P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4) (13 page)

The luxurious royal limousine was a wreck, smashed, bashed, dented and torn. Three of four VMN 4x4s were scratched and dented. Bullet holes stitched the sides of the limousine and the shattered windows conveyed all that Jo needed to see. Princess Jocasta was dead. One of the commandos had been killed by the limo and another wounded by friendly fire. Jeeves had been shot dead too.

‘What the hell do we do now?’ asked Corporal Watkins.

‘Watkins,’ snapped Quinn. ‘Right now you are getting Jo the hell out of here. Take the last good jeep and get her clear then come back for the rest of us.’

‘What about you?’ gasped Jo.

‘We’ll have to split up and each make our way to the designated safe point. I’ll see you back on the other side,’ said Quinn, and to her surprise he hugged her. ‘Ali would never have let me put you in so much danger,’ and with an abrupt ‘I’m sorry,’ he bundled Jo into the 4x4 and banged on the door and Watkins got Jo the hell out of there.

The Corporal dropped her back at the decontamination facility and then sped off back towards Quinn and his remaining men. Quickly Jo put her disguise back on, silently ridiculing herself for having believed she was free of the hateful sack forever. But she looked the part now more than ever, all shell-shocked and frightened. She had gazed with horror upon the dead Princess and had seen herself from another life, now gone forever. She carefully made her back through the maze of maintenance tunnels that she had mentally rehearsed so often; she crept past the electric showers and the decontamination lobby until she was once more outside in the biting cold and the stinging wet rain. She tiptoed her way through the rubble, avoiding Vermin troopers until she reached the pillbox, where she slipped back into the dark and it was only then did she dare to breathe again.

Chapter Nine – The Apprentice

Five days had passed and Jo had heard nothing. Quinn and his men had not returned, nor had Corporal Watkins. The few brief times anyone had managed to tune the television in, all they’d seen were the same repeated loops of the state funeral. But life underground never stops being dangerous and despite all she had been through Jo was quite busy attending to accidental injuries. It had been less than a week since she had summoned the lotus and healed a whole regiment, and now all of the beds were full again, many of them the same young men she had already healed once.

She was helping Brenda to change Smokey’s bandages when the TV finally changed its newsreel.

‘Vergiss Mein Nicht. That is the message King Paul and Queen Lethe sent today to their loyal subjects. The Palace has just announced that the killer responsible for the death of our beloved Jocasta is this man.’

An image of Quinn filled the screen.

‘Oh no,’ gasped Brenda.

‘The notorious Quinn is the latest in a long line of partisan leaders for the Rioters. But the real shock came when the Palace further announced that Quinn is also the secret lover of none other than Princess Alithea, aunt to the deceased Princess.’

Brenda raised her hand to cover her mouth. Jo looked at her with grief and compassion as she stared at the television, which cut from an image of the Queen’s sister to Titus seated behind a desk, staring directly out of the screen.

‘Treachery of this magnitude cannot go unpunished. I give my promise to the people of the great city of London that these Rioters will be rooted out and destroyed. In light of this vile attempt to seize the throne and the brutal murder of our own dear Jocasta, I have decreed a Barabbas Ball to be held in the late Princess’s honour.’

‘Tickets have already sold out,’ said the voiceover. And then the loop started back upon itself. Eventually somebody turned it off.

Jo stared at Brenda long after the television fell silent. Eventually she found the words. ‘Will they be executed?’

‘I’m so sorry, Jo. Yes. Well, probably – ‘

‘Probably?’ Jo’s eyes were swimming with tears. ‘Do you mean they might be pardoned?’

‘Perhaps. But you mustn’t get your hopes up. Pardons are rarer than rubies. This Barabbas Ball… Do you know who Barabbas was?’

‘I know the name…’ A vague memory surfaced from Jo’s R.E. lessons. ‘Wasn’t he in the Bible? A thief who was going to be executed?’

‘Actually, some of us think he was a freedom fighter,’ interrupted Brenda.

‘Whatever he was, didn’t the mob get him pardoned and Jesus was crucified instead?’

‘That’s right. Whatever you know about the Bible, keep it to yourself, Jo. Titus hates Christians and his spies are everywhere.’

It felt really mean-spirited, but Jo couldn’t help remembering how Titus had effortlessly managed to get Brenda to give away all sorts of secrets. Was Brenda his spy after all, however unwittingly, in this reality as well? Even worse, might it have been Brenda who betrayed Ali? She forced herself to drop that line of thought.

