Crimson Poison

by Susan Moore

  “So?” she said, when they reached a rainbow-coloured wall. “Does baby Henry want a go?”

  “A quick one,” he said, opening the door set into the wall. “But you have to come too.”

  “No way. I’ll see you back at the table,” she said, stalking off towards the ladies’ toilet.

  “I’ll tell Mum about you and Candy going to Bongo’s…”

  “How do you know I’ve been there?” She spun round.

  “Nat and I watched you through the window. We saw you and Candy with your needles.”

  “Mum will never believe you.”

  Henry held out his squirrel. “NutNut, play Bongo Prissy visit.”

  Up came a shot of Prissy and Candy entering the doors of a rainbow-coloured shop. Once inside, the girls were greeted by a dark-haired man dressed in a long, stripy knitted coat and hat. He hugged them before leading them over to a table laden with balls of wool in every colour of the rainbow. The girls sat down and the man passed them each a piece of knitting from a basket. They started to click the needles together, chatting and giggling.

  “You know what Mummy thinks of knitters,” said Henry. “She hates them more than she does hippies.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” said Prissy.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Doctor Tang throw back her head and laugh.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Try me!”

  Prissy pushed past him through the door. “This had better be quick.”

  They entered a small, round room. The floor, walls and ceiling were mirrored. A circular window looked out over the city.

  “Go on then,” huffed Prissy.

  Henry stepped forward and pressed the big green button below the window. Another piece of glass slid out of the wall over the window. In between two sheets of thick glass lay pockets of multicoloured glass beads. As it began to rotate, the beads started to shift, creating psychedelic patterns.

  “This is definitely the best one,” said Henry.

  Prissy stood with her arms folded across her chest, staring at the patterns.

  “One go and we’re done, right?”

  Henry nodded, hoping that Doctor Tang would be gone.

  Five minutes later they were on their way back but Doctor Tang was still with her friends. Henry waited for Prissy to go into the ladies’ before whipping out NutNut to call Wen.

  “Ai yah!” said Wen, hearing his news.

  The toilet door opened and Prissy reappeared, her lips coated in a thick layer of pink lipgloss. Henry cut the call, hiding NutNut behind his back.

  “You didn’t have to wait,” said Prissy, glaring at him.

  “I didn’t want to get lost.”

  “You are so lame,” she hissed, grabbing him by the arm.

  Back at the table, Henry was relieved to find his mother and Mr Wing still in conversation. Noting that Doctor Tang was still in her seat he slumped in his armchair in front of an enormous glass of Popko juice. Prissy started studying the floorplan of their new home on her mother’s FastPad so he ducked under the table with NutNut.

  “I’m back at my seat, Wen,” he whispered.

  “I’ve come up with a plan. Watch,” she said.

  Henry sat back up and looked over his mother’s bent head. Doctor Tang was still sipping tea. Suddenly she stopped, reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. Henry watched her smile change to a deep frown. She stood up from the table, picked up her bag and jacket, and headed towards the exit, across the room.

  Henry gulped.

  His mother and Mr Wing were still busy, heads locked, and Prissy had her nose stuck in the FastPad. He held his breath. Doctor Tang was now walking directly towards their table before coming to a stop right next to them. She checked her phone again. Henry thought he might faint; he ducked back under the table. He saw her shiny pumps start heading across the carpet towards the lobby and let his breath out so loudly that Aunt Vera looked up.

  “Are you all right, Henry?” she asked, seeing his bright-red face.

  Henry nodded.

  “My gosh. Wasn’t that Doctor Tang?” said Mr Wing in a gossipy tone.

  Aunt Vera smiled smugly. “Oh no. Doctor Tang’s at her beach house in Tai Long Wan,” she said. “I should know because my niece is staying with them.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  SADDLE SORE

  Altan undid the ropes. Nat swung a wobbly leg over the saddle and landed with a thud in the snow. Her horse put its head down and nosed her, its hot breath defrosting her face. She lay there, staring up at its nostrils, wondering if she would ever be able to walk again. They’d been riding for hours. The saddle was the hardest thing she had ever sat on. It had rubbed her legs raw and her bottom was numb.

