The League of Sharks (28 page)

‘We should think about this,' said Garvan.

Junk shook his head. ‘No time.'

‘What are you going to do?'

Junk shrugged. ‘Distract them until you can get there.'

‘What if the Twrisks won't come?' Junk didn't have an answer. At least not one he fancied articulating. He left.

Garvan turned to the box and started to open it out.

Junk ran out of the hotel and raced through the dark streets of Wotashi, heading west towards Cuca. Wotashi was not a lively town at the best of times, but after nightfall it almost completely shut down. Junk didn't see another soul. Everything was quiet and closed up for the night. He couldn't see the Pallatan who had carried Lasel off or hear her shouting any more.

As soon as he reached the outskirts of the shanty town, it was as though he was in a different place altogether. As he drew closer, he heard laughter and music and loud voices. There were bonfires on every street corner. The residents of Cuca were sitting outside their rickety two-room homes eating and drinking, talking with their neighbours. Children of all ages were playing in the streets. It was like a party was being held in every one of its narrow, dirty alleyways.

The bonfires cast long shadows and Junk was careful to stick to the darkness. He was quite sure he wouldn't pass for a local if anyone noticed him. It wasn't easy. The shacks were pushed up against one another and there wasn't much space that wasn't occupied.
But Junk kept his head down and moved briskly.

The closer he got to the League's territory, the quieter it became. Finally he reached the high patchwork outer wall. He saw the dilapidated outbuilding that Cascér had scaled, but she was considerably taller than him and even if he got up on to the roof, he wasn't sure he could then make it to the top of the wall. He stood staring up at the towering slab before him, trying to work out how to breach it. Cascér had said it was the same all the way around. Getting over it was going to be quite some task.

Then he had a flash of inspiration. What if he went under it? Maybe it was designed with people the size of Pallatans in mind. Would someone as small as Junk even be considered a threat by the League? He dropped down on his hands and knees and started scraping away the dirt at the base, hoping that they hadn't planted the foundations too deeply. He was in luck. The boulders that made up the bottom strata of the wall were only buried a metre and a half down. The dirt here was dry and it only took Junk about ten minutes to dig a small passageway beneath the wall.

He slid under, arching his back and pushing his way through. Loose soil rained down on him, getting into his eyes and mouth. He came up inside the compound and was careful to stay low, looking around to get the lie of the land. It was dark here so he was hidden from view. However, the first thing he noticed was that there was no one around. There were twenty or so single-storey buildings in small groups of three or four on either side
of a crooked path. Everything was quiet and still. Then, just as he was about to carry on, he registered movement out of the corner of his eye and he froze. He turned to see a yadi – he recognized it from Cascér's description – come padding around the corner. It stopped and looked in Junk's direction. Its fur was patchy, there was crusted blood on its snout and one ear had been bitten almost in half. A flap of cartilage clung on stubbornly. If this was one of the beasts that Cascér fought with, then she had possibly come off the better.

After a few moments of seeming to stare straight at Junk, the animal walked on. Junk watched as it entered a small barn just beyond the single-storey buildings. He moved quietly to the barn and peered inside. There were a dozen similar animals. Most appeared to be asleep or on the brink of nodding off. Junk reached out and pushed the door shut. There was a bolt on the outside, and he slid it across quietly.

Then he stood up and looked around. Where was everyone and, more importantly, where was Lasel?

The buildings inside the compound were much the same as those outside: poorly constructed shacks. There was another group, a dozen or more, dotted around an open-air exercise yard. As Junk drew closer, he heard low voices murmuring and one dominant voice. Junk rounded one of the shacks and found himself looking out over the entire assembled League of Sharks standing in a broad circle under the stars. There were about twenty-five Pallatan men, all branded with the League's symbol: the
shark's fin and five stars. Most sported numerous other tattoos as well, on their bodies and hairless heads. Junk was reminded of Russian gangsters he had seen (and made sure to avoid) in the waterfront bars of Arkhangelsk in northern Russia, when he had been working on a trawler in the White Sea. Their criminal history and life story was written on their bodies through tattooed symbols, such as cupolas signifying prison sentences and a ship expressing a desire for freedom, among dozens of others.

