Robin Jarvis-Jax 02 Freax And Rejex (33 page)

“You can talk! Try cleaning up all that mud and cack you brought in. Where’d you been anyway? Paddling in a ditch?”

Lee didn’t answer. A secretive smile stole across Marcus’s face. There was nothing smelly about his trainers; he had too many powders and sprays for that to happen. Something else was causing that pungent odour – but he wasn’t prepared to spoil that surprise just yet. He continued scoring the plywood.

The next day the children awoke bruised, and many found themselves on the floor again.

“Maybe we’re sleepwalkin’, innit?” Charm suggested. “My Uncle Frank were always doin’ that.”

Maggie and Esther were allowed back in the kitchen. On the way, Maggie heard Jody’s weakened voice. She sounded delirious and was half singing, half groaning. Maggie stopped to listen.

“There’s… there’s something tender in the moonlight… on Honolulu Bay…”

Maggie didn’t recognise it, but she thought if she whistled something cheerful back, Jody would know she hadn’t been forgotten. She looked around quickly. The only guard in sight was up in the skelter tower and facing the other way. The first tune she could think of was ‘Always look on the bright side of life’ from
Life of Brian
. Maggie wasn’t the world’s best whistler, but she made a fair stab at it and hoped Jody could hear her.

“You!” the guard shrieked down. “What you do? No whistle! You go make squassages hot!”

Maggie curtsied obediently and pushed open the door. At the back of the building, Jody’s forlorn voice was still warbling through the strange song.

“If you… like Ukulele Lady, Ukulele Lady like a’you. If… If you like… to linger where it’s shady, Uku… Ukulele Lady linger too…”

It was heartbreaking: only the beginning of the second day and she was already hallucinating in there. How much more of this could she take? Maggie went to the kitchen, depressed to feel so helpless. Anchu, the Punchinello, was waiting and Esther came in soon after.

The two girls prepared an even thicker soup than usual to make up for not eating yesterday. Esther was uncharacteristically quiet that morning, but there wasn’t time to ask why. The kitchen scraps were starting to shrivel and grow mouldy in the May heat and they had to throw a large part of them away. Maggie wasn’t sure if they’d last out the week, but it made more sense to her to eat well now and worry about tomorrow later.

Over the past couple of days she’d noticed that whenever Esther was tense or nervous, she cracked her knuckles. That was happening a lot this morning.

As soon as Anchu, the guard, took the large plate of sausages to the Punchinello cabin, Maggie quickly put into action the brainwave that had come to her last night. Taking handfuls of parsnip peelings, she fried them in the sausage fat till they were crisp and sprinkled them on top of the soup.

“Is that fancy or what?” she declared with pride. “Came to me in a flash it did. It’ll be dead tasty.”

Esther was too distracted to say anything. She was always wary of saying much in front of the guard. But, when they were on their own, Maggie could make her laugh and get her chatting about herself. She was the youngest of three, from a family that had been very close and loving. Maggie liked to think she was making this place a little less frightening for her when she asked about things that were familiar and comforting – about the happy times before the book.

“What’s up with you today?” she asked. “Not feeling well? You’ll be fine with this soup inside you.”

Esther could barely look at her.

“OK,” Maggie said. “There’s an elephant in the room and it’s waving a neon sign with my name on. If you’ve got a problem with me, spill.”

The thirteen-year-old cracked her knuckles again. “It’s just what everyone’s saying.”

“About me?”

Esther nodded. “They say you dobbed Jody in to the old man. That he gives you extra food when no one’s looking.”

Maggie leaned against the table. “They really think that?” she asked, appalled. “How can they? I’d never dream of… and you’re with me all ruddy day. When am I supposed to get this extra food?”

Esther shrugged. “Sometimes you go off, by yourself.”

“That was to see to Jody’s back! I can’t believe you’re taking this rubbish seriously!”

“They say you’re an informer. You do ask a lot of questions about everyone.”

“Only cos I’m interested in them! Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not having this!”

She strode into the dining hall where the other children had already sat down, impatient and ravenous for their breakfasts.

Maggie looked at each one. Few of them could meet her eyes. So it was true, they had been saying these things. It knocked her sideways, but she wasn’t going to let any of them know it.

