‘Did you find out where the Mathurans have been travelling to?’ Shishupal asked, changing the topic. ‘It sounds highly unlikely that the entire city is on holy trips at the same time, but I cannot sniff the trail. All my leads have run cold.’ Eklavvya shrugged, massaging his stomach.

Shishupal sighed. ‘Fine, let’s go and eat. We’ll find nothing here anyway. Clearly, I am no spy. When I asked to be sent away, I did not mean as a sleuth!’ And certainly not with you! ‘I am tired of tracking Mathurans to dead ends.’

If the Mathurans were trying to hide their trail, they might as well have been using magic, for they were everywhere, and then they weren’t anywhere. Mathura was somehow still surviving, even thriving, on the limited resources allowed during the Armistice. The Emperor had declared it imperative that Shishupal discover what Mathura was up to. How could he do what the most veteran spies could not? Shishupal had thought that when Eklavvya joined him, things would move faster, but the boy’s verbosity only aggravated his headache. But he knew he could not leave; not before finding the source of the stink emanating from Mathura.

‘Eklavvya sympathizes with Shishupal’s pathosis,’ the Valka babbled as he strolled onto the street again.

‘Why are we not heading to the tavern? I thought you were hungry?’

Eklavvya did not answer. Fuck. Shishupal followed him into the foggy street. Ghostly laughter fluttered past them from the tavern left behind. Lambs bobbed through the gloom as Shishupal struggled to keep Eklavvya in sight. Folks reeled past in a flurry, mist swirling behind their flapping cloaks. It made Shishupal edgy; his hand remained on the knife hilt inside the left pocket of his jacket. The thought that Karna would appear out of nowhere to punish him for what he did, made Shishupal’s head throb. Felt like it had hurt for weeks. Since Panchal.

Eklavvya stopped so abruptly Shishupal nearly bumped into him. Eklavvya squinted at a door in the mist-enshrouded wall of crumbling brickwork, then rapped on it. It wobbled open. A woman stared out, long and lean as a giraffe. She held a knife in one hand, a mallet in the other. Standing recklessly, hip loose, hair to one side, green eyes in a sharp face spattered with freckles stared at the two men.

‘What did you mean by hunger, Eklavvya?’ Shishupal asked, incensed. ‘We do not have the time for pleasure.’

Eklavvya shook his head as if Shishupal were a pervert. ‘Hunger for answers, Shishupal. Hello, Anayasa,’ he said by way of greeting.

‘About time you showed up. You know you could just pay me and I could finish the war with one swipe of my knife. Krishna’s head will be yours.’

‘Why, thank you for your kind offer, overestimation of your abilities though it may be but our Emperor seems to harbour some notions of honour.’

‘Childish nonsense.’

‘Couldn’t agree more.’