"A beautiful place to die." {Jacob Portman, pg 168 book 2}
Unfortunately, Mr. White saw the exchange.
"Aha! You recognize these children?"
"No." Bekhir replied looking down.
"No? But you apologized to that one. You must know him, unless you make a habit of apologizing to strangers?"
"They aren't the ones you're looking for."
"I think they are. I think these are the very children we've been looking for. And furthermore, I think they spent last night in your camp."
"I told you I've never seen them before."
Mr. White clucked his tongue in disapproval, "Gypsy, do you remember what I promised to do if I found out you were lying to me?" he asked pulling out his knife and pressing it against Bekhir's cheek. "I promised to cut your lying tongue out and feed it to my dog. And I always keep my promises."
The two men stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Mr. White smiled and stood upright, "But, first things first. Which of you has their bird?" He asked the soldiers who'd caught them at the platform. They looked at one another, then one shook his head, then the other.
"We didn't see it."
Mr. White's smile dropped and he turned back to Bekhir, "You told me they had the bird with them."
He shrugged, "Birds have wings. They come and go."
Then, quick and emotionless, Mr. White stabbed Bekhir in the thigh. He howled in shock and pain as he rolled onto his side, gripping his leg as blood began to flow. Horace fainted and Olive squeezed her eyes shut; Aurora screamed before covering her mouth with her hands trying to quiet the sobbing that had started again. Millard knew it wasn't from the wound, Aurora could handle the sight of blood. It was the violence, the brutality that she couldn't take, and Millard could see it was starting to break her, he just hoped none of the wights could see it too. Mr. White casually cleaned his blade with a handkerchief before turning back to them with an evil grin.
"Where is your bird?"
"She flew away. Just like that man told you." Emma said bitterly with anger in her eyes.
"Her wing was injured. You were seen with her just yesterday. She couldn't be far from here." He said approaching Emma, "I'll ask you again."
"She died." Jake spoke up, "We threw her in a river."
"I see what the trouble is." Mr. White sighed, "You believe there's nothing to be gained by being honest with me. That we will kill you regardless of what you do or say. I need you to know that this is not the case. However, in the spirit of total honesty, I will say this: you shouldn't have made us chase you. That was a mistake. This could've been so much easier, but now everyone's angry, you see, because you've wasted so much of our time." He pointed to the other wights, "These men? They'd like very much to hurt you. I, on the other hand, am able to consider things from your point of view. We do seem frightening, I understand that. Our first meeting, on board my submarine, was regrettably uncivil." Millard had to keep from scoffing, uncivil? He'd been shot and had almost died! Uncivil, was an understatement.
"What's more your ymbrynes have been poisoning you with misinformation about us for generations. So it's only natural that you'd run. In light of all that, I'm willing to make you what I believe to be a reasonable offer. Show us to the bird right now, and rather than hurting you, we'll send you off to a nice facility where you'll be well looked after. Fed everyday, each with your own bed. . . a place no more restrictive than that ridiculous loop you've been hiding in all these years." Mr. White looked at his men and they laughed, "Can you believe they spent the last – what is it, seventy years? – on a tiny island, living the same day over and over? Worse than any prison camp I can think of. It would've been so much easier to cooperate! But pride, venal pride, got the better of you. And to think, all this time we could've been working together toward a common good!"
"Working together?" Emma said, "You hunted us! Sent monsters to kill us!"
"Monsters?" Mr. White said seeming offended. "That hurts. That's me you're talking about, you know! Me and all my men here, before we evolved." he said before clapping his hands making them all jump. "But, down to business!" he said walking back and forth looking at them all in line. He looked at all of them slowly, scanning their faces, looking for weaknesses, for who would be easiest to break. Then he zeroed in on Horace who'd just recovered from his fainting spell.
"What's your name boy?"
"Huh, Huh, Horace."
"Well, Huh-Horace, you seem like someone with abundant common sense. So I'll let you choose."
"Choose?"
Mr. White pointed to the gypsies with his knife, "which of these men to kill first. Unless, of course, you'd like to tell me where your ymbryne is. Then no one has to die." Horace started to visibly shake, "Or, if you'd rather not choose one of them, I'd be happy to choose one of you. Would you rather that?"
"No!"
"Then tell me!"
"Don't tell them anything, syndrigasti!" Bekhir shouted and one of the soldiers kicked him. Mr. White knelt before Horace staring him straight in the eye.
"You'll tell me won't you?" Horace looked a bit green as he nodded.
"Don't!" Enoch shouted.
"Tell me where that bird is."
"She's in the drawer."
"What drawer?"
"Same one she's always been in."
"What drawer?" Mr. White asked shaking Horace by the collar.
"Your mother's knicker drawer!" Horace shouted before spitting in Mr. White's face. The wight hit Horace in the side of his head with the handle of his knife and Horace dropped to the floor. Loose change and their train tickets spilled from his pockets.
"What's this?" Mr. White asked eyeing the tickets.
"I caught them trying to catch a train." Explained one of the soldiers who'd caught them.
"Why are you just telling me this now?"
"I thought –"
"Never mind. Go intercept it, now."
"Sir?"
"The eight thirty to London makes a long stop at Porthmadog. If you're quick, it'll be waiting for you there. Search it from front to back – starting with first class."
The soldier saluted him and ran outside. Mr. White kept the tickets clenched in his hand as he folded them behind his back examining them, looking for his next target. He stopped pacing and smiled when he decided who was next and Millard felt nauseous. It was Aurora.
"What about you, beautiful?" Mr. White asked unfolding his hands and pointing his knife at Aurora who was looking at the floor, obviously trying very hard to keep it together. He placed the tip of his knife under her chin and she gasped as the cold metal touched her skin. He applied a slight amount of pressure forcing her to look up at him or get her throat cut open.
"Your bird's on the train isn't she, beautiful?"
Aurora looked him right in the eye and Millard saw her eyes harden, "No. We woke up and she was gone. We don't know where she went."
Mr. White smirked cruelly but his empty eyes were full of hate. He pushed the sharp edge of his knife into the cut on Aurora's cheek and she cried out in pain. She fell back onto the floor clutching her cheek, the bleeding resumed and Millard could see some of the tiny red droplets escaping from under her palm and leaving red lines down her face. She leaned against one elbow and looked up at the wight with pure fear. Mr. White sighed knowing that interrogation would get him nowhere, then took another look at the train tickets.
"Search the rest of them. Let's see if they're carrying anything else of interest. If they resist, shoot them."