Half Wild (22 page)

The day wears on and I’m still sitting on the floor of the library, watching the others reading through the diaries. Van finds a reference to Pilot visiting Mercury at the bunker and then leaving to go to Basle.

“Basle is a historic meeting place,” Van says. “It sounds like one of the cuts comes out there.”

“I was thinking about Pilot,” I say. “If I have access to Pilot’s memories about Mercury then I must have a memory of going through the cut. But I can’t find anything. Even the images of her building dams are getting fainter.”

Van looks over to me. “The memories will fade if you don’t access them. Alas, we didn’t realize that the cuts would be important. Before, you were focusing on the outside and a place name.”

That’s when Nesbitt shouts, “Bingo!”

He’s at the other end of the library, looking through scrolls of maps. He walks over to the central table, carrying one, a big grin on his face.

“Of course,” Van says as she looks at it. “Mercury made a map of her cuts.”

I get up to look. At least I can read maps.

It looks similar to the map I made of the bunker. Nesbitt points to a small, fine blue line in one of the rooms. “Each blue line is a cut and each one is numbered. There are eleven. The key says this one goes to Germany.” He points to others. “These go to Spain. New York. Algeria. This one is ‘Switzerland: closed.’”

Van lights a cigarette and says, “So. We need a couple of volunteers to check out one of the cuts.”

Gabriel and I look at each other and grin.

* * *

Van wants us to go through the cut to Germany, as it appears to come out near Basle where the next Alliance meeting is. That cut is in a room down one of the corridors off the great hall. We all go there. It’s a small room, bare except for a thick rug.

“But where exactly is the cut?” Annalise asks.

Gabriel moves to the middle of the rug, saying, “Only one way to find it. I think she’d land on the rug when she came through so . . .” He takes a step nearer to the back wall and slides his hand into the air, feeling for the cut. He moves his hand just a centimeter or two along for each try, working his way sideways. He finds nothing. He repeats the process, this time lower, still moving along slowly. Then he repeats it again and then one more time before he snaps his hand back, saying, “It’s there.”

Van claps her hands. “Excellent!”

Annalise says, “I’ve been thinking about Mercury having visitors. She wouldn’t want them coming through and wandering around her home without her knowing. Would she have a trespass spell in here like the one on the roof of the cottage in Switzerland? Would you need her to help you across the boundary when you get back?”

“She never allowed anyone she didn’t trust here,” Van says. “Her diaries only show Rose and Pilot gaining entry. She believed no one would find the cuts. I don’t think there’s a trespass spell.”

“So let’s test it out,” Nesbitt says, eager to get on.

“Yes,” Van agrees and looks at me and Gabriel. “All you have to do is go through. Find out where in Germany you come out: nearest roads, towns, transport. Check for Hunters, of course. And report back.”

So that’s us told.

Gabriel grabs my hand in his and interlocks our fingers, puts his sunglasses on, and says to the others, “We’ll be back.” He slides his left hand into the cut and we’re sucked through.

I breathe out slowly as I twirl through the darkness: a tip from Nesbitt. I suspect it’s a trick and will really make me feel worse. There’s dim light ahead, which brightens briefly as we land on grassy ground. I’m surprised that I don’t feel anywhere near as dizzy and ill as previous trips through cuts have left me.

We’re in a forest by a ruined stone building. The air is still and quiet. The trees are full of summer’s green richness. It’s hot too. There is birdsong and I can hear distant traffic.

I say to Gabriel, “Cars. That way,” and indicate to my left with a nod.

He’s already feeling around for the cut. “Gotcha,” he says, and smiles.

“So that was easy,” I say. “Now what?”

“Let’s head to the road, see if we can work out where we are.”

* * *

That evening we’re back round the table. Things are going well. We’ve been through two cuts. The one in the small, bare room leads to the place we went to in Germany, which is 150 kilometers from Basle according to the road signs. The cut in Mercury’s bedroom goes to a place in Spain in the mountains. We went through that cut and walked to the nearest village and found it on an atlas when we got back. It’s a couple of hours’ walk from Pilot’s home.

