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It was only when the sun was high in the sky that Ndlela remembered his promise of a lunch-time visit to Isabeau and turned back home. He went inland to find one of the paths that ran parallel to the coast. It was exposed but a much faster way than the hummocky beach.
The old tar of the path was pleasantly warm. The sight of his brown, bare feet reminded him of his mother again. She’d never liked him to go without shoes, ignoring his arguments about the discomfort and unnecessary expense. Now that Noor was their only regular source of income, they simply couldn’t afford shoes for all their growing feet.
Maybe I should see if I can get a job like Noor. I’m old enough now. A proper job, earning a steadier income than they could get from selling bits of tin and glass and the other odds and ends he and Isabeau found on the beach. They could buy a proper water filter and desalinator. Or, they could buy one and he could take it apart to figure out how it worked, and make a better one, and—
Ndlela was so absorbed in these pleasant speculations he didn’t notice the man until he loomed in the path right in front of him.
“Hey there, little dude.”
It was the snake-jacket man. What had he said his name was? Mamba.
Ndlela glanced around to find an escape route but the other man was behind him already, had hold of him by his backpack.
“Hey there,” said Mamba. “Don’t worry, we’re cool. You’re cool. Aren’t you?” He was chewing on a piece of grass. It twitched between his lips.
Ndlela’s heart raced and he felt sick. How had he let them catch him so easily?
Mamba looked him up and down, lips curling in a smile. The upper part of his face was hidden behind the enormous dark glasses but Ndlela doubted his eyes were kind.
“You live around here, don’t you, tiger? We seen you toddling about. Digging stuff out.” Mamba mimed a gesture, scrabbling with his hands as though he were a mole digging through the sand. “You live around here?”
When Ndlela didn’t respond, the man behind him shook his backpack so that Ndlela swayed where he stood.
“Don’t be like that, tiger,” said Mamba. “We seen you. You live up in that hotel of yours. You know this place pretty good, I bet.” He moved the grass to the other side of his mouth with a twitch of his tongue. “Bet you can help us.”
Ndlela dropped his entire weight down, trying to slide his arms free from the shoulder straps of his bag, but the man behind him gave a grunt and grabbed him by the arms. In a moment, Ndlela was face down on the tar, his arm twisted behind him. Something pressed hard on his back. The man must be kneeling on him.
Mamba’s booted feet came into view. “Ease up, Buffel. He’s only a kid.”
The weight on Ndlela lessened and he was able to pull his face away from the gritty surface of the path. Something trickled down his chin. Blood. He must have bitten his lip.
“Pull him up.”
Buffel tugged at the backpack, forcing Ndlela to roll on his side. Mamba loomed over him, his head blocking the sun which haloed him and cast his face into shadow. His boots shifted on the path, crunching slightly as he slowly lowered himself into a crouch. He spat the blade of grass out and pushed his glasses back onto his forehead. The whites of his eyes were yellow and his eyelashes disconcertingly long. His face was unshaven and the pock-marks of old acne scars pitted his cheeks.
“Hey, tiger.” Mamba blinked down at Ndlela, then licked his lips and glanced down as he pulled something free from his waistband. “Maybe you need a little persuasion.”
His hand came into view, holding a handgun. His long-lashed eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, once again coming between Ndlela and the sun. The cold barrel of the gun tapped Ndlela on the temple, then traced its way down his jaw.
“So what do you say now. You gonna behave?”
Ndlela closed his eyes and nodded. After a moment the hard shape of the gun was withdrawn and he felt Buffel’s grip ease slightly.
When he looked again, Mamba was smiling down at him. “Excellent, dude. Knew you’d be cool.”
Ndlela eased himself up till he was sitting. The gun was back in Mamba’s waistband but he didn’t doubt that the man could draw and fire it as fast as blinking.
“What do you want?” He was relieved his voice sounded steady. He kept his eyes on their feet. Mamba wore warm-looking biker boots and Buffel a pair of worn-down slip-slops.
