Rampage! (24 page)

Something strange had happened to them.

And, feeling a sudden fear for Wat and her friends replace her elation, she backed away from the pot, turned and raced out of the hut.

XXV

A F
RIGHT IN
S
HINING
A
RMOUR

Alex gazed along the row of twinkling graves, feeling a prickle of sweat across his brow that had nothing to do with the humidity of the jungle.

‘I don’t like this,’ he said.

Beside him, Aries drew a front hoof through the nearest spangling halo. Instantly the stars spun out, fizzing with tiny bolts of lightning, and then streamed up around his hock. Intrigued, Grass Snake stuck his snout closer for a better look, tilting his head one way, then the other, mesmerized by the lights.

‘I think it’sss pretty,’ he sighed, his eyes rolling round and round.

A clatter of branches echoed above them and, glancing up, Alex saw flashes of russet fur as an eerily silent troupe of howler monkeys swung away through the branches. Even the animals didn’t seem to like it here and, sensing the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he felt certain that there was something terribly wrong with this place.

‘Let’s go,’ he said.

Suddenly the clearing exploded in a frenzy of yells and whoops. A high, thin laugh screeched through the trees.

‘Lads!’ commanded the Gorgon.

Instantly Viper whipped hold of Grass Snake and jerked him, befuddled, back on to the shield, where they instantly froze into defence mode with the others beneath the veneer of silver.

Alex gasped as a thickset man lurched out from behind the huge tree trunk at the far edge of the clearing and charged towards them. Dressed in a metal helmet, breastplate, striped knee-length pants and boots, he bellowed furiously, unsheathing a whip-thin sword, and Alex barely had time to lift the shield in front of Aries and himself before the man skidded to a stop, twirled his weapon above his head and brought it down with a whistling shrill until its tip quivered three millimetres from the end of Alex’s nose.

Shuddering, Alex felt himself go cross-eyed as he stared up the shining blade to the snorting man at the other end.

‘Who are you?’ demanded the man in armour, glaring red-faced from beneath the rim of his gleaming helmet.

‘Alex Knossos,’ spluttered Alex, instantly understanding the question though not, of course, realising that it was actually asked in Spanish.

Alex held the man’s gaze, his heart hammering hard, and slowly, slowly, inched his hand down towards Achilles’s sword. Staring back at the man’s neat black moustache and triangle of a beard, he wrapped his fingers around its hilt as three more men burst out of the stand of trees and stomped over the ferny ground towards them.

‘Intruders, Carlos?’ asked the tallest amongst them.

Thin and bird-like, he stopped and leaned forward to gaze down his pointed nose at Aries. Blond hair stuck out like straw from beneath his helmet.

‘Thieves, Enrique,’ muttered the first man, sheathing his sword again.

Alex shook his head, astonished at the suggestion. Thieves? What could they possibly steal in the jungle? Horrified, he slid his eyes sideways to look at the others: an old man with a grubby grey beard who stared back at him with rheumy, suspicious eyes and a small, weasely man with the leering smile of a gargoyle. He felt his stomach lurch as he realised that they were all dressed in exactly the same way, precisely like the picture of the old soldiers in Hazel’s book. He searched his memory quickly for the caption beneath the picture.

Conquistadors.

But that was too ridiculous. Those men had ridden through the jungle over five hundred years ago. Yet here they were, dressed in the same uniform, even down to their helmets, ridged like walnut shells over the crowns of their heads. Feeling the blood drain from his face, he felt the unmistakable spider’s touch of Medea’s meddling once again.

The oldest one, the grandfather of the group, stepped forward. A rotted red and yellow sash hung over his breastplate. A tatter of red feathers drooped from his helmet.

Beside him, the wiry soldier grinned through yellowed teeth. Now Alex noticed that as well as his sword, he
was carrying another, odd-looking weapon. Made from a long pole of wood, it made him think of spears, except that it had no pointed tip, only a hole drilled down its middle and a curled metal catch halfway down its length.
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Alex held his breath as the man stopped and lurched forwards until he was nose-to-nose with him. ‘Gold rats!’ he hissed, his breath rank with the smell of onions and brandy.

