The Shadowsong Conspiracy

Chapter 23

"Hotline!" Sawyer whispered, and Caspar nodded. Sawyer let out another pretend wail and rolled slowly around to see the front of the hall. He had saved the Hotline number to his address book; it would take less than a minute for Caspar to dispatch a plea of help. Yet Sawyer felt his courage drain when he remembered how long the journey had taken. Darlington had given the Council two hours, but in that time, the Scouts would only be a short way from Londinium.

"I'm not going to take this any further, Darlington," Seymour said in a high, squeaky voice. "I've paid my debt, and that's it. After this is over, I will have nothing to do with you any more."

"Dear Seymour." Darlington placed his hand on Seymour's shoulder. "Haven't you learned that nobody works for us for just a short while? We're a caring bunch, we keep ours till the end."

Sawyer stretched himself a bit and noticed that he could move almost normally; the wound on his chest seemed to be scarring already. Darlington's eyes caught him, and a malicious smile rose on his lips.

"We can talk about that later. We've forgotten our prey here. Sabinsky, get up."

Sawyer scrambled up, swaying, but held his balance.

"Boss, they replied," Kelly said just as Darlington was strutting toward Sawyer. He held out a Squilli, which was the most basic model Sawyer had ever seen. There were no ornaments, and the color was an ugly shade of gray.

"Excellent, what say they?"

"We've received your Parchment. We are having an emergency meeting to discuss your demands. Please do not act rashly! We will do everything in our power to resolve this issue amicably."

"Ah, at least now I detect fear," Darlington said. "Reply as I dictate. Stop spending your valuable time in replying to Parches. Cordially, the Paraforce. PS. We've changed our mind. The killing of the first student is in half an hour. The most likely candidate is the invalid Cavendish."

Sawyer turned to look at the Resistance members. Mia's eyes sparkled with tears, but she was smiling. Christian glowered at Darlington, but Caspar looked straight at Sawyer, his hands on his thighs and his right thumb twiddling ever so slightly. The shiny corner of Sawyer's Squilli was visible on the floor between his legs. Sawyer blinked in recognition, then turned around as Darlington had again called him.

"Looks like you've learned to fight Shadowsong," Darlington said. "Never mind. What if I told you that Jones over there is going to Mort your midget of a friend if you as much as raise your staff against me?"

Sawyer bit his lip. Piper hung in the air very quietly, and the torchlight cast a misty, orange light on his tear-stained face.

"Thought so," Darlington said softly. "Jones, Mort the midget if Sabinsky even tries to fight back."

Pronouncing each word very carefully, he spoke the Evoke Command, followed by the Blood-Curdling Chant. Sweat flowed along Sawyer's temples as he clenched his teeth together. His hand squeezed the staff so hard that his skin burned, and then his whole body burned. The blistering hotness rushed through his veins, and he fell face down on the floor.

"Learning to honour your superiors, eh?" Darlington said. "Or just playing the hero?"

Sawyer's veins were scorching with heat, bubbling and churning like a vast, stormy sea. Muted shrieks somewhere on the background pierced his ears as his body convulsed and tossed on the floor without control.

"There, Sabinsky! You seem to be enjoying this."

Sawyer panted on the ground, air rushing in his ears as the pain ceased. He was never going to give up. Never.