Robin Jarvis-Jax 02 Freax And Rejex (32 page)

Alasdair leaned gingerly against the headboard. “Dinnae call me that, ya posing ponce,” he said.

They were both making light of it because they knew the hand would never mend properly, if at all. Even if it had been attended to by a surgeon, it probably wouldn’t be the same again. Captain Swazzle had been too thorough.

“But it’s no my hand I’m worried aboot,” Alasdair said. “Can a person survive three days wi’out water?”

Marcus chewed his bottom lip. “I remember reading an article in a fitness magazine,” he began. “It was all about hydration. It said three to four days is the max the human body can manage.”

“So she could die in there?”

“It won’t come to that; the old guy will come round. He blows hot and cold he does.”

“But if he doesnae?”

“Then she’ll be in a real bad way when she gets out. But he’ll change his mind.”

Marcus closed the medical kit. Before he sealed it, a glint from the scissors it contained flashed across his eyes. It was like a light going on in his head. They would be incredibly useful. He would have to appropriate them later.

“So,” he said, changing the subject. “What was the matter with Big Mags just now?”

Alasdair sneered. “I told her she’s to blame for this,” he said. “Useless fat lump that she is.”

“Woah, bit strong for you, that. Thought I was the crude and crass one here?”

“She’s lost us our only link to the outside world,” the Scot said bitterly. “Our one chance of getting oot o’ here. I dinnae have no sympathy for her, the great thick munter.”

“She’s overweight, not stupid. I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose.”

Lee wasn’t so certain. “This is the second time the old guy’s been tipped off,” he said. “First he knew who wrecked that model of the castle, now this.”

“That adds up noo,” Alasdair muttered, thinking it over. “I didnae trust her from the start. I knew there was something fishy aboot the way she turned up. She’s never been one of us.”

“Wait,” Marcus spoke up. “You know what you’re saying? That’s a serious accusation. She’s not a spy.”

“Is she no? Remember her that first day, all chummy wi’ everyone? Trying to be best pals an’ asking questions? And look at the jammy work she’s got in the kitchen; there’s no hard slog outside this place, no ‘lickety-split’ for miles for her. Who’s to say they dinnae slip her proper food while we’re no here? She could be stuffing her fat face wi’ chips and chocolate for all we know.”

“That’s crazy,” Marcus told him. “For one thing, that Esther girl’s with
her the whole day; for another… well, she wouldn’t do that. She’s not nasty. There’s a few others I’d believe it of before her.”

“What you defending her for?”

Marcus shrugged. “Just think you’re wrong.”

“Lynxstain is right about one thing, for a change,” Lee butted in. “We can’t be one hundred per cent sure it was her. Suspicious behaviour ain’t proof and this ain’t
CSI
so we can’t get none. Best say nuthin’ to no one, but keep our eyes wide open.”

“Och, I’ll be watching her all right,” Alasdair promised.

When Spencer returned to his cabin, he was horrified to find the Punchinello with the half-eaten nose standing by his bed, wearing his Stetson. The guard spun round like a gunslinger when the boy entered and gave a rasping cackle.

“Th… that’s my hat,” Spencer said. “Could I have it back, please?”

The guard grimaced at him and ground his teeth.

“Me hat,” he growled. “Garrugaska want.”

Spencer tried to stay calm. “You can’t have it,” he said nervously. “It’s mine and I want it. Please, it’s important to me.”

“Important to me!” the guard mimicked him unpleasantly. “Me hat now! Garrugaska like.”

“Look, I… I’m sorry about your nose,” the boy persisted. “But that doesn’t mean you can take my stuff.”

He moved forward and reached out a trembling hand to grab the Stetson from the creature’s head. The Punchinello glared at him.

“You do that, and I’ll kill ya!” it threatened in a bizarre parody of John Wayne’s drawl. “Step down, pilgrim.”

Spencer started and jerked his hand back. He suddenly realised this was the guard that had been watching his media player the other night. Just how many of his Westerns had it seen and how many times, if it was already memorising them?

“I need it,” he tried again. “Please, er… Sir.”

“If you want to call me that, smile,” the Punchinello said, and Spencer recognised the classic Gary Cooper line from
The Virginian
.

