‘Stop fretting, Lydia,’ Jago whispered to her. He turned to the group in which Lydia stood, and said something that made them all roar with laughter. ‘Here, have a drink,’ he said to his wife. He motioned to a waiter, who sprang forward and filled Lydia’s glass with wine; she absent-mindedly lifted it to her lips and drank it down in one gulp.
‘Hey, I didn’t mean that quickly,’ said Jago, but Lydia glared at him and he lapsed into silence. Lydia, emboldened by the wine, began to enjoy herself rather more, managing to make a witty remark after a professor of history said something which required one.
Jago kept glancing over at the Luther-Ross brothers, wondering what their next move was going to be; in truth, he knew very little about them, or about what the Thyrsos was or even what Liberation meant; he half believed it was going to be like a sort of mass religious experience, and half feared that it was just some ghastly publicity stunt.
He hadn’t been entirely sure what had happened in Julius’s flat, when he had stumbled upon the boy. At first he thought it was a prank. Perkins had told him to go there. He was a little troubled. The things he’d been doing in the financial markets – that was fun, it tested his brain. But when it came to Ivo – he liked the boy, dammit. After all, he and Lydia had never been able to have children and he liked having Ivo around. He was beginning to feel unsure about the Liberators. Yes, he was bored of his life, and yes, he wanted an escape; but if it involved massacring innocents, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. He remembered Perkins in the flat, and shuddered.
Ivo looked out over the scene in front of him – a whirling kaleidoscope of colour, sound and movement. Men in white tie and tails, women in beautiful long balldresses, some with tiaras glistening on their heads, many with heavy jewelled necklaces. But he could not enjoy the bustling crowd. He was standing discreetly, in a small alcove, from where he could see the top table. He was wearing a toga made out of sheets from the Rocksavages’ linen cupboard, and he was covered in silver paint, and there was a wreath of silver ivy leaves on his head. It was impossible to tell him apart from any of the other statues, aside from the fact that he was a little smaller, a little thinner. Felix and Miranda were positioned on the other side, and Hunter was milling amongst the guests, a leopard-skin around her shoulders, and a matching mask on her face. They had changed at the Rocksavages’ house, and taken a taxi that had deposited them in the back streets behind the gallery.
Ivo was planning to wait until Julius gave his speech, and then he was going to slip around to the table. From there he hadn’t really thought about it, but he knew that he might even have to kill Julius. After that . . . he couldn’t tell. Nymphs and fauns danced amongst the guests, asking them politely to sit down for supper. Many more wandered around the edges, pausing to look at the guests, smiling at each other; some ignored the party completely, as if somehow our world had merged with that of the ancients. Wine bottles were opened, the beautiful red liquid poured into crystal glasses, the noise of the guests like a hive of bees.
Julius and Strawbones strode down the centre of the gallery, followed by a procession of people: two men in leopard-skins, a man with a snake – a living, long snake – wrapped around him, a small boy dressed as a faun, and women in long robes clashing tambourines. A hush fell over the room. Julius stood behind his chair, smiled, raised his staff. Ivo tensed, ready to spring forwards, but Julius banged the Thyrsos on the floor.
There was a silence – or at least something approximating a silence. Julius held out his arms and smiled. He said, his voice bouncing and echoing off the gallery walls, ‘Welcome!’ That was all. He smiled once more, then he sat, and everyone followed, their chairs scraping and shuffling on the floor. The light from the chandeliers was dimmed, and candles were lit on the tables. People’s faces flickered in the half-light.
Ivo shivered. He watched Julius and Strawbones carefully. Julius was sitting at the main table, on which the Prince of Wales was the guest of honour. Strawbones was on a more lively table, in between two very beautiful young actresses, who were shrieking with laughter. Strawbones, Ivo noticed, was exceptionally pale, and was not eating anything. His eyes were greener than ever.
The dim green light seeped in from the entrance hall. Cymbals clashed as the nymphs and satyrs continued to dance around the edges of the room. Ivo looked across and saw that Hunter had gone to her prearranged hiding place. Felix and Miranda were still in their positions. He saw Lydia laughing, and Jago, his fingers around the stem of his wine glass, leaning intently into his neighbour. I can do it, he thought. I can destroy them. Just as he was steeling himself with this thought, he heard a voice at his feet.
