P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4)

by Silk, Avril

  ‘There are women judges where I come from,’ said Jo. Brenda looked disbelieving. Jo carried on talking. ‘Isn’t there anyone speaking for the defence?’

  Brenda snorted derisively. ‘Some inexperienced trainee, usually. Anyway, the case against the prisoners is made, and in conditions of the utmost security the judges are given two tokens - a black marble made of smooth onyx, or a red one, etched with a peony, the symbol of compassion. Then they join the Ball for music and dancing; delicious food and wine like you wouldn’t believe.’ Brenda sounded almost wistful. ‘There’s entertainment too - Mirabel and Sebastian always send their best girls along, to keep the revellers happy. At last the prisoners are given the chance to plead for their lives and the judges vote.’ Brenda looked Jo straight in the eye. ‘They decide whether the accused will be pardoned or shot. The lights are dimmed and the votes are cast in darkness so no-one can see whether a judge chooses a black ball for death or a red ball for mercy. The tokens are dropped in a covered crystal container then when all the votes are in, the cover is removed. Once in a blue moon it’s mercy. There’s always a sprinkling of red balls for appearance’s sake, but it’s usually rigged to make sure it’s death - death by firing squad then and there – part of the entertainment.’

  Suddenly Smokey’s grip tightened around Jo’s wrist. He contorted with pain and howled. Brenda administered precious morphine and Jo stayed with him, holding his hand until the sedative took hold. Eventually, he calmed down enough to manage to ask her a question. His voice sounded thin and cracked.

  ‘These other places you imagine. Are they better than Bayne?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Are people happier? Do they have to work so hard? Is there enough food?’

  ‘When I was younger, I remember it was pretty bad. Especially if you didn’t fit in. The poor and the sick had a hard time of it. It got a lot better when Titus repented. If you hadn’t imprisoned him he never would have felt the slightest remorse. But he says he prayed to be released, promising to be a reformed character. He does his best to atone for what he’s done. He’s still in charge, of course, and Lethe gets up to all sorts of fiendish stuff, as usual, but yes, people are better off and healthier. And there’s plenty of food.’

  ‘They stopped being poor? Sounds miraculous. So you had a good life?’

  ‘Have. Not had. I still belong there, you know. Not here. Though I don’t know how I’ll get back. And yes, I have a good life. In lots of ways. But my mother is in a coma…’ Jo faltered.

  Smokey didn’t seem to notice. He carried on asking questions. ‘How do you know which is real? You talk as if this isn’t. But it’s real for me.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got a past here, for a start. All my past is in the other place. I know this is real, but it isn’t my reality. It’s like I’m asleep there and dreaming this. Don’t you ever dream about other places and times?’

  Smokey thought for a while. ‘Not really. And when I do, well, you wouldn’t want to go there. Trust me. In your other world, was I happy?’

  Jo opted for honesty. ‘Not really. You’d been separated from your family, by Titus and Lethe, and you were bitter. And very moody. But one of the last things I remember was Reg getting you and your mother and Bridget back together again. He took you a long way away to a safe place. I’ve not heard if you’re happy or not. Even Beth doesn’t know where you’ve gone.’

  ‘Beth?’

  Jo squirmed. ‘Beth’s this girl who fancies you.’

  Despite himself, Smokey smiled. ‘This imaginary girl-friend of mine - is she pretty?’

  ‘I suppose. Yes. Very. And brave.’

  ‘But you don’t like her.’ It was a statement made with certainty. Jo had aimed to sound neutral. She wondered how she had given herself away.

  She shrugged. ‘Not much. I never know if I can trust her. At one time she was working with Lethe. It’s because of Beth you got trapped in the Mirror Maze in The Lost Funfair of Forgotten Dreams…’

  Smokey chuckled to himself. ‘Trapped in the Mirror Maze, eh! It sounds a lot more exciting than life here – we’re always hiding, always hungry. I’ve got to hand it to you. You may be a nutter, but you’ve got one hell of an imagination.’

  And with that he drifted into blissful oblivion leaving Jo alone with her memories of the real world. She sat with him a while until Brenda returned and put her hand on Smokey’s brow, then tucked him in.

  ‘He’s asleep, finally. Jo, I must speak with Zebo. With Reg and Quinn gone and Smokey here out of action, nobody will have told the Ferals what has happened. You’ll be in charge until I get back.’

