Carpet Diem

By the time she got downstairs, the coffee aroma was dancing with pancakes. Faunt was definitely feeling guilty. She smiled to herself, wondering how long she was going to get the royal treatment.

  “Probably until I feel better.”

  Faunt appeared at the bottom of the stairs, still in deer-form.

  Cherry laughed. “You’d think I’d be used to that, by now. Hang on. If you’re out here, who’s in the kitchen?”

  “Jean-Claude. He owes me a favour. Since Bob is away and I can’t cook like this…” he nodded down towards his hooves, “I called it in. He’s going to stay until Bob gets back.”

  A few hours later, in Paris, Michel Baudry would wake up to the nightmare of his head chef having taken indefinite sick leave in the week a Michelin inspector was due. It would be the worst day since he was arrested for inappropriate interference in a public sporting event. He’d stopped drinking absinthe for a while after that. It blurred his distinction between “funny” and “public indecency”.

  “OK.” Cherry had learned to take things in her stride with Faunt. It was the only way, really. “So, where’s breakfast?”

  “Where would you like it to be?”

  “In the TV room?”

  “Of course. I’ll follow you through.”

  ----

  The descent had been perilous – much like the rest of Simon’s life lately. Wet, mouldy rope did not make for anything much resembling a sound hand hold. But at the bottom, there was indeed a boat. Though it definitely stretched the definition of ‘boat’. It was more of a ramshackle collection of floating wood and nails.

  “Are you winding me up?” As always, Harriet succinctly expressed the thoughts of the group.

  “It floats, little lady, and surely that’s all we need, right?” Prisoner argued.

  Harriet’s glare would have felled a water buffalo.

  “You’re welcome to stay here if you like and take your chances with the trial. If you’re lucky, maybe she won’t flay all of you,” he said.

  Prisoner smiled as if he’d just invited them all into Santa’s grotto and held his hand out to Harriet. The boys both held their positions, waiting for her to take the lead. Irritatingly, in that moment, Simon realised he needed to pee again.

  “I must be off my fucking rocker.” Harriet took Prisoner’s hand and stepped into the boat. The others followed, relieved. Prisoner untied the tattered rope that held the boat in place, before expertly guiding the little vessel through a barely noticeable gap in the rocks. They were away.

  “OK, now what?” Bob asked, once they were well clear.

  “Well,” Prisoner stood and the boat rocked slightly in protest, “if we head straight that way, I’m pretty sure we’ll hit Greece some time tomorrow.”

  Simon took a deep breath. “Pretty sure?”

  “Almost entirely.”

  Lightning flashed and lit them again for a moment. Harriet’s hair was plastered to her head and rivulets of water ran down her face. Had anyone taken a photo of her now, Simon imagined it being used to scare children into bed.

  “Prisoner, sorry to ask, but is your leg flashing?”

  It was Bob. And he was right. Around his calf, a red light flashed rhythmically through Prisoner’s wet, white trousers.

  Prisoner looked down at it curiously, like an old acquaintance whose name would not quite come to him.

  “Ah hell,” he finally said, “I remember how they caught me…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cherry sat back and sighed, full of pancakes and maple syrup. She sipped at her hazelnut coffee, appreciating the luxurious softness of the leather armchair she was sinking into. Yep, major perks to working for Faunt.

  “Would you like some more?” Faunt asked.

  Cherry looked at him quizzically. “I’m full, thanks. Why don’t you know that?”

  Faunt smiled. “I do, but, you know, sometimes people like to be asked…”

  “Fair enough,” she sank back again. “I’m good.”

  “Are you?”

  Cherry took a deep breath. “No. I’m not. There’s no point in me telling you how scared I was, or how angry I am at you, because you already know that. And I’m pissed at you for already knowing that, so that I can’t tell you.”

  Faunt looked sadly at her.

  “And now, you’re biting your damn tongue from saying, ‘I know’, aren’t you?”

