Dan Smith - The Child Thief

‘He’s there and then he isn’t,’ Viktor said. ‘Shooting at us from the shadows, watching us at night.’

‘He’s just a man,’ I said.

‘A man who eats people.’

‘Maybe that’s not what he does.’ I watched Aleksandra for a reaction, wondering what she would make of this. ‘Maybe he cuts them for another reason.’

‘But people have done it before,’ Aleksandra said. ‘I’ve heard of it.’

‘We don’t know it for sure,’ I told her. ‘And it doesn’t make any difference. He’s just a man who’s taken my niece. We’ll find her and we’ll bring her back.’

‘You really think we can, Papa?’

‘Of course we can, Viktor.’

‘And you thought Roman was this man?’ Aleksandra asked.

‘I was… I thought…’ Viktor looked at the ground. ‘I made a mistake.’

‘You weren’t to know,’ I told him. ‘You saw a man; it could have been any man. I would have done the same thing.’

We fell silent, all of us staring into the flames of the small fire.

‘Roman was old,’ Aleksandra said. ‘I think he may be better off now anyway.’

We crossed the steppe like wild animals, scanning, watching for movement, stopping to listen. For a while we saw nothing but trees and shadow. The sky had darkened again and the snow began to fall in thick wet flakes, obstructing our vision and filling the tracks we followed. We increased our pace as much as we could, trying to keep up with the trail before it was swept away, but we were wary of what lay before us, and we were able to see only a few metres ahead.

‘We’ll lose the tracks,’ Viktor said.

‘We’ll keep going,’ I told him.

And then I saw the child thief’s second gift and I wondered about the man who’d been hanged in our village – about him not being alone when he first set out to find his children. Perhaps the child thief had taken them one by one, taunting them, tempting them, murdering them. I imagined others lying out there in the ice, their lives gone.

The first gift had been a bloodstain on the land. A violent streak of crimson that might have been drained from Dariya’s small body or from the carcass of a trapped animal. It had been both a gift and a trick, a means to draw us into his sights so he could kill the first of us.

The second gift was much worse. It was so much more than a stain on the snow. There was no doubt what kind of animal this trophy had come from.

The child thief knew we would be following his tracks. He had made it easy for us, so he knew we’d come this way, passing through this part of the forest, and he had chosen the perfect place for his display.

We came to a stretch which formed a natural path among the barren trees. An open space of perhaps fifty metres, like a scar in the forest, where nothing grew. The disappearing tracks led directly through this area, along the centre of it, the two sets of prints which I was certain belonged to our quarry and, I hoped, to Dariya.

Towards the end of the scar, where the trees closed ranks once more, a single branch stretched across the natural pathway at head height. And, from the centre of the branch, something hung. A dark shape that may have been a fallen nest, its broken pieces dangling like tendrils from the nucleus of the construction. Or perhaps it was a bird, its body caught on the branch, its wings dropping, the feathers splayed out.

I stopped.

‘What is it?’ Petro looked up. He had been walking with his head down for a while now, too tired to lift it.

‘Get into the trees.’ I hurried them into cover, moving so there were thick trunks between us and the object. From there we looked again.

‘Is it an animal?’ Viktor asked.

I shook my head and slipped my rifle from my shoulder.

I pulled the stock tight to me and looked through the scope at the dark shape, but still couldn’t be sure what I was looking at. The light was all wrong. The object was in shadow and I could see nothing more than its shape.

‘It’s hard to tell,’ I said. ‘Could be animal fur. A bird. Maybe just twigs and leaves. I’ll have to get closer.’

Petro put his hand on my arm.

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You and Viktor watch carefully.’ I glanced at Viktor. ‘You’re all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

Petro released my arm and unslung his rifle.

Viktor did the same, and the vacant look that had been in his eyes had disappeared. He had something concrete to occupy his thoughts now. Something to take his mind from what he had done. ‘I’ll go,’ he said.

‘I need you to watch. From that side.’ I pointed. ‘Aleksandra, stay with him.’

‘Let me go. You watch,’ Viktor said.

‘You’re not ready.’

Viktor closed his eyes tight, knowing there was no point in arguing, then he sighed and went to the place I had indicated, crouching and steadying his rifle.

‘You on this side,’ I told Petro. ‘And don’t take your eyes off the forest. This might be another trap.’

When they were in position, I made my way towards the object, scanning the forest ahead, looking for anything out of the ordinary. If the child thief was out there, he would be stationary. He would have chosen the perfect place and he would be prepared, so I stayed in cover, kept to the shadow, and moved to a protected spot beside the tree with the protruding branch.

From there I could see blood on the ground directly beneath the hanging object. There was a great deal of it, and I was sure it had been spilled right there. It had been warm when it touched the crust of the snow, had sunk into it, the body heat melting the surface ice. Much of the snow here was flattened, something we hadn’t noticed from where we were standing before, and I could see that while two sets of tracks led to this spot – a man’s and a child’s – only one set led away from it. Only one person had walked away from this carnage.

I was almost afraid to look up at the branch, but I forced myself to raise my eyes from the blood and see the horrible tangle that drooped from this naked tree.

And now, from this close, I knew exactly what it was. The matted hair, clumped together with frozen blood, the underside of the skin glistening as if still wet. I turned away from the child’s scalp and put my back against the ragged tree, sliding down it until I was sitting in the snow. I put my hands over my face and blamed myself for being too slow. I had failed in my promise to Lara. I had taken too long. I was too late. I was no longer looking to rescue a child. Now I was searching only for justice and revenge.

‘Maybe it’s not Dariya,’ Petro said. ‘Maybe it’s…’

‘Who else would it be?’ I asked. The others had joined me as soon as they saw me fall back against the tree. They knew right away something was wrong and they came across, keeping in the cover of the trees.

They had each stared at the clump of hair and flesh that hung from the twisted branch, but now all their heads were turned away.

Petro’s face was pale. He was scared and concerned in equal measure. He was wondering, once again, if there was something he could have done to stop this from happening.

‘Could anybody survive a thing like that?’ Aleksandra asked.

‘It’s possible,’ I said. ‘It’s just skin and hair.’ It sounded dismissive – as if I was suggesting that scalping a child was nothing. An irritation. ‘But all that blood.’ I put a hand to my mouth and saw Dariya’s face in my mind. I saw her small round face, her dark eyes and her white skin. I saw her standing at my door, looking up at me, smiling, asking if Lara was allowed to come out, and I heard myself teasing her, telling her Lara still had work to do – there were chickens to feed, a harvest to take in – and Lara was behind me, calling me Papa, telling me not to joke.