Richard first, and then he tried to get me.”
Sebastian raised the bottle to his lips and swallowed some more. The alcohol must have been strong. Matt could smell it from where he was standing. But Sebastian drank it as if it was water.
“Salamanda News International is based here in Lima,” he said. “They have offices all over Peru. What do you want to do? Do you want to visit all of them? It doesn’t matter because you won’t find him there. He has his main research base near the town of Paracas. That’s south of here. But he spends most of his time at a farm – what we call a hacienda – near Ica. He is never seen in public. It is rumoured that he is very ugly, that maybe he has three eyes or something wrong with his face. If you want to talk to Senor Salamanda, you go to Ica. I’m sure he will be delighted to see you.”
Matt ignored the sarcasm in Sebastian’s voice. “Can you help me go there?”
“No.”
“Then maybe I’m wasting my time talking to you.”
“Is that what you believe?” Sebastian stared at Matt and now he was angry. “Well, let me give you some advice. Don’t you worry about your time. Time is cheap here.” He stubbed out the cigar. “I must leave you,” he went on. “There are things here I do not understand and there are people I must talk with. Maybe I will help you and maybe I won’t. But right now, I would say you need food and you need sleep.”
“Can I sleep here?” Matt asked. He was too tired to eat.
“You can sleep on the floor. There are blankets. Not the bed, you understand? The bed is mine! You will be safe in this place. Later today, we will talk again. And we will see what we can do.”
Sebastian said something to Pedro. Pedro nodded.
The two of them left the building.
It was evening when Matt woke up. Without his watch, he had no idea how long he had been asleep and the jet lag didn’t help. In England it could have been breakfast time, dinner time or whenever. It took him a couple of minutes to work some life back into his muscles, which were cramped from lying on the hard floor. At the same time, he tried to make sense of what had been happening. But that wasn’t so easy. He was on his own, thousands of miles from home, stuck in a squalid room in a town that was, even by name, poison. He was the guest of a man he didn’t much like and a boy who had recently robbed him. The richest man in Peru wanted him dead and it seemed that the police were only too happy to help him achieve that aim.
It was all too much. Matt closed his eyes and groaned.
And yet that was another strange thing. He was suddenly aware that the pain in his head had gone. He sat up and ran a hand over his chest. His ribs and his stomach were unhurt. It was as if the beating he had received had never happened. Was this another instance of his powers? Had he in some way managed to cure himself? Matt stood up and stretched. He was starving. He wished now that he had accepted the food he’d been offered. But apart from that he had to admit he felt fine.
Weird.
There was a movement at the doorway and Pedro appeared, carrying a steaming tin of food and a spoon. He handed them over, his eyes never leaving Matt’s face. He was examining him, searching for something.
“Thank you,” Matt said. He was feeling increasingly ill at ease.
The tin contained some sort of stew. A lot of beans and very little meat. In normal circumstances, Matt might have sniffed it suspiciously – but right now he was too hungry to care. He wolfed the food down, being careful not to look at it too closely. Whatever the meat was, it certainly wasn’t lamb or beef. He tried not to think about the dog he had seen lying outside.
When he had finished eating, Pedro produced a battered metal jug of water and handed it to Matt to drink. It tasted warm and brackish and Matt wondered where it had come from. Did Poison Town have wells or water pumps? Did it even have electricity? There were all sorts of questions he wanted to ask but there was no point until Sebastian returned. Pedro understood nothing.
About ten minutes later, Sebastian came in, carrying a bundle of old clothes. From the moment he entered the room, it seemed to Matt that the man was more alert, more nervous. He put the clothes down and lit another cigar, almost burning his fingers, and threw down the match.
“I have been speaking to people,” he said. “There is a great deal happening in Lima, and none of it is good. You must leave here very soon. You do not have a lot of time.”
“They’re looking for me,” Matt said.
“The police are everywhere. They are asking questions and they are not being very polite. You understand? They have big sticks and they have tear gas. They are searching for an English boy. They say he is a terrorist and they are offering a large reward -” He held up a hand before Matt could speak. “Only a few people saw you enter Poison Town and they won’t talk. We have no money. We have no possessions. Maybe that is why we value the things we do have… loyalty and friendship. Nobody will talk but even so the police will come here, looking for you. They will tear the place apart. Maybe they’re already on their way.”
“I have to find my friend,” Matt said.
“You’re wasting your breath. I already told you. If Salamanda does have him, he could be anywhere. He could be in Lima. Or he could be floating face down in the ocean. If you ask me, that is more likely.”
“What about this place that you told me about? This farmhouse or whatever you called it.”
“The Hacienda Salamanda. I do not believe you will find him there.”
“I still want to look.”
Sebastian thought for a minute. Then he nodded. “It doesn’t matter to me where you go,” he said. “The only important thing is that you do not stay here. And Pedro must go with you. I have already explained to him. He attacked three policemen so now they are looking for him too. They will kill him if they find him.”
“I’m sorry,” Matt said. “This is my fault.”
“No. It’s his fault. If he’d been smarter, he would have stolen your watch and your money without waking you up. I always said he made a lousy thief. But it’s too late to worry about that now.” He paused. “There is something else. Your appearance. We must change that.”
“What do you mean?”
“A white boy with a white boy’s clothes! It doesn’t matter where you go in Peru, you’ll be seen a mile away.” Sebastian gestured at the bundle he had brought in. “Give me everything you’re wearing.”
“What…?”
“Now!”
Matt was too dazed to argue. He stripped off his jacket, his shirt and his jeans and gave them to Sebastian. He had no doubt that they’d all turn up in some market the next day.
But that wasn’t enough. “Your shoes and socks too,” Sebastian ordered.
He slipped them off and stood in the middle of the room, dressed only in his boxers. Sebastian had produced a bottle and handed it to him. “Rub this in,” he commanded. “Your arms, your legs and especially your face. Pedro will do your shoulders and back.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a dye made from nuts. It will stain your skin for many weeks. We must also cut your hair.” Sebastian took out a pair of scissors. Matt hesitated “Your hair is nice,” the man said. “And it will look good at your funeral. But if you want to live, you must look like one of us. We don’t have time to argue.”
In a short while, Matt stood wearing his new wardrobe. His hair had been cut in the shape of a pudding bowl with a straight fringe above his eyes. His entire body was dark brown. There was no mirror in the room so he had no idea what he looked like but he felt disgusting. His “new” jeans were stained, shapeless and came to an abrupt halt high above his ankles, revealing bare legs and feet. He’d been given a green Adidas T-shirt, full of holes, filthy and faded. And instead of shoes, he had a pair of sandals, made of black rubber – the same as Pedro’s.
“They’re made from tyres,” Sebastian told him.
Matt felt his skin trying to shrink away from the clothes. He could imagine that several people had worn them before him and they had probably never been washed. He noticed Pedro watching him with a half-smile. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
Sebastian translated the question into Spanish and Pedro answered. He spoke softly and only uttered a few words.
“He says, now you know how a Peruvian boy feels,” Sebastian replied. “But you are still too tall. You must learn to walk in a crouch. Make sure you are never higher than he is. And from now on, you will not be Matt. You
