Chapter Eleven
Amanda Stanton
After we had made it onto the main road, Sebastian driving too fast, I turned in my seat to face him. “You know, if we’d found something that weighed as much a stone, you wouldn’t have had to destroy those scales.”
“Well excuse me if we didn’t have time to sit around and try and find a fucking stone of weight. Have you forgotten, Amanda, that you have half of the world breathing down your neck, trying to kill you?”
“You keep on saying that, but I think you mean we,” I pointed out, swallowing the tide of fright that lapped up at my belly.
“True, but I can look after myself. If I stopped looking after you, however, that would be your part in this game done,” he leaned in but kept driving, only one hand on the steering wheel, and took his eyes off the road to look over at me, “Do you need me to paint you a picture of what that would look like?”
Despite the fact he was driving I balled up a fist and hit him on the shoulder. It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t that girlie either, and he leaned back and rubbed a hand on it.
“What did the parchment say anyway?” I asked, keen to get the conversation onto something that was important and didn’t involve Sebastian’s inflated sense of self-importance and competence.
“It was another clue.” He stopped rubbing his shoulder and let his hand rest on his lap. There was something infuriatingly maddening about men who didn’t drive with both hands on the steering wheel.
“What did my great-uncle’s clue say?” I straightened in my seat, nervous about what it could be, and a great deal more nervous at the horrible situation I’d found myself in. “Where are we going? Are we going to find a clue? Are we going somewhere safe?” my voice was quick as I fired off each question in turn.
“Why don’t you shut up, sit down straight, and leave the rest of it up to me,” he said, tone as arrogant as his suggestion.
I snorted with derision. “Where did you learn to talk to women like that?”
It was his turn to snort. “Oh, Amanda, don’t you worry, I know how to talk to women,” he assured me, playing with the collar of his shirt.
“Are many women won over by your macho man display? Or do you find yourself leaving bars with drinks dripping off your face? Do older women hit you in supermarkets with their bags? Do young girls scream in your face, kick you in the shins, and run off down the street?”
With eyes narrowed, he gave me a sarcastic look. “Believe me, honey, if I wanted to talk nicely to you, I would.”
I ignored the kick of adrenaline that zipped up my stomach at that thought, and more importantly at the charming and yet sarcastic smile that preceded it. I swallowed determinedly. “I doubt that, Sebastian,” I continued, on a roll here, “I think you are the kind of man who thinks you’re good with women, because you happen to be attractive, but not because you have any charm or an engaging personality.” My words came out, but they didn’t come out right. I’d intended to insult him, and I had meant to point out how irritating and undesirable he was.
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he leaned across to me as much as he could, not facing me, but keeping his eyes on the road the entire time. “Amanda, I’ll tell you a secret: all it takes is being attractive.” He straightened up, that stupid smile still on his face.
Oh yes, he was arrogant, but oh yes, I happened to be blushing like a burning hot ember.
It wasn’t until he joined one of the major roads that I plucked up the courage to speak again. “I’m not sure if you have forgotten this, but the side of this car is riddled with bullet holes,” I pointed to the passenger-side window and the driver’s side window, “And both of these windows are smashed. What do you think is going to happen if we pass a police car?”
“I will give them the chase of their life.” He grinned.
“Grow up. Seriously, you’re a lawyer, right? Did you get your degree on the Internet? Or is this some game, do you pretend you’re a lawyer so you can ingratiate yourself with old ladies and have them make you pancakes and call you dear?”
“I’m a lawyer, and I also know a lot more about what’s going on than you do. So why don’t you shut up?”
I punched him on the shoulder again, this time harder. “Tell me what was on that clue, and you tell me where we are going next, or…” I faltered as I tried to think of a damn good threat.
“Or what, Amanda? Are you going to wrestle it from me?” he said, stupid grin pushing high into his cheeks.
I darted a hand out and snatched the parchment right out of the pocket of his shirt before he could grab my hand. I turned to the window with it, hiding it close by my chest so I could read it before he could snatch it back.
Although he swore at me, he didn’t try to wrest it from my grip.
I managed to read the clue. It was in my great-uncle’s familiar cursive handwriting, and it spoke of shadows and light, more specifically entailing that the whereabouts of the next clue was in a place where the shadow crossed the light.
I sat straight, carefully rolling up the parchment and placing it neatly on my lap. A place where the shadow met the light? Well, that wasn’t the most explicit of clues. Not only could it mean anything, but I also didn’t think I had any idea to narrow it down.
