The Scioneer (23 page)

‘Just a
hunch.
It was either
going to be you or Delić.... but I thought that I could make you an
offer you couldn’t refuse.’

She
kissed Lek
on the cheek
and he grimaced as pain shot across his face.

‘Why
don’t you go and get changed? Spruce yourself up a bit. You’ll feel
better for it.’

‘Good
idea. I’ll be
back in a
minute.’

Lek
shuffled down the carriage to the bathroom. Once inside, he locked
the door and turned to face his reflection. It was a wonder that
Delić had managed to recognise him; Lek could barely recognise
himself. With the events of the past few hours, he hadn’t had time
to fully take in his transformation at the hands of Ursula, but
most striking was his broken nose, the bridge of which was still
heavily swollen and seeping blood. Both of his eyes had blackened
and there were streaks of dried blood covering his face.

Lek
filled the sink with warm water and gingerly lowered his face into
it. Then he pulled off his sports suit top and used it to pat
himself dry. He opened the first aid kit and applied some
antiseptic cream to the cut on his face and stuck a fibrin-mesh
plaster over it. He pulled off his tattered trousers, washed and
disinfected his leg and wrapped a bandage around the puncture
wounds. ‘Fucking psychopath,’ he whispered under his breath. He
popped a couple of Codinol into his mouth and swallowed them with a
handful of water from the tap. Finally he pulled on the clean
overalls, which smelled of paraffin but fitted at least, and after
taking a moment to gather himself, he walked back to his seat,
feeling better than he had in hours.

He caught
Crystal’s e
ye as he
walked through the sliding doors into their carriage. ‘Is
everything alright?’ he asked, ‘You look worried.’

‘I’m fine,
just... glad it’s all over, I suppose. You look better.’

‘I
feel
better, I’ll say that much.’
Lek flopped into his seat and closed his eyes, as the Bullet began
to pull away from the platform. ‘Are we moving? Or is that just my
head swimming?’

‘No,
we’re off. At last.’

The train
began to pick up speed. The engine hummed and the signal lights
rolled by. The wheels rumbled over the tracks and the carriage
swayed gently o
n its
axels. ‘... serving a selection of cold drinks, hot beverages,
beer, wine and spirits, snacks, sandwiches....’ Lek was already
dozing off when he felt Crystal wrap her arm through his and lean
her head against his chest.

Lek
dreamt
of better things.
He dreamt of Paris in the morning. He dreamt of walking easily
again through the cobbled streets, to a cafe he knew near
Montmartre. Croissants and coffee. Spending some money. New
clothes. Sleeping with Crystal in a hotel bedroom, and making love
to her between fresh sheets. He dreamt.

When he
woke with a start, Lek found himself lost for a moment in a fog of
déjà vu and in complete darkness. The carriage lights were
flickering as the train made its descent into the tunnel under La
Manche. He gently rubbed his bruised eyes and was comforted by the
feeling of Crystal sleeping next to him. How could she still smell
so wonderful? he asked himself. The lights flashed on again
briefly, and Lek noticed in that instant that they had company:
somebody was sitting across the table from them. In the darkness,
he heard the shuffling of the pages of a newspaper. Again the
lights flashed on, long enough for Lek to make out the headline on
the front page: ‘
London Club Owner Shot Dead
,’ and ‘
England Bids for 2052 World Cup
’ on the back. Darkness once more. The
sound of the engines echoed in the tunnel and the lights came back.
That was the moment when Lek realised that it had all been for
nothing: that all was lost and he would never escape. The gentleman
reading the newspaper in the seat opposite was missing the middle
finger of his right hand. The lights flickered again and a voice in
the darkness whispered, ‘Tell me, is this seat taken,
Doctor?’

THE END

About the author

Peter Bouvier works as
a social media consultant and writer.

This is his first novel
for adults, but you can read his work for children at
Tales from
Tikulo

Peter lives in Spain
with his wife Abigail and his children, Joseph and Audrey.