“Yes, sir.”
“Step aside, Raymond. Let her through.”
The guard opened the door and cool air escaped out into the hallway. It had the subtle sweet smell of vomit hanging over it, just enough to make me gag for a brief moment. Upon entering the cellblock, the guard slammed the door shut behind me.
The cellblock contained four rooms with rows of bars, two rooms on each side. There were hard floors, bunks, and nothing on the cold stone walls. The two cells in the rear had small windows high up on the farthest wall back, which let in a faint mist of light. The windows were only about a foot in diameter and had bars running across them.
I heard soft moaning from one of the back cells. A three-legged stool sat next to the doorway and I picked it up. With some difficulty I held the stool, the chessboard, and the bag of chess pieces, and I made my way slowly to the back of the cellblock. Three of the cells were empty; the fourth, on my right in the back, held Pervis Kotcher. He looked dreadful.
At first he did not see me. He was rocking back and forth, sitting on the edge of a cot facing the back wall, staring down into a bucket that was surely full of something unspeakably gross. I dropped the three-legged stool with a bang and began setting up the chessboard a few inches away from the bars to the cell.
The sound of the stool hitting the stone floor had an interesting effect. Pervis attempted to turn around quickly with an impaired wrenching of his neck. It was clear that the sudden jerk of his head sent unearthly pain shooting through his skull. In the next moment, he was on the floor holding his head, writhing in pain, and muttering something about “that dim-witted girl.” Then, as quick as a rabbit, he was back on his knees, holding the bucket, making a sickening, echoey noise. The quick rise from floor to knees had clearly given him a jolting head rush, and no sooner was he finished with his work at the bucket than he was flat on his back again, moaning quietly.
“Hi, Pervis, how are you doing?” I said, not meaning to be sarcastic, but realizing it sounded that way as soon as I’d said it.
He continued moaning for a few seconds more, then turned toward me and rolled his eyes open. “Whatever it is that you want, please come back for it later. I’ve no patience for dealing with you today.”
“Actually, I thought you might like some company. I brought a chessboard. Want to play?” I said this in my most exuberant voice, undoubtedly irritating Pervis even more.
Pervis opened his mouth and started to curse at me, and then he seemed to think twice about the idea. He closed his eyes, slowly rose on one elbow, and winced in pain. With his right hand he grabbed the bucket and slid it along the floor with a screech, producing an awful slushy sound from the contents. He spat into the bucket, and then began the slow process of dragging his body off the bed and along the floor. First the arm pushing the bucket forward, and then pulling the rest of his body behind him. Inch by grinding inch Pervis made his way over to the bars while I set up the game. When he finally arrived, he slowly moved to a seated position, hurled a mighty discharge into the bucket, and inquired calmly, “What shall we wager?”
Sitting on the stool, I had a bird’s-eye view of the contents of the bucket, so I retreated to the clammy dirt floor and crossed my legs. For a twelve-year-old I was a marvelous chess player. It was a game that came naturally to me. Pervis would not be the first adult I’d made haste of with little or no effort.
“Funny you should ask — I was just wondering the same thing,” I said. “If I win, I get to ask you five questions that you must answer honestly, on your honor. If you win, I’ll do the same for you.”
With some effort, Pervis replied, “What could you possibly know that I would care about?”
I stared at him long and hard.
“A lot,” I said.
At some level he seemed to believe me, and a typical Pervis Kotcher smirk crept onto his face. He was looking a measure better, though it might have just been an act to rattle me.
“All right, then, you’ve got yourself a game. On your honor, five questions, answered honestly,” he said.
“Deal.”
There wasn’t much about Pervis I trusted — close to nothing actually. He was a shameless opportunist, a shifty-eyed leader to his men, and probably the lousiest drunk I’d ever laid eyes on. But it was known around Bridewell Common that people, even bad people, never wavered from telling the truth once they gave their word. It was this knowledge that made my lying so difficult, even if the lies were intended for good. I believed Pervis would tell me the truth if I got the chance to ask him five questions, because that was just the way of things around these parts. In any case, it was a risk I was willing to take.
“White first. That would be you,” I said.
Pervis moved his pawn to g4, a typically meaningless first move for an amateur. This was going to be easier than I thought.
I moved my pawn to b6, playing a waiting game to sniff out his next move. Now the board looked like this, with me at black and Pervis at white:
One of my useful tactics was to distract my opponent with offhand remarks or questions.
“I’ve never seen you drunk before. Why the sudden downward spiral?”
“Sorry, no honest answers — and no talking — until you beat me,” Pervis said. Okay, so he was focused, unwilling to partake of my little distractions. Fine, I’ll just finish him off faster that way.
The next three moves put me in a good position to start taking pieces with my bishop and my kingside knight, and I was beginning to understand his tactics, however juvenile they might be. Now the board looked like this:
From the look of it, Pervis had no plan of attack. He was simply countering my moves while he waited for me to reveal a power piece (something I never did early). Unfortunately for Pervis, this strategy was leaving his king wide-open for attack with no protection from the center. Yes, this was definitely starting to shape up nicely. At this point in the game we had each moved five times. I gave myself a personal challenge to finish him off in fewer than twenty moves.