“I got something to say,” she began in a no-nonsense, angry voice. “And you’re going to bloody well listen to it if you want to eat this morning. Cos I’ll pour the whole sodding lot down the sink if you don’t.”

They shifted and squirmed in their seats.

“So who here thinks I grassed up Jody?” she demanded bluntly.

Alasdair raised his good hand. Nicholas and Drew from his cabin did the same. Then three of the girls in Esther’s dorm followed suit. Most of the others stared at the table. Finally Christina’s hand went up.

Maggie couldn’t believe it and her round cheeks blazed. But, before she could lay into them, Marcus jumped from his chair.

“You’re round the bend, the lot of you!” he cried. “If she’s a spy for the Jaxers then I’m Kermit the Frog’s jockstrap! This place is driving you nuts. Don’t take it out on her!”

“Sit down,” Maggie told him. “I don’t need you to speak for me.”

She waited till he resumed his seat then said to them, “I was going to say how wrong you are and deny it, but… it’s not worth it.
You’re
not worth it. If that’s what you think of me then stuff you. I’ve spent years being laughed at and called names for how I look. Do you think I’m going to start caring now if you call me some different ones? Hate is hate and ignorance smells the same whatever label you use. You want to call me a spy, informer –you go ahead. How about collaborator? That’s a good one. Yeah, shout that at me next time. But you know what, I’ll be the one having the last laugh. While you’re out there, slaving away in the sun or in the rain or in the snow, if you even make it till the winter, I’ll be here having it easy and when you get sick cos you’re starving, I’ll still be standing cos I’ve got enough padding on me to outlive every one of you. When you’re dead and buried, I’ll still be here and doing a salsa on your graves – if you get any!”

With that, she stormed back into the kitchen. Marcus glared in disgust at those who had raised their hands. Charm left her seat and strode after her. Lee sucked his teeth and shook his head at Alasdair.

“Not cool,” he uttered.

Charm found Maggie sitting at the table where they had fended off the Doggy-Long-Legs, her head in her hands. Esther was standing by the cooker, looking awkward and slightly ashamed.

“Go feed them toxic scumbags in there,” Charm instructed the thirteen-year-old. “Might shut ’em up for five minutes. Hope it blisters their tongues – shame it won’t choke ’em!”

She turned to Maggie and put her arms round her.

“Don’t,” Maggie said, her voice thick with emotion.

“Then don’t you dare cry,” Charm ordered. “Cos you’ll set me off and me mascara will run. What I brought wiv me ain’t gonna last forever and I don’t wanna waste it.”

“How could they?” Maggie uttered.

Charm squeezed her shoulders. “It’s cos you’re diff’rent,” she said. “You’re an easy target.”

“A big fat one you mean.”

“No, you fick mare. You an’ me got loads in common.”

“Me and you? But you’re stunning.”

“Like that matters in here!” Charm cried, too honest to bother with false modesty. “I’ll let you into a secret…”

“Don’t do that. I’m the camp narc, remember – and don’t give me that balls about being beautiful on the inside, cos I’m not. If there were ten Wispas on this table, I’d eat all of them.”

“Shut your neck and lemme get a word in edgeways. What I were gonna say was when you first got here, I was ragin’ jealous, couldn’t believe my crappy luck.”

“Eh?”

“You was me only competition. I thought you was gonna rob airtime off me, didn’t I! Oh, them reality shows would just love you. You’re made for telly. You was brilliant, funny, in-your-face and a real lens-hogger. To make it worse, you was nice! I could’ve clawed your eyes out, you cow!”

She examined her fingernails morosely. “Not that I got claws no more.”

“Is that really what you thought?” Maggie asked.

“Too right! Had it sewn up here before you came to stick your neb in. Scared me rotten you did.”

“I just wanted to make friends with everyone.”

Charm shook her head. “Me ma always says… hang on, how do it go? You can fill your life wiv quaint nancies but you’ll only ever have a handful of proper mates.”

“I think you mean ‘acquaintances’.”

“Yeah, summink like that. Fing is, it’s a waste of time trying to make everyone like you. I should know – you don’t make no mates in the modellin’ game. It’s smiles to your face and knives at your back. Some evil cats out there.”

