Free The White Fox by James Bartholomeusz Page B

chasm, accompanied by the sound of sizzling meat.
    He rounded on Jack and Lucy, marching over to where they were held. He leered at them both—held as they were above the ground they were the same height as him. “I’m a generous sort of chap, so I’m going to leave it up to your would-be protector to decide. Who gets sacrificed?” He looked at Alex.
    Alex tried again to wriggle out of his confine but to no avail. “If you dare touch
either
of them—”
    “You’ll what? Wriggle at me? It’s either one dies, or they both die. You can choose to save a life or choose not to. It’s up to you. I may be wrong, but you’re one of those people who
doesn’t
want to see others die, yes?”
    Alex snarled at him.
    “So who’s it going to be? Netball player, complete with authentic scream action, or the gaunt teenager, malnourishment-related accessories not included?”
    Alex didn’t answer.
    The man drew his dagger out again and began swinging it between Jack and Lucy like a pendulum, getting closer each time. Both tried to move, but all they managed was to lean their heads back slightly.
    Jack looked from Lucy to the dagger. She was past the point of screaming; now she was stunned into silence at the mesmerizing veer of the blade. He tried to speak. “Pick me—” He felt something invisible clamp over his mouth, muffling his voice.
    “Hush,” the man whispered, raising a finger to where his mouth would be, “it’s not your turn. You get your question next round … providing you still have a tongue. Or a head.”
    There was silence. Jack looked at Alex. He was staring at the dagger, his face a mask of indecision.
    The dagger swung before Jack, so close that he felt the air ripple around his collar, then by Lucy and grazed her neck. It came back a second time, aimed deep at Jack’s jugular—
    “No,” Alex shouted.
    “We have a winner,” whooped the man. He lowered the dagger. “Girl, how many people have you murdered, tortured, stabbed, shot, psychologically damaged, or otherwise maimed?”
    “None,” Lucy whimpered.
    “How good of you.” He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air. He raised the dagger in his right arm and switched his grip so the blade was pointing downwards.
    Jack tried to cry out, but he couldn’t even whisper.
    The man swung the blade in an arc, ready to strike—
    “Wait,” Alex yelled.
    The man paused and turned his head to look at him, the dagger halted in midswing.
    Alex looked from Lucy’s terrified expression to the darkness of the hood. Jack could tell he was thinking fast. “Show us your face.”
    The figure smiled again. “I suppose you’re thinking by looking me in the eye and appealing to my better nature you can stop this madness and bring me over to the side of goodness and justice, and then all evil in the world will vanish forever, and we’ll all go and have a tea party in a flowery forest grove with talking animals with names like Bertrand and Alice. Well, it won’t. The world’s cruel, Mr. Steele, and the sooner you understand that fact, the sooner you’ll see true reason. But then, why not try? Why not try and prove me wrong?”
    The man reached down with his dagger hand and pulled the hood off his face. Sleek, shoulder-length hair framed a darkly handsome face with fierce blue eyes and a sadistically curved jawline. He looked only about forty, but in his eyes there burnt a light Jack immediately associated with madness—simultaneously old so as to have seen all the evils of the world in their worst form, but at the same time young, daring, and vicious.
    “No?” the man said. He leaned closer to Alex. “Has it sunk in yet that you’re on your own? No grown-ups here to make it all better. This isn’t smoke and mirrors, boy. You aren’t about to wake up safe and sound. This is real. Nowhere is sacred, not even your hometown. Does it hurt, knowing what kind of place this world really is?”
    Alex stared at him for a moment. He thought he