The Punchinello grinned then swaggered forward as if wearing spurs. When he drew close to Spencer, he cleared his throat and spat on the floor. Then he pushed his bandaged nose into the boy’s face and said, “It’s a hell of a thing killing a man. You take away all he’s got and all he’s ever gonna have.” It was word-perfect. The guard was obviously better at repeating lines from movies than actually speaking English properly.

“Clint Eastwood.” Spencer identified the quote with a miserable murmur, unable to see through his breathed-on glasses. “Er…
Unforgiven
– one of the best.”

The guard blew imaginary cigar smoke in his face then left the cabin as though he was leaving a saloon.

Thoroughly cowed, Spencer stared after him. What was he going to do now? The Stetson was more than a hat to him. It was the symbol of his escape, how he shut out the horror and insanity. It was the only way he could deny the reality of it all. He wasn’t sure if he could cope or even survive without it. The Stetson had become a vital part of him and he was bereft.

A second clanging of the bell interrupted his despondency. Jangler had decided that, as they weren’t having any breakfast, they should begin work straight away and so everyone was summoned to the gates. With no meals to prepare, Maggie and Esther were also assigned to the work parties. Alasdair wasn’t allowed to use a broken hand as an excuse to get off work, Jangler pointed out that he could still pick fruit with the other and so he too was brought to the gates.

He turned a key in the lock and the long trek to the minchet thickets began.

“Hey, Herr Spenzer,” Marcus said, nudging him in the back. “What’s your hat doing on that guard? You two getting married or something? Do you get to wear his old one?”

Spencer wanted to punch him. Instead he pushed his way through the
others to get as far away from Marcus as possible.

“Spenzer and a guard, sittin’ in a tree…” Marcus teased.

“Lickety-split!” Yikker ordered. “You, Stinkboy. Go, make legs faster.”

Conversation between the children ceased as they were driven like cattle along the forest roads. Maggie wasn’t used to exercise like this and she soon found it extremely difficult to keep up with the others. When the two parties divided, Alasdair was in her group. It was gruelling and relentless. The Punchinellos didn’t allow any breaks and screamed at them if they worked too slowly. Minchet branches scored her and bluebottle swarms crawled over the bloody scratches. And through all that, Alasdair made her feel even more wretched, with snide remarks, condemning looks and whispers behind her back.

Maggie bore it in unhappy silence. Perhaps she deserved it; she didn’t really know. Compared to what Jody was going through and what had happened to Alasdair’s hand, this was nothing. It made her fully appreciate how much easier her usual kitchen duties were. She was lucky she didn’t have to do this every day.

That evening she lay on her bed, aching and sore and relieved it was over. She didn’t know how she’d got through it. In the afternoon, one girl had fainted from hunger and exhaustion. Marcus had acted as packhorse once more and carried her back to the camp whilst others staggered along like the walking dead. Yikker had been on the boy’s case throughout the day. Whenever the Punchinello drew near, he retched and spat at him, berating the “honk” of his aftershave and shower gel.

“Make Yikker mad,” he growled at him. “Yikker want spill your giblets. Yikker do soon. Lockpick no stop. Lockpick no in charge. Swazzle laugh at he. Yes, Yikker want cut off your skin and throw in stream. Wash stink off. That Yikker plan.”

Marcus knew the threats were genuine. As soon as that guard saw an opportunity, he was going to butcher him. The boy took meagre comfort in the knowledge that he had a little scheme of his own – one that would
drive that creature crazy. By the time Marcus was done, Yikker would be tearing his lank hair out.

On their return, Alasdair had gone straight to Jangler, to plead for Jody’s early release. The old man refused and said if he asked again, he’d have a broken foot to match his hand.

Jody’s empty bed was an unsettling presence in the cabin. Occasionally they heard her crying out and kicking the door of the tool cupboard. It had been another warm day and they wondered how hot it had been in that cramped, airless space. How could she manage in there without water for so long? Christina sat up in bed, listening for every miserable sound, until lights out when the two off-duty guards switched on the TV in their quarters. Judging from the blaring car chases and machine-gun fire, they must have been watching a gangster movie. They cheered and hooted excitably until Jangler knocked on their door to complain about the noise. It was strange, those cruel, repulsive creatures being so absorbed in television. Perhaps they merely relished the violence.

