The Nostradamus prophecies

48

When Sabir heard the shuffle of Alexi’s horse, he refused, at first, to believe his ears. It was a stray from the neighbouring domaine. Or an escaped Camarguais bull, out looking for a mate.

He drew in for protection behind a clump of acacia trees, trusting that the outline of the branches would muddy his silhouette in the rapidly encroaching dusk. Carefully, painstakingly, he took the knife out of his pocket and extended the blade. Despite all his best efforts, it made a definite snick when opened.

‘Who’s there?’

Sabir hadn’t realised that he had been holding his breath. He exhaled in one grateful, exultant whoosh. ‘Alexi? It’s me. Damo. Thank God you’re all right.’

Alexi swayed in the saddle. ‘I thought you were the eye-man. When I heard that click, I thought I was done for. I thought you were going to shoot me.’

Sabir scrambled up the bank. He clung on to Alexi’s stirrup ‘So you have it? You have the prophecies?’

‘I think so. Yes.’

‘You think so?’

‘I’ve buried them. The eye-man…’ Alexi tilted forwards and began to slide down the side of the gelding’s neck.

Sabir had been so wound up with his own excitement about the prophecies that it had not occurred to him to check on Alexi’s physical condition. He caught Alexi under both arms and eased him off the gelding. ‘What’s the matter? Are you injured?’

Alexi curled up into a ball on the ground. ‘I fell. Hard.

On to a barrier. Then some concrete. Escaping from the eye-man. It’s been getting worse. The last half-hour. I don’t think I will be able to make it back to the house.’

‘Where is he? Where is the eye-man?’

‘I don’t know. I lost him. But he killed Gavril. Smashed in his head with a stone and made it look like an accident. I put everything back in place to incriminate him. Took Gavril’s horse. My own horse was killed. Now you have to go back to the house. The eye-man might know about the Maset.’

‘How could he know about the Maset? It’s impossible.’

‘No. Not impossible. He might have got it from Gavril. That fool followed us. The eye-man caught up with him. But I told you this already. I’m too tired to repeat myself. Listen to me, Damo. Leave me here. Take the horse. Go back to the Maset. Get Yola. Only then come back. Tomorrow, when I am better, I will show you where the prophecies are.’

‘The prophecies. You’ve seen them?’

‘Go, Damo. Take the horse. Fetch Yola. The prophecies don’t matter anymore. You understand? It is only writing. Not worth a single life.’