Текст книги "The Enemy"

Автор книги: Charlie Higson

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

55

‘Wait!’ David shouted. He was wasting his breath. John and Achilleus clashed together, their spears thudding into each other’s shields.

Achilleus looked at John’s spear. It was undamaged. The tip of his own weapon, however, had broken off. He had sharpened it too much. He wasn’t used to fighting someone with a shield. No matter. It would still do some damage if he made contact.

One–nil to John, though.

He didn’t have long to think about this as John launched a furious attack; evidently he had the same idea as Mick – go in hard and get it over quick.

He ran at Achilleus, driving him back with a series of short powerful thrusts. Achilleus used his shield to block the assault. He soon found that he didn’t have the muscles for it. Holding it up used a lot of energy. He held on, and in the end he saw a gap and managed to get in a counter-strike. Jabbing beneath John’s shield at his legs. John saw it coming and skipped out of the way, but it broke his rhythm, and he left off his assault. Achilleus grabbed the breathing space and moved away, dancing round the ring, loosening his muscles. He had tensed up under John’s attack and needed to work off any cramps before they took hold.

The attack had given John some encouragement. He strutted round the ring with a sneer on his face.

‘Had enough, batty boy?’

By way of a reply, Achilleus suddenly lunged at John, an overarm downwards stab that took John completely by surprise. He got his shield up only just in time and managed to knock the blow aside. Achilleus was left wide open and John came straight back at him, slicing his spear upwards. The triple blades slashed across Achilleus’ chest, ripping his T-shirt and drawing blood. Achilleus swore and spun away, but John didn’t leave him alone for one moment, following in hard with a wild low sweep that took Achilleus in the side of his shin and sent him tumbling to the gravel. John was on to him, thrusting quickly down, again and again, like someone trying to spear fish in a barrel. Achilleus rolled and squirmed on the ground so that the blades dug harmlessly into the dirt.

It wasn’t going well for Achilleus. John was good. He was constantly getting the upper hand. Achilleus was looking like a fool. Wriggling on the ground at John’s feet.

At last John came too close and Achilleus smashed the rim of his shield into his lower legs so that he too fell over. Landing heavily on his face. The two of them scrambled up. John’s bandage had come loose and there was blood dripping from his nose, but he barely seemed to notice it. For a while there was nothing in it. Nobody had the upper hand and they circled each other, panting and sweating. There was a wicked glint in John’s bruised eyes, however. He was enjoying himself. He had rattled Achilleus and they both knew it.

The crowd had become deathly quiet. Intent on the battle. Willing their champion to victory.

Achilleus’ T-shirt was drenched with blood and, although John’s mouth was bloody and he was limping slightly, there wasn’t a fresh scratch on him. Achilleus was wary. Not wanting to let John inside his defences again.

There began a long stretch of cautious fighting, as first one, then the other, would lunge forward and the blow would be blocked. Their grotesque distorted shadows fought around the walls of the palace like some violent puppet show. They were getting the measure of each other, checking out their fighting styles, their strengths and weaknesses. If they had wanted it to be over quickly they were disappointed.

There was no doubting that John’s reach was longer. Both his spear and his arm were longer than Achilleus’, and he was taller by a good three or four centimetres. More of his strikes were getting through. True, most of them clattered harmlessly off Achilleus’ shield, but one or two found their mark. Achilleus had a gash in his scalp and another on his shoulder. It was looking more and more like John’s size was going to win the day.

And he knew it. He just had to work away at Achilleus, wear him down, weaken him, then move in for the kill.

He nudged his assault up to the next level, attacking with such force that Achilleus’ shield rang out like a cracked bell.

Then John swore as one of his blades shattered and broke in half.

Achilleus smiled. Seeing that John was distracted he seized the moment, barged into him, pushing his shield aside and bringing his own shield up with a straight left punch to the side of John’s head.

John was tough.

He barely flinched, and shoved Achilleus away with his spear arm, too close to use the blades. He was wounded, though. His right eye was bleeding and swelling shut.

Lewis nudged Mick.

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘John can’t see so well now, he can’t judge distance with one eye. He’s blind on that side. Akkie needs to concentrate on his left. Keep on hitting him from there.’

That was easier said than done, though. The injury had made John furious and he was advancing on Achilleus like a berserker, knocking him back with a series of spear thrusts and smashes with his shield. Achilleus tried to hold his own, but he was tired. Finally John cracked him on the jaw with the shaft of his spear and Achilleus staggered across the yard, stunned.

‘He’s faking it,’ Lewis drawled.

‘You think so?’ said Mick, unconvinced.