  Jo thought fast. The germ of a daring plan to save Ali and Quinn was already forming in her mind. She felt a rush of adrenalin. Resolve flooded through her.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she volunteered. ‘You have more important things to do. How about if I do the afternoon shift when I get back and give you a break?’

  Jo knocked politely on the door to the storeroom that Crazy Em had once lived in before Lucy half-killed her. As the door opened she half expected to see the shabby rainbow of dusty velvet curtains and patchwork cushions Em had salvaged from skips to make things cosy, but the room was almost bare, decorated only by the disturbing murals that were Wheezy’s speciality.

  The stunted, silent boy with the terrible asthma was working on a chronicle of life underground; Jo immediately recognised Quinn and Smokey, Mirabel, and the Ferals and what appeared to be a tribute to Reg. Wheezy seemed oblivious to anything but his work, hardly seeming to give Jo a second glance, but within seconds he had captured her likeness with a few brush strokes and she was part of the picture.

  A few upturned boxes served for furniture. Zebo sat in the centre of the room surrounded by a gaggle of grubby, skinny urchins. The children were emptying their pockets, reaching under their ragged clothing and shaking out their shoes, creating a heap that looked to Jo like the contents of a rubbish bin. A familiar bleach-blonde was alternating between painting her nails and kicking and cursing them as they sorted the large hoard into smaller piles.

  Jo had thought herself prepared for Lucy’s cruelty and hostility, but even so her heart sank at the sight of Zebo’s girlfriend. From the expression on their faces, the children were of the same mind.

  Lucy was in a foul mood. She picked up one of the children, who was little more than a bag of bones, and shook him viciously.

  ‘Call yourself a leader? Are you tired of living? This is crap.’ She gestured at a small mound of crusts, apple cores and bones. ‘We’ll bloody starve to death if this is the best you can do. And I wouldn’t wipe my arse on these rags. You’re bloody useless, the lot of you.’

  ‘Give over, Lucy,’ said Zebo mildly. ‘They’re just kids. They’re still learning. Plus we’ve got a visitor.’

  Lucy glanced across at Jo. ‘Is that the mad girl?’

  Jo resisted the urge to retaliate. Instead she ignored Lucy, and concentrated on Zebo. She knew him to be a natural leader; tough, violent, skilled at breaking and entering and an expert at dealing with guard dogs. His childhood had been brutal, and he was scarred with cigarette burns marking the initials of a cruel foster-father. Zebo was undoubtedly dangerous and ruthless, but Jo also knew he had saved Crazy Em’s life after Lucy attacked her. When he found out, Zebo had banished Lucy and Mirabel had taken her in.

  Briefly Jo told Zebo and Lucy of the terrible events that had just taken place, as Brenda had requested. They were truly shocked and saddened.

  Jo waited for a while as the dreadful news sank in until speaking tentatively to Zebo. ‘Can I speak to you alone?’ she asked. ‘I need your help.’ And with that, she smiled shyly.

  Zebo was intrigued. ‘Lucy, take these brats and show them how it’s done. Teach them a few tricks of the trade.’

  Lucy did not look pleased at being dismissed, but Zebo emanated authority, and she did what she was told. As Lucy passed Jo she whispered, ‘He’s mine, you crazy cow. So hands off.’ She flashe
d Jo a look of pure hatred, then made an ostentatious show of affectionately kissing Zebo goodbye, before slamming the door.

  Zebo surveyed Jo. Jo sensed that he liked what he saw. She tried the smile again.

  ‘So have you got a message for me from the future? I hear you’re a time traveller, Red!’

  Jo automatically touched her auburn hair and laughed. She was feeling her way – flirting did not come easily to her but there was something about Zebo that made it possible. Crazy Em had called him almost charming even before he had rescued her.

  This part of Jo’s mission was going to be fun. Not only that. It would seriously annoy Lucy. Jo still remembered the fight at the Roundhouse when Lucy had attacked her mercilessly; biting, scratching, punching and kicking. She felt a savage little kick of spiteful pleasure as Zebo looked at her with open admiration. A part of her she didn’t know existed, some emerging, ancient, female instinct, recognised that there was no danger that Zebo would try to take things further. He was just going to enjoy the game, and not seriously risk whatever he had going with Lucy. I can do this, Jo thought, and suddenly she felt bold and confident.