“You have no idea, do you?” he sounded amused.
I turned to him and narrowed my eyes. “I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten, but the only reason we have this clue,” I gestured with it lightly, “Is because I figured out the last one.”
“Right, I knew where it was, without any of your help, Amanda. Or did you forget it was me who found those scales?”
“Yes,” I insisted, “But it was me who figured out the clue. You obviously didn’t have any idea there was something in the scales until I figured it out. Plus, seriously, you didn’t have to go and hit it with a spade.”
He laughed out loud at that and for far too long. “You have seen way too many movies. Trust me, if you can hit it with a hammer, hit it with a hammer; it’s quicker than all that clue bullshit.”
Indiana Jones would have jolly well taken it to a museum, I wanted to point out. But there was no point in comparing Sebastian to Indiana – Sebastian not only didn’t wear leather, foregoing the manly look for a suit, but he didn’t have a good bone anywhere in his body, and he sure as hell didn’t care about the history behind the items he coveted or destroyed. Excuse me for thinking that possibly it might have been better to follow through with the clue rather than the spade.
“So where are you taking me?” I asked.
“Petrol,” he said.
I glanced over and noticed we were almost at empty. Then I gave him a look he deserved. “You came with an empty tank?”
He sneered at me. “Excuse me if I didn’t prepare to cart you around the country, looking for clues and running from goons. Today,” he adjusted his collar, “Was meant to be an ordinary day, not like last night.”
I pressed my lips together stiffly and gave him a stern look. “How are we meant to get petrol? People are going to see our car, and they’ll call the police.”
Sebastian didn’t answer, and neither did he look pleased. It was clear he was having trouble with that idea too.
I gave a deep sigh, wondering where I would be this time tomorrow. Would I be in prison? Would I be with that man Maratova? Or Romeo? Or would I be… dead? As that horrible thought found its way into my mind, I drew my hands together and began to rub them.
He glanced my way and leaned down to turn on the heater, despite the fact two of the windows were smashed.
I didn’t have time to think his gesture was sweet, because it gave me an idea. I recognized the section of road we were driving down and realized it wasn’t too far from a barely-used side road that connected onto the laneway near my great-uncle’s manor.
“Your car, why don’t we take that?” I asked excitedly.
Sebastian made a show of looking conspiratorial, darting his eyes from side-to-side and lea
ning down into his collar. “We are in my car,” he whispered.
I rolled my eyes. “Your other car, the one that you said you’d parked in the laneway last night, the one I gave you the keys for this morning. If we could get to that, and if that isn’t riddled with bullet holes, then we can drive that instead.”
While the beginnings of a sarcastic smile spread his lips, it dwindled. Perhaps he thought it was a good idea, because it was a good idea. We could hardly continue driving around the countryside in a car that looked as if it had driven through a war zone.
“If you continue down this road, there’s this side road, it’s not obvious, but I can point it out,” I kept gesturing toward the road, “We should be able to take it, though it is rough, and it might damage the suspension.”
“Well, you know what? I already have to book this car in for some bodywork anyway,” he said dryly. “But I don’t know if this is a good idea; if I know Maratova, he would still have guys out looking for you near your house. He is the kind of guy who does things thoroughly.”
I felt sick at that thought. Though I was taking great pleasure in finding Sebastian irritating and arrogant, I had to admit he sounded infinitely better than this Maratova chap. That, I guess, meant I had to be thankful Sebastian had technically saved me from the man. Technically, because I’d done most of the saving when I’d managed to run through the woods in the middle of the night with no shoes.
“Honestly, this side road is hardly used; only locals know about it,” I continued. “Plus, I mean, you got away from them last night…” I trailed off, not sure what I wanted to say.
Sebastian ticked his head to the side. “I guess it wouldn’t be too suspicious if I went and picked up my car, but you sure as hell have to stay out of sight.” He turned to me and locked me in a stern look. “I will try and park somewhere safe, out of the way, you stay in this car, and I will go and get the other one.”
I nodded. I found his tone irritating and overbearing, but I couldn’t find fault with his words.
He shook his head and gave a low whistle. “I sure hope I don’t have to run into Maratova again.”