Maggie turned away from the empty bed. She tried not to think about Jody’s suffering, and her possible blame in it. Instead she directed her thoughts to Marcus. Before the march back here, she had seen him furtively slip two large minchet fruits into his pockets. Why would he do that? You couldn’t eat that foul stuff. Then she recalled his worried look, first thing that morning. He was up to something, but what? They hadn’t really spoken since the night of the drugged May Cup – and that seemed so long ago now. She tried to fill her mind with something else, but the only other subject was food. Groaning, she buried her face in the pillow.

Three cabins away, Charm was handing her moisturiser round to the other girls. The sun had left their faces and the backs of necks burnt and sore. Moisturiser was the only treatment they had. It didn’t relieve the discomfort of the burn, but it stopped their skin feeling so tight and they were grateful.

Charm had tried to speak to Lee at various points during the day, but he continually cold-shouldered her. She didn’t know what she’d done to upset him, but told herself she’d try again tomorrow. Before lights out she had made the girls forget about their hunger for a while by organising an impromptu fashion show. Taking her expensive clothes from her fake Louis Vuittons, she shared them and her precious make-up around, then told everyone to go up to the mezzanine and change. When they were ready, they paraded down the stairs, one by one, heads held high and haughty like supermodels. Charm applauded, giving generous marks out of ten and constructive tips to each of them. The girls laughed and for a while their plight, and that of Jody, was pushed from their thoughts. When they remembered, they fell silent and gave Charm her clothes back.

In the boys’ cabin next door, Marcus had called Lee and Spencer to the area beneath the stairs.

“Now listen, lads,” he began with great solemnity. “I’m going to tell you something and I’m trusting you to keep it to yourselves. With all this talk of snitches, you can’t be too careful. Don’t breathe a word to anyone, OK?”

“Did you ever win a bore contest?” Lee asked. “Cos you is damn good at it.”

Marcus ignored that and carried on. “I want you both to promise to keep schtum about what I’m going to tell you.”

Spencer nodded.

“You have to say it out loud,” Marcus insisted. “Do it properly.”

“I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Now you.”

Lee rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said. “Anything so’s I can escape your deodoria.”

“Escape!” Marcus whispered excitedly. “That’s the exact word. Did you ever see that film,
The Great Escape
?”

“Only every Christmas,” Lee said, seeing where this was going and thinking the Manchester lad was an even bigger idiot than he had suspected.
“Straight after the one with the big metal guy and the skeleton fight.”

“
Jason and the Argonauts
,” Spencer couldn’t stop himself saying.

“Yeah, that’s the thing. With the snaky monster.”

“Seven-headed hydra,” Spencer corrected.

Lee stared at him with pity. “Kid,” he asked. “Did you ever have a life?”

“Oi!” Marcus interrupted. “Can you let me finish? Thank you. So –
The Great Escape
is the one where the POWs dig a tunnel right out of the prison camp.”

“Tell me you is not serious,” Lee said.

Marcus crouched to unroll the polo shirt he had placed on the floor. Wrapped inside was a trowel and the scissors from the medical kit.

“I gotcha now,” Lee declared with mock enthusiasm. “You’re going to plant some window boxes for the thirty guys who are gonna come do this digging, then trim their nails or give them a haircut. Sound plan, can’t see no flaws there.”

“I’m not pretending it won’t take a while,” Marcus said defensively. “And no one’s asking you to come. I just don’t want anyone else knowing. This secret stays in our hut, yeah?”

He peeled back the carpet and began scoring a line in the plywood underneath with the scissors. Lee burst out laughing.

“You is gonna be there like forever!”

“Yeah, well, you won’t think it’s so funny when I’ve got away. I’ll be the Steve McQueen of this place – racing off on a motorbike.”

Spencer joined in the laughter. “He got caught in that film!”

“Oh, get lost,” Marcus muttered. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Where are you going to get all the wood from?” Spencer asked.

“Wood?”

“To shore up the tunnel and stop it burying you alive.”

Marcus concentrated on gouging the scissors through the flooring. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“I’m working on it,” he lied.

Lee headed back upstairs. “Whatever keeps you happy and outta my hair, little man,” he scoffed. “And hey, the stink up here… is that your trainers or what? Smells like something’s crawled in ’em and died. Hang those reekers out the window.”