Buffel spoke for the first time. “There’s a cache here somewhere. In these buried houses.”
“A cache?” Ndlela wiped his mouth and looked at the blood on his hand.
“Lots of little bottles. With, like, coloured stuff inside,” said Mamba. “Jars too. Bottles and jars. Lots of them. You seen anything like that?”
The Cathedral. They’re looking for the Cathedral. But why? Ndlela tried to keep his expression dull and slow. Better if they think he’s an idiot.
“Bottles? Sure. I think I know the place you mean.”
Elke had been interested in it too. He’d not paid too much attention at the time, but now it seemed strange. Was she in with them after all?
“Can you show us?” said Mamba.
Can’t be too willing. They’d never believe that. He looked up at Mamba. “What’s it worth to you?”
He sensed Buffel tensing and for a moment thought he’d misjudged it, that he’d feel the man’s fists, but Mamba smiled.
“How about a tiger, tiger,” he said. “No. Make that two tigers. That enough for you?”
“Sure.” Ndlela nodded. “Two tigers is great. I’ll show you.” His mind was racing. Why did they want the Cathedral? He didn’t believe for a moment they’d just pay him and let him go, even if he showed them the way. More likely they’d get rid of him as soon as he wasn’t useful anymore. He had to get away, but then what? They know where we live. They can just come and get me there. Or get Isabeau.
Buffel hoisted him to his feet.
“So where is it?” said Mamba. “Is it close?”
Ndlela kept his face dull, his voice slow. “It’s, uh—” He gestured vaguely. “Down under. And along a bit. Underground.”
“Show us.” Mamba slid his dark glasses back onto his nose.
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Ndlela led them off the path and along an animal track that wound its way towards the sea.
At first Buffel kept hold of his backpack but that soon became impractical as the man needed both his hands to fend off the thorny branches through which they were pressing.
“You think about running, think about the bullet that’s going into your back,” Mamba said and Ndlela had no doubt he meant it.
As he walked, he tried to calm the panic that roiled in his stomach and steamed up his mind. He had to keep his wits about him or he was going to die.
He knew this place. They didn’t. That was the only advantage he had, so he had to use it. This part of the coast had not been as built up, so there were hardly any ruins. The dunes were covered with scrubby bushes and small, stunted trees all leaning in the direction of the prevailing wind.
Buffel swore and Ndlela looked around. The man was balancing on one foot, pulling a thorny tendril from around his leg. “Do we have to go through this stuff?”
Mamba kept his attention on Ndlela, his hand on his waistband near the gun. When Buffel had untangled himself, they carried on.
Hearing the two men stumble after him, swearing at the thorny underbrush, Ndlela felt his first spark of hope. Here was another advantage. He was sure-footed and could move much faster here than they could. If I can get away.
The path broadened and the going was easier for a while. Ndlela slowed down and looked about him, as if he were deciding which way was best, but he knew where he was going, now. At last he had a plan.
Mamba, close behind, took hold of his backpack. “You sure you know where you’re going?”
“Sure!” Ndlela set off once more. “Lots of bottles. With metal caps, right? And sort of black lines on the glass.”
“
Yeah! That’s it.” Mamba sounded pleased. “You got it.”
“Got to turn again,” Ndlela said, indicating with a jerk of his head. He scanned the landscape furtively. This is the place, right? I’m not confusing the paths? But no. He’d been here often enough with Isabeau.
Now if only somebody hasn’t come along and messed things up. It’s got to still be just the same as it was or this isn’t going to work.
He stood a very good chance of being shot, but he couldn’t think of any other way. Working along another narrow and overgrown path he led the men along the crest of the dune. His breath came short and adrenaline fizzed in his veins.
There it was. A long sheet of corrugated roofing material somebody had abandoned years ago. It lay down the slope of the dune, creating a clear corridor through the undergrowth. He and Isabeau used to come here when they were both much younger to take turns tumbling down the slope.
He would only have one chance.
When he was level with the top of the corrugated slide, he took hold of the straps that secured the shoulder straps to the backpack and tugged sharply. The buckles released and he was free.
