Web of Fire Bind-up (5 page)

This is crazy
, Sam thought.
One minute I'm riding my bike and the next I'm arrested and locked in a prison cell
. He was exhausted, lost and confused. If this was a nightmare, then it was one heck of a long one.

He put his face against the brickwork and felt its rough surface, cold against his cheek. Scratching at the wall with his toenail, he watched tiny pieces of masonry crumble onto the wet floor. It was then that he saw the tiny ball of crumpled paper lying next to a small hole in the base of the wall. Frowning, he picked it up and opened it out. Written on the paper in tiny writing were the words:

‘What is going on?' he said in a baffled voice, his breath forming small clouds of mist in the cool, damp air. ‘What is happening to me?'

He screwed up the piece of paper and flicked it away into the corner. Walking over to the door, he felt the wet, slimy floor beneath his feet where green algae had started to grow on the surface of the damp stone. He put his hands on his hips and peered up at the small window. It was set high into the opposite wall, which made it
impossible to see anything except a small patch of sky. Perhaps if he could get up there he would be able to work out where he was. Or perhaps – even better – he would wake up to find himself in his own room again.

‘Come on,' he said. ‘You can do this.'

He pushed himself off from the door and ran the short distance to the far wall, leaping at the last moment to plant one foot halfway up and gain the extra height he needed. As he reached the highest point of his leap, he made a desperate grab for one of the bars and wrapped his fingers around it. The pain in his shoulder made him cry out in agony, but as he felt the cold iron against his palm he quickly grabbed onto another bar with his free hand and pulled himself up so that his head was level with the window.

‘Yes!' he shouted triumphantly. He hooked his arms around the bars and looked out, half hoping to find himself waking up and staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom.

But instead the sight that met his eyes made him gasp in astonishment.

He was several hundred feet above the ground, seemingly on the top floor of a huge, bleak building that curved in a semicircle around a vast stone courtyard. Far below, tiny figures scurried back and forth, all dressed in the same black uniforms he had seen at the station.

The grey, imposing walls rose high into the cool morning air and Sam could see hundreds of small windows cut into the thick, ancient stone. He appeared to
be in some sort of prison. Again his mind spun with confusion. What was he doing here? And where was
here
exactly? The man at the station had spoken English and yet… everything felt different somehow. As for those creatures on the train… Sam shuddered. He needed to find some answers. But how?

Down to his left was a steel gate set into a security fence. Several empty trucks were parked in a siding near a group of wooden huts and outside the huts were long trestle tables piled high with items of clothing and personal possessions. He recognised it as the place where he had been forced to stand the previous night with other new arrivals as they were processed and stripped of their belongings. He could hear dogs barking somewhere behind the huts and what sounded like a woman crying. There was a loud scream, followed by a brief silence. Then there were more shouts and the dogs began barking again. Sam's stomach tensed with fear and he gripped the bars more tightly as he looked around.

Two security fences had been erected around the prison complex, each three or four metres high and strung with horizontal and vertical barbed wire. The fences were a couple of metres apart and the area in between them was covered with thick coils of razor wire. A few metres back from the inner fence – inside the prison compound – was a double strand of barbed wire with warning notices fixed at intervals along it. Tall wooden watch towers manned by security guards stood
in the corners of the main compound and there were regular patrols around the perimeter.

On the other side of the fence Sam could see a muddy track leading into a dense wood of evergreens. Beyond these trees he could make out a complex of buildings surrounded by what appeared to be rows and rows of aircraft, but they were too far away to be seen clearly.

To the left of the wood was some kind of industrial settlement. Steel chimneys pumping out thick black smoke jostled with huge rectangular blocks of concrete. These were interspersed with more complex structures of intricately latticed metal with spaghetti-like pipework running around the outside.

Away in the distance to the right he could make out the tall, closely grouped structures and buildings of the city that he had first observed from the marshes. Rising above the city was a construction quite unlike any of the others. It was a colossal cylindrical tower, stretching so high into the clouds that the top of it was concealed from view. It was metallic green in colour and so highly polished that – although the day was overcast – it glittered and shone like a precious emerald.

The ache in Sam's shoulder had become too painful now. He let go of the bars and dropped to the floor Looking around at the cold, dark walls of his cell, the hopelessness of his situation began to sink in.

This wasn't a nightmare that he was about to wake up from.

This was reality.

He wanted his parents so badly – longed to see them, to touch them and know that the life he had once had was real. But he could no longer be sure. His parents were gone, and so was everything else that he had known and loved. All that remained were these four walls and an unknown future.

It was more than he could bear. Fear and panic rose within him and, rushing across to the steel door, he began to kick at it furiously, his shouts of frustration echoing through the dusty silence of the prison corridors.

‘Let me out!' he cried. ‘I'm innocent! I haven't done anything!'

A door slammed. Heavy boots stamped over stone steps, the footsteps growing louder until they stopped suddenly outside his door.

Sam listened nervously, wondering what would happen next.

A bunch of keys jangled as the lock was turned and then, with a loud crash, the door was kicked open by a black leather boot.

Sam leapt backwards to avoid being struck by it and looked up to see a tall, blond-haired man in a black leather coat standing in the doorway. Behind him stood two other men, burly and unsmiling in their dark uniforms.

‘Is this him? The one from the train?'

‘Yes, General Hekken,' answered one of the men. ‘He was brought in last night.'

The man referred to as Hekken removed his cap and
began to tap it impatiently against the leather palm of his glove. He wore an exasperated expression which suggested that he really didn't have time for all this. But there was something else there too: a ruthlessness, a barely concealed threat of violence which suddenly made Sam feel very afraid.

‘So,' he said, ‘the boy from the marshes.' He continued to beat the cap gently against his hand. ‘Tell me. What were you doing on my train?'

