Raven's Gate

by Anthony Horowitz

  Jonas was sipping coffee from a white porcelain cup when Scott arrived. He was dressed for the flight out of Naples, wearing a grey silk suit, white shirt and pink tie. Earlier that afternoon, while Scott was in the Piazza Dante, he had spent two hours in the gym next to his bedroom in the castle. But despite all the work he had done lifting weights, despite the press-ups, the rowing and the stretching, he hadn’t managed to get rid of the anger he had been feeling ever since he had heard that Scott had gone. His muscles were still warm but the anger was burning cold inside.

  “Where have you been?” he asked.

  “Out.” Scott took a biscuit from the table, broke it in half and ate it idly.

  “I know that. But that’s not why I asked you. I’d like to know where you’ve been.”

  “Why?”

  Jonas considered the question. He knew that a week ago Scott wouldn’t have dared to ask it – but then a week ago Scott had been a very different person. He decided to tread carefully. “I was worried about you,” he said. “I’ve told you how dangerous it is out there. There are a lot of very desperate people. If they see anyone with money and possessions, they’ll try anything.”

  “I can look after myself.”

  “I have no doubt.” Jonas raised the cup to his lips and sipped. “Even so, you’ve left it rather late. We ought to be on our way to the airport. The plane is waiting.”

  “I’m ready to go. I don’t need a passport, do I?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m all packed.” It was true. Jonas had provided him with enough new clothes to fill three suitcases. There were jeans, jerseys, shirts and jackets but also thermal underwear, padded jackets, hoods and gloves. It was going to be cold in Antarctica. That was where the two of them were heading, apparently. “You can get one of the servants to carry it down.”

  “I’ll do that.” Jonas took another sip. “So where did you go, as a matter of interest?” he asked, casually.

  “I was in a place called the Piazza Dante.”

  “And what took you there?” Scott didn’t answer. Jonas lowered the cup and leant forward. His eyes were hard behind the wire-frame glasses. “You saw Pedro.”

  It was an accusation, not a question. Scott shrugged. He couldn’t see any point in denying it. “Yes.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “He wanted to see me.”

  “You are aware that I am extremely annoyed about his escape. You and I may have come to an understanding, but it’s still going to make me look careless and stupid.”

  “You were careless and stupid, Jonas. That’s the point.”

  Jonas frowned. The boy was going too far. He would have to devise some sort of punishment. Not here. They had no time. But perhaps while they were on the plane. It was a Boeing 747 and there were only the two of them flying. There would be plenty of room. “I would have very much liked to have had Pedro back in my hands,” he said. “If you knew where he was, you could have warned me. At the very least, you could have told me who helped him escape. Presumably you know. How did he even contact you?”

  “He sent me a message.”

  “I’m very disappointed in you, Scott—”

  “You don’t need Pedro,” Scott cut in. “He’s nothing to you. You’ve got what you want. You’ve got me.” His voice was cold. At the same time, he seemed to be completely relaxed. Jonas felt a sense of unease. It was he who had made the boy like this but what exactly had he created? “Now if you want to go, let’s go. But stop talking to me like I’m a child.”

  “I think you’re forgetting yourself.” Jonas had decided he’d had enough. It was time to reassert himself. “How dare you speak to me in this way!”

  “I’ll speak to you how I like.” The hatred was pouring out of him. It was in his dark eyes, in his voice. The American boy was consumed by it. “I think you’re the one who’s forgetting, Jonas. You serve the Old Ones. We both serve the Old Ones. But there’s a difference between us. You are a human being who has been indulged and been given a little power in return for his service. But I am one of the Five. I was there at the very beginning when the Old Ones were defeated and they’ve always been a little bit afraid of me. I have power – and the strange thing is that since I have accepted what I am, since I joined you, I’ve become stronger than ever. I can’t tell you how I feel. It’s extraordinary. But do you want to see my power, Jonas? Do you want a taste?”

  “Let’s just leave…” Jonas muttered.

  But it was too late.

