“I do too,” he whispered back.
They left the fields. A park appeared, then a subdivision and a sign that they were fast approaching a town. Beyond the houses were four soccer fields where several games were taking place at once, with players tearing about in reds, blues, and yellows. They veered onto a boulevard, drove about a kilometre, then turned left again. They passed a sign that read Kennemer Gasthuis and navigated buildings belonging to a hospital. As Simon wondered what his uncle was up to, Earl pulled into a parking spot.
“Come on,” he said, climbing out and motioning Clara to follow. He had his beaten-up knapsack in hand.
“Where’re you going?” Emma asked. “Shouldn’t I come?”
“Leave this part to Clara and me. Don’t worry. This is necessary and we won’t be long.”
Earl took Clara’s hand and strode away. He entered a building, consulted a map, and pointed out the section he wanted to visit — neurology. He walked to an elevator and pressed the up button. The doors opened and he stepped inside, being sure to draw Clara (and Simon) behind. The doors hissed closed.
“You’re wondering why we’re here,” he said. “There was a story in the paper about a roofer named Crispijn. He fell from a building fifteen metres high. His body’s sound but he’s in a deep coma. So I was thinking …”
The doors opened. Striding down a hallway, Earl came upon a nursing station. He smiled at the nurse on duty and inquired (in Dutch) where he could find Jan Crispijn. When asked if they were relatives, he answered yes. His bearing was confident, his manner engaging, so the nurse merely nodded and mentioned a room number. Moments later they were standing beside a horse of man.
“Go on,” Earl said, disconnecting tubes and wires. “Exit Clara and take this man over. Although he’s big for my tastes.”
“Is this fair?” Simon asked, some seconds later. He’d stolen into the roofer’s body and was speaking through his mouth. “His family will be upset when they see he’s gone.”
“We can’t be squeamish. We’re meeting someone in Paris tomorrow and you can’t go in Clara’s body. Crispijn will serve our purpose well, never mind his size.”
“But to pull him away when he’s sick like this?”
“Our need is greater than his,” Earl answered, rummaging in a closet and pulling out some overalls. “On your feet and put these on.”
Simon took command of Crispijn. Satisfied that the shatl was his to control, he rose from the bed and put his feet on the floor. It was like taking over a full-grown moose, he was so enormous. At the same time, deep within, he spied Crispijn’s kaba spinning in circles. It was badly damaged, maybe hopelessly so.
He dressed in the overalls that Earl handed over. He also put a white coat on that Earl had “borrowed” from the nurses’ station. It was a tight fit but would make him look like a doctor.
“It’s the details that count,” Earl said with a smile. “The nurses won’t notice as you walk away.”
Checking to see if the coast was clear, he pushed Simon forward, then followed with Clara. No one stopped them as they passed the nursing station, lumbered down the hallway, and rode to the ground floor. It was only near the emergency department that a problem arose.
A female paramedic placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder. She pointed to a gurney on which a man lay gasping. She jabbered something that Simon couldn’t catch.
“She says he can’t breathe,” Earl told him quickly, “and the other doctors’ hands are full. This is bad. You have to act like a doctor until her back is turned.”
“Hold me steady,” Simon answered, as he fell to his knees. “Make sure Crispijn doesn’t slip to the floor.”
Simon left the roofer and jumped at the patient. The man was rattled but not unconscious, and Simon could only get a hold for an instant. This was time enough for the kaba to tell him, “Bee sting. Allergic.”
“He’s been stung by a bee,” he said, returning to Crispijn. “He’s suffering an allergic reaction.”
“It’s anaphylaxis,” Earl informed the paramedic. “He needs an EpiPen straight away.”
If the woman was surprised that Earl was speaking for the doctor, her expression didn’t show it. Instead she rummaged in a box by her feet and removed a tube, which she hastily unscrewed. Simon didn’t see her stick the man — by then he was exiting the building with Earl — but he did hear the guy ululate in pain.
“That took longer than expected,” Earl said, as they advanced upon the Citroën, “But …”
“But?” Simon asked.
“Well done. Really. You saved that man’s life.”