Sam watched as Hekken looked around in the manner of a prospective buyer interested in purchasing a new apartment. He felt ice creep into the pit of his stomach. ‘I was lost,' he said. ‘I needed to get out of the storm.'

Hekken paused to flick some dust off his sleeve. ‘I see,' he said. He smiled. ‘It's Sam, isn't it?'

Sam stared at Hekken and saw something beyond the smile, something dangerous which told him that this man could not be trusted. As he lowered his gaze and looked away into the corner of his cell, he noticed the tiny piece of paper lying in the shadows.

He swallowed hard. ‘I don't know what you're talking about,' he said.

Hekken smiled again, but his eyes were cold; dead as a fish on a slab.

The punch, when it came, was so hard that it sent Sam sprawling against the wall and left him clutching his stomach in agony. Hekken grabbed him by the front of his prison uniform and pulled him to his feet again.

‘Don't lie to me,' he hissed, his voice full of venom. ‘I
own you, do you hear me? You belong to me now. Understand?'

He threw Sam back into the corner with such force that all the wind was knocked out of him and he collapsed in a heap on the wet floor.

‘I'll give you a few hours to think about it,' he said, turning back to look at Sam from the doorway. ‘If you can't come up with something better, then I'm afraid I will have to arrange another meeting with your friends from the train.' He shook his head sadly. ‘They mean well, of course, but between you and me…' Here he paused, then whispered in a conspiratorial voice, ‘They can be awfully unpleasant. Just something for you to think about, that's all. I look forward to discussing it with you later.'

The door slammed shut.

Sam heard the key turn in the lock and footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

Then there was silence; nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the desperate beating of his heart.

Sam sat in the corner where he had fallen and drew his knees up to his chin. Then he covered his head with his arms and wept.

It was after the last of his sobs had subsided that he heard the sound.

At first he thought that he was mistaken, that it was merely his own breath or his imagination playing tricks on him.

But no – there it was again.

What was it? It seemed to be coming from the small hole at the base of the wall.

He crawled carefully from the shadows and put his ear next to it, listening intently.

He waited and held his breath.

And there it was.

The faint but unmistakable sound of someone calling his name.

‘Sam,' the voice whispered. ‘Sam, can you hear me?'

Sam could hardly believe it. It was a young girl's voice; she sounded about his age.

‘Yes, I can hear you,' he whispered excitedly back into the hole. ‘Where are you?'

‘I'm in the cell next to yours,' the voice replied. ‘I've been waiting for you, Sam.'

Sam thought about this for a moment. What did she mean, she'd been waiting for him? How could anyone have possibly known he was coming?

‘I think you must have got me mixed up with someone else,' he told her. ‘My name's Sam Palmer, and there's been a terrible mistake. I shouldn't really be here.'

‘Oh, I know who you are,' said the girl. ‘And that's why I'm here. I've come to help you.'

Sam frowned. None of this was making any sense.

‘But what am I doing here?' he asked.

‘Long story,' she replied. ‘Long and complicated. But don't worry – I'll explain later.'

‘Who are you?'

‘I'm Skipper,' she answered. ‘Glad you got my note. How are things in there? Are you all right?'

‘Oh yeah,' said Sam, rubbing his injured shoulder. ‘Everyone's so friendly.'

‘Ah, yes. I heard your little meeting with the staff. They do so enjoy their work.'

Sam winced at the memory. ‘Who are those people anyway?'

‘That was Hekken and his henchmen. They work for Odoursin, the Emperor of Vermia. Hekken's bad news, Sam. I'd stay out of his way if I were you.'

Sam gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘That could be a bit tricky, don't you think? I mean, I don't know what your cell's like, but mine's a bit short on hiding places. And it doesn't sound as though I'm going anywhere any time soon.'

‘Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that,' said Skipper.

There was a pause while Sam considered this strange reply. Who was this girl with her quiet confidence? There was something about her that made him feel hopeful again, but he would have to tread carefully. It could be a trick.

‘What are you doing here anyway?' he asked, remembering what she'd said about coming to help him. ‘Did they take you away too?'

‘Not exactly. Let's just say I got caught.'

‘Doing what?'

‘Oh – it's a bit involved. But listen, we haven't got much time. The important thing is, they mustn't find out who you really are. When they come for you – which they will – they'll do all kinds of things to try and make you admit it, but you mustn't tell them.'

Sam was puzzled. ‘But they already know who I am,' he said. ‘That man – Hekken. He called me Sam just now. You must have heard him.'

‘I know, but the thing is they're not sure. They
think
that you're Sam, they really want you to be Sam, but something's happened to make them think they've made a mistake. It's up to you to convince them that they have.'

‘I don't understand. What do you mean something's happened?'

There was another pause.

‘I'm not sure, but I think one of the Olumnus must have given you a helping hand on your way down here. Changed the way you look for a while.'

‘The
Olumnus
?' Sam was becoming more confused by the second. ‘Who are they?'

‘Look, I can't tell you too much right now, but if you can convince these people that you're not who they think you are, they'll lose interest and drop their guard. And that's when we make our escape.'

Sam glanced at the stone walls surrounding him.

‘Well, that's simple then, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' said Skipper, ‘I suppose it is.'

‘Look,' said Sam, ‘I don't want to sound negative here or anything, but the way I see it, we're locked into stone cells a couple of hundred feet up and the place is swarming with guards, one of whom is threatening to turn me over to a bunch of wild dogs. Put yourself in my shoes. Escape doesn't sound too realistic, does it?'

‘I know this is hard, Sam, but just think for a minute. If someone had told you a few days ago that you'd be snatched away from home and thrown into a prison cell, would it have sounded realistic?'