  Altan offered her a hand up.

  “Leave me alone,” she growled, feeling that he was somehow to blame.

  He shrugged and led his horse off towards the corral. Fred came striding across the snow carrying her two crates. She stopped where Nat lay, put the crates down, grasped Nat’s hand and hauled her up to her feet.

  “No time to rest. I need you to help carry these,” she said.

  Two hours later Nat lay exhausted on a rollout mattress next to a stove in one of the gers. She wasn’t alone. Fred, Altan and a family of five – a mother, father, two young girls and a boy – were all fanned out across the tent floor, buried under thick wool blankets.

  She hadn’t been this tired in a very long time, not since she, Jamuka and Ah Wong had sailed up the coast of China last summer. Then she’d been exhausted from her role as deckhand, hauling ropes and sails, since the Junko’s rigging computer had broken two days into the trip.

  Closing her eyes she became acutely aware of the crackle of the wood burning in the stove and the low hum of breathing. It was a far cry from the bedtime sounds she had grown up with – the whistling wind, Gobi’s sweet birdsong and the ocean lapping at the hull of the Junko. She missed the swaying motion that had lulled her to sleep every night. She missed her home; she missed Jamuka.

  Reaching under her blanket she pulled out Fizz, who remained swaddled in his robot-warmer suit. She tapped him once on his snout, activating his silent mode. His eyes snapped open. They had a warm emerald glow to them, something she’d not seen since they had stepped out into the arctic air at the airport in Ulan Bator.

  Pulling the blanket up over her head so that she didn’t disturb Fred, who lay snoring away next to her, she unzipped and removed his suit. Her heart leapt as she watched his wings slowly unfurl. In the darkness of the under-blanket world his wings shimmered, each scale throwing off a tiny pinprick of diamond-like light. She’d forgotten just how beautiful he was. His screen flickered, lighting up, not to its normal luminescent brightness, but to a dim, powered-down version.

  “Play Gobi song movie. Keep silent mode,” she whispered into his ear.

  Instantly she was transported on board the Junko. Its deck appeared on screen. Hong Kong’s skyline towered up in the background. Wen and Jamuka were seated on cushions with Gobi’s cage on the decking between them. Wen’s hair was bright yellow with tangerine stripes, the same colour as her dress. Jamuka was dressed in a black suit, wearing his signature round, mirrored sunglasses. Both were studying SmartSheets, which they held in their hands.

  Nat didn’t need sound; she’d watched it at least a hundred times before. They were rehearsing their words for “Gobi, Gobi, my name’s not Moby”, which she and Wen had written for their school performance last year. Neither of them could compose music so they’d opted to do a rap version instead.

  A smile twitched at her lips as she watched Jamuka and Wen start rapping to Gobi. Gobi started to flap his wings and join in. The song played along in Nat’s head, as did the gales of laughter at the end. All she wanted was to be back there now…

  It felt like she’d just dozed off when she was woken by a deafening clatter of metal pots. She opened her eyes to find that everyone else was already up and gone. Mattresses had been rolled away, leaving a l
one woman with a couple of cooking pots on the stove. A mutton fug hung in the air.

  Nat pushed herself up. She unfolded her coat, which she’d used as her pillow, and slipped it on. Her legs were as stiff as boards. She clambered to her feet like an old woman, wincing at the thought of sitting in the saddle again. Every bone and muscle in her body ached.

  The woman looked up from her stirring as Nat hobbled over to the door and pulled on her boots. Nat managed a faint smile and bowed her head before stepping out through the door. A refreshing smell of woodsmoke and horses greeted her.

  She pulled her hat down low over her face and ears to try and block out the icy cold. She flapped her arms about like a bird, as she endeavoured to warm up. It was another crystal-clear day. The sun was creeping up above a forest of pine trees. Out here somewhere was Jamuka and his Clan, and the Tumen Vachir. A feeling of dread washed over her. What if she was too late? What if … what if … she dare not think it, but it popped up anyway … what if they were already dead?

