Lucy staggered to a halt.
Main gate.
She turned and sprinted down the path... Slowed. Then came to a standstill. Lungs burning, back heaving, ribs complaining, breath rising like smoke into the downpour.
The main gate was clogged with bodies, too.
They advanced, completely silent. And when she turned, the other lot were doing the same. Fanning out until they formed a big circle around her, closing in with the security lights blazing away behind them. Tightening their ranks. Their silhouettes bristling with makeshift weaponry. Seventy-eight children, thirty-two adults, all staring at her as if she were some sort of science experiment that hadn’t quite worked.
She turned on the spot.
They were everywhere. Just standing there in complete silence.
Then two of them stepped to the side, and Argyll strode into the circle.
He stopped a dozen feet from Lucy. ‘Thank you, alclass="underline" good job.’ Cricking his head from side to side, limbering up. ‘Everyone not in Raxton House, I need you to keep searching — there’s another one, like her, somewhere on the school grounds. I — want — him — caught. Off you go.’
The teachers, support staff, and most of the kids slipped away into the buildings and out through the gates, leaving a dozen children behind. Some were clearly seniors, the others a mix of ages all the way down to the two first-years: Allegra and Hugo. They spread out, re-forming the circle.
Argyll held both hands in the air, the knife’s blade a dull glint in the spotlights. ‘I’m sorry it had to come to this, Lucy, but I’m afraid I have to make an example of you.’
Yes, she could charge the circle, batter through one of the smaller kids and run for it, but that would mean turning her back on Argyll and his knife, and there was no way in hell she was risking that.
He circled left, half crouched, keeping both eyes firmly fixed on Lucy as he hauled in a deep breath. ‘FIDES!’
The circle of children belted out a reply: ‘FAITH!’
‘SILENTIUM!’
‘SILENCE!’
‘POTENTIA!’
‘POWER!’
Argyll attacked, the knife slashing through the air — so dark it was nearly invisible.
48
Lucy staggered backwards as the blade sizzled past, barely an inch from her face — but it hit one of the backpack’s straps and sliced straight through it. Jesus, that was sharp. The return stroke caught her across the upper arm, before she could get her feet under her. Pain sparked like a firework, all the way from shoulder to elbow. ‘Son of a bitch!’
Argyll kept circling. ‘Dean-Edwards: what does Sun Tzu teach us about knowledge and the enemy?’
Allegra took a single step forward. ‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles!’
Lucy swung the backpack at his head again, but he dodged it, then lunged forward, the knife searing across her shoulder — sending the backpack sailing free to crunch into the sodden grass. ‘AAAAARGH!’
‘Know the enemy! Very good.’
A dozen children glared at her.
‘Ooh...’ The Bloodsmith sucked on his teeth. ‘Not looking good, is it?’
She squeezed her burning shoulder with her good hand, the palm already slick with blood. ‘YOU’RE ALL UNDER ARREST!’
‘Nice try, Kiddo, but I get the feeling that isn’t going to work.’
Argyll feinted left, then right again. ‘To truly know your enemy, you must know what they fear most.’
Lucy scrambled away from the blade. ‘I’M A POLICE OFFICER, AND I’M ORDERING YOU TO PUT THE KNIFE DOWN!’
‘Come on, the man’s a trained killer. You’re going to die if you don’t do something.’
Argyll lunged again, but this time she got her arm up in time to block his wrist, keeping the blade away, but it left her side exposed and his knife-free fist slammed into her bruised ribs.
All the air whoomphed from her lungs and Lucy staggered.
He danced back. ‘So we must ask ourselves, what does Detective Sergeant McVeigh fear?’
Lucy dropped into the defensive pose they taught at Officer Safety Training: one leg forward, both knees bent, elbows in, hands up, palms out, ready to—
He dropped into a squat and swept her legs out from under her, sending her crashing into the wet grass. She clambered upright, but he’d skipped out of reach again, bouncing away as if he was standing on a tiny trampoline.
The bastard was playing with her.
‘DS McVeigh here was held prisoner by a rapist. I know because how, Farquharson Junior?’
The knife flashed — her left shoulder exploded in shards of broken glass. ‘AAAAAAARGH! You utter—’
His fist battered into the side of her head and the soggy grass rushed up to greet her again.
‘Google, sir?’
‘“Google, sir”! Your first weapon in any war is knowledge; I googled her. So what do we think Detective Sergeant McVeigh fears the most?’
She struggled to her knees, both arms barely working.
The Bloodsmith knelt beside her. ‘I believe in you, Lucy, and not just because I’m a figment of your imagination. I believe in you because I know who you really are. And I need you to believe in you, too.’
‘Come on, children: she was held prisoner by a rapist, what — does — she — fear?’
That big pre-teen buffoon, Hugo, put his hand up. ‘Rape?’
Oh Jesus...
‘Listen to me, Kiddo.’ The Bloodsmith brushed the rain-soaked hair from her eyes. ‘You need to embrace the real you. Not just the good you — the careful one who always does the right thing — you need to love the other one too. The Monster.’ He cupped her face in his hands, staring into her eyes. ‘Because you’re not the same monster you were when you were little — you’re a whole new monster. You’ve got power, remember?’
‘Correct.’ Argyll raised his foot and placed it against her chest, shoving her onto her back. ‘And what our enemy fears will bring them to their knees!’
‘And if you don’t use that power, he’s going to slice you open like a frog in science class and this bunch of little weirdos are going to cheer as he hauls out your innards.’ The Bloodsmith patted her on the blood-smeared shoulder. ‘Dig deep, Kiddo.’
Argyll stooped over Lucy, grabbed her overcoat and tore it open, sending buttons flying.
‘GET OFF ME!’ Scrabbling in her coat’s pocket.
‘You see, children? See what fear can—’
‘GRAAAAAAAGH!’ Lucy swung the rape alarm like an ice pick, stabbing it into his ear and pulling the pin with her thumb.
DI Tudor had only been partially right about it being mono-directional. A barrage of high-pitched wailing screeched out, hard and sharp enough to make Lucy flinch back into the wet grass. And she was only getting a fraction of its full volume.
Argyll screamed. Tumbling away, one hand clamped to his ruined ear as blood oozed through his fingers. That was what a hundred and fifty decibels got you.
‘Now would be the time, Kiddo.’
Lucy leaped on his back, her weight forcing him into the ground. Fingers clenched around the rape alarm like a knuckle duster as she slammed her fist into his face. Again and again and again. Getting stronger with every punch. Bellowing a scream of fury as the blows rained down.