‘And what have we got here?’ said the voice, and Ivo looked down to see a woman. It was Jennifer Brook. He could see the tip of a pistol pointing out of her robe. ‘You’re not on my list. There are only meant to be ten living statues. Why are there suddenly thirteen? And you’re an awful lot skinnier than the rest of them. Get down.’ She spoke in an undertone. ‘Oh, Strawbones will be so thrilled.’
Ivo saw that it was useless to make a scene. All his highly strung energy seemed to flow out of him.
‘You’d better come with me,’ said Jennifer. ‘And don’t worry, we’ve got the other two as well.’ Ivo stepped down from the alcove. Nobody noticed the exchange.
‘I will have to take you in front of the Liberators,’ said Jennifer Brook. ‘They won’t like it. They won’t like it one bit. I don’t suppose you’ll live to see the new dawn tomorrow . . .’ Her voice was soft and bright, the voice of authority, the woman who tells you to report anything suspicious, or to wait because your call is important to her. Ivo hated it.
‘Come on, this way,’ she said, and poked the gun into his back. Ivo walked, or rather stumbled, ahead of her, cursing himself inwardly. He saw Felix and Miranda with another nymph. He caught Felix’s eye, but the nymph pushed him on. He felt the hardness of the gun in his back. He saw the light glinting off the silver skin of his friends. Ivo wanted to speak, to shout, but held his tongue.
They were all led down one of the side corridors. Waiters swanned past them. They tramped down the long passage, and came to a small room.
It was clearly an office of some sort. In it were two more nymphs. Jennifer Brook pushed Ivo inside, and Felix and Miranda came with him. Jennifer closed the door. The other two nymphs stood up. They were smiling. One, delicately, took Felix’s arm, so that he was restrained by two; the other took Ivo’s.
‘So . . .’ said Jennifer. ‘Three little rats. Three, little, silver-skinned rats. You two . . .’ She put her face close to Miranda’s. ‘I know your parents. And do you know where your parents are?’
Miranda said nothing. Her eyes were tightly closed. Ivo saw bright globes of tears shivering at the edges of her eyelashes. The tears fell and streaked a white path through her silver make-up.
‘Your parents,’ said Jennifer, ‘are downstairs. Bound, drugged, incapable.’
Miranda’s tears poured forth, her face dissolved into a crush of pain. Ivo struggled against his captors; he saw Felix straining against his own, but Jennifer had put the gun to Miranda’s forehead, and Ivo knew that she would pull the trigger. ‘Felix!’ he said sharply, and Felix caught his eye, and went limp. He closed his eyes, his silver head fell limply forwards on to his chest. Don’t go, Felix, thought Ivo. Stay with me.
‘And you.’ Jennifer removed the gun, and pointed it at Ivo’s heart. ‘We know all about you, Ivo. We’ve been watching you for some time.’ Her face was lit by a wide, toothy grin. Ivo tensed.
‘You,’ said Jennifer, pointing at a fellow fanatic, ‘go and get Strawbones. Tell him it’s important.’ One of the nymphs, dressed in trailing vine leaves, got up and slunk out of the room.
‘Why do you keep looking at Julius?’ whispered Lydia into her husband’s ear. ‘His speech isn’t until after pudding.’
‘I kno
w, dearest, I know,’ said Jago. ‘But I want to make sure I don’t miss it.’
‘How can you miss it, darling?’ said Lydia. She had now had three large glasses of wine, and was not at all nervous. In fact, she was positively enjoying herself, and hadn’t, as she kept announcing to anybody who would listen, enjoyed herself quite so much since her student years.
Jago noticed that one of the nymphs had sidled up behind Strawbones’s chair, and was bending unobtrusively down to whisper in his ear. He saw Strawbones, very carefully and very slowly, break a glass with his hand, making a noise loud enough for the tables around him to stop talking and look in his direction.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Strawbones, loudly and clearly and got up. His hand was bleeding. Jago saw the thick, blood spill black on to the white tablecloth. The actresses on either side of Strawbones didn’t seem to mind. Strawbones bowed, and left, led by the nymph.
