“It’s coming,” the old man whispered.
“What is?” the Trusted Man said, surprised.
“The truth.”
The Trusted Man felt the blow in his stomach. The world turned upside down. He hit the wall of the maso. He saw the old man, wounded but still in possession of incredible physical strength, throw himself to the side, hurtle down the creaky wooden steps and plunge into the darkness. He heard a thud and a stifled scream. Getting up, he grabbed and aimed the Mauser in a single gesture.
At nothing.
The old man had vanished into the shadows.
The Trusted Man hesitated.
The Spider was done for. However strong and stoned, no human being could survive the wound he had inflicted. With one knee out of action and haemorrhaging blood, he was a negligible threat. Certainly not an immediate one. He decided to forget about him.
He would not let him live, of course. The Trusted Man never left witnesses. He would kill Marlene then take care of the old man. It would be child’s play following the bloodstains in the snow. First, he had to find the Vixen.
He walked inside.
111
The door opened. The figure outlined against the light was not Simon Keller.
Hiding on the other side of the black monolith, behind an overturned bookcase, her back pressed up against the damp wall, Marlene held her breath.
The man was carrying a rifle over his shoulder.
“Marlene?” the stranger called out.
Marlene made herself small.
“It’s over,” the voice said. “You can come out.”
Marlene did not answer.
The man came down a couple of steps. “I’ve come to save you. It’s over. You’re free.”
Marlene did not know who this man was, what had happened to Simon Keller, whether it was day or night or whether this encounter was no more than the fruit of her imagination. What she did know was that, for all his tone of concern, the stranger was lying. Being a good shit shoveller, she improvised. She grabbed a blanket and put it over her legs.
“I guess you don’t trust me,” the voice said. “I wouldn’t either if I were in your shoes. You don’t know why I’m here. You don’t know anything. You’ve been through a lot, I understand that. How long has he been keeping you a prisoner?”
Another step.
There weren’t many left.
“Do you want some answers?” the soothing voice asked. “You know about the Consortium, don’t you? They’ve sent me. Don’t be afraid. The debt has been settled. Wegener’s dead. But you already know that, don’t you?”
This man knew a great deal. Perhaps too much. Or had she been locked up for so long she couldn’t believe it really was over?
“You have the sapphires. Hand them over to me and that’s the end of the story. You’re still frightened of that man in black, aren’t you?”
Marlene stared.
“He’s dead,” the voice announced.
Simon Keller. Dead. Dead. Dead.
“Of course!” the stranger exclaimed, stopping at the bottom of the steps. “It’s the rifle. It scares you. You’re right. Now the old man’s dead, I don’t need it anymore. Look.”
Standing against the light, the man lowered the rifle, propped it against the wall, stepped away from it and raised his hands in the air. As he leaned to the side, Marlene saw his face. He looked like a famous actor.
He was smiling.
“I’m here,” Marlene said in a low voice.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. Are you hungry? I saw there’s food in the Stube. I can make you something to eat. Then you can rest. Maybe we could wait till daylight before going back to town. There’s no rush. I’ll keep watch.”
“I’m chained,” Marlene said. “I can’t move. He didn’t want me to run away.”
The stranger looked at the overturned bookcase. Her hiding place. Coming closer, he saw her. She lay curled up on the floor, her legs covered with a moth-eaten blanket.
He came closer still. “Marlene,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re a resourceful girl.”
Marlene pushed her hair away from her face and stared at the stranger. He stood there looking at her, hands on hips. He was smiling.
But not with his eyes.
Marlene smiled back.
“They said you were beautiful.” He crouched beside her. “But I never imagined you were this beautiful.”
He was reassuring. Too reassuring. Like the voice of the witch. Who is nibbling at my house?
Marlene the Brave made up her mind. “Can you see me?” she said.
“Of course,” the Trusted Man said, surprised.
“Good,” she said, “because you’re not going to see me anymore.”
She made a sudden gesture, and a cloud of white dust settled on the Trusted Man’s face. Quicklime. Shit shovellers’ stuff. It scalds, it burns. And if it gets into your eyes . . .
Nibble, nibble, nibble. Quicklime, too, was always hungry. Just like Lissy.
The Trusted Man jerked back, screaming. He banged into a cupboard and knocked it over, causing a whole lot of bric-a-brac to come tumbling down, burying him. He screamed with increasing pain as the quicklime acted on the mucous membranes of his eyes.
Marlene quickly threw herself in the opposite direction.
Out, out, out.
She climbed three steps, stopped, turned back, grabbed the stranger’s rifle – by now he was gasping and writhing – and dashed to the door.
The key was still in the lock. She turned it twice.
112
The Stube was empty.
No spoons this time. Marlene was brandishing a Mauser, waving it right and left, feeling clumsy and stupid. She’d never seen a rifle like this before. It was a weapon of war, not for hunting like the one Simon Keller had, with barrels one on top of the other, or her father’s double-barrelled model.
But it worked the same way, she told herself. Decide who you want to kill and pull the trigger.
She went to the door and saw blood.
