Tostig sniffed. “We can’t take that chance.” He looked at Sceort. “Are you prepared?”
Sceort drew his knife and smiled. “I’ll cut his throat. That’s the quickest way.”
“Good,” Tostig said. “But be careful, Sceort.”
Sceort’s smile faded. “Why? Look at him. He won’t give me any trouble.”
“Remember,” Tostig said, “this stranger has no talisman.”
Sceort grimaced. His hand went up to touch his own talisman. “It’s not right. But what of it?”
“Sceort, don’t you see?” Flyta asked.
“See what?” Sceort demanded.
Tostig put his hand on Sceort’s shoulder. “When you kill him, his spirit will have nothing to cling to. It will look for a new place to settle. It will look for you.”
Sceort’s hand flew to the talisman he wore at his throat. “No,” he whispered.
“Tostig is right,” Flyta said. “There’s no way to stop it.”
Sceort paled. “I won’t do it. You must do it, Tostig. You’re our leader.”
Tostig thought for a moment. “Sceort, give your rope to Hafoc.”
“Rope?” Sceort said. “That won’t bind his spirit.”
“No,” Tostig said. “But if we tie his hands, it will stop him running away.” He looked around the group. “We’re taking him with us.”
Chapter 18
2018
“THANKS, MATE,” Gemma called to the bus driver as they stepped down to the pavement. She nudged Cally. “Go on, give him smile.”
Cally slapped Gemma’s arm. “Stop it,” she hissed. “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder. She deliberately did not turn around. “Come on. Are we going on this march or what?”
“All right,” Gemma said in mock indignation. “Though I think you’ve missed a catch there. He’s got a steady job and that’s more than you can say for any of that lot.” She nodded toward the swarm of people heading for the entrance to Northernhay gardens. Cally gazed at the crowd, her eyes wide. “Wow,” she murmured. “There must be hundreds of them.”
“Yep. And we’re going to our bit. Let’s get in there. I’ll introduce you to a few people. If we can find them, that is.” Gemma strode along the street, scanning the crowd as she went. Cally walked faster to keep up. As they neared the gardens, a fluorescent yellow coat caught Cally’s eye. And there was another, and another—a whole line of them. She tapped Gemma on the arm. “There’s quite a lot of police here. Is that normal?”
Gemma shrugged. “Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it? We’re protesting about education cuts and the cops are getting paid extra for working on a Saturday.”
“I guess so.” Cally looked back along the road. There were more police vans parked down the street, all with steel mesh fastened across the windows. A gaggle of police officers stood around one van, their riot shields arranged in a neat row against a wall. Oh my god. What have I got myself into here? She gave Gemma a look. “You did say this is going to be peaceful protest, didn’t you?”
Gemma didn’t slow down. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. No worries. Don’t worry about the cops—they won’t do anything unless something drastic happens.”
“Drastic? Like what?”
Gemma stopped walking and turned to Cally. “Listen—there’s a risk, all right? This is meant to be peaceful but it isn’t a Sunday school picnic. Stick with me and you’ll be fine. If anything happens, just keep out of it. If a cop bothers you, make sure you get his number.” She paused, looked Cally in the eye. “You know, you don’t have to come.”
Cally swallowed. “No. It’s all right. I’ll come along. I’m just not used to all this, that’s all.”
“Sure. I guess it’s a bit overwhelming on your first time.” She patted Cally on the arm. “You’ll be all right. Come on, let’s go.”
Cally nodded and Gemma turned away. Soon, they were mingling with the crowd, standing shoulder to shoulder with the army of protesters. Gemma led the way, slipping through the throng, exchanging waves and friendly words as she went. Cally followed as best she could. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m just…excuse me…excuse me.” This is ridiculous. I must be the politest protester in history.
Eventually, Gemma found a space near the centre of the crowd and seemed satisfied. “This will be perfect.”
“Yeah,” Cally said, though she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t like to be so penned in, so surrounded by strangers. But at the same time, there was an energy in the crowd; a buzz, a sense of common purpose. This was something new, something thrilling. It made her heart beat a little faster.
Gemma nudged her. “Can you see the stage all right from here?”
