Blood Fever

by Charlie Higson

  ‘No,’ said Zoltan. ‘I just want to get my money and go.’

  ‘Ugo hasn’t paid you yet?’ said James.

  ‘No. I brought him exactly what he asked for, but he is slow to pay.’

  James could see the bitterness and hatred behind Zoltan’s eyes. There must be some way he could use him against Ugo, but he had to be sure.

  ‘He’ll never pay you,’ he said and Zoltan looked shocked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’ll betray you again,’ said James. ‘Why would you trust him?’

  Zoltan stared at James. ‘You are very wise for a young boy.’

  ‘Am I wise, or are you stupid?’ said James.

  For a moment Zoltan looked like he was going to strangle him, but then his features softened and he started to laugh. ‘I have killed men for speaking to me like that,’ he said. ‘You are lucky that I like you.’

  James took something from his pocket and handed it to Zoltan.

  ‘What is this?’ said the pirate. ‘A ring?’

  ‘What do you think it’s worth?’ said James.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Zoltan tossing it back. ‘It is tin.’

  ‘Not silver?’ said James.

  ‘No,’ said Zoltan.

  ‘I didn’t think so,’ said James.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ asked Zoltan.

  ‘The lovely Countess Jana gave it to me,’ said James. ‘Ugo behaves like a rich man, but he’s flat broke. All his money has gone on building this place. He’s a fake, like this ring. Victor told me that there never was any silver in these mines. He’s been selling stolen art to get what little money he has. He’ll never pay you, because he can’t afford to. That’s why he needs those other men to join him, because they’re wealthy.’

  Zoltan was about to say something in reply when they were interrupted by a jangle of keys at the door and presently Smiler came in with a scruffy young guard. He looked at Zoltan and this time James could tell that he definitely wasn’t smiling.

  22

  The Deadliest Animal in the World

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said the Scotsman.

  ‘That is none of your business,’ said Zoltan, standing up.

  ‘I said, what are you doing here?’ Smiler repeated, a note of menace in his voice.

  Zoltan turned to James. ‘Smiler used to work for me, you know, James,’ he said. ‘He was one of my crew. But when he met Ugo, his greedy little heart told him to jump ship and move up in the world.’

  ‘You’re a loser,’ said Smiler. ‘I just decided to back the winning horse.’

  ‘As always,’ said Zoltan and he rested his good hand on James’s shoulder. ‘You see that scar of his?’ he went on. ‘His old gang in Glasgow did that to him when they found out he had been selling them one by one to the police. But do you know the funny thing? Smiler is a good Catholic boy. Before he turned to crime, Smiler trained to be a priest. What happened, Smiler? Why don’t you tell the boy?’

  ‘It was the Jesuits,’ said Smiler affably, happy to talk about himself. ‘They were rather too fond of whipping us boys. One day I’d had enough. I took the cane off Father McCann and smashed his skull in with it. Then I walked out of there and joined up with a local gang. That was much more to my liking.’

  ‘Until you betrayed them,’ said Zoltan.

  ‘I’ve never had any loyalty to anyone but myself,’ said Smiler.

  ‘Of course,’ said Zoltan. ‘You had already betrayed your god. Betraying a few mere men was nothing.’

  So saying, Zoltan walked out and James heard his footsteps fading into the distance.

  Smiler said something to the guard and, before James knew what was happening, he was being dragged out of the cell.

  Smiler marched him down through the mine, the young guard kicking him occasionally to make him keep up. After a few minutes they came to a sentry post built into a wall. Two more guards were sitting in here keeping watch over an exit to the outside world. One of them glanced up and nodded to Smiler, who shoved the gate open and booted James through it.

  James stumbled out into the heat of the day, blinking in the harsh sunlight. There was a racket of insects and James felt suddenly light-headed and confused, but a kick in the backside brought him quickly back to his senses.

