by Robin Jarvis
“She only did that so she could find Paul! Remember how distressed she was when he became the Jack of Diamonds and disappeared. She was beside herself; she had to find her son. Why is that so impossible to understand? She sacrificed her own identity, everything she was, for her child’s sake. That’s what every mother does. How can you hold that against her? She wasn’t to know she’d become the Labella character.”
“She didn’t have to do it. I would’ve found him.”
“And a fat load of good you were when you eventually did. But that was then and this is now and we need to act. We’ve got to persuade Lee to take those guards of his into Mooncaster. Whether you like it or not, he’s our one and only chance to get the rest of these kids out of here alive. We’re all dead if we don’t.”
“Then God help us.”
The water in the bucket had iced over. Maggie cracked through it with the handle of the mop then began swabbing the bloody traces from the floor. The young refugees were not given work to do, but they were expected to keep their areas clean. Sometimes they almost wished they did have some sort of duties to keep them busy, but they never found themselves missing the minchet harvesting they’d been forced to do back in the camp.
Maggie couldn’t understand why Lee hated Martin so much. OK, so he was a bit up himself, thought his opinions were more important than everyone else’s and slipped back into teacher mode too regularly, but hadn’t he been proven right all down the line? If the authorities back in England had taken him seriously at the start, the horror of Dancing Jax might have been averted.
Working her way down the corridor, she didn’t notice the guards sent by Doctor Choe emerge from around the far corner. The men stared at her and exchanged glances. That girl would do. One of them opened his mouth to call out when Spencer came from the refectory to join her.
“I’ll finish that off if you like,” he offered.
“Nah,” she said, thanking him with a smile. “I might as well do it now. Not as if I’m missing anything.”
“Gerald was a bit weird just now. Said we couldn’t stay here.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“I dunno. Something Nabi said spooked him.”
“Oh, blimey, what else has Lee been teaching her?”
Before Spencer could reply, the guards began to shout. The teenagers looked back at them in surprise. The men were pointing at Maggie and beckoning.
“What’s up with them?” the girl asked.
“They want you to clean their bit as well.”
“But we’re not allowed over there.”
“They just don’t want to have to do it themselves. It’s women’s work, you know.”
The guards became impatient and started to advance down the corridor towards them.
“Well, they can sod off,” Maggie declared through a phoney smile. “I’m not cleaning a floor I’m forbidden to walk on. The lazy, sexist buggers.”
Spencer took the mop and bucket from her. “I’ll go,” he said. “You find Gerald and see why he was so rattled.”
“All right, I’ll ask Nabi what she’s been saying first. She’s a right little madam that one. Her dad’s going to have his hands full when she gets older. Can’t see her being a party drone like her sister. She’ll probably be leading the revolution single-handed.”
“It wasn’t like that,” the boy tried to tell her. “It was to do with cutting up the Shark or something.” But Maggie had already breezed back into the refectory.
Spencer approached the guards, whistling a few bars of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly theme to himself. They seemed a bit put out that Maggie had gone and barked at one another.
“I can handle a mop,” he assured them when it looked like they were about to follow her into the refectory. “It’s not gender-specific you know.”
They regarded him for a moment then nodded and led him away. Spencer smiled to himself. With the rest of the world in chaos, it was almost funny, perhaps even comforting, to encounter this unyielding chauvinism.
A bitter draught blew down the stone steps that led to the terrace on the left. Spencer shivered and glanced in at the last door on the right before the corridor bent sharply. This was Lee’s room. He was slouched on his bed, glaring down at the steel cuffs on his wrists. When he was in that mood, he was best left alone if you didn’t want your head bitten off. Spencer had never been the most socially adept person. Even before the Jax phenomenon, he’d been a loner at school and at home. Back in the camp, Lee had been the first to stick up for him, and accepted him and his oddball devotion to that Stetson. Spencer had never forgotten that and, as he set the bucket down, he determined to brave the boy’s temper and go talk to him – as soon as the floor was clean. After all, even if he did get his head bitten off, it was no big deal; there was no hat to put on it.