The stranger said he had killed Simon Keller. There was blood here, but no sign of Simon. The dead don’t go walkabout. It wasn’t over.
Where are you? Where are you?
The wind clawed at her face. She came back inside, stood the rifle against the wall and put on her padded jacket. She brushed Simon Keller’s rifle with her fingers. She looked at the Mauser. It had a magazine, unlike Simon’s rifle. Marlene knew nothing about weapons, but she knew that a magazine contained more bullets than a normal rifle.
More ammunition meant a higher chance of hitting the bull’s eye. That was excellent news for someone who had never handled a firearm in her life.
The excellent piece of news is that you’re alone. Get out of here. Move!
There was some black bread on the table. There was also water. She could not resist the water. She drank it and took a few bites of the bread. Then she drank some more. All that cold, ice-cold, wonderful water. It tasted so good it almost made her cry.
Still she did not leave. This time, she would do things properly.
There was a Bible on the Stube. Marlene tore out the pages, arranged them in an insulating layer around her body and buttoned up her jacket. Then she took some rags and stuffed them down her trousers, around her shins and thighs.
It was cold outside, very cold. She grabbed the Mauser. Ready?
Ready.
The broken banister bore witness to the struggle between the stranger and Simon Keller. The fires around the maso were like a whisper of madness, terrifying her. She started to run.
Towards safety.
The heat of the flames wafted over her face. She ran past the first circle of the blue spiral. The heat was inviting. She passed the second circle and stopped.
It was too cold, much too cold. What she was doing was pure madness. She would never survive out there, beyond the fire. Paper could not withstand frost.
Who was she kidding? Death was waiting for her further down the mountain.
For her and for Klaus. He was not even born yet, and already he was condemned. By his own mother.
No, stop talking nonsense. If you go ahead, you’ll die. If you keep still, you’ll die. There’s only one thing to do.
Find Simon Keller and finish him off.
Spend the night in the Stube. Eat. Rest. Wait for dawn. Go down the mountain.
Forget.
But not before setting fire to the maso and the stranger inside.
Shut him in the oven and let him scream. To hell with everything and everybody.
Then she heard it.
The jingling.
113
The Trusted Man’s fingers found something. Slimy stone and metal. Panting, he rubbed his fingertips on it. A small window with metal bars. The stone was damp and warm to the touch.
His eyes had turned into burning embers. But the stone was damp. He needed water to rinse his eyes before the quicklime damaged the corneas and left him blind. He would make do with the few drops oozing from the stone.
He knelt below the window. He wiped his hands on his ski suit, resisting the impulse to rub his eyelids. His eyes were hurting a lot. It could have been worse, he thought, if the quicklime had hit him right in the middle of his eyes. But luckily, that had not happened. Plus, he was real. He could feel the pain but would not be overwhelmed by it. And death was reserved for illusions.
Only a small amount of the handful of quicklime Marlene had thrown had ended up in his eyes. Much more of it was on his face. His face was burning, too, because of the sweat, but fortunately not as much as his eyes. He might end up scarred, and that could be a problem in the future. A disfigured man attracts attention. But he would deal with that in due course.
Once he had finished wiping his hands on the wind-resistant fabric, he pressed them against the cellar wall, wet them, and put them on his eyelids. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. The pain was excruciating. He pulled his hands away, cursed, spat on the floor, took deep breaths. He calmed down. He rubbed his fingers again and laid them on his face, determined this time to withstand the pain. He repeated the procedure three more times, then tried looking around.
The world was shrouded in white mist but he could still see. Not enough, though. He put his hands on his eyes and rubbed, then did so again. The haze cleared, enough to allow him to get back into action. He took a flick-knife out of his pocket, pressed the button and heard the familiar mechanical click. Twenty centimetres of Swedish steel. A good blade.
There was a terrible stench of pigs. The window was square, sixty centimetres by sixty. With a little push, he would be able to use it as a way out. He beat on the frame with the blade of the flick-knife. It was sturdy, but he did not lose heart. Clicking his tongue, he wedged the point of the blade between the metal and the mortar, trying to lever it out. The metal was solid, but the mortar was old and yielded.
He sat down Native American–style and began scraping patiently. Every so often, he would use the flick-knife as a lever.
The grille began to give way in several places. This almost made him forget the pain in his eyes. His left eye in particular worried him. It was certainly damaged.
As the window was about to yield, he thought he heard a wheezing sound.
A voice saying, “Sweet Lissy. Little Lissy.”
114
Lissy.
Marlene heard her coming. The bitch. She picked up the rifle and propped it on her shoulder. The wind drowned the sound of the little bell, and the crackling of the firewood did not help.
Should she aim right or left?
A squat, shadowy figure behind the flames, straight ahead of her. Marlene pulled the trigger. The rifle came to life. There was an explosion and, at the same time, a pain in her shoulder.
The Mauser recoiled, hitting her chin. Stunned, Marlene slipped backwards and fell. She shook her head, got to her feet and checked.
No sow, only the flames.
She picked up the rifle again. She had to reload it, but how?
