Erebos (33 page)

Half disappointed and half relieved, Nick turned on his heel. What now? He had to at least act as though he was going to carry out the orders – someone was bound to be watching him and reporting in. There. Dan was crossing the corridor, and although he didn't even look in his direction, Nick was convinced that he had only walked along there because of him.

Nick slowly walked back the way he had come, but after only a few steps an idea made him pause. Where else did the teachers keep their things, apart from the staffroom? In the cloakroom. He was right in front of the little room, and the conviction was already pounding in his brain before he'd turned the doorknob. His gaze flew to the flask immediately, as if magnetised by it. It was peeping out of a leather shoulder bag that hung on a hook between jackets and coats.

Quick as a flash Nick slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. Even just doing this could get him into serious trouble; students had no business being in here. But no-one could watch him here: not Dan, nor Colin nor Jerome.

Nick lifted the flask part way out of the bag. It sloshed a bit; it must be about half full. He could feel his pulse throbbing right up to his scalp as he unscrewed it. Peppermint tea. The bottle of pills weighed heavily in his trouser pocket, as if trying to get his attention.

I could do it, Nick thought. Now. Quickly.

No. He wasn't crazy! What the hell was he doing here at all?

Even more hurriedly than he had opened it, Nick screwed the thermos closed, wiped the fingerprints off the chrome surface with his shirt, and stuck the bottle back in the leather bag.

But he had been here. Someone was bound to have seen him going in. That was the main thing.

It took nerve to walk out of the staff cloakroom – what if he walked straight into the arms of Mr Watson? But nobody took any notice of him as he left the room and closed the door quickly behind him. Except that Helen was in the corridor; she skewered him with an unfathomable look.

He disposed of the pill bottle after class in a rubbish bin at the Tube station and suddenly felt surprisingly light-hearted. He'd gone about it the right way; he'd thought of every detail. He could have actually done anything in the cloakroom; nobody would be able to prove otherwise. Mr Watson would live, and Sarius too. He was practically an Eleven already.

CHAPTER 21

A cathedral of darkness, Sarius thinks as he stands facing the messenger. They are in a gigantic space with Gothic windows that admit no light, although the stained glass seems to be glowing palely. Stone statues, twice as tall as Sarius, with demon faces and angel wings, stand between the windows staring at nothing.

The messenger is sitting on an elaborately carved wooden chair, a throne. Something gapes behind it, even darker than the rest of the surroundings: a fissure or an abyss. Sarius can't see it clearly from where he's standing.

The messenger has folded his long fingers under his chin and is studying Sarius silently. All around, hundreds of grey candles are flickering in their holders.

‘You had orders,' says the messenger.

‘Yes.'

‘Did you carry them out?'

‘Yes.'

The messenger leans back and crosses his legs.

‘Tell me about it.'

Sarius keeps it brief, although he doesn't omit any important details. He reports on finding the pills and on his search for the thermos, and finally describes how he tipped the pills into the tea.

‘All of them?' the messenger inquires.

‘Yes.'

‘Good. What did you do with the empty bottle?'

‘Threw it away. In a rubbish bin at the Tube station.'

‘Good.'

Silence reigns again. A candle flame goes out with a hiss; a thin plume of smoke rises up and assumes the shape of a skull. The messenger leans forwards and his yellow eyes take on a reddish cast. ‘Explain something to me.'

I was dumb – he knows, he knows everything.

‘One of my scouts found the bottle. It was full.'

Sarius goes hot with panic. An explanation, quick . . .

‘Perhaps the scout found the wrong bottle.'

‘You're lying. Other scouts report that Mr Watson is in the best of health. They say he's still at school.'

‘Maybe Mr Watson hasn't drunk any of his tea,' Sarius puts in hastily. ‘Or he tipped it out because the pills made it bitter.'

‘You're lying. I no longer have any use for you.'

‘No, wait, that's just not right!'

Sarius searches desperately for arguments that will convince the messenger. He's been clever; nobody can prove that he didn't go through with it.

‘I did everything as agreed. If Mr Watson didn't drink his tea, it's not my fault. I did —' ‘There is no place for the indecisive or the frightened, or those who hesitate or moralise, in my master's service. They are not fit to destroy Ortolan. Farewell.'

Farewell?

At a gesture from the messenger two of the stone demons break away from their places between the windows and spread their wings.

‘No, stop, it's a mistake!' Sarius cries out. ‘That's unfair! I did everything right!'

The two demons reach for his shoulders with their clawed feet, and lift him up.

Sarius struggles with all his might, writhes in the grip of the stone giants. How can the messenger do this to him? He's always helped him before . . . And now, just because of this one time, this one order . . .

‘Wait a minute, it's all a misunderstanding. I'll try again,' Sarius cries. ‘This time I'll do it better, it will work this time, I promise!'

The messenger pulls his hood down over his face.

‘You will not repeat anything about Erebos. You will not turn against us. You will leave the remaining warriors in peace. You will not throw in your lot with our enemies, or you will regret it.' ‘Please stop! I will do it, this time I'll do it right!'

