Arthur Quinn and Hell's Keeper (13 page)

He didn't think they were making much progress on the flood, but after the first few hours of work he started to see a notable difference. Three rows of seats had been reclaimed. One thought circled through his mind as he worked. One single, solid thought. Ellie was right. The Norns were right. Loki's third child did, indeed, unleash Hell on Earth.

He didn't know what time it was when they finally finished. His watch had stopped when he had been in the water. But, judging by the level of the moon and the faint glow of a new day's light in the east, he guessed it was some time between six and seven in the morning. Close to dawn, anyway.

Everyone went back to their spot on the pitch, which was now muddier and slicker than ever. He lay down by the advertisement board and munched on the pizza crust. It was, as he'd expected, very stale and tough. But it was delicious nonetheless. He ate half of it and put the remainder back in his pocket for safekeeping.

Despite his exhaustion, he swore to himself he wouldn't go to sleep. He couldn't spend much longer in this hell-hole. It was time to escape and he needed a plan.

Morning came. But before the breakfast rush could start, Arthur rose and hurried in the direction of the first-aid area. He found Nurse Ann without much trouble; she was already up and tending to an elderly man who was in the middle of a violent fit of coughing. When he could breathe again, Ann turned to Arthur with a quizzical expression.

‘Morning, pet. Is everything OK? Do you need help with something?'

‘Yeah.' Arthur led her out of the patient's earshot. ‘I need help to get out.'

She shook her head dejectedly. ‘It's impossible, pet, so don't–'

‘It's not. You said it yourself. A few hundred people could never hope to escape, especially in this weakened state. But one person, on their own …'

‘People have tried it before, pet. People on their own or in groups. Some of them made it through the stand but they were all caught. Caught and punished. You can't be serious.'

‘I am serious. I have a certain experience in things like this so trust me. I've been thinking about it for hours. Listen …'

Arthur had, indeed, mulled over his options thoroughly. There were exits at pitch level but he couldn't escape through those because they'd been sealed up against the flood with thick steel doors. And even if he did somehow manage to open one of the doors as much as an inch, the water would rush in before he'd have a chance to rush out. It was impossible to get through.

The only option would be to go back the way he'd come: up through the seating and back down the outer stairwell. This was fraught with its own problems. First, lots of guards were always milling around the stands, keeping watch or relaxing on their breaks. Second, if he did somehow manage to get to the top of the tier, the outside stairs were even busier, with guards coming to and from the jet-ski landing area. But it was his only chance. He explained his plan to Ann.

‘You need some sort of distraction,' she noted. ‘So that you can reach the stairwell without being seen, I mean. Something to take the guards' attention away from the stands for a few minutes.'

‘The morning feeding should serve that purpose. But I will need your help – to keep a watch for me in case the breakfast isn't distracting enough and let me know if a guard is coming my way. Please, Ann!'

‘What happens if you do manage to reach the stairwell?' asked the nurse.

‘I have something that will help me get out,' said Arthur, thinking of the hammer. ‘And I saw where they put it. Anyway,' he added with a wry smile, ‘I've been in worse jams than this.'

‘Something about you makes me think that's true, pet.'

The nurse looked doubtfully into the stands around them, at the dozens of guards stalking over and back. Her eyes fell to the patients around her – all the people who were dying purely as a result of being put in this horrific situation. Finally she looked at the boy with the eye-patch.

‘All right,' she said in a low voice. ‘I'll help you. But first tell me your name.'

‘Arthur. Arthur Quinn.'

Arthur and Nurse Ann waited at the edge of the pitch and watched the doors to the stadium back-rooms in silence. Finally the chef and his two assistants stepped out onto the stands and walked around to the serving trough. Throngs of people were already swarming forward and a few stragglers were chasing after them, hoping they weren't already too late to get a good spot. The only people left on the pitch were the sick, weak, very young and very old, as had been the case the previous day. Many of those nearest Arthur watched him, no doubt wondering why such a fit young man wouldn't take his place in the mob. However, he doubted they'd rat him out to the Wolfsguard. They might not help him but at least they wouldn't hinder him.

He watched as the chef chucked more of the unappetising goop into the trough while his deputies tossed scraps out among the crowd. From Arthur's position today, the mob seemed even more fevered, more frantic to get the food. They were probably extra aggressive after the previous day's hard labour. When more of the Wolfsguard left their sentry positions to join in the fun, Arthur knew his moment was coming. He kept a close eye on them as they hurled the dregs of the breakfast over the heads of the prisoners. One guard on the tier nearest Arthur still hadn't joined in, but he was on his tip-toes, narrowing his eyes to get a better look. Eventually, he decided that he was missing out on too much amusement and went to join the others.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?' Ann murmured under her breath, keeping her own eyes on the breakfast riot.

Instead of answering – and before either of them could change their minds – Arthur crept onto the first step of the tier, taking care that no other guard was nearby or watching. Then, keeping low, he quickly took cover between the first two rows of seats. He peered between two plastic chairs at Ann's anxious expression. She smiled helplessly and gave him a thumbs-up. As soon as he got the sign, he grabbed on to the back of the seat above him and vaulted over to the next row. He looked back at the nurse again, who turned her head from left to right, surveying the whole arena and especially the hungry throng. Seeing that the coast was clear, she gave him another nod and Arthur leapt up to the next row.

They continued like this for the next few minutes. Arthur would vault or climb over a row, then the nurse back on the pitch would give him the OK to move to the next row and so on. But then, just past the half-way mark, she was about to give the thumbs-up when she stopped suddenly and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Arthur followed her gaze and saw that one of the guards who'd been watching the mob had had enough and was moving back to his post. He was swinging a baton and humming tunelessly to himself.

