by Paula Wynne
María knelt beside her mother. ‘Come, Mama, let us be out of here with much haste.’
‘María, take the journal and hide it at the grotto. Then come back for me.’
‘No, Mama, I am not leaving you here alone. The young soldier will be back in minutes to inflict more suffering.’
‘But María —’
‘Mama! Never will we surrender. Better we die trying to escape than die by giving up.’
137
Still pinning the devil to the experimental shelf, Olaf flexed his neck. Ever since she had tossed one of Willow’s experimental poisons over him, his face had started itching like hell.
Now his neck started stiffening. He wondered what had been thrown over him. His mouth still tasted disgusting. Strangely, he could taste something that reminded him of almonds, but this tang was too bitter.
While Willow had been trying to piece together compounds that could fit the rizado formula, he’d spent a lot of time experimenting with natural poisons. Most of the dead things lining the walls had experienced horrific deaths.
As Olaf shoved his elbow into the devil’s neck, he noticed his dragon had turned a bright cherry-red, with goose bumps bristling his favourite body art. His armpits started sweating. He felt beads of perspiration lining his forehead as well. The bright light gave him a throbbing headache and flashed and popped like paparazzi camera bulbs.
A sudden dizziness overwhelmed him. Excitement at the thought of teaching the devil the lesson she deserved made his heart beat faster. His breathing accelerated and he panted in time with his heart.
Then he frowned; he didn’t usually react this way. Sure, he got excited when the animaal stirred and needed to break free. But this bizarre behaviour confused him. Half of him wanted to lie on the floor and sleep. Mad, totally mad.
So far he’d enjoyed fighting the devil, but he couldn’t understand his sudden weakness. Olaf’s vision blurred. He shook himself, trying desperately to maintain control.
‘Stacie’s head is too big, but I’m sure I can get other parts to fit into
a bottle.’
138
A bitter burst of bile shot into Kelby’s mouth. Fear squeezed into her chest and closed its iron fist around her heart. The bastard had killed Stacie! And he was about to do the same to her.
Gary had sent her here. Not to give up, but to take these journal notes to the authorities. ‘You’ve destroyed my family.’
‘Not everyone. I can’t wait to introduce the meisje to the dragon. Little girls dream of dragons.’
The abrupt realisation that Punch-bag had not harmed Annie revived Kelby. ‘Where is she?’
His eyes rolled up. As he blinked, his eyeballs protruded and his pupils dilated. His eyelids flickered a few more times.
Kelby followed his gaze. ‘She’s here?’ A hot wave of excitement surged through her veins.
‘Under lock and key.’ His eyes glanced in the direction of the underground tunnel.
‘What do you want with a little girl? She can’t harm you.’
‘For now, she’s an insurance policy.’
‘I’ll give you anything you want — everything I own. Please just let her go.’
His hand closed over her mouth. ‘Je praat te veel! You talk too much.’
139
Once again, María knelt beside her mother, and placed her hands under her back in an attempt to lift her. A searing bolt of pain shot through her body, tipping her forward. She stumbled and righted herself. Breathing deeply, she tried again.
Although she was far from the fire, it felt as if the flames still licked at her arms. Under the skin they played with her flesh making it feel as if her arms were still deep in the heat. María grunted and gritted her teeth to stop herself flinching. She didn’t want her mother to witness her agony.
‘It’s no use.’ Madre tried to sit up, but instead leaned to the side, like a tree falling in a storm. ‘María, we must heal your hands before you can help me.’
María tried again to lift her mother, but yelped in pain as a blistered layer of skin came off one of her arms. The smell of her burnt flesh was still so thick and rich she could taste it.
‘Stop! Ana-María de Carbonela! Listen to me.’
Startled by her mother’s tone, María stared at her.
‘You are wasting time. Take the journal and get a huge bunch of rizado, we will heal your hands and then you can help me.’
‘But if they come back, they will kill you and hunt me down.’ María stood her ground. ‘I will not leave you, Mama.’
‘¡Por dios! You are as stubborn as your father! If you refuse to listen, go fetch his tool bag.’
‘By my faith!’ María exclaimed as an evil thought struck her. Had Mama the same thoughts as she? No, Madre did not have a bad bone in her body.
Gently laying her mother back on the floor, she mumbled, ‘As stubborn as my father, you say?’
Madre frowned at her. ‘Pray tell. I see the look of mischief in your eyes.’
María dropped a light kiss on her mother’s turbaned head. ‘Yes, Mama. My imaginacion may save us after all.’
Knowing the young soldier would not be far from the house, María peered out and leapt across the cobbles. When she reached Padre’s workshop, she stopped and glanced down the track, half expecting to see the young soldier. He would be back any time now. Every minute counted.
Thankfully, Madre had refused to clear out Padre’s workshop. Padre had used a wide variety of tools to shape stone blocks and slabs into homes for the local poor villagers and the rich land owners. María knew his tools for shaping stone, such as his range of mallets and chisels of all shapes and sizes. He also had hammers, some to use with a chisel to split rock. Others were used to produce rubble.
