Blood Fever

by Charlie Higson

  Supervising the activity was a very tall man dressed all in white, his skin as pale as his clothing. He stopped a group of men who were struggling with a particularly heavy case and they put it down. He said something to them and they began to open the lid.

  Zoltan climbed out of the car.

  ‘Ugo,’ he called out. ‘Are you not pleased with me?’

  ‘Salve, amice,’ said Ugo, and he smiled, flashing a silver tooth. ‘I am very impressed. You have excelled yourself, Zoltan.’

  So saying, the tall man reached into the open crate and took out a gun. It was like a short rifle with a round drum attached to the bottom. Amy recognised it from American gangster films. It was a Thompson sub-machine gun – a tommy gun.

  ‘You have done well, Magyar,’ Ugo said, fondling the weapon. ‘You have brought me some beautiful things.’ He gave a little bow. ‘You are too generous.’

  Zoltan laughed. ‘You know very well that these are not gifts,’ he said. ‘I hope you have the money for me.’

  ‘But of course,’ said Ugo. ‘I would not let you down. You are, after all, my oldest friend.’

  ‘That’s because all of your other friends are dead,’ said Zoltan.

  Ugo grinned. ‘As soon as I have checked everything,’ he said, ‘you shall be paid. But you are staying for the carnival, I hope? It will be your first opportunity to meet my other colleagues.’

  ‘I am staying,’ said Zoltan.

  ‘Good.’ Ugo handed the gun to one of his men, who gave him a cloth. ‘But I think you have not been straight with me, Zoltan,’ he said, wiping his hands on the cloth and dropping it to the floor. ‘You have not given me all your treasure.’

  ‘I have,’ said Zoltan. ‘There is nothing more. I have given you all that we agreed.’

  ‘No.’ Ugo smiled and stepped towards Amy and Grace. He raised a hand as if to touch Amy’s hair, then recoiled with a slight look of distaste.

  ‘You hair is not clean,’ he hissed.

  ‘She is not for sale,’ Zoltan said, wearily.

  ‘Why?’ said Ugo. ‘I will give you a good price. Her family may never pay you.’

  ‘She is not part of our bargain.’

  ‘I do not care,’ said Ugo. ‘I want her.’

  ‘What for?’ Zoltan moved forward angrily and put himself between Amy and Ugo.

  ‘You beat one of my men,’ said Ugo. ‘You did not have the right. He is useless to me now. In the hospital. You owe me something for him. I am told that you are fond of the girl.’

  ‘You cannot take her,’ said Zoltan, putting his face close to Ugo’s. ‘She is mine.’

  Ugo backed away from him. ‘Keep away from me,’ he said, staring in horror at the Hungarian’s bloodstained tunic. ‘You are disgusting. You pollute the air. You come here, like that, with these filthy girls, trying to tell me what I can and cannot do. I am the capo, Zoltan. You are in my world now.’

  Ugo gave a signal and two of his guards took hold of Amy’s arms. Another trained a machine gun on Zoltan.

  ‘If anything happens to me, my men will kill you,’ said Zoltan.

  ‘I will hold the girl for as long as I think necessary,’ said Ugo. ‘To make sure you behave yourself in my home. Then we shall see. Maybe I will let you have her back. Maybe I will ransom her myself. Or maybe I will keep her here as a servant.’

  The two guards dragged Amy away up some steps towards a big iron door.

  ‘Why do you do this, Ugo?’ said Zoltan.

  ‘Because I can, Zoltan. What is power if I cannot use it?’

  Amy watched from the steps as Grace suddenly grabbed hold of Ugo. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘This is nothing to do with me. Won’t you let me go?’

  Ugo lifted his hands in the air, afraid to touch Grace.

  ‘Take your hands off me!’ he screamed and a guard pulled Grace away.

  ‘I beg you,’ said Grace. ‘I’m not worth anything to you. I’m not from a rich family. Can’t you just let me go? Please…’

  ‘She is right,’ said Zoltan. ‘She is not part of this.’

