Giant, page 12
‘Well, that answers that question, at least,’ he said.
‘What question?’ mumbled Minnie thickly.
‘Whether you’re dead or alive. You’re not dead. I didn’t fancy carrying a corpse. My back hurts enough already.’ A coughing fit made him bend over double, then he stopped.
‘Can you sit?’ he said gruffly.
She pushed herself up to an awkward sitting position and drooped like a broken doll, damp unwashed hair falling over her face.
‘So, if you weren’t kidnapped, and you weren’t attacked by a monster – fine, giant – why did I find you you rolling about on the floor?’ said Robin. ‘Seems a funny way to go on the run.’
Gritting her teeth, she said: ‘I broke my medicine bottles.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin, matter-of-factly. ‘What do you take it for?’
‘Pain,’ she said, curtly. ‘And it helps me grow as best I can.’
He looked doubtfully at her.
‘If it wasn’t for my medicine, I wouldn’t even be this height. I’ve got defective muscles. Born with them.’ Minnie stared at him, woozy from the pain’s aftermath, suddenly suspicious. ‘What were you doing just now, while I was out cold? You could have told an official you’d found me. Did you?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘There’s a cash bounty on my head, isn’t there?’
Robin nodded.
‘So?’ Minnie was mystified. ‘Why haven’t you told anyone you found me? When I first met you, you were stuffing bread rolls into your pocket. Couldn’t you do with the money?’
He stared at her, then said bluntly: ‘I’m not a sneak.’
‘But – money is money.’
‘And what would I do with it?’ he said, flatly. ‘Buy my way into polite Quake society? As if they’d ever let me through the gates. Spend it on a fancy dinner in the Old Town? Do you think anyone would serve me?’ He glared at her. ‘Their money won’t bring my family back. I won’t tell them I found you.’ This boy seemed to hate money as much as he hated giants, and the island and the Giant Management Company itself.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
He took a deep breath, then seemed to come back to himself. ‘Can you tell me one thing, though?’
She owed him that, at least. ‘What?’
‘Why are you on the run? I thought you loved living in Quake Quarter, loved the ceremonies, the traditions …’
He was mocking her. She’d had enough. Every time she talked to this difficult boy who loathed everything around him, she regretted it. Awkwardly, she got to her feet. A look of shame flickered across the boy’s face.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he took a deep breath. ‘I haven’t chatted to people much since my family died. I get conversations wrong.’ Underneath his abrasive manner, Minnie realised, Robin Scragg was the saddest person she had ever met, with no one to love and no one to love him.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, more softly. ‘But I do need to get home now. I’ve got to get my medicine.’ She hesitated, as she glanced down the path.
His clever face filled with understanding. ‘You don’t want to go home.’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t want to go through with my ceremony.’
Robin stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘Rubble dust! That’s why you’re on the run. You’re – you’re actually bunking off from your own ceremony?’
She gave a tiny nod, ashamed.
Robin’s eyes flickered with questions, and he glanced up at the darkening skies then back at her.
‘That’s a new one,’ he said, finally. ‘I’ve never heard of a child who didn’t want to have their ceremony – who wasn’t excited about the festivities, and the dancing and the welcoming into society. You might as well admit to treason.’
‘I am excited about all that stuff,’ she protested, trying to sound like she believed it. ‘I do want to do it, but not just yet.’ Minnie gasped the last sentence as the cramps began again.
Robin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you say you needed medicine?’
Minnie nodded, unable to speak.
‘I have some at my house,’ he said, blushing.
Minnie peered at him, hardly daring to hope. ‘Really?’
Robin rubbed his nose with a grimy finger. ‘Yeah. My parents had lots of painkillers, to help with their twisted muscles. Decades of rubbling does that to you. Would they help?’
Relief flooded Minnie. ‘So much! If they help these – argh! – cramps go, I can stay hidden a while longer. Until all the fast-tracking is done and dusted, hopefully.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘But – but you can’t stay. If I get caught harbouring a rich girl run-away …’ He let the sentence die. Minnie thought of the whips and the dogs and understood. ‘But you can come and get what you need.’
