Читать книгу House of Secrets - Ned Vizzini - Страница 22

Brendan ran to the rollaway bed. There wasn’t much time. Krom kept widening the hole – any minute now it’d be big enough to let all the warriors in. Brendan tossed the mattress off the bed and wheeled the metal frame to the window.

“We’re too high up to jump. But if we can get to that tree…”

Cordelia and Eleanor understood. They opened the window, and then helped Brendan lift the front of the frame and shove it out diagonally, so it would fit; then they grabbed the back and lifted that too, pushing it out to make a bridge, hoping it would catch against the gnarled bark of the nearest tree.

“Count of three!” Brendan said. “One… two…”

With all their might they heaved.

“Yes!” Cordelia said. The far end of the bed caught. The near end was hooked over the inside of the windowsill. “We did it!”

“You two go first.” Brendan glanced back. There was now a huge hole where the attic door used to be. The stairs, which folded up when the door closed, were gone as well – reduced to splinters. Slayne’s red feather poked through the hole.

“Krom, on your hands and knees! I need to get up there!”

Cordelia took the lead. She removed her bulky breastplate and stepped out on the bed, teetering back and forth on the springs. She willed herself not to look down. She moved by feel, eyes closed, trusting her balance. The humid air washed across her face as she reached the tree. The thick seams in the bark provided perfect handholds. She started descending.

“Nell!” she called back. “You can do it! Just don’t look down!”

But Eleanor, crouching at the foot of the bed frame, had already looked. The fall was far enough to cripple her, if not kill her.

“C’mon!” Brendan urged.

“I can’t, Bren!”

“You have to!”

“I can’t. I looked down.”

“Then look behind you!”

Eleanor glanced back to see Slayne hoisting himself into the attic. She didn’t give it another thought; she tore off her gauntlets because they made her arms feel clumsy and ran full tilt across the bridge, nearly slamming into the tree at the other end and starting down as Brendan came across last.

Cordelia stood on the ground, urging Eleanor to jump the rest of the way. Brendan reached the tree and kicked the bed frame aside so no one could follow. Eleanor screamed as it fell, diving off the tree to keep from getting hit. Cordelia darted into position and caught her. The frame crashed to earth, smashing ferns and logs. Brendan reached the ground as Slayne appeared in the window and yelled, “Run, sorcerer’s spawn! See how far you get before I gut you!”

Another warrior appeared at the window with a bow and fired off a shot.

The bronze-tipped arrow whizzed past Brendan’s ear and thudded into the earth. Brendan, Cordelia, and Eleanor ran through the woods, slipping on pine needles and wet rocks, no idea where they were headed. The journey across the bed bridge and down the tree had left them with bruises and scrapes that screamed at them. Their armour was gone; none of them had weapons. They were terrified and had no idea how to run without leaving a trail. They didn’t speak, hearing only their breath – and then another sound. Hoofbeats.

The warriors were mounted and gaining. Cordelia stumbled on a root. Brendan grabbed her before she hit the ground. With a thunk an arrow spiked into a tree next to him. Eleanor ran as fast as her small legs could carry her. The thoughts going through the Walkers’ heads were less the thoughts of human beings and more the thoughts – No! Keep going! They’re here! – of hunted animals.

Slayne, in the lead on his mighty horse, expertly twirled a chain-mail net and let it fly at Cordelia, Brendan and Eleanor. It landed on top of them like a spider’s web, only a million times heavier. Slayne jerked it, bringing the chains together, and the kids crashed against one another as they were pulled over sharp rocks and sticks and brought to a stop, crying out in pain.

Slayne halted and swung himself to the ground with surprising grace for a man built like an army tank.

He walked in a calm circle around his captives. The Walkers heard his boots, the birds and insects, and their own heartbeats. The other warriors stayed mounted. Suddenly Slayne reached through the net and grabbed Brendan, lifting him by his shirt collar. The chain-mail links cut into his face.

“Why are you here?” Slayne demanded, bathing Brendan with a gust of noxious breath.