There was a lever on one side, and Marlene remembered the gangster films Wegener liked so much. Pull and push. Or push and pull. One of the two. She pushed and pulled. Then pulled and pushed. There was a metallic clang. Just like in the films.
The rifle was cocked. At least she hoped so.
She wedged the butt of the Mauser in the hollow of her shoulder, which was throbbing like an abscessed tooth. She put a hand on the breech, thinking about the way the rifle had bounced out of her hands and trying to calculate the recoil as best she could.
“Okay.”
One step. Head tilted, muscles tense, finger on the trigger. She jumped over a strip of fire where the flames had burned away the fuel, creating a gap. The fire lapped at her hair but nothing happened except that there was a slight smell of burning. Otherwise, there was only the wind and the cold.
And the little bell, somewhere close by, to her left.
Marlene turned and fired. The bullet vanished in the dark. Her shoulder protested. But at least the rifle stayed where it was. Pull and push. The clang. Rifle cocked. How many bullets were left? She had no way of knowing. Shit.
The little bell. Lissy. Behind her. Damn her, she was fast.
Marlene turned and fired. The shot faded in the darkness.
Pull and push. Pray there was still something to shoot with.
Where are you? Where are you?
A particularly strong gust of wind moved the fire in her direction. This time, Marlene did not just smell burning, she also felt the heat. She let go of the rifle and threw herself in the snow with a sob. She looked up and there she was.
The bitch.
Lissy.
Black against a blue background. With the fire behind her. Wagging her little tail. Four hundred kilos of black.
Her crest moved twice, left and right, as if she were denying something.
No way, sweetie. You’re not getting out of here. No way.
The white stripes under her eyelids were glowing like exclamation marks charged with menace. Her fangs were dripping with saliva. Because Lissy was hungry, Marlene thought.
She was always hungry.
The sow emitted a couple of snorts through her nostrils, which then turned into clouds of condensation. She took a couple of steps forward, holding Marlene transfixed with her eyes. You’re food, those nasty little eyes said. Food for Lissy.
Marlene reached out for the rifle.
Lissy froze. Legs quivering, head turned to the side to get a better look at her.
Slowly, Marlene brought the Mauser closer. Slowly, she got up on one knee. Slowly, she put the rifle to her shoulder. Slowly, she closed one eye and aimed.
Slowly, she put her index finger on the trigger.
Lissy lowered her head, bending it towards the snow, baring her fangs at her.
Lissy screamed, and charged.
The little bell rang wildly.
Lissy advanced, head down, sending up snow and ice with her trotters, her powerful muscles rippling like demons under her black coat, steam billowing from her nostrils, her sharp, curved fangs ready to rip Marlene open.
Don’t shoot.
She didn’t.
Let her come closer.
Fifteen metres.
Without slowing down, Lissy raised her snout to the stars and screamed again.
The barrel of the Mauser shook.
Ten metres.
Fangs like the blades of a plough.
Nine metres. Eight.
Getting closer and closer.
Marlene felt the ground being battered by Lissy as she ran. She felt the vibrations of this black, evil mass coming towards her.
Now!
The firing pin clicked on empty. She had run out of ammunition. She closed her eyes and dropped the rifle, prepared to feel the full weight of Lissy. The impact. Her bones groaning and breaking beneath Lissy’s fury. Fangs sinking into her flesh. The pain.
The suffering. And death.
She apologised to Klaus.
She could feel the sow’s breath, but there was no impact, no pain, no blood. Nothing but the sound of the little bell. Marlene opened her eyes.
Blue flames. The dark. The wind.
No Lissy.
Just the prints of her trotters in the snow, coming to within a metre of her, then changing course and vanishing behind the curtain of fire. Marlene put her hand on her heart. She thought she could feel it beating through the fabric of her jacket and the pages from the Bible. She was still alive.
Why?
115
With what little strength he had left, Simon Keller opened the door in the grille and let Lissy out of her cage and out of the sty.
Maybe the cold would kill her, but ice was more merciful than hunger.
Alone now, he felt that his end had come and that death lay curled up at his feet. Tired as he was, he could not quite make it out. But he knew it was there.
Death was not cold.
He had always imagined it to be ice cold, ever since he had first encountered it, when Voter Luis had introduced it to him years earlier. A long time had passed since then, and they had become friends. He had glimpsed it whenever he killed.
And now death was here for him.
“I thought you were cold,” he said.
Death did not reply.
He pressed down on the floor with his hands and dragged himself to Lissy’s bed in the dark corner. He realised he was smeared with shit and felt sorry about that. The clothes Marlene had made for him were beautiful, the most beautiful he had ever owned.
But now he was dying and nothing mattered. He smiled and death smiled with him.
“You can read my thoughts, can’t you?”
Yes, it could.
Death came closer, leaned over him and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Keller could smell its breath. It was like the aroma of freshly cut hay. He closed his eyes and saw it.
A lush meadow. Tall, ripe grass bending in a light breeze as pleasant as a flowing stream in summer. There was a tree in the middle of the meadow. Somebody was hiding behind it.
Sanctuary Page 28