The Blood List
Page 24
Then he heard voices from above, the first deep and gravelly:
‘Can’t see him. Fog’s too deep.’
The second a bad-tempered whine:
‘Prob’ly home by the fire, eating bread and dripping.’
It was his father and brother. He tried to call out to them but his muffled squeak from beneath the gag was drowned by the tidewash.
‘He might have fallen asleep on the pier. We shouldn’t leave him.’ His father again.
‘He deserves it. He never does his fair share. I have to work twice as hard to make up for him.’
‘He ain’t as old as you.’
‘Ain’t far off. You’re too soft on him.’
Sammy wasted a few seconds fumbling at the knot round the back of his head, then continued to climb. It was hard, with only one good hand and the steps so slippery.
‘Come on, Pa,’ his brother said. ‘Let’s get on. If he is asleep it’ll teach him a lesson.’
‘I’m not sure. Not with this Wigman feller about.’
Sucking in as much air as he could through soot-coated nostrils Sammy shouted, ‘Dad! Fred!’
It came out as ‘Ahhhg! Ehhhh!’ but would have been audible, had a barge not come by at just that moment and given several long honks on its horn.
‘Asleep?’ Fred sniggered. ‘On a night like this, with the boats sounding their warnings every five minutes? I tell you, he’s home with Ma. Let’s go.’
Sammy hauled himself up the next few steps. He was more than halfway now, but could hear his father’s heavy footsteps retreating.
He shouted for him to wait.
‘Aiighhh!’
The footsteps were growing fainter, but it was all right. He could still catch up with them and bring his father back to the beach. The Wigman wouldn’t know what had hit him.
A blow sent Sammy reeling sideways and he crashed down onto the sand, too winded even to scream.
He looked up mutely at his assailant. The Wigman was younger than they said, not more than twenty or so. His face was utterly colourless, like a grub dug up from the soil, and glistened like sweaty lard as the man knelt down beside him. His hands were massive, red and scarred, and Sammy watched in horror as he slipped one of them into his pocket and drew out a knife. He brought it towards Sammy’s face. Sammy screwed up his eyes and moaned, but with a flick of the wrist all the man took was a hank of hair.
As the Wigman was tucking the lock into his pocket, Sammy brought his knee up sharply and the knife skittered across the sand. Sammy flipped himself over and went after it, grunting as his wrist collapsed and he lurched sideways, but righting himself and clawing onwards.
The knife glimmered on the black sand and Sammy’s fingers were almost touching it when he was hauled into the air. With his good arm he clawed at the Wigman’s eyes and throat but the arm was clamped down and his face was pressed into a chest that stank of tallow and sweat. Sammy sank his teeth into the soft flesh until a fist descended on his head.
The blow and the lack of air were making him dizzy and he began to see strange things in the darkness: shadowy figures gathered at the edges of his vision, murmuring to one another. Or was that just the shush of the river on the beach?
The murmuring grew louder and the cold air slapped him alert as he landed on the sand. Water lapped around him, filling his ears, seeping into his clothes. The Wigman knelt down next to him, cut the cord around his head and pulled the rags from his mouth.
‘Let me go, please,’ Sammy gasped. ‘My father’s rich, he’ll pay you whatever you ask, I won’t say who you are I swear . . .’
But the man wasn’t listening. He reached into his pocket again, took out an object and pushed it into Sammy’s open mouth. The slick congealed thing slipped straight to the back of his throat, its end fitting snugly into the opening of the airway. Then the hands launched him out into the dark water.
Escape was still possible. He could swim well. He would simply roll onto his stomach, cough out the thing, whatever it was, and make for the other shore.
Then something heavy fell across his abdomen and he went under.
As the water surged into his nostrils he looked up to see the shadow of the Wigman step back, leaving just the fog, now endless green stretching all the way to the sky.
Table of Contents
Half-title page
Also by Sarah Naughton
Title page
Copyright page
Dedication page
Epigraph page
Contents
September 1630
1 The Black Dog
2 The Path
3 Kingdoms of Darknes
4 A New Maid
5 The Bracelet
6 The Gift
7 Farmer Nightingale
8 The Party
9 Ice
10 Fire
11 Water
12 Bile
13 Milk
14 Flea bites
15 Black Kisses
16 The Beetle
17 The Pact
18 The Trial
March 1647
Acknowledgements
The Hanged Man Rises