I started to wonder what Sebastian’s relationship with this mysterious Maratova was. All I knew was that Sebastian happened to be a lawyer who was somehow a treasure hunter too. I could remember that he’d been there at the auction when I had sold off the other globe. And, of course, he’d been at my house last night when he had saved me from the mercenaries in my drawing-room.
That didn’t mean that I knew what relationship he had with the other players in this game. He was clearly willing to do whatever it took – legal or illegal – to get his hands on those other globes.
I began to play with my hands again, wondering if I could honestly trust this guy.
“Look, you’ll be okay, I won’t be that long,” he said, for the first time his voice almost sounding concerned.
Was he looking at my body language, noting the fact that I had pulled away from him, that I was staring at the window, playing nervously with my hands in my lap, and thinking it meant I was scared? Well, he was right, but I wasn’t particularly scared of being left alone in the car. I was, however, scared that if I trusted this man and he turned out to be bad, then it would probably be the biggest mistake of my life. The amount of trouble I was already in was huge; the amount of trouble I could add to that if my only apparent champion was a crook, was something that sent the coldest of chills through me.
As I gave a shiver from that horrible thought, Sebastian seemed to misinterpret it again. He leaned down, twisted the knob on the heater to full, and gestured that I put my hands in front of one of the vents. “There’s not much I can do about the windows, owing to the fact they have great sodding bullet holes in them, but you can have my jacket if you like.” He twisted his head and nodded at the back seat, where his jacket was folded neatly.
I was a tiny bit flabbergasted at that. Sebastian, in my mind, wasn’t a real gentleman. He was the guy who liked to pretend he was a gentleman so he could gain the attention and affection of ladies. I pictured Sebastian Shaw as an arrogant, self-interested nong. Yet here he was, apparently genuinely concerned that I found his shot-up car chilly.
That was enough to chase the doubt from my mind for now. “I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged.
I pointed out the hidden laneway off to the side of the road that would be a shortcut to the laneway that was near my great-uncle’s manor.
It was a horrible road; there were potholes the size of tires, and some of them connected up into great ruts that ran across the entire road. Sebastian swore colorfully as he unsuccessfully tried to avoid them all, car bouncing around as the tires dug into the treacherous dips. Thankfully there wasn’t too much mud, as fun as it would be to be stuck in a bogged car, tires churning up the mud as it spat through the holes in the windows and covered both of us.
He parked under a tree, though technically along this road everywhere was under a tree; the great big oaks, birches, elms, and pines all pulled up right against the ditch, forming a thick canopy above. It was no wonder that this road was hardly ever used; this close to the forest it was always plagued by fallen trees and branches, let alone the damage from encroaching roots and run-off when it rained heavily.
“Stay in the car and stay down,” Sebastian said for what felt like the trillionth time.
I nodded, trying not to be truculent about it; the advice wasn’t there to irritate me, presumably it was there to keep me out of the hands of international criminals and wayward super soldiers.
Sebastian kept cracking the knuckles of his left hand as he walked around the car, muttering to himself that perhaps he should find a way to park it further off the road and down an incline. I pointed out that as fun as it would be to drive his luxury vehicle off the side of the road and into a tree, there was no point; this road was hardly ever used. I faced little to no chance of meeting anyone on it.
Sebastian didn’t look too moved by my words, if anything, he looked like he was about to get back in the car and drive off again.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he said, voice extra gruff.
“Look, it’s not as if we have a lot of choice. There is going to be a limit on the amount of time we can drive around in a car that looks as if it has been target practice for an entire army.”
He didn’t bother arguing at that, cracked the knuckles on his right hand this time, shook his head, warned me one more time to stay down and to stay quiet, and began walking away from the car and toward the laneway a good kilometer away.
Watching him leave made all the feelings I’d managed to keep control of since last night bubble back up to the surface. Perhaps it was being alone, or perhaps it was the fact that for the first time I was sitting still and not running from anything or having to point out to Sebastian how idiotic and arrogant he was. I honestly had time to think, and time to feel, and what I was thinking and what I was feeling weren’t pleasant.
There’d been a surreal feeling to everything last night, and with the excitement of finding the scales and cracking my great-uncle’s clue, it seemed this was adventurous. Now reality was sinking in, and I realized I was sitting in a car that had no windows because they had been shot out by men I didn’t know, and who only knew me as a person to kidnap and torture. I was also currently fleeing for my life with a man who I hardly knew, and who I honestly didn’t believe capable of truly caring about my situation; Sebastian was after the other globes, that much was clear.
