Volumes 5 and 6 - Blood Beast/Demon Apocalypse. Darren Shan
even if we agree to cut you in on a slice of the profits?”
“A while ago you said there was nothing in it for me,” Loch snaps.
“You can’t expect an equal share,” Bill-E drawls, “but if there’s a fortune and you help us dig it up, we’ll see you right. Won’t we, Grubbs?”
“Too much talking,” I grunt, stabbing my shovel into the ground, trying to find a crack I can use to pry out the next big stone. “Dig.”
→Almost sunset. Without discussing it, we come to a halt and study the fruits of our labours. The hole is thigh-deep now. It’s been hard going for the last twenty minutes—one big, awkward stone after another. At least the hole’s no wider than when we started, so we’ve only got to worry about digging down, not out to the sides as well.
“We could be at this forever,” Loch gasps, wiping sweat from his forehead. All three of us are sweating badly. “No telling how deep it goes.”
“What do you say, Bill-E?” I ask, glancing up at the setting sun, feeling the sickness and headache building within me again. “Time to stop?”
“Yeah,” Bill-E agrees. “We can’t dig in the dark. But we’ll come back, right?” He looks at me, Loch, then me again. “We could be on to the find of the millennium. Metres – maybe centimetres – away from Lord Sheftree’s treasure. We can’t walk away from that.”
“He’s right,” Loch says. “It’s probably just a big old hole, but…”
“What about next weekend?” I suggest.
“I can’t wait that long,” Bill-E says. “A whole week thinking about it, dreaming of the treasure…”
“Also, what if somebody else comes by, sees the hole and finishes what we’ve started?” Loch growls. “There aren’t any fences around your land, are there?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “Actually, this isn’t our land. We don’t own this part of the forest.”
Loch stares at me hard, then at Bill-E, who fidgets uncomfortably. “You don’t have legal rights to it,” he says softly. “You were bluffing, trying to cut me out of any find.”
Bill-E shrugs. “You wouldn’t have known about the treasure if we hadn’t told you. Anyway, it’s ours – Grubbs’s – by right of birth.”
“No it’s not,” Loch objects. “He isn’t any relation to Lord Sheftree. Dervish just bought the house, that’s all. If I wanted, I could come back here with others and dig without you.”
Bill-E gulps and looks to me for help.
“Thirds,” I say steadily. “An equal split. Assuming there’s anything down there. And assuming we get to keep it if there is—for all we know, there are laws that won’t allow us to keep any of it. But if the treasure’s there and we can make a claim, we divide it in three. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Loch says quickly.
Bill-E looks disgusted but nods angrily. “OK.”
“And we don’t tell anybody, not until we figure out what our rights are,” Loch adds. “There’s no point doing all the hard work and not being able to reap the rewards. If we find treasure, we keep our mouths shut and check the law. We might have to wait till we’re eighteen to declare our find. Or maybe we can never declare it. Maybe we’ll have to sell it on the black market.” He grins. “The gold and diamond market!”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Bill-E says. “Not revealing a find like this could land us in a lot of trouble.”
“We can buy our way out of it with the money we make from the treasure,” Loch laughs. “Either way, we don’t say anything until we know, right?” Bill-E and I share a glance, then nod. “Great. It’s settled.” He hauls himself out of the hole and lays his shovel aside. “I don’t know about you two, but I plan to be back here first thing after school tomorrow and every day this week, and the week after, and the week after that, until we get to the bottom of this damn hole. You with me?”
“I’ll come,” Bill-E agrees. “Not every day – Gran and Grandad would get suspicious if I was late home every evening – but most of the time it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Grubbs?” Loch asks.
“I’ll be here,” I promise, glad to have something to distract me from my recent fears. I look up at the darkening sky and add a proviso. “But only until dusk. I’m not staying out here nights. Not when the moon’s up.”
→Home. Waiting for Dervish. He should have returned by now. I ring his mobile, to check that everything’s OK, but only get his answering message. Sitting in the TV room, TV switched off, no lights on. In my guts and bones I can feel the moon rising. Concentrating on my breathing, willing myself not to change, trying to stay human.
→Without any sound of a motorbike, the doors open about 10 o’clock and Dervish stumbles in. “My head,” he groans, slumping on the couch next to me, a hand thrown over his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, thinking he’s been in a crash. Then I catch the stench of alcohol. “You’re drunk!”
“I forgot how much Meera can drink when she sets her mind to it,” he mumbles. “And unlike normal people, she doesn’t have a hangover the next morning. She was at it again first thing when she woke and she made me join in.” He puts his hands over his ears and moans. “The bells, the bells!”
“Tell me you didn’t drive home in this state,” I snap.
“You think I’m mad?” Dervish huffs. “I cast a sobering spell.”
“You’re full of it!”
“No, really, it works perfectly. Except it’s very short term. It ran out when I was almost to Carcery Vale. I had to stop and walk the rest of the way. And the worst thing is, when it wears off, the hangover kicks in with twice as much venom as before.” Dervish doubles over, head cradled between his hands, whining like a kicked dog.
“Serves you right,” I sniff. “You should have more sense at your age.”
“Please, Grubbs, don’t play mother,” Dervish groans. He staggers to his feet and heads for the kitchen. “I’m going to make an absolutely huge cup of hot chocolate, then retire to my room for the night. I don’t want to be disturbed unless the house is burning.” He pauses. “Strike that. I don’t want to be disturbed even then. Let me burn—I’d be better off.”
I think about calling him back, making him sit down and listen to me. But it wouldn’t be fair. Better to let him get a good night’s sleep, then tell him about it tomorrow. Besides, I don’t feel too rough at the moment, not as bad as I felt last night. I don’t want to jinx myself, but I think I might be over the worst.
→Dervish’s snores rock the house to its foundations. I don’t want to sleep. I want to keep a vigil, stay focused on my breathing, alert to any hint of a change. But I’m exhausted. All the energy that went into the party… lack of sleep last night… walking and digging this afternoon. My eyelids refuse to stay open. Even coffee – which I hardly ever drink – doesn’t work.
I undress and slip into a T-shirt and boxers. Slide beneath the covers. Lying there, I think that maybe I should get a rope, tie it round my ankles and the bedposts, maybe tie up one of my hands too. That should hold me in the event that I change during the night. A good plan, but it comes too late. Even as I’m gearing myself up to get out of bed and fetch a rope, my eyelids slam down and I’m out for the count.
→Harsh breathing. Thumping sounds. Cold night air.
I come to my senses slowly, the same as last night. I see a pair of hands lifting a large rock out of the ground. They throw it overhead casually as if it was a pebble. They stoop, start clearing more earth away… then stop