by Chris Speyer
All very interesting, but turning socks into guinea pigs wasn’t going to help him against Maunder! The logbook was still in his rucksack. Maybe he’d missed something. Maybe something she had written could help him. What did she say about the Devil Dances?
Zaki sat on his bed, the book open against his knees. He reread everything Rhiannon had written about the Devil Dances, about her transformation into the demon in Maunder’s house and about the events in the cave. He rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to picture everything she had described. Did he fall asleep? He felt another face pressing against the inside of his, as though his face were a mask worn by somebody else. He felt his features stretching and distorting as the face inside pushed outwards. Then his mind filled with memories that weren’t his own. He saw Devil’s Rock, black against the sky. A wrecked ship lay on the reef beneath; bodies floated in the water, carts were being loaded by the light of flaming torches.
Zaki sat up quickly. He looked for the mirror on the wall but saw the mask, then remembered he had put the mirror on the floor. He picked it up and examined his face. Did he imagine it, or did he see a white scar running down from under his left eye, through his lips to his chin? Yes – it was faint, but it was there, like a pale puckered line. Maunder!
He mustn’t wait any longer. He had to act. He found the CD of drum music that Anusha had given him. But he needed something to play it on. He went to Michael’s room and fetched the laptop and his brother’s headphones. Back in his own room, he set the computer up on the table beside his bed, put the CD in and put the headphones on. Then he put on the bracelet. The mask was on the wall in front of him. He was ready. Could he drive Maunder back into the bracelet?
The drum music began to play. Through the headphones it sounded as if the drum was in the middle of Zaki’s head. A second drum joined the first, then a third and a fourth. Mr Dalal had obviously laid one track over another. The rhythms crossed and recrossed but every now and then the drums would beat together in unison and the rhythm throbbed like a great heart echoing the beating of Zaki’s own. Zaki kept his eyes fixed on the mask. Slowly, the mask’s features came to life: the sightless eyeholes became eyes that fixed their penetrating gaze on him; the mouth widened in a terrible grin; the hair became alive with snakes. From the head grew a body, its belly smeared with blood. From the shoulders sprouted four arms that ended in four clawed hands. One hand gripped a rooster, on another perched a parrot; the third held a sword and from the fourth hung a human head. As the demon advanced towards him, Zaki saw that it was mounted on an enormous boar. Zaki wanted to turn and run, but he knew he must face the demon – speak to it, make it obey him.
‘Wait! Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘I am Riri Yakka – Demon of Blood. My home is the graveyards. I hunt the dead. Why have you called me?’
Zaki swallowed back his revulsion. He must make the demon serve him.
‘I have someone for you to hunt. Follow me!’
Now Zaki turned, or in his mind he turned, and he saw in front of him a tunnel, like the entrance to a deep cave. He plunged into the cave-mouth. The tunnel beyond the entrance was lit by a red glow that he realised was coming from the demon behind him. Zaki quickly set off down the passage.
Ahead of him the passage divided. What was this? A maze? A labyrinth? How would he choose which way to go? He decided that where he could continue straight ahead he would always go straight ahead, otherwise he would always choose left. That way, to find his way out of the labyrinth, he need only reverse the rule.
The passage twisted and turned, divided and divided again, but Zaki stuck to his rule and the demon followed close on his heels. Another division and Zaki chose left. A dead end! But he mustn’t turn round. Zaki began to walk backwards. Now, as he got closer, he could feel the heat of the demon’s body and smell its sulphurous smell, but he didn’t look – he mustn’t look. The heat became unbearable and the smell suffocating – then he felt the heat diminish and saw the red glow receding. The demon was moving back. When he reached the turning, Zaki turned right. From now on he would have to count the turns and remember the pattern. On they went, deeper into the maze. There were more false turns but Zaki forced himself to remember the number of lefts between each right. He repeated over and over in his head, ‘Three lefts, right – two lefts, right – five lefts, right – two lefts, right.’