Twisting away, he stretched out his arm, drawn by the sheen of one of Pegasus’s fans tucked into Aries’ harness.

‘Pretty,’ he muttered, stroking it with a filthy finger, before poking the bundles of embroidery and twanging the harp loudly. Then, spotting the Nemesis statue, his beady eyes lit up. ‘Matias like this,’ he grinned, starting to unbuckle it from the harness.

Snorting, Aries stamped backwards, taking the statue out of his reach.

Alex looked back at the other men. ‘We’re looking for Tatu Village,’ he said as evenly as he could.

‘Tatu Village?’ said Enrique, in a high whine. ‘Carlos? Do you hear that?’

Carlos stroked his beard and scowled nastily. ‘There is no village in this hell of green!’ he replied.

(Which, as far as Carlos and the others were concerned, was true. After all, when you’ve spent the
last five hundred years or so haunting the taverns of Seville, before being accidentally summoned back to the jungle, you’re hardly likely to know what’s been happening in the Amazon, are you?)

‘Is a dirty lie!’ cried Matias.

He pulled a dented flask from his pocket, uncorked it and took a swig. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he belched loudly as if to agree with himself.

‘Charming,’ muttered Aries.

The men froze.

Several seconds later an eyebrow lifted, a mouth snapped shut and a look of astonishment bounced between their grubby faces.

‘What crazy sheep-animal is this?’ demanded Enrique. ‘What trickery?’

‘Devil’s work!’ announced Matias and jabbed Aries in the belly with the harquebus, so that its butt left smoky-circle marks on Aries’ skin. ‘I don’t think we like you.’

Aries flared his nostrils in disdain. ‘I’m not much bowled over by you, either,’ he grunted.

Matias reached for his sword.

‘Everybody!’ said Alex quickly, lifting his hands in surrender. ‘This is all a silly misunderstanding. We didn’t mean to intrude on you, er, gentlemen.’ Hearing Aries snort derisively at the last word, Alex continued quickly. ‘So we’ll just leave you to it and carry on.’

‘Leave you to it and carry on?’ said Enrique. Looking round at the others, he held a finger to his cheek and looked up playfully as if to consider the remark. Then
he looked straight back at Alex and leaned forward until they were nose-to-nose. ‘No!’

‘Kill the boy,’ said
Señor
Granddad. ‘Eat the sheep!’

Upon which four metallic hisses rang through the clearing as the men unsheathed their razor-sharp blades in unison. Four swords of Toledo steel glittered in the sunlight, forming a claw over Alex’s head.

Aries reared up, clanking his horns against the blades.

‘Get him out of the way!’ demanded Carlos, as Aries paddled his hooves high in the air towards him.

Immediately Matias and
Señor
Granddad slid their swords back into their scabbards and leaped forward to gruffly seize hold of Aries’ horns. Then, cursing wildly, they hauled him roughly out of the way. Aries struggled and snorted, dragging his hooves in the earth to try and stop them, but the ground was slippery beneath his feet and now, gasping at a bolt of pain in his wounds, he was unable to summon up his usual ferocious strength. Finally, jerking his head left and right, he tried to jab them with his horns.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ squealed
Señor
Granddad, snapping off his rotted sash and quickly tying it across Aries’ eyes as a blindfold.

‘Let him go!’ demanded Alex.

He stepped towards Aries, only to be abruptly stopped by the stinging tip of Carlos’s sword against his chest. Alex looked back at the man, who smiled icily and with a deft flick of his wrist sliced open the fabric of Alex’s T-shirt.

‘Fight!’ he demanded.

Aries snorted furiously. Blinded and disoriented, he
drummed his hooves against the ground and out of the corner of his eye Alex saw a flash of metal in the gloom as
Señor
Granddad slid a dagger from his boot.

‘Quiet, stupid animal!’ he hissed, holding the cold blade against the ram’s throat.

‘Do as he says!’ shouted Alex desperately.

Sensing danger, Aries spun his ears round to find Alex’s voice and immediately stopped struggling.