‘Yeah,’ said Lewis. ‘He’s my dog! He’s leading him on, man, hoping John gets cocky and makes a mistake.’

If Achilleus was faking he was doing a very good job of it. He looked dazed, cross-eyed, unsteady on his feet. His spear wavered in the air and his shield was low.

‘Here it comes, gay boy,’ said John and he lifted his spear and drove it downwards from shoulder height, aiming above Achilleus’ lowered shield.

Achilleus just managed to jerk his head to the side in time. One of the knives raked his cheek, though, and cut his ear half off. Then some instinct told him to lift his shield and in the tangle another of John’s blades broke.

He was down to one now.

But one was still enough to kill.

Achilleus shook his head and blinked. His eyes were red and burning. Feverish. He was losing a lot of blood. His ear was hanging off.

He was a wreck.

John was grinning, showing his little jagged teeth.

‘Had enough?’ he asked. ‘You want to surrender? You want to give in?’

Achilleus smiled back at him. John didn’t know it, but he had shown his first hint of weakness. To offer Achilleus surrender meant that somewhere in the back of his mind he maybe didn’t want to take this fight all the way. There was something making him hold back just that tiny bit.

He didn’t want to kill Achilleus.

Filled with a fresh burst of energy, Achilleus gripped his spear underarm halfway down the shaft so that it was perfectly in balance, the point towards John. He arced it up from his knees towards John’s heart. John blocked it, but the momentum of Achilleus’ swing brought the point back and round so that the blunt end of his spear was now towards John. Achilleus swung the spear quickly back in the same arc as his initial thrust, sweeping in towards John from his blind right side. The side that was unprotected by his shield. The pommel punched into John’s shoulder and he cursed. It wasn’t enough to make him drop his spear, but he was rattled.

Achilleus now set up a regular attacking rhythm. A slice up with the point, a punch down with the pommel on the return swing. Steady and solid like a machine. Not giving John time to gather himself and respond properly. At first he was thrown, blocking, ducking and weaving, always on the back foot. It gradually dawned on him, however, that Achilleus’ attack was the same each time. His swing the same length. Holding the spear halfway along the shaft meant that his reach wasn’t too great. John only had to step back each time and the spear swished harmlessly past in front of him. Achilleus could keep it up for as long as he wanted. He’d get exhausted long before John. John let him come on, swinging away. Then he would step lightly back to keep out of reach. He had always known that he had the longer arms.

He didn’t smile now. He didn’t want Achilleus to know that he had the measure of him, that Achilleus’ strikes were useless.

‘What’s he doing?’ said Mick. ‘He can’t get near to John. He’s just walking out the way.’

‘That blow to the head must have shaken his brain loose, man,’ said Lewis. ‘I can’t watch. It’s embarrassing.’

Still Achilleus plodded on. Slicing up and clubbing down. Like a nerd with a playground bully, goaded to fight, and swinging his arms in useless silly punches. John was growing more relaxed with each swing. More sure of himself.

Sure of victory.

Even Maxie could see that Achilleus’ plan wasn’t working. John was taking the piss, letting Achilleus wear himself out, hardly even bothering to counter-attack, just offering the odd contemptuous poke with his longer spear. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch any more. She knew it now. Achilleus was going to get killed.

Still Achilleus swung away – up down up down. He stumbled, blood pouring down his face, his ruined ear flapping.

John smiled at last as his cockiness got the better of him. He lowered his shield and spear, mocking Achilleus, exposing himself, as if to say – ‘Look at me. You can’t get anywhere near me.’ He sneered at Achilleus and gave a dismissive click of his tongue.

Achilleus was ready. It was time to finish it. On the upswing, as the point of his spear lanced back over his shoulder, he loosened his grip, letting the shaft run through his fingers. As it slid to the end and he felt the pommel, he gripped tight again. He now had the full length of the spear in his grasp and he swung it round in a wide circle.

Instead of Achilleus’ reach being a metre, it was now nearer to two, and the sharp end of the spear easily reached John’s head.

It happened too fast for John to react. He had no idea what Achilleus had done. He stood there, casually expecting the spear to be out of range. And then the spear slammed into the side of his head. He staggered drunkenly, shocked and stunned, with no idea where the blow had come from. Achilleus quickly choked up on his spear and moved in for the kill. He knocked John’s shield and spear out to either side with his own weapons, stepped in and brought a knee up sharply between John’s legs. John grunted and buckled, bent double. Achilleus raised his shield and brought it crashing down on to the back of John’s head. John went down fast and heavy, his face smashing into the dirt.

‘That was for Freak,’ said Achilleus.

John lay there without moving.