  Faunt closed his eyes and nodded.

  “See? I can’t even shout at you!”

  “Well … you sort of are.”

  Cherry paused for a moment, and then burst into a huge, hearty laugh. “I am, aren’t I?”

  The laugh quickly transformed into sobs, and tears welled in her eyes.

  “I think maybe I can help, a little, though…” said the deer.

  “Yeah? How you gonna do that?” she challenged him.

  “Well, the thing that bothers you the most is not that you nearly died, it’s the realisation that you’re mortal. You’ve always felt like no matter what trouble you got into, you could always get out of it by teleporting, so you’ve often been reckless. Careless, sometimes.

  “This time, you discovered what it’s like to be in danger and to not be able to teleport out of it. Which terrified you. And now you’re worried that it might happen again. Which makes you scared to leave the house. And that makes you angry at yourself for being a coward, because now you think all your bravery came from relying on your power. But you’re wrong. You’re still brave, even without it. And I’ll prove it to you.”

  Cherry’s mouth hung open. Everything Faunt had said cut straight to her core. He was, of course, right. And, hearing it spoken, hearing her inner torment given form, somehow had made it better.

  “You’d have figured this all out eventually yourself, of course, but unfortunately I don’t have time to let you. I have to ask more of you, I’m afraid.”

  “Seriously?” Cherry was surprised again.

  “I’ll put it as simply as possible. Simon needs protection. Maya is prepared to do the job, but she can’t go alone. She can only hold her form in this world with a human anchor to keep her here.”

  “Right. And you want me to be the anchor, yeah?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Cherry looked up at the ceiling.

  “Where do you want me to go?”

  “Daniel and Lily have a boat anchored off Priest’s Island. If you’re onboard, that’s close enough for Maya to spend a significant amount of time on the island.”

  “OK. So what happens when Maya needs someone solid to do something for her?”

  “She’s very resourceful.”

  Cherry looked at the giant TV screen on the wall. It was off, and reflected a darkened version of the room, which she found apt. The world was a bit darker today.

  “OK. I’ll do it. On one condition. Tell me his name.”

  Faunt knew everything and was therefore rarely surprised. With this in mind, he was rarely rattled. So to see him visibly shaken, as he was now, actually upset Cherry even more. She regretted asking.

  “You have to understand. It’s not just my life …”

  “Seriously? You’re so important that the world can’t live without you?”

  “Maybe not,” he answered, quietly.

  It was Cherry’s turn to be shaken. He was serious. Inexplicably, Faunt looked up, with a relieved smile.

  “Thank you,” he said to the air.

  The hairs stood up on Cherry’s neck in a familiar way and an icy draft blew over her ear:

  “Calderon.”

  ----

  “What the fuck are you going to do if I don’t?”

  Prisoner, Simon and Bob had all recognised the futility of arguing with heavily armed men in a helicopter. Harriet; not so much. Which was why she was now standing in the rickety excuse for a boat, holding herself up with the end of the rope ladder, and screaming into a torrent of rain.

  In reply, one of the gunmen took three shots. All three missed Harriet – a
nd hit the boat. Water instantly bubbled in to lap at Harriet’s ankles.

  “We’re leaving now, Miss,” he shouted through a loudspeaker after the bullets. “You can come if you want.”

  Harriet grabbed hold of the ladder with both hands and climbed up two rungs. She stopped and glowered. That was as far as she was going. The head soldier shrugged and indicated to the helicopter pilot to carry on.

  “Sorry, folks,” Prisoner shouted over the motor. “Guess it wasn’t a great plan after all!”

  Simon hoped they locked Prisoner up again before Harriet got hold of him.

  The Cajun turned to the soldier next to him. “Hey, do I know you?”

  “Yes, sir. Billy. Nice to see you again.”

  Simon turned to the soldier on the other side.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a toilet on board?”

  ----

  Luke burst into the room like the Devil herself was chasing him.