They climbed into the car and travelled on. Emma was relieved to have them back and Jenny was giggling at Crispijn’s size. She changed places with Simon so that he would have more room up front. The back was too small for a giant like him.
They headed south. With Crispijn’s head wedged against the ceiling, Simon watched canals, fields, and villages pass, their every detail carefully arranged and not an inch of land being wasted. Earl knew the area well: without consulting a map, he zipped by lots of towns, Heemstede, Bennebroek, Voorhout, Waasenaar, the expression on his face anxious and alert, like someone who’s keeping a lookout for something. Windmills came and went, the odd stone dike, and fields overflowing with the season’s tulips, their colours like paint on an artist’s palette.
“We’re near the sea,” Emma commented. “I can smell the salt air.”
“We’re heading to Scheveningen,” Earl replied. “It’s the seaside district next to The Hague.”
“Why there?” Emma asked.
“Because I’m running short of funds.”
The vegetation was changing: it was scruffier and less luxuriant. The soil was sandier and there were lots of sand dunes. They were passing yet more subdivisions, a sprawling golf course, another park, and a crowd of high-end houses. Even as he studied the road, Earl was keeping an eye on the sky, as if expecting it to open and something noxious to fall.
Scheveningen started. It wasn’t large but was very congested. There were a lot of tiny red-brick houses as well as rows of apartment blocks. The residents were walking about in very large numbers. The schools must have finished for lunch, judging by the clusters of students outside. A girl caught Simon’s eye. Because he was too large for the car, she laughed and pointed him out to her friends. He smiled and wished he were normal like them.
They turned onto a large street in the tourist part of town. The area was thick with hotels, restaurants, and souvenir shops. And then there was the sea. An exhilarating mix of green and grey, it was poised two hundred metres away, bathed in salmon-pink light. A few ships bobbed on it, freighters and liners. The beach was blinding white and beckoned to them playfully. But this wasn’t the time for fun, Earl told them as he veered into a parking lot.
Before them stood a pavilion of glass, its front projecting forward in the image of an ocean liner. It had a row of doors and a neon sign that read Holland Casino.
“Why’re we here?” Emma asked.
“I told you. I’m running low on funds. I’ll take Simon with me. We should be gone forty minutes or so.”
They left the car and walked into the building. Passing two security guards, Earl strolled across a tiled lobby and wandered past a double door. They entered a large room with a low panelled ceiling and row upon row of slot machines. The place was crowded for the early afternoon. A range of people were pressing buttons on the consoles and staring as the wheels inside spun at random. Occasionally someone would cry in triumph; more often the players would frown in anger, press a button again, and lose more of their savings. Simon noticed that no one was smiling. Even the winners looked apprehensive.
Ignoring the machines, Earl walked up to a wicket with thick metal bars. He placed a thousand Euros down and received a stack of green and yellow chips. Cradling them, he walked the length of the room until he reached the gaming tables at the back. There was roulette, blackjack, Punto banco, and poker. Depositing h
is chips on a poker table, he asked the croupier to deal him in.
There were five men playing. This was a high-stakes table and admitted bets of up to five hundred Euros. Earl anted up his fifty Euros, received his cards, and followed the action.
He lost two hands and folded on the third. The fourth hand cost him three hundred Euros — his two pairs lost to three of a kind. One white-haired player in a sailor’s cap joked that he’d left Lady Luck behind in his car. The other guys laughed. The croupier kept dealing.
Earl won the next hand with a pair of aces. The next three hands were successful too: one pot contained over three thousand Euros and Earl bagged it with a full house (jacks and sevens). The next two hands Earl folded early, only to win three pots in quick succession. He checked his watch. It had been thirty minutes and he was getting antsy.
“Two more hands,” he whispered to Simon.
The next pot was respectable and Earl won it with ease. The last was more challenging. All five were in and the betting was high. One guy staked five hundred Euros, only to be called and raised five hundred more. Three players folded, but not Earl. He bet five hundred and his bid was raised. Simon could hardly stand the tension. He fluttered off from Crispijn and studied the rivals’ cards.
