Master of the Moors (21 page)

"You and I are the only
ones left. I'm getting out, and if you have any sense you'll do the
same," said Fowler, averting his gaze, as if he was certain Grady
thought him a coward for fleeing. And if Grady was honest with
himself, he
did
think that, but he also understood how fear could drive a man
to do almost anything. Fowler was simply acting on survival
instinct. He felt threatened; he ran. Another man might stand and
fight, but different men made different choices.

Which man are you?
he asked himself, and found, to his dismay, that
he had no answer.

***

Tabitha was trapped.
Whatever choice she made within the next few seconds would result
in pain. If she interfered with Donald's plan and warned Neil, she
would have to suffer his punishment. If she stayed quiet, she would
forever suffer the consequences of having lured an innocent boy
into a trap. The fact that Donald had yet to say anything disturbed
her too. He simply stood there, a half-smile plastered to his face,
his chest rising and falling rapidly as if at any moment he might
explode from the excitement. She recognized the look in his eyes
and it made her want to be sick. There could be no doubt now that
her brother intended to hurt Neil. Armed with this certainty, she
rushed forward and grabbed Neil's wrist.

"You promised me a dance,"
she said bravely, struggling to keep the tremor from her tone. "I
think now is as good a time as any, wouldn't you say?"

Neil licked his lips. "Let
go of me."

"Oh don't be such a
prude," Kate said, poking him in the back.

Tabitha didn't look at
Donald. She didn't need to. Already she imagined she could feel the
heat of his rage warming the air between them, but thankfully, he
made no move to stop her, for which she was only slightly relieved.
Whatever he was going to do, he would do it, no matter how much she
attempted to delay the inevitable. She felt her chest constrict
with sorrow and self-loathing that she had not been able to summon
the courage to refuse her part in Donald's scheme.

Kate smiled at her as she
led Neil away. "Don't be too long now," she teased. "He's not my
favorite young man in the whole world, but I would like him back
before he goes stale."

Tabitha offered her a wan
smile and quickly moved away, still expecting at any moment to feel
her brother's hand clamp down like a vice on her shoulder, his
whiskey breath against her cheek---
I'll kill
you for this, you little trollop
---but
despite the phantom sensation of his strong fingers bruising the
flesh on her shoulder, it didn't come, and then they were away, the
crowd of monsters around them, the lamplight casting orgiastic
shadows on the walls.

Neil looked nervous as the
band began an unfamiliar ballad. Tabitha was trembling so badly she
was sure he would feel it as they joined hands. He put his arm
around her, holding her at a respectful, gentlemanly distance and
they began to dance, slow rhythmic steps, keeping in time with the
music, and Tabitha realized that under different circumstances, she
would very much have enjoyed the closeness with Neil, the feel of
him ever-so-slightly leading her, taking charge. Despite her fear,
she smiled.

"I didn't know if you were
going to come or not," she said, scowling as a laughing ape bumped
against her shoulder and raised a furry hand in apology.

"We almost didn't. The
prank we played on Grady slowed us down."

"What prank?"

"Kate put a rat in his
bag. Well, not really, it went in there by itself. We just didn't
tell him about it."

Tabitha grimaced. "That's
awful!"

"He didn't get mad or
anything. Not really, which was a shame actually."

"My father would have
thrown a fit!"

"Grady's not my
father."

Tabitha was surprised at
the bitterness in Neil's voice, but any ideas she might have
entertained about pursuing the topic vanished from her mind when,
through a break in the crowd, she caught Donald's glare.

"I have something to tell
you," she told Neil.

"I'm all ears. Not by
choice, unfortunately."

Tabitha took a deep
breath.
Cherish this
, she thought.
Cherish this final and
brief moment in which he still believes you're someone worth
wanting, before you tear his world apart and he comes to know you
as worthy only of his hate
.
She felt the tears welling and hurriedly blinked
them away. "You're in danger," she said.

"What?"

The words felt like cold
stones rolling off her tongue. "It's Donald."

"What about
him?"

"I think he's going to
hurt you."

Neil scoffed. "Let him
try."

"No, listen to me. He's
not in it alone."

"Really."

She knew Neil's blasé
attitude was a form of defense, and it frustrated her.

"He's working with a
stranger, a man who showed up at our house this
morning."

"Stranger?" Their dancing
slowed.

"Yes."

Neil tried to push her
away, but she forced him to keep dancing, with the hissed caveat,
"Stop it. If he sees we're done, he'll come after you."

"So what? If your ignorant
sloth of a brother wants me, let him come. I'm not afraid of
him."

"You should be. They
intend to do you harm."

"Cowards," Neil mumbled.
"Donald needs a partner to get the better of me, does
he?"

"Neil, stop it," Tabitha
demanded. "I know you're brave, but now's not the time. You don't
need to prove it to me. I'm afraid they're going to do something
awful to you. You have to leave."

"Why should I leave? I
have as much a right to be here as your fat pig of a
brother."

"What did you call
me?"

Neil stumbled and stepped
on Tabitha's toes. She winced, but quickly recovered and almost
instinctively moved in front of Neil, whose odd silvery eyes were
moving from side to side as if, despite his blindness, he was
attempting to see the threat.

Donald stood before her,
sneering. "Need a woman to defend you now, eh? You little
sissy."

"Donald, please. Leave him
alone."

Heads turned; dancers
began to slow, though the music continued unabated. The fuss was
being noticed. The ghouls were watching.

