And then to the wrath of Milosh and Esmeralda when she and Mirela had finally made it back to camp.
Breaking through the images were the thoughts about what she’d done to Scarface – somehow sending her energy directly into his mind, altering it. She’d always been aware that she could focus upon positive thoughts and concentrate her goodwill, and it seemed to calm people, but she’d assumed that it was the power of Goddess Gaia that gave them peace. But yesterday, she had felt her heart actually touch Scarface, inside him. And he felt different afterwards.
Lying on top of her soft, feathered eiderdown, Oody curled into her side, uncomfortably hot, she wondered what might have happened had she pushed harder.
Suddenly, it felt as though there were no sky. Nothing above her; the universe limitless, open to her. She wondered whether she could actually have made her captor use his sword to protect her. She dismissed the thought as soon as she had it. He’d felt sorry for her briefly, that was all.
And there definitely was a sky above her. An endless Romanian summer-night sky, an inverse inky ocean. She used the stars as a distraction, concentrating on mapping the constellations. But the memories of yesterday were too real. Two images in particular – Birthday being bashed, and Scarface tracing sword-circles above Mirela, unconscious on the road – made her shoot her thoughts up into the heavens. Somehow, imagining herself up there on a star, looking down at the camp, at herself cradling Oody, helped her to cope with the thoughts of what had happened yesterday.
But what had happened yesterday? She still couldn’t get it straight.
Down in the sewer, Birthday Jones had forced them to run through a tunnel thick with an almost chewable stench of rotten eggs. They’d splashed through filthy puddles and climbed over mounds of steaming, fetid refuse. And when she could run no further, when she was about to drop down into one of the green-sheened stagnant pools, the tunnel opened out into a room of sorts, a cavernous junction where other tunnels met. And there the street kids waited.
There was a flurry of whistles and catcalls, and then they’d cheered.
Samantha had bent forward, hands on knees, sucking air. Mirela had dropped to the wet ground beside her, cradling her head in her hands.
‘Are you okay?’ Samantha had managed, a hand on her best friend’s shoulder.
She got nothing.
‘Mirela, are you all right?’
‘Chill, Sam,’ said Mirela, breathing hard, her voice muffled by her hands. ‘I’m okay. But why are you so worried about me when you nearly became the wife of the fattest king in the world?’ Mirela raised her face and tried to smile. Stripes of blood were congealing on a livid graze on her cheek.
Fonso and several of the kids spread some rags and newspapers out on a concrete ledge. Samantha dropped gratefully into the nest, and looked up at Birthday. His eye was swollen shut. ‘Oh my God!’ she said. ‘Look at your face.’
‘You should see yours,’ he said, with dimples.
She prodded at her swollen mouth. She felt a few tears escape her lashes. Only feeling everyone’s eyes on her stopped her from giving in to the sobs that pushed relentlessly at the back of her throat.
‘I just don’t know why the king would send those freaks after us,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘What the hell is going on? And who was doing the shooting up there?’
‘Well, firstly,’ said Birthday, lifting the bottom of his T-shirt to carefully wipe her face, ‘I don’t think it was the king who sent them.’
‘You don’t?’ she said.
‘Nope. Not his style. He would have sent his goons to bring you in. But I’ve never seen anyone like them around here before. How would he know people like that? And the way my Aunt Crina told it, he definitely wouldn’t have wanted you hurt. I think he likes you a little too much, Sam. Anyway, you should have seen who the shooter was! Okay, so there are these old dudes up there who play cards at lunchtime at the same table, every day, since I’ve been working – and I’ve been working those streets since I was five.’
‘Guaril and Gudada,’ yelled Fonso, beaming, slapping hands with the two kids closest to him.
‘Yep, that’s them all right. Anyway, Gudada does not like anyone wrecking his lunch hour,’ he said.
‘No, Gudada does not,’ said Fonso, letting loose with some breakdancing, his moves in time with his speech, unable to contain his happiness with this part of the story.
‘So when the Mercedes came around the corner…’ began Birthday.
‘Yeah, when the ninja-mobile took out their card table…’ Fonso interrupted, moonwalking.
‘Fonso, would you please…’ said Birthday.
‘Sorry, B,’ said Fonso. ‘You go ahead.’ He did some popping and locking to prove he meant it.
Birthday sighed. ‘Well, anyway,’ he said. ‘It was Gudada doing the shooting. I don’t know whether he was more pissed about them trying to abduct you or because they ruined his game. Whatever it was, he just took out that old pistola he’s always packing and started shooting. It was pretty cool, man.’
‘Too cool,’ said Fonso, eyes wide. ‘He shot that scarred freak holding you! And when he went down the party really started. Those Buddhist monk dudes dropped their nunchucks and pulled out Uzis!’
Fonso shook his head reverently, beaming a lottery winner’s smile.
‘Then they pulled their friend into the car,’ said Birthday.
‘And that catwoman-on-acid finally joined them,’ said Mirela.
‘And they took off, shooting at the cops,’ said Fonso. ‘Best day ever, man. For real.’
When Samantha woke again, she decided to give up on the sleeping idea. The moon was pale and fat, the sky bruised black-purple. Dawn herself was only just waking up and wouldn’t be dressed for another hour.
Samantha stretched silently. Spread out around her, mounds of bedding dotted the camp like mutant mushrooms sprung up overnight. Her family slept on under the stars, relishing these months when they could camp in the open before winter set in and sent them all, frozen and miserable, back to their trucks and vans. She could barely hear the horses, shuffling, asleep on their feet under the trees in the same spot they’d dined with the gypsy king. Although that lunch had been just the day before yesterday, it felt as though it had happened a month ago.
She hadn’t met any of the new horses yet. Last night Lala wouldn’t even allow her to walk as far as the paddock.
Upside down beside her, Oody twitched and spasmed, his paws padding the sky as he chased dream rabbits. She smoothed her hand gently over the soft down on his belly and wriggled carefully away from him. He rolled onto his side, stiffened his limbs in a stretch, and then snuffled back to sleep. When she’d tiptoed across camp just before midnight to ask Tamas if she could take him for the night, he hadn’t even glanced at her. He’d just clicked his tongue and nudged Oody out of his sleeping roll. What she’d done to him she had no idea. Did he really think she’d just enjoyed a lovely adventure in town? And he’d heard Milosh’s screams and banging from the caravan, so why did he have to give her attitude too?
She raised her hands to the sky and stretched. She loved this hour. Not even old Nuri was awake. She breathed deeply, the air sweet with wood smoke, black pine trees and horses. She shrugged her long-sleeved T-shirt over her singlet, grabbed her night bag and padded barefoot over to the remains of the fire. As quietly as she could, she removed a thick branch and a few sticks from the woodpile, adding them to the fire, prodding carefully at the red glow under the feathers of ash. Nuri would soon be here with the baby to tend the fire, but she’d find it a little easier this morning.