But we didn't speak much. There wasn't any 'How bad are you?' stuff. What for? I tried to jolly everyone along with a few more wisecracks about picnics and who would taste the best, and maybe they'd leave Ben alone because of his flavour. Ben and I sung songs for a bit. Had joined in for a while, but then off he went again, panting and raving. I hated that, because he was the best of us. We tried to turn off, but he went on and on. There was nothing else to listen to, just the birdsong when he drew breath. We wanted so much to go and help him.
I found myself thinking about Signy. What had Conor done to her? And I wondered – I knew it was hardly possible, but you never knew with my sister – I wondered if she'd manage to get help to us.
After about an hour, the birds came.
Had spotted them first. He'd passed out for a while. There was a merciful silence, but when I looked across again his eyes were wide open and he was staring up into the sky straight above him. I looked up, and there they were.
They were high up at that point, little shapes with silver wings circling high overhead. You could hear their calls as they came lower, but it wasn't until they were as big as gulls that we could hear what they were saying.
'We're coming, we're coming, we're coming, ahh, we're coming,' they screamed. They had voices like yelling children. But maybe they were only tormenting us because they didn't come – not yet, anyway. When they were maybe fifty feet above us they stopped and just circled round and round. Perhaps they were suspicious that the guards were using us as bait.
They circled for another half an hour, calling, 'We're coming, soon, soon, soon, soon…' in their high, funny voices. Then they began to swoop in lower and the call changed. 'Hungry, hungry, hungry,' they cried. Pretty soon we could make out their faces in the pale light, cruel white wedges with dark eyes and fleshy beaks armed with yellow teeth. They were about the size of a child, with slim, tight bodies covered in black, glossy feathers like a rook's, and wings as big as doors. They began to quarrel even before they'd touched down. 'Mine, mine, mine… leave him, leave him, leave him…' They were down so low we could feel the wind off their wings. Then the first couple landed, bouncing along a few steps and holding their wings above their backs. They settled, folded their wings, and began to step over towards us. Their feet were iron-clad.
And then something began to bellow.
For a dreadful second I thought it was Had, but no human throat spoke like that. It was like nothing on earth - squealing, screaming and roaring all at the same time. We all tried to jump to our feet and jarred against our chains. The birds screeched and reversed back into the air, flapping desperately. There was a gale from their wings. They were furious. I could see their beaks opening and closing. There was a brief gap while whatever it was drew breath and you could hear the birds. 'Hungry, hungry, hungry… Ours, ours, ours, ours, ours…' they cried. Then they were drowned out again as the bellowing started up again.
Something was crashing in the undergrowth around the collapsed car park. I could see a huge bulk moving amongst the brambles. Then it pushed its way through, still screaming, and charged us.
I think it was once a pig. It was huge… and so ugly! All pock-marked skin and stink. It had a vast head, the long snout filled with crooked yellow tusks. But things had been done to it. At the back its feet were clawed, but at the front it had hands – thick sinewy hands pounding the earth underneath it. Its body was bristly and pink, half pig, half man. Its shoulders were fat and muscly. Its face was all pig except that it had some sort of beard right up to its piggy eyes, and its mouth was too full of tusks.
It stood some yards off and screamed at us at the top of its voice, screaming, squealing and grunting like pigs do, but roaring terribly, too. I don't know why, I suppose it was trying to frighten us, and it worked all right. We just sat there and screamed back. It came closer, still making that terrible noise, getting right up close so that the spittle fell on our faces.
Then I think it spotted the welded chains. It stopped yelling suddenly and grunted curiously, then it walked right up close to have a look. Its head was about a metre long and it had to tip its whole body to one side to get a proper look. Then, it began to laugh. Oh, yeah, it found the whole situation really funny. It was grunting and snorting and rolling about. It laughed so much it collapsed onto its elbows and buried its snout in the earth, shaking its head from side to side and slapping at the ground with its hands.
When it recovered it got back up and went to Hadrian. It leant with one elbow on the iron beam and felt him all over with that thick piggy hand, his legs, his body, his face. It settled on his neck and began to squeeze. Hadrian didn't even have time to gurgle. Then it took a huge bite out of his side.
33
In a small room with no windows nicked away in a high corner of the water tower, Signy lay on a narrow bed, her ruined legs wrapped in grubby bandages. Around her were bars and bare metal. The illusion had been removed – the wood panelling, the carpets, the expensive curtains, the brass fittings, all torn down and taken away. The television sets, the phones, the computer, the music, all gone. Everything but bars and chains were too good for her now.
In among the utmost loss of everything Signy had one consolation. Somehow, without anyone seeing her, Cherry had managed to sneak in and hide under the bed. When all was clear the little cat, who had grown lean and sleek in the past few months, jumped up onto the bed, begged to be stroked for five minutes, and then curled up neatly and fell straight to sleep. Signy woke her up every now and then, clutching her and weeping, and Cherry allowed her to hold her too tight and get her fur wet with tears.
At some point a guard entered with a tray of food and Signy tensed and shrank away, but they had already done everything they wanted to with her. The man put the tray down on the floor.
'You'd better eat,' he told her. Signy turned her face away. She only wanted to die. What good could come of her life now? What was she- some sort of trophy for Conor to show off?
The guard shrugged and left the room. Straight away little Cherry emerged from under the bed where she'd been biding. She sniffed daintily at the tray, and licked the butter on the bread thoughtfully.
Later still, when everything was quiet, Signy eased herself off the bed and dragged herself painfully with her hands to the door to test it. It was locked of course and a rough voice ordered her away from it. She pulled herself back to her bed. Death would have to wait a while longer. Her throat was as dry as sand, but she would drink nothing. Cherry tried to sit on her legs but it hurt and she had to lift her off and put her on her stomach instead. She laid her hand on the cat's back, and turned her face to the wall.
At long last, exhausted from her sleepless night and long ordeal, Signy fell into a kind of trance. It could never be called a sleep. She lay there for long hours, eyes half closed, not moving. A guard came in much later with more food on a tray, and again demanded that she eat it.
'You'd better,' he threatened. 'Conor wants you alive.' He waited but she didn't move a muscle. 'They'll be force feeding you if you don't,' he warned. He put the second tray on the floor next to the first one and left the room. Signy opened her eyes, looked at the food and drink, watched the door close, and turned her head back to the wall.
Some hours after that, when it was truly dark, Cherry, who was asleep by Signy's side, got up, stretched, and went to sniff the food that the girl had allowed to grow cold. She lapped a little water from a cup and licked the fat off some potatoes. She was hungry, but nothing else there was to a cat's taste.
Signy opened her eyes to find a young girl kneeling by her bed stuffing potatoes in her mouth and weeping.
The girl looked up at her and wiped tears out of her eyes. 'Poor Signy, poor Signy,' the girl wept. She was about ten or eleven years old. She chomped busily as the tears fell. She was a curious-looking girl, with a soft, downy skin.
'Don't trouble yourself about me, dear,' murmured Signy, who was in her trance still, and thought she was dreaming.
The girl put her potato carefully down on the plate and sobbed into her hands. 'But I'll help you,' she said. 'You helped me. We're all we have, aren't we, Signy… Queen? You and me, we've both lost everything for King Conor. I'll help you. I know how.' The girl smiled in amusement and leaned forward. 'Would you like me to help you?' she whispered.
Signy smiled at the strange little vision. 'How can you?' she asked.
