The Black Room (24 page)

“I don't think she wants to,” Tom said.

Mr. Armstrong didn't even glance at him. He was staring steadily at Hope, waiting for her to lift her head. Even from where he was sitting, Tom felt the brutal, unwavering force of that stare.

Hope felt it, too. After a second, she started trying to struggle out of the blankets. But she was very tired, and Robert had wrapped her up tightly, to keep her warm. The blankets tangled around her legs, and she put her head down and began to whine.

“Quiet,” Mr. Armstrong said sharply. “Don't fuss.”

Immediately, her hand came up and hit her face. Tom winced, but Mr. Armstrong hardly seemed to notice. He just went on waiting until Hope began to struggle again. Tom couldn't bear to watch. He reached over and loosened the blankets so that she could scramble out.

As she crawled free of them, Mr. Armstrong frowned and snapped at her again. “Stop that! Walk!”

Slowly and unsteadily, she hauled herself onto her feet. The ground was uneven and she wobbled slightly, spreading her arms for balance. She stood in a curious, unnatural way, with her knees turned outward so that all her weight was on the outside edges of her feet.

“Look at her,” said Emma. “Poor little thing. She can hardly stand.”

“She's lazy,” Mr. Armstrong said coldly. “That's why I have to make her walk.” He snapped his fingers and beckoned to Hope, and she took one shaky step forward.

Tom was shocked. Last time he'd seen her standing, they'd been desperate to get her away, with no time to notice what she looked like. Now he saw how she'd been affected by living under the floor. She was taller than he'd realized, but her body was pitifully slight and frail. Her head poked forward, and her spindly legs were awkward and ungainly. When she took her first step, she would have fallen if he hadn't jumped up and caught her.

As soon as he felt her weight against his hands, he knew he couldn't let Mr. Armstrong have her. Not even for a minute. Not even while they phoned the police. He could feel the narrow bones in her arms and the way her body trembled, and he knew she was afraid.

Lorn had to come. She
had
to. And he had to make sure that Hope was there to meet her.

He put his arms around her and swung her off the ground, holding her tightly. The dry clothes Emma had given her were wet now, too, and he could feel her shivering as she huddled against his chest. He looked at Mr. Armstrong over the top of her head.

“You're not having her,” he said.

“Don't be ridiculous.” Mr. Armstrong held out his hands. “She's my daughter. She belongs to me. Hand her over.”

He said it like an adult giving orders to a stupid child.
Come on, now. That's enough of that. Stop playing games.
But behind that bullying, everyday impatience, Tom could hear something darker and more menacing. It took every scrap of determination he had to stay where he was, with Hope in his arms.

She was watching her father with a strange, detached expression, as though the argument had nothing to do with her. But both hands were jammed over her mouth, and she was trembling harder than before.

“Give me the blankets, Em,” Tom said without looking around. “She needs wrapping up.”

Emma scooped them up and draped them awkwardly around Hope's body, tucking them in where she could. Hope grabbed at the edges, and Tom saw her hunting for the plaited fringes and running her fingers up and down them, to feel the patterns she had made.

“Take your hands off her,” Mr. Armstrong said. “She's mine.”

Then, before Tom could answer, he lunged forward and grabbed at her body through the blankets. Tom was taken by surprise, but Hope reacted faster than he did. She flinched away from her father's hands, burying her face in Tom's chest.

Tom held on tightly, trying to pull her free. “Get off!” he said angrily.

For the first time, he raised his voice enough to carry beyond the woods. Immediately, on the other side of the hedge, Helga started to bark frantically. He could hear her tugging at her leash and rocking the bench on its concrete base.

Mr. Armstrong ignored that. He had a firm grip on Hope now. As he dug his fingers in and pulled, her mouth opened in what should have been a scream. But all that came out was a tiny, useless squeak.

“Leave her alone!” Emma shouted. “She doesn't want you!”

Tom peered through the leafless hedge, trying to spot someone who might come and help. But it was still too early. There was no one else in the park. Only Helga, barking and tugging at the bench. Tom knew he couldn't hold on to Hope much longer. Mr. Armstrong was dragging at her body with all his weight. If they both kept hold of her, she was going to get hurt.

Tom gave up on Lorn and shouted as loudly as he could. “Help! Is there anyone there? Come and help us!”

There was another burst of barking—and then a crash as the bench went over. Helga dragged her leash free and came straight for them, pushing her way through the hedge.

31

LORN RAN BACK DOWN THE TUNNELS, PAYING OUT THE ROPE as she went. When she reached the end of the first coil, she stopped for an instant to tie it to the beginning of the next one. Then she was away again, unwinding more rope.

All she wanted was to get back to Bando as fast as she could.

From the first bend in the tunnel, she could smell the earthsnakes and feel them twisting and squirming ahead of her. She had almost reached the place where they were when her ears caught a different sound. It was much fainter, and it came from behind her.

A quick scrabbling. Then silence. And then another scrabble.

She stopped dead, listening. There was another scrabble. Then a breath of air came drifting toward her, carrying the rank animal smell that pervaded all the tunnels. But this time it wasn't just a lingering scent, left behind on the surface of the earth. It was sharp and fresh and very strong. The smell of the creature itself.

The animal that had made the tunnels was coming up behind her, slowly but steadily. It didn't seem to have realized that she was there, but that could only be a matter of time. And there was nowhere to hide. Nothing to do but go forward—and try to reach Bando before it caught her.

She began to move again, not running now but creeping softly and silently, terrified of making any noise in case the creature picked it up. For a moment she wondered whether to abandon the rope, but that seemed like giving up any chance of rescue. Without the rope, the others would never be able to follow her to the den. She went on uncoiling it, letting it fall quietly from her hand onto the soft earth floor.

