Kiss the Hare's Foot Read online

  “I’m fine,” Mel lied and instantly wondered why everyone used such a stupid response when things were clearly not fine! “I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to tell you both, though.” She reclaimed her chair at the table. Silas remained silent. She felt their eyes upon her and paused to be sure of their full attention before beginning.

  She told them of the sick man and the reason for their abduction. “Basically, if we don’t help him recover, they’ll kill us all.” Her mouth was dry, the impossibility of the task sounding so ridiculous as she spoke the words out loud.

  “Did you examine him? What did you find out about him?” Clive was the first to speak.

  “Well I’ve examined him as well as I could, but I honestly don’t think there’s much we can do - he looks pretty close to death already.”

  “Come on then, nurse, let’s have it,” growled Silas.

  Mel ignored his condescending attitude and directed her report to Clive. “He’s aged about mid forties and we’re to call him Charlie. He does respond to that, but I don’t know whether that’s his real name. I was told he’s been in a fight, some days ago I think. He is bruised all over. He is as white as a ghost, slightly cyanosed and his breathing is fast and shallow. He struggles to breathe. I couldn’t get an exact heart rate without a watch, but it was about 110 or 120. He’s just about rousable but he seems to drift in and out of consciousness all the time. Neurologically he seems okay - no obvious head injury. Although he hasn’t spoken, he does understand what is said to him. He doesn’t appear to have any broken bones, just a few cuts to his hands though. One on his right hand looks as though it might be infected. The worst thing though, from palpating his abdomen, I think it looks as if he may be bleeding internally.” She paused long enough to observe the reaction of the two doctors, but they said nothing and remained stupefied by the facts laid before them.

  “He is very dehydrated, but I have been able to give him a small amount of water to drink. A young man helped me to sit him up a bit.”

  Clive continued to sit silently. Leaning forwards, he sank his head into his hands. Knowing the reason for their capture brought no comfort. Silas, predictably, threw his head back in defiance. Projecting his chin forwards he scraped his chair backwards on the stone floor and rose from the table. Unrestrained fury emitted from his every sinew. Clive and Mel watched wearily as, with an eruption of expletives, Silas strutted the floor like a possessed peacock until finally, exhausted by his own outburst, he stood facing them at the table. His face flushed red and small beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, despite the chill of the room.

  “There’s no way I’m having any part of this!” he expounded through tight lips. “We’ve got to get out of here. These people are animals. There’s no way we can ever contemplate helping them in the way they want. It’s unethical, immoral and quite out of the question!”

  The finality of his statement filled Mel with dread. Clive remained leaning forwards, staring down at the wooden table top and resting his elbows on the table with hands clenched so tightly that the whiteness of his knuckles looked like small pebbles.

  “We need to think about this,” Clive muttered quietly after a long pause. “We need to buy some time if we’re going to get out of here. It’s not going to be easy and we’re going to have to plan it carefully.”

  “That man up there might be dead by the morning,” Mel moaned. “We can hardly buy time if he dies.”

  For a moment no one spoke. Silas turned his back to the table and, strangely subdued now, stared hopelessly at the shadows which dressed the walls of their prison. For a while no one spoke, each absorbed in their own profound world of isolation, snatched away from comfortable, social lives into a sinister and dangerous milieu.

  Mel watched as Silas began to pace the floor, cursing softly under his breath. Clive continued to stare at the tabletop as though a solution was ingrained in the worn surface, if only he could see it. Subconsciously he continued to grind one fist into the other; a habit that Mel realised was already beginning to irritate. The earlier feeling that they were forming some sort of alliance in their predicament, now seemed to be fragmented. None of the three captives seemed able to summon either the capability or emotional resources to cope positively with their plight. They were equally tormented and scared.

  “We’ve just got to escape out of here,” Silas spoke at last. “The longer we stay cooped up in here, the less likely we are to be able to escape.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” replied Clive, looking up. “Even supposing we could get out of this cellar, we can’t be absolutely sure how many of them there are and they’re bound to be on their guard right now. They will probably expect us to try and get free. Perhaps we should just wait until they think we can be trusted and then....”

  “That’s stupid!” roared Silas. “I’m not staying here one minute more than I have to. I suggest we try and jump them the next time they open the door. There are some pieces of wood over here, we can use them to overpower them and then run for it.” Enthusiastically he strode over to the side of the room and started kicking at some of the debris left by the workbench, looking for an appropriate implement with which to carry out his proposed attack. “You can stay here if you want to, but if that sick man upstairs dies, they’ll hardly leave us here to tell the tale. We can all describe the men we’ve seen and we even know the names of a few,” he added bitterly.