“I don’t… honestly I don’t know. The Wind Witch—”

“So you admit to being witches!”

“No, no! Of course not—”

“And the Wind Witch is your mistress?” He nodded to Krom and another of his men, the one who had fired the bow. They both dismounted and stood above Cordelia and Eleanor.

“No, no, she sent us here,” Brendan said. “We’re not—”

“You’re trespassing on my land.”

“We had no control over that—”

Krom and the other man planted their boots on Cordelia and Eleanor’s stomachs. Cordelia felt a bug crawl past her earlobe and thought she might scream.

“Don’t – don’t hurt my sisters. Please just let us go, and we promise we’ll get off your land.”

“Do you know the penalty for trespassing?”

“No…”

“For a warlock: death.” Slayne squeezed Brendan’s throat playfully. “For a witch…” His eyes narrowed. “We have our own ways of killing them.”

The warriors, on horseback and foot, had a good laugh at that. Krom knelt to grab Cordelia.

“Get your hands off her!” Brendan yelled, kicking. Slayne dropped him – and punched him in the gut on his way down.

Brendan wheezed on the ground, writhing like a fish out of water. Slayne strode to where Eleanor lay trapped.

“As for you,” he said, kneeling over her, “take a look at your handiwork.” He showed her the left side of his face.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said, seeing the two holes in his cheek, “but you shouldn’t talk about eating horses.” Cordelia and Brendan looked at each other. Even though Brendan was just getting his breath back, they managed to share a smile at their sister’s bravery.

“For marring me,” Slayne said, “there’s a special punishment for you. You’ll be coming along to deal with someone much less forgiving, much less understanding, than me and my men.”

“Who?” Eleanor asked.

“Queen Daphne.” Slayne grinned. “She loves little children, even witchy ones. Loves to eat them while they’re still alive. And awake. She usually starts with the fingers.”

“I’ve seen her start with the ears. Rips ’em right off their head,” added Krom with a thoughtful nod.

Eleanor shuddered on the ground, scared speechless for the first time in her life.

“Wait!” called Cordelia. “Queen Daphne of where? Where are we?”

“Silence!” Slayne ordered. Krom kicked Cordelia in the stomach. “Don’t you dare open your mouth to me.”

Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the pain in order to figure out what she was hearing. These warriors were familiar in some way she couldn’t put her finger on. It buzzed in her brain, but there was too much fear and pain in there to let it surface.

Slayne drew his sword and returned to Brendan, who was trying to sit up. Slayne pointed the blade at his throat.

“I—”

“Shh,” Slayne cooed, pressing the tip against Brendan’s skin. It didn’t break, but Brendan knew it would; he could see it happening – the thin membrane that separated him from the world would split, and he would die in a place where no one even knew he was. He was surprised to find his thoughts very simple. He didn’t see his life flash before his eyes, or start thinking about all the things he wouldn’t get to do because he died at twelve; he just thought, No, no, make it stop, please, God, something!! And then—

ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK-ACK!

Brendan thought it sounded like a machine gun. Slayne looked up. Krom looked up. Everybody looked up.

“A Sopwith Camel!” Brendan yelled.

Brendan had seen the Sopwith in history books about World War One. It was the iconic early British fighter plane – single propeller, two sets of wings. And this one was coming right towards them.

It had torn through the tree canopy, raining down branches and leaves that were only now hitting the ground. It looked like it was held together with spit and glue. Black smoke streamed from its cockpit. Behind it, through the new hole in the foliage, came bursts of gunfire.

“German triplane!” Brendan called. He’d seen this plane too; it was what the Red Baron flew in old movies, with three sets of vertically stacked vermilion wings and black crosses. The triplane was in hot pursuit. When it became obvious that the Sopwith Camel was going down, the German triplane veered up, made a sharp right turn, and disappeared into the clouds.

The Sopwith Camel arced lower. Its engine whined in the dense air. The warriors stared, dumbstruck; they could smell the smoke now. Slayne pulled his sword away from Brendan’s neck and demanded: “What creature of darkness is that?”