  He’d gone out to pick up some pastries for breakfast, and to see if he could move forward their plan to get Debovar and his aunt safely locked away. Gabby had pretended to be asleep when he got up, because she didn’t know what to say to him.

  She had the nagging feeling she was being unfair. She had Luke on a pedestal. He was her hero. And at the moment, he was being particularly ... fallible. Human. She was sad that he wasn’t living up to her ideal of what he was, and could be. Reality, as it does, was screwing up her world.

  So as he came bursting back into the room, she decided she had to act, now, before another word was said. She sat up in bed and firmly held up her hand. Luke stopped in his tracks, and looked at her in pleading astonishment.

  “But...”

  “No, sweetheart, I have something I absolutely have to say right now and no matter what you’re going to tell me next, I have to say this first.”

  Luke shrugged, but the panicked look remained. “OK.”

  “I’ve been unfair to you. I adore you. And I expect you to be able to move mountains – not literally, these days, but you know what I mean – and I guess seeing you not be perfect is difficult. But I know you’re doing your best, and I know you’re doing it for the right reasons. And just so I’ve said it, I think your plan is great. I’m sure it’s going to work and we’ll all get out of here safely.”

  Luke’s eyes filled with tears. This was not entirely the reaction Gabby had expected.

  “I would give anything,” he said, “to not have to tell you this…”

  ----

  “Holy shit.”

  Gabby was not overly given to swearing, but it was more than appropriate, all things considered.

  “I know,” Luke answered.

  “What can we do? We can’t let them be killed! Especially not – what did you say? Flayed? What does that even mean?”

  “Having all their skin torn off.”

  “Why would anybody do that?”

  “The Assyrians were big on it. And the Mings. Lots of nailing skin to doors, wasn’t there? It was supposed to be a warning. Like a head on a spike.”

  Luke caught the look of horror on Gabby’s face. He’d missed the point.

  “Sorry, yes, it’s horrible.”

  “So. What can we do?”

  “Well, as long shots go, this is a big one. But I spoke to the waitress, Star. Apparently, in case of emergency, there is a system in place to notify Priest when he is required back on the Island urgently. But it’s only supposed to be available to the custodians.”

  “The witches?”

  “Exactly. But I was thinking, if they’re all at the trial later on – surely the guards and everyone will be focused there too, right? So maybe we can get to the signal and set it off?”

  “OK. And what happens if it takes him too long to get here?”

  “In that case, I think we’re in a lot of trouble.”

  “Oh. That’s what I thought, too.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Jesus bloody wept.”

  Harriet looked up in the darkness as the sound of drums became louder and louder, rattling the floorboards above them. Light shone in around the edges of a square, illuminating the dislodged dust and dirt falling into their eyes.

  Simon, Bob and Harriet stood back to back in a triangle, their wrists tied to a central post with rope that Simon thought must have been specially designed to rub skin off. There was no other rational explanation for the amount of pain it was causing.

  Plus, they’d been under here for hours waiting for someone to tell them what was happening. With no food or drink. It was inhumane. And past lunchtime.

  “They don’t half do a bit of drama, do they?” she asked nobody in particular. “You’d think we were in a bloody Roman coliseum.”

  Now Simon was imagining lions. He whimpered piteously.

  “We’re dead, aren’t we?” he asked.

  “Would you please get it together?” Harriet roared at him in the dark. “We’re not dead, but I’ll tell you what, if we are going to end up cooked for these bitches’ Sunday lunch, I’m going to make damn sure they have to chew. So how about you harden the fuck up?”

  It wasn’t quite ‘Once more into the breach’, but it did have an effect. Simon took a deep breath. This was unfair and unjust. They were being put on trial for something totally unreasonable. If there was any justice at all in the world, they would see out the rest of the day. It was a substantial ‘if’, admittedly...

  “You’re right,” said Bob. “We have to hold our heads up.”