But now the guards were shouting again.
“All right!” he said. “I’m doing it as fast as I can. What’s the hur—?”
Without warning, one of them snatched the mop away and threw it to the floor. The other covered the boy’s mouth with his hand. Crying out was impossible and there was no time to struggle. Startled and fearful, Spencer was dragged further into the prohibited area. Locked doors flashed by and he was hauled into the lab where Doctor Choe Soo-jin was waiting.
“On the table,” she ordered severely.
The guards slammed him on to the gleaming metal surface. He barely registered his surroundings, but he saw the body of the Marshal covered in the blanket and, suddenly, he understood why Gerald had been so alarmed. The shock of realisation was like a violent punch.
“You’re not serious!” he yelled when the guard uncovered his mouth and began fastening the restraints about his wrists. “You can’t do this! You’re crazy!”
Terrified, he began to yell at the top of his voice and twisted and kicked, hitting one of the men in the face. A brutal fist struck him in return and Spencer shouted even louder.
“This room soundproof,” the doctor said. “No one hear you.”
Spencer continued to fight frantically. They caught his right foot and strapped it down. Doctor Choe moved closer to check the strap was secure and he booted her in the shoulder with his left. The woman went reeling sideways. She crashed against the other table and fell across the Marshal’s corpse.
Springing back, she snapped at the guards and they hastily buckled the other foot down.
“Make final strap tight!” she commanded. “Then wait outside. I am not to be disturbed, by anyone or anything.”
The last restraint was pulled under Spencer’s chin and over his throat, almost strangling him and flattening his windpipe. He choked and gasped and his cries were crushed into desperate croaks.
The guards bowed smartly and left the lab. Spencer was pinned fast to the table. He could only turn his head around a fraction before the thick strap bit into his neck. Struggling for breath, he watched the doctor move in and out of his line of sight and heard the ring of metal against metal as she sorted through her instruments. When she crossed his vision again, she was holding a syringe.
“You can’t do this!” Spencer rasped, sweating in horror. “I’m not a specimen you can cut up and examine. When Martin finds out, he’ll tell the Chief of the General Staff. They’ll have you shot – you’re raving mad!”
Doctor Choe disappeared again as she moved to the drugs cabinet and unlocked it. He heard the door open and the clink of small bottles as she examined the labels.
Spencer wrenched and heaved on the straps. He contorted his hands and feet and tried to slip them free, but the restraints were too strong and tight. There was nothing he could do. He turned his face as far to one side as he could, only to find himself staring at his dead neighbour. The boy grimaced and peered through his spectacles at the macabre sight. When the doctor had fallen against it, she had displaced the Marshal’s arm and it was now hanging over the side. Tark the Shark was still clutching a green book in his hand. Even in death the Jaxers di
dn’t let go of it. His blood dotted the cover.
Spencer’s mind was racing. He couldn’t break free, he couldn’t call for help, what else could he do? What else? He remembered back in the camp, when he’d been at his lowest, and had wanted to run outside after curfew so the Punchinellos would shoot him. Marcus had saved him then and made him realise that you had to keep battling, you had to keep looking for chances – you never gave up. But what chances were there here? Unless someone came barging in to the rescue, he was done for.
“Was Chief who lift restriction,” the doctor’s voice informed him. “Martin Baxter, him only important for study. His brain should be most interesting. Reason for immunity must be found. Democratic People’s Republic depend on my skill to find answer. I must create vaccine.”
“Brain?” the boy gasped. “You want our brains? You really are sick in the head. It’s your brains what need bottling! You’re out of your ruddy skull!”
“Brain of subjects only first avenue of study,” she told him. “Other organs may also hold clue that is vital.”
“There is no cure, you silly cow! It’s not a disease. When are you going to start listening to us? It takes you over. It’s evil – full stop. You get possessed. There’s no vaccine for that.”