Van is meeting with the White rebels tomorrow morning and she wants me and Nesbitt to go but I want Gabriel with me and I can’t leave Annalise.

“We’re all in the Alliance. We all go,” I say.

We all came through the cut last night. Nesbitt got a car and drove us to the outskirts of Basle. Now Nesbitt, Gabriel, and me are in the center of the city. We’re the advance party, on the lookout for Hunters. Van and Annalise are following us in.

Basle is a city of young people, it seems, on the border of Germany, France, and Switzerland, but I hear English spoken too. There are tourists, families, and people going to work. We try to blend in with them but we don’t look like tourists or a family, though I suppose we are going to work. Nesbitt knows the way to the meeting place at Die Rote Kürbisflasche—the Red Gourd—and he’s taking us the long route.

Nesbitt says that the Red Gourd is a bar in the oldest part of town. We cross the wide, fast-flowing river and make a circuit of the hill on which the old town is built. We see no Hunters. We take it slow and work our way in spirals up the hill, the cobbled streets getting narrower and older as we go. There are fewer and fewer people until we reach an alley with only a cat walking down it and an old woman cleaning her windows. We don’t go down the alley but walk away and wait and return half an hour later. The old woman has disappeared and so has the cat. We haven’t seen any Hunters.

Halfway down the alley is a wooden door, and above that, hanging out over the street, rather than a written sign, is a metal gourd, small and more rusty orange than red. This is the place.

The door is oak and almost black with age. Nesbitt pushes it open and enters. Gabriel is ahead of me and he holds his arm up toward me as an indication to go slow and take care. We move forward, down four stone steps which curve to the left, and go through a dull red, heavy, woven curtain that hangs from a black metal rail.

We’re in a low-ceilinged, narrow room with a bar running the length of the wall and a number of wooden tables with red candles on them and chairs with red padded seats. Behind the bar is a tanned, middle-aged man with spiky blond hair and intense blue eyes with black glints crackling in them. A Black Witch.

Nesbitt greets him and introduces us. The barman is called Gus. When he’s introduced to me he doesn’t shake my hand as he does Gabriel’s. He says in a strong German accent, “Half and half, eh?”

Nesbitt laughs. “You got that right: half human, half animal.”

Gabriel says, “And always pissed off—though I can’t imagine why when he’s in your company, Nesbitt.”

“Anyone else here yet?” Nesbitt asks Gus.

“Celia and a Half Blood girl with her. Two more Whites due any minute.”

So Celia has avoided being caught since we last saw her in Barcelona.

I walk to the end of the room to check it out. There’s a cubicle at the far end and it’s occupied. I expect to see Celia but she isn’t there. A girl is. She stands when she sees me and smiles.

“Good to see you, Ivan,” she says. “You’re looking as scruffy as usual.”

I go to her and put my arms round her. “Nikita.” And it really is her, my friend from London. I keep hold of her. She feels small and I look at her face, still so young, her eyes that amazing blue-green of Half Bloods.

“It’s good to see you, Ellen,” I say.

She suits the name Nikita better. That’s what she said her name was the first time we met, when I called myself Ivan. But, whatever she’s called, I trust her totally. I hug her again.

She smiles. “You’ll ruin your reputation. You’re supposed to be mean and moody.”

Nesbitt appears at my shoulder and says, “Don’t worry, kid, he can change in an instant.”

I don’t, though. I really am in a great mood, seeing Ellen again.

I introduce her to Gabriel and Nesbitt and, while she explains who she is to Gabriel, I scan her face, trying to gauge if she has any news, any bad news, from the world of White Witches.

She says to me, “I know you’re worried about Arran but he’s fine. He’s left London and is on his way to France. I’m going up to meet him after we leave here.”

“He’s joining the rebels?”

