“I’ve got Ryan covered,” drawled Max. “He knows he’ll lose the amusement arcade if he says anything stupid.”
Ryan? The amusement arcade? Are they talking about Dan’s dad? Rose tried to think clearly, but fear was scrambling her brain. All she could think was that she’d sent Dan a text alerting him to the fact that she was here and asking for his help. If he turned up now things could go horribly wrong. If only those guys would hurry up and get out of here. She didn’t know how much longer she could stand there. Her right foot had gone to sleep and the dust and oily smell was aggravating her throat, making her want to cough.
Something tickled the toes of her left foot and Rose had to suppress a scream which welled up from deep inside her. A rat was nibbling the leather at the edge of her sandals. Get off me! What if it bit her toe? What sort of diseases did rats carry? Not the plague these days, but what about rabies? Rose had no idea, but she had to get rid of the damn thing before she had a full-blown panic attack.
Lucky had stayed quiet until now, but the rat was obviously too much for him to tolerate. He sprung to his feet and spun around in the tight space, knocking Rose and Zoe off balance, and letting out a piercing sound somewhere between a bark and a yelp. The rat scuttled away into a corner.
“Who’s there?” shouted Max.
Zoe put out a hand to try and restrain him but Lucky was too quick for her. The dog darted out from behind the boiler and started barking furiously at the three men. “Shit!” muttered Zoe under her breath. The guy with the tattoo lunged at the dog, grabbing hold of Lucky’s collar. Lucky went wild, straining to pull himself free, his barks ringing out like machine gun fire.
The short man pulled out his gun and pointed it at the dog.
“NO!” Zoe ran forward, throwing herself between the man with the gun and Lucky. “Don’t you dare shoot my dog!”
The man’s face registered a moment of surprise and then broke into a grin. “All right, pet. How about I shoot you instead?”
“Stop it!” Rose stepped out from behind the boiler and went to stand next to Zoe.
“Bloody hell,” said the man. “It’s like the fookin’ TARDIS. How many more are hiding behind there?” He cocked his head towards the boiler without taking his eyes off Rose, all the time pointing the gun at her and Zoe.
“There’s no one else, I swear,” said Rose. Her legs were shaking so much she thought she might collapse onto the ground. Lucky was still barking.
“Be quiet Lucky,” said Zoe, and the barks dropped to an occasional yelp. The man holding Lucky let him go and he ran to Zoe’s side.
“What we gonna do with them, boss?” asked the man with the gun.
Max came to stand in front of Rose and Zoe, regarding them with a smirk on his face. Rose didn’t like the way he was looking them up and down, his eyes resting too long on her breasts. Then he turned and walked over to the pile of mildewed mattresses. He picked up one of the leather belts, wrapped the ends around his hands and pulled it tight as if to test its strength. Then he let one end go and whipped the strap through the air. It made a whistling sound and the metal buckle rang out on the stone floor. For one terrifying moment Rose thought he was going to flog them. Then he tossed the strap to the man with the tattoo and said, “Tie them up. Over there.” He pointed at the pile of old bedsteads. “I’ll decide what to do about them later.”
The guy with the tattoo caught the strap with one hand and grabbed hold of Rose with the other.
“Let me go,” she screamed. She tried to pull away from him but his grip on her arm was too tight. He pulled her sharply towards the nearest bedstead. Rose jerked her head around and saw the man with the gun grab hold of Zoe. Max was handing out leather straps like candy.
As soon as the fat guy had Zoe in his clutches, Lucky went berserk, barking and snarling like Cerberus on steroids. He leapt at the man holding his mistress, jaw open wide revealing all of his teeth. He tried to bite the man’s throat, but the man hit him over the head with the barrel of the gun. For a moment the dog was stunned and slunk away. Then he crouched low on his haunches and sprung at Max, biting him on the thigh. Max swung one of the leather straps at Lucky’s side, whipping him hard. The dog yelped in pain, an ear-splitting cry that bounced off the stone walls. The man holding Zoe pointed his gun at the dog, his finger on the trigger.
“Go, Lucky!” shouted Zoe.
