My Brother

“Me now, Ameera,” I panted — my first words since we had left the cellar. “Let me get past and open the door.”

Unlocked. Thank God for that. Dixie and Pudd’n had expected no surprises coming from outside. We slipped through as quietly as we could, and were suddenly together in the cool, moonlit midnight .

Ameera and I had made no plans past that point. In the gloom of the cellar it had seemed to need a miracle to take us this far. But now we needed another one to help us to the railway station.

This time I was the leader. We scurried around the big house, panting and frantic, our feet cut by the sharp stones and gravel. Surely the gang would have rented a car to get to and from the station? I couldn’t see Dixie doing much walking.

“Is there, Lee-yo-nel?” gasped Ameera. It was doubly hard for her, not able to look for the ways we might get away.

“Here, on this side of the house.” I led her to the shiny Toyota and opened the driver’s door.

Useless. There was no ignition key, and although Leo might have been up to hot-wiring the engine I knew it was beyond me. I left the door open and ran on farther around the house, guiding Ameera to run along the softer grass.

The second car was old and battered, a relic of the eighties, and it looked as though it would never see thirty miles an hour again. But to me it looked better than a Rolls — the key was sitting in the ignition, and the car was already pointing in the correct direction, towards Cuttack .

“Here. Inside.” I helped Ameera through the door and she lay down on the back seat. “If I am not back in a couple of minutes, don’t stay here. Get out and go, anywhere away from the house. Wait for daylight. When you meet people, show them your railway ticket and ask to be taken to the station.”

“Lee-yo-nel! Where are you going?”

“The other car is much faster — they will catch us easily. I must fix it so they ca

“Lee-yo-nel!” Her cry was low-pitched, and she kept her head low on the seat.

I dashed back towards the other car, looking around me in the moonlight for something to put it out of action. The only thing remotely useful was a garden fork that stood upright against the wall. I felt the tines. With my weight behind it there was a pretty good chance it would slice through a tire.

The windows to my left suddenly came alight. That had been much too quick — either the fuse box was close to the cellar where we had been imprisoned, or there was an auxiliary circuit for some of the ground floor lights. I lined up the fork with the right front tire and leaned hard into it.

I had done my best, but I was too slow and too out of shape. While I was just getting started, the side door of the house opened and Dixie came ru

Dixie was moving fast and crouching forward. His lower lip was drawn down to show his bottom teeth, and I could hear his strained breathing even when he was ten yards away. No matter what Zan’s instructions might have been, Dixie was holding the knife as though injury to me was more important than capture.

The garden fork was getting nowhere — it’s not easy to pierce a rubber tire. As Dixie ran in at me I leaned back against the body of the car. My left hand raised the fork, and I sent it with one vicious underarm thrust up into his chest. It seemed like the instinctive action of a trained killer.

I saw the tines go in just below the line of his collarbone. They missed the ribs and drove deep into his chest cavity. He gasped and staggered backwards, but long before he reached the ground I had turned and was ru

Too late.

Before I had taken five steps I heard the grating whine of an old starter motor. The engine of the car ahead misfired a couple of times, then caught and revved up hard. There was a horrible grinding of gears.

Had Ameera somehow started the car, ready for me? I knew that was a ridiculous idea, but it was the only thing I could think of.

The lights of the car came on. I could see the shape of a woman in the driver’s seat — but it was not Ameera. It was Zan. There was another moan of gears, then the car jerked into motion and was off along the drive. I ran after it. The back door handle was close to my hand. Four more steps would have done it, but Zan found second gear and the car accelerated away from me, helped by the long hill that led down towards Cuttack .

And was that Ameera, sitting up in the back seat? I could not be sure. But surely she would do something, interfere with the driver to let me catch up with them…

The car was a black, noisy dot on the road. I groaned and turned back towards the Toyota . Dixie was leaning against it now, watching the other car vanish into the darkness. Somehow he had managed to stand up, the fork still buried deep in his chest. He was bracing both hands above the tines, trying to ease them free. A trickle of dark blood had run from each round hole and made a long stain down his shirt. Still he worked at the tines, delicately and single-mindedly.

I felt sick at the sight. But Dixie might have the keys to the Toyota , and that car was my only hope. As I approached him he stood upright, away from the car, and bent forward in an amazing effort to reach for his knife. It was lying on the ground a few feet in front of him. He leaned down, grunted, and toppled sideways into a thick bush. The fork still impaled his chest.

” Dixie .” I leaned over him. There was no time for caution. “I’ll try not to hurt you worse, but I’m going to search you. Where are the car keys?”

The bush he lay in was like a sweet-smelling viburnum. The heavy, snowball-shaped blossoms obscured his legs and trunk but left his face gri

I knelt by him, the sap and nectar of crushed blossoms damp on my pants. “Where are the keys, Dixie ? I’ll get help for you as soon as I reach Cuttack .”

He did not speak. As I watched, his hands came up again to the fork and began to push the tines, easing them away from his body.

I tried again. ” Dixie , if the pain’s too bad to talk, try and nod your head. Do you hear me? Car keys — I have to have them.”

He glared up at me in hatred. “Not pain. Got implant. Bloody bastard.” The grunted words were barely intelligible.

I was lifting and turning him as gently as I could while I patted the pockets of his coat and trousers. His only sounds were grunts of rage, and he made weak efforts to interfere with my actions. Impatience made my fingers clumsy, and I fumbled and fumed in the darkness, my nostrils full of the scent of blood and flower blossom.

The bunch of keys was in a little leather pouch in his left-hand coat pocket. As I took them out he made a mighty effort to sit up and grabbed for my hand.

“Bloody fool. Bloody fool.” A film of blood made his neck and chin look black in the dim light. “T-Tippy — Tippy got. Worst of any. Serve you right. Bastard. Serve you right. T — T—”

Tippy. T.P.? — Leo’s bogeyman? There was no time to waste — at any moment Pudd’n could appear from inside the house. But I had to know what he was saying about Tippy.

“What about Tippy? What do you mean, Tippy got?”

He was lying back again, eyes like black pools. I shook him. ” Dixie . What about Tippy?”

He smiled again, a death’s-head mask of triumph. “Real treat for Tippy — bloody fool, you. Serve you right.” The old eyes were glazing, filming into darkness. He seemed quite immune to pain, supported by his hatred.