The Nostradamus prophecies

46

Achor Bale opened his eyes. Blood was trickling down his face and the runnels at the side of his mouth – he darted out his tongue and mopped some up. The coppery taste acted as a welcome stimulant.

He eased his neck against his shoulder and then scissored his jaws open and shut like a horse. Nothing broken. No real harm done. He glanced downwards.

The gypsy had tied him to the chair. Well. That was only to be expected. He ought to have checked over every inch of the Sanctuary first. Not assumed that his intervention with the girl had been enough to drive them off. He had never expected her to survive the river. Tant pis. He should have killed her outright when he had the chance – but why risk leaving traces when nature can do the job for you? The call had been a good one – the end result was just one of those things. The three of them had been incredibly quick off the mark. He must revise his opinion of Sabir. Not underestimate him again.

Bale let his chin fall back on to his chest, as if he were still unconscious. His eyes were wide open, though and taking in all the gypsy’s movements.

Now the man was clambering down the side of the display cabinet, the Black Madonna in his hands. With no hesitation whatsoever, the gypsy then upended the statue and stared intently at its base. As Bale watched, Alexi set the Madonna carefully on the floor and prostrated himself in front of it. Then he alternately kissed and laid his forehead on her feet, the baby Jesus and on the Madonna’s hand.

Bale rolled his eyes. No wonder these people were still persecuted by all and sundry. He felt like persecuting them himself.

The gypsy stood up and glanced across at him. Here it comes, thought Bale. I wonder how he’ll do it? Knife probably. He couldn’t really see the gypsy using the pistol. Too modern. Too complicated. He probably wouldn’t be able to figure out the trigger mechanism.

Bale kept his head resolutely on his chest. I’m dead, he said to himself. I’m not breathing. The fall killed me. Come over here and check me out, diddikai. How can you resist? Just think what fun you’ll have boasting about your exploits to the girl. Impressing the gadje. Playing the big man amongst your tribe.

Alexi started across the floor towards him. He stopped briefly to pick up one of the fallen brass candlesticks.

So that’s how you’re going to do it, eh? Beat me to death while I’m tied up? Nice. But first you’ll have to check if I’m still alive. Even you wouldn’t stoop to beating up a dead man. Or would you?

Alexi stopped in front of Bale’s chair. He reached out and eased Bale’s head away from his chest. Then he spat in Bale’s face.

Bale threw himself and the chair backwards, kicking viciously upwards with both feet as he did so. Alexi screamed. He dropped the candlestick and fell, first to his knees, and thew, groaning, he curled himself up in a ball on the ground.

Bale was on his feet now, hunched forwards, but with the chair still attached to his back, like a snail. He hopped towards Alexi’s writhing body and threw himself backwards, corkscrew fashion, chair foremost, on to Alexi’s head.

Then he rolled away, one eye on the main door of the church, the other on Alexi.

Twisting his body sideways, Bale managed to roll most of his weight on to his knees. Then he lurched upright and allowed the weight of the chair to carry him backwards against a stone pillar. He felt the chair begin to splinter. He repeated the exercise twice more and the chair disintegrated behind him.

Alexi was twitching. One hand was reaching out across the stone fl oor towards the fallen candlestick.

Bale shrugged off the remaining ropes from around his shoulders and started towards him.