This wasn’t an adventure; this was a nightmare.
I ran my lips through my teeth, closed my eyes tightly as tears threatened to well within, and rested my head back roughly against the head rest behind. I began banging my head against it lightly several times, as several errant tears trickled down from my eyes and spilled over my cheeks.
I couldn’t see this ending well. Sebastian was right, and this wasn’t a movie and nor was it a trashy airport novel. I
n the real world when criminals were after you, that didn’t give you license to walk right into the bad guy’s den and shoot everything up, steal the treasure, and retire on a nice tropical island. You had to go to the police, and if you didn’t go to the police, you’d pay for it with some prison time.
I shook my head several times, more tears sliding down my cheeks, their coolness distinguishable from the burning, puffy, unpleasant feeling of my skin as I twisted my face with tension, trying so hard not to cry.
By this time next week, I would either be dead or locked up in a prison cell somewhere.
That burst the banks, and I let myself cry jolly hard. I had a lot to cry about. This time last week I was over the moon at having found treasure in my great-uncle’s attic. This time the week before last I was holding down a part-time job in a cafe, wondering whether I should go back to uni and study something worthwhile that would give me real job prospects.
Now look at me? Sobbing my heart out in a shot-up car on a lonely country laneway while I waited for a lawyer who dabbled in treasure hunting to bring around a new vehicle that wouldn’t get us pulled over by the police.
I kicked my shoes off, bringing my legs up onto the seat and hugging them tightly. It was about then that I heard the noise of a car coming up the laneway toward me.
Unless Sebastian was a world-class runner, or had fashioned a helicopter out of some twigs and leaves, then it sure as hell wasn’t him; not enough time had passed to allow him to get to the car and travel all the way back here. Plus, the car was coming down the laneway from behind.
Despite the hot tears streaking down my face, my mouth went dry.
A horrible energy prickling over my back, I let go of my knees and tried to catch sight of the vehicle through the driver’s side mirror. The only problem was we’d left that behind in the village when it had been shot off by a man whose neck reminded me of a tree stump.
So I did the only thing I could think of, and opened the door carefully, dropping to my knees.
The car wasn’t yet upon me, but I could hear it churning up along the treacherous road.
Without hesitation I turned and ran, staying low, away from the car, until I was well behind the old and large trunk of an elm.
My breath was far too short, and far too quick, and seemed to choke through my throat as if it no longer had the room to make it all the way to my lungs. I swallowed wildly as I waited to catch a glimpse of the vehicle coming my way.
Though a part of me tried to entertain the prospect it could be Sebastian, I knew that was a faint and dim hope. Sure enough, in a moment, I was proved right: a large, black, four-wheel-drive hurtled down the road, drawing to a sudden stop as it rounded the corner and presumably saw Sebastian’s car.
Though four-wheel-drives, particularly large and overly petrol-guzzling ones, were common in this part of the country, tinted windows were not. The car that now parked right next to Sebastian’s had the darkest tinted windows I had ever seen. I imagined that even if I walked right up to them, I wouldn’t be able to catch a glimpse of who was inside.
My hands drew away from the tree, and they shook as I let them drop by my side. Though it would have been rational to stay and see who got out of the vehicle, I had far too much fear kicking around in me to consider reason. Taking the most enormous swallow I could, I turned carefully, ensuring that the bulk of my body couldn’t be seen past the trunk. I dropped low and tried to scamper as quickly as I could to the protection of an even larger tree further back. The plan was to continue doing that, ducking from tree to tree, until I was well and truly gone, no matter how long or how far that would take me.
“What the fuck happened to this car?” A gruff and deep baritone rang out from behind, giving me a fair indication from the language and tone that this wasn’t a country farmer with a particular love of military-grade cars and tinted windows.
“It’s had the shit shot out of it,” replied a man with a wiry tone, offering laugh at the end, as if a bullet-riddled Lexus was the funniest sight on this green earth.
I bit my lip so hard that the pain radiated down into my chin. I ground to a halt, pressing my back up as far as I could against the rigid bark of the large oak tree behind me.
“Hey, I know this car,” a far more unpleasant tone replied, “It belongs to that lawyer shit.”
My eyes widened, and I clamped my teeth down, lips sucking in. This was Maratova, wasn’t it? The same Maratova Sebastian kept warning me about, the same Maratova who’d chased me through the woods last night.