Pervis took my pawn at d5. I countered by taking his pawn with mine at d5, followed by Pervis taking my pawn at d5 with his knight from c3. Two moves later, Pervis moved his queen to e2, directly in front of his king. That was odd. He was trying to create a situation where my king would be pinned down by my own pieces. Slightly flustered, I moved my knight to g7.
Pervis moved his knight to f6, leaving the board looking like this:
“Checkmate,” said Pervis, which he followed by hacking a big gob of phlegm into the bucket.
“You tricked me. You played dumb and I fell for it.” I was in a state of disbelief, and I was angry. He’d beaten me in only nine moves. That hadn’t happened since I was seven years old.
“I’ll go you double or nothing. Ten questions!” I said.
“No, thank you. I’ll take what I’ve won and cash out if you don’t mind.” He shuffled back to the cot, dragging that disgusting bucket as he went. After a monumental effort, he was laying flat on the cot, head on the dirty old pillow that had probably been a fixture of this cell for as long as Renny Lodge had been standing.
“Good old Grob, works every time against overconfident players,” said Pervis, a new air of satisfaction in his voice.
“What’s a Grob? Are you telling me you cheated?” I said.
“No, cheating would have been much harder than the Grob,” said Pervis. He was back up on one elbow, looking as if he were past the peak of his incapacitation.
He continued, “The Grob opening begins with an ugly-looking pawn to g4. Many players would not dream of making such a revolting first move in a serious game of chess. It wrecks the kingside pawn structure with an unprotected advanced flank. But, as you have seen, it offers many tactical shots along unusual opening lines. I began playing the Grob as an opportunity to exercise my tactical skills, but found that a lot of my stronger opponents in Lunenburg would fall for it over and over again.”
I had badly misjudged Pervis in regard to hi
s chess-playing skills.
“The Grob,” he went on, “is an excellent surprise weapon against good players who know and expect all the common openings. I played a Grob blitz against one A-class player at the Lunenburg Chess Club. I won the game in a few moves. Appalled, he demanded that I play the ugly opening again. I did, and I won again. This cycle continued for five games. The Grob won each game to the horror of my stunned opponent.” Pervis struggled into a sitting position, obviously encouraged by the sheer enjoyment of beating me so badly. Strangely enough, I had a new respect for him. He was clearly intelligent and very good at a game that takes cunning and skill to be great at.
“Let’s see, first question needs to be a real eye-opener, something to set the tone, don’t you think?” he said. He rubbed the weak stubble on his nearly nonexistent chin, spat into the bucket, which was now sitting between his legs on the floor, and looked up at me with a big grin on his face.
“Ever kissed a boy before?”
I looked at him with total disrespect.
“I’m twelve years old, Pervis. Of course I’ve kissed a boy before.” I said this with an air of indignation, even though it wasn’t true.
“Like I said before,” said Pervis, a little flushed, “I can’t imagine you knowing anything I don’t already know that I’d want to know.”
He ran his hands through his unwashed hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he looked up at me.
“All right, I’ve got one,” he said. I braced myself for whatever sick idea he could come up with. I imagined he might ask me if I’d ever eaten my boogers, sucked on my big toe, or sniffed my armpits — all of which I had done.
“That night when Warvold died, you were out there a long time. On your honor, now, tell me what happened out there for real.”
I thought seriously about lying, but something stopped me. I don’t suppose it was any honorable streak I could claim. Something else altogether prompted me to tell the truth. Maybe it was the first signs of desperation from everything swirling out of control around me.
“He died,” I began. “He was dead awhile before I noticed. I was upset about sitting in the dark with his lifeless body, but I pulled myself together. Not long after I figured out he was dead I ran back to Renny Lodge, but not before I opened his amulet and took the silver key that was inside.”
“I knew it! I knew you were lying about that night!”
“I never lied — I just omitted certain facts. I’m only telling you this because I need your help, because for some reason I either trust you or think you’re too dense to be the person I’m looking for,” I countered.
“What are you talking about — ‘person you’re looking for.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Is that one of your questions?” I asked.
Pervis bit his lip and took a moment to answer. “Yes, it’s one of my questions,” he finally said.
“In that case, I’m looking for a man named Sebastian.”
“Who’s Sebastian?” Pervis was clearly confused beyond all hope. He was either a gifted actor even after a long night of drinking, or he was quickly becoming someone I might be able to trust based on his apparent lack of knowledge.
“How about that one — is that one of your questions?” I asked.
“No, no — wait, that’s not my question.”
After a moment of awkward hesitation, he said sheepishly, “Okay, yes, it is my question.”
“Sebastian is, as far as I can tell, an escaped convict posing as a citizen of Bridewell,” I said matter-of-factly.
After a moment of reflection on what I’d said, Pervis asked, “So you think this is a game, coming down here and making up stories to torment me, is that it?”
“Would that be your final question?” I said.
“No! And quit doing that!” He was yelling now, having a hard time keeping control of himself. I was glad for the bars, seeing as it was unclear what Pervis might do if he could get ahold of me.
“Everything all right in here?” It was the guard from outside, with his head all the way in the room from where he’d opened the entrance about a foot.
