Thirteen (19 page)

There was a picture of earthquake damage on the TV screen.

Simon had heard it all before. “The real danger is now, while you're thirteen. I didn't help you to have you walk right into Coron's hands. When the police see there's something bad going on at the Old School House, we can let them know the full story.”

Adam was about to say that he had heard all
this
before when he froze. “Look!” he shouted, pointing at the screen. There was a picture of Megan and the single word
KIDNAPPED
.

He fumbled with the control, holding it the wrong way around. They heard a man's sober voice mention
teacher
and
shot
before the sound rose.

“. . . British Museum. If anyone saw a white Transit van or anyone acting suspiciously at the time, please contact the police.”

“No! No!” The room closed in on Adam. He swore repeatedly about Coron and the situation, then turned to Simon, “I suppose she's at the place you're looking at.”

“Possibly; I don't know. As you know, there's the London house—if
only
I knew where; she could be there.” He pointed at Adam. “Let's not be stupid.”

Anger tore through Adam, instantly, explosively. “It's my fault.” He edged closer to Simon until he was under a foot away, shouting all the time, “How can I just sit here while she's with him? Eh?”

Simon stood up and walked across the room and back. “Listen. I've messed up. I've killed innocent people. It's different for you. You're
thirteen
, for God's sake. You're being stupid.”

“And you're only seventeen, Si.” Adam moved to even greater thunder: “Screw you! We're going together.”

Simon knew that Adam would never give up. It was one of the things he liked about the younger boy. Simon pressed his left palm to his forehead and tried to disguise his admiration. “Okay. We'll go together. But when we know that they're there, or if we see anything odd, we'll call the police immediately. They'll have to arrest them all if Megan is in the house.”

Adam nodded, excitement, optimism and fear mingling to produce a nervous smile.
This could be over soon
, he thought.

Simon didn't smile. “You are stupid. Brave, but stupid.”

Coron was a tall, slim, athletic man, with a thin, even elongated, face. When he spoke, his voice wasn't at all the demonic growl that Megan expected. “I think you should thank those who have brought you here. Please say thank you.” It was such a peculiar thing to say that Megan was unsure if he was being sarcastic or sincere.

Everyone waited. Megan said nothing. She found it difficult to stand and steadied herself against the van.

“Perhaps you were right, Viper. Perhaps we should take her upstairs straight away.” Coron opened his palms, showing fresh and deep wounds. “Please say thank you.”

Something about the scars told Megan to be compliant. “Thank you,” she said, hating and regretting it immediately.

Coron continued, his voice slow and musical. “I
wonder
if you know where Adam is.” He studied Megan's face as if trying to sense, or smell, the answer. “Yes, I think you do.” He nodded.
Oh yes
. “I think you are a
clever
girl. You know that you will tell us eventually.” Then, softly, but very much a threat: “Or I will have to damage you.”

Megan wanted to protest, wanted to explain that she would never,
ever
cooperate. But she looked to the ground. Nothing would be gained by proud and foolish words that prompted a
beating—or her death. Death. Ripples of fear spread through her stomach. When she thought of dying it was as if her insides were being shrunk.

Coron's eyes were like dark marbles. “I think we will give you one day to tell us. Then you can have a central role at our final Feast here. It is one of our great events. After that we are leaving for somewhere else, you see. Somewhere less . . .” Coron gestured at the buildings and fields around him, “. . . less open.”

Megan wasn't sure if attending a meal was a threat. “Will you let me go?”

Coron laughed. “It is not up to me. The Master decides everything here.” He continued, solemnly, “I would like you to join us.” He meant it. “But in the short term your only hope is to tell us where Adam is. You see, that's the most important thing of all. He is the hinge on which all the events of the next few weeks depend.” Coron looked at the others. “We will try gentle persuasion over the next day. Then the Feast.”

Megan was taken to the second floor. Her room could easily have been part of a hotel and was certainly nothing like a prison. She immediately searched for something, anything, that could be of use. There was no phone, nothing sharp—not that Megan could have fought her way out—and the window was too high to jump from; besides, there were people outside. Megan had heard of stranded travelers reflecting the sun to call for help, but what with? And who would see? Or understand?

All too soon a knock came at the door, followed by Viper's voice. “Don't keep us waiting. There is something Lord Coron wants you to experience.”

Megan emerged, now dressed in a blue-and-white striped dress that had been laid out on the bed for her. She hadn't wanted to change, but Viper had said that if she didn't they would rip her old clothes from her. She sensed it was a threat they would have carried out.

Thoughts of making a run for it disappeared when she saw
that Viper was accompanied by a large, silent, aggressive-looking man. They led Megan along a corridor, up a winding staircase, and then up a much smaller set of steps that turned twice at right angles. The walls were covered with brown paneled wood. It could have been a stately home. At the top of the final flight of stairs there was an open door.

The room was waiting, apparently empty. Step by step she edged closer to it.

Megan could see a number on the door: thirteen.

Dorm Thirteen. It was an empty, plain, windowless room, with a shiny wooden floor. Megan saw the three grilles in each of the walls and the single bright light.

Viper closed the door behind them. They were only a year or two apart, but she spoke as if she was an adult and Megan a child. “Here you are, little girl. This is where we put naughty people.”

Megan walked the five paces to the far end, trying to work out the danger. Perhaps something nasty would drop from the ceiling.

Viper anticipated her thoughts.

“No, no, no. That's far too quick. This room gives you time to consider your errors. A lot of time.”

She thumped the door.

The noise started. It was loud, too loud for Megan to block out by putting her hands over her ears, but not quite damagingly loud. The noises were unpredictable, sometimes ugly descriptions or horrible phrases, sometimes screaming or other jarring sounds, always over and over and over. Not on a loop; similar, but varied. Different voices, crying and shouting, persistent and piercing—over and over again. A jumble of nastiness.