That thought was enough to see me shaking, arm jittering so hard that the tips of my fingers danced over the wood of the trunk behind me as I tried to hold myself steady.
“Well, looks like someone got to him,” the baritone replied, voice not peaking with concern.
“Should we call it in?” someone else asked.
“Don’t have the time, plus, not our problem,” the baritone replied.
The man’s tone was starting to get to me; it didn’t feel right somehow. It seemed as if he was artificially holding his voice even, as if he was trying not to frighten someone. I hardly doubted he was doing it for the benefit of his men; I didn’t think the army was a place where the softly-softly approach to interpersonal conversation was cherished.
My lips dropped open, my throat dry. Very carefully I tried to step back from the tree, and it was at that moment I heard the crack of a twig not too far from my left.
My heart gave a kick, and I’d never felt anything like it. An intensely cold sensation rushed across the top of my chest, a horrible tingling feeling cascading down my arms and legs.
They were hunting me. The apparently normal conversation by the car was meant to draw my interest and distract me while they sent several other men off into the forest to corral me.
“Still, it’s a pity, looked like it was a nice car,” someone said as the sound of a door being opened filtered through from the laneway.
With a fresh, undeniable, inescapable tingling pulsing through my body, I did the only thing I could think of, and I ran. It might have been smarter to peel off, assess the lay of the land, and try to pick the best route possible. I wasn’t in a sensible mood here; I was about to be the antelope captured by the pride of lions.
As I launched myself from the protection of the tree, heart beating so fast, chest trying so hard to suck in deeper and longer breaths, the conversation behind stopped.
I had stupidly, stupidly kicked my shoes off in the car, and I found myself running from the army in the woods, barefoot and desperate.
As I belted forward, in my peripheral vision I saw one of them, crouched low by the side of a tree barely five meters from where I’d been. The second he saw me, was the second he snapped up with the speed of a jumping spider.
I screamed, constricted throat making it sound as if I was choking.
Arms flailing about madly, feet striking the ground with hard, shuddering, quick footfall, I ran in the only direction I could see that didn’t have a crouching soldier in it.
Sure enough, as I pelted forward, I heard another one move from my other side, snapping up just as quickly as the other one had.
This section of wood was infamous for its dips and rises, seemingly level hills dropping off dramatically into tree-lined ditches – and as I could hear the breath of the closest soldier behind me so loud it sounded as though it was issuing from my own skull, I came across such a treacherous rise.
Foot striking a raised root, and knee buckling at the sudden pressure it sent zipping through my leg and up my hip, I fell forward, realizing that the ground gave away sharply. With no time to scream, I sucked in a breath, closed my eyes, and somehow managed to tuck my body in. I hit the ground and began to slide down the sharp incline, leaves and twigs grating and brushing over my scooting form.
I had no idea how long it took, but I rolled onto a thankfully-soft pile of leaf matter at the bottom of the incline. Were it not for the fact my body was already primed with adr
enaline from the pressing issue of having several heavily-armed soldiers chasing me, I would probably have lain there for some time, shocked as I tried to process what had occurred. I didn’t have that luxury.
Shaking violently, my teeth clattering as I tried to clamp down hard on my jaw and get a hold of myself, I pushed to my feet. It didn’t feel as though I had broken bones, and I didn’t have time to check for the bruises and scratches and cuts that I knew for sure would be there.
“Come on, Amanda, you don’t have to run from us,” one of the soldiers said from the top of the incline.
I chose to ignore his words as I saw two others expertly making their way down the horrendously steep incline toward me.
“We are here to help you,” the soldier tried again. He wasn’t the baritone, that much I did know, and his voice, dare I say it, had a kinder edge.
That didn’t stop me from turning from him and resuming my escape. “Like hell you are,” I muttered under my breath.
I heard him swear, just as the other two soldiers, boots skidding, made their way toward me.
Though I hadn’t been to these woods for many years, I still remembered them from the fond times I had spent with my great-uncle as a child. He had often taken me out here, sat me under the different trees and told me of his various adventures. I remembered the time he’d pointed out this hidden old laneway to me, leading me along it, my small hand in his, as he pointed out all the different trees and plants and birds.