A great cheer went up from the palace kids and a groan of disappointment came from the little knot of squatters. It was over so quickly in the end.

Achilleus stood over John, sucking in oxygen, his chest heaving. He rolled the body over with his foot.

John was conscious, but his black eyes were swollen shut. The bandage had fallen completely off his nose, which was a horrible flattened mess.

Achilleus put the point of his spear to John’s stomach, pushing it into the soft flesh.

John winced.

‘Do it then,’ he said. ‘Kill me.’

‘Nah,’ said Achilleus. ‘You’re already dead. Nobody remembers a loser.’

‘Kill me!’ John yelled.

Achilleus gave his spear a little push and John gasped.

‘You really want me to? You know how slowly you’ll die if I stick you in the stomach? You really want me to shove my spear into you and spill your crappy guts all over the floor? Hmm? Do you? You really want that, big man?’

‘No,’ said John quietly. ‘No, I don’t. Please don’t. I don’t want to die.’

‘Who does?’ Achilleus knelt down. He put his face very close to John’s. Dripping blood on to it.

‘And this is for me,’ he said and kissed John full on the lips.

The palace kids laughed as Achilleus stood up. Carl the pirate went over to John and helped him to his feet. His legs were like rubber.

Achilleus looked at David.

‘You got what you wanted, David. They ain’t backing out of this.’

David shouted at the squatters.

‘Do we have a deal?’

‘Guess so,’ said Carl.

‘Yeah,’ said John. ‘You’ve got your bloody deal.’

Achilleus faltered and nearly fell. Maeve and Maxie ran to him and steadied him on either side. Maeve already had a bandage ready and she began to wind it round Achilleus’ head. Achilleus tried to push her away, but he was too weak.

‘I’m all right,’ he slurred. And he once again looked at David and the palace kids.

‘Remember what I done for you here today,’ he shouted and passed out.

56

‘Are you satisfied? Freak dead, Achilleus nearly killed as well. Are you so damned keen to become emperor of bloody London that you don’t care one bit about our kids at all?’

‘Your kids?’

‘Yes, our kids.’

Maxie and David were standing on the balcony above the parade ground at the front of the palace. A bright moon was shining through a break in the clouds. The streets and rooftops and trees, still wet from the earlier rain, were streaked with silver.

‘We’re all in this together now, Maxie,’ said David, in that annoyingly unruffled and patronizing manner of his. ‘You mustn’t keep thinking about us and them. We’re all playing on the same team.’

‘I’m not sure I want to be on your team, David.’

‘Then what are you doing here, Maxie? Living under my roof ? Eating my food?’

‘I’m sorry? Your roof ? Your food? I thought we were all playing on the same team.’

‘We are. But if you prefer not to, then why don’t you just leave?’

Maxie looked out over London. From up here there was a view clear down across St James’s Park to Admiralty Arch and Trafalgar Square beyond. There was a whole world out there.

She wondered where Sophie and her archers might be now. It took guts to leave somewhere safe like this and go back out on to the streets.

Did Maxie have the guts to do it?

‘What do you think you’ll find out there?’ said David. ‘Other wandering bands of kids, living like savages, scavenging for food. Is that what you want? Because that’s what it’s like.’

‘I know, David, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen more of all that than you have.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said David, a cold edge to his voice. ‘You don’t know half of what I saw on my way to the palace. I saw things you couldn’t even dream of. I’ve done my fair share of killing. It’s different here in the centre, but I fought my way through a total nightmare to get to where I am now. And I don’t want to go back to all that. I want to build on what we’ve achieved.’

‘Killing grown-ups is one thing,’ said Maxie. ‘They’re diseased. They’re crazy. No longer human. We have to defend ourselves from them. But killing other kids. That’s wrong.’

‘I agree,’ said David. ‘But with some kids it’s the only language they understand.’

‘Maybe you’re one of those kids, David.’

‘As I say, if you don’t like it here, why don’t you leave?’ The smug, superior tone had come back into David’s voice.

‘Maybe I will,’ said Maxie quietly. ‘And maybe I’ll take my crew with me.’

‘Maybe they won’t want to go,’ said David, his voice flat and bland and irritating. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Maxie, but your kids like it here.’

‘If I say we’re going they’ll come with me,’ said Maxie.

‘Are you so sure of that?’

‘Stop trying to undermine me, David,’ Maxie snapped. ‘I know my kids.’

‘And what about Blue’s lot? The kids from Morrisons?’

‘What about them?’

‘Can you speak for them as well? Maybe you’d better go and see Blue, see what he thinks about all this.’

