Jaggy Splinters by Christopher Brookmyre Read Free Book Online

pentagrams painted on the wall behind it. There’s aboot two dozen folk, aw wearin’ these big black hooded robes, except for two ay them at the altar: the bloke that’s giein’ it the priest patter, who’s in red, and a lassie, no’ much aulder than us, in white, wi’ a gag roon her mooth. She looks dazed, totally oot ay it. Billy crouches doon next tae us. We don’t look at each other ’cause we cannae take oor eyes aff what’s happenin’ at the front.
    The boy in the red robe, who must be the magician that owns the joint, gie’s a nod, and two of the congragation come forward and lift the lassie. It’s only when they dae this that I can see her hands are tied behind her back and her feet are tied together at her ankles. They place her doon on the altar and then drape a big white sheet over her, coverin’ her fae heid tae toe. Then the boy in red starts chantin’ again, and pulls this huge dagger oot fae his robe. He hauds it above his heid, and everythin’ goes totally still, totally quiet. Ye can hear the cracklin’ ay the flames aw roon the hall. Then the congregation come oot wi’ that rumblin’ chant again, and he plunges the dagger doon intae the sheet.
    There’s mair silence, and I feel like time’s staunin’ still for a moment; like when it starts again this’ll no’ be true. Then I see the red startin’ tae seep across the white sheet, and a second later it’s drippin’ aff the altar ontae the flair.
    ‘Aw Jesus,’ I says. I hears masel sayin’ it afore I know whit I’m daein’, an’ by that time it’s too late.
    Me and Billy turns and scrambles back up the stair as fast as, but when we get tae the top, it’s just blackness we can see. The fireplace has closed over again. We see the orange flickerin’ ay torches and hear footsteps comin’ up the stairs, the two ay us slumped doon against a wall, haudin’ on tae each other. Two men approach, then stop a few feet away, which is when wan ay them pulls his hood back.
    ‘Evening boys. We’ve been expecting you,’ he says. The fuckin’ Sergeant.
    ‘I assume you took steps to make sure nobody knew where you were going tonight,’ he goes on. I remember the train, the guard, the bikes, the return ticket in my trooser pocket. The Sergeant smiles. ‘Knew you wouldn’t let us down. What’s bred in the bone, will not out of the flesh.’
    Four more blokes come up tae lend a hand. They tie oor hauns and feet, same as the lassie, and huckle us back doon the stair tae the hall.
    ‘Two more sacrificies, Master,’ the Sergeant shouts oot tae the boy in red. ‘As promised.’
    ‘Are they virgins?’ the Master says.
    ‘Come on. Would anybody shag this pair?’
    The master laughs and says: ‘Bring them forward.’
    We get carried, lyin’ on oor backs, by two guys each, and it’s as we pass down the centre of the hall that we see the faces peerin’ in. It’s aw folk fae the village. Folk we know, folk we’ve stolen from. I think aboot ma uncle and his blethers aboot secret gatherings. Auld bastard never knew the hauf ay it.
    ‘This one first,’ the Master says, and they lie me doon on the altar, which is still damp wi’ blood. I feel it soakin’ intae ma troosers as the boy starts chantin’ again and a fresh white sheet comes doon tae cover me.
    I don’t know whether there was ether on it, or choloroform, or maybe it was just fear, but that was the last thing I saw, ’cause I passed oot aboot two seconds later.
    So.
    Ye don’t need many brains tae work oot what happened next, dae ye? Aye, a lesson was taught. A wise and skilled man, that magician, for he was the man in charge, the village in his thrall, willingly daein’ what he told them.
    Suffice it to say, that was two wee scrotes who never broke intae another hoose, and the same’ll be true of you, pal.
    I can see fae that look in your eye that you’re sceptical aboot this. Maybe you don’t believe you’re no’ gaunny reoffend. Nae changin’ your nature, eh?