He threw himself down the slope, hit it shoulder first, rolled, scrambled, slid, rolled again, gasping, hit the bottom hard. Heart thundering in his ears, he scrambled in under the bushes. There were no underground tunnels for him to escape into here. All he had was the imperfect shelter of the scrubby undergrowth. The sharp scent of crushed foliage filled the air as he crashed through the undergrowth, keeping low.
Behind and above the men shouted, their shoes clattering on the roofing sheet.
The twigs and leaves made a dreadful noise as he scraped past but speed was more important than stealth. He had to get some distance from them. If they saw him now they’d shoot him. Thin branches lashed his face and he had to hold up an arm to protect his eyes. He felt his shirt tear but still he ran.
Up this slope, then over, and back a bit to that twisty path. He could get away. He was doing it. He’d done it. Mamba was shouting but Ndlela could no longer make out the words.
What next?
He had to get back to the hotel as fast as he could. Get Isabeau out of there before these men gave up on their search for him and went looking for other prey.
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When Ndlela reached the hotel, he was stumbling and gasping for breath. He’d taken the most direct route, dispensing with all of Jayden’s rules for remaining concealed while moving through the Muara. All that mattered was reaching the hotel ahead of Buffel and Mamba.
He crashed in through the front door, sending Robby into a surprised volley of barks before he recognised the intruder. Isabeau, who was curled up on the couch with a book, looked up in surprise.
“What’s—”
Ndlela leaned on a chair, gasping for breath. “Gotta...get...going.” He gulped. “Men. With guns. Coming. Gotta go.”
She looked at him blankly. “What’s going on?”
“Issy!” He grabbed her arm and tugged. “We gotta go. Now! They’re coming. They’ve got guns. Come!”
“Wait!” She slipped out of his grasp, reaching for her crutch. “Why? What do they want?”
“No time!” He ran to the door and looked down the stairs. Not only did they have to get out of the hotel, they had to get all the way down those steps and along the wall before the men came into sight.
Isabeau had Robby’s leash and she was reaching for the dog.
“No! We don’t have time,” snapped Ndlela.
She looked at him, horrified. “We can’t leave Robby!”
Ndlela felt nearly dizzy with frustration. He leaped up the ladder and through the trapdoor, leaned on the parapet wall and looked out. It didn’t take him long to spot them—Mamba and Buffel, walking fast, a determined set to their heads and shoulders.
He couldn’t get Isabeau down the steps and out of the way in time, not on her crutch. He went down the ladder so fast his feet hardly touched the rungs.
“The hole,” he gasped and to his relief she understood instantly, leaned her crutch on the wall and bent down to grab the handle of Jayden’s hole, the trapdoor in the far corner of the kitchen floor.
“It won’t come!” She tugged desperately.
“Wait.” Ndlela flung his weight against the couch, pushing it off the corner of the trapdoor and with a creak and a puff of dust the door came open. Ndlela jumped down onto the cool cement, brushing aside the spider webs.
“Isabeau, come!”
“Robby,” she moaned.
Ndlela, terrified by the delay, was about to shout again when he realised that she already had the dog by the collar and was dragging him down into the hole with her. They both crouched down and Ndlela pulled the trapdoor closed on top of them.
It was not nearly as dark as he’d expected. Light filtered in through the cracks between the floorboards. Ndlela found a spot to sit, then turned to signal to Isabeau with his finger on his lips. It was crucial that they be quiet. With only the floorboards dividing them from the room above, anything they said would be perfectly audible.
Robby shook himself and started sniffing at something in the corner, accepting the children’s strange behaviour as just another unexplained human oddity among many. Then he looked up, ears pricked, his beady eyes intent.
Steps on the stairs outside. Men’s voices. Ndlela’s eyes met Isabeau’s and they both looked at Robby just as the dog started growling.
Before Ndlela could react, Isabeau dragged Robby into a hug and wrapped her hands around his muzzle. She bent forward and breathed something into his ear. Robby rolled his eyes till the whites showed but the growling subsided.