María ran to the back of the workshop. With throbbing fingertips, she picked a long chisel with the thinnest, most pointed shaft, and Padre’s stonemason’s hammer. It had one flat surface with a long chisel-shaped blade. Many a time she had watched Padre use it to chip off small pieces of stone, without needing a separate chisel.
Armed with Padre’s tools in her aching hands, she raced back to the kitchen. Madre still lay on the floor, but strained to move.
‘Don’t, Madre. Lie where you are.’
‘Did you get the Piedra?’
‘What stone?’ María frowned, Madre must be in so much pain she now talked in riddles. ‘When the soldier returns we will pretend all is as he left.’
‘Why? You must escape before he —’
‘There is no time, Mama. Please do as I say.’ María slumped into her chair and coiled a piece of the shredded rope back around her ankles. At that moment, they heard heavy steps thumping onto the cobbles.
‘Mama, turn your head and do not look this way. I do not wish for you to see what I am about to do.’
For once, Madre obeyed.
140
Olaf cupped the devil’s mouth to shut her up. He had no idea why he needed a desperate pee. Anxiety never did that to him. Maybe the throbbing in his groin was a hard on? More than likely.
Oh, he’d make sure the devil got a hard jousting. He needed to relieve his frustration somehow. What it was, he couldn’t focus on right now. He needed to slip back into the forest. ‘This fighting is getting us nowhere.’ He jiggled his jaw from side to side. All it wanted to do was lock up.
The devil stared at him. For a few seconds her eyes roamed around her forehead, juggling above and below each other. Then a third eye appeared. Olaf shook his head and focused his vision. Only two eyes again. In the right place this time. He drew his strength into his biceps. ‘See this.’ He indicated the dragon. ‘You ever been fucked by a dragon before?’
The devil’s eyes widened.
‘I have.’ His voice dro
pped to a whisper, ‘It’ll turn you into an animaal.’
Olaf felt his strength returning. His mind flashed to the forest and the carnal pleasures he had despised for so many years. Eventually, he had embraced them, and used them for his own tainted desires. Many a time he needed to be the forest animaal. The more he thought about it, the more his body energised.
‘When the dragon gets horny, there’s no stopping him.’
Suddenly, the devil fought against him. With all three of her eyes watching him.
141
María held her hands behind her back; one armed with the chisel and the other with the hammer. She tried to calm her breathing. Whatever happened, she must not alert the young soldier. She hung her head to stop her racing heart.
The young soldier kicked the door open and marched to her side. He reeked of sweat while his clod-laden boots sent a damp, earthy smell up María’s nose.
‘Where is the well?’ He bellowed in her face, spitting his foul breath onto her cheeks. ‘You are a lying witch! ¡Diablo!’
María waited. Her head hung low over her pounding chest.
The soldier leaned over and yanked her hair. María launched herself into the air, both arms thrusting up. She lunged the chisel into the soldier’s chest and slammed the hammer over his head.
He fell against her, gripping his chest and groaning in anguish. ‘¡Diablo! You witch!’
As the sunlight burst into the window, blinding her, a fuse kindled inside María. Without thinking, she shoved the soldier off her and clubbed him again with the hammer. Hundreds of tiny sparks of pain shot through her hands. But María ignored them; she had only their escape to worry about.
One last feeble groan spilled from the soldier’s lips as he slumped on the floor beside Madre. María bent over him. A pool of dark blood oozed out of his head. She knew that sign. Although she loved animals, she had had to kill them for food. The same colour blood as of a slaughtered animal now seeped from under the soldier’s lifeless body.
María spun around to Madre. ‘Mama! We must go. Now!’
Madre nodded and lifted her arms. She didn’t look at the soldier.
María helped her mother use every ounce of her strength to haul herself to her knees. ‘Here, grab hold of me. Hold me around my shoulders. Lean on my back so I can keep my hands free.’
Madre nodded and lifted her arms. María and Madre spent the next few minutes grumping and groaning as they tried to get into a comfortable position to walk away from their home. Keeping her hands free, María used her elbows and hips to shunt her mother into position. She insisted her mother lean on her so she could drag her.
‘María, wait, you must get Padre’s precious stone.’
María ignored her mother’s remark. ‘Please, Mama, we must go.’
Before they had taken one step, María realised it would take hours, maybe days to get to the grotto. It was usually a short walk, but with her burnt hands and Madre’s tattered legs they would be lucky to get to safety before the men returned.
‘Here, Mama, hang on me. I will drag you, like a mule dragging a plough.’
‘Except I am a useless plough!’
‘We will mend your plough, Mama. That is what you have always done. You have put our community of people back in order when their bodies have come apart. You have taken care of any ailment you have met as an adversary. Now we will do the same for you.’
Madre smiled and took one last look around their kitchen. In a rasping whisper, she asked, ‘Do you have any writing hidden there?’
María followed her mother’s gaze to her hiding place in the stone alcove beside the fire. ‘No, it is in the cellar with the journal.’
Determined to get out of there, María stepped forward with her mother hanging from her shoulders like a ragged drape. ‘¡Vamos! Let’s go.’
142
Kelby grimaced at the sweat pouring off Punch-bag’s brow. More ran down his arms and hands gripping her face and into her mouth.
