Wild Boy and the Black Terror (35 page)

Dr Carew scrambled across the planks, the syringe jutting from his neck. He climbed the next ladder and looked back. “You! You, Wild Boy, should understand. You cannot escape your past.”

Wild Boy didn’t bother to reply. Even if there was something good left inside Dr Carew, he didn’t care anymore. That chance was gone.

He went after him as fast as his injured leg would allow. The tail of his coat snagged on one of the beams as he scaled the ladder. He tore the coat off, let it fall, pulled himself onto the next level of the scaffold. Reaching out, he grabbed Dr Carew’s foot as the killer climbed the next ladder.

The doctor kicked wildly, but this time Wild Boy wasn’t letting go. He wrapped his arms around Dr Carew’s legs and dragged him down. As they tumbled to the boards, he pulled the plunger on the syringe and yanked it from the doctor’s neck. At the same time, Dr Carew threw him back. One of the planks collapsed, and Wild Boy crashed through and slammed to the level below.

The doctor scrambled higher, but Wild Boy let him go. With a shaky hand he raised the syringe. Moonlight caught its glass vial. Its content was the colour of rubies.

The scaffold shuddered as Clarissa climbed from below. There was a fierce look in her eyes, like a tiger on a hunt. It changed to confusion as she saw Wild Boy lying on the planks, coatless and bleeding.

Wild Boy held up the syringe, managed a small smile.

“Easy,” he gasped.

She stared at him, stunned. A smile began to form, but then she staggered back against the factory wall, clutching her face as if she’d been shot. It was the terror again.

Wild Boy tried to stand, but the pain in his leg grew worse, as if the spear now pinned him to the boards. He reached out, calling to her. “Clarissa, you gotta fight it.”

“I can’t…”

Though a tangle of wet hair, she watched Dr Carew scramble higher into the scaffold. He was heading for what was left of the factory roof.

“He’s gonna get away,” she said.

“Clarissa,” Wild Boy said. “We got the cure.”

“But we ain’t got
him
.”

Her eyes burned as fiercely as the factory furnace. Wild Boy had never felt so scared for her, or so desperate to make her stop.

“I’m sorry, Clarissa. I should’ve told the Queen no. I should’ve yelled at her like you did. We’re partners and I swear I won’t leave you, no matter what. You’re all I got, you and Marcus. It don’t matter what happened to us in the past, we gotta keep what we have now.”

She looked down at him. “You’re all I got too,” she said. “And
he
tried to take that.”

“But he didn’t, Clarissa. We beat him. If you go after him, you’ll kill him and there’s no coming back from that. All them people that done bad things to you will have won. Your bad memories won’t ever go away.”

He gritted his teeth, crawled closer. “I need your help. I can’t do it alone.”

Tears flowed down her face. She took a small step towards him, and he was certain he saw the slightest smile crease her freckled cheeks. Then she turned and climbed the ladder.

Her dress fluttered in the moonlight as she moved along the planks, higher into the scaffolding.

Wild Boy lay on the swaying boards, calling her name. It was all he could do, so he kept doing it until his throat ran dry. Suddenly the syringe in his hand meant nothing to him. She was gone.

The ice groaned.

The timbers wailed.

Thump!

Clarissa swung down and landed beside him. She smiled and held out Wild Boy’s coat. “You dropped this,” she said. “You don’t look right without it.”

The smile was like a rising sun, filling Wild Boy with a glow of something as far from terror as anything he’d ever felt. He wanted to grab her and hug her and scream with delight. Instead he just shrugged.

“Coulda got it myself,” he said.

“You can’t even walk! How did you even get up here? I bet you cheated.”

She wrapped the coat around him and helped him stand, gripping a beam for support. Bricks fell from above, smashing planks along the scaffold. They looked up and saw Dr Carew clamber onto the remains of the factory roof.

Wild Boy felt Clarissa tense, and then relax.

He let her carry him to the window. They clung onto each other as if they were on a ship about to be wrecked by a storm. He wanted to tell her that everything would be fine, although he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing in their lives would ever be easy. This didn’t feel like a victory, that was for sure. They would still have to hide, and he had no idea how long they could stay in the palace, even with Marcus’s protection. But whatever happened, they would be all right. Because they had each other.

Something dropped from above and they staggered back. It wasn’t bricks. It was a crow. The scruffy bird perched in the window, blocking their path. Its eyes gleamed darkly and it jabbed the air with its black dagger-beak. The beak opened and the bird was about to caw when Clarissa lashed out a foot and booted it back into the factory. It disappeared with puff of feathers and a startled squawk.

Clarissa grinned. “Let’s go save Marcus,” she said.

As she helped Wild Boy inside, something rattled in her dress pocket. It sounded like stones. Four stones.

She looked at him. Her smile grew wider and her eyes glinted in the moonlight. “We don’t have to tell him
everything
, do we?” she said.

R
ob Lloyd Jones never wanted to be a writer when he grew up – he wanted to be Indiana Jones. So he studied Egyptology and archaeology and went on trips to faraway places. But all he found were interesting stories, so he decided to write them down. Following on from
Wild Boy, Wild Boy and the Black Terror
is Rob’s second novel, although he has written more than thirty other books for children, including non-fiction and adaptations of such classics as
Jekyll and Hyde
.

About writing
Wild Boy and the Black Terror
, he says, “After I finished the first book, I felt bad. I knew the events of that adventure would have left Wild Boy and Clarissa with scars. I wanted them to have a chance to face those fears, to use their skills again to find out just how tough they really are.”

Rob lives in Sussex with his wife and young son, who has big eyes like Wild Boy but is not as hairy.

Visit Rob at

WWW.ROBLLOYDJONES.COM/WILDBOY

T
HANKS

Huge thank you to everyone at Walker Books, especially Mara, Gill, David and Victoria, as well as Deb at Candlewick Press, and Owen Davey for his wonderful illustrations. Thanks to special agent Clare Conville, and early readers and expert advisors Jo Unwin and Fred Morris. And whopping great hugs to Sally and Otis.