How well did she know this strange boy, though? What if he really did want the reward money?
‘This definitely isn’t a trap?’ she asked.
His face blazed with emotion. ‘Look, I hate the people in charge,’ he said. There was no doubting the truth that rang like a bell in his voice. ‘So them not always getting their way will be a triumph to me. And – well, ever since my family …’ he swallowed. ‘My cottage has been really quiet. This isn’t a trap. Come and get what you want. But don’t outstay your welcome.’
Despite the ferociousness in his glare, Minnie could also see the plea. She gave a tiny nod. ‘All right. Thank you.’ She weakly got to her feet.
Then Robin said something strange.
He said: ‘Run.’
Minnie frowned. ‘Are you mocking me again?’
‘Just do it,’ he said, face white with fear, staring at a point just behind her.
She twisted her head to see what was so terrifying, and was astonished to find the jackal behind them. He hadn’t died! Relief and affection were quickly replaced by surprise. Because he was no longer the cute, big-eared pup who had saved her life. In his place was a snarling, wild-eyed demon. His ears and fur were freshly ripped, and for the first time since she’d met him, he looked a bit like the vicious predator from the label on the cans of jackal meat. His teeth were bared at Robin, as if he wanted to sink them into his throat.
THE CLOUDS RUMBLED with distant thunder. It was as if time had stopped. For a while, the two children and the jackal merely held their places, wondering who would make the first move. Minnie shot confused looks between the blood-soaked jackal and the shaking boy. ‘But – but I … I know this jackal,’ she said, softly. What had got into him?
Even though Robin was rigid with fear, he managed to give her a quick, terrified glance. ‘You know it? How?’
‘He saved my life, last night! We, er … we even shared the same moss, to sleep on. He was really harmless, apart from with the screechers.’
‘Well, it’s not harmless now,’ hissed Robin. ‘It’s looking at me like I’m dinner.’
The jackal took a deliberate step closer to them, his eyes fixed on Robin the entire time. He stank of fresh blood and fear and fight. There was a nasty bite mark on his cheek. His hackles were up and his front legs were bent. Minnie recognised these signs. He was seconds away from attacking.
‘What’s wrong?’ she murmured to the young pup.
The animal’s eyes flickered for a moment towards Minnie, and she caught a flash of recognition in them. Then they resumed their laser-like intensity on Robin. Minnie took a step towards the jackal, as if to soothe him.
Robin flinched. ‘Careful,’ he urged. ‘Don’t get too close. It might kill you first.’
‘He,’ she muttered. ‘He’s a boy.’
‘I don’t care what it is: it’s got murder on its mind,’ whispered Robin.
Robin had a point. The jackal’s entire body bristled. A terrifying growl grew in the back of his throat. He treated Robin to a front-row view of his teeth, still flecked with blood from when he’d sunk them into the dogs.
Robin turned deathly white. ‘He … wants … to … kill … me,’ he moaned. The thunder cracked again, closer this time.
An angry sort of exhaustion swept through Minnie. She just wanted to go to Robin’s and stay hidden. Every second out here made them more vulnerable. Frustration made her brave. She bent down on her haunches, reached a hand out and placed it on the jackal’s neck. He flinched a little, but stayed where he was.
‘What are you doing?’ hissed Robin.
‘It’s all right, he trusts me,’ she murmured. ‘Now, Robin. Walk over to us.’
‘Are you insane?’
‘I think he needs to sniff your hand.’
A scornful silence greeted this.
‘It was the only thing that calmed him down last night,’ went on Minnie. ‘He was exactly the same with me when we met. Then he sniffed my hand, and he changed. I think he just has a thing about scent. And – oh, can you just get on with it, please?’ She glanced nervously around the lagoon. ‘We’re really exposed here. Anyone can see us.’
‘If it bites my hand off, you’re going to do all my rubbling work for ever while I sit around and eat grapes.’