  ‘Sì,’ said Ugo. ‘She is right. She is worth nothing to me. I do not want her. She is free.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Grace. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Grace looked up towards Amy and gave a small smile of encouragement, but Amy watched in horror as Ugo walked behind her and took the machine gun back from the guard.

  His long, thin, white finger curled around the trigger.

  Amy tried to cry out and warn Grace, but she was pulled up the steps and as the metal door slammed shut behind her she heard the brief muffled rasp of the gun on the other side.

  She could still hear that terrible sound now. When she closed her eyes at night it haunted her in the blackness. And she heard it now, as she looked out across the valley from her prison.

  She clamped her hands to her ears until the sound went away. When she removed them the noise of gunfire was replaced by the distant clonk of cowbells and the warbling of a dove, somewhere up on the roof; the same irritating sound, over and over…

  There was a rattle of keys and the door opened.

  Amy smiled. It was Stefano, the boy from the kitchens who brought her food. Stefano’s visits were the only parts of the day she looked forward to.

  He placed a tray on her dressing table, unloaded a plate of boiled meat and vegetables, and collected her dirty dishes from lunchtime.

  As usual she had hardly touched her food, and as usual Stefano tutted.

  ‘You must eat, Amy,’ he said quietly. ‘You will get sick.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she said.

  Stefano glanced back at the door to make sure it was shut and spoke to her in a low voice.

  ‘I have brought you some chocolate,’ he said. ‘From Ugo’s own supply. Don’t let the guard see you eating it.’ He quickly handed her a small lump of something hard wrapped in waxed paper.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Amy, feeling pathetically grateful, and she squeezed Stefano’s hand. The boy brought her all sorts of pilfered treats but she was most grateful for the human contact and simply having someone to talk to.

  Stefano had learnt to speak English working in the kitchens of an English family living in Cagliari.

  ‘You make me feel sad, Amy,’ he said. ‘I do not like it. You should not be here.’

  ‘Is there nothing you can do?’ said Amy.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘If Ugo knew I was even talking to you he would have me whipped. If I helped you escape he would hang me. I am as much a prisoner here as you,’ he added. ‘Now I must go. I will see you in the morning.’

  As Stefano went out with his tray Count Ugo came in.

  He had not visited Amy since locking her in this room and Amy couldn’t say that she was pleased to see him.

  ‘I am sorry if I am disturbing your meal,’ he said as Amy hurriedly hid the chocolate. ‘But I will not be long.’ He sat down on Amy’s high-backed chair and stared at her for a while.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said.

  ‘I just want to make sure that you are well looked after and have everything you need,’ he said. ‘I am not a monster, you know. I am a civilised man.’

  ‘Tell that to Grace,’ said Amy.

  ‘You are a strong young woman,’ said Ugo. ‘I like that. The women of ancient Rome were strong. They had to be to breed strong children. The wives of the emperors were the strongest of them all.’

  ‘I understand a fair number of them poisoned their husbands,’ said Amy.

  ‘Weak men deserve to perish,’ said Ugo, standing and walking slowly towards her.

  Amy was repulsed by him. By the whiteness. By the silver tooth that caused him to lisp. By the blue veins beneath his translucent skin.

  ‘I have been finding out about your family,’ he said as she backed away from him. ‘The Goodenoughs are good English stock. Aristocracy.’

  Ugo looked her up and down. ‘I need a wife who is an aristocrat.’

  Amy put a hand to her thigh. Thro
ugh her dress she could feel the knife she had stolen from the hotel where it was tucked into the top of her stocking. She had been sharpening it on the stone window-ledge and she wondered if she should pull it out and try to stab the Count. He looked powerful, though, and if she got it wrong, he would surely kill her.

  ‘But my men tell me your still refuse to bathe,’ said Ugo, turning away. ‘That is a pity. You must keep clean. And your hair, you must wash it. They tell me that when Zoltan first captured you, you had short hair, like a boy. That is wrong. I am glad you are growing it. Long hair suits you better. Maybe you could grow it as long as Rapunzel and let it down through your window. Who knows, maybe a handsome prince will climb it and rescue you?’

