by Stephen Cole
Just leave me alone, thought Tye, wishing she could itch, trying to concentrate on the smash of the sea on the rocks outside. Such a beautiful, fresh sound.
‘Perhaps I should exact some recompense for your actions now,’ Heidel persisted, ‘while you’re so very helpless.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I’ve beaten myself up already,’ said Tye languidly. ‘I should have seen sooner who was the boss and who was the lackey. When we faced off at Blackland’s, it was Bree who took all the real decisions, Bree who refused to hand over the gun … It was even Bree that you looked to when you said it was time to go – like you were getting approval.’
‘Not so stupid, are you, Tye?’ Bree smiled. ‘It’s one thing to find an impostor who not only resembles your chosen subject, but who can take on their character … it’s quite another to find one prepared to threaten, maim and kill for money. I think we can forgive our Heidel a slight lack of leadership qualities. And I think your people-watching talents make you the most dangerous of your little gang by far.’
‘You know, it’s very liberating, committing acts of violence in character,’ said Heidel. ‘You can just walk away and tell yourself someone else did it.’
You’re not going to just walk away from this, Tye thought. Just give me one tiny chance to get even … ‘I suppose you didn’t need to stay in character by the time you got on our boat,’ Tye noted. ‘The real boss would never have come out to the front lines.’
‘Your ex-boss is on his way to the front lines right now,’ Bree reminded her. ‘Which is why we need that keen eye of yours.’
‘Are you taking her to the inner sanctum now?’ Heidel asked.
‘Tag along, if you like,’ Bree offered. ‘Prepare for your big entrance.’
With a lurch, Tye was off again, wheeled through the labyrinth of rock. Primitive paintings had been daubed on the ceilings, showing curly waves outlined in red, huge crimson sunflowers and figures with spears. They looked ancient, but were probably as fake as everything else in this set-up.
Then suddenly dark rock gave way to piercingly blue sky as the latest tunnel gave on to an outdoor arena, as large as a tennis court but with high, circular walls. A kind of balcony ran around the perimeter, ten metres or so above ground level, gouged from the solid rock, affording onlookers a better view than the one Tye had, pinioned and flat on her back.
She craned her neck to take in her surroundings. A wicker throne had been constructed at the rear of the arena, flanked by a smaller seat on either side. Water had collected in a natural sinkhole in the middle of the floor, where petals and lily pads floated serenely. Three smaller tunnels branched away from the arena, roughly aligned with each of the three seats. The place had the calm and gentleness of a temple about it.
Tye wondered how long that would last.
‘Where will you put her?’ asked Heidel.
‘Saitou will decide,’ said Bree. ‘It’s his show. I’m just the one who makes it happen.’
There were some people milling about by the sheer walls, dressing certain cracks and crannies with festoons of flowers bound into Knots of Isis, like they were adding detail to a movie set for filming.
Suddenly, Tye heard Street’s voice from some way off, calling Bree over. She strained to hear their conversation.
‘… they say the Aswang’s cameras picked up a man moving about the wreckage there, on deck,’ Street reported.
‘Pirate scout, most probably,’ Bree responded. ‘Or a looter.’
‘The captain had gathered up the bodies of the dead and injured, but this bandit boarded and …’
Heidel came to stand beside Tye. ‘I wonder who’ll bid for you?’ he said. ‘Wonder where you’ll end up?’
Shut up, she thought, trying to listen to Bree.
‘… Coldhardt shows, he’ll be scanned for weapons,’ the bitch was saying, ‘and once he’s escorted here …’
But Heidel kept speaking over her. ‘Do you suppose your new employers will keep you chained up like a dog on a leash, hmm?’
Impatiently, Tye turned on him. ‘I hope the real Heidel was better at intimidation than you are,’ she said. ‘You’re the kind of thug who kills an old man with a baseball bat. That doesn’t make me afraid. Just makes me want to kick your ass.’
Heidel sneered down at her and patted her tightly bound ankle. ‘That I’d like to see.’
So would I, thought Tye dismally.
‘Ah, so the players begin to arrive.’
