“Is there a problem, Jim?”
“There shouldn’t be. Shouldn’t be. You did follow the instructions all right?”
“Of course.”
“It gives me the willies this place. Let’s make it quick, eh?”
I take the passports and look through them. They seem fine to me. I have two different names and dates of birth, but I’m eighteen in both, which is plausible.
“That’s it then,” Jim says as he finishes counting the money. He puts it in his jacket pocket and I grab his arm.
“The directions to Mercury, please, Jim.”
Jim shakes his head sadly, but is still smiling, professional that he is. “Ivan, me ol’ mate, I’m real sorry but I can’t divulge any details till we have the results in from Trev. I’d love to help, course I would. Course I would.”
“And how is Trev doing?”
“Oh, Trev’s havin’ a great time, Trev is. I went round to see him the other day and he’s lovin’ it. A giant puzzle he said. A big, giant puzzle.”
“And how soon will he have the answer to the big, giant puzzle?”
“He didn’t know. He hardly spoke. Quiet even for Trev. But he did say he’d leave directions in the usual spot on a Tuesday at ten in the mornin’. You’ve just gotta check every Tuesday.”
“I’m guessing it won’t be this Tuesday from the size of the puzzle.”
“You never know, Ivan. Our Trev is a genius. He might be having his ’reeka moment right now. You just check every week and one Tuesday it’ll be there.”
“And money?”
Jim’s face sours so much that his mouth puckers and seems unable to form words for a few seconds before he shakes it off to say, “He says he’ll discuss things with you and only you.” Jim wipes his nose with his fingers and then rubs them on his trousers.
The first week I don’t expect anything to appear on the locker. I’ve got a decent stash of money now and I can’t face stealing any more. I buy some new boots and clothes. I keep training. A hundred push-ups are easy now. But I need to get out of the city. I’ve not seen any Hunters, and I’m moving around every night to sleep in a different doorway, but I’m on edge all the time. I decide that after I check the locker on the following Tuesday I’ll go to Wales or maybe Scotland, somewhere remote, and come back the following Monday.
But the next Tuesday I find an envelope on top of the locker. I walk away slowly, looking around. A young boy no more than five years old is holding his mother’s hand and staring at me. I freeze and look around again and then clock him again. He is still staring at me. I don’t know why, but I run.
I’ve been way too complacent. But even if they aren’t tracking me—and I’m beginning to believe that they aren’t—then they are looking for me. They could get lucky and see me wandering around the streets. They underestimated me and I escaped, but I mustn’t underestimate the Hunters. As Mary said, “The clue is in the name.”
In the envelope there is a train ticket and a note. With a bit of help I discover that the ticket is for tomorrow, leaving at six a.m. The journey to Liverpool can’t be more than a few hours, so it will leave me time to find my way to the meeting point which is indicated on the note:
11 o’clock
42 Mill Hill Lane
Liverpool is a place with few witches, because there’s a gang of fains there that are on to them and don’t like them one bit. Gran told me White Witches try never to go there because there’s a sort of agreement: the Scouse fains won’t out the witches as long as the witches keep away from Liverpool.
I tell myself that this is a good plan. Jim is looking after me, sending me to a place with no White Witches, no Hunters, but later in the day I get jittery and can’t keep still. It bothers me that this is a change to the plan. Jim never mentioned train tickets. He only ever talked about instructions.
I’m walking back to Cobalt Alley. I think Bob will have left weeks ago—I hope so, but something makes me want to check. If the train ticket is because the Hunters are on to Bob—or worse, if they have captured him—I want to know.
Before I reach my previous vantage point across from the Council building I can see that something is happening in the alley so I keep moving slowly along the opposite side of the road. There’s a large white van parked outside Bob’s place and another vehicle to the far side of it that I can’t quite see, but I think it’s the same 4x4 that came to Scotland for me. I risk one last look and see a man come out of Bob’s door holding a painting. The man is Clay.
I don’t sleep that night. I go to the train station only a few minutes before the train is due to leave and find my reserved seat.
The carriage is less than half full; it’s an early train. I try to see each person’s eyes as they come past me. I see no Hunters.
I’m dog-tired and doze on the journey. There’s a judder and an announcement. We are arriving in Liverpool.
It’s 11:15 and Mill Hill Lane feels increasingly unwelcoming with every minute that passes. The street is empty of people. Number 42 is a derelict house in a terrace of derelict houses. Broken glass and graffiti seem to be the norm, but inside it’s relatively untouched: the floorboards are bare and the only broken window is the one I broke to get in.
I’ve stashed my rucksack in a back alley half a mile away. My passports and money are in the zipped pockets of my jacket. I am wearing an Arab scarf and sunglasses, though it’s not sunny. Fingerless gloves are more practical than ordinary gloves and they hide the tattoo and the scars on my hand, but not the tattoos on my finger, which I’ve taped over.
I tell myself that at the first sign of anything odd I’ll go. But I’m kidding myself; the whole thing is odd, and I need to see Trev.
I’m standing upstairs looking up the street when Trev turns the far corner, walking quickly and carrying a thin plastic shopping bag. I stay still, a little back from the window, and watch. There’s a kid on a bike at the far end of the street, and he’s watching Trev too.
I go downstairs as Trev comes to the front door and I pull him inside, telling him that this is not a good place to meet.
“I normally leave all the directions to Jim. That’s what he’s good at.” Trev looks out of the window and then back at me. “Jim’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Abroad, I think . . . I hope. I don’t think the Council got him, but they’re on to us. That’s why I moved up here. Jim told me that even Hunters don’t like coming here.”
I don’t tell him about seeing Clay at Bob’s place but ask, “Are you going abroad too, Trev?”
He tries to smile but looks sick as he pats his breast pocket. “Got the tickets and I’m off this evening.”
“Good. And what about me?”
“Ah yes, glad you asked. The tattoos on your little finger are the clue. As soon as I saw them I had an idea what they were up to. You see, the three little tattoos mirror the tattoos on your body. The one by your nail reflects the one on your neck, the middle one is the one on your hand, and the lower one the tattoo on your ankle. They planned to make some sort of witch’s bottle.”
I look at my finger.
“Witch’s bottles are extremely hard to control. I think they’re working on a sophisticated version. A very sophisticated version. So instead of putting some of your hair or skin or blood in the bottle, I think they were going to amputate your finger and use that. They would probably cut your finger into the three sections and make three witch’s bottles. They would do something to the tattoo on your finger and you would feel it, suffer the pain, on the larger tattoo on your neck, hand, or ankle.”