‘He’s sick. Your nurse, Rose, won’t let anyone up to see him.’

‘Rubbish. You can go and talk to him any time you want. He’s well enough now. You’re seeing plots and conspiracies everywhere. I’m not an evil person.’

Maxie shook her head slowly. She felt suddenly dog-tired. The day had been very stressful.

‘I know you’re not evil, David. But we’re all so young. We can’t always know the best thing to do.’

David put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. The action felt clumsy and calculated.

‘You do what you think’s best, Maxie,’ he said. ‘I’ll respect your decision. Now, shall we go in? I think it’s going to start raining again.’

57

‘This would be so much easier if you’d come up to the sick-bay clinic. I’ve got all my proper equipment up there.’

‘No way, man, it’s too much like a hospital.’

Achilleus was slouched in one of the big chairs up on the dais in the Throne Room with his shirt off. Rose was inspecting his damaged ear. She’d given him some painkillers and was trying to clean his wounds with disinfectant. Achilleus was wincing and flinching and complaining and generally making her job difficult.

It hurt like hell.

‘Don’t you like hospitals?’ Rose asked, dabbing at the wound.

‘Nope,’ said Achilleus. ‘Spent too long in them when I was a kid.’

‘You were ill?’

‘Not me, my mum. She had MS. Multiple sclerosis. Bad news, man. That’s how I remember her, as a sick person. Hated hospitals ever since. The only good thing about Mum being ill. She died before everything went bad. I never had to see her go crazy. Ow! What you doing there?’

‘Sorry. It’s your ear.’

‘What about it?’

‘I’m going to have to try and stitch it,’ said Rose.

‘You done stitching before?’

‘No, not really.’

‘You know what to do?’

‘No, not really.’

‘What are the chances you’ll make a good job of it?’

‘No chance at all,’ said Rose. ‘But at least it won’t fall off. Eurgh. It looks really nasty. It’s going to be ugly whatever I do.’

John’s blade had cut through the top of the ear, so that it was only attached by the bottom centimetre or so of skin.

‘I shoulda killed Just John.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

‘I’m not. I’ve got a enemy now.’

‘You had an enemy before.’

‘That’s right enough.’

There was a knock at the door and they looked over to see two of David’s guards escorting a boy into the room. A stocky little lad with cropped black hair. He looked a little shy and nervous, but was masking it with a macho swagger.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said one of the guards. ‘But this squatter kid’s been hanging around, we can’t get rid of him, says he wants to talk to you.’

‘I’ll come back in a minute if you want,’ said Rose, putting down her equipment.

‘No. You stay,’ said Achilleus. ‘Get stitching.’

Achilleus turned his attention to the squatter.

‘What d’you want?’ he said.

‘Can I shake your hand?’ said the boy, with a broad Irish accent.

Achilleus gave a snort of laughter.

‘What you want to shake my hand for?’

‘I think you’re cool.’

‘Yeah?’ Achilleus laughed again and held out his hand.

‘This ain’t a trick?’

‘Nope.’

The little lad came up on to the dais and pumped Achilleus’ hand up and down.

‘That was awesome out there,’ he said, his eyes transfixed by Rose as she started to push a needle and thread through Achilleus’ ear.

‘Shouldn’t you have gone home with the others?’ said Achilleus. He was determined to show no pain in front of the boy, even though it was agony.

‘Nah,’ said the lad. ‘You were right, what you said. John’s a loser. I’m coming over to your side. Jesus, that must hurt…’

‘Meh.’ Achilleus gave a dismissive shrug.

‘Don’t move,’ Rose warned.

‘Just keep stitching,’ said Achilleus.

‘I think I’d faint,’ said the boy.

‘What’s your name?’ Achilleus asked.

‘Pat. Patrick. Don’t mind what you call me. I want you to teach me everything you know. How to fight like that. I’ll help you. I’d be like your servant. I’ll look after your weapons for you. Sharpen them. Carry them into battle. You know, like when you look after a knight, like a… What do you call it? A caddie.’

‘Paddy the caddie?’ said Achilleus. ‘All right. You got yourself a job, soldier.’

58

Callum pressed Play on his boogie box and Abba came on. ‘Winner Takes It All’. His mum’s favourite track when she was feeling sad.

‘Dancing Queen’ when she was happy. ‘Winner Takes It All’ when she was sad.

She always said that you needed sad music when you were feeling down. ‘Last thing you want is someone trying to cheer you up. You want to know that someone else is as miserable as you are and knows how you’re feeling. Lets you know you’re not alone.’