“Yes. Things are moving fast now. It’s all gone crazy. The Hunters attacked a gathering of Black Witches outside Paris a week ago. Twenty were killed in the fighting and the rest were captured; the adults were taken prisoner but the children were executed. Jessica had them all hanged. Soul put out an announcement about it, saying it was an important victory and a step forward for all White Witches. He said the children didn’t have to suffer Retribution in this case, that he was being lenient. But the adults he took aren’t to suffer Retribution either. He’s using them for research into witch abilities.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“Basically Wallend is experimenting on them.”

I shake my head but somehow I feel I shouldn’t be surprised. “He’s sick” is all I can think to say.

“The Council says that it’s valid research for the protection of all White Witches. Course no one knows exactly how this will protect them, but the Council says that anyone who objects is against White Witches and is supporting Blacks. Everyone is having to declare which side they’re on. And most of the White Witches are saying they support Soul and Wallend.”

“And Deborah?” I ask. “Is she in France with Arran?”

“You’d better ask Celia about her. That info’s above my pay grade.”

“And what is your pay grade? Aren’t you a little young to be a rebel fighter, Ellen?”

“I’m not a fighter; I’m a scout. But, Nathan, you have no idea how useless most White Witches are. Honestly, most of them are like fains; none of them have ever learned how to fight. They left it all up to the Hunters. The best you can say about them is that they’re good at healing potions. The most useful people in the Alliance are the ex-Hunters and the Half Bloods. Except there are only two ex-Hunters and nine Half Bloods.”

“What about Black Witches?” I ask.

“Some have joined but few have your skills, Nathan.” I reel round to face Celia, who continues: “Which is why we’re grateful that you’re here.”

“I don’t care how grateful you are.” I swear at her and my hand is on my knife. “Keep away from me, Celia. I’m serious. Don’t sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t sneaking up, Nathan.”

“And don’t fucking argue with me!”

I walk away from them to the far end of the room. Gabriel comes with me.

He says, “You’re shaking.”

“I’m OK.” He gives me a look and I repeat, “I’m OK.”

After a pause he asks, “What do you want to do?”

“Kill ’em all.” I’m joking but only a bit. “Wallend is experimenting on other witches like he did on me. He strapped me down and tattooed me. That was worse than being with Celia. That was the worst thing of all. At least Celia occasionally treated me like a human being. But to Wallend I was just some kind of lab rat. No one should have to go through that.”

“No,” Gabriel agrees. And I think that even Gabriel is beginning to believe that the Alliance’s cause is just.

I say to him, “We work with the Alliance until Wallend and Soul are dead.”

He nods.

Van and Annalise have arrived and I take a deep breath and join them.

There are ten of us. Three Black Witches: Van, Gabriel, and Gus, who it seems is more than just a barman but also a key Black Witch with extensive contacts throughout Europe. On the White Witch side is Celia, another White Witch from England called Grace, a third White from Italy called Angela, plus Annalise. There are two Half Bloods, Nesbitt and Ellen. Then there’s me.

Celia says, “I believe we’re safe here but we’ll keep the meeting short. First I take it that, as you’re here, you are joining us, Nathan?”

“Until I change my mind.”

She looks into my eyes; hers are a pale blue filled with white shards. Then she does something I’m not expecting. She holds out her hand. “Then we’re on the same side,” she says. “Welcome to the AFW.”

“The what?”

“The Alliance of Free Witches.”

“Ha! Well, it’s no thanks to you that I’m one of those.”

“But we’re all very glad you are one and that you want to help ensure other witches remain free too.”

Her hand is still out and I ignore it, saying, “What I want is to see Soul and Wallend dead. And quite a lot of other White Witches too. That’s why I’m here.”

She says, “Am I one of those you want to see dead, Nathan?”

“You’d have a bullet in your brain if you were.”

“If you join the Alliance you’ll have to take orders from me. Can you?” she asks.

I manage a smile. “As long as they’re not stupid ones.”

“Do you expect them to be?”

I make her wait before I say, “No.”

“Good. I don’t expect they will be either but I’m sure you’ll be the first to tell me if they are.”

Her hand is still outstretched. She says, “Will you shake hands?”