He heard her flat heels turn on the tiled floor and, moments later, she was leaning over him. The syringe was no longer empty and a bead of clear liquid glistened on the needle’s tip.
“Lethal injection?” he asked, almost hysterical with fear. “That’s just wonderful that is. You’re putting me down like Old Yeller!”
“No lethal,” she corrected coldly. “Enough barbiturate to induce sleep or coma only. Point three five gram for now. Lethal dose might damage brain.”
“Oh, gee, bless you. You’re not going to kill me until after you’ve scooped out my skull. That’s really considerate.”
Her hand reached for his face. She wasn’t going to inject straight into his head, was she? He flinched as much as the strap across his throat allowed. He closed his eyes, expecting to feel the needle’s sting, but Doctor Choe was only removing his glasses. He felt them pulled from his nose and heard them being set on the counter. Then her gloved fingers pushed the cuff of his overcoat up his forearm as she selected a vein beneath his pale, European skin.
And then a wild and crazy idea flashed into his mind.
“Beyond the Silvering Sea!” he said, as loud as he was able. “Within thirteen green, girdling hills, lies the wondrous Kingdom of the Dawn Prince.”
Back in Britain he had been forced to read that book so many times he knew most of it by heart.
Doctor Choe Soo-jin blinked at him in surprise and annoyance. Above the surgical mask her eyes narrowed.
“No speak,” she ordered.
“Yet inside his White Castle, the throne stands empty!” he continued defiantly. “For many long years he has been lost in exile and thus the Ismus, his Holy Enchanter, reigns in his stead.”
The woman felt a strange prickling sensation crawl up the back of her neck. She gazed about the lab and it seemed to darken. Deep shadows crept out from beneath the counters and behind the sinks, seeping up through the floor. The dead fingers of Marshal Tark Hyun-ki quivered as the book they held twitched and tugged to get free.
In the vault, the metal box containing the wand of Malinda began to tremble and judder. On a shelf close by, the jaw of the unicorn skull opened slowly and the darkness seethed and breathed around it.
“Till the day of his glorious returning,” Spencer persisted, almost spitting the words out, “and the restoration of his splendour evermore!”
Overhead a fluorescent strip popped and the lab dipped into deeper gloom. Another bulb began to flicker. The syringe fell from Doctor Choe’s grasp. It dropped to the ground and she gripped the metal table for support as her head swam. The paper mask blew in and out of her mouth. A fresh morning breeze seemed to be moving through her hair. Sunlight was filtering through the fresh green leaves of spring. It was another ravishing day in Mooncaster and she had come to the bluebell woods with the other young girls from the village to wash her face with dew…
“For that day approaches,” Spencer recited, and now his voice was strong and reverberated in her ears. “The Lord of Rising Dawn is drawing nigh. He is returning to the land that was his. His light shall crown the hills with crimson flame and we shall bow before his unmatched majesty.”
“No!” the doctor declared vehemently. “I am Soo-jin!”
The spring light faded and the creeping shadows in the lab retreated. Breathing hard, she ripped the mask from her mouth and turned a stern, vengeful face on Spencer. The boy’s voice had dwindled back to a compressed whisper.
Doctor Choe stooped to retrieve the syringe. As she crouched, she heard something drop to the floor. Glancing under the table, she saw that the book had fallen from the Marshal’s hand. It was splayed open, white pages facing the ceiling. As she looked, one of them curled over, disclosing a black and white illustration of peasant maidens gambolling through bluebells.
The doctor straightened and hurried around. But, when she reached the space between the tables, the floor was empty. The book had gone.
She glared at Spencer suspiciously. The boy was still strapped down. He couldn’t have moved it. Her doubtful glance darted aside to the Marshal’s body. She scowled, angry with herself for even thinking such a thing was possible. So where was the book?
Beneath one of the sinks came the sound of rustling paper. The doctor drew back. Spencer fell silent and their eyes locked. He had only tried to get her hooked on the words of Austerly Fellows. He had no idea what forces he had awakened. Reading her concern was gratifying though and he couldn’t stop a smirk stealing on to his face.
