The Lost Labyrinth

II

Kiko woke in a panic to a rush of beating wings and lights outside his window that made him think of demons with claws and sharp teeth and his heart began thundering like hooves in a horse-race. But then he saw the thing itself and recognised what it was. A helicopter. It had landed earlier that night with more Nergadze guests in its belly; now it was evidently taking them back home again. His fears receded, leaving only a dampness of sweat in his mattress. He lay there in the growing chill, wondering for the hundredth time what they were doing in this wretched place, where their father was, how he'd allowed this to happen to them.

He was drifting back to sleep when he heard the footsteps. They seemed to stop directly outside his room. His body stiffened; he stared petrified at the blur of hallway light that marked the edges of his door, pleading for it to be imagination. But then he heard the handle squeak and he caught his breath as the door opened stealthily and close again. 'Mama?' asked Kiko, his heart palpitating violently. 'Is that you?'

'I woke you,' growled a man. 'I didn't mean to.' A lighter rasped, a blue-yellow flame sprang up to light a fat yellow candle that flickered and fluttered and then grew strong enough to reveal a thin, tall old man in blue silk pyjamas and a red dressing-gown. Ilya Nergadze.

'What are you doing here?' asked Kiko.

Ilya tried a smile to put Kiko at his ease, but it only made him feel worse. 'Do you remember me, Kiko? You had lunch last year with me in Tbilisi. You swam in my pool. You were very good.' The dim candlelight created a strange intimacy as he drew closer. 'This is my other house. This whole castle and all the land as far as the eye can see. Do you like it?'

'I suppose.'

A flash of yellow teeth that might have been a smile. 'You don't sound sure.'

'I want my father,' said Kiko. 'I want to go home.'

The old man reached the bed. 'Goodness me,' he said, when he saw Kiko's forehead damp with sweat. 'You have had a nightmare.' He set the candle down on the bedside table, produced a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed Kiko's brow.

'What are you doing?'

'You mustn't sleep in wet bedclothes,' said Ilya. 'You'll catch the devil of a cold.'

'I'm fine.'

'At least move across to where it's dry. It's a big enough bed for that. And your mother would never forgive me if you caught something.' He watched benignly as Kiko shuffled across, then sat in the gentle depression Kiko had left in the mattress, before lying down alongside him, pulling the sheets taut across Kiko's body as he did so. Ilya's hair and eyebrows had somehow turned black and shiny as shoe polish since he'd last seen him, noticed Kiko. It added to his sense of unreality.

Ilya folded his handkerchief in half and dabbed Kiko's forehead once more: his dressing-gown fell open as he did so, exposing a lozenge gap in Ilya's silk pyjamas, a glimpse of silver curls of hair and wrinkled flesh. 'Dear me,' said Ilya, righting himself, tying a new knot in his dressing-gown cord. 'That won't do.' He smiled at Kiko. 'Do you like to ride?' he asked.

'I don't know,' said Kiko miserably. 'I've never tried.'

'You've never tried?' said Ilya with feigned astonishment. His breath smelled of alcohol, and it tickled Kiko's cheek. 'We'll have to change that, won't we? Tell you what. Tomorrow we'll go riding together in the hills. Would you like that?'

'Will Mama be there?'

'Of course. Your sisters too. We'll make a party of it. And don't worry. I know just the pony for you. Gentle as cotton wool. Perfect for a young gentleman learning how to ride. I taught all my grandsons on her. Trust me. You'll be sore in the rump for a while, but you'll soon grow to love it.' He turned onto his back, cupped his hand behind the candle-flame and blew it out, so that the room fell back into darkness. The creak of springs, the tug of bedclothes, that soft sour breath again against his cheek, then Ilya's hand settling on his ribs, stroking him through the bedclothes, rhythmically down from his chest to his navel, then back up again. 'Close your eyes,' murmured Ilya, worming his other arm beneath Kiko's pillow, lifting his forearm to tilt Kiko's head against his chest. 'That's it. Try to sleep. No more nightmares now. Not while I'm here.'