  So saying, Ugo laughed and left the room.

  Amy sat on her bed.

  There was no handsome prince. There would be nobody riding to her rescue. She was lost and alone.

  She knew what she was going to do with the knife.

  She had made up her mind.

  She would use it on herself.

  She slipped it out of her stocking top and felt the sharpness of the blade.

  Then she grabbed hold of a bunch of hair and started to saw away at it, ignoring the pain as it tugged against her scalp.

  13

  Black Spines Filled with Poison

  James was standing on a narrow ledge, peering down at the sea 30 feet beneath him. His toes gripped the edge of the rock, curling over it. He swallowed hard. The drop was a lot further than it had looked from below. Had he made a big mistake?

  A large steamer out in the Straits of Bonifacio sounded its horn as if daring him to jump and James exhaled noisily.

  The sun felt fierce on his back. Its dazzling light was reflecting off the water and the pale rocks so that he had to squint. He could see the two boys watching him expressionlessly, lounging on the sand, not wanting to give anything away, acting casual, as if what James was about to do was something they saw every day.

  But was he about to do it? Was the water even deep enough? How far under would he go if he dived from up here? Whatever happened, he would have to wait for a swell of some sort; but still, if he got it wrong, he would drive himself head first into the seabed. At best he’d break his neck, at worst kill himself. Maybe he should back down and dive from the lower rock that the boys had been using.

  No. He couldn’t do that. He would lose face. They would laugh at him and he would never be accepted. He knew he was showing off, coming up this high when he could have simply dived from the lower point, but part of him needed the thrill of danger.

  This was the Danger Society all over again.

  It was also his chance to conquer the fear of heights that had taken hold of him at Sant’ Antine. If he could pull this off, he would prove to himself that he wasn’t scared, that the incident at the tower had been a one-off, that he didn’t suffer from vertigo.

  He would show Mauro that he was not some soft English sap.

  Since his arrival, Mauro had become, if anything, even more rude and stand-offish. His duties as Victor’s houseboy appeared to leave him a lot of free time and he came and went as he pleased. James had been largely keeping out of his way, but on one or two occasions they had both been on the beach at the same time and had sat as far apart as they could, both pretending that the other wasn’t there. And since Victor had left the day before, Mauro had got even worse.

  Just as he had predicted, Poliponi had persuaded Victor that they should attend Count Ugo’s carnival in the mountains. The artist had pleaded and sulked and teased Victor until he had given in. He had steadfastly refused to take James with them, though.

  ‘If your Aunt Charmian found out that you had been mixing with people like Ugo Carnifex,’ he had said, ‘she would never forgive me.’

  This had caused Poliponi to scold Victor again. ‘We need more people like Ugo Carnifex,’ he said. ‘Europe is falling apart. You cannot hide from the world forever, Victor. I know you Swiss are proud of your neutrality. You will not join in our wars, but you still must live in our world.’

  ‘I came to Sardinia to escape,’ said Victor. ‘To live in peace by the sea.’

  ‘One small carnival in the mountains is hardly the end of the world!’

  The original plan had been for Mauro to drive them there, but Ugo had sent his seaplane for them and Poliponi had gone off like an overexcited child.

  Now Mauro was acting as if he owned the place and James was damned if he was going to take any more from him.

  This afternoon he had thought that he would have the beach to himself, but a small sailing boat with a triangular lateen rig had arrived, skippered by a friend of Mauro’s called Luigi. Mauro had come down from the villa to meet the boy and they’d sat about smoking cigarettes and chatting. Every now and then one of them would look over at James and say something and the other would laugh.

  James had tried to appear uninterested as they’d splashed about in the turquoise water for a while, but then they’d started diving from the steps that climbed up the side of the little natural harbour. They’d started from fairly low down, but had grown bolder with each attempt until they’d used a ledge some 15 feet up.

  James had watched them until he could stand it no longer. He wasn’t going to sit here for the rest of his holiday being ignored by this snooty Italian boy. He’d walked over to join in, but as soon as they’d seen him coming the two boys had stopped what they were doing and lain down on the rocks to dry themselves.

