The Liberators (7 page)

‘Ivo! We wish you could be here with us. Look – it's magnificent!' He took the camera from Ivo's mother, and tracked it over the landscape. ‘They used to venerate the wolf. All this was grassland.' There was an edge of sadness in his voice. ‘Everything depended on everything else. The grassland needed the wolves, and the herdsmen learned from them. It was a balance – complex, fascinating, every factor as necessary as a cog in a clock. It worked. The herdsmen worshipped Tengger, and when they died, they gave their bodies to the wolves so that their souls could fly up to Tengger. And then the farmers came, and slaughtered all the wolves. But the wolves are clever, Ivo – they moved on, they found a way to be free.' He stopped speaking and held the camera facing himself, and leaned in to Ivo's mother and said, ‘We love you very much, darling.'

Ivo stopped the video. He was lost in thought, when the door opened quickly and Strawbones came running in and flung himself on the bed.

Ivo could see a tangle of blond hair, a yellow embroidered shirt and a pair of jeans, and the flash of a brightly coloured waistcoat, and he could hear sobbing, then Strawbones turned over, and Ivo realised it was laughter. The young man's face was completely crumpled up, and dry, racking sounds were issuing from his mouth, which was opened like a gash, revealing canines that looked like they would have no trouble tearing apart a raw steak. The red lips eventually closed, and Strawbones's eyes, which had been screwed shut, opened; on seeing Ivo, they closed again and the laughter began once more.

Ivo was unsure what to do, and embarrassed, and eventually decided that he should make his presence known; so he coughed, quite loudly, and Strawbones immediately sat bolt upright, although he seemed unable to do this for very long, for he quickly lapsed and relaxed, putting all his weight on one elbow. He was curiously long, thought Ivo, and limp, as if he didn't have any bones at all; his face, on the other hand, was defined as clearly as if a sculptor had chipped it out of marble.

‘Er . . . hi,' said Ivo. He couldn't think of much else to say. ‘Did you . . . want to go and do something?'

‘Er . . . hi to you too,' said Strawbones, imitating Ivo's confusion, and giggled, though didn't quite fall back into his hysteria. He had a long red scarf around his neck, looped several times, in which he buried his head, the blond hair falling over it.

Strawbones, when he had finished, and taken a deep breath, looked up, his eyes bright and his mouth grinning. He held out his hand in greeting, and Ivo moved forward rather awkwardly to shake it. Strawbones clasped it, and patted him on the shoulder.

‘Ivo, my friend,' he said, ‘I didn't know anyone was in this room. I didn't mean to barge in like that. Sorry. It's just . . . it's just some people will do
anything
.' He put his hands over his mouth and emitted a curious squealing noise, like a pig. Ivo realised that he was still laughing. He contained himself, and stopped, and looked up at Ivo once more.

‘That's . . . that's all right,' said Ivo. ‘Is . . . is Lydia painting you today?'

‘Yes,' said Strawbones, and threatened to burst into laughter again, but managed to stop himself. He snapped upright and began rearranging some objects on Ivo's bedside table, placing books on top of each other and then knocking them all aside. Then he got to his feet, and began to sway; Ivo started to laugh, and Strawbones began to play up to it. First he jigged like a chimney sweep, waving an imaginary brush from side to side; he pretended to kill a standing lamp; he conducted a duel with an imaginary opponent, thoroughly enjoying the thrusts of his sword, and eventually, tired of his exertions, but obviously pleased with the reaction they had caused in Ivo, he collapsed upon the bed again, directing a beam of such joy at Ivo that he immediately lost all his inhibitions.

‘Is Strawbones your real name?' said Ivo conversationally.

‘No,' said Strawbones, suddenly serious.

‘So why do they call you that?'

Strawbones shrugged. ‘I don't know. I've had it for a long time. I suppose it's because I broke my arm about a million times when I was young. And my legs. I kept falling off horses and stuff. So they said my bones were made of straw, and my brother started calling me Strawbones, to annoy me, and it stuck, and then I ended up kind of liking it.'