Cally peered over the heads of the people in front of her. The temporary stage was topped with banners and surrounded with placards. At the back of the stage, a row of people stood, waiting to have their say. Occasionally, one of them would raise a hand or wave their arms in the air and the crowd would cheer. She had no idea who any of these people were, but there seemed to be quite a few of them. She tugged at Gemma’s sleeve and leaned in toward her. “Are they all going to make a speech or something?”
“Oh, yeah,” Gemma said. “Make yourself comfortable. Could take a while.” She smiled.
“OK,” Cally said, trying desperately to summon up some enthusiasm. “Great.”
This is a bloody nightmare, Andrew thought as he mingled with the crowd. There were a lot more marchers than he’d anticipated and on top of that, he’d never felt so out of place. He was only a couple of years older than most of the protesters, but as he squeezed in among them, it was obvious that his jeans were too new, his hair too neat, and he was probably the only man in the whole place wearing a smart jacket. Thank God I didn’t have time to shave. And perhaps his stubble helped him to blend in because, thankfully, no one was taking any notice of him. He kept moving, trying to look casual while scanning the crowd, searching for a glimpse of the girl. But it wasn’t easy. It was a big crowd and he didn’t have much time. For all he knew, she could’ve got off the bus at a different stop and gone somewhere else entirely. Or she could be in the crowd but decide to slip away at any moment, and then he’d have lost her until she went home again. Hopeless. Bloody hopeless. And at that moment, a cheer went up and a PA system squealed into life. Oh great—speeches. That was all he needed. He pulled the straps on his rucksack tighter against his shoulders and moved on. She had to be somewhere in the crowd. She had to be.
Cally cheered along with everyone else, although she hadn’t quite agreed with everything the last speaker had said. Was that the fifth speech or the sixth? It didn’t matter. They’d all said pretty much the same thing. Cally ran her hands through her hair. Over the last hour, the crowd had grown denser, and the day had grown warmer. Now, with people pressing against her from all sides, she felt sweaty and grubby. Was this march ever going to actually start? She used the handful of flyers she’d been given to waft some air across her face, but it didn’t really help. She cast a sideways glance at Gemma and watched her cheering, enjoying herself. How would she take it if I tell her I want to go home?
As if reading her mind, Gemma turned to her. “What do you think of our Damien?” she asked.
Cally glanced toward the stage. “Oh. Yes. Very good. Very…inspiring.”
Gemma rolled her eyes. “Do you not recognise him? He’s a local hero.”
Cally peered at the young man standing at the microphone. All she could see was a thin young man in a tight suit. His hair was a fashionably tousled mop and his eyes were concealed behind designer sunglasses. “Is he in a band?”
“No,” Gemma said. “But you might have seen him on TV. He blew the whistle on the plan to close all those community centres. You remember—I told you about the campaign to stop it.”
Cally nodded. “Oh, yeah.” She tried to concentrate on what the speaker was saying, but she couldn’t take him seriously. He was strutting up and down the stage, enjoying the limelight a little too much. No wonder she�
�d thought he was a singer. Bored, Cally scanned the faces around her. Everyone looked serious and intense, but they didn’t look like they were having much fun. I bet they’re all as fed up as I am. She pursed her lips. Maybe she shouldn’t have come after all. The crowd roared and Cally guessed the local hero had said something the protesters wanted to hear. She looked up. The young whistle-blower was punching the air. “No more cuts!” he shouted. “No more cuts!”
The crowd took up the chant, waving their fists in the air and stamping their feet. There was an energy in the crowd now, a surge of shared anger. It suddenly seemed as though everyone was pressing closer together. Someone jostled against Cally and she stumbled forward. A flash of fear rushed through her mind. She was going to fall. She’d be trampled, crushed beneath the mob’s stamping feet.
But then Gemma grabbed her by the arms, pulled her back onto her feet. “You’re all right, Cally,” she said. “I’ve got you.”
Cally smiled gratefully and straightened her hair. “Thanks.” She raised her voice to be heard over the chanting. “For a minute there, I thought…well…”
Gemma leaned her head in close to Cally’s ear. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Although…” She broke off and scanned the crowd behind them.
“What?”