  Above them, the trapdoor banged open and light flooded into their cell. The sound of the drums hit them like a wave. Winches screeched as ropes were pulled and the platform they stood on was hauled up towards the flickering light, which, as their eyes adjusted, they could all see was provided by huge, flaming torches.

  As their heads rose through the floor, Simon was disconcerted to see the ankles of the guards at eye-level. For a moment, he lost his equilibrium and the room went sideways. He wobbled and leaned, but immediately found a hand supporting each side. Harriet and Bob had grabbed an arm each. He looked over his shoulder to thank them and saw the trails of dried tears in the dust on Bob’s face. Harriet’s, of course, was dry – except around her mouth, where there may have been traces of spittle. Simon had always thought of her as a bulldog. He wondered just how much damage his great aunt was capable of.

  The platform banged into place, filling the hole on the floor. They were in another room they hadn’t seen before. It was, essentially, a windowless stone cube, with several large wooden doors, and a balcony along one wall. The dozen carved stone pillars on the balustrade seemed to be moving or, in fact, writhing. As his eyes focused in the torchlight, Simon could see that each one depicted a person in the throes of one of various hideous tortures. Their little stone mouths cried out in mute agony. It was really quite disturbing.

  The other three walls were hung with blood-red, heavy, dark tapestries, all depicting vast images of battle and death. There were old, dark, liquid stains on the floor and a thick aroma of burnt meat in the air.

  “I like what they’ve done with the place,” Harriet grinned.

  The three were surrounded by a bizarre concoction of witnesses and gawkers. Simon wondered where they had all come from, because very few of them came anywhere near to the beauty standards required for visitors to the island. Facial tattoos, scars and unorthodox hairstyles were everywhere.

  Maybe they were the staff - the ones that were usually hidden from the public.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” A heavy cane banged hard on the balcony floor, stopping the drums and the chatter. Even the little torture victims were still.

  “That’s a bloody liberal use of the phrase,” Harriet whispered.

  Ingrid stepped forward and leaned over to glower at her prisoners. Behind her, Simon could just make out the other Socialites, including Amelia. She looked emotionless –almost dead. But she was there.

  “Today, I ask you all to bear witness as we
pursue the unfortunate task of punishing someone who was a guest of this island, for the despicable act of taking advantage of a child for his own sexual perversions,” Ingrid spoke slowly and deliberately.

  “Bloody hell,” Harriet rolled her eyes. Ingrid looked at her murderously.

  “And also,” the witch spat, “the accomplices who tried to help the perverted rapist escape from the island. Including,” she looked up to the ceiling, where a cage hung directly above them, “the insane old idiot we’ve kindly been keeping safe here.”

  Looking up, Simon saw the round, rusty bottom of a cage. It swayed slightly as Prisoner answered.

  “That, madame, is unkind. Ain’t nobody ever diagnosed me insane. Not that I can remember.”

  “Oh, hell,” said Bob, through gritted teeth, “not him too.”

  “So, by the power vested in me by the Constitution of this Island, I hereby confer the following sentences,” Ingrid announced.

  The crowd breathed in anticipation.

  “Wait a minute!” It was Simon. Unexpectedly. Not least, by Simon. “You can’t just move to sentencing! We haven’t had a trial!”

  Ingrid smiled. Despite her outward beauty, every ounce of her inner ugly was on display.

  “This is how our trials work. We already know you’re guilty, don’t we?”

  “But that’s not ... fair!” Simon bellowed up at her. “Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m the person who’s in charge, boy, and I’m also the person who is about to pass sentence on you. So unless someone here wants to challenge my authority, I strongly suggest you shut up and pray.”

  Simon breathed deeply. “I challenge your authority!”

  Ingrid laughed and the Socialites joined her in a group cackle.

  “You don’t get to challenge my authority. Only a member of the ruling council can.”

  Simon’s shoulders slumped. He had run out of ideas.

  “So, does anyone from the council want to challenge my authority?” Ingrid spread her arms wide, arrogantly defying anyone to answer.