Ruby Redfort Take Your Last Breath (32 page)

Finally, she called another number: Froghorn answered this time, but the conversation did not go well and ended abruptly. With great effort, Kekoa hauled herself out of bed, hobbled to the door, and checked the corridor.

Empty: it was way past midnight.

She limped back to the bed, opened the locker, and pulled out her clothes. It took her more than ten minutes to pull on her jeans over her cast. Once she was dressed, she grabbed the crutches that rested next to the visitor’s chair, opened the door, and began making her way slowly down the hospital corridor.

No one noticed her leave.

RUBY REDFORT WAS MARCHED DOWN SOME STONE STEPS
carved right out of the tough Sibling rock. The steps became slippery as they traveled farther into the cave, and there was a danger that she might lose her footing and fall, but maybe that was a better end than the one Count von Viscount had prepared for her.

Ruby thought she could hear the ocean, the waves crashing against the cliff, but that couldn’t be so because the sea had still been relatively calm. She pictured the little dinghy, Clancy waiting patiently for her return, so near and yet so far.

Then they arrived at the place Mr. Darling was taking her to.

It was pretty much as she feared: a natural pool, deep and dark and filled with seawater. A plank of wood was sticking out across the water. She presumed this must be for balancing on — and no doubt falling off. There would be some kind of tunnel under the water, which would allow hungry carnivores to swim into the pool. Ruby had seen it a thousand times before, in thrillers and less than thrilling shows — everybody had.

Mr. Darling took a knife from his pocket and walked slowly toward her. He was a huge man, silent and mean. He grabbed her by the throat; she struggled.

“Hold still,” he said. “Or lose a limb.” And he ran the knife up the left sleeve of her wet suit, hacking it off to expose most of her arm. He repeated the action to the right side and then sliced the suit’s legs off at the knees. He drew not one drop of blood; he was very precise, very skilled with a knife.

Before long the Count reappeared. He was carrying a black leather case and had his coat over his arm. He looked like he might be preparing to leave.

Ruby tried very hard not to show her fear. “Are people still doing this?” she said. “It’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it? Being eaten alive by sharks?”

“Sharks?” spluttered the Count. “My dear Ms. Redfort, how uncreative you must believe me.” He laughed. “No, no, not sharks.” This notion seemed to have really tickled him. “At least not at first.”

“What do you mean, not at first?” said Ruby.

“All in good time, Ms. Redfort. All in good time,” assured the Count.

Ruby needed to think on her toes and fast, or she would have no toes left to worry about. If she could just think of something, some means of escape, stall for time.

“So how long have you been residing here?” she said, the merest tremble in her voice. “Looks like you’re really settled, got everything just the way you like it — what with the torture pool and all.”

“Oh, you’re mistaken! This isn’t a torture pool. I’ve been doing some research for a client of mine, and discovered this wonderful species, you see. Could revolutionize my industry,” he said.

“I’m super pleased to hear that,” said Ruby.

Ruby was putting on the best show of her life: outwardly calm, inwardly her brain bounced ideas like a pinball machine.
RULE 44: WHEN IN A TIGHT SPOT, BUY YOURSELF SOME TIME: ONE MINUTE COULD CHANGE YOUR FATE.

“You could say I’ve been searching for this place for most of my life,” said the Count. “A distant relative of mine told me about this island when I was just a slip of a boy. He mentioned how pirates occasionally used the Sibling caves to store . . . well, things that were not, strictly speaking, technically their own. It was a particularly good place to wait things out while the storm blew over, if you understand my meaning.”

“Yeah, I don’t suppose you’re referring to the weather here.”

“No. Apparently, the townsfolk were constantly baying for blood; not very forgiving people these Twinfordites, revenge constantly on their minds.”

“Yes, that does seem petty,” said Ruby. “I mean, what’s the big deal about a few thousand gold coins and the odd sack of gems? You’d think they could get over themselves.”

“
Wouldn’t
you?” agreed the Count.

“I expect that they objected to all the cutthroats and the general murder bit more than anything,” continued Ruby. “You bump off someone’s husband and that’s it, they’ll never let it go.”

“Yes, people can be so sentimental.” The Count nodded. “Sentiment won’t get one anywhere, not in this world of ours. I mean, take your situation: all those Happy Holiday cards you’ve sent over the years to your ‘pals’ and where are these so-called loyal friends?” He looked around him theatrically. “Nowhere.” He made a sad face. “So you will have to die all by yourself.”

“Would you mind,” said Ruby earnestly, “if we did that thing where you explain how you came to find this place and exactly what you’re looking for? It would give me something to think about while I endure whatever it is I’m about to endure.”

“Oh, you mean that marvelous tradition of the villain explaining himself to the victim because he can’t resist bragging about his cunning and guile?”

“Yes, that,” said Ruby.

“Why of course, Ms. Redfort. It would be my pleasure.”

