‘Eklavvya knows you know what Dvarka is. Eklavvya is aware you cannot talk about it or your head will burst.’ He made a booming sound, sending a spray of spit into Gajraj’s face. ‘The Vachan, right?’

What is he talking about? Shishupal kept his face immobile.

‘Eklavvya knows the Senators have not even told their own people where they are bound. Where the place they are bound for is located…or how they will reach there. Twists, turns and deception. But Gajraj is Akrur’s favourite smuggler, having been entrusted with the routes. Have you not? Surely, you have not taken a Vachan, else how would you carry out the smuggling of people? Mathura doesn’t have the money for the Vachans, does it? A sleight of hand, is it not? You do not have to say a word. Eklavvya will speak and you can nod if Eklavvya is right, yes?’

‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ Gajraj glared.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, please.’ Eklavvya raised his hands. ‘Eklavvya does not desire such a pleasant evening to turn uncivil. All Eklavvya wants to know is where is Dvarka?’ He looked at each man, and then the woman, in the eyes, as if giving them a last chance to redeem themselves. None of them took it. They just laughed at him.

‘Eklavvya,’ Shishupal whispered urgently, ‘we have no weapons! We are surrounded. What is your plan? Talk them to death?’

Gajraj smiled, putting a hand into his pocket and pulling out a silver coin. ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ he said, holding up the coin, which shone in the lamplight. ‘Heads we kill you. Butts I tell you where Dvarka is…’ He smiled widely. ‘And then we kill you.’

There was a metallic ting as Gajraj flicked the coin high. Shishupal drew in a hissing breath. The coin spun into the air, turning and turning. Time came to a standstill. The pendulum seemed to slow down, its swinging now loud, like the echoes of some distant war drum.

Tick.

Eklavvya seized the man sitting nearest Gajraj and rammed his head through the table to the floor beneath, with skull-crushing force. Broken bottles, swirls of ale, opium blocks, wood fragments and cards, all rose into the air. Eklavvya snatched the knife from the fat man seated at the table carving meat, and flung it at the bored man against the wall. The knife flashed in the dim light before piercing his skull, all the way to the hilt. Eklavvya’s fist then sank into the belly of the fat man, sinking almost to his elbow. He moved his fingers within that great gut, one-tap, two-turn, three-pinch. The man did not even scream.

Tick.

The woman was able to reach for her knife before Eklavvya reached her, but her hand had barely begun to rise when he grabbed her under her breasts and flung her to the ceiling. She crashed into the beams.

Tick.