  “I can see right into your mind,” Scott went on. He had folded his arms across his chest and although he was a few inches shorter than Jonas, he seemed to tower over him, staring straight into his eyes. “I have read every dirty secret of your life. I know what you think when you get up and I know what you dream when you go to bed. But more than that, I can control you. I was always able to do that, to push people and make them do what I wanted. I killed my foster father when I was twelve years old. I made him climb up a ladder and hang himself. I could do the same to you now.”

  “That’s enough, Scott.”

  “I don’t think it is enough, Jonas. I think it’s time you learnt who I am and what I can do. I know you like breaking fingers. That’s what happened to Pedro. So why don’t you find out what it feels like? Why don’t you break one of your own?”

  “What…?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I am.”

  Scott stared and it was as if Jonas had been electrocuted. His whole body shook, his arms jerking as he fought to keep them still. “Scott…” he managed to whisper.

  “I don’t care what you do to me,” Scott said. “But you leave my friends alone!”

  “He wasn’t your friend!” Jonas gasped out the sentence, his eyes bulging, his face contorted. His entire body was fighting against itself and as he stood there he looked as if he was about to topple over. Scott was still gazing at him, and without wanting to, Jonas took hold of the little finger of his left hand. All the muscles in his arms and shoulders were shuddering. “Please…” he whimpered. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. His whole face was twisted in anticipation of the pain to come and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. He was clutching the finger in his right hand, bending it away from the others. “Scott…” he tried one last time.

  “Break it!”

  Jonas couldn’t stop himself. He had no control. He screamed as the finger broke and at once it was as if he had been released. He pitched forward, falling to his knees. His whole body was shaking. Huge tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Don’t even think about punishing me,” Scott said. “The Old Ones don’t care about you but they have a great deal of interest in me. I am the master here, Jonas, not you. That’s what you have to remember.” He smiled. “So when does the plane leave?”

  “What have you done to me? What have you done to me?”

  “When does the plane leave?”

  “The car’s outside.” Jonas hissed the words. He was cradling his injured hand, unable to believe what had just happened.

  “Good. I’ll get my things.” Scott began to walk towards the door, then stopped. “By the way, there was only one person who could have given me the message to meet in the square and that was the little servant boy, Giovanni.”

  “Why are you telling me…?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Scott smiled. “We’re both on the same side.”

  Giovanni was throwing a few possessions into a small suitcase: some clothes, letters and photographs. He had almost nothing to take with him but Pedro understood the significance of what he was doing. He wouldn’t be coming back. Meanwhile, his uncle, Francesco Amati, was standing over him, watching both the boys anxiously.

  “We have no time,” he was saying. “The two of you should have already left.”

  The other members of the family – Giovanni’s grandfather, various aunts and cousins – were clustered together in the room ne
xt door, gazing through the open door, frightened and perplexed. Pedro understood what they were going through and knew, with a heavy heart, that it was all his fault. They hadn’t had much of a life here. Every day had been a struggle for them. But at least they had had each other. They had these rooms. They had been able to live together in relative safety. And then he had come into their lives and overnight everything had changed. Everything they had could soon be ripped away. Someone at the Castel Nuovo would work out that it was Giovanni who had passed the message to Scott. Putting two and two together, they would know that he must have helped Pedro escape. And then they would come and find him … and not just him. His family would suffer too.

  Giovanni had finished packing. He closed the case and Francesco immediately picked it up. “Angelo is waiting for you at the harbour,” he said, speaking in his own language. Angelo was the name of the brother with the boat. “He will take you up the coast. And when you get to Rome he will help you find Carla Rivera. She worked at the University of Rome with your grandfather and she has always been a friend to this family. She lives with her son and her daughter, close to the Vatican. She will know what to do.” He turned to Pedro and spoke in Spanish. “Giovanni will take care of you and you are less likely to be stopped, travelling together. You even look a little Italian. Remember, it is illegal to travel in Italy without an ID card. If you see any policemen or officials, you must try to avoid them. If you are stopped, do not try to run or they will shoot you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Pedro said, miserably. He knew the two words were useless. They didn’t begin to express what he felt.