  ‘You don’t have to pretend to believe me,’ she smiled. ‘But yes, I’d like you to look out for Crazy Em and don’t trust Darren as far as you can throw him.’ She thought And dump Lucy, but didn’t say so. ‘But above all, don’t give up looking for Paddy.’

  ‘You’ve seen my foster-brother?’ Zebo looked amazed. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘It wasn’t in this time or place,’ answered Jo carefully. ‘It was an old gunpowder factory on the Essex marshes. You might say it was a dream, or maybe a vision. But I believe he’s still out there.’

  Zebo gave a long drawn-out sigh. ‘You are one crazy girl, Red. I hope you’re right. It’s been ages. I’d started thinking he was a goner.’ He was lost in thought.

  Jo coughed. ‘I’ve got to get back soon,’ she said hesitantly, ‘but before I go, I want you to teach me something. Please, Zebo. It’s really important.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Jo told him what she wanted. He looked at her in disbelief, then laughed uproariously. ‘Well, you really are weird! I did not see that coming!’

  ‘Please?’ Jo flashed a winning smile. ‘It means so much to me.’

  ‘What do I get out of it?’

  Jo considered. ‘My undying gratitude?’

  Zebo grunted good-naturedly and rose to his feet. ‘Hmm. I usually get fifty per cent… but undying gratitude’s cool. O.K. How long have we got?’

  ‘About forty minutes, tops, then I have to back to the infirmary.’

  ‘Forty minutes! To learn the tricks of a life-time. Bloody amateurs! No time to waste, then. I’ll teach you the basics, then it’s a matter of practice, followed by more practice. But before we begin, I think this belongs to you?’

  Jo looked in disbelief as he dangled her silver locket before her eyes. He laughed at her expression, then carefully opened the locket and looked at the photograph inside.

  ‘Ali,’ he stated. Jo had slipped the photograph of Paul behind the one of Ali once she realised that, in this world, King Paul was a villain. Zebo looked at her more closely. ‘You related?’ She nodded. ‘Is all this connected with her?’ She nodded again.

  He slipped the silver heart into his pocket. Jo’s heart sank. Zebo laughed. ‘It’s all right, Red. This is lesson one. Now get it back.’

  Half an hour later, Jo grinned in triumph. After dozens of failed attempts the locket was safely in her hand, and Zebo praised her progress. ‘You’ve got the makings of a proper little dipper, Red.’

  Amazed at her own daring, Jo blew him a kiss in gratitude.

  ‘Very distracting,’ he said approvingly. ‘You could very well build that into your repertoire. Add a sexy little wriggle and a wave. While they’re gawping at you doing that they won’t notice what your business hand is up to. Mind you, you’ll have to work out something else for the ladies…’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Jo. ‘It’s only men I’m after.’ As soon as the words were spoken she realised how brazen that sounded and blushed to the roots of her hair. Zebo laughed heartily, and despite her embarrassment, Jo joined in, until she was laughing so hard she almost fell over.

  Zebo gallantly helped her to her feet, at which point she smilingly handed him the notebook she had just taken from his pocket. His face was a picture.

  ‘Who’s a crafty little buzzer! Excellent use of the bump and slip. Nicely done,’ he grinned.

  Jo gave a mock curtsey. ‘Thank you, kind sir. Oh, there is one more thing…’

  ‘I’m yours to command,’ said Zebo.

  ‘Where’s the bathroom, please?’

  ‘Is that all? Come on. I’ll show you the way to the privy, or as we call it, the sump room.’

  Jo felt no enthusiasm about returning to the foul-smelling place she remembered from her first journey underground, but there was something else she needed, and what passed for Zebo and Lucy’s bathroom was the most likely place to find it.

  Jo persevered. Physical contact with the patients gave Jo an ethical dilemma. Here was an ideal opportunity to practise her pick-pocketing skills, although personal possessions were few and far between. She struggled with her conscience, reminding herself of just why she was venturing into criminality. As the cause was so important and she had so little time she reluctantly decided it justified a little light larceny. She was still feeling bad about that, when inspiration hit. Reverse pick-pocketing! She would plant small items on people, then remove them – a double test of her ability. She was careful to not overdo it and gradually became more skilful in placing and removing the innocent-looking scraps of cardboard she palmed. She also learned to invent a plausible explanation on the couple of occasions that she fumbled her task.