‘Fine,’ said Minnie. ‘Just hurry.’
As Robin approached, the jackal shook all over. ‘Easy,’ she soothed. A low, continuous warning rumble began in his throat, as if he was trying to out-thunder the thunder coming their way.
‘Are you sure about this?’ said Robin. Minnie nodded, trying to look confident.
Showing admirable bravery, the boy got down on his knees and offered his hand. Likewise, the jackal was bold enough to inch forward and take a tentative sniff of the boy’s scent. This was the moment when they would become firm chums, thought Minnie.
A second later, the jackal seemed to twist rapidly in the air, there was a strong snapping sound and blood was running down Robin’s wrist. The jackal growled triumphantly, and then twisted slightly towards Minnie, cocking his head as if looking for a pat on the head. Minnie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered.
Robin rolled his eyes wearily, as if nothing could surprise him any more. ‘Never mind. That’s the island through and through, isn’t it? If it doesn’t hurt you one way, it’ll hurt you another.’ He glanced at the torn skin on his hand. Minnie remembered her first impression of the boy who hated everything, and suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for him.
As if aware he sounded too miserable, and not wanting to lose her company, he gave a rueful grin. It was as if a cloudy day had suddenly brightened. ‘Don’t worry, Minnie,’ he said. ‘I can’t actually feel much pain in my hands. They’ve been bashed by so many bricks over the years most of the nerve endings have gone. Still –’ he shot a warning sign at the jackal – ‘if your friend tries that again, I’ll stick him in a can with the rest of his pals.’ In answer, the jackal bared his teeth at Robin. As the beginning of a beautiful friendship, it wasn’t promising.
Minnie got to her feet wearily, glancing up at the slate sky, darkening by the second. ‘Let’s keep going,’ she urged.
The jackal began to walk alongside her, drawing a disgusted look from Robin.
‘You’re not serious?’ he spluttered.
‘He’s coming with me,’ said Minnie, firmly. ‘He saved me last night. He helped me when I was lost. He bought me time today. I owe him. I need him.’ And I might need him to do those things again, once Robin and I have parted ways.
Robin broke eye contact first. ‘Have it your way,’ he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning abruptly on his heel.
The jackal continued to pad softly alongside Minnie, snarling occasionally at the boy in front, but mostly turning his head to look at Minnie with adoration in his eyes. Minnie wondered what the jackal had smelt on Robin that had made him so agitated, and why he’d not reacted that way to her. She shook her head at him, with affection.
‘I just can’t work you out,’ she murmured. ‘You’re loyal to me, but not to him. You’re small, but you win every fight. You were caged, but now you’re free.’ He wagged his tail. She smiled a little. ‘You’re full of defiance,’ she added. ‘Always moving in and out of trouble. And just when I think I know who you are, you twist and change again.’
He twisted his head towards her and gave her a sly grin. And even though she hadn’t been looking for one, his name presented itself to her right then.
‘Twist,’ she said. ‘That’s you.’
He stopped in his tracks and cocked his triangular head at her, as if trying the name on for size. Despite the blood in his fur and the bite mark on his face, she thought she had never seen anything quite so ferociously beautiful in her life.
Moments later, a thick rain began to fall.
‘Brilliant timing,’ Robin said, and it appeared he meant it. ‘It will make it harder for you to be spotted.’ He looked appraisingly at Minnie’s hair, now plastered to her skull and cheekbones. ‘That’s good cover, for starters. But give me your rucksack.’
Then he glanced at her shoes. ‘Take those off,’ he said.
Minnie hesitated. The path they were on was horribly stony. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Because whoever is looking for you – and it could be lots of people by now – will be looking for a nice presentable Quake Quarter girl, wearing good shoes, carrying a bag. Not a barefoot girl, with no bag, walking next to a rubbler. If you want to stay hidden in plain sight, you’re going to have to confuse them.’