  To hell with them.

  James had swum over to the steps, being very careful where he put his feet, as the whole area was carpeted with black sea urchins so you could barely see the stone beneath. If you put a foot wrong you’d be stabbed by a thousand black spines filled with poison.

  He had reached the ledge the other boys had been using and instantly decided that he would try a little higher. And now he had climbed as high as he could get, and here he was, stupidly risking death to impress these boys.

  The steamer had passed through the straits and James watched its wake rippling towards the shore.

  It was now or never. The waves created by the ship might just be enough to give him the depth of water he needed to avoid breaking his neck.

  He watched as the first swell surged in and broke against the rocks, raising the water level by a good few inches.

  OK. There was no time to think; the wake would pass on in a matter of moments, and he would have missed his chance. He’d still have to time his jump exactly, though; if he hit the water between waves it would be disastrous.

  He sucked in his breath, tensed, and threw himself out over the water.

  Everything happened so quickly he barely had time to think. There was a brief, breathtaking sensation of falling, the air rushing noisily in his ears, and then the sea slammed into him like a solid object, battering the top of his head. He pulled up as sharply as he could, but still got a face full of weeds and his chest scraped the bottom. Then he was bobbing up in a net of silver bubbles, alive and unhurt.

  He swam casually back to the shore and got to his feet. The water was just deep enough here to hide his trembling legs and wobbly knees. He knew he mustn’t show anything, but he felt utterly exhilarated; the thrill had been intense.

  Mauro stared at him for a moment, then laughed and jumped up. ‘Sei pazzo,’ he said, shaking his head.

  Luigi looked up at the rock and whistled. ‘Quella era una cosa pazzesca da fare,’ he said.

  ‘Pazzo,’ Mauro repeated and tapped his finger on the side of his head. ‘Crazy.’

  James shrugged. He was sure that from now on he and Mauro would be friends. Which was a relief, as he knew that he would be too scared to ever try a stunt like that again.

  He waded towards the two boys, grinning happily, but suddenly yelled and fell sideways in the water. It felt as if a nail had been driven into his foot.

  Mauro and Luigi hurried over, picked James up and dragged him ashore. They looked at his foot. Several br
oken black spines were sticking out of his heel.

  He’d trodden on a sea urchin.

  There was a terrible burning sensation as the poison, still pumping from its broken spines, soaked into his flesh.

  The two Sardinian boys shouted excitedly in Italian and crowded round him. Luigi put out a hand to prod at the spines but Mauro pushed him away angrily and the two of them argued. Finally Mauro indicated to his friend to stay back and looked at James.

  ‘OK?’ he said.

  ‘Not OK,’ said James and he bit his lip. The pain was awful. His whole foot was throbbing and the poison was already spreading from his heel up into his ankle.

  Mauro studied his foot carefully, before delicately plucking the spines out one by one. But they were so brittle that the barbed ends stayed stuck in, and, as they were disturbed, the poison sacks at their tips discharged more of their agonising cargo.

  James winced and tried not to make any sound, but it was difficult. At last Mauro was done. He looked at James, his face concerned.

  ‘Come,’ he said and helped James up.

  James put his arms round the boys’ shoulders and they struggled with him up the steps to the villa. Once there Mauro left James on the terrace and busied himself in the kitchen before returning with two bowls and a sponge. He carefully washed James’s foot with vinegar from one bowl before plunging it into the other, which was full of very hot water. The pain slowly dimmed to a dull ache and a pulsing sensation and James was relieved that the worst of it was over.

  Mauro studied James’s heel. It was still studded with the broken ends of the spines.

  ‘OK?’ said Mauro.

  ‘OK,’ said James.

  Mauro once again talked to Luigi, who looked sceptical, and soon another argument flared up, but once again Mauro won.

  ‘Is OK,’ he said, then he picked up a large smooth stone. ‘OK,’ he repeated, which made James think that it really wasn’t OK at all.

  Mauro knocked the stone against his chest and nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Is OK.’