Gemma shook her head. “Probably nothing. It’s just, we’ll be setting off soon. If there’s going to be trouble, it’ll probably happen now.”
Cally froze. Had she heard Gemma properly? The crowd pressed in even tighter around her, their chants growing louder. For a split second, Cally was floating above the crowd, looking down on herself. There she was—a tiny figure, a lonely island of sanity amid an ocean of madness. Then suddenly, someone said something over the PA system and in an instant, the mood of the crowd changed. The sense of anger and fury faded away, and now that the stage was empty, the protesters turned their attention to their neighbours, exchanging meaningful looks, grim smiles. Everyone began talking at once; a drone of determined voices.
Gemma took hold of Cally’s arm. “Come on. We’re off.”
Cally stared at her friend. Had she lost her mind? Did she really want to be a part of this baying mob?
“Excuse me, ladies.” A man’s voice cut into her thoughts. Cally turned. A middle-aged man stood, smiling apologetically and holding two take-out cups from Starbucks. “Excuse me,” he said again. “I just need to squeeze past. My wife won’t forgive me if her cappuccino goes cold.”
“Oh sure,” Cally said. She stepped back and watched the man pick his way through the crowd. So ordinary. So normal. A minute ago, had that mild-mannered man raised his voice and chanted along with everyone else?
Cally took a deep breath and exhaled. This is all a bit weird. Perhaps this was the moment to make her excuses and leave. But it wouldn’t be easy. It felt wrong to walk away when everyone else seemed so committed. And I’d be letting Gemma down.
She looked around. At least the pressure of the crowd was easing. Those who’d had the sense to stay at the back of the crowd would already be funnelling out through the gates and onto the street. A few protesters raised their printed placards, or waved their homemade banners, eager to be off. A few were still chanting, “No more cuts!” and somewhere in the distance, a group was singing, though Cally couldn’t make out the words.
She glanced at Gemma. Her friend was excited, energised. She was in her element. I should stay, Cally decided. It’s only a few hours of my time—I owe her that much. She raised her eyebrows and gave Gemma a little smile. “Wow. That was intense.”
“Yeah,” Gemma said. “You get used to it.”
Cally nodded. So far, the protest wasn’t an experience she planned to repeat. Ever. But there was no need to say that to Gemma. Instead, Cally looked down, rifling through the flyers she’d been given, looking for something to distract her from the prospect of the long march ahead. She scanned the bold headings, but there was nothing to lighten her mood. More doom and gloom. Why didn’t these people just get on with their lives? Why did they have to complain about everything?
“Do you know him?” Gemma asked.
“What? Who?” Cally looked up and Gemma nodded toward a man in the distance.
“Him. The guy in the beige jacket.”
Cally knew exactly who she meant. Most people were wearing T-shirts or hoodies. Smart jackets were few and far between, and this man stood out. He looked uncomfortable, out of place. “No. I don’t know him. He looks lost. Probably looking for the cathedral and got caught up in the crowd.”
“I’m not so sure. A minute ago he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”
“Really?” Cally gave the man another look—properly this time. Not bad. He was a few years older than her, but he was slim and looked like he kept himself fit. He stood straight. And he had nice, square shoulders. She liked that.
Suddenly, he turned his head toward her. Cally looked away, but it was too late. He’d definitely caught her looking at him. “Oh god,” she muttered.
“I saw that look,” Gemma said. “Like them smart and clean cut, do you?”
Cally smiled. “Well, there’s no harm in a man knowing what the soap is for and remembering to change his underwear every day.”
Gemma cackled and tilted her head toward a nearby gaggle of male students. “Try telling that to this lot.”
“Besides,” Cally added, “he’s not squeaky clean—he’s got a bit of designer stubble.”
“Oh well, that makes all the difference.” Gemma snorted. “He looks like a bit of a mummy’s boy to me, but hey, whatever gets you through the night.” Gemma gave the man a wave. “Hey, mate,” she called. “Over here.”
“No,” Cally hissed. She glanced across at the man, hoping he’d choose to ignore Gemma and walk away. But no. He was already pointing at his own chest and mouthing the word, “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Gemma called. “Come over here for a minute will you?”
The man started walking toward them, a pained expression on his face.