‘Stay still,’ added Alex, trying to sound calmer than he felt. Then, swallowing hard, he turned back to his opponents.

‘En garde!’
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announced Carlos.

Feeling dread, Alex pulled the heavy sword of Achilles from his belt with his right hand, trying to control the trembling in his arm, and, hearing a low hiss from inside the shield, lifted it high against his shoulder.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he looked at the men’s faces, their smiles as cold and sharp as their swords. His own sword suddenly felt massive and unwieldy, horribly clumsy in his hand. Being Ancient Greek, it was cast from iron and, looking out from behind its broad leaf-shaped blade, he saw a look of amusement pass between the soldiers’ faces. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. Before this quest he’d never even held a sword in his hands, never mind tried to fight with one.

Suddenly Carlos and Enrique lunged forward, their front legs bent, their arms holding out their swords gracefully.

‘Ready?’ sniggered Enrique.

‘Ready,’ whispered Alex.

There was a metallic whoosh from the front of the shield.

‘Ready!’ agreed Gorgon, her voice low and menacing.

‘Willing!’ hissed Viper, unfurling to lurch out at the men.

‘And able!’ spat Adder.

Alex felt his heart soar as the snakes fanned out, hissing furiously, baring their fangs. He took a step forward.

Now the men’s confident smiles were all gone and, stepping backwards, their eyes glittered, round with fear.

‘More devilry,’ hissed Carlos.

‘Then it’s lucky our blades are so sharp,’ sneered Enrique.

Exchanging a dark look with Carlos, he sprang forward, the whistle of his sword sending a muddle of macaws flapping into the treetops. Beside him, Carlos matched his move, lunging forward, bringing his sword down like a guillotine.

The snakes spun backwards, away from the swish of silver, as Alex leaped at the men, reflexively swinging the sword left and right in front of him. The snakes ducked and curled, criss-crossing in front of the men, confusing them as Alex sprang to the side and slammed his sword against Carlos’s blade.

The men pounded forward. Alex leaped back as the slices and jabs rained down like hail. Fleetingly, his mind flashed back to how flamboyantly Jason had wielded the weapon and saw clearly how easy that was when you happened to be six-feet tall with muscles like an ox and the only thing you chose to spar with were jungle thickets. Rather than, say, a gang of fight-hungry ghost soldiers who were completely bananas.

Freshly incensed at the unfairness of it all, Alex ran at the men, holding the shield high and throwing his full weight behind the sword, swinging it like a scythe. Alarmed, they scuttled away, momentarily framing Alex like a pair of brackets. Yet a split second later they were behind him, stabbing and lunging. Furious now, Alex spun back. Left, right, he swung the sword, deflecting the frenzy of blows, looking for a chance to charge at their undefended chests before all his strength was gone.

Never had he seen combat like this. In all the army tales his father had told him, the enemy had never danced about like crickets. Like the men’s strange weapons, their fighting was light and fast too, all flair and flounce, with enough fancy footwork thrown in to rival an Athenian temple dancer. Full of parrying,
voltes
56
and glides. Greek battles were all about brute strength, about cutting and
stabbing and rushing towards your enemy as one. They were about fighting as a unit.

Making it lucky then that Alex and the snakes were one.

Now, as Carlos and Enrique lunged, close enough for Alex to feel their breath on his face, he heard the Gorgon’s voice.

‘Attack!’ she roared, her voice raw with fury.

In a single flash of movement, like nothing the Spaniards would have read about in any of their lofty books about sword fighting, all five serpents catapulted from the front of the shield and sped through the air like rubbery spears, sending Carlos and Enrique stumbling backwards in horror. Krait flung himself around Carlos’s neck, hissing viciously. Viper and Adder each flew around one of his wrists and, quickly looping together, tightened into a pair of scaly handcuffs. Grass Snake lassoed his ankles, sending him tripping backwards over his own headstone to crash into a thicket of prickly figs.

And Cobra? Remembering his youthful military days, he curled into a tight ball and cannoned into Enrique’s stomach, toppling him on to the ground in a fury of splutters. Then, as the man tried to stand up again, he slithered on to his chest and wrapped himself tighter and tighter.