He puffed himself up and began his monologue. Ruby, it had to be said, was only half listening, her brain being occupied with the more immediate concern of dodging death. So far nothing was coming to mind.

“Like you,” the Count was saying, “I know the importance of stories, particularly those other people ignore. It was a child who led me to these caves; others discounted his story, but not me. Always pay attention to even the youngest voice; it can be a terrible error not to.”

Ruby couldn’t help thinking of Froghorn: a case in point.

“I, of course, learned to value the younger mind when I first encountered Spectrum’s very first child agent, Bradley Baker. He nearly brought about my demise, but in the end I won out. I have to admit he was the brightest child who ever lived.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Ruby, yawning.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re very clever too.” The Count smiled.

Ruby smiled back; she wasn’t feeling so clever right now, but she was thinking hard.
So at least you still have the antidote; if there are stinging things, you’ll survive. If there are chomping things, you’re in big trouble.

The Count was getting into his stride. “Anyway, to cut an ancient story short, one pirate survived that night along with little Miss Fairbank. But unfortunately for him, he was bitten by the Sea Whisperer, and though he washed up on the sand still breathing, he died soon after.” The Count raised his arm dramatically. “But not before he had confessed everything to a small boy who was collecting crabs on the shore. The fellow couldn’t help it, you see; the truth serum made him. He told the boy of the monster, the rubies, and the cave.”

“And who was the boy?” asked Ruby, now gripped by this tale, quite forgetting to concentrate on her escape.

“My great-great-grandfather,” he replied, fixing her with his cold, cold eyes. “So you see, you’re not the only one with family ties to this place. And of course I knew that asteroid
YKK 672
would be passing close by again, providing me with still waters in which to work.”

“Of course,” said Ruby.

“Now hand me the trinket,” said the Count.

“What?” bluffed Ruby.

“That tiny one attached to the band around your wrist. It must be for something — surely it’s not simply decoration.” He cocked his head to one side and smiled.

Ruby looked up at him, puzzled.

“Always check for life-saving gadgets,” said the Count. “This looks like something that isn’t just part of your costume; this looks like it might have some higher function.”

Very slowly she pulled the band from her wrist and handed it to him. She didn’t have a whole lot of choice.

The Count examined it carefully and smiled. “What irony,” he said, and let it fall to the floor. With some pleasure he stamped his beautiful Italian shoe down on top of it, and Ruby heard the glass vial inside the canister smash into a thousand pieces.

Then he turned to the unhappy-looking Mr. Darling, who seemed like he might be in a hurry to get started; his fingers were twitching.

“So let’s get on with it,” said the Count with a flourish. “Time to release the
little
darlings.”

If not sharks, then what?
thought Ruby.
What could be worse than sharks?

Mr. Darling was untying her hands.
Why? Why would he do that?

“So take a long walk off a short plank!” said Mr. Darling, shoving her in the direction of the high board that extended across the pool. Ruby moved very reluctantly, very slowly, pausing to look down, but she could see nothing but water.

“All the way!” bellowed Mr. Darling.

As she edged forward, the plank got less stable and began to bend alarmingly. Ruby was small and she weighed very little, but even her slight body was too much.

“I said all the way!”

Ruby was perched at the very end now, her toes gripping on for dear life. She felt like a cartoon character but without the laugh track. Mr. Darling started to jump up and down, gently at first and then with more vigor, and the board began to bounce. It would have looked very amusing to the ignorant bystander, this pudgy, sweating man jumping for all he was worth, this miniature girl balancing like a gymnast.

But not so amusing if you knew that the man had murder on his mind.

Ruby began to wobble. She tried to move with it the way one might if jumping up and down on a diving board. She kept her balance for almost two whole minutes and then suddenly she felt herself slip and a split second later the cold salt water whooshed past her ears.

Her head emerged and she gasped for air, treading water and frantically looking about her, but there was nothing to see, nothing at all.

And then she felt the most tiny of tiny stings.

He moved quickly and silently toward her. It had to be more than important, her reason for being there. She was sweating and looked to be in some pain.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Ruby,” she whispered. “Where is she?”

“At home,” said Hitch.

“I don’t think so,” replied Kekoa. “I tried to make contact, but her signal is down. She must be somewhere in Sibling waters, out of radio range.”

“But why?” asked Hitch. “The action’s happening here.” He indicated the pirate ship. “Why would she head off somewhere else?”

“There’s something bigger going down,” said Kekoa. “Much bigger, and Ruby must have worked out what.”

“You sure about this?” asked Hitch.

“I called into Spectrum, got Froghorn; apparently, she was trying to make contact with you and, evidently, Froghorn didn’t take her seriously.”

“That dumb schmuck. Why didn’t he send someone to tell me?” Hitch was already putting a plan together; he would have to put someone else in command here and then he had better move like the wind if he stood any chance of getting to Ruby before someone else did.

“By the way,” said Kekoa, “the currents are returning. We have around an hour.”

“An hour before what?” said Hitch.

“An hour before it’s too late.”