“I’m struggling not to spit on you at the moment.”

She laughs a loud bark of a laugh and withdraws her hand. “I have missed you, Nathan. Even though I’m sure you’ve not missed me.”

And, sitting across the table from her, I don’t think she has any idea what it was like for me, or for any prisoner, being chained up and beaten. She’s an intelligent woman but she hasn’t got a clue sometimes. Only if you’ve been there can you know.

Van asks for an update since her last meeting with Celia. That was only two weeks ago but in that time there’s been the massacre in Paris, and Soul has replaced all the Council members with his own people: Wallend is now on the Council. Several White Witches have been arrested for colluding with the rebels. “Including Clay,” Celia says.

“What?” says Nesbitt.

“A trumped-up charge but Clay was having serious doubts about Soul. He’d lost his job, his status, his reputation, everything. Well, everything except his freedom and now he’s lost that too.”

Celia continues. “I heard that Isch’s house in Barcelona was raided shortly after we were there. Isch took poison and died; some of the girls were captured and tortured. I knew that my name would soon pop up on their lists. Soul has named those he wants for interrogation, including the ex-Council Leader Gloria; her husband and sister, Grace; plus myself and another Hunter called Greatorex. Soul was right to have them on his list—we’re all members of the AFW.

“Jessica is leading the Hunters. And I have to say she’s doing a good job. The Hunters are a mostly female organization and they’re delighted to have a woman in charge again. She has plenty of new recruits and has made attacks on Black Witch communities in northern France, Holland, and Germany. The biggest has been the one in Paris but as far as I can tell she’s killed over sixty Black Witches so far and has lost no Hunters in those attacks.

“But Jessica has problems too and they’ll grow. Even with all her new recruits, she’s going to have to spread the Hunters thinly if she wants to cover all of Europe. And many of those recruits will be less well-trained and certainly less experienced than the core Hunter army.

“Our own disadvantage is numbers. But, being small, we can move quickly to attack the Hunters. We need to move now to attack, to slow the recruitment and training of more Hunters. We must use guerrilla tactics to do that, and to win—but they happen to be what I specialize in.

“However,” says Celia, “there is one final problem. Black Witches are beginning to wake up to what’s going on but they don’t trust me and we need to attract them to our cause. The Alliance is mainly made up of White Witches and Half Bloods from Britain. We have few influential Black Witches among us. Though we do, of course, have Van and Gus.”

Gus nods. “My influence is minimal, Celia. And, as I’ve said before, to be a true Alliance we need to have a strong representation of all witches: Whites, Blacks, and even Half Bloods. But the Black Witches I speak to are not interested. They don’t believe they should fight alongside White Witches. They say they’ll fight back against the Hunters if they’re attacked. I tell them about the Black Witches who’ve already been killed but . . .” He shrugs. “Black Witches aren’t interested in causes or armies or alliances.”

Celia counters, “But you and Van and now Gabriel have joined us. So some Black Witches do listen.”

Gus turns to Gabriel and asks, “Why are you here, Gabriel?”

“Because I’m with Nathan.”

“So if Nathan is killed or leaves?”

“If he leaves I leave. If he’s killed”—he looks at me—“I don’t know . . .”

Gus says, “We need someone who will attract other Black Witches to the cause. But I don’t know of any other Black Witch who will join just because Nathan is here.” He looks into my eyes. “He’s not a Black Witch.” The black in his own eyes gleams at me and I stare back at him.

Gus is just another racist snob. The witch world is full of them.

“What are you really suggesting, Gus?” asks Celia.

“To attract Black Witches, we need someone they respect, someone who is the embodiment of all that is Black.”

“And who is that?” Van asks, trying to suppress a smile. “I’m rather disappointed it isn’t me.”

Gus laughs with her. “Sorry, Van, but you’ve always been seen as too willing to work with non-Blacks, even fains.”

“So you’re thinking of someone who represents ‘old Blacks’?” Celia sighs and ruffles her spiky hair. “Mercury would be one, I suppose?”