As I ran, feet so painful it made me want to close my eyes to get away from it, I remembered something more. My great-uncle had told me this laneway and the woods around it were surrounded by one of the country roads. If you kept walking down with the dip in the land, you would get to the road below. The other thing he’d mentioned was the thing I had proved to myself as I had thrown myself face-first down that steep hill: the land around here was full of ditches, valleys, and bloody horrendously steep hills.
That would be when I saw another incline pop right up in front of me. This time I managed to skid to a halt, grabbing a tree trunk before I fell off the hill and rolled down to the flat almost 20 meters below.
They were right behind me, and I do mean right behind me. For some reason my hearing was more acute: I could pick up the tread of their boots as they ran through the soft forest floor. I could even pick up the metal clinks and clangs as whatever horrible weaponry they carried impacted with their belts and buckles as they threw themselves forward.
Below me, beyond the massive dip, was the road. I could see it, see the slice of gray bitumen through a gap in several trees.
So I did it again, this time intentionally. Taking the most massive of swallows, and wincing like I’d never winced before, I plunged over the dip in the hill, trying to keep myself low for as long as I could. I had intended to control my descent, but I started to slide out of control, and I had to curl myself in tight as I began to roll violently down the incline.
I thought I heard someone swear from behind me; it was hard to tell as air rushed past my ears, the sounds of twigs and small branches cracking as I skidded and rolled past.
I bottomed out and reached the flat below.
This time my body felt so bruised and battered that I gave out a terrible moan as I pushed myself to my feet.
“For fuck’s sake, love,” the soldier from before shouted from atop the incline above, “We’re not here to hurt you. We’re here to get you to safety.”
I think I was crying, it was hard to tell; the skin along my cheeks, nose, and forehead was so tingly and over sensitized from the fall and rush of adrenaline, it was hard to differentiate between a stinging sensation in my eyes and the possibility of tears rushing down my cheeks and over my chin. Plus, my face felt so dirty from the beating I had given it by rolling down two inclines in the space of fewer than two minutes that you would probably have to press right up close to it in order to see the tears, if they were there, between the mud, muck, and scratches.
In front of me, near the road, I saw someone move. Before my heart could leap at the possibility it was Sebastian, I recognized the large, heavy, black leather coat and thick neck. It was the man who had shot at us outside of the library. He was barely five meters before me, picking his way toward me from the road beyond. He had a gun in hand and sliced his eyes upwards to the soldier on the rise. Before he could do anything, he sliced his eyes back to me and pelted for me.
I didn’t have time to think; I had fallen down yet another incline, body so full of painful protestations at my punishment that all I could do was stand there and shake.
The soldier above yelled, “Contact.” As he did several bullets zipped around me, but not close enough to indicate that I was the intended target. One of them ripped through the shoulder of the thick-necked man’s leather jacket, one plunging into the ground right next to his boot. It was enough to make him falter, and he jerked back before his outstretched hands got a hold of me.
I threw myself to the ground, or fell, more like it. My legs buckled out from underneath me, mouth so open and wide and limp that I didn’t think I could ever get it closed again. I tucked my arms over my head, nestling my chin down until it was as close to my chest as I could make it.
I could hear the noise of the soldiers above, as they kept shooting, kept shouting. Then I heard far closer shots as the thick-necked man obviously drew his own gun.
With the smell of dirt clogging my nose and the mud on my face mixing with my tears, I sobbed.
I had to get up and move. I couldn’t assume the fetal position and wait to be kidnapped by the victor; I had to act, I had to get away.
Pushing to my feet, arms and neck so stiff it felt as if I was trying to unwind a coat-hanger, I plunged into the woods by my side, as far away from the shouting and gunfire as I could get.
I ran, ran, and ran. Whereas before I hadn’t noticed the pain in my feet and the tears streaking down my cheeks, I noticed nothing; my attention was inexorably focused on getting the hell away.
As the sounds of the gunfight were swallowed up by the woods, I found myself facing yet another incline.
For the freaking third time, I slipped right down it. The only difference was, this one led straight to the road. In an uncontrollable, desperate descent, I rolled right off the hill and straight onto the bitumen below.
There was a sudden and violent screech of tires, and a massive wave of air broke against me as something large and fast dodged closely by my side.
Before I could process what had happened, or more likely, what hadn’t, I heard a car door slam.
“Amanda? Amanda?” It was Sebastian, and in another second he was right by my side, lifting me up off the road.
His face was still with shock, a tender and overwhelmed expression muddling his features, one at odds with the character I was so sure he had.