  Voices were coming from the direction of the forest. She blinked away a mist of involuntary tears and crunched her way over the snow towards the treeline. A few steps in she came to a makeshift gate in a wall of pine branches. She opened it to find a small corral where Altan and another man were saddling up the horses.

  “Öglöönii mend,” said Altan.

  Nat nodded, unsure of what he meant.

  “Watch, learn, Princess,” he said.

  He showed Nat how to position the saddle and let her tighten the girth. Next came the bridle. As Nat put it over the horse’s ears she let out a deep sigh.

  “How long do we ride?” she said.

  “Day,” said Altan.

  “A whole day to get to the Clan?”

  “Yes, Princess.”

  She let out a groan. It was thickly layered with a growing despair.

  “Too long,” she said.

  Altan shrugged and looked up at the sky.

  “Long ride to Clan, Princess.”

  “Stop calling me Princess, you, you…” In her frustration she found herself lost for words. “You utterly annoying altapottamus!”

  “Altap…?” said Altan, raising his eyebrows.

  A roar of laughter erupted behind them, making them both jump.

  “By Jove, that is genius, young lady!” said Fred, lumbering across the snow. “We have discovered a new species – the altapottamus!”

  Altan narrowed his eyes. “You fun make?”

  Fred slapped him hard on the back. “No, we species make! Now then, I am fuelled on salty tea, so let’s get going, shall we?”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  MA HUANG

  They were moving steadily through the trees when the snow flurries started. Altan was in the lead. He hadn’t spoke to them since the altapottamus incident. Nat wondered how he knew where they were going. Everywhere looked the same. The sky had clouded over with a grey blanket, the wind had picked up and icy flakes now began to fall, pricking her face like tiny needles.

  Despite the horse’s body heat, Nat was chilled to the bone. The air seemed to thin the higher they went and she began to feel a familiar tightening in her chest. She slowed her horse and took Fizz out of her pocket.

  “Fizz, air,” she commanded, putting his snout to her mouth.

  A tiny whiff of medication seeped out into her mouth.

  “Too cold. Malfunction,” said Fizz, his voice now dull and flat.

  Fear gripped her like a vice.

  “Help!” she wheezed, reining her horse to a stop.

  Fred trotted up behind. “No time for potty stops—” She stopped and took one look at Nat’s deathly pale face as Nat whispered, “Can’t breathe,” before falling off her horse.

  “Altan!” shouted Fred, jumping down to the ground. “Joint fir, quick.”

  Altan continued on his horse. He didn’t turn round. “Joint?” he shouted.

  Fred pulled out her notebook from inside her hat. She took off her gloves and quickly thumbed through it.

  “Ma huang,” she yelled, striding off into the forest.

  This time Altan turned his head. The moment he saw Nat on the ground he reined his horse about and came galloping back. He drew up sharply, his horse’s hooves spraying up snow in Nat’s face.

  “Ma huang,” he said, jumping down.

  He put his hand under her armpit, hauling her up into a sitting position. Her nose whistled and her airways wheezed as she tried to suck in tiny wisps of air. He grabbed dry wood from his saddlebags and quickly made a fire. He took a small pot, filled it with fresh snow and placed it over the flames. Nat heard the crackle of burning wood. A fire wouldn’t help. She didn’t want to die here, like this…

  Altan spread out a goatskin next to the fire and pulled Nat on to it. Kneeling next to her, he took off his fur-lined coat and put it around her shoulders.

  “Look,” he said, taking her hands in his.

  Nat forced herself to look up. Dark spots swam in front of her eyes. Altan inhaled deeply through his nose like a snuffling pig, and then out through his mouth. He repeated it.

  “You same,” he said.

  Nat shook her head. She was dizzy now. Her airways were quickly closing up.

  “Yes, Princess,” he said, fixing his eyes on hers.

  She wheezed in once and out once.

  “More!” he shouted.

  Nat tried again.

  “More!” he roared.

  His brown eyes locked on to hers; he didn’t blink. His face bore deep furrows of concentration. She felt like she was being hypnotised.

