Kill Baxter (37 page)

I have the day to myself before we reconvene at the MK6 headquarters beneath Robben Island for a debriefing. Whatever that means. My body is aching and I just want to lie in, but I have several people I want to see. Starting with Esmé.

I’m walking down to the taxi rank from Ronin’s apartment when a big silver SUV pulls up in front of me. ‘Tsk!’ A rich suburban woman leans through the open window, lowers her sunglasses and gives me a wink.

‘Mermi?’

‘Hey, boy wonder,’ she says. ‘Climb in. I’ll give you a ride.’

I climb in and buckle my seat belt. ‘You made it through that fire fight! What are you doing here?’ I say as she pulls away from the kerb.

‘Giving you a heads-up. Your debriefing today isn’t a debriefing. It’s an interrogation. They want to know how much you know about the Bone Kraal.’

‘What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about the Bone Kraal. And I’m the one who stopped Lefkin.’

‘You know about me,’ she says, tapping the car’s dashboard and turning on a Josh Groban song. ‘You worked with me. That’s enough. They’re on high alert. The world of the Hidden is now officially under martial law. The Dwarven Legion has been given the power to search, seize and detain any of the Hidden for any reason.’

‘That’s bullshit.’

‘That’s the kind of traitorous attitude they’ll be trying to ferret out during your “debriefing”.’

‘So what do I do?’ I say.

‘Two options. You tell them everything. You tell them about me, you tell them that you have Hidden sympathies.’

‘Or?’

‘Or you lie to them. You beat the interrogation. You’ll need a mental block, something you can think about or recite in your mind to blank out their methods. These guys are pros, so it’ll have to be powerful.’

‘Jesus,’ I say. ‘I can’t get involved in this.’

She turns to me. ‘That’s your choice, Baxter. I’m not going to force it on you. I have committed myself and there’s no going back now. You have to decide where you stand.’

‘What are you trying to do here?’ I ask. ‘If you don’t want to destroy us like Lefkin, what’s your game?’

‘The next generation,’ she says. ‘Kids with magical power. I want to find them so that they can be trained in a way that doesn’t make them part of the system.’

‘They’ll hunt you down.’

‘They already are. But the alternative is worse. You’re one of us, Baxter,’ she says. ‘However much you try to pretend, your Crow heritage makes you different. That and the fact that you’re a Dreamwalker. They’re not going to let you forge your own path. They’re going to try to break you and mould you.’

I know she’s right. I think of Ronin, crushed and battered by the system and forever running away from his past, with the wolf chasing him.

‘Fuck that,’ I say.

She nods. ‘Then help me. Help the Bone Kraal.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

She smiles. ‘That’s all I can ask of you, boy wonder.’

I meet Esmé at a coffee shop in Woodstock. She’s sitting at a wooden bench with a ceramic teapot centrepiece, sipping a latte. She’s wearing a military jacket with the collar turned up and little silver dagger earrings. She looks beautiful.

She gives me a smile when she sees me, but tries to twist away from me when I sweep back her hair with my hand.

‘Easy, just checking for mind-controlling spiders,’ I say as I sit down across from her.

She gives me a small smile. ‘Not this time.’

‘So why?’ I ask. No sense in pretending that that isn’t what this is about.

She sighs and cups her hands around her latte. ‘I don’t know. We’re young, Bax. I want to go out and meet people. I don’t want to be sitting at home pining for someone who is somewhere else, doing things that I don’t get.’

‘You don’t have to pine,’ I say. ‘And I could explain it to you.’

‘The thing is, I’m not sure I want to know. I honestly thought I was the type of person who would. I love the idea of monsters and demons and shit. But the reality …’ She trails off, and in that moment I know how stupid I’ve been. I haven’t seen the effect that her experience with Basson has had on her. ‘I hate to admit it,’ she says, ‘but I was terrified. Completely terrified.’

‘I know the feeling.’

‘That’s the thing, Bax,’ she says. ‘You’re weirdly suited for this. A year ago, if someone had asked me who I thought the least likely person to be off being heroic was, I’d have said you.’

‘Wow, thanks.’

‘But it turns out you’ve got some kind of knack for it.’

‘I’m just too stupid to not get involved, clearly.’

‘I don’t believe that. Destiny is bullshit and nobody will convince me otherwise, but you’ve always had a darkness and this shit somehow suits you. But it doesn’t suit me.’

‘I get that,’ I say. ‘I really do. And it’s not that you’re not heroic. You’re so fucking brave. You’re just smart enough to look ahead and see that this is the kind of path you don’t come back from. The more I get to know Ronin, the more I see that.’

We sit in silence.

‘So this guy you’ve met …’ I say.

‘He’s cool. I mean, he can be a bit of an idiot, but he makes me laugh and we have fun together.’

‘That’s great,’ I say, my voice thick with emotion. ‘I’m happy for you.’ I’m really not, but I get it. Meeting my True Self changed me as irrevocably as that day I woke up and realised I had a heart. Esmé set that in motion, she opened the little doorway in my chest, but that doesn’t mean she has to stand there and be the door person for the rest of her life. She has her own journey. It may not involve goblins or Obayifo, but it’s every bit as scary, every bit as crazy and every bit as important. I can see that when I look at her. She’s searching for her True Self as desperately as I searched for Norris, and she deserves to find it. Even if that search doesn’t include me.