A loud knock sounded from above.
Isabeau’s body jerked as Robby reacted. Her fingers tightened around his muzzle and nothing more than a wheeze emerged.
“Hey! Open up!” It was Mamba. A short pause, some muttering, and then a bang that made all three of them jerk with fright and surprise.
They’re kicking in the door.
Once again Robby was growling, shaking his head to try to dislodge his mistress’s hands from his muzzle. Some muffled whuffs escaped but they were masked by another bang, and then the footsteps of the intruders above.
They’re inside. They’re in.
“Hello!”
Mamba again. He sounded as relaxed as if he were a friend dropping in for a beer. “Anyone there?”
There were some scraping sounds, then the floorboards creaked under two sets of footsteps.
Isabeau had her eyes closed, her fingers locked around Robby’s muzzle. The dog’s eyes were rolled up, fixed on the trapdoor above him, his whole body vibrating with his muffled growls.
Ndlela tensed up, waiting for the trapdoor to be wrenched open.
“Nobody here,” said Buffel. From the sounds, Ndlela guessed he was in Noor’s sleeping nook. More scraping, then a loud bang. A chair falling over?
“Think that boy was telling the truth?” said Buffel. “Did he really know where the stuff was?”
“Oh, he knew, all right.” Mamba’s voice sounded distant. Where was he? Up on the roof? “He described those hardflasks perfectly. He’d seen them, alright.”
Ndlela could have kicked himself. That’s what you get for being too clever. There were more sounds. Somebody opening and closing drawers and cupboards. A clatter of cutlery.
“Hey.” Mamba, closer this time. “Check this out, Buffel.”
A rustle of paper. Ndlela held his breath. His heart was hammering in his chest, the blood pounding in his ears.
“It’s that dog you’re so nuts on. That robot dog. Look.”
A grunt from Buffel.
“They got a reward out for it,” said Mamba. “Quite a bit of cash too. Might be worth looking into that. You already got such a hard-on to shoot that thing. This makes it worth it.”
“Let me see that.”
They’re looking at the reward poster for that gardag. Ndlela looked apprehensively at Isabeau, but sh
e had her face turned against Robby’s neck and he couldn’t make out her expression.
“Okay, well, nobody here,” said Mamba. “Wasting our time. We can come back a bit later, maybe. In the meantime—”
A crash of breaking glass, a drawn-out cascade of sound that ended with a bang that could only be the table falling over.
Ndlela wrapped himself over his sister, adding his weight to hers as Robby bucked in their arms, his breath snortling through Isabeau’s fingers as he tried to bark.
“Let’s go,” said Buffel. “Wasting time.”
Footsteps creaked. Another bang.
Robby wriggled and scrabbled under them, breathing so loudly that Ndlela was sure the men would be back to see what the noise was. His heart was pounding so hard that he wasn’t sure he’d hear them past the thundering of blood in his ears. At last the dog calmed and the children sat back, looking up at the trapdoor, ears straining for the sound of footsteps in the room above.
Nothing.
Ndlela closed his eyes in order to listen more fully. Could they really be gone?
No sound.
He opened his eyes again and found that Isabeau was staring at him. “Can I let him go?” she mouthed noiselessly. Ndlela nodded and Isabeau let go of Robby’s muzzle. The dog scuttled away from her and then stood, his expression all hurt and outraged dignity as he rubbed his bruised muzzle against a foreleg.
Hardly daring, Ndlela lifted the trapdoor an inch, waiting again, listening.
Nothing.
“Come.” He eased the trapdoor open, then had to lean out of the way as Robby scrabbled past him. The dog ran to the front door, let out an unconvincing bark, then went to nose disconsolately at his empty food bowl.
“Are they gone?” Isabeau looked up at Ndlela, her face pale, her hair dishevelled, a cobweb dangling from her fringe.
“I think so, but they’ll be back. We need to get out of here. Fast as we can.”
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