Erebos (29 page)

‘Don't touch me.'

‘As you wish. Sorry. Everyone else, please go to your classes. The next period is about to start.'

No-one moved an inch, only Eric took a step forward.

‘Aisha claims I . . . groped her in the park yesterday. She has a blue bruise on her elbow that's supposed to be from me. But not a word of it is true.'

Aisha howled louder. ‘He tried to . . . rape . . . me. He tore my skirt and pushed me onto the ground . . .'

‘I can't see how that could be true,' Emily whispered. Carefully but firmly she removed Aisha's cramped fingers from her shirt and moved away from the crying girl. Aisha, deprived of her human barricade, crouched down on the floor and threw her hands up in front of her face.

I didn't want this. Nick clenched his ice-cold hands into fists. Not like this. I don't have anything to do with this, honest.

But what if it was true? Eric could actually have molested Aisha, and the messenger could have found out about it last night. That would explain why he could make such grand promises so easily.

Mr Watson, who'd been rendered speechless, was slowly regaining his composure. ‘That's a very serious accusation, Aisha.'

‘Not a word is true! I swear it!' Something akin to desperation could be heard in Eric's voice for the first time. ‘It's totally insane!'

‘We certainly won't clear it up here in front of everyone,' Mr Watson said. ‘Aisha, Eric – come with me.'

Both of them followed him, each of them intent on keeping the greatest possible distance from the other.

They'd hardly left before loud discussion broke out in the corridor.

‘I think she's lying!'

‘Why should she?'

‘Eric is no angel, that's what I always thought.'

‘Wanted to get his hand up the Turkish chick's skirt.'

‘That's rubbish, she's off her head.'

‘Hey, wicked scandal!'

‘Will Watson get the cops? I mean, they haven't been here for a few days.'

In the meantime Nick hadn't taken his eyes off Emily. She was standing there, lost in thought, smoothing out the tear-stained patch on her shoulder.

I should go over to her now, Nick thought. Engage her in conversation. Comfort her.

But before he'd gathered enough courage to take the first step, he spotted Jamie approaching Emily. They exchanged a few sentences, then went up the stairs together.

The next period was Maths – that was all Nick needed. But at least he'd remembered what class he had without having to think about it, and he didn't feel tired any more either. Aisha's performance had been more effective than a double espresso.

At lunchtime Jamie waylaid him in front of the canteen. ‘How are you?'

Aha – the first normal sentence that Jamie had directed at him in ages. It was sure to be a trap.

‘Fine. How about you?'

‘I'm worried,' Jamie said and made a face to match. Brow well and truly furrowed. ‘That thing today with Eric . . . What do you think made her do that to him? He's completely shattered; Mr Watson sent him home.'

Nick suppressed the impulse to run away.

‘What made her do that? Hmm, let me think. Maybe the fact that he put his hand up her skirt?'

‘You don't believe that for a minute.'

‘Oh – but you believe Aisha would blacken his name, just like that? Did you see how she was bawling? And her bruise?'

‘I think,' said Jamie, ‘that someone is interested in putting Eric out of action. He's no fan of your game, remember?'

‘What a load of rubbish!' Nick pushed past Jamie into the canteen. ‘Ever since that gravestone letter you've been completely paranoid.'

He took a tray from the stack, and suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Jamie had followed him in, and he looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

‘Do you know what else has happened? Somebody hid a gun and some ammunition in the schoolyard. Behind the rubbish bins. The principal says it can't have been any of the students, but he doesn't want any press around the place.'

Nick asked for a serve of fish and chips. Both looked anaemic and soggy.

‘But Jamie knows better, of course,' he snapped. ‘Jamie knows that the evil computer-gamers are behind it.' He bit his lip and plonked a bottle of cola down on his tray. Enough of this conversation.

‘Jamie thinks a few things are odd,' Jamie answered, staying markedly calm. ‘I talked to Mr Watson, and he says a professional would have been smarter. Hidden the guns better, and not stuck them in an old cigar box behind the bins.