‘So what happens at a Barabbas Ball?’ asked Jo.

‘The Royal Family invite the XXXIX, and their wives – or whatever – to the Roundhouse.’ Brenda noticed Jo’s puzzled expression. ‘The XXXIX are the judges. The number thirty-nine is associated with purification from an undesirable state, apparently. They’re all men, of course.’

‘There are women judges where I come from,’ said Jo. Brenda looked disbelieving. Jo carried on talking. ‘Isn’t there anyone speaking for the defence?’

Brenda snorted derisively. ‘Some inexperienced trainee, usually. Anyway, the case against the prisoners is made, and in conditions of the utmost security the judges are given two tokens - a black marble made of smooth onyx, or a red one, etched with a peony, the symbol of compassion. Then they join the Ball for music and dancing; delicious food and wine like you wouldn’t believe.’ Brenda sounded almost wistful. ‘There’s entertainment too - Mirabel and Sebastian always send their best girls along, to keep the revellers happy. At last the prisoners are given the chance to plead for their lives and the judges vote.’ Brenda looked Jo straight in the eye. ‘They decide whether the accused will be pardoned or shot. The lights are dimmed and the votes are cast in darkness so no-one can see whether a judge chooses a black ball for death or a red ball for mercy. The tokens are dropped in a covered crystal container then when all the votes are in, the cover is removed. Once in a blue moon it’s mercy. There’s always a sprinkling of red balls for appearance’s sake, but it’s usually rigged to make sure it’s death - death by firing squad then and there – part of the entertainment.’

Suddenly Smokey’s grip tightened around Jo’s wrist. He contorted with pain and howled. Brenda administered precious morphine and Jo stayed with him, holding his hand until the sedative took hold. Eventually, he calmed down enough to manage to ask her a question. His voice sounded thin and cracked.

‘These other places you imagine. Are they better than Bayne?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Are people happier? Do they have to work so hard? Is there enough food?’

‘When I was younger, I remember it was pretty bad. Especially if you didn’t fit in. The poor and the sick had a hard time of it. It got a lot better when Titus repented. If you hadn’t imprisoned him he never would have felt the slightest remorse. But he says he prayed to be released, promising to be a reformed character. He does his best to atone for what he’s done. He’s still in charge, of course, and Lethe gets up to all sorts of fiendish stuff, as usual, but yes, people are better off and healthier. And there’s plenty of food.’

‘They stopped being poor? Sounds miraculous. So you had a good life?’

‘Have. Not had. I still belong there, you know. Not here. Though I don’t know how I’ll get back. And yes, I have a good life. In lots of ways. But my mother is in a coma…’ Jo faltered.

Smokey didn’t seem to notice. He carried on asking questions. ‘How do you know which is real? You talk as if this isn’t. But it’s real for me.’

‘Well, I haven’t got a past here, for a start. All my past is in the other place. I know this is real, but it isn’t
my
reality. It’s like I’m asleep there and dreaming this. Don’t you ever dream about other places and times?’

Smokey thought for a while. ‘Not really. And when I do, well, you wouldn’t want to go there. Trust me. In your other world, was I happy?’

Jo opted for honesty. ‘Not really. You’d been separated from your family, by Titus and Lethe, and you were bitter. And very moody. But one of the last things I remember was Reg getting you and your mother and Bridget back together again. He took you a long way away to a safe place. I’ve not heard if you’re happy or not. Even Beth doesn’t know where you’ve gone.’

‘Beth?’

Jo squirmed. ‘Beth’s this girl who fancies you.’

Despite himself, Smokey smiled. ‘This imaginary girl-friend of mine - is she pretty?’

‘I suppose. Yes. Very. And brave.’

‘But you don’t like her.’ It was a statement made with certainty. Jo had aimed to sound neutral. She wondered how she had given herself away.

She shrugged. ‘Not much. I never know if I can trust her. At one time she was working with Lethe. It’s because of Beth you got trapped in the Mirror Maze in
The Lost Funfair of Forgotten Dreams
…’

Smokey chuckled to himself. ‘Trapped in the Mirror Maze, eh! It sounds a lot more exciting than life here – we’re always hiding, always hungry. I’ve got to hand it to you. You may be a nutter, but you’ve got one hell of an imagination.’

And with that he drifted into blissful oblivion leaving Jo alone with her memories of the real world. She sat with him a while until Brenda returned and put her hand on Smokey’s brow, then tucked him in.