"Get out of the way,
Tabby."

She was about to plead
with him again, but a voice from behind her, Neil's voice, stopped
her. "Do as he says."

"No," she whispered,
knowing it would be lost to the music.

"Yes," Donald said, with
visible glee. "Do as I say."

In her panic, she said the
only thing she could think of that might save the situation. "I'll
tell Mother." Too late she realized how infantile and hopeless a
threat it was and by then Donald was almost doubled over with
laughter. He wasn't the only one. The absurdity had inspired
guffaws from some of the spectators, who had abandoned their own
dances to watch the show.

Helpless, she had no
choice but to be shoved aside by Neil as he stepped forward, his
face streaked with shadow, blind eyes blazing. Donald composed
himself and drew himself back up to his full height, fists clenched
and ready.

The music was beginning to
falter, allowing the muffled roar of thunder an uninterrupted
audience.

"Neil!" It was Kate,
rushing through the crowd, her face pallid, eyes wide with panic.
"
Neil!
What's
going on?"

He ignored her. Shadows slipped from
the walls. The dancing ceased and the air grew thick with
tension.

"You there!" someone said,
as the chaperones broke away from the walls and started to
infiltrate the crowd, but they were met with unyielding bodies and
snorts of laughter. The threat of a fight had drawn the attention
of everyone now and few of the onlookers seemed willing to see it
interrupted.

Distracted by the plight
of the chaperones, Tabitha didn't see Donald approaching her and
she gasped as his hand knotted itself in her hair. Before she had
time to struggle, her head was wrenched back so fast her neck
cracked. "I'll have my fun with you later," her brother whispered
into her ear and pushed her away. Her feet tangled and she fell,
hands out to prevent her face from smashing against the hard
floor.

Then Donald stepped close
to Neil. "Come here, twat-face. I've been looking forward to this
for ages."

Kate had reached them but
suddenly found herself held back by the costumed bodies of some of
the older boys from Merrivale, their skeleton masks leering at her
as she tried to push through their human barricade.

"Leave it luv," one of
them said cheerfully. "My money's on the big fella."

"Shouldn't take long,"
said another.

Kate felt her costume rip
as she heaved herself against them and "Neil!" she screamed. But he
didn't look at her.

"Someone wants to meet
you," Donald said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "But
he never said anything about bringing you to him in one
piece."

Neil stood stock-still,
shoulders thrust back, and raised his fists in front of his face.
"Why don't you shut your mouth and do something, you fat
idiot?"

Donald positively swelled
with rage. "Oh I will," he said, and drew back his fist.

"No! Don't!" Kate's
struggles grew so fierce it drew grunts of effort from the
Merrivale boys.

With a grin, Donald swung,
the punch aimed squarely at Neil's jaw.

17

"I'm closing," Sarah Laws
said in her usual cheerless drone.

Fowler raised his glass.
"How about one for the road?"

"The road isn't thirsty,
and you've had enough," the barmaid said, snatching the glass from
his hand and giving the table a perfunctory wipe around his elbows.
"You'd better go."

He offered her a sad
smile, the amount of alcohol he'd consumed forcing melancholic
thoughts to the forefront of his brain.

"I'm leaving, you
know."

"Good," she said, making
her way back to the bar.

"I mean, leaving the
village."

She did not pause, her
step did not falter, and he found that terribly disappointing. This
night, of all nights, he could have used some good conversation,
but as always, Sarah carried on about her business, as if he was no
more remarkable than any of the other drunkards she had to listen
to seven days a week. And he supposed that was the truth. He had
never been remarkable. The years had filled his face with lines and
loosened the skin where once it had been taut. His gut had swollen
until it sagged over his belt and the accursed drink had brought
broken capillaries to his cheeks and nose. His skin was starting to
resemble corned beef, while above it all, his hair, once lush and
blond, was starting to thin and turn gray.

"One more," he proclaimed
aloud, embittered by his self-appraisal and willing to risk the ire
of a woman he would never see again after tonight. "And I promise
I'll be out of your way forever."

When Sarah didn't respond,
he shrugged and muttered a curse.

Rain hammered against the
windows, powered by a wind that made the walls shudder. The light
behind the bar went out and when Fowler glanced that way, he saw
Sarah's silhouette stooped over the lantern.

"So who'll run the store?"
she said then, her voice startling him.

"The young Mansfield boy,"
he told her, with another twinge of bitterness that that should be
her only concern. There wasn't much in Brent Prior to keep a man
there, nothing he'd mind leaving behind, but he had the distinct
impression, aided by the barmaid's indifference, that no one here
would miss him either. It was a depressing conclusion to have to
accept.

Sarah said something then,
her voice muffled, and when he looked up, she had her face pressed
against the window, hands cupped around her eyes to see
better.

"What?" he
asked.

Her breath fogged the
glass. "I said 'do you have dogs?'"

"No, why?"

She shrugged and moved
away from the window. "Thought I saw a couple of them outside,
that's all."

He watched her move to the
lantern farthest away from the windows and felt his heart begin to
race in trepidation. "Dogs?"

She nodded briefly and
huffed out the flame. Shadows rushed in, painting the corner in
darkness.

He swallowed his panic.
"Please don't blow out the lights."

She ignored him, and moved
to the lantern directly behind him, the only one remaining save the
single light suspended above the inside of the tavern
door.