  They were some way below the palazzo. Above them were the steep sides of the ravine and the tall arches of the aqueduct. They walked across an open rocky area and joined a track that wound down through the scrubby maquis. James considered trying to break away and make a run for it. But where would he go? All his energy had been used up. He looked down at himself and was shocked to see how filthy he was. His torn clothing was crusted with dried blood and where his skin showed through the rips it was a livid patchwork of cuts and bruises.

  Flies buzzed everywhere through the still, hot air and the two men slapped them away and grumbled to each other. Further along the path they stopped to drink water from a shared canteen and, after a little deliberation, Smiler gave James some. He drank thankfully and then poured some water on to his hands and washed his face. It was hardly a hot shower and brush-up, but for now it would have to do.

  At Eton a maid brought round water for him to wash with every morning, and when his clothes were dirty he’d simply leave them out for her to pick up. He’d collect them a few days later, neatly folded and pressed, from a wooden shelf at the bottom of the stairs called the slab. He’d always taken the system for granted, but never again.

  After a while they came to the river where the run-off from the dam flowed down into the valley. A smaller muddy trickle fed into it and they followed this stream into a soggy, steep-sided gorge thick with tangled vegetation. They had to pick their way carefully through the soft ground, which became even mushier the deeper they went.

  The men’s mood got worse as they pressed into the heart of the bog, and they obviously had no more desire to be here than James.

  There was the sound of splashing and running water. James assumed it must be a waterfall, but, as they rounded a corner, he saw a waste pipe sticking out of the rock face and dirty brown water pouring out of it. The water fell into a pool, and then meandered off haphazardly into a series of stagnant ponds and puddles.

  They were in a sort of natural basin where a grove of cork oaks stood. James could see where their bark had been stripped in the past, but they were dying now, drowned by the water from Ugo’s waste pipe. Other, unidentifiable, stunted plants with blackish leaves stuck out of the dark swamp. It was hard to tell which were living and which were dead. There was the general reek of rotting cabbage from a stinking gas that hung in the still air and caught in the back of James’s throat.

  In the centre of the basin was a sort of island with a few sick-looking juniper bushes and a dead tree on it. Ugo was waiting for them here with Jana and Peter Haight.

  A girl was holding a large sunshade over the Count, who was sitting in a folding chair. A second girl kept him cool with a fan. He was wearing knee-length, highly polished black boots with his white outfit and held a handkerchief over his mouth and nose to keep out the worst of the foul air.

  ‘Ah, James,’ he said. ‘How good of you to join us.’

  One of his handmaidens shooed a persistent fly away with a whisk.

  All around was the whine of mosquitoes and James caught one feeding on his arm. He swatted it, and, with some satisfaction, he saw a red blotch where it had been squashed to pulp on his skin.

  ‘They are a nuisance, aren’t they?’ lisped Ugo, his silver tooth winking from the shadows under the sunshade. ‘We have done our best to get rid of them, but they are a tough enemy and they never give up. Now, James, before we start, would you like to tell us who helped you last night, then we can take you back to the palazzo, give you some clean clothes, a warm bath and a hot meal.’

  Right then it was the nicest offer James had ever had, but he said nothing and simply stared at Ugo.

  ‘No?’ said Ugo. ‘That is good. Otherwise it would have
deprived us of our sport.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound much like sport to me,’ said James. ‘Tying me down to be eaten by something.’

  ‘It is a blood sport,’ said Ugo, and Jana laughed.

  ‘Do you know what it is, yet?’ she drawled. ‘The deadliest animal in the world?’

  James swatted a mosquito on his wrist. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know.’ He held up his bloody palm.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Ugo. ‘The mosquito. She kills millions of people every year. She has been the ruin of this island. The people cannot progress because they are sick with malaria. You see them everywhere with dull eyes and yellow skin. And they are the lucky ones; at least they are still alive. Oh, the government is busy draining the marshes where the mosquitoes breed, but as you can see, we still have a long way to go.’

  Ugo waved his hand at the insects that were beginning to swarm all around them. James already felt itchy and uncomfortable.