They carry him to the fissure that yawns behind the messenger's throne. It's clear to Sarius that the fissure is his death. He struggles with all his strength against the grip of the stone demons. In vain. ‘Nick Dunmore. Nick Dunmore. Nick. Dunmore,' echoes softly through the cathedral.

Then they drop him. The air around him sings; again and again he thinks he can hear his name. He falls down, down, down. There's still a tiny bit of light, he can see the silhouette of his hands which he has stretched out in terror.

Then the impact. A short sharp screech – the injury tone, louder than ever before.

Then silence. Blackness. The end.

Nick hammered at the keyboard, thumped the mouse, hit out at the monitor, the computer, the desk. Sarius wasn't dead, couldn't be dead.

Okay, calm down, take it slowly. Turn off the computer first. Then turn it back on again. Watch it booting, don't get impatient. Think about it.

Who had betrayed him? Who had got the damned bottle of tablets out of the rubbish? Nick hadn't seen anyone, but then he hadn't paid attention to whether someone had followed him once he was out of the school.

What an idiot. Some gamer must have crept after him. Probably got loads of gold or another level as a reward.

But still. The messenger couldn't prove that Nick had refused to carry out the orders. He couldn't kick him out without proof! It hadn't even been a day since he'd said that Nick would be a candidate for the Inner Circle.

The thought was painful. And the Arena fight was tomorrow! He wanted to be there, he had to be there. He would make it, he just had to find an opportunity to speak to the messenger and clear up the misunderstanding.

He thought of Greg. Another misunderstanding. Except that it wasn't one at all in my case.

But he wasn't Greg. He wasn't going to let himself be kicked out. There was a way back in, he knew it. For certain. Nick just needed a second chance. He had to get back into the game.

He rapped impatiently on the desk with his knuckles. How come the computer was taking so long to boot?

Assuming the messenger gave him the same orders again, would he do it this time? Would he poison Mr Watson? Did he regret not using the opportunity he'd had?

Yes, damn it all. Yes. What was Mr Watson after all, compared to Sarius?

Nick shut his eyes. Probably nothing would have happened. He would have sipped at his tea, thought it was disgusting and spat it out. So? No big deal. That had probably even been at the back of the messenger's mind. If all the pills had dissolved in the tea, it would have been completely undrinkable. Not remotely dangerous. But no, Nick had to have scruples about it.

The computer had finally managed it; there it was, the usual desktop display. Nick automatically moved the cursor over to the spot where the Erebos icon was. Or where it had been. The red E had disappeared.

Shit. Frantically Nick fished the Erebos DVD out of the case and put it in the drive. The install window appeared. There you go. Perfect. Install.

It took ages, like the first time. But that didn't matter; he could be patient.

So. Right. Where was the icon?

He couldn't find it, any more than he could find the re-installed program. He searched the whole hard drive, twice, three times. Nothing. He'd install it again.

Hang on, maybe he had to copy the DVD first? After all that's how it was when he'd passed the game on.

He copied it, installed it, twice, three times. Thumped his computer desperately in between. Tried it a total of seven times, in every conceivable variation. It didn't work. And he knew that it wouldn't work, but he couldn't make himself stop. If he stopped, it was final. Then it would really be over. He fought back the rising tears. Sarius was a part of him; no-one was allowed to simply take a piece of his own self away from him. He'd install it again. And again.

After more than three hours Nick gave up. He'd screwed it up. He'd sacrificed Sarius for his stupid English teacher – for someone who just had to go snooping around in other people's business. Would have served him right, getting a wake-up call. But Nick had been too much of a coward.

Died from cowardice?

The thought of his gravestone finally brought the tears to his eyes. Would cowardice be engraved on it? Or disobedience? Indecision?

He wouldn't even be able to find that out.

‘Lasagne, Nicky?' Mum was balancing a foil container in one oven-mitted hand. It smelled of cheese and Italian herbs, but Nick didn't feel hungry.

‘Yes, please. But not too much,' he said nevertheless. They were supposed to behave inconspicuously, messenger's orders. Hang on. That didn't apply to him any more. He rested his head in his hands. His eyes were burning.

‘Are you okay?'

‘Sure. I'm just tired.'

‘Must be the weather. Karen Bricker nearly fell asleep on me during her perm . . .'

He let Mum talk. Occasionally he smiled; twice he joined in when she laughed, even though he'd lost the thread long ago.

After he'd stopped blubbing, he'd had a new idea. Surely he could install the game again on another computer. He could make a new login – just not as Sarius, unfortunately. Did he want to do that? Would it still be better than nothing?

Oh hell, he'd completely forgotten that you had to give your real name at the start. Last time the game hadn't let him lie to it. It didn't matter – he had to try, at least. The messenger would see that Nick Dunmore was taking the matter seriously. He would re-admit him.

Sarius is standing in the middle of the Arena, there's a red ring dangling round his neck. But it's not made out of rubies; it's made of fire.

The crowd around him is cheering – this time it's made up entirely of spider men, with twitching legs growing out of their heads. Sarius turns away. LordNick is standing next to him with a spear sticking into his body.

‘So what,' he says and shrugs his shoulders.

Then the spear turns into a snake, which retreats back through the stab wound in LordNick's body as if into a cave. The injury heals. Magic.