“He’s bluffing,” he whispered, returning to Crispijn.
“I know,” Earl answered. “Luckily I’m not.”
He stood two minutes later and gathered his chips. At the wicket he cashed them in for twenty thousand Euros.
“That should keep us going,” he said, as they left the casino.
“I don’t like gambling,” Simon confessed.
“I wasn’t gambling,” Earl replied. “I’m a vrindh, remember? I can’t leave my body like you, but I can read people’s faces and know when they’re bluffing. Keep this in mind.”
“Why?”
“One day you’ll be earning your money this way.”
Simon was going to say something but his uncle told him to get in the car. Earl was running and fumbling for his keys. His expression was fearful.
“What’s the matter?” Emma said, as soon as they were in. “Did you lose?”
“I never lose,” Earl shouted, starting the engine. “It’s them. It’s started.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tarhlo’s agents have arrived. They’ve issued the alert.”
Chapter Fourteen
“How much longer?”
“I’m fastening the bolts. Another two minutes. Can you last that long?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew Crispijn’s muscles would come in handy.”
They’d been driving for two hours since leaving the casino, always heading southeast toward the Belgian border. They’d driven past The Hague without stopping, past Rotterdam and Dordrecht — its skyline hadn’t changed in over three hundred years.
The charm of the scenery failed to impress. Everyone was nervous, including Earl. At the worst moment possible, they’d suffered a flat. To make matters worse, they had no jack on hand. Calm as always, Earl had asked Simon to lift the car. Once Emma and the others had climbed to the road, Simon (or rather Crispijn) had hoisted the rear off the ground. The problem was the group could be easily spotted.
“Are those cows still grazing?”
“Yes.”
“They’re not approaching?”
“No.”
“Then they can’t be hemindhs. Not yet at least.”
“Maybe. Can you hurry, please?”
The alert was clearly on. Flocks of birds kept sweeping by at fifteen-minute intervals. Instead of flying high, they would swoop in low and cruise past houses, sidewalks, restaurants, stores, and cars, moving quickly but on the watch for something. When one of them stumbled on an object of interest, it would fly in circles and lead the other birds to inspect it closely.
Birds were just the start of it. Cats and dogs were on the alert: they were standing by the side of the road and eyeing the traffic, like cops on the lookout for potential speeders. In the countryside, livestock was gathering in the fields and peering into the passing cars — sheep, cows, goats, and oxen. It would have been funny had their purpose been different.
“I’ll tighten the nuts and then we’re done. How’s your back holding up?”
“It’s holding. Just hurry.”
“And the cows?”
“They’re still normal.”
They had to keep moving, Earl insisted. A moving car was safer than a standing one. He’d been jumping between the highways and country lanes in an effort to avoid any major traffic snarls. If they got caught in traffic, they’d be spotted for sure. Simon had been useful. He would leave Crispijn’s body for seconds at a time, launch his kaba into the sky, and scan ahead to get the lay of the land.
They’d stopped for gas. After filling up the tank, Earl had removed three bags from the trunk. Inside were changes of clothes and several wigs. He’d trimmed Jenny’s hair and made her look like a boy, while Clara was given a mass of curls and an old print dress. Earl hid Emma beneath a woollen blanket, to make it seem there were only four of them driving. To disguise himself, Earl also put on a wig — the long blonde strands made him look like a rock star.
Their precautions had paid off. Despite their numbers and frantic efforts, the hemindhs had not been able to spot them. Two birds had shown a bit of interest. Earl had thrown the first one off when he’d swerved into a very long tunnel. The second had flown in front of the car. By picking up speed, Earl had crushed it flat.
“Okay. That’s it,” he said. “You can set the car down.”
“Look out,” Emma warned. “There’s a cow closing in.”
“Let’s get inside,” Earl cried. “But don’t look as though you’re rushing.”
They climbed into the car and he started the engine. As they pulled into the road, a cow charged forward and raced beside them, craning its head to look inside. The car gained speed and left it behind. Emma was hiding, so it couldn’t count their numbers.
“Did it spot us?” she asked, in a muffled tone.