  How could he have known about Scott? The two of them had only been apart for a week, but in that time Scott had changed to the extent that he was almost unrecognizable. He was Jamie’s brother. The two of them were twins. But something had happened that had ripped them apart and turned one of them into…

  No. Pedro still wouldn’t accept it. Scott had been hurt. He had been frightened. Any one of them might have chosen to do what he was doing now. Pedro simply refused to believe that Scott really had switched sides.

  So why was he in such a hurry to leave now? Why did he believe that armed soldiers might already be on their way to the house?

  Thinking of Scott reminded him of the money he had given him and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Here…” He offered it to Francesco. “You can have this.”

  “Where did you get it?” Francesco stared at the handful of banknotes.

  “Scott gave it to me.”

  “I don’t want it!” Francesco snapped out the words, then softened. “That’s a lot of money, Pedro. Several months’ salary.”

  “Then take it. Your family needs it.”

  Francesco stood for a moment, fighting with himself. Then he took the money, kept about half for himself and handed the rest back. “You and Gio will need money too,” he said. “Did you hear the name I told him? Carla Rivera. She is the woman you must look for in Rome.”

  “Papa … they’re here!”

  The voice came from the room next door. It was Isabella, the younger of the two girls, who had been standing at the window all this time, her face pressed against the glass. Francesco rushed in and looked over her shoulder. Outside, it was already dark, although night had not yet fallen. The sun had been obliterated by the smoke pouring out of Mount Vesuvius, thicker and blacker than ever. But even so, he could make out the uniformed men crossing the courtyard, heading for his front door. There were about twenty of them, masked and helmeted, carrying automatic weapons. Their feet were stamping in unison on the concrete.

  An old woman appeared from the side, a grandmother in a shawl and apron. She shouted at them in a high-pitched voice. What were they doing here? Why were they disturbing the neighbourhood? The soldiers ignored her. Somewhere, a baby cried. A dog began to bark.

  “You have to get out of here, now!” Francesco cried.

  “You have to come with us,” Pedro said.

  “No. We can hold them off. We can buy you time.”

  “But they’ll kill you. They’ll kill all of you.”

  Francesco seized Pedro between his hands. “There is no room on the boat,” he hissed. “We’re dead anyway. But we need you to live. You are one of the Five, Pedro. You are the only hope we have left.”

  “Zio…” It was the Italian for “uncle”. Giovanni was in tears. He grabbed hold of Francesco and the two of them embraced.

  Then the two boys were out of the door and hurrying down the corridor. Pedro heard the front door being smashed open and could imagine the leather boot that had done it. There was another burst of gunfire, shockingly loud, and although they were six floors up he caught the unmistakeable smell of cordite.

  “This way!” Giovanni was leading him once again, just as he had done in the Castel Nuovo.

  The two boys hurried down the corridor in the opposite direction to the main staircase. Pedro could hear the soldiers coming towards them, twenty pairs of feet stomping on the steps. They came to a window at the end and Giovanni threw it open. There was a fire escape leading down. Pedro climbed out.

  “Not down. Up!” Giovanni was still speaking Italian but he stabbed with his finger and Pedro understood. There would almost certainly have been someone waiting for them at the bottom. There had to be another way.

  They climbed two sets of metal steps to the roof and ran across a flat concrete wasteland covered in soot and piled high with broken pieces of metal and wood, mangled bicycles, smashed-up machines that hadn’t worked for years. Ten years. The sight of them reminded Pedro what Scott had told him. They came to the edge of the roof and Pedro looked for a second ladder. There wasn’t one. A gap of about five metres separated this building from the next and Pedro saw what Giovanni was intending to do.