What is going on? thought Jago. What had made Strawbones break the glass? Jago decided that he would get up and follow. He whispered to his wife, ‘Just popping out for a sec.’
‘Not for a ciggy, darling, please,’ came Lydia’s voice, raucous now.
Jago pushed his chair in and went in the direction of Strawbones. The dining room erupted in laughter as the pudding was brought.
‘What can you possibly have to drag me away from my dinner?’ came Strawbones’s drawling voice as the door to the room swung open. The nymph came in first, followed by the Liberator.
When he saw the three children standing, huddled but firm, against the wall, he pushed the door to behind him, very softly, without taking his eyes off them. Blood was spilling down his arm but he didn’t seem to notice. His civilised clothes, the white tie and the waistcoat, suddenly looked out of place on him. His skin had become very, very pale, and his eyes were changing colour, becoming green, his hair was growing; before their eyes he morphed into the inhuman despot that Ivo had seen before, lank fronds trailing the ground, beads and bones and skulls twisted into the locks of his hair, his mouth a gash of redness, his teeth long and animal-like.
Stone Eater, Swallow Feather, Prince of Deer, thought Ivo, remembering the chants. Strawbones came forward, and inclined his head, almost politely. Ivo saw Felix, standing to his left, tall and skinny and angry, containing himself, his breaths coming very slow, very deep; and Miranda, to his right, like a frightened fawn, shivering in the breeze.
‘Hello, my little chicks,’ said Strawbones, his voice suddenly rasping. He took one step closer towards them, and all three tried to stand further back. ‘All my pretty chicks – all of them? Three, all lined up, ready for the plucking.’ His voice had taken on a guttural quality, as if he were speaking a language foreign to him.
‘Where did you find them?’ he said to Jennifer abruptly.
‘Pretending to be statues,’ she said.
‘Well done. You shall be rewarded,’ said Strawbones, dripping with venom. Jennifer affected indifference, but Ivo could see something like passion blazing behind her eyes, her black-rimmed eyelids fluttering.
Strawbones now seemed to take up much more space than he should have done. The bones and skulls entwined as ornaments in his hair clattered when he shook his head from side to side. Ivo could smell him – the reeking smell of animal, of hot horseflesh. Strawbones waved at one of the nymphs, who brought him a cloth. He pressed it to the gash in his palm, and then turned to Ivo.
‘I’d forgotten about you, Ivo. Don’t think that you were ever important. It is wonderful to have you here, with me, with us, at our final hour – it almost disappoints me that I shall have to kill you before Liberation takes place,’ said Strawbones, licking his lips. His tongue, thought Ivo, was too red, too bright.
Ivo saw Felix straighten up.
‘And you.’ Strawbones came forwards, step by step, towards Felix. Ivo could see Felix was trembling. Strawbones came within an inch of Felix, and put his long white fingers under Felix’s chin. Felix turned his head away. Strawbones slapped Felix suddenly and stood back. Felix said nothing. ‘You,’ continued Strawbones. ‘What do you think about all this?’
He’s sensed it, thought Ivo. He can feel Felix’s need. He knows what Felix thinks. Stay with me, Felix.
As if in answer, Felix snapped his head up and shouted, ‘I hate it! And I hate you!’ Phlegm joined his lips together. He scrunched up his eyes.
Mocking laughter engulfed the children, and they shrank back into the wall, feeling it cold and unresponsive behind them.
‘What black fates have you allowed to control your lives?’ said Strawbones. ‘What Furies have you set loose upon your souls? You who were so innocent, so happy, so free . . .’
‘What are you going to do to us?’ said Miranda shakily.
‘I think I’ve said that before!’ said Strawbones. ‘Oh, what was it again, will you remind me? Er . . .’
He pointed at Jennifer, who said, slowly and langorously, ‘Wasn’t it something about killing them?’
‘Oh, Ivo, do you hear that sound?’ Strawbones exulted.
It was the sound of tramping feet, and he flung the door open into the corridor, and Ivo saw trooping past the figures of the Acolytes. They were in the building, and they were going to surround the guests; at that moment Ivo knew it was over.