Then, up ahead, the darkness seemed darker, as though a denser black crouched in the centre of the blackness. They had reached the centre of the maze. Maunder could retreat no further. The demon gave a warning growl and Zaki flung himself to the side of the passage as, with a deafening roar, the blood-streaked demon, sword held high, charged past. The hunt was on! With a howl of fear, the black shape hurled itself past the charging demon and raced back down the passage. The mounted demon turned and galloped in pursuit. The demon’s roars and Maunder’s cries echoed through the labyrinth, the hooves of the demon’s mount thundering through the tunnels. When the red glow from the demon faded, Zaki was left in total darkness to feel his way slowly back. If he clung to the left wall, he could miss a turning to the right. If he followed the right wall, he could miss a turning on the left.
Unable to see the turnings, Zaki soon knew he was lost. He listened, hoping the roars of the demon would give him a clue, but all he could hear was a steady beating as though the maze itself had a gigantic heart.
Suddenly, the maze dissolved as a circle of excruciating pain seared his left wrist. He was back in his room. The beat of the drums still pounded in his head. He tore off the headphones. The bracelet was burning his wrist. He struggled to pull the burning bronze band from his arm. As he tossed the scorching bracelet on to the bedside table, he saw that the engravings were shining and dancing. He dived from his room into the bathroom, twisted on the cold tap and thrust his blistering wrist under the flow of water. As he looked up, he saw his face in the bathroom mirror. The white scar had gone. He examined his reflection more closely and saw only himself.
He had done it! He was certain he had done it. He had driven Maunder back into the bracelet.
When the pain had subsided a little, he wrapped his arm in a towel and returned to his room. He didn’t want to touch the bracelet, but he was too tired to think what to do with it. He turned off the light and lay on his bed. In a few minutes, he was asleep.
g
Chapter 21
When Zaki woke, the first thing he noticed was the pain from his burnt wrist, then that the laptop was gone from the bedside table. Michael must have come back in the night and taken it. On the table, beside where the laptop had been, there was a circular scorch mark. No wonder the bracelet had burnt his wrist.
The bracelet! With a jolt of panic, Zaki was fully awake. The bracelet! Where was it? Had Michael knocked it on to the floor? He searched under the table, under the bed, the whole room. There was no sign of it. Michael must have taken it. Picked it up, perhaps, to see what it was. What if he put it on?
Zaki flung himself out of the door and raced the few feet to Michael’s room. No Michael. There was the usual mess, but his brother wasn’t there. Frantically, he began to search the room. Where in all this clutter had Michael put the bracelet? It must be here! Please, God, let it be here! He searched every surface, threw the jumbled bedclothes off the bed, ferreted through the boxes of CDs, sifted through the piles of discarded clothes, shook out every garment and went through every pocket.
When he had finished, he went back and did it all again. The bracelet was not in the room. Michael must have it with him.
Fingers of ice gripped Zaki’s heart. Maunder’s spirit was thriving now. Like some monstrous larva that devours its living host, it would overpower whoever next wore the bracelet.
What was the time? Just after seven – very early for Michael to be up and about on a Sunday. Maybe he never went to bed. As he left Michael’s room, Zaki almost collided with his father. His father looked him up and down.
‘
Zaki, did you sleep in those clothes?’
Zaki realised that he was still in his uniform from Friday.
‘Zaki, go and have a shower and put something clean on, right now! Honestly! I don’t know what’s go into you two!’
‘Dad, have you seen Michael?’
‘No I haven’t. Isn’t he in his room?’
‘Dad, he’s gone. I think we should look for him.’ Zaki headed for the stairs.
‘Zaki! Come back here and get in the shower, now!’
‘Dad, it’s important!’
‘Get in the shower! Do what you’re told! Your brother may be a teenager but you’re not. Don’t you start acting up!’
‘But, Dad, you don’t understand . . .’
‘No I don’t. Now go and wash.’
What should he do? Disobey his father? Make a run for it? No – maybe he should keep him happy. Perhaps then he’d help him look for Michael.
He turned and went to the bathroom but as he opened the door his father called after him, ‘Zaki – your shoulder – shouldn’t you be wearing your sling?’