No, please don’t go, thought Rose. As far as she could see the dog was the only weapon they had. Lucky cocked his head to one side and looked at his mistress for a moment, clearly reluctant to do as he was told. But they shot the dog at the fair, said a more reasonable voice in her head. They can’t shoot Lucky!
“Go!” repeated Zoe in a louder voice. “Out!” This time the dog obeyed her, turned tail and bounded up the steps, the sound of his paws clattering down the corridor.
Lucky was safe! But it seemed to Rose that their last hope had disappeared with that dog. She cried out in pain as the man holding her wrenched her arms behind her back. Her mobile phone fell from her hand and the man kicked it across the floor to Max who casually picked it up and put it in his pocket.
“Give me that back,” shouted Rose.
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be needing it for the moment,” said Max. “It’s difficult to use a phone when your arms are tied behind you.” He laughed a cold, cruel laugh and Rose felt such hatred for this man that she wanted to blow his brains out.
The man holding her pushed her onto the ground and used the leather strap to fasten her wrists to the leg of one of the beds. The other man tied Zoe up next to her.
Then the three of them left without another word.
~~~
George climbed into the carriage beside Walter and they set off at a steady trot. It had been a sultry day and now clouds had gathered, blotting out the last of the evening sun. George had spent the day trying to remember everything he’d ever learnt about firing a pistol, which wasn’t much. He should have practised, he knew, but he didn’t know anyone in this town who owned a pistol and Walter had urged him to keep the duel a secret from Mary. At the time, George had acknowledged this to be good advice. From what he’d seen of Mary he knew her to be quite a forceful character who would try to dissuade him from the undertaking. But with every moment that took him closer to his destination, he wondered if telling Mary would have been the right thing to do, after all. She might have come up with a better plan.
“Just remember,” said Walter once they were out on the open road, “keep a steady hand. Imagine you’re painting a tiny detail on a picture.”
“He’ll kill me,” said George. “The man’s bound to be a good shot, otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested this.”
“Then you need to kill him first,” said Walter, matter-of-factly.
George nodded glumly. Walter was doing his best to be supportive, but George felt that nothing short of a miracle could save him now. But he couldn’t back out. To do so would brand him a coward and he couldn’t live with that. He tried to focus on thoughts of Alice, tried to picture her fair face, her smile, her dark eyes. According to Mary she was alive and well, albeit locked up in the asylum. But they were going to get her out, Mary had convinced him of that. But freeing her from the asylum wouldn’t be enough, George could see that. He had to deal with Henry man to man. It was essential that he didn’t miss.
They turned off the main road and followed a track towards the forest.
“Is this it?” asked George, surprised that they had reached the wood so quickly.
“This is the place,” said Walter in a tight, grim voice. The cart trundled over the rough ground and followed the path in amongst the trees. After a short distance they emerged into a clearing. Walter pulled on the reins and the cart came to an abrupt halt. On the far side of the clearing was a black carriage bearing the same coat of arms, the griffin, that George had seen on Henry’s letter. Standing beside the carriage, smoking a pipe, was a man with gingery whiskers and a paunch. He turned at the sou
nd of the approaching cart and smirked at them. George would have liked to wipe the smile off his face with a punch, but standing beside Henry was a brutish-looking fellow in black who looked like he was used to a few rounds in the boxing ring. George didn’t rate his chances.
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” asked Walter.
Could he back out now? Could he live with himself if he did? It was tempting to tell Walter to just turn the cart around and make a hasty retreat. He was a painter, for goodness’ sake, not a soldier. But then Henry laughed and the sound carried across the clearing, harsh and mocking. If he ran away now, he’d hear that laugh for the rest of his life. “Yes, I’m sure,” he told Walter.
They climbed down from the cart and stood, waiting. Then Henry’s second started to walk towards them and Walter walked out to meet him. George watched as they greeted each other coldly. They conferred for a moment, then walked further into the clearing and marked, with sticks, the two spots from which Henry and George would fire their weapons.
George felt as though he were in a dream, or a nightmare to be more precise. He wished he could just wake up and find himself tucked up in bed. Surely this couldn’t be happening to him?