  Joining in the conversation, Mel tried to offer a compromise. “Perhaps we should appear to co-operate, at least for a few hours, while we plan how we’re going to get out of here. From what I’ve seen upstairs, this place is a maze of corridors and big rooms. We can’t do anything to help the sick man while we’re locked up down here. They’ll have to take us upstairs before long and it might be easier to pick an opportunity then to run for it. They’ve obviously locked us up in this basement because they know it’s completely secure.”

  “We may not have very much time though if that man is as sick as you seem to think he is. The next time they come down here it might be to finish us off anyway,” Silas added weight to his plan.

  At that moment the conversation was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door bolt being slid noisily across. They had not heard the approach on the stairs. Had they been overheard? Had the man died? Like rabbits caught in headlights, three heads spun round to once again stare at the opening door.

  6

  Three men entered; the man with the sheepskin coat, who had led Mel to the basement on her arrival, the big ‘bulldog’ looking man called Hood and the young lad who had assisted her with the casualty upstairs. Two of the men brought with them large, square cardboard boxes, which they placed on the ground at the head of the steps. Having laid down his load, the younger lad approached the central table to retrieve the box left earlier, which had contained their meagre lunch. Almost with embarrassment in the presence of the doctors, he leaned directly towards Mel. Smiling slightly at the nurse, he spoke quietly, “I’ve given Charlie some more water and he’s had a bit of soup too. Looks a bit better, I’d say.”

  “That’s good, well done,” she smiled back, and was curious to know how such a sympathetic young man had managed to get himself caught up in this mess.

  They waited silently until the trio had left before crossing the floor to investigate the contents of the new boxes. Mel opened one and the aroma of hot food flooded out. Until that moment she had been courting nausea caused by the constant stress of the day, but realised now how really hungry she was. Neatly wrapped in plain paper were three separate portions of fish and chips as well as two large flasks of tea. A bag of apples and half a packet of biscuits accompanied these offerings.

  Not waiting to examine the other larger box, Mel retrieved the carton. Acting as ‘mum’ she transferred the food box to the floor next to the table and lifted out the welcome meals, placing one package at
each placing and standing the flasks in the centre. Next taking out the apples and biscuits, sachets of salt, vinegar and sauce completed the feast.

  “Looks like they’ve got you some more clothes,” said Silas, peering into the second box.

  “Leave that. Come and eat,” Mel instructed firmly. “Have it while it’s hot.”

  Gratefully they devoured the large portions of battered cod and pale, greasy chips using the short wooden pronged forks provided in each pack. They ate like starved children, not caring for etiquette, only that the hot food should restore their resilience and stamina. Until the wrappers were empty and the food washed down by steaming mugs of strong tea, all conversation was suspended. As Clive was about to bite into one of the apples, it was Silas who broke the silence.

  “Perhaps we should save those for later,” he suggested before the apples were devoured. “We don’t know when we’ll get anything else. And, if we do manage to escape, we might be glad of them.”

  Sadly Clive began to replace his apple but then, almost as an act of defiance, returned it to his mouth and bit into the crisp, juicy fruit. Clear sweet liquid ran down his chin, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. Silas refrained from objecting and after a few minutes, also accepted his share of the fruit.

  The sustenance had the effect of lifting their spirits and as Mel left the table to inspect the contents of the second box, Clive said more cheerfully, “I expect the port is in that one.”

  One by one, she lifted out the items packed into the box, like a child pulling out the contents of a Christmas stocking. On the top was a pair of faded blue jeans. Held against her, she was pleased to discover that with the legs turned up at the bottom, they would probably fit. She drew out several more items of clothing. Two extra large woollen jumpers and one medium sized, a man’s long sleeved shirt with a fifteen-inch collar and a pair of thick black socks. Beneath these items were three towels of assorted colours, new toothbrushes, other toiletries and a plastic comb. At the bottom of the box she discovered an A4 pad of lined writing paper and a black ink pen.

  With the offerings came mixed emotions. Somewhat reassured that their well- being was being more thoughtfully considered than they had expected, was balanced against the realisation that they were going to be kept imprisoned in the smelly basement for an interminable time. The very idea of sleeping in such a place, using the collection of mattresses and blankets piled by the foot of the steps, filled Mel with dread. I can’t stay here, I really can’t. My poor parents. My holiday. I don’t believe this is really happening, Mel thought miserably and fought back the tears that pricked her eyes.

  “Right, then,” Silas briskly intercepted her brooding and once again appeared to take command of their situation. “Get yourself into some of these clothes to warm you up. Clive, you and I will examine the walls of this place to see if there is any likely means of escape from this hovel. We’ll start at the doorway. I’ll take the left side; you the right.” Then, as if to motivate his partner into positive action, added, “There’s a draught coming from somewhere, to make the light swing. This place is so old there might be a way out that they don’t know about.”

