He took a few steadying breaths and stepped onto one of the beams. His bare feet trembled as he began to shuffle across. It was a straight drop, thirty feet to the factory floor, where he could see Lucien and Gideon coming after him.
He had to move faster.
He charged along the beam and leaped to the gantry at the end. His jump was too short though, and his leg dug into the platform’s metal edge. Pain shot up his thigh and a roar came from his mouth. It felt as if he’d been bitten by a wolf.
Gritting his teeth, he hauled himself onto the gantry. Blood gushed from a cut above his knee so deep he could see glistening grey bone. He rolled over and screamed into the darkness.
Get up. Keep moving.
He pressed a hand against the wound and rose to his knees. Clanging footsteps rang from above as Clarissa chased the killer higher into the factory. Wild Boy had to keep going, but the only way to the next flight of stairs was by crossing another beam. He’d never make it with his leg wound.
He tried to stand, but his injured leg buckled and he collapsed again. A basket of bricks sat a few yards away, tied to a chain to be winched to the ground. He crawled to it and, leaned his back against its side. The basket scraped towards the edge of the platform. Wild Boy pushed harder, but the effort brought on another flash of terror. It was the poison, still affecting his mind.
He was under attack again. Crows swooped. Claws flashed. Augustus Finch came across one of the beams, gliding like a ghost and grinning hideously. The factory filled with the cruel laughter of the fairground crowds.
Wild Boy curled up beside the bricks. “No…” he said.
And then, “NO!”
His cry was so loud, it drove the visions back into the darkness. He wouldn’t let them stop him. He had to fight.
He pressed harder against the bricks. They slipped over the edge of the gantry so suddenly that he almost fell with them. Recovering, he rolled over and grasped the chain rattling up on its winch.
As the chain rose it lifted him from the platform and up into the darkness. He clung on tight as he went through the cat’s cradle of beams, bashing against one and then another on the next floor. Blood slid down his wounded leg and dripped from his foot.
He saw Clarissa hobbling up a corkscrew staircase. Dr Carew stumbled along the gantry above. The doctor turned and hurled the black diamonds at Clarissa, slowing her down.
Below, the basket of bricks crashed against the factory floor. The chain jerked to a stop, almost throwing Wild Boy off. Pain rippled up his arm as he clung on, swinging in the dark. He was ten yards from one of the gantries. He kicked his good leg, swaying the chain. With his free hand, he pulled the syringe from his pocket.
He had one chance. One chance.
Dr Carew ran along the gantry.
Wild Boy swung the chain harder, carrying him closer.
He let go. Momentum threw him to the gantry, and he landed on Dr Carew. As the doctor fell back, his head cracked against the wall. His spectacles fell from his face, and blood spurted from a gash on his forehead. His eyes rolled as he slipped in and out of consciousness.
The pain in Wild Boy’s leg was excruciating, as if a spear had been driven into his thigh. He wanted to curl up and scream, but he forced himself to keep moving. Gripping the syringe, he scrambled over the doctor. He tore away the man’s necktie, but it was too dark to see his veins. He had to try and hope. Aiming the needle, he thrust it into Dr Carew’s neck.
He pulled the plunger but no blood came out. He cursed, jabbing the syringe again, harder.
The pain roused Dr Carew back to life. A ferocious animal roar came from his mouth, with a spray of spit and blood. He tried to slide away, but Wild Boy clung on tighter, refusing to let go. He had to hold on and wait for Clarissa.
Then the killer did something unexpected.
Launching forward, Dr Carew dived through one of the factory windows.
Two things flashed through Wild Boy’s mind. The first was that he and Dr Carew were about to plummet to their death. The second was the hope that Gideon and Lucien would be able to distinguish between their blood and still save Marcus.
But instead of falling, he thumped onto the boards of the scaffolding that crawled over the outside of the factory. His wounded leg struck the wood. He let go of the killer.
Wind lashed the wooden beams, threatening to tear the scaffolding from the wall. The clouds had begun to part. The creaking structure gleamed with ice in the moonlight.
Dr Carew scrambled across the planks, the syringe jutting from his neck. He climbed the next ladder and looked back. “You! You, Wild Boy, should understand. You cannot escape your past.”
Wild Boy didn’t bother to reply. Even if there was something good left inside Dr Carew, he didn’t care anymore. That chance was gone.
He went after him as fast as his injured leg would allow. The tail of his coat snagged on one of the beams as he scaled the ladder. He tore the coat off, let it fall, pulled himself onto the next level of the scaffold. Reaching out, he grabbed Dr Carew’s foot as the killer climbed the next ladder.
The doctor kicked wildly, but this time Wild Boy wasn’t letting go. He wrapped his arms around Dr Carew’s legs and dragged him down. As they tumbled to the boards, he pulled the plunger on the syringe and yanked it from the doctor’s neck. At the same time, Dr Carew threw him back. One of the planks collapsed, and Wild Boy crashed through and slammed to the level below.
The doctor scrambled higher, but Wild Boy let him go. With a shaky hand he raised the syringe. Moonlight caught its glass vial. Its content was the colour of rubies.