‘He’s asleep, finally. Jo, I must speak with Zebo. With Reg and Quinn gone and Smokey here out of action, nobody will have told the Ferals what has happened. You’ll be in charge until I get back.’

Jo thought fast. The germ of a daring plan to save Ali and Quinn was already forming in her mind. She felt a rush of adrenalin. Resolve flooded through her.

‘I’ll go,’ she volunteered. ‘You have more important things to do. How about if I do the afternoon shift when I get back and give you a break?’

Jo knocked politely on the door to the storeroom that Crazy Em had once lived in before Lucy half-killed her. As the door opened she half expected to see the shabby rainbow of dusty velvet curtains and patchwork cushions Em had salvaged from skips to make things cosy, but the room was almost bare, decorated only by the disturbing murals that were Wheezy’s speciality.

The stunted, silent boy with the terrible asthma was working on a chronicle of life underground; Jo immediately recognised Quinn and Smokey, Mirabel, and the Ferals and what appeared to be a tribute to Reg. Wheezy seemed oblivious to anything but his work, hardly seeming to give Jo a second glance, but within seconds he had captured her likeness with a few brush strokes and she was part of the picture. 

A few upturned boxes served for furniture. Zebo sat in the centre of the room surrounded by a gaggle of grubby, skinny urchins. The children were emptying their pockets, reaching under their ragged clothing and shaking out their shoes, creating a heap that looked to Jo like the contents of a rubbish bin. A familiar bleach-blonde was alternating between painting her nails and kicking and cursing them as they sorted the large hoard into smaller piles.

Jo had thought herself prepared for Lucy’s cruelty and hostility, but even so her heart sank at the sight of Zebo’s girlfriend. From the expression on their faces, the children were of the same mind.

Lucy was in a foul mood. She picked up one of the children, who was little more than a bag of bones, and shook him viciously.

‘Call yourself a leader? Are you tired of living? This is crap.’ She gestured at a small mound of crusts, apple cores and bones. ‘We’ll bloody starve to death if this is the best you can do. And I wouldn’t wipe my arse on these rags. You’re bloody useless, the lot of you.’

‘Give over, Lucy,’ said Zebo mildly. ‘They’re just kids. They’re still learning. Plus we’ve got a visitor.’

Lucy glanced across at Jo. ‘Is that the mad girl?’

Jo resisted the urge to retaliate. Instead she ignored Lucy, and concentrated on Zebo. She knew him to be a natural leader; tough, violent, skilled at breaking and entering and an expert at dealing with guard dogs. His childhood had been brutal, and he was scarred with cigarette burns marking the initials of a cruel foster-father. Zebo was undoubtedly dangerous and ruthless, but Jo also knew he had saved Crazy Em’s life after Lucy attacked her. When he found out, Zebo had banished Lucy and Mirabel had taken her in.

Briefly Jo told Zebo and Lucy of the terrible events that had just taken place, as Brenda had requested. They were truly shocked and saddened.

Jo waited for a while as the dreadful news sank in until speaking tentatively to Zebo. ‘Can I speak to you alone?’ she asked. ‘I need your help.’ And with that, she smiled shyly.

Zebo was intrigued. ‘Lucy, take these brats and show them how it’s done. Teach them a few tricks of the trade.’

Lucy did not look pleased at being dismissed, but Zebo emanated authority, and she did what she was told. As Lucy passed Jo she whispered, ‘He’s mine, you crazy cow. So hands off.’ She flashed Jo a look of pure hatred, then made an ostentatious show of affectionately kissing Zebo goodbye, before slamming the door.

Zebo surveyed Jo. Jo sensed that he liked what he saw. She tried the smile again.

‘So have you got a message for me from the future? I hear you’re a time traveller, Red!’

Jo automatically touched her auburn hair and laughed. She was feeling her way – flirting did not come easily to her but there was something about Zebo that made it possible. Crazy Em had called him
almost charming
even before he had rescued her.

This part of Jo’s mission was going to be fun. Not only that. It would seriously annoy Lucy. Jo still remembered the fight at the Roundhouse when Lucy had attacked her mercilessly; biting, scratching, punching and kicking. She felt a savage little kick of spiteful pleasure as Zebo looked at her with open admiration. A part of her she didn’t know existed, some emerging, ancient, female instinct, recognised that there was no danger that Zebo would try to take things further. He was just going to enjoy the game, and not seriously risk whatever he had going with Lucy.
I can do this,
Jo thought, and suddenly she felt bold and confident.