glimpse of a jean-clad leg with a steel-capped boot at the end of it and, wincing in pain, turned fully to find a short thick-set thug staring at him. He was wearing a leather overcoat and Doc Martens boots. He was joined by the blond with the tattoo, his face pockmarked with acne, a cigarette clamped in his teeth. The blondâs leering blue eyes squinted at Nan through the trickle of smoke.
âBleedinâ rich tart! Give us a note or Iâll kick yer nancy boyfriendâs bollocks up into âis throat!â
Mark muttered, âShit!â
âWhat do we do?â Nan whispered.
âLeave it to me.â
Mark looked around for some kind of advantage. Hefound none and the first thug was blocking their only escape. Mark saw a triple infinity badge sewn into one arm of his overcoat. Now he could see them closer to, the badge and the tattoo on the blondâs scalp looked amateurish. He understood Pennyâs reference to wannabe Skulls: he was dealing with common thugs with professional aspirations. They shoved up hard against him, close enough for Mark to smell their body odour. Both wore stud earrings in their left ears and the smaller one had a ring through his right nostril, from which a scabby sore festered onto his lip.
Mark wondered if his oracular powers would help him here. He had no experience of using them on TÃr and he wasnât filled with confidence he would know how to use them here, even if they did work.
When he turned to look for Penny, the girl had vanished.
âDamn!â he said, and turned suddenly, using his elbows to attempt to force a passage through the junkies, but it was hard work to make any real space and there was no escape from the two leather-clad thugs. The blond backed into him, distracting his attention, as the shorter thug grabbed Markâs beanie, draping it rakishly over his own tight-knit curls, horsing around with it. The blond was groping at his pockets. How likely were they to be carrying weapons? Mark didnât give a damn about a few coins of change. But his harmonica was in his right hip pocket and he had no intention of letting any of these thugs get their hands on it. Mark punched the blond in the centre of his face, giving him a bloody nose.
He fell back a little, giving Mark the opportunity to grab Nanâs arm and run. His injured ankle slowed him down, but after thirty yards or so he saw a derelict shop and kicked his way through the rotting boarding to usher Nan into yet another alley.
They were startled by a rousing gallery of heads; filthy faces, missing teeth, mangy scalps with untended straggles of hair. Every crevice and doorway was taken up: a legion of homeless had taken over the alley. They had cannibalised most of the doors and frames for firewood and were sheltering from the weather in the holes in the walls. As they got to their feet, Mark hurried Nan onwards and they stumbled on, tripping over the jumble of legs, evoking an increasing chorus of curses.
They recoiled from the grotesque faces, the open hatred in every eye, the overwhelming stench.
They heard the two thugs before they turned and saw them, running down the alleyway toward them. The blond, with his bloody nose, was slapping a lump of metal against his palm. The shorter of the two was swinging a pickaxe handle, tossing it into the air and catching it again.
Mark heard Penny call out. âCome with me!â For some reason he couldnât fathom, the homeless were allowing her some leeway. She beckoned Mark and Nan after her.
Under the light of one working street lamp, he suddenly saw her face in great detail: her right eye was surrounded by a yellowing map of bruising and her skin was a rash of healing cuts and abrasions. Mark reached out as if to touchher cheek with the back of his hand, but she dodged him and made off at a run.
They had to hurry to keep up with her, leading them through a maze of ruined streets, then through a hole in a wire fence
âBleedinâ rich tart! Give us a note or Iâll kick yer nancy boyfriendâs bollocks up into âis throat!â
Mark muttered, âShit!â
âWhat do we do?â Nan whispered.
âLeave it to me.â
Mark looked around for some kind of advantage. Hefound none and the first thug was blocking their only escape. Mark saw a triple infinity badge sewn into one arm of his overcoat. Now he could see them closer to, the badge and the tattoo on the blondâs scalp looked amateurish. He understood Pennyâs reference to wannabe Skulls: he was dealing with common thugs with professional aspirations. They shoved up hard against him, close enough for Mark to smell their body odour. Both wore stud earrings in their left ears and the smaller one had a ring through his right nostril, from which a scabby sore festered onto his lip.
Mark wondered if his oracular powers would help him here. He had no experience of using them on TÃr and he wasnât filled with confidence he would know how to use them here, even if they did work.
When he turned to look for Penny, the girl had vanished.
âDamn!â he said, and turned suddenly, using his elbows to attempt to force a passage through the junkies, but it was hard work to make any real space and there was no escape from the two leather-clad thugs. The blond backed into him, distracting his attention, as the shorter thug grabbed Markâs beanie, draping it rakishly over his own tight-knit curls, horsing around with it. The blond was groping at his pockets. How likely were they to be carrying weapons? Mark didnât give a damn about a few coins of change. But his harmonica was in his right hip pocket and he had no intention of letting any of these thugs get their hands on it. Mark punched the blond in the centre of his face, giving him a bloody nose.
He fell back a little, giving Mark the opportunity to grab Nanâs arm and run. His injured ankle slowed him down, but after thirty yards or so he saw a derelict shop and kicked his way through the rotting boarding to usher Nan into yet another alley.
They were startled by a rousing gallery of heads; filthy faces, missing teeth, mangy scalps with untended straggles of hair. Every crevice and doorway was taken up: a legion of homeless had taken over the alley. They had cannibalised most of the doors and frames for firewood and were sheltering from the weather in the holes in the walls. As they got to their feet, Mark hurried Nan onwards and they stumbled on, tripping over the jumble of legs, evoking an increasing chorus of curses.
They recoiled from the grotesque faces, the open hatred in every eye, the overwhelming stench.
They heard the two thugs before they turned and saw them, running down the alleyway toward them. The blond, with his bloody nose, was slapping a lump of metal against his palm. The shorter of the two was swinging a pickaxe handle, tossing it into the air and catching it again.
Mark heard Penny call out. âCome with me!â For some reason he couldnât fathom, the homeless were allowing her some leeway. She beckoned Mark and Nan after her.
Under the light of one working street lamp, he suddenly saw her face in great detail: her right eye was surrounded by a yellowing map of bruising and her skin was a rash of healing cuts and abrasions. Mark reached out as if to touchher cheek with the back of his hand, but she dodged him and made off at a run.
They had to hurry to keep up with her, leading them through a maze of ruined streets, then through a hole in a wire fence
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