The scaffold shuddered as Clarissa climbed from below. There was a fierce look in her eyes, like a tiger on a hunt. It changed to confusion as she saw Wild Boy lying on the planks, coatless and bleeding.
Wild Boy held up the syringe, managed a small smile.
“Easy,” he gasped.
She stared at him, stunned. A smile began to form, but then she staggered back against the factory wall, clutching her face as if she’d been shot. It was the terror again.
Wild Boy tried to stand, but the pain in his leg grew worse, as if the spear now pinned him to the boards. He reached out, calling to her. “Clarissa, you gotta fight it.”
“I can’t…”
Though a tangle of wet hair, she watched Dr Carew scramble higher into the scaffold. He was heading for what was left of the factory roof.
“He’s gonna get away,” she said.
“Clarissa,” Wild Boy said. “We got the cure.”
“But we ain’t got him.”
Her eyes burned as fiercely as the factory furnace. Wild Boy had never felt so scared for her, or so desperate to make her stop.
“I’m sorry, Clarissa. I should’ve told the Queen no. I should’ve yelled at her like you did. We’re partners and I swear I won’t leave you, no matter what. You’re all I got, you and Marcus. It don’t matter what happened to us in the past, we gotta keep what we have now.”
She looked down at him. “You’re all I got too,” she said. “And he tried to take that.”
“But he didn’t, Clarissa. We beat him. If you go after him, you’ll kill him and there’s no coming back from that. All them people that done bad things to you will have won. Your bad memories won’t ever go away.”
He gritted his teeth, crawled closer. “I need your help. I can’t do it alone.”
Tears flowed down her face. She took a small step towards him, and he was certain he saw the slightest smile crease her freckled cheeks. Then she turned and climbed the ladder.
Her dress fluttered in the moonlight as she moved along the planks, higher into the scaffolding.
Wild Boy lay on the swaying boards, calling her name. It was all he could do, so he kept doing it until his throat ran dry. Suddenly the syringe in his hand meant nothing to him. She was gone.
The ice groaned.
The timbers wailed.
Thump!
Clarissa swung down and landed
beside him. She smiled and held out Wild Boy’s coat. “You dropped this,” she said. “You don’t look right without it.”
The smile was like a rising sun, filling Wild Boy with a glow of something as far from terror as anything he’d ever felt. He wanted to grab her and hug her and scream with delight. Instead he just shrugged.
“Coulda got it myself,” he said.
“You can’t even walk! How did you even get up here? I bet you cheated.”
She wrapped the coat around him and helped him stand, gripping a beam for support. Bricks fell from above, smashing planks along the scaffold. They looked up and saw Dr Carew clamber onto the remains of the factory roof.
Wild Boy felt Clarissa tense, and then relax.
He let her carry him to the window. They clung onto each other as if they were on a ship about to be wrecked by a storm. He wanted to tell her that everything would be fine, although he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing in their lives would ever be easy. This didn’t feel like a victory, that was for sure. They would still have to hide, and he had no idea how long they could stay in the palace, even with Marcus’s protection. But whatever happened, they would be all right. Because they had each other.
Something dropped from above and they staggered back. It wasn’t bricks. It was a crow. The scruffy bird perched in the window, blocking their path. Its eyes gleamed darkly and it jabbed the air with its black dagger-beak. The beak opened and the bird was about to caw when Clarissa lashed out a foot and booted it back into the factory. It disappeared with puff of feathers and a startled squawk.
Clarissa grinned. “Let’s go save Marcus,” she said.
As she helped Wild Boy inside, something rattled in her dress pocket. It sounded like stones. Four stones.
She looked at him. Her smile grew wider and her eyes glinted in the moonlight. “We don’t have to tell him everything, do we?” she said.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rob Lloyd Jones never wanted to be a writer when he grew up – he wanted to be Indiana Jones. So he studied Egyptology and archaeology and went on trips to faraway places. But all he found were interesting stories, so he decided to write them down. Following on from Wild Boy, Wild Boy and the Black Terror is Rob’s second novel, although he has written more than thirty other books for children, including non-fiction and adaptations of such classics as Jekyll and Hyde.
About writing Wild Boy and the Black Terror, he says, “After I finished the first book, I felt bad. I knew the events of that adventure would have left Wild Boy and Clarissa with scars. I wanted them to have a chance to face those fears, to use their skills again to find out just how tough they really are.”
Rob lives in Sussex with his wife and young son, who has big eyes like Wild Boy but is not as hairy.
Visit Rob at
WWW.ROBLLOYDJONES.COM/WILDBOY
THANKS
Huge thank you to everyone at Walker Books, especially Mara, Gill, David and Victoria, as well as Deb at Candlewick Press, and Owen Davey for his wonderful illustrations. Thanks to special agent Clare Conville, and early readers and expert advisors Jo Unwin and Fred Morris. And whopping great hugs to Sally and Otis.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.
First published in Great Britain 2014 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
Text © 2014 by Rob Lloyd Jones
Illustrations © 2014 by Owen Davey
The right of Rob Lloyd Jones and Owen Davey to be identified as author and illustrator respectively of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-5524-6 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
Wild Boy and the Black Terror Page 21