  Mandy was more sullen than ever. Just like every other day, Jo poured her a glass of clean water, tidied the bedside cabinet and smoothed down the covers.

  As she did she accidentally brushed Mandy’s wounded arm.

  The effect was electric. Within seconds Mandy had Jo in a half-nelson, with the tip of a knife pressing into her throat.

  Jo tried to stay calm. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ she began.

  ‘Too right you’re not. Seeing as I’ve got a knife and you haven’t.’ Mandy lowered her voice and hissed in Jo’s ear. ‘And don’t go thinking you can lift it off me, either. You ain’t that good. But me – I’m the best.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Mandy let go of Jo’s arm, jolting her as she did so, roughly turning her round so they were face to face. There was no sign of a knife, just a silver locket dangling from Mandy’s middle finger. Jo quickly snatched it back.

  ‘I’ve been watching you,’ hissed Mandy. ‘You plant stuff on people, then you nick it back. What’s your game?’

  Jo felt cornered. ‘I’m practising,’ she said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Top secret mission. I need to get as good as you. Then I can rescue Ali.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Jo opened the locket. ‘She’s my Mum.

  Mandy’s face changed. ‘She’s the best,’ she said simply. ‘Didn’t know she had a kid. So what’s your plan?’

  ‘Swear you won’t tell?’

  Mandy flashed the knife so quickly Jo had no time to protest. Thin red lines bloomed on both their wrists. Mandy pressed the wounds together. ‘Blood sisters,’ she said, as their blood mingled. ‘I promise I won’t tell.’ Jo remembered how Lethe had used their blood-bond to heal herself. She looked all around, then quietly whispered in Mandy’s ear.

  Mandy looked at Jo with eyes wide. Jo hoped it was admiration rather than disbelief. She was not disappointed. ‘Wow,’ breathed Mandy, and the sullenness lifted like a dark cloud. She smiled. ‘I can give you some tips.’

  ‘Tricks of the trade?’

  ‘Yeah. Tea leaf training.’

  ‘You’re on.’

  ‘Awesome!’

  ‘What�
�s awesome?’

  They had not heard Brenda approaching. Before Jo had time to think of a response, Brenda had noticed the cut on Mandy’s wrist. Jo surreptitiously pulled her sleeve down. Brenda glared at Mandy. ‘Up to your old tricks, Mandy? You know the rules. No cutting. So no toys for you today.’

  ‘Like I care! Nothing but mouldy old teddies, broken dolls, marbles and dominoes. Dominoes!’ Mandy’s voiced poured scorn on Brenda’s punishment.

  Brenda was unperturbed. ‘Fair enough. So no biscuits with your supper for three days, instead.’

  Mandy looked crestfallen. Jo realised what a rare treat biscuits would be and tried to help. ‘It was me, Brenda…’

  ‘Matron,’ reminded Brenda frostily.

  ‘It was me, Matron – I was fixing Mandy’s bandage and the safety pin came undone…’

  ‘I’m not as green as I’m cabbage looking, Nurse,’ observed Brenda. ‘To my office.’

  Jo obediently followed, smothering a smile as Mandy pulled an extraordinarily hideous face at Brenda’s departing back. Jo couldn’t help noticing that Mandy looked ten times better and wondered if whatever it was in her blood that cured Lethe might work on other people. Or maybe the whole intrigue had just boosted Mandy’s morale.

  Once inside the office, Jo prepared for a telling-off. ‘It’s all right,’ smiled Brenda, to her surprise. ‘You’re not really in trouble. You’re doing good work with Mandy. First time I’ve seen her smile. And, compared to how she used to cut herself, that was just a chicken scratch. So we’ll only stop the biscuits for the rest of the day.

  She looked searchingly at Jo. ‘You’re looking better That fever gone?’

  Jo nodded. ‘I keep getting a headache,’ she said, ‘but it’s OK at the moment.’

  ‘Good. Keep an eye on your temperature. Can’t have you going all delirious and making crazy plans to rescue Ali.’ Jo’s heart skipped a beat. Surely Brenda hadn’t overheard her whispering to Mandy? Brenda continued speaking, her voice kind. ‘I realise you’re worried about her. But we’ll think of something. We’ve still got a week.’