Megan heard a loud passing train, a bell and hysterical laughter, then screaming. It abruptly stopped.

Megan thought that she could probably blot it out if she tried to think of pleasant things.

“Yes, everyone believes that at first,” Viper said as if she had heard. “Would you like to stay and try?”

“No.” The noise had already generated images that made Megan shudder.

“Of course, not all of those screams are pretend. Maybe yours will be recorded and added.”

Megan felt her resolve breaking under the weight of her despair and fear. “You're sick in the head.”

Viper opened the door. “You need to have some color thrust into that simple mind of yours. A little part of me hopes you won't tell us where Adam is. I would enjoy seeing you hurt.”

“I don't
know
where he is.” Megan felt that this was all unreal, a story that would end with
and it was all a dream
.

“Megan, Megan . . .” Viper put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Lord Coron is a great leader. He is our shepherd. He needs to know where Adam is, for the good of everyone. And you will tell him before the end of tomorrow. Lord Coron will ensure that the Feast is a
special
occasion.”

The word
special
sounded like a threat.

And, as if the mention of his name had summoned him, Coron appeared at the door. “This room is far more effective than you think. It's useful as a short punishment, of course, and most people can withstand the first day. It's the sleepless nights that break people down. After the third night, people will say anything for a few minutes' rest. After the fourth, they don't know what to say. It would work on you.”

Megan wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to. She was cornered prey.

“Unfortunately, we don't have time for this method. And I can't risk you getting confused. It's simplest if you just tell us where Adam is.”

“I don't know.”

One long breath later, Coron spoke again. “I feared and expected you would say that. The problem is that you don't understand us. But I understand you, Megan. I know that if I left you in here all night, you still wouldn't tell. No. You will
sleep in your bed tonight. Safe and quiet. Viper, take her to her room. Feed her well. Make her comfortable.”

Megan frowned. Surely they did not think that they could
charm
her into telling?

Viper put her arm around Megan's shoulder as they left, but it was shaken off. Then, just outside the room, Megan saw the large, threatening man holding the shoulders of a girl who looked about twelve. The girl stared at Megan, silently pleading.

Coron spoke when Megan was halfway down the first flight of stairs. “This is Peringuey. She is a good girl. An innocent. She will spend the night in Dorm Thirteen on your behalf.”

Megan tried to turn, but Viper held her. “No. I'll do it. I'll stay. Put me in there.”

Coron suddenly shouted, “Then tell us where ADAM is!”

Megan looked down, frozen by thought, then mouthed to Peringuey, “I'm so sorry.”

Megan lay back on her bed and tried to force the experience from her mind. She was stubborn and resilient. Wasn't she?

But she couldn't stop thinking about the other girl. And Adam, and the Feast (what
was
that?) and her worried parents. And her own death. The thoughts dug deep into her mind like roots. She buried her head into her pillow and cried, grabbing handfuls of the soft duvet and pulling it tightly around her. Why were people like this? And, finally, the wail of utter desperation—
It's not fair
—which became an anxious groan.

Finally, fitfully, Megan fell into an uneven and thin sleep.

Megan slipped out of bed and crept across the room. She had heard the key turn last night and the door was still locked. The window was also bolted—she had considered smashing it with the bedside table, but flashlight beams had been wobbling about outside and she'd heard the occasional yelping of dogs; even if she'd broken out and somehow inched herself down, her situation
was hopeless. And maybe they would kill her if she attempted to escape. If she tried, she would have to make sure she succeeded.

She thought of her parents and how they would be consumed with worry, rigid with tension, eyes full of tears. Then she thought of Adam. Surely by now her abduction would have made the news? Perhaps Adam would have seen it?

Then she thought of the other girl, guiltily:
I should have considered her first. She's suffering because of me
.

There was a knock at her door. A woman came in, with Viper behind her.

“I hope you slept well and had sweet dreams,” said Viper.

“Go to hell,” said Megan, the words spilling out before she had time to stop them or to craft a better insult.

Viper smiled as Megan seethed. “We have woken up grumpy. I hope that doesn't mean you're going to be awkward. Get dressed and come with me.”

As they walked through the building, Megan realized there were lots of people around, including many she hadn't seen the day before. Heavy boxes were being moved, and with some urgency; it was like an evacuation before a storm. With all of this activity, could she slip away? Could she send a message?

Megan was led down a central hallway and into a room that resembled an office, except for a large painting above the fireplace of a dark angel emerging from a swirling cloud. Megan noticed a chilling normality about the room: a London
A–Z
, a guide to modern architecture, scissors, phone, briefcase.

Coron leaned against his desk. “Megan. Now that you have had a chance to reflect on the suffering that Peringuey is enduring because of you, perhaps you would like to stop it by telling us where Adam is?”

No. She couldn't say. They would kill him. At least the girl wouldn't die. “I don't know.”

“You won't tell.” Coron moved to the other side of his desk and gazed out onto a lawn and what appeared to be a summer
house beyond. He spoke with his back turned. “I feared you would be stubborn. Let me be very clear.” He turned around and put his hands together, steepling his fingers. “If you don't tell me by this evening, I will kill your parents.”

“What?” Megan shouted and stared. “What?”

“I would kill a hundred parents if need be. A town. A city. More depends on finding Adam than you can imagine. I will do whatever it takes.”

Despite everything, Megan still wondered if the threats were idle, an adult frightening a child. Maybe. But
her parents
? This was the worst possible nightmare. Whatever she did, someone would be hurt.

Perhaps saying where Adam was would be the lesser evil. At least he would be expecting trouble. Maybe he had moved. And he might have heard about her kidnap. At least she had until that evening and the Feast.