There was another burst of scrabbling. This time it sounded closer, and the smell came at her in waves, making her want to retch. A panicky voice in her mind was screaming at her to run, run, RUN, not worrying where that would take her as long as it was away from the monster. But something deeper and more fearful kept her still and quiet.

No noise,
said the voice in her head.
If you make noise, they'll come to get you. If you want to be safe, you have to go down. Go deeper ...

She went around another bend and saw the patch of dim light where the earthsnakes were lying. They were still twined together, wriggling aimlessly on the floor of the tunnel. She couldn't believe that she had ever been afraid of them. It was easy to squeeze past, edging around their wet, looped bodies.

Once they were behind her, between her and the monster, she began to move more quickly, trusting that their movements would disguise any little noises she made. The monster was still a long way off, stopping and starting and stopping again. Still not concerned with anything she was doing.

She went on uncoiling the rope and putting her feet down softly, step after step after step. And she was almost there, almost at the opening of the den where Bando was lying, when suddenly, without warning, the silence around her exploded.

There was a crash and a roar, and then the air was filled with deafening rumbles and thuds. The din came at her from all directions—from above, from ahead, and through the ground where she was standing. It shook her whole body, drowning out everything else for a moment.

Then it faded slightly—and she sensed the monster listening.

It was still now, and she heard it sniffing as it tested the air. It was what she did herself, and she could visualize exactly how it was moving, turning its head from side to side as it tried to find out what was going on.

It caught her scent.

For a telltale second, it froze, taking in the information. Registering a strange, unwelcome presence in its private territory. Then it sniffed again, not searching generally now but hunting for Lorn.

In the instant before it moved, she started to run.

She flung herself forward down the tunnel, with one hand against the wall to keep her on course. She could hear the monster charging after her, not scrabbling now, but racing down the tunnel at a speed that set the air swirling.

She had to reach Bando. She had to get to the den first.

There was nothing to lose by making a noise now. She shouted his name as loudly as she could.

“It's all right, Bando! I'm on my way! I'm nearly there!”

The sound told her exactly where she was, and another ten steps took her to the opening of the den. She clutched at the wall to bring herself to a halt, and then dug both hands into it, scraping frantically until she found a strong loop of roots.

She slipped her last piece of rope through the loop, tying it on firmly. The end dangled over the black space below her. And she could hear the voice in her head, still saying the same things.
Go down, go deeper. You'll be safe if you go down....

But it wasn't true.

The voice that told her to go deeper didn't come from her own common sense. It was someone else's voice—a voice she was
remembering.
And it was wrong. There was no safety in going down. Once she was in the den, she would be trapped, with nothing to do except wait for the monster.

But she had to go down, all the same. Because Bando was down there, unconscious and maybe injured. She had to go down—even though she and Bando could only huddle together, waiting for the others to come. Hoping they'd arrive in time to help.

She had to be with him, to face whatever was going to happen.

Gripping the rope with both hands, she began to climb down, and the air grew colder as she went. When she landed, she found herself right beside Bando's body, and she reached out and touched his arm. It felt half frozen.

He stirred and mumbled something.

“It's all right,” Lorn said soothingly. “I'm here now. And the others are on their way. It'll be all right.”

She had no idea whether that was true or not. But she wasn't going to give up. Not yet. She sat down beside Bando and put a hand on his shoulder so that he would know where she was. Then she tilted her head back and listened as hard as she could.

32

HELGA FLEW INTO THE WOODS, FASTER THAN TOM HAD ever seen her run. One moment she was out on the grass, beyond the hedge. The next, she was flinging herself at Mr. Armstrong.

He lashed out sideways, trying to kick her away, but she dodged his foot and fastened her teeth in his trouser leg, tugging backward with all her strength. He shook her off once, but she came straight back, dancing around him and nipping at his ankle.

“Call it off,” he snarled. “Get that dog away from me.”

“Not unless you let go of Hope,” Tom panted. “If you don't get your hands off her, I'll tell Helga to bite you.”

He knew that Hope was frightened, because her eyes were screwed shut and her head was pushed hard against his chest, but he couldn't tell whether she was afraid of Helga or Mr. Armstrong. He tightened his aching arms around her body anyway, trying to calm down and breathe more slowly, to reassure her.

“It's all right,” he muttered to the top of her head. “Hang on. We won't let you go.”

Helga was still growling and snapping at Mr. Armstrong's legs, and he made another attempt to kick her. This time, he caught her in the ribs, and she went flying backward.

“You'll be sorry you did that,” Robert said. He was on his feet now, hovering protectively in front of the hedge bank. “I've never seen Helga quit.”

As if she'd heard him, Helga came flying back and bit, hard, into the back of Mr. Armstrong's left calf. He yelped and stepped back, letting go of Hope at last.

“I'll get that dog destroyed!” he shouted.

“No, you won‘t,” Tom said. “Because you dare not talk to the police.” But he called Helga off. “Good, girl. That's enough. Sit.”

Her ears went back, and she growled under her breath, but—after one reproachful glance—she sank back onto her haunches and sat there with her tongue hanging out, looking sideways at Mr. Armstrong.

He took a long breath and brushed the dust off his trousers. “Now, give me back my daughter,” he said.

Tom had no intention of letting go of Hope, but he knew that he couldn't support her weight much longer. “Let's all sit down,” he said. And he flopped onto the hedge bank, with Hope on his lap.

Mr. Armstrong looked down scornfully at him. “I have no intention of groveling,” he said. His voice was still cold and even, but Tom could see sweat on his forehead. “And I won't have Hope sitting in the dirt either. She—”

Hope had her back to him now. She had opened her fist to look at the nut she was holding, and while he was still speaking, she lifted it toward her mouth.

“I told you to throw that filthy thing away!”
Mr. Armstrong shouted.