“Was the modelling thing really so bad?”

“Bad? It were bloody fantastic!”

They both laughed. Then Maggie felt dreadful for finding anything funny.

“This’ll be Jody’s second day without any water,” she said. “She’s going to die in that stifling cupboard. Honest to God, I never told Jangler nothing.”

“I didn’t fink you did.”

“But one of the guards might’ve heard me telling someone else about that phone. So it is my fault. I can’t live with that – if she dies cos of me. I’m all knotted up inside. When I think of it, I can’t get my breath.”

“There’s nofink you can do.”

Maggie had already made up her mind. “Yes, there is,” she said decisively. “Tonight, when it’s dark and the camp’s gone quiet, I’m going to sneak out and take her water.”

Charm gripped her arm. “They’ll catch you!” she hissed. “Then
you’ll
get whipped and thrown in there – if they don’t just kill you on the spot!”

“I don’t care,” Maggie said. “I’m doing it and no one’s going to stop me.”

“Please, Miss,” a squeaky voice sounded suddenly from the doorway. “I want some more.”

It was Marcus, doing a terrible Oliver Twist impression, although he actually thought he was being the Artful Dodger.

“There’s more in the pan,” Maggie told him. “We’ve not had any yet.”

“I’ll have it here with you if you don’t mind,” he said. “I’m fussy about who I eat with.”

“Sure… and listen – thanks for what you said in there. It was appreciated, even if it didn’t sound like it.”

“No worries. They’re well out of order. Next time one of them flops down outside, I’m not lugging them back. One of the guards can drag them by the hair.”

“It was Christina what got to me,” Maggie said dismally.

Marcus lowered his voice. “I heard what you two were talking about just now,” he whispered. “Charm’s right – those guard monsters’ll kill you. They’re spear-happy.”

“Don’t you say nothing to no one!” Maggie warned him. “And don’t try talking me out of it.”

“Wasn’t going to. But what you need is a diversion, something to keep the guards busy – well away from that cupboard.”

“Like what?”

Marcus lifted his bowl and drained the last of his breakfast.

“Finish yours quick and I’ll show you,” he told her, being mysterious.

A few minutes later, he was leading Maggie up the stairs in his cabin. Charm had been left reluctantly on watch outside.

“Got to say,” he said, “I’ve been a total dick about that night, you know – when we were all spiked. I shouldn’t have blanked you after. That was cold – and low.”

“Forget it.”

“Well, I’m saying sorry now. Thanks for not telling everyone – about what we did. That’s how I know you’re not a snitch.”

Maggie halted.

“You thought I did that for your benefit?” she blurted. “I did that for me! Soon as I knew what a knob you were, I didn’t want anyone knowing how stupid I’d been. That’s the last thing I want people to know. I might be big but I’ve got my pride. You’re a jerk, Marcus! No one will ever fancy you more than you do yourself.”

The boy winced.

“Well… it’s good we’ve cleared that up then,” he mumbled in embarrassment.

“More than you have in here – it’s filthy. Look at the state of it.”

“That’s Lee, he’s a pig. Traipses mud in and leaves it. Too cool to clean; well, I’m not doing it for him.”

“So where’s this diversion?”

He led her on to the mezzanine, towards the far end.

“Ugh,” she said, covering her nose. “What’s that sickly smell? Do all lads’ rooms pong like this?”

“It’s not usually this bad,” he explained. “What you’re experiencing is diversion by product – come see.”

“You’re not making sense. Is it something to do with stink bombs? You serious?”

“Hush,” he said, moving his bag from in front of the bedside cupboard. “He might be asleep.”

“He?”

Marcus opened the small door, slowly. Maggie bent down to peer in then reared back in shock.

Inside, trussed up tightly with trainer laces, very much awake and frighteningly alert, the black eyes almost popping out of its head and jaws snapping at the air, was a Doggy-Long-Legs.

“I
CALL HIM
Gnasher,” Marcus said, beaming proudly like a new father. “Cos he reminds me of that dog in the
Beano
.”

“Shut the door!” Maggie squealed.

