“Yeah, oh yeah. I followed you from the train station. Got lucky that day. I was on my way to— Well, never mind that.” He grins and winks. “But I spotted you and I spotted the Hunter. She hadn’t seen you but she would have, and quickly too, if I hadn’t distracted her and given you time to get away. Mind you, you left a trail a mile wide. A child could have followed that trail. I had my work cut out tidying up after you. But we lost the Hunter and I followed you through the forest.
“I stayed close behind you but when I had a nap you wandered off. I found you in a village shop. You were trying to read the newspaper, trying to work out what day it was. It was painful to watch, mate. It was two days before your birthday. You really don’t remember any of that?”
I shake my head.
“Well, I got you back to the forest, still checking whether you were being followed, which I thought was a dead cert after the shop. To be honest, mate, I thought there wasn’t much hope for you—I guess you had a Hunter bullet in you?”
I nod.
“Yep, well, I went to tidy up your trail—again—and when I got back it looked like you’d had a go at a bit of surgery on yourself, blood and yellow gunk everywhere, and . . . you looked pretty dead to me. Your skin was gray—gray and cold, mate—and your eyes were half open too, just blank, dead-looking.”
“Do you have my knife? The knife I cut myself with?”
He looks around and up as if in thought. “No.”
“But you took it from me.”
“No, I took a knife from beside a body, which I thought was a dead body, on account of it looking very dead and with eyes half open and dead-looking.”
“I want the knife back.”
“I’m sure you do. But I don’t have it anymore. Sorry, mate.”
“Does your boss have it?”
He shrugs and smiles.
Rose died getting that knife and Gabriel’s probably dead because of it, and Nesbitt just shrugs and smirks. So I kick at him, high on the chest. He’s strong but I’ve surprised him and all my weight is on his chest now and I’m pushing the point of the knife into his throat. A new trickle of blood runs down his neck. “Does your boss have it?”
“Yes.”
“Who is your boss?”
“Take the knife away and I’ll tell you.”
I push the knife further in. “Tell me.” Blood is running freely now. He’s healing but not fast enough.
“You make a convincing argument, kid. Me boss is Victoria van Dal.”
I get the feeling he wanted to tell me anyway, to impress me.
“Victoria van Dal?” I’ve never heard of her. I guess she’s a Black Witch if her friend was helping me escape from Hunters. I take the knife from Nesbitt’s neck and wipe it clean on his jacket. I say, “I’ve heard her name. She’s a White Witch, isn’t she?”
“A White? Van? Kid, come on. Crikey, you’ve got the wrong woman there. She’s a Black Witch. Black through and through. Great admirer of your father. And greatly admired by all Black Witches herself.”
“So let’s get back to the original question. Why did she send you here?”
He hesitates.
“I can still cut your tongue out.”
“I’m not sure you’re a cutting-tongues-out kinda guy.”
“I admit I haven’t done it before but I am an open-to-new-experiences kinda guy, a willing-to-have-a-go kinda guy, a what-the-heck-it’s-only-Nesbitt’s-tongue kinda guy.”
And, although I’m sort of joking, I see Nesbitt’s face lose its jokiness.
“I’ve come to pick something up. Some letters.”
I stand up and he starts to rise but I push him back down with my foot.
He says, “I’m guessing that you’ve got them.” Then he holds his arms out wide and says, “Which is OK. Which is fine. All I’ll ask is that you give them to me so that I can give them to Van.”
“And, supposing I did have these letters, why would I give them to you?”
“Well, Van’ll be horrible if you don’t. Horrible to me, mate. Which I’m sure is a concern to you even though you’re hiding it well.” He relaxes back on the ground and looks up at me. “She’ll be horrible to me and she’ll be horrible to your friend too.”
“What friend?” I push harder with my foot.
“Well, I’m assuming he’s your friend,” he says. “The good-looking bloke with the hair. French. Has a girl’s name.”
I stare but see nothing. I feel sick with fear and excitement and daren’t believe it.
“Gabriel,” he says, emphasizing the “elle.”
“He’s alive?”
Nesbitt grins and nods. “You gonna let me up so I can tell you?”
And I feel like all this has been a bit of fun for Nesbitt. It’s his idea of a game.
Kieran and Partner
We sit by his fire and Nesbitt makes a fresh pot of coffee and lays out his food for me: bread, cheese, tomatoes, crisps, an apple, and chocolate. I stare at it and lick my lips. I could eat it all in half a minute but I’m not sure I can trust him so I don’t touch any of it.
“You look half starved, mate. Tuck in.”
I don’t answer and don’t move.
He takes the baguette, rips the end off, and bites into it, chews, swallows, and hands the rest of the loaf to me, saying, “It’s not that fresh but it’s the best I’ve got.”
I eat the food as slowly as I can. Nesbitt drinks his coffee and watches me.
I ask him, “Why do you keep staring at me?”