‘No, it’s fine. Seems to be better.’
‘Zaki, are you sure . . . ?’
‘It’s fine!’
Zaki shut the door behind him. He didn’t want a long discussion with his father about his shoulder and he didn’t want him to see his burnt wrist.
He washed quickly and put on clean clothes, making sure his sweatshirt sleeve covered the livid red burn. He found his father in the kitchen, eating breakfast.
‘I’m going to look for Michael.’
‘Eat some breakfast before you go anywhere.’
‘Dad, I think Michael might be in trouble.’
‘He is. He’s in trouble with me. You can tell him that if you find him! Where did he go to last night?’
‘I don’t know.’
Zaki’s father shook his head, then, in a gentler voice, said, ‘Come on, sit down and eat something.’
Zaki poured himself cereal and milk and ate it standing up.
‘Dad,’ he said through a mouthful of cereal, ‘won’t you help me look for him?’
‘No I will not – I’ve got better things to do.’
Zaki finished his mouthful.
‘Right. I’m going.’
He put down his bowl and bolted for the door.
‘Aren’t you going to have anything else?’
‘No!’ Grabbing his jacket from the hooks by the front door, Zaki was out and in the street before his father could mention homework or any other thing that might delay him.
Where to start? Was Michael acting like Michael, or was Michael acting like Maunder?
He was acting like Maunder. If he had been acting like Michael, he would still be in bed. Where would Maunder go? What would he do? He was from another time. What would be familiar to him? The harbour. He’d make for the harbour. That seemed the most likely . . . The girl! Rhiannon! He’d try to find Rhiannon!
Zaki’s route to the harbour took him close to Anusha’s place. He decided to make a short detour. He was going to need help.
It was Mrs Dalal who opened the door and she ushered him in with a big friendly smile.
‘We’re all having breakfast. Come and join us.’ Then she called, ‘Anusha! It’s Zaki!’
Anusha looked up, in surprise, from her breakfast, but Mr Dalal jumped to his feet as Zaki entered the kitchen, as though Zaki were an honoured guest.
‘Zaki! What brings you out so early? Take a seat! Take a seat! What will you have? Tea? Coffee? Some toast?’
‘Thanks, Mr Dalal, but I’ve already had breakfast.’
‘My! What a very early bird you are!’
‘I was wondering if Anusha could help me.’
All looked at Anusha.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, her eyes searching Zaki’s face.
‘We have to find Michael. It’s quite urgent.’
‘Michael?’ asked Mrs Dalal.
‘My brother.’
‘I’ll just get my trainers.’ Anusha was gone and back in a matter of seconds.
‘Is something wrong?’ enquired Mrs Dalal, looking concerned.
‘He’s supposed to be helping my grandad in Salcombe, but he hasn’t turned up,’ Zaki lied.
‘Is there anything we can do to help?’ asked Mr Dalal.
‘You couldn’t give us a lift to Salcombe, could you? He’s probably there, but he’s met up with some mates, or something.’ Grandad’s launch, Zaki thought. They could borrow Grandad’s launch.
‘No problem. Do you want to go now?’
‘Yes please.’
They bundled into Mr Dalal’s car and fifteen minutes later he dropped them off by the boat shed.
‘If you need a lift back, just call me.’
As soon as her father had driven off, Anusha seized Zaki by the arm. ‘What’s happened? What’s going on? Why are we looking for Michael?’
As briefly as he could, Zaki told her about the mask, the bracelet and Maunder, and the fact that the bracelet was gone when he woke up. ‘We need to find Michael and we need to warn Rhiannon. I thought we’d take Grandad’s launch and see if Curlew is still in Frogmore Creek.’
The boat shed was locked and Grandad’s car was missing from its parking place.
‘He’s gone somewhere. Probably taken Jenna up to Bolt Head for a walk.’
‘So, what do we do?’
‘He never locks the back. Dad keeps telling him he ought to.’
They squeezed down the narrow passage between the boat shed and the shed next door and let themselves in. Zaki got the lifejackets and helped himself to Grandad’s bunch of boat keys. He scrawled Taken the launch, Zaki on a scrap of paper and left it on the workbench.