The voice was deep and close by, and sounded faintly German. Tye heard sandals slap on the rock, heard a gull clatter away from a high perch in the wall. Then an aging Asian man with windblown dark hair in a black tracksuit came into her line of vision. She recognised Karl Saitou from the photograph back in the hangout, but he had definitely gone to seed. He looked at Bree and his smile seemed a little too big for his face; a face that had grown gaunt and sunken, like someone had stuck a straw up beneath his chin and sucked hard.
‘Is she behaving?’ he asked. ‘Will she do it?’
‘I thought I’d let you explain what we want,’ Bree demurred.
‘Well, Tye, it’s pretty simple …’ He looked down at her with the kind of smile a company boss might give the mail worker. ‘Coldhardt’s coming here shortly for what he believes will be his first full consultation with Nomen Oblitum … his first steps towards extending his lifespan.’
‘Oh, the irony,’ chimed Bree.
Saitou nodded happily. ‘He’s bought into the whole deal; he’s already delivered you as a down payment. But naturally the cost of treating him will be far higher. You remember that enamelled gold ring of Coldhardt’s that you stole from Sadie’s finger and took back home?’
She didn’t bother to reply.
‘Well, we were kind of hoping you would do that.’ His grin almost split open his face, and Tye wished she could give it a hand. ‘That ring now contains another of our miniaturised chip-implants – one that uses wireless tech to invisibly splice itself into a local computer network. Being inside the hub, it can bypass all firewalls and external security, and we can access it remotely to get to anything stored on Coldhardt’s network – his bank accounts, property deals, contacts worldwide …’ He slapped a jovial hand down on her shoulder. ‘And all thanks to you, girl! You took the bait … and placed it right where I wanted it.’
‘She’s a bloody liability.’ Heidel chuckled. ‘No wonder Coldhardt wanted rid of her.’
Tye refused to react, looking past their stupid laughing faces to the epic circle of blue sky above, the scrapes of white cloud blowing across it.
‘OK, Tye, now here’s the deal,’ Saitou went on. ‘You should know that we’re going to play a little joke here today. It’s beautiful. We’ve gathered together everyone who’s been a part of this, everyone who’s put up funds to take Coldhardt down …’ He gestured to the balcony. ‘And, suitably disguised, they’re going to watch his downfall, here in my temple.’
‘You see, Coldhardt believes it’s Nomen Oblitum’s headquarters,’ Bree put in. ‘He will be escorted in and presented to the Scribe, his man-at-arms –’
‘That’s me by the way,’ said Saitou.
‘– and the Mage … who will turn out to be none other than Heidel.’
‘Can you imagine the look on Coldhardt’s face?’ Saitou guffawed. ‘The humiliation?’
Now Tye looked at him. ‘You’ve been waiting, like, thirty years to play a schoolboy prank?’
‘To destroy Coldhardt.’ Saitou’s face had suddenly drained of humour. ‘Same way he destroyed our organisation, our way of life. He killed the boss, siphoned off the funds for himself, and disappeared.’ He towered over her, dark eyes narrowing, spittle flecking his lips as his speech got hoarser. ‘I’ve waited so long to get back at him. Spent decades studying the highest martial arts, made myself better and stronger than he could ever be. I’ve spent years tracking his activities, gathering allies from the people he’s trampled over, waiting for the perfect opportunity to ree
l him in, and now I’ve finally got him.’ He mimed gripping something with both hands, a throat maybe. ‘Got him to dispose of as I choose.’
Tye stared up at Saitou and was surprised to feel a trace of pity. Could that be me in thirty years, she thought, eaten away by the life I’ve led, nothing left but the need to hate? She thought of Patch, who would stay young in her mind now, unchanging, for ever. The tears lumped up in her throat again.
‘I want you to watch the whole thing, Tye,’ Saitou snapped fiercely, ‘because when I’m finished humbling Coldhardt, when I’ve brought him down as far as he can go, I’m going to ask him if he’s sorry – if he’s truly ashamed for all that he’s done. And you will know if he’s telling the truth, and you will tell me.’ He put his hand to the side of her neck. ‘If you don’t … if I think you’re lying to try to protect him … this is a taste of the kind of pain I can give you and your friends.’