‘What is your real name?' asked Ivo.

‘You wouldn't want to know,' said Strawbones, and all the light had gone out of his eyes. He threw himself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Ivo, feeling rather shy, said, ‘Why were you laughing so much?'

Strawbones stretched and yawned, like a cat, and said, ‘Oh, at something very funny, that's all.' The young man sat up, and faced Ivo, a grin on his face. Ivo found that he desperately wanted to know what had made Strawbones laugh, and that he wanted to make him laugh too. Strawbones turned away from him, and was hidden from Ivo by a fall of hair; when Strawbones turned back his expression was set.

Strawbones opened his lips slightly, and Ivo started back as a small, forked tongue appeared; Strawbones opened his mouth wider and a garter snake darted out, hissing, and slithered down softly on to a hand that was carefully put out for it. Ivo watched as the snake wove its way between Strawbones's fingers, emitting little, cross explosions. Watching Ivo carefully, Strawbones grinned, and suddenly the snake was gone. Ivo remembered the snake that had been in his pocket in the kitchen, which he thought he had imagined. Ivo froze. He didn't know what to think or say. Strawbones made no reference to the reptile. Ivo was about to open his mouth to speak, when Strawbones moved to the door.

‘And now, shall we go down to the kitchen?' asked Strawbones quietly. ‘I've worked up rather an appetite.' Ivo nodded, confused. Strawbones was so strange, so changeable. Ivo liked him, that was true, but he was also a little scared of him, as if he was in a cage with a tame tiger. Strawbones made you want to follow him, to dance with him, to fight for him. If Strawbones walked off a cliff, thought Ivo, then he would probably follow.

They left the room together and pounded down the stairs, Strawbones taking them three or four at a time, and Ivo behind him. They entered the kitchen to find that Christine had got everything ready for lunch, and nobody else was around.

Strawbones slid into a chair, and it looked almost as if the chair should be grateful that he was sitting in it. As Christine ladled out some stew, Strawbones made a ridiculous, hungry face. Strawbones's hands were very long, and the bones could be seen under the skin; his veins were quite prominent, and almost blue, like Chinese porcelain.

‘How much?' said Christine, holding the ladle over Ivo's bowl, and Ivo, catching her eye, indicated that he wanted lots. Christine filled it up and placed it in front of him, smoothing down her apron. ‘Have more, there is a whole vat, and I do not think there is anybody else who wants it. Have you seen Juniper? Are you looking forward to the kittens? I do not know who the father is, she is a very naughty cat.'

Ivo laughed and said he had seen her walking down the street this morning, but not since then.

‘I will leave you to eat then,' she said, ‘But you must find Juniper and feed her.
Au revoir,
Monsieur,
à bientôt.
' She smiled at Ivo, nodded at Strawbones, and Ivo watched her go, then turned his attention to Strawbones, who was scooping up the stew as if he hadn't eaten in months. He barely chewed each mouthful, and let the gravy run down his chin, but somehow in him it did not look unattractive.

When he finished, Strawbones looked absently out of the window, and Ivo was squirming in his seat. Ivo ate a particularly hot potato and, frantically blowing and waving his hand, quickly swallowed a glass of water; he noticed that Strawbones was looking directly at him with a skewed expression.

Strawbones leaned forward, picked up a decanter and poured himself a glass of wine; he filled Ivo's glass too, ignoring the fact that it had half an inch of water in it. Ivo picked it up hesitantly, and gulped at it.

‘Where's the snake?' asked Ivo, emboldened a little.

‘What snake?' said Strawbones, looking thoroughly confused.

Ivo spluttered.

‘What are you laughing about?' said Strawbones, suddenly, and with such vehemence that Ivo nearly jumped out of his chair.

‘Nothing! I wasn't laughing.'

‘Are you
sure
?' said Strawbones.

‘No . . . no . . . I wasn't!'

Strawbones paused and looked evilly at Ivo, before bursting into laughter again.