Walter returned and led him towards the centre of the clearing where Henry and his man were waiting for him. Walter checked Henry’s pockets to make sure he was not concealing another weapon and Henry’s man did the same to George. The formalities dispensed with, both men took their positions by the sticks. Walter handed him a pistol. It felt heavy in his hand. He was never going to be able to fire it. The rule was that each pistol was to be loaded with one bullet. If they missed each other, that was too bad.
“You gents ready?” Henry’s second looked approvingly at his master and then disdainfully at George. It was clear that in his eyes George was already as good as dead.
“Yes,” said Henry, loud and clear, full of confidence.
“Ye-es,” said George. He felt his head nod, although he was not conscious of choosing to make the movement. It was as if everything were happening to someone else.
“Take aim.”
Henry lifted his right arm. George did the same.
“Fire!”
George had never killed a man in his life. But he wasn’t himself anymore. He had become a stranger, an automaton. He was playing a game of chance and his fate was in the lap of the gods. He took a deep breath, curled his finger around the trigger and pulled. He was jerked backwards by the force of the shot. A cloud of smoke obscured his vision. And then a searing pain shot through his left arm. The pistol fell from his hand and he dropped to his knees, aware of nothing but a sensation of agony. He clutched his left arm with his right hand and his palm came away bright red.
~~~
It took forever to reach Oliver’s Mount. Even when they were through the town centre and free of the traffic, Fiona drove at not a fraction over the speed limit as if she was on some sort of mission to prove to her husband that it was better to drive slowly and get from A to B in one piece than to drive like a madman and end up in hospital. Dan was silently willing her to put her foot down and groaned inwardly as she braked for yet another set of traffic lights that was only just changing from green to amber. But then he reminded himself that they wouldn’t be in this predicament if it wasn’t for his dad’s reckless driving. He’d just have to sit tight. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time. It was half an hour since Rose had sent the text and he couldn’t for the life of him think what sort of trouble she might be in. Why had she texted Help!? He wished he hadn’t told her he’d be there soon. She’d think he hadn’t meant it; that he’d let her down.
Eventually, Fiona turned into the driveway and pulled up in front of the house. Dan jumped out of the car, retrieved his dad’s crutches from the boot and yanked open his dad’s door. Fiona was still sitting in the car, rummaging in her handbag for something. She pulled out her mobile phone and started checking it for messages.
For God’s sake, hurry up, thought Dan. Can’t you do that later?
Ryan slowly manoeuvred his legs out of the car, holding onto the open car door to pull himself into an upright position. It was painful to watch and Dan stared at the ground, not able to bear the look of helplessness on his father’s face.
“All right there Dad?” Dan held out the crutches and helped his father slot his arms into position.
“Cheers, son,” said Ryan. “Bit of a wreck aren’t I?” He grinned and just for a moment Dan caught a glimpse of his dad’s old self, the devil-may-care Ryan who liked to work hard and play hard, who would always drive too fast and take risks, but who was still his father, and Dan felt a surge of love for his dad that was so strong he had to turn away because his eyes were welling up.
At last Fiona came round to join them and they helped Ryan inside. Fiona had converted the lounge sofa into a bed so that Ryan wouldn’t have to climb the stairs. Dan sat his dad down in the nearest armchair, made sure the TV remote control was within easy reach and gave him a footstool for his broken leg, all the time aware of just how on edge he felt. He had to get going. Rose hadn’t texted back which wasn’t a good sign. He poked his head in the kitchen where his mum was putting the kettle on. “Just off out. Got some stuff to do.”
“But aren’t you going to stay and…”
“Sorry. Something’s come up.”
Before his mum could ask him where he was going he was out the front door. He jumped on his bike and pedalled as fast as he could back down the hill.
~~~
Rose struggled against the bonds, twisting her wrists from side-to-side, but the strap was buckled too tightly and the edge of the leather cut into her skin. There was also a sharp pain in her shoulder from when the man had jerked her arms behind her back.
“This is hopeless.” She sank her head onto her knees. “The straps are too tight.”