‘It is nearly time, Ivo, nearly time. It’s a long time since I’ve had such fun,’ yelped Strawbones, giving a little jump in the air and kicking his heels together, his whole long body shaking with excitement. ‘Not since I massacred a village in Switzerland in, when was it . . .’ He gestured towards Jennifer. She shrugged her shoulders.
‘When was it?’ he said again, more forcefully.
She stood up a little, and raised her hands. ‘I . . . I don’t know,’ she said.
‘When was it?’ he screamed, and Jennifer quailed.
‘Oh, I forget these things, don’t you know,’ he said more quietly. Without warning he reached out a hand and grabbed Felix by the neck and began to throttle him. Ivo ran to Strawbones and tried to force his hands off Felix, but Strawbones lifted him up above the ground and flung him aside as if he were a doll. The Acolytes didn’t need to do anything. Electricity crackled in the air, and there was a sound like the wind rushing around them; it smelled of battles and flames, the beacon fires of beseiged cities, of infected corpses thrown over walls.
Ivo watched in horror as Felix struggled and gasped, his face going purple, his veins popping out on his forehead like thick ropes. Felix is going to die, he thought, and it is all my fault, and there is nothing that I can do to save him.
Something bashed into Strawbones, and the shock made him release Felix, who collapsed panting on the floor. Miranda immediately pulled him towards her and stood over him protectively.
‘How . . . how could you do that?’ said a voice, and Ivo looked in amazement at Jago, who had stormed into the room, disarmed the nymph and, having knocked her over, was now pointing her pistol at Strawbones. The other Acolytes stood at bay. Hunter was behind him, the leopard mask off her face. Then there was a bang, and smoke, and silence. Ivo saw Jago stand over Strawbones, still pointing the pistol at him.
Strawbones lay on the floor, his long body jerking, blood flowing freely from his wrist and from his mouth. Then he sat up, his eyes totally green now – his body all red, caked in coagulate gore – and spat, collapsing into juddering laughter.
‘You . . . are just . . . all . . . so . . . funny,’ he said, the words coming between gasps. ‘I don’t know why you even bother.’
‘What are you?’ said Jago, his voice curiously edgy now. ‘Tell me what you are. What do you want? What were you doing to that poor boy?’
‘That would take too long to explain,’ said Strawbones, reaching out a hand and clutching Miranda by the hem of her dress, drawing her towards him. ‘If you won’t let me kill that one, then I guess it
will have to be this one first.’
‘No!’ said Jago; there was an exploding sound, and it seemed to Ivo as if everything had gone very quiet, and very slow, and he watched in awe as a bullet flew from the pistol Jago was holding. A star-shaped, bloody hole appeared in Strawbones’s chest. As Strawbones collapsed on to the floor.
Jago took command. Strawbones’s body lay limp. The nymphs were petrified by the gun. ‘Quick,’ said Jago, and Miranda, Felix and Ivo tore off strips from the sheets around them, and gagged and bound the three nymph and Jennifer.
‘Come on,’ said Jago. They ran towards the main galleries.
.
Chapter Nineteen
What are you doing?’ shouted Ivo as they ran down the echoing passage. Jago was slightly ahead, Felix to his right; Miranda was by Ivo, Hunter behind them.
Jago replied, ‘I saw what he was doing to Felix . . . it was evil. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought, I was seduced, I can’t believe I was taken in by them. They’re monsters.’ They sprinted down a red-carpeted corridor, old masters flashing by them.
‘Is Strawbones dead?’
‘No. He won’t be out for long,’ said Hunter suddenly. ‘Here. Wait here.’ They turned a corner. They were in a quiet antechamber, a hundred feet or so away from where the main dinner was taking place. Ivo could hear the noise. Hunter shepherded them into a group. Ivo could feel the heat coming off them all. He was panting. Sweat rolled down his cheeks.
‘How did you find us?’ Ivo asked Hunter.
‘I was watching Strawbones, and saw Jago, so I followed him. Bob’s your uncle, as they might say.’ Hunter laughed grimly. Ivo heard Jago sigh. He saw Felix clutching Miranda and moved towards them, but they drew back. He hung on his heels, and then dropped back, into the wall, wishing that it could open and dissolve him.
The Liberators Page 18