

  ‘Have you heard of the Defenders of Old Kolkata?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s one of the surviving three. The Gunsmith.’

  ‘I heard rumours about them being alive, but still, wow. How do you know him?’

  ‘My father used to be a Defender as well. The Gunsmith, like my father, retired from an eventful life. The weapons he made are still the best though, and he still makes them for a very select clientele. I’m one of them.’

  ‘So that gun you used against the witch—’

  ‘Built by him, yes. He’s dependable, and we needed to make this stop. I need to stock up on ammunition and ingredients, maybe another gun. I also need to put some more protective enchantments in place before we leave. I can’t afford to be taken by surprise again.’

  ‘Which way are we going after this?’

  ‘I haven’t really decided yet. How about we all catch some dinner right now? You must be hungry.’

  ‘Not really. But dinner seems okay.’

  Dinner was an enormous affair. Smith was a good cook—the meat was delicious and everyone loved it. There was stiff, guarded conversation, and Smith asked about where they were from, but nothing about the purpose of their visit. After dinner, they gathered near the fireplace again and the siblings were reminded of how the fire was there only for the light it provided, though it was nice to watch the flames. Smith pulled a couple of armchairs out and all of them settled comfortably; the fire burned without fumes or smoke, magical in nature. Smith sat with a wooden box on his lap. It contained a pipe and tobacco. He started filling his pipe while everyone sat silently.

  ‘Why do you guys smoke?’ Maya asked.

  Smith almost dropped his pipe. He looked at her incredulously. Adri, cigarette in his mouth and matchbox in his hands, froze.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Smith asked.

  ‘Smoke. Why do you people smoke? I mean Adri here has smoked so many cigarettes since we met him! And now we see you smoking as well. Is it ritualistic?’

  Adri and Smith exchanged glances.

  ‘Sort of,’ Adri replied finally. ‘You see, fire keeps spirits away, acts as a natural guard against almost every kind of spirit. Because of this, all Necromancers are trained to carry a pack with them, just to ward off unnecessary spirits in public places. When the cigarette’s burning, spirits in general tend to avoid you.’ He didn’t do a good job at sounding convincing.

  ‘But what about cancer?’ Maya asked. She wasn’t accusing, but her questions had uncomfortable needles to them.

  ‘The life expectancy of an average Tantric is about thirty years,’ Smith said gruffly, not looking at Maya, filling his pipe once more.

  ‘Thirty for a good Tantric,’ Adri said, still not lighting his cigarette. ‘It’s a noted fact that smoking has saved several Necromancers on various occasions, thus increasing their life expectancy.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a true word, that is,’ Smith nodded.

  ‘Aren’t so many Tantrics all old and stuff?’ Gray asked rather cautiously. ‘I mean I’m not against the whole smoking thing, but I just want to know.’ Maya gave him a poisonous look before she turned to the two.

  ‘You see the few who make it there. Necromancers are the most killed lot. Quite a few are trained, and quite a few die during the training itself,’ Smith replied. ‘It’s brutal, that’s what it is. All it takes to kill a Necromancer is one tiny mistake, one slip up while calling upon a spirit, or a Demon. Seen too many go that way.’

  Adri finally lit his cigarette. ‘Dangerous profession,’ he muttered.

  ‘You were one of the Defenders of the Old City, no?’ Gray asked Smith, who nodded slowly in reply. ‘Aren’t you a hero then?’ Gray continued. ‘I mean, why stay here in Old Kolkata?’

  Adri understood where the question was coming from. Gray and Maya had walked their way through a wasted, dilapidated city that was now a mere ghost of its former self, fraught with danger and mysterious in every way. Not having ever seen the city in its full glory, how cou
ld they be expected to ever understand the Gunsmith’s love for the city? Or his own love, for that matter?

  Smith lit his pipe. ‘You do not understand,’ he said simply, his voice low. There was silence before Gray replied.

  ‘Well, make me.’

  ‘Old Kolkata has a beauty no other place has,’ Adri stated.

  ‘I understand the appeal of a place destroyed, of the fragments . . .’ Gray began.

  ‘No,’ Smith said. ‘What Adri means isn’t that. Old Kolkata has soul.’

  Gray looked blank.

  ‘There’s more than bricks and mortar keeping this city together. It’s seen everything there is to see—from war to famine to political unrest to utter chaos—and it has survived. Something about the city keeps it together; it is that, that something that we find the charm in, despite everything dangerous that’s inside and every building that’s broken.’

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ Gray muttered.

  ‘And you won’t,’ Smith said. ‘It’s not something for you to get, you who just steps in from wherever it is you come from. It’s something we know, we who have been with the city through the times it has faced, we who will be here. I am here because the Old City is here. I don’t protect it any longer, yes, but I guard my memories. Oh, and no offense meant.’

  ‘History makes the city breathe, Gray,’ Adri said quietly. ‘You will hopefully understand in time.’

  ‘I wasn’t born here,’ Gray said. ‘Most of my generation was born in New Kolkata, but I know this is where my ancestors were. No one stayed here because of its wretched condition.’

  ‘No one? A lot of people chose to stay,’ Smith replied with a touch of scorn. ‘There were always the people who couldn’t support their families here, and they left. They weren’t the only ones. People who couldn’t deal with change, even people who loved the city, people who could not witness it broken. Obviously, the hardships here are not for everyone. And it’s not like MYTH let everyone enter New Kolkata.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Maya exclaimed.

  ‘MYTH does not let survivors inside New Kolkata,’ Smith said. ‘I’m not surprised you didn’t know. MYTH is good at acting as the perfect government.’