Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

“What is it?”

“It’s a dye made from nuts. It will stain your skin for many weeks. We must also cut your hair.” Sebastian took out a pair of scissors. Matt hesitated “Your hair is nice,” the man said. “And it will look good at your funeral. But if you want to live, you must look like one of us. We don’t have time to argue.”

In a short while, Matt stood wearing his new wardrobe. His hair had been cut in the shape of a pudding bowl with a straight fringe above his eyes. His entire body was dark brown. There was no mirror in the room so he had no idea what he looked like but he felt disgusting. His “new” jeans were stained, shapeless and came to an abrupt halt high above his ankles, revealing bare legs and feet. He’d been given a green Adidas T-shirt, full of holes, filthy and faded. And instead of shoes, he had a pair of sandals, made of black rubber – the same as Pedro’s.

“They’re made from tyres,” Sebastian told him.

Matt felt his skin trying to shrink away from the clothes. He could imagine that several people had worn them before him and they had probably never been washed. He noticed Pedro watching him with a half-smile. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

Sebastian translated the question into Spanish and Pedro answered. He spoke softly and only uttered a few words.

“He says, now you know how a Peruvian boy feels,” Sebastian replied. “But you are still too tall. You must learn to walk in a crouch. Make sure you are never higher than he is. And from now on, you will not be Matt. You will be Matteo. Do you understand?”

“Matteo!” Pedro repeated the word. He seemed amused by Matt’s transformation.

But Sebastian was completely serious. “You have to leave Lima,” he said. “If you take my advice, you will go south to Ayacucho. I have many friends in the city who will look after you. Perhaps the police won’t look for you there.”

“I still want to go to Ica.”

“You are stubborn and you are stupid – but you care about your friend and that, I suppose, does you credit.” Sebastian spat. “Very well. You can stop in Ica if you think it will do any good. The first bus leaves tomorrow morning at six o’clock. It is almost certain that the police will be watching the bus station and we will have to think about that.”

“I just want to find Richard and go home,” Matt said.

“That would be the best thing for all of us. It is a pity that you came in the first place.”

Matt nodded. Suddenly he felt awkward. From the moment he had met Sebastian, he had sensed a sort of hostility between them – without knowing why it was there. “Can I ask you something?” he said.

“What?”

“You obviously don’t like me very much. So why are you helping me?”

“You’re wrong. It’s not true that I don’t like you very much. I don’t like you at all. The police are crawling through the shanty towns, thanks to you. They are asking questions, making arrests. Everything is going to be difficult until they find you.”

“So why don’t you just hand me over? It’s obviously what you want to do.”

“It is exactly what I want to do. But it was Pedro who dissuaded me. He tells me that you are somehow important. He says that we have to help you because you are on our side.”

“How does he know that? He doesn’t know anything about me.”

“I know,” Sebastian said. “It’s very strange. Normally he would have taken your watch and your money and anything else that was of any value and then he would have left you where he found you. He wouldn’t have risked getting into trouble with the police. And he wouldn’t have brought you here.”

“So why did he?”

“Pedro can’t understand it. And nor can I. But he tells me that he’s seen you before.” Sebastian shook his head. “He says that he’s seen you in his dreams.”

There were eight people sleeping on the floor of Sebastian’s house. The youngest of them was only five, the oldest about seventeen. They had arrived, one at a time, as the light began to fade, some carrying shoeshine boxes, some with buckets and sponges, one with a basket of brightly coloured finger puppets. Sebastian must have already told them about Matt, as none of them seemed surprised to find him there and nobody tried to talk to him. They ate dinner – more beans and stew – then spent the rest of the evening playing a game that involved cups and little wooden dice. The room was lit by fat, white candles that Matt suspected had been stolen from a church. He watched for an hour, listening to the rattle of the dice in the cups as they were shaken and then tipped onto the floor. Pedro was playing with the others. He glanced at Matt once or twice and for the first time Matt could see a sort of curiosity in his eyes.

He’s seen you before… in his dreams.

Sebastian’s words echoed in his head. Matt examined the Peruvian boy as he concentrated on his game, furiously rattling his dice, throwing them down and shielding them with both hands, his eyes fixed on the other players. Of course Matt knew who he was. How many times had the two of them sat together in the reed boat with the wildcat’s head for its prow? He was annoyed with himself for not realizing it sooner.

He remembered the moment when he’d woken up to find Pedro stealing his watch. He had recognized him there and then. But in all the confusion of what was happening, he had thought back only as far as the traffic lights, on the way from the airport. That was when he had seen Pedro for the first time. But of course he had been aware of him for many years before that.

Pedro was one of the Five. Matt could imagine Susan Ashwood saying the words. She would be delighted. Was it perhaps something of a coincidence that Matt had stepped off a plane in a country of twenty million people and Pedro had been almost the first person he’d met? No

… not at all. There were no coincidences. It was meant to happen. That was what the blind medium would have said.

So was Richard meant to be kidnapped? Was Matt meant to be beaten up at the hotel? Did Matt have any control over what was happening or was he simply being pushed around by forces that he couldn’t see and which were way outside his own comprehension? And if so, where were they taking him? What did they have in mind?

There were a thousand questions Matt wanted to ask and he didn’t have answers to any of them. But he took some comfort in the thought that somehow he and Pedro had found each other. Now there were two of them and that meant that the other three might not be far behind.

Pedro won the game. Matt saw him laugh delightedly and scoop up his dice. He wished his new friend spoke even a smattering of English. How were they supposed to fight together when they couldn’t even talk?

The game was over. The smaller children were already asleep and now the others drew up their blankets and joined them. In England, going to bed had always been a routine of getting changed, washing, brushing teeth and all the rest of it. Here it was very matter-of-fact and happened very quickly. The evening just stopped. Everyone took their places, huddled together around the single, empty bed and soon the whole floor was a sea of blankets that rose and fell while the candles spluttered, throwing strange shadows across the wall. Matt couldn’t sleep, still trapped in the wrong time zone. The room was much too warm with so many people in it and there was a mosquito droning around his ear. He hadn’t got used to the smell either, even though he was now part of it. He hadn’t showered for forty-eight hours and he could feel the grime, clinging to him. He thought about Richard. Sebastian had said he was probably dead but Matt wouldn’t even consider the possibility. He wondered how the two of them had allowed themselves to walk into all this and whether they would ever see each other again.