Crowned. Cheryl S. Ntumy

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes widen. “Wiki’s right. You can’t trust a word that comes out of that guy’s mouth. He knows you have the anklet on so he can’t trick you with his gifts, but he can tell you all the lies he wants.”

      I don’t think the Puppetmaster was lying. He’s lied to me before. He lied to me the entire time he pretended to be my grandfather, but I’m convinced he was honest during the meeting and I’m even more convinced he’s behind Marshall’s disappearance.

      There’s a dangerous sliver of anticipation stirring inside me. It’s hard to believe, but I’m looking forward to my next meeting with the Puppetmaster. That scares me. Am I exhibiting a healthy curiosity about my enemy, or am I falling into the trap he set long before I was born?

      * * *

      It appears Thuli is campaigning for the title of Most Annoying Person to supplement his medals in egotism and general wickedness. For the next week he harasses me at work every chance he gets, dropping in while I’m at the photocopier, following me around and offering to help me carry things. His presence makes my gift quiver. His energy is murky and weird, and I want to put as much distance between us as I can.

      “Go away,” I snap for the billionth time as he reaches for the pile of copies I’ve just made. “Don’t you have a press conference to plan, or something?”

      “I’ve done my assignments for the day,” he replies with a slow grin. “Marketing isn’t rocket science, you know. Isn’t it time for your tea break? Oh, look – it is!”

      I glare at him, but he’s immune. He follows me across the main reception area. It’s almost empty – the cast and crew are on location today.

      I drop the copies in the in tray on the director’s desk, then whirl around to face my stalker. “What will it take to get rid of you? A drop of blood? A kidney?”

      Thuli laughs. I’m glad he finds me so amusing. “Have a cup of coffee with me. Just one cup, and you won’t see me for the rest of the day.”

      “The rest of the month.”

      “I’ll give you the next two working days.”

      “The whole of next week.”

      He grins. “Let’s do this: spend your tea break with me, and I’ll give you all of next week to yourself. But if you come looking for me, the deal is off.”

      “Like that’ll ever happen,” I snort. “Fine. But we’re sitting here, not in your office.”

      He nods, looking very pleased with himself. He’s becoming more and more like the Puppetmaster. I should find out whether they might be related. It would explain a lot. We stop at the kitchen to make two cups of coffee, then head back to the reception area and settle in a quiet corner.

      I cradle my mug in my hands and blow lightly on the surface of the milky liquid. “OK, you have my attention. What do you want?”

      “I told you. I want to be your friend.” He reaches out to place his mug on the small table, pushing aside some magazines, and giving me a good view of his ghastly tattoo.

      My gift stirs. I get that odd taste of new metal in my mouth again, as though I’m sucking on a spoon that just came out of the packaging, and then my stomach lurches. The premonition hits so hard it makes my head ache.

      The light in the room grows faint and murky, Thuli’s arm is blurred, and the snake tattoo starts to glow blue and wriggle. His voice wafts towards me, sluggish and distorted, then suddenly changes. His words come fast now, slippery, sliding out of his mouth like they’ve been coated in oil. There’s someone in the background with a pencil and paper. Before I can make sense of it I’m back in the reception area, breathing hard.

      I stare at the tattoo. It’s not glowing or moving, but I know its secret now. It’s no ordinary tattoo. I look into Thuli’s face. His nostrils are flared, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. He’s staring at me as though he’s just seen me in my underwear. I inch away, repulsed.

      He shakes his head and licks his lips. “You saw something. A premonition!”

      I’d never have chosen to have a premonition in his presence, but right now I have bigger concerns. “Where did you get it?”

      He blinks, apparently confused. “What?”

      “The tattoo, Thuli! Who did it?”

      “Oh.” He smiles, back to his cocky self. “I was wondering when you’d realise. Impressive, isn’t it?”

      I see it now – what’s different about him. He’s giving off a new energy, and most of it comes from his voice. It sounds smooth and supple, a snake slithering through grass. There’s magic in it, running from the tattoo to his larynx, adding power to his words.

      I lean forward and grab his arm so I can study the tattoo. On closer inspection I can see that there’s something odd about the ink. It looks like it was applied with a brush rather than a needle, yet the longer I look at the black lines the more I get the sense that they’ve seeped right through to his bones. I turn his arm over, and sure enough I see the faintest trace of an outline on the other side. It vanishes before my eyes, the ink fading until it’s completely gone.

      “What did you do?”

      He pulls his arm away but doesn’t answer.

      “You have no idea what you’re messing with!” I hiss, furious that any gifted would be stupid enough to give a magic tattoo to an ungifted, let alone a freak hunter. “Tell me where you got it!”

      Thuli glances at his watch. “Tea time’s over.” He gets up and gives me a sly smile. “See you around, Connie.”

      I sit there in the empty reception area, my mind reeling. I can’t believe he finally got what he’s always wanted. Thuli Baleseng, freak hunter and scum of the earth, has a gift.

      * * *

      I can’t sleep. I’m agitated and restless, and my bed feels by turns too soft or too hard, too hot or too cold. I’m worried about Thuli’s tattoo. I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m seeing Ntatemogolo in the morning.

      I get out of bed and sit at my desk for a while, reading a mystery novel I picked up second-hand at the Main Mall. I only get through a few pages, though; I’m too wound up to concentrate. I close the book, fold my arms on the desktop and rest my head on my arms. My mind is full of clashing sounds and images and I need to find a way to put them all in order.

      I raise my head, open the chest and take out the bell. I set it on the desk and ring it softly. Immediately I feel the confusion and anxiety drift away. I remember the person in my premonition – the figure with the pencil and paper. It wasn’t ordinary paper – it was a sketchbook. The person is an artist. He must be the one who drew the tattoo.

      I ring the bell again, and the fragmented thoughts in my head start to knit together. He’s not a tattoo artist; that much is clear. The first time I saw the tattoo the skin looked raised and a little swollen, but now I realise that wasn’t because of a needle. It was because of the influx of energy moving through Thuli’s body – energy his body isn’t used to. His tattoo was done with ordinary paint, and the only thing keeping it from washing off is the fact that the artist is gifted.

      But СКАЧАТЬ