“Same here,” said Zoe.
Their only hope now was Dan. But where was he? It was at least half an hour since Rose had sent the text and he’d said he’d be there soon. It depended where he was coming from of course. He might be working at the amusement arcade or visiting his dad in the hospital. She should have texted her mum, but then her mum had no idea what or where the asylum was so that wouldn’t have helped much.
They sat there in silence for a while, then Zoe said, “What do you fear most in the world?”
Rose gave a strangled laugh. “Well, if you’d asked me that yesterday I would have said something trivial like spiders, but right now the thing I fear most is being left here to die and no one knowing where we are. What about you?”
“Never seeing Lucky again.”
“My great-great-grandmother knew a woman who was sent here,” said Rose.
“Your great-great-grandmother? Like, how long ago was that?”
“At the end of the nineteenth century. 1899 to be precise.”
“Was she mad?”
“Who? My great-great-grandmother?”
“No, the woman who was sent to the asylum.”
“Well Mary didn’t think so. Mary was my great-great-grandmother. The woman’s name was Alice.”
“So why did she end up here?”
“As a punishment. She didn’t want to marry the man she was engaged to. She wanted to marry someone else and tried to run away with him, but her fiancé was a powerful man and didn’t like to be made a fool of, so he put her in here to teach her a lesson.”
“I’d have kicked him in the balls and told him where to get off.”
Rose laughed. “I guess ladies just didn’t do that kind of thing in those days.”
“So did she get out?”
“Well Mary planned to rescue her but I’m not sure how it went. I’ve been reading Mary’s letters and I haven’t got that far yet.”
“Let’s hope someone comes up with a plan to get us out of here,” said Zoe.
Quite, thought Rose. A plan would be good.
~~~
By the time he had cycl
ed back down Oliver’s Mount, through the centre of town and out the other side, Dan was dripping with sweat, his T-shirt sticking to him. The weather had turned hot and muggy, the sort of day when sensible people went into the sea instead of cycling at breakneck speed uphill as if they were trying to win the Tour de France. Each rotation of the pedals was a huge effort, like he was cycling in the wrong gear, but he forced himself to keep going up the hill towards the asylum. His pulse pounded in his temples. He hadn’t thought to bring a bottle of water and now regretted this oversight. He reached the brow of the hill and turned into the lane that led to the abandoned building, the narrow tyres of his road-bike bumping over the rough ground. He hit a sharp stone and wobbled so hard he almost fell off. After that he got off the bike and pushed it the rest of the way.
A black Jaguar car was parked in front of the house and one look at the number plate told him whose car it was. MAX1. If it wasn’t for the text from Rose, Dan would have turned around straight away and got the hell out of there. But he had to find her; she was in trouble and needed his help. He walked through the gap in the fence and suddenly a large black dog ran from round the back of the house, barking furiously. Dan stopped where he was. The dog was about twenty feet away and it looked angry. He could see the whites of its eyes. That was all he needed, a crazy dog. The thing with dogs, Dan knew, was not to show any fear. You had to let them know who was boss. That way they respected you.
“SIT!” shouted Dan. The barking stopped and the dog just stood there staring at him, its head cocked to one side. “Sit,” said Dan again, quieter this time but with as much authority as he could muster. Unbelievably, the dog sat down on its haunches. That was better. Maybe the animal wasn’t crazy after all, not if it responded to clear instructions. Dan approached slowly. The dog stood up. Was it going to let him past or not? The dog barked a couple of times, but not so ferociously as it had done before. Dan held out a hand and decided to try the friendly approach.
“Good doggy, come here.” The dog trotted over to him and sniffed his hand. Dan risked patting the animal on the head and the dog nuzzled up against him. Dan breathed out a sigh of relief. The dog wasn’t going to eat him for dinner. But where was Rose? Quite possibly the dog would know, but that wasn’t much use. Dan thought he might just ask the animal anyway, when there was the sound of men’s voices, a clear Geordie accent, and footsteps from round the side of the house. Shit! He glanced around but there was nowhere to hide.
Scarborough Fair (Scarborough Fair series Book 1) Page 20