He shook his head several times and led me to the car. “Get in the car, get in the car,” he needlessly repeated as he opened the passenger door for me and gently but surely led me toward it.
Behind us, the sound of gunfire stopped. Sebastian twisted his head in a snap toward it and let out an even quicker swear word as he slammed my door closed and pelted to his open driver’s side door. He jumped in, slammed his own door and didn’t bother to put his seatbelt on as he slammed his foot on the accelerator and the car sped off down the road.
I was shaking in my seat, clutching my hands tightly as I rocked back and forth.
I was aware that Sebastian was looking at me, slicing his head back to the road as he took another corner at full speed, then looking back at me. Not caring how I looked, I sat there, knuckles perfectly white against my pink flesh as I continued to rock back and forth, back and forth.
He reached out a hand to me, hesitated and patted me on the shoulder. “You’re okay, you’re okay, because you’re here now, you’re safe,” his voice was quiet, at odds with his usual arrogant gusto.
I shook.
“What happened? Was it Maratova?
Did he find you?” Sebastian didn’t slow the car down, and it sounded as if he gunned it even harder at the mention of Maratova’s name, the engine revving wildly.
I was able to nod my head, and then kept nodding for some reason, as if I was one of those dolls with a bouncing head that sat on the car’s dashboard.
“Fuck,” he said, the word bitter and drawn out, “That fucking bastard.”
I felt cold, frigid, my limbs seizing up. I wanted to huddle into a ball and try and keep what warmth I still had left in me inside.
Sebastian wound up his window, which had been down when he had rescued me, and turned the heat on to full bore, directing each of the vents toward me. “I wish I had some water in this car,” he mumbled.
I didn’t respond.
“Oh, shit, you’re covered in scratches and cuts,” Sebastian said, voice quick, “Jesus Christ, I should not have left you alone. I’m so sorry. I’ll take you somewhere safe, I will take you somewhere safe,” Sebastian kept repeating, as if he thought that saying something comforting twice would somehow make it twice as comforting.
“I’m okay,” I managed to speak, but my words were so quiet and so gentle that they couldn’t have convinced anyone.
Sebastian gently shushed me, repeating that I was okay.
“I am okay,” I said, voice getting a touch firmer. I was even able to let my hands go, the knuckles stiff but relaxing somewhat.
“What happened? How did they find you?” Sebastian asked, facing me as much as he could as he kept driving way too fast along such a narrow road.
“They came not too long after you left,” I said, voice quiet, but thankfully even, “And, well…” I trailed off.
He raised a hand. “It’s okay, I get it. Those bastards.”
Yes, but were they? As I sat there, warming up from the heaters that blasted warm air my way, I was starting to do some serious questioning. Yes, I’d been chased, and yes, by soldiers of all people. Yet they’d protected me from that thick-necked goon and promised they were only here to help.
I was confused.
I leaned forward, sucking my lips in tightly, and putting a hand on my stomach; I felt sick. A powerful wave of nausea was ricocheting through my stomach, just as those bullets had ricocheted through the woods.
“Oh shit, are you okay? Did they hurt you? You didn’t get shot, did you?” Sebastian fired off his questions just as quickly as the soldiers had fired off their guns at the thick-necked man.
I wasn’t sick; I was overcome, drowned by the situation. I didn’t know what to believe, and I didn’t know what to do next. Despite my fear of Maratova and the fresh memory of being chased last night, I was starting to question why I was running from the army at all. They were meant to be the good guys. Yet I had convinced myself, mostly through the words of Sebastian, that I had to get away from them.
Was it the right thing to do?
“We need to keep moving, get out of the country as quick as we can,” Sebastian said.
Well, that made me freak right out. I gave a startled, choked bluster. “Get out of the country? What? We can’t come back ever again? What do you mean? What have we done?” my words all came out at once as if my silence had been a great dam that had been broken by Sebastian’s suggestion.
“I don’t mean out of the country, I mean out of the countryside,” he clarified. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Amanda.”
I wished I could believe that, but the thing about having so many people, including the army, chasing after me, was it made me feel as if I was a criminal. Innocent people hadn’t anything to run from.
Silence stretched between us for several minutes, and while I was aware that Sebastian kept turning to me to check how I was, I couldn’t think of anything more to say to him. I was thankful that he hadn’t run me over, and forever thankful that he had gotten me away from the bullets and shouting. But I didn’t know what to do from here. Something was telling me that if I chose not to go to the authorities, then it would be too late.