He flicked the skin of her neck with one finger, and twisted his thumb against the base of her skull. Tye gasped as a wave of crippling cramp seemed to sear through her entire body. She started to convulse, unable to control the pain, unable to do anything, even find breath to scream. This is why I’m strapped down so tight, she realised. So they can do this.
The ordeal screamed on, and Tye realised she must have blacked out for a few moments. When she came to, she felt like someone had stuffed her skin full of tinder and set fire to it. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her lip was gashed where she must have bitten it. But Saitou was still hovering over her. He smiled and leaned in, whispering like a doting father to his swaddled baby.
‘Just a taste,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jonah had managed to worm his hand into his jeans pocket, and his fingers closed around the cigarette lighter he’d collected from the Filipino guard on the Aswang. He manoeuvred it out again, and held the head of the lighter against the swaddling straps. He felt for the flints, trying to move his thumb enough to strike a flame.
As escape attempts went, he reflected, this one was stupidly unsafe. He knew he might be horribly injured in the process, or even die. But after what he’d been through, and the promise of what lay ahead, life wasn’t something he was fussed about clinging to that tightly.
What about Tye? What will she do if you’re gone?
But it was because of her – and Motti and Con – that he had to take the chance. Sooner rather than later.
The flints scraped under his thumb tip, but didn’t catch. He tried again. This time, he felt the heat of a flame. Almost immediately it became unbearable, burning his fingers. He gasped, tried to wriggle them away, down to the underside of the lighter, but in the enclosed space, the flame was forced down by the fabric, singeing the back of Jonah’s hand and his hip. He wanted to scream out in pain – but knew any noise would bring the guards running and end things there and then.
He saw smoke start to curl from the stretcher fabric, and a point of smouldering brown grow slowly wider. But he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his mouth clamped shut. His thigh was being flame-grilled. He gritted his teeth, breathed in shallow puffs. He smelled fabric burning.
It’s the stretcher. It’s not my jeans, no way. Please, God, this will work, oh Christ, oh Jesus –
A moan escaped his lips as the pain grew sharper, fiercer. Tears leaked from his screwed-up eyes. It was like the bones in his hip and thighs had trapped the scorching heat inside them.
Then full flames crackled up from the stretcher material, orange and smoky. Jonah tried to stifle his moaning scream, bucking with his body, frantically trying to bring up his arm, praying he could tear through the burning fabric before the flames could spread any further. He swore and sobbed, eyes wide with terror, until the fabric ripped and he freed his lower arm. He flapped it about, trying to put out the flame, straining every muscle to tear free.
Finally the burning fabric ripped again, enough for him to wriggle most of his arm out. From there he feverishly hauled himself from out of the fiery shroud and tumbled off the trolley, falling to the rocky ground. Then he saw that his jeans had caught fire, and he rolled over and over, trying to extinguish the flames. He splashed into a puddle of stagnant rainwater that had collected beneath the open window. The shock of the cold water felt even worse for a moment, but at least the flames were put out. He tugged off his smoking jeans, losing his Nikes in the process, and used them to beat at the flames on the stretcher until they were dead too. Then he slumped back to the shallow puddle and lay in it, the stench of burned flesh, hair and fabric hanging in the air with the thick smoke, like the big question – what now?
It was tempting to lie just where he was, but Jonah realised the grille in the cell door had no glass, and that the smoke would soon seep out to alert a guard. He checked his leg. A large patch of skin was sticky red and blistered and incredibly painful. He thought of Patch, and he thought of the flames that followed the Guan Yin manuscript.
But this time the fire had actually brought good luck. Maybe things are on the up, Jonah thought without much enthusiasm.
Gingerly he pulled his jeans back on with blistered hands, ripping a hole in the charred denim so it didn’t chafe his burns so badly, then pulled on his shoes and crossed to the grille in the door. The smoke was hanging in a thick pall – he only hoped that it was thick enough for what came next.
‘Help!’ he yelled, jumping on the stretcher and pulling the fabric over him. ‘Fire! There’s a fire!’
A startled Filipino man appeared at the grille, then bent to unlock the door. As he did so, Jonah rolled off, got behind the trolley and charged forward. The door was pushed open – and the guard took a high-velocity trolley to the chest, crying out as he flew backwards and cracked his head against the bare rock wall behind him.
