Читать книгу The Cradle of All Worlds - Jeremy Lachlan - Страница 16

THE MANUVIAN KNIFE

Dapper three-piece suit. Slicked-back hair. Chiselled jaw. Mayor Atlas is a pompous, barrel-chested statue come to life. Grade-A jerk and then some. ‘Who were you talking to, Doe?’

‘Nobody.’

‘We ’eard voices.’ Peg says, hobbling around, checking behind the piles of junk. He’s changed his clothes since our dip in the ocean. So has Eric Junior. ‘Don’t deny it.’

‘No. I mean, yeah. I was talking to myself. I do it a lot. On account of the whole no-friends-thing and all.’ Violet giggles under the wagon. I stomp my foot to cover the noise. ‘Sorry. Nervous tic.’ I stomp again for good measure. Eric Junior frowns at me, hanging back with the horse. I want to punch him. ‘By the way, I wasn’t trying to drown you, Junior.’

‘Tha’s a lie,’ Peg says. ‘I saw it all.’ He glances under the wagon. Thankfully, Violet’s off the ground, stretched out between the axles, face-up. I can just make her out between the planks beneath me. They’d have to crawl right under to see her. ‘Nobody ’ere.’

Atlas stands right in front of me, hands in his pockets. ‘You were bound and gagged when I left, Doe. Robin helped you out, did she? Made things more comfortable for you?’

‘Maybe.’

Peg reaches into the cage, gives the flask a pig-like sniff. ‘What’d you talk about?’

‘The weather.’ I can’t help covering for Winifred. My baby photo sealed the deal. An unspoken pact, for now. ‘Oh, and swimming lessons. Probably a good idea, really.’

Peg punches the cage. ‘Cut the cheek, you little freak! What’d she say?’

‘Save your breath, Gareth,’ Atlas says, and all I can think is, Gareth? Peg’s real name is Gareth? ‘She isn’t going to tell us what Robin said and she doesn’t need to. After tonight, I am going to be heralded as a hero, and that old meddler will have no choice but to retreat to her precious little museum forever.’ He gives Eric Junior a curt nod. ‘It is time.’

Eric Junior leads the horse into the shed and tethers it to the wagon. Violet shifts a little underneath. Peg gathers the severed rope and knife from the cage floor.

‘Want me to tie ’er up again?’

‘Leave her. The crowd will find it more dramatic if there’s a hint of danger involved.’

My face falls at the c-word. ‘What are you gonna do?’

The mayor’s lips flicker with a smile. ‘Tell me, Doe, have you ever heard of Manuvia? No? Pity. Beautiful place. Turquoise sky. Endless jungle, all of it teeming with life. I journeyed there on my first adventure through the Manor.’

‘Eric Atlas and the Red Temple Siege,’ Eric Junior says, buckling the last strap on the horse’s harness. ‘It’s an awesome story.’

‘The best,’ Peg says, which surprises me. He doesn’t exactly seem like the reading type.

‘If you weren’t forbidden to lay your eyes upon the Bluehaven Chronicles, I would highly recommend it,’ Atlas continues. ‘Not that I like to brag. Anyway, I passed through the Manor with ease. A couple of booby traps – nothing too serious. But trouble was brewing in Manuvia. Upon my arrival, I discovered that an evil tribe of cannibals known as the Gothgans had stolen something from the Great Kingdom of Manu. A relic. It’s just a knife, really but to the tribes of Manuvia it was considered a mysterious and most powerful weapon. According to legend, the knife had the power to harness the energy of those it slayed or injured, and transfer that energy to whoever wielded it. So, my calling was simple: retrieve the knife, save the world.

‘The journey to the Gothgan caves was long and fraught with danger – I won’t burden you with the details, for they were many and quite extraordinary. I got the knife. Naturally, the Gothgans were not pleased. Even after I’d made my triumphant return to Manu they laid siege to the Red Temple, the resting place of the knife, for ninety days and nights. I battled and bled alongside the Manuvians for three whole months and the Gothgans were defeated. The Great Kingdom of Manu, nay, Manuvia itself, was saved.’

I don’t like where this is going.

‘After we had claimed victory, Kucho, the tribal elder, called everybody to the base of the temple stairs.’ Atlas starts pacing. ‘You see, the Manuvians believe – and I say believe because, although I have never returned, I am sure they are still alive and prospering – that everything has a spirit. Air, stone, water, flame and bone. Everything. They also believe these spirits can be tainted. Broken. The spirit of the Red Temple, having weathered such a lengthy and vicious battle, was in the greatest danger of all. It had to be saved. Revived. Sated.’

I glance down between the planks, see Violet’s wide tiger eyes staring up at me.

‘They’d captured thirty-seven Gothgans in the battle,’ Eric Junior says. ‘Out of those thirty-seven, nine were women, six were elders, and . . . four were children, right, Dad?’

‘Correct, Junior. They were taken to the stairs, their lives spilled upon the stone one by one, fed to the temple not in the name of battle, but in the name of ceremony. Of sacrifice. It had been done many times before. That was how the temple had received its name.’

‘Red Temple,’ Peg says. ‘Coz of all the blood, see?’

‘Thanks,’ I tell him. ‘I got it.’

‘And they cut them with this.’ Atlas pulls a knife from his vest. A sharp, curved blade with an ivory handle carved into the shape of a hundred writhing, intertwined bodies. He steps up to the cage, twirls it through his fingers. ‘The Manuvian knife itself.’

I swallow hard. ‘They . . . gave it to you?’

‘After a fashion. I deserved it after everything I’d done for them. A mighty gift for a mighty warrior. Lifted it just before I made the journey home. It holds absolutely no magical or mythical properties, of that I’m certain, but it is remarkably sharp.’ The mayor traces the blade across his neck. ‘One cut per sacrifice. That was all it took. People have done it for thousands of years in the Otherworlds. Cleansing rituals on temple stairs. Offerings to gods and monsters.’ He shrugs his blocky shoulders. ‘I don’t see why we should be any different.’

‘Don’t see no reason at all,’ Peg sneers.

‘You have terrorised this island for the last time, Jane Doe,’ Atlas says, and smiles. ‘We are taking you to the festival. We are going to sacrifice you to the Manor at dusk.’