‘Yuck!’ She shook her head vigorously trying to stop the flow, but her words were muffled behind his hand.
‘Once the dragon … infects you, then you’ll … know what deadly … duidelik means.’ His voice faltered.
A sudden kick from him made Kelby glance down. She frowned at his leg kicking out in every direction.
‘If you hated Stacie that much … you …’ He shook his head violently. ‘You would’ve enjoyed … watching her … get infected.’
Oh my God! Kelby stifled a scream. What terrible things had he done to Stacie? She clenched her fists at her sides, suddenly realising she still clutched a bottle.
‘But the dragon …’ Punch-bag muttered, his words fading.
Kelby gripped the bottle’s lid and slammed it backwards, against the wooden shelf. The glass bottle splintered in her hand, breaking in half. Ignoring the sudden biting pain of broken glass stabbing into her palm, she plunged the jagged edge of the bottle into his thigh. Punch-bag crashed down beside her, gripping his leg with both hands and groaned.
Kelby grimaced at the sight of the bottle’s neck sticking out of his leg. She wiped her bloodied hand against the wooden shelving. A sharp splinter of wood stabbed into her thumb’s pad. She yanked her hand away and sucked the wound.
As Punch-bag leaned over in an attempt to pull the bottle out of his thigh, she sidled sideways. Noticing movement, he reached to grab her, but his hand stopped in mid-air. His muscles twitched. With bulging eyes, he leaned against her, as though trying to keep himself up. ‘Sle-eett.’ He slurred, ‘What did you throoo … at meee.’
Now, Kelby remembered the label: Strychnine and brucine.
He must be reacting to the poison. Thank God, none had touched her. If she could shove him off and run away, he’d be much slower at catching her. His fingers shuddered and his arms began to spasm. His body leaned into her, and she felt the sheer weight of him pressing her into the shelf. Behind her, bottles rattled. On the end, one crashed to the floor, splashing its vile contents across his feet.
She watched in horror as his face slowly distorted into a monstrous grimace. ‘Blik-semmm.’ He frothed at the mouth.
To Kelby, it looked like an alien had suddenly possessed his body. Thrashing about, he rasped for each breath. His arms flapped. Kelby tried to shove him off her, but his weight kept her pinned between him and the shelf.
‘I … animaal.’ He clutched his throat, struggling to breathe.
As he fell sideways, Punch-bag’s body convulsed. He hit the floor and his body contorted into a stiff arch.
Then it lay still.
143
Madre took a step and cried out in pain. She stumbled and sank to her knees, dragging María to the floor with her.
‘God protect us! We will not make it.’
‘We will, Mama. We will go slowly, one step at a time.’
‘Why will you not listen to your mother? I think it is better if you fetch rizado to heal you and then we leave.’
‘And I think we should persevere. And make haste. They could return at any moment, Mama.’
‘Dios! It’s like having your father back with us.’
María chuckled. ‘Then it is good fortune you can talk with him again.’ Stretching her back, María raised her mother into a standing position. ‘There. Now, seek out the place under your feet that gives you the least pain when you stand.’
For a few moments, Madre tried placing her weight on different parts of her feet. For each area, she grunted and lifted her foot.
‘Can we go?’
Madre flinched, but nodded.
María took a step and dragged her mother behind her.
It took nearly an hour to get out of the door. She’d rather die than leave her mother here to the mercy of those soldiers.
&nb
sp; Dragging her mother over the croft proved to be the worst part of the journey. They tripped over each cobble. A few times Madre’s arms came loose. Each time it happened, María knelt on the cobbles, and shuffled her body under her mother’s. At a woeful sluggard’s pace, they hobbled closer to the underground cellar. María had to use her foot to kick open the stable door before they made their way to the cellar at the back.
The pain in her hands frustrated María. Madre had little strength left. If only she could use her hands to lift her mother. She wouldn’t be able to carry her mother, she was too heavy, but at least she was able to drag her along. With toiling, she might even be able to pierce one of the chemises between two strong branches, and drag her mother along behind her, as she had seen traders lugging bags of vegetables to the market. But her hands were useless.
Suddenly the sound of hooves startled María. The soldiers! They were back.
144
For a long moment Kelby stared at the body on the floor at her feet. She couldn’t work out if he was dead or unconscious. Not daring to go near him, in case he suddenly grabbed her ankle, she had to get away from here fast. And find Annie.
Punch-bag had hinted she was upstairs, but this place was abandoned. Maybe he had taken her to the clinic next door. She remembered his eyes indicating the direction of the tunnel. Kelby pulled herself together and darted out of the room. At the door, she remembered the journal. Leaping over Punch-bag’s stiff body, she grabbed the journal from the desk.
Kelby tried Roy’s number, but her phone didn’t respond. She squinted at the bars on her phone. No signal. She’d have to get out of here and try again. She dumped the phone back into her sling bag.
Glancing left and right, she spotted a tunnel winding its way to the basement of the sprawling mansion. Dim globes strung along the roof showed raw bricks arching into the dark. Compared to the rest of the mansion’s once splendid décor, the tunnel looked bare.