The Black Tattoo (7 page)

"Brotherhood members have different talents," said Raymond.
 
"Our first job, Charlie, is to find out where yours lie, so let's start you off with a little sparring match, Esme?"

She turned.
 
Raymond smiled, making his beard bristle alarmingly.

"Go easy on the lad to start with," he said.
 
"We wouldn't want to hurt him" — his smile widened — "much."

Esme didn't smile back, just turned to face Charlie and dropped into a shallow crouch, one foot slightly ahead of the other.
 
Her honey-brown arms were held loosely at her sides.
 
Her hands were open, relaxed.
 
Charlie, still grinning, if a little dubious, did his best to follow her example.

"Ready?" called Raymond.
 
"Fight."

There was a blur, then—

"
GAHH!
"

It was Charlie who made this noise, as all the air exploded out of his body.

Jack gaped.

Charlie was now sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall, some ten yards behind where he'd been standing.
 
His legs were sticking out in front of him, and he was gasping like a stranded fish as he tried to get his breath back.
 
Esme's expression and demeanor had not changed in the slightest.
 
She looked exactly the same as she had a moment ago, only now she was standing in the middle of the room, where Charlie had been.

Whatever had just happened had been so fast, Jack hadn't even seen it.

"Get up, you big Jessie," said Raymond.
 
"She barely touched you."

Blinking, then scowling as he realized he was being insulted, Charlie did as he was told — staring at Esme.

"Walk back to the center," said Raymond.
 
"Esme, step back a little if you please.
 
All right, face each other again."

He waited until Charlie and Esme were back in their original positions.
 
Charlie's panting breaths sounded loud in the silence.

"Now," said Raymond.
 
"Did you notice something there, Charlie?"

Charlie looked at Raymond.
 
"How d'you mean?" he managed.

"That little side kick to the ribs," prompted Raymond.
 
"Did it get your attention?"

Charlie scowled again.

"Good, Charlie, Nick must have picked you for a reason.
 
As I believe I mentioned, we're here to see what you can do.
 
If you don't concentrate, you're wasting our time.
 
Plus, Esme'll clump you again.
 
It's as simple as that."

There was a pause.
 
Charlie stared at Raymond, then turned and raised his eyebrows at Jack, who shrugged back, helplessly.

"CONCENTRATE!" barked the big man, making them both jump.

Charlie shrugged and turned to face Esme, who was still regarding him calmly.

"Now, ready?" said Raymond.

Jack leaned forward, willing his eyes to catch something of what was going on this time.
 
Esme and Charlie dropped into their crouches, just as before.
 
Charlie frowned.

"Fight!" barked Raymond.

Jack stared, and time went slack.

Instantly, on the word of command from Raymond, Esme had leaped forward, pirouetting in the air as she hurtled toward Charlie, the spin bringing her right heel out and round for a kick that should have taken Charlie's head off.

But it missed him.
 
Without the slightest sign of effort apart from his continued look of hunched concentration, Charlie simply leaned back out of the way, just far enough for Esme's foot to flash harmlessly past, scant millimeters in front of his nose.

Esme dripped smoothly onto her left foot and sank, still spinning, converting the momentum of her first attack into a low, scything sweep at Charlie's feet, but this time Charlie hopped into the air like a kangaroo, and Esme failed to reach her target again.

Jack stared and kept staring as the fight continued.
 
It was like nothing he'd ever seen.
 
No, scratch that:
 
he
had
seen what he was seeing, thousands of times — only that had been in films or in games, and not right in front of him when one of the people involved was his best mate.

Esme was moving so fast he could hardly see her — faster than he'd ever seen a person move before — and her skills were extraordinary.
 
But the thing was, as quickly, smoothly, and gracefully as Esme attacked, daisy-chaining her moves into a constant, blurring barrage of fists and feet — Charlie was faster.

Every blow Esme launched at him, every hammering punch or slashing kick, somehow failed to land.
 
Charlie had no finesse.
 
He had no skill.
 
Even Jack could see that the way Charlie fought was closer to the playground style of flapping your arms wildly in front of you than anything in the work of, say, Jet Li or Yuen Wo Ping.
 
But the fact remained, it was working:
 
he was holding her off.
 
Charlie's face was a blank, a mask.
 
His feet (when they were on the ground) moved slowly, almost mechanically, as he stepped back under the force of Esme's onslaught.
 
But then suddenly—

Whoosh
— SMACK!

It was over.

In a move that took a whole second after it had happened for Jack to work it out, Esme simply flipped through the air over Charlie, lashing out as she landed with a vicious high kick with her right leg.
 
Charlie turned to follow her — just in time to receive the sole of her foot squarely in the middle of his face.
 
His legs went out from under him and the back of his head struck the floor.
 
He actually slid for a clear six yards before coming to a stop.

Esme jogged a couple of steps lightly on the spot, her hands dangling loosely at her sides again.

Suddenly, Jack remembered to breathe.
 
His eyes were out on stalks.

Charlie reached a hand to his face and groaned.

"You okay there, son?" called Raymond, not sounding too bothered either way.

"My dose hurds," was the muffled reply from the floor.

"You poor dear," said Raymond.
 
"Sit up, let's 'ave a look at you."

Charlie sat up, gingerly feeling his face, a stunned look in his eyes.
 
His nose was a weird putty-gray color, almost as flat as Raymond's, and the blood was running from it freely.
 
Jack was almost about to go and help him, but before he'd even completed the thought, he felt a massive and steely grip on his arm.
 
Raymond had grabbed him without even looking.

"Take your hand away," said Raymond to Charlie.

Charlie looked at him.

"Take your hand off your nose," Raymond repeated, none too patiently, "and close your eyes."