The old launch’s engine kicked over twice then juddered into life. They cast off and headed out through the moorings, setting the small craft rocking as the launch’s wake fanned out behind them. There was a stiff southerly breeze blowing up the estuary from the sea and Zaki wished he’d put some more clothes on. He looked at Anusha sitting in Jenna’s favourite spot in the bow. He was impressed by the way she hopped in and out of boats as if she’d been doing it all her life. Should he have brought her? Should he have got her mixed up in all this?
They swung round Snapes Point and into The Bag. Ahead, the mudbanks were already appearing as the ebbing tide drained the shallow upper reaches of the estuary. As they passed Queen of the Dart, Frogmore Creek opened up to starboard. There was no sign of Curlew.
‘She’s gone!’ shouted Anusha over the throb of the engine.
Zaki turned into the mouth of the creek, just to make sure she hadn’t moved the boat. The bottom was mud and weed here and no good for anchoring, she might have moved upstream. He continued round the next bend but there was no sign of her. Any further up would be too shallow for Curlew.
‘What now?’ asked Anusha, coming astern so that they could talk more easily.
Zaki put the engine into neutral and let the launch drift downstream on the tide. Now the engine was quieter, Zaki could hear the calls of the waders feeding on the mudbanks, the oystercatchers’ high, whistling cry and the haunting liquid song of the curlews. Some said these birds held the souls of the drowned. Is that why Rhiannon had chosen their name for her boat?
‘I don’t know,’ said Zaki. ‘If Rhiannon was wearing her bracelet, she might have known what happened. Perhaps she’s trying to get away before Maunder catches up with her.’
‘What if he did catch up with her?’
‘You mean Michael . . . Maunder is on Curlew?’ It hadn’t occurred to him. But it was possible, of course it was possible. It wasn’t difficult to steal a boat. He could have taken a dinghy from Kingsbridge and come down on the tide.
Anusha nodded. ‘Can you still make phantom creatures without the bracelet?’
‘I think so. I could last night.’
‘Could you use one to look for Curlew; see who’s on board?’
‘I can try. You tak
e the helm.’
‘What do I do?’
‘Push the tiller the opposite way from the way you want the boat to go. You’ll soon get the hang of it.’
They changed places and Anusha eased the boat ahead, slowly at first, while she got used to steering. Zaki sat in the bows and gathered his thoughts. He would use the hawk; its exceptional power of sight was what he needed. He recalled the moment in the classroom when it alighted on his arm; its piercing yellow eyes, the hooked beak, the mottled feathers, the way it swivelled its head to look over its shoulder. He held his right arm out level and thought only of the bird . . . nothing happened. How stupid! He’d tried to create it out of thin air! He looked around for a suitable object to transform and found a coil of rope in the bottom of the boat. He stood, cleared his mind once more and thought of the bird, then flung the rope as high into the air as he could. The coil spun end over end, seemed to hang, suspended, go out of focus, blurred, developed an eye, and then the hawk was wheeling and soaring above him.
He sat, closed his eyes, and imagined the world from the hawk’s point of view. Immediately, he was seeing through the hawk’s eyes. The horizon swung up and down in a dizzying see-sawing motion as the hawk’s flight dipped left and right. He saw himself and Anusha in the launch far below. He thought the hawk down the estuary and out to sea and let the strengthening head wind lift it higher and higher until it rose above the rocky pinnacles of Bolt Head. He turned the bird’s head, scanning the coast east and west.
There she was! Reaching fast under full sail, half a mile to sea of the Ham Stone, heading west. The angle of the sail prevented him from seeing how many people were on the boat. He sent the bird after her. Curlew leapt and bucked in the short, steep waves that the southerly wind had already whipped up off the headland. Now he could see the cockpit. Now he could see how many were aboard. He let out a groan. Only one person was visible but that person was Michael – at least it appeared to be Michael from the back, but when he saw the scarred face he knew it wasn’t really his brother who was steering the boat. Where was Rhiannon? Had he killed her?