The boy chuckled at her panic. “Chillax. It’s safe. It can’t get out. It can’t do anything tied up like that. Well, apart from make that smell. I’ve not had a chance to clean it out in there yet.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“He tried to eat my face off the other day – ha! I thought I’d killed it but it was only stunned. I broke three of its legs though and I don’t think it’s as smart as it was, so it’s not factory fresh any more.”

“Oh, poor thing… NOT! And you’ve been hiding it in there since? That’s why you were so worried when they were searching for the phone and that’s what the minchets were for – you’ve been feeding it. You’re mental!”

“No, I’m a flaming genius – and this is why…”

Once Maggie heard his plan, the day couldn’t pass quickly enough. The morning dawdled by and the sun beat down. By the afternoon it was sweltering and the sticky heat lingered into the evening. Jody hadn’t made any sound since midday. There was no feeble hitting of the door, no more stilted singing. Maggie fretted they would be too late. When the work parties returned, she joined Marcus and Charm and put the first phase into action.

They had both smuggled plenty of minchet back in their pockets. Dropping one on the ground, just by the step of Marcus’s cabin, they took it in turns to discreetly drag it with their feet over the grass.

Standing in the doorway, Lee wondered what was going on. Since when were those three such bosom buds? What did they have to talk about
as they wandered about the camp? His eyes lingered on Charm and he wished he could speak to her, but he couldn’t get his last visit to the world of Mooncaster out of his head. Maybe tomorrow he’d try, although how he’d explain his recent unpleasant behaviour towards her was something he’d have to sleep on.

To anyone else observing the three of them, it was the same. They looked like they were simply chatting and wandering aimlessly over the lawn. No one could have guessed they were zigzagging a trail of minchet juice and pulp as far from the main block as possible. When there was nothing left of the first sloppy fruit, they surreptitiously dropped another and continued on their seemingly random way. Not even the Punchinellos suspected they were up to something – Charm and Marcus and the other children reeked of minchet anyway. The guards’ sensitive nostrils detected nothing out of the ordinary.

Jangler had brought his armchair outside and was sitting in the shade, a battery-operated fan in his hand, trained on his face. Captain Swazzle had presented him with a piece of paper and the old man was reading the scrawled writing with increasing annoyance.

“You’re jesting of course,” he said gruffly. “I’m afraid I don’t see the humour in this.”

“No jokey,” Swazzle insisted. “Garrugaska not happy – him full woe since nose got bit. He want.”

“That ludicrous cowboy hat he’s been wearing today has overcooked his brain. These requests are absurd. I’m not sanctioning them. I’ve already made one concession. I shan’t make any more.”

“Must!” the Captain growled.

“Moderate your tone when you speak to me, Swazzle! You forget who I am. I’m not one of the prisoners.”

The Captain bowed slightly in deference. “Garrugaska need,” he wheedled. “Him no good guard unless him get.”

Jangler tugged irritably at his small beard. “But the livery of the Punchinellos in the White Castle hasn’t changed for hundreds of years,”
he objected. “There is a wealth of tradition and pageantry to be upheld and respected.”

“This no castle,” the Captain reminded him a second time. “This dream. Is different.”

Jangler sat forward and flicked the paper with exasperation. “Oh, very well,” he agreed. “I’ll contact the seamstresses, but not about this last item. I absolutely refuse to authorise that. It’s too, too much.”

“Garrugaska need all,” Swazzle said flatly.

Jangler could see the Captain would not let this go. He brought the fan closer to his face. It was so horribly hot and uncomfortable today. He didn’t have the energy to argue it out and risk an attack of prickly heat.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he uttered wearily

The Captain bowed again, then waddled away, snickering.

Jangler considered the badly spelled list once more and went to his cabin to make a phone call. “Utterly asinine,” he muttered to himself. “I would never permit this in the castle.”

By this time, Marcus and the two girls had reached the far left side of the camp. They scattered what was left of the minchet from their pockets about the ground close to the fence.

“This better work,” Maggie said.

“Course it will,” Marcus said confidently. “Them spider things can’t get enough of the stuff. You should see Gnasher bolt it down.”