Frowning uncertainly, Charlie did as he was told.

"Now... concentrate."

There was absolute silence in the room now.
 
Wondering what was supposed to happen next, Jack looked at Raymond.
 
The big man still had Jack's arm in a viselike grip, but all his attention was focused on Charlie.

"Stop the pain," said Raymond, almost whispering.
 
"And
make it better
."

Frowning, Jack looked over at Charlie, and his eyes went wide again.

No way!

Charlie's nose appeared to be
straightening itself
.
 
The tip came out slowly at first, almost as if Charlie were pushing it out with his tongue, but the shape of it was re-forming and the color was going back to normal.
 
In another moment Charlie opened his eyes, crossing them as he stared at his good-as-new-nose.
 
Then he wiped off the last of the blood in a long streak along his arm — and he smiled.

"No
way
," said Jack, aloud this time.

"Haaaaaaaaaaaah," said Charlie.

"Get up," said Raymond.

Charlie did, still smiling.

Without looking at Jack, Raymond let go of his arm.

"Right," he said quietly.
 
"Now, before Esme beat you again, what did I say?"

Charlie's smile faded.
 
"You... said I should concentrate."

"After that," said Raymond.

"That I was wasting your time?"

"After that too."

Charlie frowned back at him, trying to figure out whether this was a trick question.
 
"After?" he said.

"That's right," said Raymond.
 
"
After
 
I told you to concentrate,
before
Esme beat you, what did I say?"

There was a long and heavy silence.

It was Jack who took a deep breath, then said, "'Fight'?"

Raymond turned on him with blazing eyes.

"Sorry," said Jack.

Raymond turned back to Charlie, who was trying for an 'isn't he ridiculous?' type of smile, in the hope of breaking the ice with him.

"Stop bloody grinning!" barked Raymond.

The grin vanished.

"Your friend here," said Raymond quietly again, "would appear to have been listening more carefully than you were."
 
He turned to Jack and acknowledged him with a polite nod.
 
Jack just stared at him.

"Fight," Raymond went on, turning to face Charlie again.

"That's what I said.
 
Now, which part of that didn't you understand?"

"What?" asked Charlie.

"God save us," said Raymond, looking up at the roof.
 
"'Fight,'" he repeated, staring hard at Charlie.
 
"'Come to blows,'" he added.
 
"'Exchange a dose of fisticuffs.'
 
'
Engage in single combat
,' for crying out loud."

"I don't understand," said Charlie.

"No," said Raymond.
 
"You don't."
 
He sighed.
 
"Do it again," he said.
 
"Face each other.
 
Get ready."

Frowning, Charlie did as he was told.
 
Esme stepped back to make way for him:
 
she rolled her shoulders a little — Jack heard a soft
pop
from the muscles in her neck — then she dropped back into her crouch, waiting.

"Now," said Raymond.
 
"We'll start again.
 
Only for heaven's sake, I want you to lay one on her this time."

Charlie stared at him blankly.

"Hit her!" said Raymond exasperatedly.
 
"If you can," he added, when Esme raised her eyebrows at him.
 
"Ready?"

Jack blinked a couple of times to clear his eyes and leaned forward to watch.
 
Charlie was scowling.

"Right.
 
Fight
."

Charlie pulled back his right arm and let fly.

No chance.
 
Warding Charlie's fist off easily with her left hand, Esme stepped toward him, into the blow.
 
Her whole body weight, therefore, plus whatever forward momentum Charlie had put into his punch, was concentrated in the heel of her right hand as it struck the point of Charlie's chin, palm open, hard.

The force of the blow lifted Charlie off his feet.
 
He sailed a clear ten yards back through the air and hit the wall again, with a solid, sickening crack.

"Tch
uhh
," he said, or something like it, as he came to rest on the floor.

There was a pause.

"God's teeth," said Raymond.
 
"What d'you call that?"

"But..." began Charlie, simultaneously holding his chin with one hand and rubbing the back of his skull with the other.
 
"I...
can't
," he said, his voice coming out in a kind of whine.

"No," said Raymond, "if that's the best you can do, then maybe you're right.
 
My gran could punch better than that — mind you," he broke off, turning to Jack with a wink, "she was a terror, that one."

Jack just stared at him.

"Come on, man:
 
on your feet.
 
I can see we're gonna have our work cut out with you.
 
Have you no backbone at all?" he added, when Charlie didn't move straightaway.

Charlie picked himself up once more.
 
His face was turning red. "Just how the
hell
," he began, his voice going high and strangely quavery, "am I supposed to—?"

"I told you," said Raymond.
 
"Concentrate."

Charlie stared at him, speechless.

"Now, again," said Raymond.
 
"Face each other."

This time, however, Charlie didn't move.

Raymond grinned.
 
"Face each other," he repeated.

Still Charlie didn't move.
 
All the color seemed to have drained out of his face.
 
His mouth had hardened into a thin, bloodless line.
 
He blinked once, but still kept staring at Raymond.

Uh-oh
, thought Jack.

"Ready?" said Raymond, with elaborate sarcasm.

Esme looked at Raymond.
 
Raymond's grin just widened.
 
She shrugged and turned back to face her opponent, dropping into her crouch again.

Jack watched, holding his breath.

"Fight," said Raymond.

Esme leaped, sweeping her right leg up for a kick—

—but then something strange happened.

About two centimeters from the side of Charlie's head, her foot simply stopped in midair.
 
For a moment Esme just hung there, off the ground, frozen except for the frown of incomprehension beginning to dawn across her face.
 
Then, quietly — distantly at first, but quickly getting louder — a rumbling sound began to echo around the room.