‘Aha. Maybe Mr Watson is in fact Dr Watson. And you're trying to be Sherlock Holmes. Leave me in peace, Jamie. I've got nothing to do with any guns, or any attempted rapes either.'

‘And someone wrote some sort of code or message on the box as well,' Jamie continued, as if he hadn't heard Nick. ‘That's like a kind of game, isn't it? A few numbers and a weird word, not Galaxis, but something similar.'

Crash!

Nick was as shocked at the crashing sound as the others in the canteen. He hadn't noticed that he had let go of his tray.

Galaris.

It all fitted. The cigar box, the word, the numbers that were his date of birth. No, please.

The box had been heavy and the object in it quite small . . . Could it have been a gun? Yes. Yes, of course.

‘Why can't you pay attention?' the cook behind the counter scolded. ‘You can clean that up yourself! Goodness me!'

‘Sure,' Nick whispered, and took the broom and pan. He felt Jamie's gaze sticking like cold porridge to the back of his head, but he wasn't going to turn round.

A gun? But why? Why would the messenger get him to hide a gun at the Dollis Brook Viaduct?

‘You know something about it,' Jamie declared behind his back.

‘No. I don't.'

Had someone taken a photo? Like the picture of him and Brynne in the cafe? He knelt and swept his chips into the pan, kept sweeping although there was nothing more there. He couldn't stand up. There were black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

‘But I saw it, Nick. You were scared out of your wits. You know something.'

‘Just shut it, okay,' Nick muttered and struggled painfully to his feet. The black dots solidified to a swirling wall. He thrust the pan into the cook's hands and leaned heavily on the counter.

‘Come with me to Mr Watson. Shed some light on this whole thing; you'll feel better afterwards. What's going on here is shi —' ‘Shut your face!' Nick yelled. Emily, Eric, a gun, Aisha, Galaris . . . it was all too much. He couldn't cope. The canteen smells were turning his stomach; any minute he'd be throwing up right here on the floor in front of everyone. If there was a photo and the school got hold of it, he'd be kicked out. As sure as the sky was blue.

He dashed out of the canteen, shoving into people right and left, who shoved back indignantly, found an open window and stuck his head out. Fresh air, thank God.

He had to think about it. Maybe talk to the messenger. He was sure to be grateful if Nick told him. Perhaps he would even explain to him what the business with the gun was about. But first he still had to carry out his orders. His incredibly pointless orders.

CHAPTER 17

It was shortly before 5 p.m. when Nick got out at Blackfriars station and made his way along New Bridge Street. The car park was on Ludgate Hill – finding it wasn't a problem. Getting inside without being noticed might be, though. He made himself as tall as possible and jangled his bunch of keys as if he was already looking for the car key. However his fears proved unfounded. No-one stopped him when he entered the car park; he wasn't sure if the attendant, who was reading the newspaper in his cabin, had even noticed him.

He fished the note out of his trouser pocket. LP60 HNR was the number plate of the car he was supposed to look for.

‘If you don't find it,' the messenger had said, ‘you will go back again. Over and over again, every day between 5 and 6 p.m., until you have carried out your orders.'

Nick was only on the second floor when he got lucky. He looked at the car, and whistled through his teeth. LP60 HNR was the number plate of a silver-grey Jaguar. It stood out from all the other cars simply by the fact that it gleamed like the crown jewels. Not a splash of mud in sight.

Nick whipped out his camera and took a few pictures. They wouldn't be enough, obviously, but it was a start.

What he needed now was a place where he could lie in wait. So he could keep an eye on the car, but not be seen himself. The best he could find was the narrow gap between an old Ford and the car park wall. If he lay down on the ground and no-one took a close look, he would be as good as invisible. Nick turned off the camera flash and set the aperture to maximum to compensate. Then he made himself as comfortable as it was possible to be on the cold car park floor. 5.17 p.m. Okay, easy does it.

When his phone suddenly pinged, loudly announcing that he'd received a text, Nick's heart nearly stopped. He hadn't turned off the ring tone – how dumb could you get?

