Something powerful is drawing Ward back to Devil's Island. Something he thought he had forgotten. He must evade vicious lighthouse keeper George Jaggles in order to rescue it, but Jaggles will soon be the least of his worries. Because an assassin is...
Without warning he leapt at the guard in front of him, throwing his shackled hands over the guard's head and pulling the chain between the shackles viciously back towards himself. The guard gasped as the chain bit into his neck and his nightstick thumped to the floor. He spun wildly, Ward hanging off his back like a monkey, and slammed backwards into the wall. Ward felt all the breath go out of his body, but he hung on, his nose filled with the smell of the man's greasy hair and the sour sweat of his skin. He wrenched back on the chain again, not caring if he strangled the man, just trying to stop him whirling. It was like being on a bucking horse.
Yells from the other guard. As expected he rushed past them and went for Lightfinger, who was shuffling down the corridor as fast as he could, the shackles that connected his ankles clanking. Ward had time to feel a flash of triumph before the guard flipped him over his head. He flew through the air, crashed into the wall with a sickening crunch, and fell into a heap at the base of it.
The guard was upon him like a bear.
"DON'T MOVE!"
He pinned Ward's chest to the floor with his foot, putting his full weight on it. The pain from the collision, momentarily washed out by adrenaline, came rushing back, and Ward's head reeled under a sheet of agony. Tears sprung from his eyes. His head lolled to the side and he looked down the corridor, but it was a blur.
"I SAID DON'T MOVE!"
The pressure on his chest intensified and he let out an agonised grunt. It was the last of the air left in his lungs.
He heard a throaty cry of pain from further up the corridor. Lightfinger? If so, it was the first sound he had ever heard the boy make. But he had no time to think about that.
The guard lifted his foot slightly and Ward was able to draw in a painful breath.
The first part of the plan had been to separate the guards. The second was for Lightfinger to disable his guard. How he'd planned to do so Ward didn't know, either because he'd misinterpreted the pantomimed explanation, or because Lightfinger had opted not to tell him. In any case, it hadn't worked. As Ward's vision cleared he could make out the guard returning back up the corridor, dragging the boy like a sack. Lightfinger wasn't moving.
"Put him inside," Ward's guard said. "I'll deal with this one." He rubbed his neck with one hand, where a long red welt had risen. I hope it hurts, Ward thought.
The other guard hauled Lightfinger's body into the cell and locked the door.
"No need to explain," the Warden said softly. His shoes appeared in Ward's line of sight. He hunkered down, reached out, and lifted Ward's chin – tenderly, as if afraid to hurt him – and looked in his eyes. Ward could feel blood trickling down his scalp. It itched.
"Nice try son," the Warden said, but his eyes were cold. He dropped Ward's chin and straightened up again. "They're here," he said to the guard. "They'll have to see this one first. Can you handle him?"
"Yes," the guard said, unbale to keep a note of irritation out of his voice.
The Warden's footsteps moved steadily away again.
The guard removed his foot from Ward's chest. "Get up," he said.
Ward rolled over and curled into a foetal position. Even that hurt. His head was thumping with waves of pain, and when he raised it the corridor spun weirdly. His stomach roiled with nausea.
The guard got one hand under his armpit and lifted him to his feet. Ward thanked him by vomiting all over the front of his uniform.
"That's not very nice." The guard seemed like someone who had been vomited on before.
Foul-tasting acid saliva burned in Ward's throat, his head pounding in time with his heartbeats. At least the nausea was gone. He closed his eyes and tried to breath slowly and will the pain to go away.
They're here, he thought.
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