‘Got you there!' he said, and Ivo found himself joining in with the laughter, it was so infectious. Strawbones put his hand in his pocket, and out of it came the tiny, jewelled garter snake. Ivo watched the shining beast slither around on Strawbones's hand. He put the snake on the table gently, and it moved over towards Ivo. Ivo instinctively moved backwards. Strawbones regarded him keenly. Ivo didn't want to touch the animal; he felt repulsed by it.

‘Do you want to touch him?'

Ivo shook his head. ‘No way,' he said. ‘Is it poisonous?'

‘Hmm,' said Strawbones. ‘I don't think that matters. I think you're restrained by something.'

The snake eased its way forwards over the white tiles of the kitchen table, its tiny, dart-like tongue shimmering in and out. Ivo didn't want to seem cowardly in front of Strawbones, so without waiting for him to say anything, he put his hand on to the table and let the snake slither on to him. He couldn't help shuddering, but managed to repress the thought. He felt the creature on his skin, cool and alive. He held his hand out, as Strawbones had done, and let the snake weave in and out of his fingers. He was surprised to find he loved the sensation of the animal, wild and free, connecting with him in this way, and he gazed at it, mesmerised. It coiled off his hand and dropped elegantly to the table top, sliding back across to Strawbones, who scooped it up and stowed it away. There was no need for him to say anything; he merely caught Ivo's eye, and a deep understanding flashed between them. Ivo knew that he had proved something to Strawbones.

Strawbones poured Ivo another glass of wine. Ivo was feeling giddy, his cheeks were getting red, and his mind was getting fuzzy. The ruby, warm liquid looked almost like oil as it slid into his glass.

‘Wine, Ivo, nectar of the gods, ambrosia even. It's a strange business, wine, and an even stranger thing to want to do – to
intoxicate
oneself, to be out of control, to lose your senses, don't you think?'

Sleepily, Ivo nodded, the warm, yellow walls of the kitchen cocooning him.

‘Let me ask you something, Ivo,' said Strawbones, his long teeth gleaming in the light. ‘Do you think you're happy? Do you think that you have everything?'

‘Well . . . yes,' answered Ivo. ‘I mean . . . I'm pretty lucky, don't you think?'

‘Yes, Ivo, you are. But even if you have everything, even if you lack for nothing, are you then truly happy, truly free?'

Strawbones leaned back, rocking on two legs of his chair, pushing his bowl carelessly away, holding the wine glass to his cheek.

‘A long, long time ago, Ivo, there were two men who thought they had everything. They were rich – richer than your Uncle Jago, richer than the richest man in England, richer than Croesus. They lived in a country thousands of miles from here, in a haunted, freezing castle on top of a mountain.'

Strawbones rocked forward on his chair, making a sharp crack on the stone floor of the kitchen, and leaned his elbows on the table. His voice was soft, and it soothed Ivo, as if he were much, much younger, and being read a story by his parents.

‘They thought that they had everything. All the barons in the lands around sent them tributes, they had silks, horses, furs, maidens. They could
kill
a peasant,' he said, his voice rising, gripping the edge of the table, the wine glass forgotten now, ‘if he failed to pay due obeisance, and nothing would happen to them. Sometimes they would kill for fun, sometimes out of pity, sometimes out of duty. You don't believe me?'

Ivo shrugged, moving his glass from side to side upon the table top. ‘I don't know what to say. It sounds like a fairy story.'

Strawbones shook with laughter, banging his fist upon the table, shaking his glass so that his wine was spilled, looking for all the world like spilled blood. He stopped laughing, his teeth bared, his eyes soft. He twisted his scarf around his neck, and breathed deeply, heartily, his chest expanding.

‘They became bored. They felt that their life was meaningless. What were they doing, spinning endlessly on this rock? Was there a God? Was there
anything
? They began to search, everywhere. And it was pure chance that brought them meaning, Ivo. Can you imagine? Chance! It made them think that there
was
some authority in the world. For they found something that gave them ultimate power. It was a remnant, Ivo, something left over from the days of the gods; and it still had some power within it, stronger and stranger than anything they had ever felt before. They used it, and were filled with new life . . .'