  ‘Perhaps I am being a little unfair on the mosquito,’ said Ugo, ‘because the insect itself is fairly harmless. It is what is carried in its gut that kills you. A parasite called plasmodium, which is passed on in the saliva of an infected bug each time it takes a new blood meal. The parasites then multiply in your liver before returning to the blood and breaking down the red cells. There comes terrible fever, shivering, pain in your joints; your head aches like it will explode. Slowly your organs are destroyed, the blood vessels in your brain clog up. If you are not treated, you die.’

  James felt scared. He hadn’t had any quinine for two days, and there would be no insect repellent left on his skin. He looked at Peter Love-Haight, who looked quickly away and down at the ground.

  ‘Did you know,’ said Ugo chattily, ‘that it is only the female mosquito that bites you? What do they say? The female is deadlier than the male? Look! Already they come. They detect the carbon dioxide that you breathe out. So if you want to be safe, James, I suggest that you hold your breath until morning.’ Ugo laughed through his nose. ‘I will come back then, and we will see if perhaps you are willing to talk.’

  He barked an order and Smiler hustled James forward so that he was right in front of the Count. Smiler held on to his arms, keeping him still.

  Jana stepped towards him and tore off the remains of his shirt.

  ‘Such a shame that your pretty skin will soon be a ruin,’ she said and took a bottle of amber liquid from a bag. ‘They say that mosquitoes like the smell of perfume. They have such good taste, but then, so do you… At least, you will taste good to a bug.’

  She sprayed James all over with the sickly, heavy perfume. He coughed and screwed up his eyes to stop them stinging.

  ‘Mosquitoes are more hungry at dawn and at dusk,’ said Ugo when she had finished. ‘Though there are still plenty around now. It is this place. They love it here. And as they start to bite, just remember that it will get worse… and worse, and worse… I have known men go mad here as they are covered in a living carpet of mosquitoes, each sticking their long filthy snout under the skin.’

  Ugo grabbed James’s chin and lifted it, staring deep into his eyes.

  ‘Do you still not want to talk?’ he said.

  James looked down at his body; already two mosquitoes were sitting on his chest, feeding. For now they did nothing more than tickle but he knew that the itching would come in a while. And after that? Did these two carry the deadly parasite inside them? There was no way of telling.

  ‘All right,’ he said desperately. ‘All right. I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Good boy,’ said Haight. ‘I knew you’d see sense. Who was it?’

  ‘It was Zoltan,’ said James.

  Ugo was silent for a long time, watching James, thinking about this, his nasty, suspicious mind turning over. ‘That makes no sense,’ he said at last.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ said James. ‘He hates you. You’ve double-crossed and cheated him all his life. You haven’t paid him. You took Amy from him. He’d rather she was free than you had her.’

  ‘I do not believe you,’ said Ugo, but James knew that he had planted a seed. After all, it was Ugo who had given James the idea. Turn the tribes against each other. Make them fight among themselves, then stand back and reap the rewards.

  ‘You don’t have to believe me,’ said James. ‘But it was Zoltan. Who else knew that she was even here?’

  ‘No,’ said Ugo. ‘You are lying…’

  But then Smiler went over to Ugo and said something quietly in his ear. Maybe he was telling Ugo that he had found Zoltan in James’s cell. Ugo sucked his teeth with a sour look.

  ‘No matter,’ he said to James. ‘Even if you were telling the truth, it would make no difference. I have an answer; we can go now.’

  ‘You can’t leave me here,’ said James.

  ‘Yes, I can. I can do whatever I like,’ said Ugo. ‘I will come back tomorrow. I would love to stay and watch but it will be a long process and I do not like the flies. In the morning you will be delirious, you will be softened up; I can get the whole truth out of you then.’

  As Ugo, Jana and Haight walked away Smiler forced James to the ground.

  ‘It was Zoltan!’ James yelled. ‘I gave you what you wanted, now let me go.’

  ‘No,’ said Ugo. ‘Arrivederci, James. Have a good night.’