“It’s behaving normally now,” Simon said. “It’s standing still and … it’s starting to graze.”
“Thank goodness,” she said. “It didn’t catch on.”
“Unless the bolkh left the cow so it can chase us in a bird or something,” Earl warned. “Watch for any possible vadhs.”
Simon kept his eyes on the sky. There was a hawk way above them but it was keeping its distance. He mentioned this to Earl, who glanced briefly upward, then shrugged and said the coast was clear. For now at least.
They kept driving. They were heading to the city of Breda, a short distance north of the Belgian border, but Earl was sticking to the country roads and what should have been a short drive took a bit longer. They passed a string of villages, Lage Zwaluwe, Hooge Zwaluwe, Wagenberg, Terheijden. The land was flat and given over to farming, which explained the stink of manure in the air.
“This is my fault,” Emma groaned. “We should never have come and put you in danger.”
“Nonsense,” Earl answered. “If Tarhlo gets his hands on Clara, we’re all in trouble. She stands a better chance of escaping if we work together. And you can take away that blanket now.”
“And Simon knows the truth,” she continued, ignoring Earl. “That the Carpenters aren’t his real mom and dad. I’m sorry, Son. I didn’t mean to trick you, any more than I wanted to stick your sister in that children’s home. My hand was forced. I had to save you from Tarhlo.”
While he was still reeling from the news that Emma was his mother, Simon didn’t blame her. Her hand had been forced and she’d been acting in his interest. He was just about to say as much when, rounding a corner, Earl hit the brakes hard.
Dead ahead a truck was in the road. The delivery van was on its side, bleeding smoke from its hood and belly and blocking the path.
“What now?” Earl grumbled.
He cut the engine and left the car, again taking his knapsack
with him, and removing his wig so he wouldn’t look ridiculous. Simon was behind him, in case he needed help. The pair approached the driver of the van. The guy was standing by the front of the truck, rubbing his neck and staring down at a sow. It was pink, maybe six feet long, and weighed two hundred kilos at least. It was also dead and bleeding profusely.
“That pig crossed the ditch and ran into my truck,” he said in Dutch, after reassuring Earl that he was okay. “I got the idea she was tired of living, poor thing.”
Earl smiled and asked if he wanted a lift. The guy said no, he’d radioed in and help was on its way. But the tow truck wouldn’t come for an hour and he didn’t think their car could pass.
Earl asked if they could try shifting the van. The driver said it couldn’t hurt, so the three of them stood by the front of the truck and pushed and heaved for all they were worth. Simon was standing next to the sow and spied its guts and eyes’ blank stare. He felt bad that its life had been wrested away. He also felt a very vague itching, but before he could investigate, the truck budged slightly.
“Keep shoving!” Earl encouraged him. “We need three more inches.”
Simon kept straining. He felt as if his sinew would burst, but after a couple more shoves they moved the truck further. And whatever that itching was, it had vanished somehow.
“That’s it,” Earl said. “There’s enough room to pass.”
Bidding the driver good luck, they returned to the car. Earl engaged the engine and manoeuvred their car around the truck. A minute later they were on their way, heading down the road at a healthy pace. No one said a word. They were thinking that this crash was planned, that the pig had deliberately struck the truck, and that they were now on Tarhlo’s radar.
But there was nothing. The sky was clear and the livestock around them were only interested in grazing. When Emma asked if this stillness was a bad sign, Earl laughed and squeezed his sister’s knee. “If it is,” he said, “I hope we have more bad signs like it. That pig was no kamikaze pilot — he was just an animal whose luck had run out.”
Fifteen minutes later they were on the outskirts of Breda, passing a row of residential buildings. They came upon an open square with a dozen tables and chairs around it, and a trailer to the side. It was a food stand offering a variety of snacks: croquettes, meatballs, French fries, and the like. On impulse, Earl pulled into a drive and suggested that they eat something. Because it was well past three and they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, everyone thought it was a great idea. He parked the car and clambered out, being sure to bring his knapsack with him. There was music blaring from a pair of speakers. Simon experienced a wave of nausea. His uncle had a word with the owner and the guy agreed to turn the music off.
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