“OK, if you’re sure. I’d better go back to the kitchen and start serving the dinners. Esther prob’ly thinks I’m eating my own bodyweight in crisps and cake in secret someplace right now. You know what you’re doing?”

“It was my plan!” he reminded her.

“Yes, course. OK, till half ten then.”

“Look, if you’re scared, I’ll do it.”

“Or I will,” Charm offered.

Maggie shook her head. “No, it’s got to be me. It’s my fault Jody’s in there. Oh, God, she could be dead already for all we know. I’ve drunk pints of water today in this heat. What’s it been like for her in that sweatbox?”

“Don’t fink about it,” Charm told her. “Just stick to what we said, yeah?”

Maggie nodded anxiously and headed back to the main block. When she was out of earshot, Charm turned to Marcus.

“You really fink there’s a cat in hell’s chance of this working?” she asked. “Or was you talkin’ a load o’ nads?”

The boy honestly didn’t know. “If no one tries though,” he said, “Velma’s definitely going to kark it.”

“And if Maggie’s caught, she’ll go the same way.”

“We’ll find out in a few hours. Now I’m going to wash this stinking muck off, douse myself in aftershave and body spray and annoy that Yikker swine for a bit. I need to really get up his nose.”

The evening crawled by for the three of them. Charm’s part in the plan was over but, after lights out, she paced round her cabin, biting what remained of her fingernails.

The hours ticked slowly. Maggie filled them by doing some of her laundry and hanging her washing on the banister. But she kept the bucket she had used close by her bed, half filled with water.

Darkness covered the camp. When it got to ten o’clock, Marcus had to let Spencer and Lee into what was going on. It was impossible to keep it from them any longer.

“You is crazy!” Lee yelled, hurling a pillow at him. “They’s both gonna get killed! You end this right now, before it starts!”

Marcus refused. “It’s the only chance there is of keeping that girl alive out there!” he hissed back. “So keep the volume down. I don’t want the guards looking in this direction.”

“You is a dangerous mentalist!” Lee fumed. “I am not a part of this!”

“You never are. It’s just you here, isn’t it? You never get involved, never help no one. Alasdair’s right about one thing – you’ve given up inside.”

“Go to hell.”

“Already wearing the T-shirt and matching novelty boxers, thanks.”

Spencer was lying in bed, his thoughts thousands of miles away in an imaginary Western town. Since the confiscation of his hat he hadn’t said much to anyone. He stirred and scratched his head as he considered Marcus’s scheme.

“I think it’s brill,” he said at length.

“Herr Spenzer!” Marcus whispered, giving him a friendly punch on the arm. “Glad to hear it. Come give me a hand with Gnasher then.”

The younger boy hesitated before following him to the mezzanine.

“It won’t bite,” Marcus promised, before adding, “so long as you keep your hands away from its mouth!”

Switching on a small torch, he opened the door of the bedside cupboard and the Doggy-Long-Legs growled at them.

“Quiet, you!” Marcus told it. “You’re getting out of here – you lucky dawg. But first, you’re getting a smellover, that’s like a makeover but without the lippy and Jimmy Choos.”

Reaching in carefully, he hauled it out by the eight tied legs and, to Spencer’s surprise and dismay, handed it over.

“Take him for a minute,” he said.

“Why?” Spencer squeaked, holding it at arm’s length, in fright and revulsion.

“Cos I need my hands free to be creative. This is a job for the maestro.”

Marcus rummaged through his toiletry bag and case and brought out his shower gel, aftershave, shampoo, athlete’s foot powder, moisturiser, body spray, talc and deodorants. Then, with the lofty, inspired air of a fine artist, he commenced spraying, dusting and squeezing the contents over the creature’s coarse black fur.

The Doggy-Long-Legs twisted and wriggled, trying to break loose. It bit at the pungent, squirting mists, then coughed and retched.

Lee covered his nose. “That’s worse than its own stink,” he said.

When Marcus was satisfied, he took the beast from Spencer, switched off the torch and went downstairs to the entrance. There he waited and
stared out at the camp. All was quiet and the night shadows were deep. So much the better. It was half past ten exactly.