Callum wasn’t exactly feeling sad. Inside he felt quite calm and peaceful really. But he didn’t want to listen to happy music. He remembered how his mum would sit on the sofa and put her arms round him and not say anything. Just the two of them sitting there.

His mum was often sad. Sometimes she’d stay indoors for weeks on end with the curtains drawn. Not wanting to see anyone. Not even answering the phone. Callum had to be the man of the house then. He had to look after her. So they’d sit and listen to Abba together. He supposed that’s where he’d got his fear of going outside from. From his mum.

Her friend, Marion, had told him that his mum suffered from depression.

He wasn’t sure it really helped giving names to things. His mum was just his mum. And he was just himself. Callum.

The piano intro ran round and round and then the blonde one started to sing. He could never remember if it was Agnetha or Frida. His mum had the videos. Callum could picture them clearly. Thinking about them now made him smile. He turned the volume on full and sat back in his chair as they sang about the winner getting everything and the loser feeling small.

He pictured that bit in the film Mamma Mia when the mother – what was her name? The actress? Something weird. She sang the song by the sea.

Greece looked nice.

Callum had never been abroad. Not with his mum being how she was.

Meryl Streep. That was it. Definitely a weird name.

He picked up his Coke from the floor and popped the top. His last can. He’d been saving it for a special day. Well, there would be no more special days after this.

The Coke was warm but it didn’t matter. If it’d been winter he could have left the can outside, but otherwise there was no way of keeping things cold. He took a sip. The sugar hit him instantly. He gave a satisfied smack of his lips and went ‘Aaaaaaah’, just like they did in the adverts.

Next he unwrapped his chocolate bar. Cadbury’s Dairy Milk. It was a little white and hard, but that was all right. He took a bite. Oh, that taste. He closed his eyes to better appreciate it. This was heaven.

Abba sang about the gods. Not caring. Everything being ruled by chance, a throw of the dice.

There came another crash from outside. The crack of something big breaking. A window maybe?

He hadn’t gone away – the father in the cross of St George vest. He and his little gang had stayed. And they’d been busy out there. Steadily smashing their way in. They were very nearly through. If not tonight, then tomorrow. He’d always known it, really, in the back of his mind, that sooner or later the grown-ups would come for him. He just hadn’t thought it would be this soon.

The fat father and his cronies were different. They were clever. Callum had hurled things down on them, bombed them, but he’d missed the ringleaders every time. He’d taken out a couple of the normal grown-ups The stupid ones. That was all. And the others – they wouldn’t give up. They were working away at the defences.

He remembered seeing a wildlife documentary, probably a David Attenborough one, about a pack of wild dogs. They trapped some animal in its lair. A badger or a lizard or something. And they dug it out. Took them ages. More than a day. They just carried on digging and digging, until they found it.

And then they ate it.

A huge bang followed by a thud. Something had fallen over.

He could hear them coming in now. They’d made it into the mall. There was only the shutter now between him and them. He supposed he could run, but where would he go? It was too long since he’d been outside. That scared him worse than the grown-ups.

Another track came on. Another of his mum’s favourites when she was feeling blue, as she called it. ‘I Have a Dream’. They’d sung this one together a million times. On the singalong version. With the words on the screen. It was only now, though, that Callum really paid attention to what the words meant. No wonder his mum liked it. It was all about believing in your fantasies to help you forget reality.

It would be over quickly at least when they got inside. For now he would enjoy the chocolate and the Coke and the music. He wished he wasn’t alone. He wished he had someone to share his last moments with. He’d been slowly dying of loneliness since his friends had left.

He’d got what he’d wished for, but, like in the fairy tales, he’d discovered that what he wished for wasn’t what he really wanted.

He leant over and plugged in his headphones, turned the volume up so that he wouldn’t hear the grown-ups scrabbling at the shutters. He slipped the headphones over his ears. Abba were still singing away. They reckoned if you had a song to sing you could cope with anything.

Yeah, right…

He stuffed half the chocolate bar into his mouth. The taste of it was overwhelming. It seemed to fill his whole body. He sighed with delight. When he’d licked all the chocolate from his teeth he took a swig of Coke to wash it down.

He’d killed his mum in the end. Smothered her with a pillow while she was asleep. Not that she was really his mum any more by that time.

There was an almighty crash and a rush of cooler air from outside. He could sense movement.

They’d broken a window.

He tried to keep his eyes clamped shut, to lose himself in the music. But he couldn’t bear it. He had to look. He had to.

He opened his eyes. For half a second. Less. Saw grownups running towards him. The bald man with the huge lolling head at the front. He was grinning, his arms raised, clutching his club.

Callum closed his eyes.

He sent a silent hello out to his mum and they were upon him.