Junk moved around the back of one of the shacks in order to get a better view. The sight that greeted him filled him with horror. A metal stand that looked like a gallows stood in the centre of the yard. It was five or so metres high, and hanging by her ankles from an arm at the top was Lasel. Two of the Pallatans were swinging her back and forth, making her spin. Junk recognized one of them immediately. He was the one with a fish tattoo on the top of his head. The one Junk had followed into the Room of Doors. The other was Rumanow. Most of the rest looked on, muttering to one another, their eyes following the swinging girl. One of the Pallatans was standing in front of Lasel with his back to Junk. He was the one speaking. He spoke Jansian. His voice rode over everything else.

‘My patience wears thin, girl,' he said. ‘Where is she? Tell me now.' Junk knew he meant Cascér.

Rumanow spoke: ‘Let me ask her, Jacid. I will get her to talk.' Then the man in front of Lasel turned and Junk saw his face. He recognized him at once. It was scarface.
The man who killed his sister. The man he had come here looking for. And now he had a name. Half a name anyway: Jacid.

‘Mestrowe,' said another man, this one with a trident in place of his left lower arm. Junk had a full name for his quarry now: Jacid Mestrowe. ‘Rumanow's right. We can't just stay here all night. She's not said a word.'

Junk formulated a quick plan in his head. He needed to distract the Pallatans, set Lasel free and get them both back to the hole under the outer wall before anyone realized. The first thing he noticed was that the rope around Lasel's ankles was secured to the base of the metal stand with a type of hitch knot: easy to tie and, more importantly, easy to untie.

A few metres to his left was a barrel-shaped brazier burning brightly. It was one of many dotted around the exercise yard. Staying low and out of sight, Junk crept close to the brazier until he was able to get his hand underneath. Slowly he pulled it towards one of the shacks and carefully he tipped it back so it was resting precariously against the front of the shack, rocking gently from side to side. The coals inside shifted with each movement so that the rocking gradually increased. Junk crept back into the shadows and moved away as fast as he dared.

*

Lasel felt ill. She had been hanging upside down for too long and the constant spinning and swinging wasn't helping. She felt sure she was about to throw up and was
determined to direct it at one of her captors. Rumanow was closest.

Mestrowe stopped her swinging. It was a relief. ‘For the last time, tell me who you are, girl. I'm growing impatient.'

Lasel was raised high enough off the ground so that she was face to face with him. ‘You were seen with the woman. Where is she?' Lasel said nothing. ‘Who else are you with?' Lasel said nothing. ‘What is it you want with us?' Lasel said nothing. ‘Speak or I will leave you to their mercy.' He gestured over his shoulder at the grinning hordes of the League of Sharks. ‘And they have none,' he added, a little redundantly.

Lasel opened her mouth to speak, but as she did so something caught her attention and she looked up to see one of the shacks was ablaze. Half of the Pallatans rushed to put out the fire, but it spread quickly and more and more of the League went to help until Lasel was left alone.

Junk moved fast. He sprinted out into the open, across the exercise yard, coming up behind Lasel. He ducked his face in front of hers so she knew it was him. Instinctively she started to speak but he put a hand over her mouth to stop her. She quickly got the message.

Junk grabbed the end of rope trailing from the knot and pulled. It should have unravelled easily, but it didn't. It seemed that although it looked like a type of hitch knot, it wasn't. It was a type Junk had not seen before. Pulling the rope only tightened the knot. Junk cursed under his
breath and set about trying to undo the knot. He kept one eye on the Pallatans, who were all still occupied with the fire.

Junk's heart was pounding and his fingers felt fat and clumsy. The sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. Everything he did to the knot only made it stronger and more secure. So he stopped. He realized he needed to think clearly. He took a breath, wiped the sweat off his face and studied the knot. It took him a few seconds to see how it had been tied and therefore how to untie it. He looked up at Lasel and smiled. Then he noticed that scarface had turned away from the burning shack and was staring straight at him. For a moment it was as if scarface couldn't believe what his one good eye was seeing. He barked to his comrades in H'rtu and started striding back towards Junk and Lasel. Junk felt the panic rising in him again and he tried to focus on undoing the knot. Two fingers under the bight, pull back and out and the rope unravelled. Scarface and some of the other Pallatans were halfway across the exercise yard as Junk lowered Lasel to the ground.