  The Italian boy threw his suitcase over. It seemed to hang in the air for a long time before it crashed down on the other side. Then he walked back, took a deep breath and began to run. Pedro saw him launch himself across the chasm. He made it easily, landing on both feet and rolling onto his side. Pedro was shorter than Giovanni and not as strong. But there was no point in staying here on his own. He took one glance down. He was eight storeys from the ground and he could imagine himself falling, smashing into the pavement below. There was a longer burst of gunfire from inside the building. Pedro felt the brickwork vibrating beneath his feet. Suddenly everyone was screaming, or so it seemed to him. He couldn’t take any more. He ran and jumped. At that moment, he wouldn’t have even minded if he had fallen to his death.

  But he didn’t fall. He hit the other rooftop, rolling over and taking the skin off his elbow and knees. Giovanni had already retrieved his suitcase and as Pedro got to his feet he propelled him towards a fire escape on the other side. The whole neighbourhood was in an uproar by now. People were pouring out of their homes, knowing that soldiers had come and that it would be safer to be far away. By the time Pedro and Giovanni reached ground level, the street was crowded. They had to push their way across, disappearing up an alleyway on the other side.

  Behind them, there was the scream of a whistle. Whoever was in charge at the Castel Nuovo was taking no chances. There were about twenty men inside the building and easily a hundred more outside. The entire area was surrounded. While Pedro and Giovanni had been packing and arguing about money, the net had been closing in and, with a sick feeling in his stomach, Pedro knew that there was no possible way out.

  Even so, they kept moving. It was early evening but there were still masses of people in the streets, taking up every inch of space. The crowds refused to get out of the way. They moved like syrup, reluctantly separating, then sliding back together again. Giovanni had his suitcase up against his chest, using it like a battering ram. Pedro glanced to one side and saw several men in black uniform, hacking and stabbing with their truncheons, beating a path towards them. Giovanni shouted and they took another turning. The wrong turning. There was a wall straight ahead of them, too high to climb, with no way a
round. They had come to a dead end.

  And they had been seen! The soldiers knew where they were. Pedro came to a breathless halt, the sweat dripping off his forehead, running down beneath his arms. He wondered if Scott had sent the soldiers here and knew in his heart that there was no other way that they could have been found so quickly. Perhaps it still wasn’t too late. Perhaps Pedro could appeal to him … on his knees if he had to. A word from Scott and the family that had helped him would be spared. But Pedro knew it wouldn’t happen. He wished that he had never come to Italy. He should never have left Peru.

  The first soldier appeared right in front of him. He had already unbuckled his revolver and now he raised it, aiming at Giovanni. One boy was to be captured, the other to be killed. He knew which was which.

  Pedro closed his eyes.

  The ground began to shake. It was so sudden, so violent that it was as if the whole world had been seized in a giant hand and thrown down like a tennis ball. All the lines broke up; the edges of the walls, the doors, the windows, the streets. At the same time there was an explosion like nothing Pedro had ever heard before. It was impossibly loud. And it wasn’t stopping. It just went on and on, echoing through the city, tearing through the sky, hammering at the buildings as if determined to bring them down. The shaking was becoming more violent by the second. Pedro felt like his eyeballs were being pulled out of his skull. He was twisting and spinning, out of control. He could no longer feel the ground beneath his feet. Then, in an instant, the sky turned from black to red and Pedro finally understood.

  Scott had warned him.

  The volcano was erupting.

  The soldier had gone. Maybe he had turned and run. Maybe he had fallen. But none of the men from the Castel Nuovo was going to have any interest in the boys. Not now. Pedro looked up and saw a blaze of brilliant red cutting across the sky like an enormous firework. There was a hideous rumbling and more explosions. Balls of flame appeared above the rooftops like falling comets, except that these were soaring upwards, fired into the darkness. At the far end of the alley – it was where they had come from just moments before – a five-storey building with flats and a shop underneath began to tear itself apart, one brick at a time. One after another the windows shattered. Then the whole thing collapsed sideways and came shuddering down, great chunks of wall and shards of glass smashing into the crowds of people who were still below. More flames sprang out of the ground. The whole sky was on fire. The noise was deafening. Thousands of people were screaming but Pedro couldn’t hear them.