The thrill of having solved my great-uncle’s clue and having found the scales had been wiped from my mind. The reality of this desperate adventure, and more specifically running from criminals and soldiers, had overshadowed any illusion I may have had that I was somehow a budding treasure hunter. I wasn’t built for this, because I was pretty sure that this should not exist; the rules of law didn’t make room for people to dash around the countryside shooting at each other on the hunt for treasure.
As the day wound on, and the sky became overcast, I began to realize that despite the fact I didn’t know what to do next, we were still heading somewhere new. Sebastian obviously knew where to go from here, even if I was too frightened and overcome to give it a single thought. We had left the countryside some time ago, and while we’d not joined onto a highway heading into the city, we were still heading out along a far larger, far wider main road.
With clouds overhead pressing in, threatening rain in an hour or two, I realized that I could hardly sit there and stay quiet forever. “Where are we going?” I asked, voice croaking.
Sebastian played with his collar, as if it were bothering him. “We have to keep moving, our advantage is the only thing that is keeping us ahead.”
I didn’t understand his words, and he didn’t pause to elucidate them. Despite the fact I was still getting over the shock of my tumbles in the woods, I began to realize what he meant. “You’re going after the other clue, aren’t you?”
He nodded.
He was going after the other clue. I had almost been kidnapped by two different sets of people, and I had given myself a harsh beating trying to get away from them, and Sebastian was going after the next clue.
I’d thought he was going to get us somewhere safe, somewhere where I could have a shower, somewhere where I could change out of my torn tights. Oh no, we were headed to the next clue.
I was distinctly aware of the irony of it all. I’d seen my fair share of ridiculous adventure movies, and read perhaps more than my fair share of even more ridiculous airport novels, and I knew that the golden rule in both genres was to never stop. Once the action started, the character would never be allowed to pause until it was all over. They would be chased to the point of exhaustion, but somehow they would push through. It was all in the name of adventure. Audiences didn’t want to see the protagonist go back home and have a kip after a lengthy and powerful car chase. They didn’t want to see their hero stretch out and have a siesta and a snack after having escaped from the pirates or mercenaries. The entire point was that from the moment the action began, it didn’t end until the story ended.
This wasn’t a book, and this wasn’t a movie. Normal people, real people, needed time to process events, especially stressful, traumatic ones. I was being given no time. I was being pushed from one frantic experience to another. While from the outside, it might have made this damn entertaining, from the inside it felt like it would turn me insane.
“Look, there will be an end to this,” Sebastian assured me.
An end? When? What would it look like? Would the end be when I handed myself over to Maratova and his men and they gently pulled me aside and informed me that they were the good guys, whereupon they would take out all the bad guys and I would be able to resume my normal life? Or would the end look more like me being shot to pieces by some heavy-leather-jacket-wearing goon? Or would I end up in prison?
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I surprised myself with my own words, but they were genuine and they were honest. I just didn’t want to do this anymore. It might have been wild to begin with, and I may have been briefly excited at the prospect of finding treasure in the church, but I was over it. This had to stop.
Sebastian gave an awkward and light chuckle. Perhaps he thought I was joking. His eyelids descended, stare dead. “I wish I could make it stop. The reality is, as long as everyone else out there thinks you know where the globes are, there isn’t going to be an end. Not until we find those globes.”
>
“We have to find a way to tell them. There must be some way,” I said, voice desperate as it peaked and pitched loudly. “I made a mistake in selling that globe at auction,” I kept swallowing between my words, throat horrendously dry and sore, “But surely there is some way to get away from this.”
Sebastian winced. If it was because of my desperate and pathetic plea, I wasn’t sure; it was hard to get a read on Sebastian Shaw, and even harder to tell whether he was showing genuine compassion or putting on an act to ensure I played along.
“Look, Amanda, I promised that I would get you out of this, and I will,” his voice was far quieter now, and slower, as if he was choosing his words carefully, “But you are going to have to trust me. I know these people, you don’t. I know this industry, you don’t. I know how these things go down, you don’t. Trust me when I say that the only thing to do is to get our hands on those other globes.”
I honestly had no idea whether to believe him. I was too tired, too injured, and too desperate to bother doing anything else. So I gave a single bitter nod and let him drive to god knows where and to god knows what next.