  “Ma huang,” said Fred, triumphantly marching up to the fire waving a long, spindly branch. “Otherwise known as joint fir, the oldest remedy in the world for asthma. Now we need to make it swiftly into tea.”

  She thrust it into the pot of boiling water until the liquid turned a murky-brown colour.

  “Drink this,” said Fred, holding a bowl to Nat’s lips. “Small sips, please, but you must drink it as hot as possible.”

  Trying to drink at the same time as breathe was pure torture. The tea burned her lips, her tongue, but Fred held it steady, barking at her to keep drinking.

  The minutes ticked by. Nat drank three bowlfuls. She was drowning in tea but the wheezing was slowing. She managed a weak smile.

  “Thank you,” said Nat, looking from Fred to Altan. “I’m sorry I called you an altapottamus earlier.”

  His eyes darted from hers to the ground between them. Instead of a princess quip he silently bowed his head.

  “Now then, young man, all this activity has made me ravenous. Let’s have some of that mutton fat tea before we head off,” said Fred.

  Altan stood up and walked over to his horse. Nat looked out across the forest floor. That had been a close call. Without Fred and Altan she’d probably be dead by now. She reached inside her pocket. It was empty. Fizz?

  Her mind flashed back to him in her hand as he had tried to blast her the medication. She must have dropped him to the ground. She pushed herself up to her feet and took a few shaky steps to where her horse was tethered.

  A long, mournful howl came echoing through the trees, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The horses whinnied, shifting uneasily in the snow.

  “What the blazes is—” said Fred.

  Altan threw his head back and let out a long, deep howl.

  “Extraordinary,” said Fred, reaching for her notebook. “It must be a communication tool.”

  Nat spotted Fizz lying up ahead in the snow, his green snout peeking up out of the yellow robot-warmer suit. Fear rooted her to the spot. Wolves. Real, live wolves, just like the ones Jamuka had described in his bedtime stories. This time not one, but two distinctively different howls came sounding through the trees. Adrenalin started to pulse through her veins, making her hyper alert.

  Altan howled back again.

  “They come,” he said, kicking snow on to the fire, extinguishing the flames.

  “Wolv
es?” said Nat, her heart beating fast.

  “We ride,” he said.

  She stumbled across the snow and picked up Fizz. Despite the suit his eyes were now locked closed, in power-down mode.

  Altan grabbed her hand and hurried her to his horse.

  “I can’t ride yours,” she said as he hoisted her up into the saddle. Looking down, the ground seemed a long way away.

  “I can,” he said, jumping up behind her.

  Before Nat could protest he kicked his horse on. She shot back against his chest.

  “Hold on,” he said, reaching around her and taking the reins.

  She hooked her hands on to the pommel, gripping tight, as Altan rode over to her own horse and grabbed its tether.

  “Chooooo!” he urged.

  Both horses broke into a gallop. She closed her eyes against the wind and snow while Altan expertly rode through the trees at a lightning pace.

  The pine trees started to thicken. He slowed them to a trot, before finally coming to a halt in a small clearing.

  “Whoa!” bellowed Fred, thundering up beside them.

  Her feet shot out of the stirrups, she threw one leg over the saddle and came crashing down to land in the snow. She lifted the top crate off the back of the saddle and started rummaging inside.

  “My samples are being compromised with all this frantic movement,” she grumbled, holding up a test tube with a brown froth inside. “My Dahlicus mosanti shouldn’t look like this.”

  “Shhh,” said Altan, his finger to his lips.

  Fred shot him a look of thunder and turned back to her crate.

  Altan signalled for Nat to dismount. The moment she landed he waved her away from the horse. She took a few steps back, unsure where she should go. Too far away and she might get eaten by a wolf. She turned to ask him but he was now holding his horse’s head in his hands, looking straight into its eyes, just as he had done with her during the asthma attack. The horse pulled back for a moment, uncomfortable at the intrusion, but a sudden quiver ran through its body. Its gaze fell comfortably on Altan’s face.