Something powerful is drawing Ward back to Devil's Island. Something he thought he had forgotten. He must evade vicious lighthouse keeper George Jaggles in order to rescue it, but Jaggles will soon be the least of his worries. Because an assassin is...
It felt like hours passed. There was no way of knowing the time.
Eventually two meals were delivered by a guard who crouched in the corridor outside and pushed the bowls into the cell using a wooden rod. He never came within an arm's length of the bars. Lightfinger watched him like a cat. The rod and the guard went away.
The food consisted of a pale, claggy gruel that smelled faintly of fish. Ward had one mouthful then pushed it away. Lightfinger bolted his down.
The only sign that night had come was the dropping temperature. Ward and Lightfinger huddled together on the edge of the bed (it was too small for them to both lie down on it), the blanket tucked up to their chins, their breath pluming in the air. Neither slept. It seemed days ago that Ward had woken in the cave on Eblis Island, but when he thought about it he realised no more than twelve hours could have passed. Lightfinger didn't seem to need sleep like normal people did. Ward had never seen him in any state other than alertness.
The night dragged on.
Ward must have begun to nod off, because when he heard the woman's voice it took a while to penetrate his drowsy conscious. Lightfinger was already up and standing at the gate.
His first thought was that it was a female guard. He'd seen none on his way in, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. The prison was segregated, so it couldn't have been a prisoner. Unless he and Lightfinger had been put in the women's section? Perhaps.
Ward got up and joined Lightfinger at the gate. He peered through the two sets of bars to where a vague shape stood, whispering to them.
"Brothers here at nine. Cell cleaned eight-thirty. It's your only chance."
The shape drifted away like a ghost and the silence returned.
Who was she? Why was she helping them?
It seemed to Ward that some of the chill had gone out of the air. Was the sun up? If so they only had a couple of hours before the Brothers came. But first they'd be removed from the cell so it could be cleaned. He looked at Lightfinger. The boy nodded at him.
They had barely formulated their plan before the guards arrived.
One of them locked his colleague inside the short corridor between the two gates, just as Lightfinger had indicated would happen – Ward figured he had seen the process the previous morning.
"Put these on your wrists," the guard said to Ward, pushing a pair of shackles under the gate.
"What if I don't?"
"Then we get the hose."
Ward nodded as if this seemed reasonable. He picked up the shackles. He pretended to have trouble working out how they went on his wrists; it must have been convincing because the guard soon grew impatient and began to instruct him from the other side of the gate.
"Can you help me?" Ward said.
"No."
"I can't work it out."
"Okay, here's what I'll do. I'll count to five. If they're not on by five I'm calling for the hose."
Ward glanced back at Lightfinger, who nodded slightly. Enough delay. Don't make them suspicious. The guard slowly counted down. When he got to five one of the cuffs snapped closed over Ward's wrist.
"Other one too," the guard said.
There was nothing for it. Ward, snapped the other cuff over his wrist. They were tight, uncomfortable. At least they're not behind your back like Lightfinger's are, he thought.
"Both of you, turn around and face the wall."
The guard opened the gate but didn't come inside. "You. New kid. Out."
Ward left the cell. The guard stood aside to let him pass. He locked the gate again. Then he pointed at the outer gate. "Walk."
He followed Ward down the short corridor. The gate was opened by the other guard, Ward was pushed through and it was locked again. The guard allowed him to see the nightstick in his hand: it was of black rubber, old and hard and shiny, scarred from impacts Ward didn't want to imagine. "Run and I'll beat you bloody," he said softly. It seemed more a statement of fact than a threat.
Ward had no intention of running. Not yet.
The other guard made Lightfinger kneel in the corridor between the two gates and put his forehead on the stones as he checked the locks on Lightfinger's shackles.
When they were finally all together outside, Lightfinger was made to walk in front. A guard followed him, tapping his shoulder with his nightstick from time to time like a coach driver directing a horse. Then came Ward. He was followed by the second guard. He didn't feel the nightstick on his shoulder, but could sense it there.
They went through another set of double gates and passed the warden's office. The warden looked up from his desk as they went by, his eyes scanning them quickly and emotionlessly. Ward had the irrational feeling the warden knew what they were planning. There was something monstrous about him; it wasn't hard to imagine that he could read minds. Ward shook off the thought and tried to concentrate. If Lightfinger was correct they weren't far from their destination: another cell in the same wing. They turned a corner and Ward heard a soft clink behind him as the guard felt for his keys.
Ward tensed up. It was time.
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There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who kept his glass eye in a bucket,
He got up in the night,
To switch on the light,
Tripped over it and said "oops I forgot I left that there."