Jonah pushed the trolley aside and grabbed the guard, dragging him inside the cell. If this were a movie, he thought, the guard’s outfit would make the perfect disguise. But even if Jonah hadn’t been blond and pale-skinned, this guy was a foot shorter and skinnier all over. ‘Suppose they’ll just have to take me as I am,’ he muttered.
Once he’d tied the guard’s wrists with his leather belt and gagged him with his socks, Jonah hefted him on to the trolley and took his keys. So far, so good. He hadn’t injured himself too badly, and was now at large in some weird open-air prison complex, trapped on an island someplace with no way off.
It’s a start, he thought. Cautiously he went off to find his friends.
Forgotten for now beneath the balcony of stone, Tye lay helpless, tired and sore on her stretcher trolley. The place was beginning to fill up, and there was a definite air of anticipation. Saitou was talking to Bree, who was wielding a clipboard, presumably ironing out any last-minute hitches while managing to flutter her eyelids. Yeah, Bree was definitely a bit sweet on Saitou, Tye decided.
The aging Scribe was smoking a fag, kicking his feet on the intricate main throne. Heidel was handing crimson cloaks to those who wished to view from the gallery as supposed members of Nomen Oblitum. Those who did not appreciate such frivolity, or who did not wish to mix with others, were invited to view the spectacle from a TV suite elsewhere in the complex – Bree was televising the event as she recorded it for posterity. There would most probably be a special DVD of the day’s events for guests to buy on their way out – or thrown in for free if they bid for one of Coldhardt’s children at auction.
Bree walked over to Tye, and clicked her tongue, mock sympathetic. ‘You must be very uncomfortable, trussed up like that.’
Tye was getting good at not reacting. She stared straight ahead.
‘My dilemma is this, Tye. I can’t have you watching Coldhardt on that trolley. You would be seen. All our careful planning would be wrecked. And yet if I let you stand unrestrained, you may attempt to disrupt the stage-management of our little event.’ She sighed. ‘So what am I to do with you?’
Again, Tye made no response – but when Bree produced a knife and slashed along
the length of her surgical shroud, she couldn’t help but flinch. The movement caused her pain, she felt sluggish and stiff; as if her circulation had given up and the blood congealed in her veins. But Bree was motioning her to get off the trolley.
‘You will stand on the balcony with the others,’ Bree explained, ‘disguised in an acolyte’s cowl. And you will study Coldhardt’s sincerity.’
‘I was studying Saitou earlier.’ Tye put on a smirk. ‘Doesn’t know you’re alive, does he, Bree?’
Bree shook her head, apparently amused. ‘You think a gutter girl like you can manipulate me?’
She shrugged. ‘I think a gutter girl like me would make Saitou hotter than a prissy bitch like you ever will.’
There was just the tiniest flicker of annoyance in Bree’s eyes, but it was worth silver and gold to Tye. ‘You’re tolerated, because you’re worth cash to this enterprise,’ Bree said coldly. ‘But don’t feel too smug. Because we value our investments, you’ll be the sole charge of one of my special security people. I can rely on her not to tolerate indiscipline … and so can you.’
Bree turned towards the mouth of one of the tunnels, and nodded. Tye felt her heart cannon as she saw the familiar figure striding towards her. Black, spiky hair, a porcelain-pale face darkened with bruises and make-up, staring brown eyes …
‘Sadie,’ Tye breathed.
‘Would you believe she only killed one person while breaking out of police custody?’ Bree lowered her voice confidentially. ‘And while she always knew she had to throw that fight with you in the flat, I believe it’s left her feeling slightly resentful. You will be careful, Tye … won’t you?’
Tye didn’t answer. Sadie snapped her teeth at her, and gave a smile as tight as an executioner’s noose.
‘There’s not long to go now,’ said Bree. ‘And then show time can begin.’
Jonah couldn’t decide whether to celebrate or curse his luck, as he limped through the tunnels. He couldn’t see any security cameras anywhere – but then, he hadn’t seen any on the Aswang either. Whatever, it seemed inevitable he would get caught. And so far he hadn’t found Motti and Con – or Tye.