Arthur had few options. He could retreat to the pitch and try another time or he could stay here and hope the guard wouldn't see him. But judging by the route the wolf-man was taking, he'd end up passing right by Arthur. He'd never be able to stay hidden. There was, however, one other possibility and, before sense could overrule his nerve, Arthur took it.

He ran down the row of seating away from the approaching guard, keeping hunched over and his footsteps light so he wouldn't be heard. When he reached the end of the row, he found himself on the staircase leading to the door he'd come through originally. The steps were wide and the incline was low, so running up while staying hidden was exceedingly difficult.

His heart was pounding by the time he reached the top. He threw all caution to the wind, swung it open and leapt through to the stairwell. He leaned back against the door and took a second to catch his breath. There wasn't as much sound from the landing area below as there had been the day he'd arrived. Arthur assumed many of the on-duty wolves were still watching the feeding frenzy.

He looked at the door to his left. It led to the room where he'd seen the guard go with his backpack. He didn't care about the bag: it had been a cheap and flimsy freebie he'd gotten at a summer camp a couple of years ago. All he really wanted was the hammer inside.

Arthur pushed the door open and went through. It was nearly pitch black in the room, aside from a pale-blue emergency light directly over the door. This illuminated the space enough for him to take in his surroundings. It was more of a warehouse than a room and piles of confiscated belongings were stacked along the four concrete walls. He walked through the aisles, passing a heap of children's toys – dolls and teddy bears gazing up at him with glassy eyes – and another with nothing but electronics – mobile phones, laptops, cameras and so on. He noticed a box on the floor full of car keys and wondered why the wolves had bothered taking those. Surely no car could be useful after the flood. There were books and photographs and flashlights and medical supplies and clothes. Finally he found a mound built of every type of bag, from purses to sports bags. His own backpack had been thrown onto the top. He pulled it down and, holding his breath, ripped it open. He gave a gasp of relief when he saw that the hammer was still inside, lying next to the food he had stolen from the toy store. Smiling, he slung the bag over his shoulder then headed back towards the exit.

As he neared the door, he heard voices beyond it. He pressed his ear to the small gap between the door and the frame, keeping his breathing calm so he could hear clearly. There were guards outside, rushing down the stairs.

‘Tell me again what he looked like,' one of the guards was saying.

‘About yay high, brown hair, wearing a T-shirt and jeans,' said another one. ‘He had an eye-patch, for Loki's sake! Shouldn't be that hard to find.'

Arthur put his back to the wall. They were talking about him! The guard must have seen him burst through the stairwell door.

‘OK, OK,' the first Wolfsguard was saying. ‘You check downstairs with the others. I'll have a look in here.' As the door to the room started to open, Arthur ducked behind a stack of unmarked boxes. He held his breath and peeked through a gap as the guard entered the room, shining a flashlight around the mounds of loot. The guard walked forward, his heavy black boots clicking on the concrete floor as he moved the beam of light ahead of him. Any minute now, he'd turn around and start searching in Arthur's direction and then there'd be no hiding. Arthur would be sent back to the stadium or worse. He couldn't even imagine what would happen if the wolf discovered the hammer.

While the guard's back was turned, Arthur took his chance. He crept around the stack of boxes and edged towards the open doorway. He could hear the sound of running footsteps and barked orders coming from the lower floors as other guards searched for him. He glanced over his shoulder: the guard in the room still had his back to him, scanning the mounds. Arthur took a long stride forward and as he did–

Splech!

Arthur looked at his sock as it squelched loudly.

What a traitor, he thought.

‘Oy!' roared a voice from behind him as the guard swivelled on the spot. ‘Stop right where you are!'

Arthur did the exact opposite, running out of the storeroom, slamming the door behind him and turning the lock on the outside. Behind him the guard pounded on the door, alerting those further down the staircase. As soon as they spotted him, they bounded up the steps. The guard in the storeroom then started to throw his weight against the door in an attempt to break it open. Arthur looked around frantically, trying to find an escape route. To his right was the door leading back to the camp itself, and pounding up the stairs to his left were a dozen of the Wolfsguard, armed with batons and crossbows. In front of him was the edge of the staircase and beyond it a narrow gap with a sheer drop to the ground floor, four storeys down. There was a low safety wall around the edge. He glanced over and could see even more guards sprinting up the stairs.

There was nothing else for it. Arthur jumped onto the wall, took a deep breath and looked down at the flood below. What he saw made him pause. This is insane, he told himself. If I jump and miss the water I'll end up as a puddle of blood, gore and shattered bones on the concrete. But if I don't jump the guards will catch me and probably submit me to a fate worse than death.

His thoughts were cut short as the guard burst out of the storeroom behind him. Barely realising what he was doing, Arthur leapt feet first off the edge. He held his breath as he plummeted, keeping his body as straight and rigid as possible, ready for the impact. The bag slid awkwardly around on his back, threatening to unbalance him. Regardless, he kept his mind fixed on his intended destination: the flood below.

He soared past a row of jet skis idling at the landing bay and smashed into the water. The wave from his impact sent one guard – who'd just arrived on his jet ski – flying from the vessel, and the force of it knocked the air from Arthur's lungs. Seconds later, his feet hit the submerged ground and he pushed himself back up towards the surface. He gulped in air greedily then saw that the jet ski the guard had fallen from was just beside him. The engine was still running. He swam to it, gripped one of the handles and pulled himself up. The original driver was swimming towards it now too, roaring every expletive under the sun at him.