Cally gave Gemma a tight smile. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just saying hello, that’s all. The poor bloke looks shy, and I know you are.”
“He could be anybody.”
“Yeah. And he could be somebody. Look, just say hello. If he turns out to be a jerk, I’ll get rid of him. OK?”
Cally straightened her hair. “I haven’t exactly got much choice, have I?”
“You got that right,” Gemma said in an undertone. She turned to greet the man. “Hi. We were just wondering—where do we know you from?”
Chapter 19
2014
TOM EASED THE ASTRA along the track, taking it as slowly and quietly as the gravel would allow. He leaned forward, peering through the windscreen. Ahead, the track curved around a bend. Tom could see faint wisps of dust still hanging in the air in the Renault’s wake.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Where are you?”
He’d know soon enough. Around the corner, the track straightened out for a while then ended at the edge of the playing field. The field was surrounded by a chain-link fence more than two metres high and held with steel posts. The only entrance was a narrow metal gate designed for pedestrians. Was the man planning to escape on foot? Tom shook his head. It didn’t make sense. He pictured the middle-aged man, shambling across the football field. Yes, there was a road on the other side of the playing field, but the man would never make it that far; Tom would catch him in seconds. But then, nothing this man had done so far had made any sort of sense. Why should he start behaving normally now?
There must be something else—something I’ve missed. But in that moment, Tom rounded the corner, and there was no more need to speculate. Just a little way up the track, the hatchback was stationary. The driver was still inside, still sitting behind the wheel. Tom braked, bringing the Astra to a halt. As his tyres bit into the gravel, a cloud of fine, white dust breezed forward.
Tom put the handbrake on and
knocked the car out of gear, but he left the engine running. He stared at the hatchback. Though the Renault’s rear window was coated in grime, Tom could see the driver well enough. The man sat stock still, his head tilted toward his rear view mirror. He’s watching me. He’s waiting to see what I’m going to do.
Tom’s lip curled in a sneer. “You’ll find out in a minute mate. And then you’ll wish you’d never played this game.” Keeping his eyes on the driver, Tom unfastened his safety belt and slid the strap back into its housing. For a moment, he hesitated, his hand on the door catch. This really was a turning point. Once he stepped from the car, he’d move fast. He wouldn’t give the other man a chance. Tom flared his nostrils and took a long, slow breath. This wouldn’t take long, and afterward, with this insanity over, his life could eventually get back to normal. And that makes it all worthwhile. Tom set his mouth in a determined line, his eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat, and slowly, he released the catch and pushed his door open. He slid across his seat and glanced down as he placed a foot on the track.
The Renault’s engine roared. Tom froze. What the hell? For a split second, the old hatchback’s wheels spun on the gravel, then suddenly, they found their grip and the Renault lurched backward. Tom gaped as the hatchback accelerated directly toward him and a jolt of fear stabbed into the pit of his stomach. If he tried to jump from the car, the driver would mow him down, crush him beneath his wheels. If he stayed inside the car, he had another option. Tom threw himself back against the seat, leaving the door open. He pressed the clutch and put the car into reverse. Thank God he’d left the engine running. He revved the engine and released the handbrake. It was the worst thing he could’ve done.
The battered blue hatchback was travelling as fast as it could in reverse, and when it collided with Tom’s car, the dull boom of the impact quickly gave way to the shuddering scream of crumpling metal. The Astra’s airbags deployed, but thanks to Tom’s futile attempt to escape, there was nothing to stop the car from being pushed backward. Tom jerked forward as the Astra lurched beneath him. Without his seatbelt, his head and upper body hit the airbag hard, and at the wrong angle. His body twisted toward the centre of the car, and the side of his head slid across the airbag and slammed into the dashboard. Something crunched in his neck. A burst of pure, white pain flooded through his mind and he fell, slumping onto the floor. The gear stick rammed against the side of his chest, and his head thumped hard onto the car floor. But it didn’t matter, because all this was happening to someone else, someone far away. Tom couldn’t do anything about it. Everything was fading away now, dissolving into inky blackness, but that was all right too, because now the car wasn’t moving anymore, and he didn’t have to worry about anything. He could let it all go. At last, he could get some sleep.
Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) Page 15
