Aru Shah and the Tree of Wishes (Pandava Quartet #3) - Roshani Chokshi Page 0,29

me Rudy.”

A hallway materialized in a formerly blank wall.

“I’ll let him know you’re here,” he said. “But I have to warn you, Mr. V is not in the best of moods today.” He motioned to the corridor. “Go right ahead…if you dare.”

The hallway to Mr. V’s office was lined with blueprints revealing all the great cities he had designed, like Dwarka, where the god Krishna once ruled and lived, or the mythical golden city of Lanka, ruled over by Kubera, the god of riches.

“So what’s this Mr. V like?” Rudy asked Brynne in a whisper. “Gotta adjust my attitude, you know? Am I going for charming? Rich? Rich and charming? Kinda weird? But, like, intellectually weird? Or—”

“Silent?” suggested Aiden.

Rudy paused, then tapped his own chin. “Yeahhh. Silent and brooding, like you! Okay, so give me some tips. Do you hate everyone, or is it more like an inward, self-loathing thing?”

Aiden glowered. “I don’t hate anyone, but you’re proving to be the exception.”

“Okay, so not an inward, self-loathing thing….”

Aru couldn’t help herself. A terrible snort-laugh escaped her lips. Rudy caught her eye, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Gunky says that Vishwakarma is really creative,” said Brynne. “But that sometimes he can be a little unpredictable—”

At the end of the corridor, a wastebasket flew out of an office, followed by a howl of curses. The five of them flattened themselves against the wall as the trash can rolled to a stop in front of them and caught fire.

“WHY ARE PEOPLE OBSESSED WITH YOU?” yelled Mr. V to someone in his office. “I don’t understand your appeal! Give me some inspiration! None of you are inspiring—”

A loud clattering sound echoed around them. Mr. V must have knocked a bunch of stuff off his desk.

“That’s it!” he yelled. “GET OUT, YOU FLATTENED DISCOUNT ARTICHOKES!”

Aru raised her eyebrows.

What a weird insult.

And then dozens of succulents emerged from the office doorway and rolled down the hall. Some of them looked slightly charred. One of them quivered as it sped faster and faster away from Mr. V.

“Huh,” said Aru, staring at the little plants. “They do kinda look like discount artichokes….”

Rudy took a few tentative steps toward the office door, and all of a sudden the marble floor under his feet lit up, veins of gold brightening and casting light onto the walls.

“WHAT IS IT?” screamed Mr. V. “COME IN HERE WHERE I CAN SEE YOU!”

“Maybe we should send our proposal by email instead?” asked Rudy, inching backward.

Brynne shoved him forward. “It was your idea to be the front, and we need that key!”

Aru cast an eye toward the door, her heart beating loudly in her ears. What if Vishwakarma refused to make the key? They’d have no way of opening vault A7 in the crypt and hopefully learning the whereabouts of the wish-granting tree. Then again, if Mr. V decided he hated them, they might never even make it to the crypt.

“I need a second!” said Rudy. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Happy thoughts, people. Tell me some happy things.”

“I perfected my macaron recipe,” offered Brynne.

“Cool, I’ll take it.” Rudy looked at Aiden, who glared at him in return. “Okay, I’ll skip you.”

He turned to Mini. “Got anything?”

“I, um, well…” Mini turned red. “There’s about forty thousand bacteria in the human mouth? And the human intestine is twenty feet long, and—”

Rudy wrinkled his nose. “All right, let’s stop there. I’m going in.”

Inside the office, floor-to-ceiling windows let in the sunlight and looked out on skyscrapers in different cities: Mumbai and New Delhi, New York City and London. In the corner of the room, next to a golden potted plant, sat a pure-white goose. It honked when they entered and Rudy reared back, probably still traumatized from their earlier encounter in the vimana. But the bird didn’t leave its nest.

At the center of the room, seated behind a huge mahogany desk with a single sheet of paper on it, was the god of architects and craftsmen, in a charcoal-gray suit. Mr. V had four heads, each one sporting a neat white beard, black hair with silver stripes at the temples, and rimless half-moon glasses perched on the tip of the nose. His skin looked like bronze, and his four arms swiveled around him in an agitated manner. In one hand, he wielded a fountain pen. In another, a highlighter. In the third, a golden hammer, and in the fourth, a slim black ruler.

“I understand you have a proposition for me,