A throb of elation ran through Junk for a split second until he realized that the rope was still tied securely around her ankles and she was unable to move. Junk had no choice but to scramble to his feet and throw Lasel over his shoulder. He started running.

They didn't get very far before they were surrounded by the League.

*

After all this time, Junk finally found himself face to face with the man who killed his sister. Unfortunately it wasn't quite how Junk would have liked this meeting to take place. He and Lasel were both now strung up by their ankles back to back. Junk was looking into Jacid Mestrowe's one good eye upside down.

‘I don't know you,' said Mestrowe in Jansian. ‘Who are you, boy?' Junk didn't answer. He was scared, very scared, and he didn't want to sound weak in front of Mestrowe. He managed to hide his fear by clenching his jaw tight shut. It gave him a resolute look.

Rumanow pitched forward and backhanded Junk, sending him spinning wildly. ‘He asked you a question, you scust. You better answer. I saw you both with her.' Mestrowe reached out to stop Junk's unfettered spinning.

‘What do you want with us?' said Mestrowe, calmly and quietly. Junk still didn't answer. Suddenly Mestrowe's hand shot out and clamped around Lasel's throat. He started to squeeze. He could crush her windpipe like a dry leaf if he chose.

‘No,' shouted Junk.

‘Who are you?' Mestrowe asked again. Lasel's face was starting to turn purple.

‘Murroughtoohy,' said Junk.

Mestrowe stared at Junk. He didn't relax his grip on Lasel, who looked as if she was about to lose consciousness. Her tongue was ballooning out from between her teeth. Her eyes were all white.

‘Please stop,' said Junk. Mestrowe carried on for another few seconds and then pulled his hand away. Instantly, Lasel gulped down as much oxygen as she could take in at one go. She started coughing violently, every angry exhalation shaking her whole body.

Mestrowe pushed her aside, ignoring the sound, and looked blankly at Junk. ‘What is Murroughtoohy? Is that supposed to mean something?'

‘You went through the Room of Doors …' Junk noticed Mestrowe react to the mention of the Room. ‘You went three million years back to a place on the west coast of Ireland. You took a little girl from her bed.' Mestrowe frowned as he thought back. ‘That was my sister. I chased you but you went over the cliff.' Mestrowe shrugged. It meant nothing. Junk forgot about his predicament briefly. Anger mushroomed inside him. How dare Mestrowe not remember something that had changed Junk's life so completely. ‘How can you not remember it?'

Mestrowe grabbed Junk's face and brought it close to his. ‘Watch your tone with me, boy,' he said. ‘I've killed lots of sisters and brothers and mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sons and daughters. Why would I remember one out of so many? And I don't remember you.' Mestrowe pushed Junk away and he swung back and forth, rotating first one way and then the other.

‘Fatoocha mammacoola charla,' said Junk to Mestrowe's back as he started to walk away. Mestrowe stopped and turned. He caught Junk and stopped him
swinging. Now there was a look of dawning recognition on his face.

‘That's what you said to me that night,' said Junk. ‘I've never forgotten those words. Do you remember me now?'

Mestrowe didn't answer straight away. When he did he said, ‘No.' Junk felt crestfallen. ‘But I remember the girl.'

‘Fatoocha mammacoola charla,' said Junk again. ‘The Nine Emperors send their regards. Tell me who the Nine Emperors are.'

‘This has haunted you, hasn't it, boy?' said Mestrowe.

Junk tried not to respond but despite himself he nodded.

Mestrowe grinned. ‘Good.' He laughed. ‘Let it stay that way.'

Junk thrashed, straining at the ropes binding him. ‘Why did you kill my sister?' he shouted.

Mestrowe laughed heartily to see his distress. ‘You'll never know, boy. Though let me tell you, she died screaming.'

‘NO! NO! NO!' Mestrowe's words had the desired effect, turning Junk apoplectic with rage. He whipped back and forth, struggling to get free. Laughing, Mestrowe pushed him away and Junk swung towards Rumanow who, laughing too, swung him towards Orrant, who swung him to Fish-Head. All the Pallatans were laughing now and stamping their feet.