Her phone buzzes and she looks at it. ‘Troy is here.’ She stands up. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘OK,’ I say.

We hug awkwardly in that way broken-up couples do, and then she walks out of the coffee shop. No tears, no anger. Just a dull sense of longing for something I’ll never get back.

Everyone is being debriefed about their part in the mission. Nom, Faith and Chastity and Stevo are waiting outside the Blood Kraal’s chamber, fidgeting nervously. I give them a wave but am led by a dwarf to another part of MK6 headquarters. We stop outside a door with the Forked Tongue sigil emblazoned on it and the dwarven guard leans down to have his retina scanned. The door opens and I’m ushered inside.

Vats. Dozens of them, filled with unfortunate creatures too slow or too naive to escape the clutches of MK6 and the Dwarven Legion. This lab is more high-tech, but is otherwise a replica of the one in the bunkers. A bok-boy, thankfully not Klipspringer, is floating, his eyes closed and his body connected to a series of tubes. I put my hand against his vat and look at him with horrified fascination. A hand grabs the back of my head and pushes my face up against the tank. ‘Look, boy,’ Malachi says. ‘Take it all in.’

‘Get the fuck off me,’ I hiss and struggle against him. I’ve fought goblins but apparently you don’t get to be a Samnite for nothing. His arms are like iron bands.

‘You need to see this,’ he says, his breath hot on my ear. ‘You need to see what you’re part of.’

‘What a big man you are,’ I spit out. ‘That Ndiru looks like he could destroy whole cities.’

‘Knowledge is what I gather, more valuable than gold, more dangerous than nuclear warheads. Individually this thing is unimportant. But together it is all significant.’

‘Right, you’re all about knowledge,’ I say. ‘Oh, and murderous oppression. Let’s not forget about the murderous oppression.’

He punches me in the kidneys and I slump to my knees in front of the vat.

‘Make no mistake, boy, you are part of this. You are complicit. We live in a difficult age and you don’t want people wondering whether you fight on the side of good or the side of evil.’

‘I forget, which side is MK6 on again?’

‘You’ve wormed your way into the big league now, boy. There is no space here for your squeamishness.’

I turn around to look at him. Cold hatred burns. If I thought I could kill him, I’d try right now. Then and there I decide I’m going to help Mermi. I’m committed: anything and everything I can do to fuck with this dwarf.

He sees the look in my eyes and nods. ‘Good. I don’t consider my day complete until I have someone or something hating me with every fibre of their being.’ He grabs me by the T-shirt and lifts me up. ‘Your debriefing awaits.’

He pushes me into a room that holds nothing but two steel chairs and a steel table. In one chair sits a dirty old man in a tattered and stained white robe. He’s completely blind and he holds his hands up to me as I enter.

‘Who is this?’ I ask.

‘A truthsayer,’ says Malachi, shoving me into the chair in front of the old man. ‘Answer my questions truthfully, boy, or he will know.’

The old man places his hands on my temples and I feel a sickly, cool presence in my mind.

‘What do you know about the Bone Kraal?’ Malachi demands.

O koud is die windjie.
I begin the recitation in my mind. The Afrikaans words hum in my head and the cold, empty feeling of the veld rushes into me.

‘Nothing except that they oppose MK6,’ I say.

The truthsayer nods.

‘Are you in any way affiliated with Lefkin Demishka or the Bone Kraal?’ Malachi says.

en skraal. En blink in die dof-lig.
I can feel Grandpa Zev’s presence.

‘No,’ I say.

The truthsayer nods.

‘Do you harbour any beliefs or ideologies that could be construed as being at odds with those of MK6?’

en kaal, so wyd as die Heer se genade, lê die velde in sterlig en skade.
For these moments I am a Siener, and nothing can touch me.

I force down the disgust I feel for Malachi and his projects. The bok-boy in the tank and the hundreds, thousands that have gone before him. ‘No,’ I say.

The truthsayer hesitates for a long moment, and then nods.

The interrogation lasts for an hour and I repeat the poem dozens of times in my head. Nothing Malachi says can reach me. He watches me as I leave, his hands clasped behind his back. I feel a chill run down my spine and I know with a cold certainty that this isn’t the end of it.

Seeing my family is like a balm. We’ve organised a civilised game of boule in the park, and as we stand and throw the silver balls, it’s almost like old times. Well, except for my bandaged head and dozens of small bruises and cuts that I’ve tried to hide with a long shirt. My mother looks at me suspiciously. I’m not sure if she’s buying my ‘soccer injury’ story.

My mom and dad are hyper-competitive and end up having a massive fight about whose ball is closer. My mom bursts into a string of vitriol that makes even me blush.

Rafe stands next to me and stares at the grass. His voice pops into my head.

You OK?

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I need to ask you something.’

Go ahead.

‘What’s your game, Rafe? What you did to Lefkin was incredible. You destroyed him. You’re a far better Dreamwalker than I am. Yet you’re not at Hexpoort. What are you doing?’

You think you’re the only one who is on a journey? I’ve been doing this for a long time, Bax, the poor special kid who everyone ignores and forgets about. I am walking my own path and it doesn’t include Hexpoort or MK6. There are things out there, beings, organisations, dimensions, that are beyond them.