  Set into the earth was a rough concrete square with a rusted iron ring at each corner. Smiler and the guard laid James on it and began to tie his wrists and ankles tightly with leather thongs.

  The young guard had a knobbly Adam’s apple and a handsome, vain face. He was trying to show off to Smiler how tough he was. He chuckled as they tied James down and when they had finished he kicked him in the side. Smiler swore at him and the guard sloped off to sit on a rotten stump, smoke cigarettes and sulk.

  Smiler took one last look at James, then followed Ugo and the others out of the swamp.

  James shook his head as a mosquito landed on his face. It walked over his lips and he tried to blow it away with his nostrils. Another insect was crawling round his left wrist and he felt a third one in his ear. He twisted his head and scraped it against the concrete and the mosquito flew off briefly into the air with a zipping sound, before landing casually on his chest and rubbing its proboscis between its long front legs.

  This was hopeless. He couldn’t hope to shake off each individual insect; already he could see that four more had joined the one on his wrist. He wiggled his fingers but it had no effect; they were going to have their meal and nothing was going to stop them.

  James could picture more of them, hundreds of them, homing in on him from all round this ghastly swamp. Zigzagging towards him, black and ugly; thin now, but soon to be bloated with his blood.

  He felt utterly alone and didn’t know where he was going to get the strength from to make it through the long, dark night ahead.

  23

  Deadlier Than the Male

  James was in a world of pain. The itching was terrible. He wanted to scratch his whole body, but all he could do was strain and writhe uselessly on his back as the mosquitoes drank his blood. They were all over him, and every second more arrived. They were teeming over his chest, his ankles, his arms, his neck, their spindly legs tickling his skin. They were in a cloud around his head; filling the night with a ceaseless, whining drone. They were flying into his ears, the noise so loud it felt like they were drilling through to his brain.

  How he hated the creatures. It was as if God had done all he could to make them repulsive; they looked vile, they had vile habits, and they sounded vile. There was nothing appealing about a mosquito.

  The first ones to arrive had been tiny, but, as evening had drawn in, larger ones had arrived, great fat brown things that flew lazily through the air and stuck their feeders into him right up to their ugly faces.

  What he would give to have a hand free for just one minute. To swat the devils where they sat on him. To have the satisfaction of seeing them crushed and broken. But no. He couldn’t move. He could only lie here a
nd feel them suck out his blood.

  Slowly the light had faded from the swamp until it was almost as black as his cell had been, and somehow it was worse in the dark, just hearing the insects and feeling them crawling all over him, biting and biting.

  At first he had been aware of each fresh itch as it developed, spreading down his arms and up his legs, but now the bites all blurred into one another so that every bit of his skin was burning as his system fought against the germs they injected into him.

  He was horribly aware of his blood flowing around his body, taking their poison with it. It only needed one of them to be carrying the malaria parasite and he would be sick for the rest of his life.

  He prayed that somehow relief would come, but sleep was impossible; his body hurt too much. If only he could fall unconscious; anything to escape this torture.

  The young guard had a bottle and James had been vaguely aware of him getting drunk, splashing repellent over himself and cursing the insects. Twice he had come over and mocked James in a thick dialect and prodded him with his foot. The second time he had blown a lungful of smoke into James’s face and laughed. James didn’t mind. The smoke kept the insects away for a few precious moments, but the guard hadn’t been back since and for a while James had seen no sign of him or the glow of his cigarette.

  He spat a mosquito from his mouth and growled in the back of his throat, shaking his head wildly from side to side, but they wouldn’t stop; nothing could stop the insects. They were not afraid like other animals. They were single-minded and utterly ruthless. If you waved them away they were back a moment later. All you could do was wait till they landed, then flatten them; but with your hands tied to the ground that was impossible.

  There were tears of frustration in James’s eyes. It felt like this night would never end.

  And then he saw a torch beam, zigzagging through the darkness. There was a brief, low exchange of words and somebody came to stand over him.