The Divided Child by Ekaterine Nikas Page A

could see a small rectangle of sky.
                "You
certainly know your way around this place," I said.   It wasn't a fact that made me altogether
easy.
                "My
family used to summer on Corfu when I was a boy.   My brother was older, and preferred not to have me follow
him about, so whenever I could get away, I came here and explored.   It's changed a little over the years,
but not much."
                "And
Michael?"
                "I
used to tell him stories about the place when I visited him at school.   Then my brother decided to reinstate
the tradition last year and summer here with his family.   William was still too busy to be
bothered with little boys, so Michael spent a great deal of the summer here, by
himself, exploring."
                "Well,”
I said, “he certainly knows it inside out.    He gave me quite a history lesson yesterday, though we
didn't come this far."   I
looked up, noticing a series of large, irregular holes in the stone overhead.   "What on earth are those
for?"
                Geoffrey
grinned and shook his head.   "You won't like it."
                "What’s
that supposed to mean?"
                "Just
that I think you'd be happier not knowing."
                His
amused tone set my hackles up.   "You certainly enjoy making snap judgments about people," I
said, pulling my arm free of his.   "And deciding what is and is not good for them.   No wonder you want custody of
Michael.   A lonely little boy you
can boss around.   Perfect.   Just ignore that a messy custody battle
will probably be pure hell for him."
                "You're
quite right," Geoffrey said with steely politeness, "it's not my
place to decide what you should and should not know.   Those holes were part of the defenses of the fort.   If invaders managed to scale the walls
and storm the castle, the fort’s defenders would pour boiling oil and pitch
through those holes onto the intruders, burning them quite hideously."
                I
looked up and shivered.   I felt
deflated after my tirade and suddenly wished I hadn't demanded to know.
                "Regarding
your other point," he continued icily, "whether I choose to sue
Demetra for custody of Michael or not is none of your bloody business, and I
would appreciate it if, in future, you kept your views on the matter to
yourself."
                I
could think of nothing sufficiently withering to reply, so I plunged forward,
scraping my arm on the sponge-like black rock that formed the walls of the
tunnel.   Continuing on with more
caution, I made my way out to the open air.
                I
emerged on a high rampart.   I
crossed to the northern wall of it and stared out across the water at the town,
which looked bleached and unfamiliar in the brilliant sunlight.   Not unfamiliar enough, however.   Déjà vu sent a shiver through me.   I turned my back on the town and looked
out toward the stretch of sea that separates Corfu from the Greek
mainland.   Out of the corner of my
eye, I saw Geoffrey emerge from the tunnel, but I ignored him.
                Instead,
I concentrated on a pair of birds soaring and swooping over the water in an intricately
choreographed dance.   Suddenly they
separated, flying up and away from each other before turning and hurtling at
each other with
    single-minded abandon.   They locked in a mating embrace and
began tumbling toward the sea.   I
ran to the southern wall to see if they would part in time.
                "No!"
cried Geoffrey, running after me.   He seized my arm, and I struggled to break free.   "I'm not trying to hurt you!"
he yelled as I kicked him in the shins.   I tried to twist away, but only managed to move a few steps
backward.   The rough stone of the
wall pressed into my back, and I leaned against it, hoping to gain enough
leverage to push