From his uncomfortable lying position, sandwiched between the car and the wall, he could barely reach his trouser pocket. When he finally managed it and saw who the text was from, his heart began to pound. Emily.

Hi, Nick! I'd like 2 meet with u & take the opportunity 2 introduce u 2 someone. His name's Victor & he may b able 2 help us all. Pls get back 2 me, Emily.

The name Victor didn't mean anything to Nick. He was happy for it to stay that way. What was that supposed to mean, anyway: he may be able to help ‘us all'? Presumably what Emily mainly wanted was to help Eric, who was up to his neck in trouble. But she wanted to meet with him. Emily. Didn't matter why – she wanted to meet with him.

Bang! A door closed. Steps coming closer.

Nick held his breath and tried to press himself into the concrete floor. He was holding the camera pointed at the Jaguar so he could take a picture immediately if the owner appeared. A pair of legs in black trousers came into sight, walked past the Jaguar, came closer. An attendant who'd seen him on the video camera? Please! No! And please not the driver of the Ford Nick was using for cover.

When the man walked past him without so much as glancing at his hiding place, Nick breathed a sigh of relief. Shortly afterwards a red Mazda drove off towards the exit. Silence descended again.

Only five minutes had passed. Nick shifted his weight around as best he could, and put his camera down carefully. Steps were approaching once more, but they stopped long before they came level with Nick. A car door slammed and an engine started.

After another five minutes Nick's right leg began to go numb. He tried to ignore the pins and needles and focussed on the noises in the car park. The whirring of the ventilation. The muffled street noise from outside. A heavy metal door opening and closing again. A woman laughing, and a man joining in. The clatter of high heels on the concrete. The clunk of a car lock operated remotely, only a few yards away from Nick. The lights of the Jaguar went on.

Nick's heartbeat sped up. He raised the camera and pointed the viewfinder at the car. The man and the woman came closer. Came into view. The man radiated nervousness the way a furnace radiates heat.

Click!

The woman could have been a star in a daytime soap. Glittering earrings, fur jacket, blond hair piled up. The man was tall, with dark hair that was already greying at the temples. He was wearing a suit and tie. Maybe a doctor. Or a lawyer.

Click!

The man opened the car door and put a bag on the back seat.

Click! Click!

‘Next time we'll go to Refettorio,' the woman said. ‘Vivian tells me the lamb is superb there.'

‘As you wish, sweetheart.'

Click!

The woman got into the car.

Click!

The man paused suddenly and looked around. Had he heard the camera? Nick tried to blend into his dark corner.

‘What is it, darling?'

‘Nothing.' The man ran his hand over his hair. ‘Nothing. I must have been mistaken. Lately, you know . . .'

Nick didn't hear the rest, because the man got into the car and closed the door. He shook his head and shrugged in a gesture of helplessness, and then started the engine. Half a minute later the Jaguar had left the car park.

That was a wrap. Nick hugged the camera to him. Now to get out of here, quickly. No, first he'd check whether the photos were any good.

Well, okay, they were a bit blurry and quite grainy, but you wouldn't do better without flash. You could certainly make everything out. The woman, the man, the car's number plate. Twelve passable pictures.

Nick got out his phone in the crowded Tube train and read Emily's text message again. ‘Victor.' ‘Help us all.' That didn't sound like a date. It sounded more as though she wanted to help Eric out of a tight spot. Nick began to type an answer, decided it was stupid, deleted it, and closed his eyes.

If it came out that he had something to do with the Galaris box, Emily would find out too. No-one would believe that he hadn't known what he was hiding. The papers would write about a planned school massacre that had only just been averted. Or something like that. His father would kill him.

Nick opened his eyes again and looked at the tired faces of the people around him. They'd all see his photo in the paper.

Emily would see his photo in the paper. He typed another text to her and then deleted it again immediately without sending it. What if this Victor was from the police?

Nick shut his eyes. He needed to make sure that Erebos remained well-disposed to him.