Marcus had been studying the guards. Only one Punchinello patrolled the fence at night, while a second surveyed the camp from the tower. The others remained in their cabin, watching television or speaking loudly in their own rough language. The patrol was always clockwise and always took the same amount of time to complete one circuit.

The boy waited until the one on foot came into view. Yes, there he was, swaggering past the gates, headed towards the far right-hand corner. He grinned when he recognised it as Yikker.

“Perfecto!”

Marcus glanced up at the skelter tower. The Punchinello with the bandaged nose was on duty there again. Still wearing Spencer’s Stetson, Garrugaska was engrossed in his media player, watching more Westerns.

“Result,” Marcus breathed gladly. “That’ll make it miles easier.”

He lowered his eyes again, just in time to see Yikker turn ninety degrees and begin striding towards the rear of the camp. Soon he was out of sight, behind the main block.

This was it.

Sure enough a large figure, carrying a bucket, hurried in front of his cabin. Maggie was on her way.

“Good luck,” he murmured, crossing his fingers. “You’ve got seven minutes – starting now.”

“She’s brave,” Spencer muttered in admiration behind him. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed with an affectionate smile. “Not bad for a fat bird.”

Her heart in her mouth, Maggie hastened to the main building. Luckily everyone in her dorm, even Christina, was sound asleep so she had slipped out with no awkward questions asked.

Pressed against the wall, she sidled along, with a clear view of the back fence in the distance. Swallowing nervously, she saw the guard go by. Then
she crept a little closer to the corner of the block. Once there, she waited and leaned out cautiously. It was so dark she could barely see Yikker all the way over there, heading for the far left-hand side of the fence. If it hadn’t been for the yellow costume, the guard would have blended into the gloom completely. She held her breath then saw him turn towards the front again and presently he disappeared beyond Jangler’s hut at the end.

At once Maggie ran around the back of the building, to the door of the tool cupboard and put her ear to the wood.

“Jody!” she whispered urgently. “Jody – it’s me, Maggie. Can you hear me? You awake?”

There was a long, deathly silence. Maggie tapped at the door as quietly as she could.

“Jody,” she tried again. “Jody?”

To her immense relief, she heard the faintest of groans inside.

“Where…?” a pitifully frail, parched voice asked groggily. “Who?”

“It’s Maggie,” she repeated. “I’ve…”

“Let me out!” the voice begged. “Let me out!”

“
Shhh!
” Maggie hissed. “I’m not supposed to be here. I brought some water for you. Look up.”

Throughout the day she had rattled her brains, trying to work out how to get a drink through that locked door. It was only when she had taken a not so casual walk around the camp in the afternoon that she had spotted it wasn’t a perfect fit along the top edge of the frame. There was a gap; it wasn’t much, but it would be enough.

As well as water, the bucket she carried contained Charm’s large sponge, now torn into four smaller pieces. Maggie reached in and made sure they were fully saturated. Then she pushed one carefully into the hole.

“Incoming!” she whispered. The sopping sponge dropped down inside. She heard Jody scramble for it in the darkness then press it to her lips feverishly and leech it dry. Maggie did the same with two more.

“Bless you!” Jody cried gratefully on the other side. “Bless you. You’re an angel.”

“One more,” Maggie said softly. “Then I’ve got to go.”

“No,” Jody implored her. “I’ll push these back out. More – give me more!”

Maggie looked over her shoulder. Yikker would be approaching the gates again any time now. His sensitive nose would smell her if he got closer. It was time for Marcus to start the diversion so she could get back to her cabin safely.

“I can’t stay,” she whispered apologetically as she eased the last sponge in. “I’ve got to get back.”

Three almost bone dry sponges came poking through the gap.

“Please!” Jody begged her. “Please! I’m dying – it’s killing me… so, so thirsty.”

Maggie closed her eyes and nodded. “OK,” she said, dunking the sponges back in the bucket.

At that moment, the sound of Yikker’s sudden squawking filled the night. The diversion had commenced.

Marcus had given her the seven minutes. That was the average length of time it took the guards to walk a quarter of the way round the camp. When that was up, he opened the cabin door slowly and placed Gnasher on the step.

“Here you go, fella,” he said, taking the scissors from his pocket. “Smell that lovely minchet. You must be starved not eating all day.”