There was another dry fluttering of pages. This time it was behind the blood analyser.
“Big mice you’ve got here,” the boy said mockingly.
Doctor Choe stepped away and went to the tray of surgical knives. She took up the largest scalpel and held it out in front as she approached the analyser. Cautiously, she leaned over and peered down into the gap between it and the wall. There was nothing there.
Suddenly one of the cupboard doors flew open. Test tubes, flasks and beakers exploded out, smashing on the floor. The doctor jumped back in alarm. Another cupboard was flung wide and Petri dishes came spinning into the lab like Frisbees.
“Vaccinate that!” Spencer taunted as the contents of a third were violently ejected.
The woman clasped the scalpel more tightly and went crunching over the powdered fragments, staring inside each cupboard. They were all empty, but the final one was still closed. Moving nearer and nearer, she reached out to yank the door wide and was primed to lunge the sharp blade at whatever was revealed within.
Holding her breath, she snatched the door open and stabbed wildly. The thin blade lacerated the melamine shelving then snapped. There was nothing in here but boxes of surgical gloves, masks and disposable aprons.
Her tense, squatting frame relaxed. But it was not over yet.
There was a clattering din. One of the metal trays came shooting off the counter above her head. It struck her temple with force and the instruments it contained showered down as she fell backwards. Sterile blades sliced her cheek and skewered her lab coat. Her skull smacked the tiled floor and she cried out. Her head thumped and for several moments she lay there in a shocked daze. Razor-sharp knives had kissed through her skin and rivulets of blood had begun to flow. Yet none of that mattered. As she blundered back, she’d caught a glimpse of something up on the counter, where the tray had been. It was the Marshal’s green book.
The doctor raised her head to look again. It was no longer there. Then she saw it. The book was now lying on the floor, by her feet. As she watched, the book raised itself upright.
“Not possible!” Doctor Choe exclaimed, shaking her pounding head. When she looked again, it had clambered on to her legs. Tilting diagonally, it balanced on one corner and swu
ng the other forward, waggling itself along her body.
The doctor tried to hurl it away, but her arms were unnaturally heavy and she couldn’t move them. Her legs were the same. She was as helpless as Spencer on the examination table. Throwing back her head, she yelled for help then sobbed as she recalled the lab was soundproof.
Dancing Jax continued its relentless, shuffling progress until it came to a stop on her chest. With slow menace, its pages opened and her eyes were compelled to gaze.
Strapped to the table, unable to see what was happening, Spencer could only listen and try to guess.
“Doctor?” he ventured. “Doctor Choe?”
There was no reply. Spencer breathed a sigh of relief. He had saved himself, invoking the power of the book to ensnare her. But the real peril was only just beginning. The force he had unleashed was unstoppable and would sweep away everyone in the base. There was no escape now.
Minutes edged by, in which the only sounds were the woman’s soft, trance-like murmurs. Then, abruptly, she rose from the floor, appearing behind the Marshal’s body. A far-off look was in her glassy eyes and Dancing Jax was clasped to her bosom.
“I am the Four of Clubs,” she announced ecstatically. “I am Dulcie, the innkeeper’s daughter. All the boys and menfolk do like to kiss me, for I have ale on my ripe cherry lips, the tints of a warm summer evening in my golden hair and my pretty duckies do fill my bodice most bounteous. Blessed be.”
6
EVEN AS THE guards dragged Spencer into the lab, Martin and Gerald descended the steps from the terrace.
“You!” a severe voice shouted.
The two friends halted and looked down the corridor. Three soldiers were striding purposefully towards them from the main tunnel where a jeep was waiting.
“You, quick!” one of them ordered. “You needed.”
Neither Gerald nor Martin recognised them. They were dressed in the usual olive uniform of the People’s Army, but they had not seen their faces in the base before. Perhaps their duties kept them in the prohibited areas; those units never had cause to come here.