“Everything is fine, sir. Pervis is just upset I beat him at chess. Can I have a few more minutes, please?”
“Only a little longer. We’ve got to move him and clean out that cell,” said the guard, closing the door with a sour look on his face.
Pervis was thinking hard, trying to log all the possible questions he could ask, trying to figure out if I was telling the truth or just trying to drive him crazy. I think the drinking had hurt his mental processing power quite a bit, because he sat there mumbling and thinking for a long time. After a while he pushed the bucket out of the way with his foot and looked up at me.
“If what you’re saying is true, then I want you to listen carefully. You may not like me much, and to be perfectly honest, I have never thought much of you. You’re small, clever, and spirited, which is exactly what I was when I was your age.” With an irritated look on his face, he paused, held his stomach, and let out a ferocious, gurgling belch.
“Do you know what happens to a tiny, energetic child who has no money, no promise, and no important associations?” he continued, wiping his mouth with a forearm. “He gets beaten. First by a drunken father, then, living on the street, by bigger children. And at some point it’s just life itself that starts kicking that child around. Pretty soon he turns bitter, angry, willing to do anything to gain respect. And who do you think that child, when he grows up, hates more than anyone else? Of course it’s the same youngster who he was, only this one’s got the money, the powerful parents, all the opportunity in the world. This one gets it handed to her on a plate. That’s a lot for a man to overcome.”
Pervis got up and walked over to the bars, putting both hands on them to hold his weary body up.
“This place is peaceful when you’re not around, Alexa. Every summer it gets a little harder, and I get a little angrier. Maybe I’m simply unwilling to see anything good in you. The fact is, I haven’t had a holiday in twenty years, and it has been longer still since I’ve been drunk. The thought of coming back here to face another three weeks with you and the rest of them in Bridewell was more than I could take.” He slipped down, and for a terrible moment I thought he would crash to the ground unconscious. He caught himself halfway to the floor and struggled back up, leaning heavily on the bars for support.
He continued, evidently about to pass out. “If what you say is true, then understand this, Alexa: I can protect this place better than anyone. I’ve put my whole life into it, and I’m telling you, I’m your man. So if you’re interested and you’re telling the truth, here’s my last question —
“Can you get me out of here?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and then I told Pervis Kotcher everything.
CHAPTER 18
A NIGHT ERRAND IN THE LIBRARY
After leaving the cellblock, I went to my room. Night had fallen on Bridewell while I was talking with Pervis, and a full moon was on the rise. I pulled my Jocasta out of its leather pouch. It was beating like a tiny emerald heart — the same as the last time I had checked it. I was anxious to speak with the animals. I wondered if it would wear out faster if I didn’t talk to them for a while. Were there any animals around here besides those traitorous cats?
“I think you were right to trust Pervis.” It was a voice from the window.
“Murphy!” I yelled.
“Yes, ma’am, back with news from the forest,” he said, flipping down off the sill, across the floor, and onto my lap like a hairball on a windy day.
“How did you know about Pervis?” I said.
“I was there the whole time, watching through the little window. You deserve an award for staying down there as long as you did. The smell coming up from that place made me run gagging for fresh air more than once.”
“You’re a regular guardian angel, aren’t you, Murphy?”
“Actually, that would be Yipes. He’s the on
e who keeps sending me to watch out for you. He remains concerned for your safety.”
“How is he?”
“Doing fine, and he’s a lot closer than you might think, hanging in the shadows near the wall. We have a chain of communication that starts with me, goes through Yipes, then Darius, Malcolm, some of the others in the forest that you met, and finally to Ander and the council. Then the messages come back up the line to Yipes, me, and now you.” Murphy’s tail was twitching back and forth. He darted off to the door with a listening ear, then back to the windowsill, and finally over to the bathroom that separated my father’s room from mine. Within a few seconds he was back on my lap.
“I have word from Ander,” he said. “He was surprised about Sam and Pepper, but as they are domesticated, he understood how it could happen. After all, they depend on humans for food and water. As to the hawks, Ander thinks the one you saw might be an isolated case, and that the rest of the hawks are still with us. He asked if you knew of anyone in Bridewell who might keep such an animal as a pet.”
I thought about everyone I knew who might keep a hawk in Bridewell. But I could think of no one. Other than Yipes, I had never known of anyone keeping a hawk as a pet, let alone anyone around these parts.
“I’m sorry, Murphy, I don’t know of anyone with a pet like that. Did Ander say anything else?”
“Only one thing: ‘We’re running out of time, so get on with it.’ Those are his words, not mine. I for one think you’re doing a splendid job. Though I will admit, it does seem to be going a bit slow, don’t you think?”
“I have an idea that might help get things moving along, but I’ll need your help,” I said.
“Absolutely! Pleased to help any way I can.”
I spent the next few minutes filling him in on the details of my plan, and then we started for the library. The first order of business would be getting inside the locked doors. A few years back, a small cat door was added on the wall just left of the double-door entryway. No human could fit through the opening with its hinged wood flap, but Murphy would have no trouble navigating what for him would be a wide berth.
The Dark Hills Divide Page 12