She did as he asked and stuffed the shoes in her rucksack, which Robin then shouldered. Another wave of fire ripped through her body. ‘It’s coming back,’ she slurred, her eyelids flickering as her eyes rolled in agony. ‘I’m … sorry. I can’t …’
Robin turned and walked towards her. Twist growled. Robin ignored him. ‘Put your arm around my neck,’ he said to Minnie.
Minnie did as she was asked, swaying slightly.
‘Well done. Now listen to me,’ said Robin, and his voice was gentler than she expected. ‘That’s all you have to do, all right? Just listen, and try to do what I say.’
She gave a small whimper of assent.
‘Left foot,’ he said. Minnie moved it, wincing.
‘Right foot.’
Her right foot dragged a tiny bit in the dirt, then fell back again. Twist nudged at her foot with his nose, as if to guide her. Her thoughts were fading, swallowed up by pain. She had forgotten what she was doing, where she was going …
‘Right foot,’ repeated a voice in her ear, as soft as the rain. ‘You can do it.’
She moved it.
‘Left foot … Right foot … Can you manage another one? … Well done. Go on.’
This went on for some time. As the rain hid them and kept them safe, Twist and the children made their way slowly, so slowly, down the path.
THE GROUND BENEATH Minnie’s feet changed from a dirt track to a sodden river path. The two children made their way down this until it rose into a high arch that she faintly recognised, even through her haze of agony. ‘Red Bridge,’ she muttered.
‘Not long now,’ said Robin.
When her arm slipped off his shoulder, he reached for her hand and placed her arm back. ‘Nearly there,’ he said. ‘Hold on.’
They crossed the bridge. The rain had stopped. Would anyone see them? She hoped not. They reached a path made of broken rubble. Her skin was so tender, felt so inflamed, she felt as if she was walking across broken glass.
Minnie saw, as if they belonged to someone else, her bare muddy feet drag their way down the path, then over a rough mat, and then finally shuffle across a tidily swept dirt floor. She was dimly aware that there was one wooden chair and an old sofa.
‘Take the couch,’ said Robin, and Minnie sank gratefully into it. Robin disappeared. Twist’s wet fur filled the small room with a pungent musky smell. She nearly swooned, felt blackness nibble at the edges of her vision. A few minutes later, two small white tablets were put into her hands, as well as a glass of water.
Minnie was about to take the tablets when a wave of ferocious pain, like something she’d never felt before, erupted out of her. The pills fell tumbling to the ground and, a second later, so did she.
The next few hours slipped by in fever. Sometimes she knew she was lying on a makeshift bed of towels and blankets, but a lot of the time she was not even aware of that. Occasionally a bucket was held to her mouth. Sometimes something cool was pressed against her forehead. Robin said things softly, things that sounded like ‘temperature’ and ‘poisoning’ but she couldn’t find language anywhere inside her to reply.
Odd visions ran through her mind – Mr Straw’s face bending over her while she cried and resisted; Mama and Papa whispering in corners while they looked at her; huge bottles of sunblock dancing across lagoons, out of which stretched stone arms, as if begging for help …
Eventually, her fever broke, and she opened her eyes.
‘Speck?’ she said.
She cried weakly when she realised her giant wasn’t there. But Robin was. He was crouched on the floor at her feet. The room was dark apart from the light thrown by candles, barely more than stubs. The pain had been everywhere, like a thief that had crept over her bones all night, stealing whatever it wanted. Now it had gone, and her muscles were aching but blessedly empty. She could have cried from the sweet relief.
‘Better?’ said Robin.
‘A bit.’ She sat up, feeling thirsty, and squinted into the candlelight.
He stared at her, frowned, blinked and rubbed his eyes. ‘You look more like yourself, at least. You were really sick there, Minnie. It was like when one of our chickens ate some poison and fell into the same kind of convulsions. Has that ever happened before?’
‘Never like that. What happened?’
He launched into a long, passionate anecdote about the bravery of the chicken, but she was distracted. ‘What’s happened to my clothes?’ she demanded.
Robin, a little crossly, said: ‘Nothing’s happened to them. Anyway, on the fifth day, Feathers laid an egg, but—’