  Clive wiped his hands on the paper wrappings from the meal and rose obediently from the table. Examining the two larger woollen jumpers on the table, chose a navy, high necked garment and exchanged it for his brown suit jacket, placing the latter on the back of his chair. Stretching the jumper over his rounded proportions and feeling more comfortable, he joined Silas by the door. Once again Mel reluctantly removed the warm camel coat. It had become rather like a cloak of security which, although too large and cumbersome, at least offered some protection from the filth of her surroundings. She could hardly run in it though, being completely impractical for almost any activity, so she took the opportunity to dress in the jeans and shirt. Even the smaller of the jumpers, a v-necked green pullover, was too long, with sleeves needing to be folded back to uncover her hands. The change of attire actually gave her a slight feeling of liberation; now that she was able to move around without the encumbrance of clasping the heavy coat to her body, decided to clear away the wrappings of their meal from the table. While the others prodded and poked at the walls and alcoves of the room, she gathered up the screwed up wrappings in which their food had been presented and discarded them into one of the boxes, placing them beside the door. Then she watched as the two men slowly and methodically worked their way round the basement in opposite directions. Each had acquired a piece of wood; Clive with the back stick of a chair and Silas with a heavier piece of four inch timber, roughly severed at one end and with which he prodded and poked into each crevasse of the walls. The many stone buttresses, which gave support to this part of the foundations of the great house, protruded into the room providing dark recesses beyond the reach of the single light source suspended from the centre of the ceiling. Some were no more than eighteen inches deep while others appeared like short blind alleyways, protected from intrusion by a proliferation of spiders’ webs and the stench of musty earth.

  Wanting to be of some use to the project, Mel decided to position herself by the door in case it should be necessary to alert the others of approaching footsteps. She examined in greater detail the only entrance to their prison. The thick wooden boards of the door were reinforced on the inside by one central and two diagonal supports. It was hinged on the right hand side by two giant metal pins, which sank into deep rings bolted into the stone surround. Quantities of grease had recently been applied, encasing both hinges, effectively restoring them from the rust of disuse. It was as substantial and solid as the walls surrounding them.

  “Might be something here,” Clive called, tell-tale optimism evident in his voice. “This recess is deeper than the others and there’s a definite draught coming from somewhere here. I can’t see, though. It’s too dark. I can’t even see what I’m treading on.”

  Silas abandoned his part of the walling and joined him. Clive was hidden from view in total darkness.

  “I can’t feel the end of this alcove,” Clive spoke excitedly now and continued tapping his stick in wide swinging motions, each time hitting the sidewalls as he inched his way into the darkness. For a while they reached and stabbed into the blackness until finally, Clive exclaimed that he could go no further. It was another dead end. Despondently they emerged from the cavity and less optimistically now, resumed their examination of the remainder of the walling. The basement appeared to remain an impenetrable prison below ground, with no possible means of escape. Discarding their sticks amongst the undisturbed debris at the side of the room, they reluctantly resumed their places at the table.

  “Even Alcatraz wasn’t this filthy.” Clive complained brushing the dirt off his hands.

  Silas nodded. “Well, we’ve got to do something. I’m not staying in here tonight. They’re bound to be back. Like I said before, we should find the biggest pieces of wood we can and take them by surprise. If we can strike them as they come into the room, we might be able to get passed them and lock the door behind us. It’s got to be our only chance.”

  “Silas, you’ve been watching too many James Bond films.” Mel rejoined them at the table. “You’ll just get us shot and I really don’t fancy dying down here in this dungeon!” His pugnacious plan scared her.

  “So come up with a better idea then, nurse,” he snarled, dark eyes glowering with contempt. Mel refused to be intimidated. She despised his arrogance and feared that his unpredictable and tempestuous nature would bring them all to harm. For a while, no one spoke.

  Mel’s frustration slowly turned to anger. Neither man seemed capable of rationalising their predicament and formulating a worthwhile plan for escape. Silas, still furious at the assault on his personal and social standing, took every opportunity to demonstrate his ill-temper and saw only a violent conclusion to secure his release. Clive, on the other hand, was absorbed in self-pity, demoralised to the poin
t of defeat. If their chance of survival was to improve, Mel became increasingly convinced that of the trio, maybe she would have to take the lead. Scared of what the future might hold, she was even more scared of doing nothing.

  “Co-operate! That’s what we’ve got to do,” she almost shouted in defiance, breaking the silence with such abruptness that both men turned to look at her in surprise. “We’ll have to show them that we’re prepared to co-operate and use the time to plan an escape.” The men stared at her, neither offering a comment. Mel, embarrassed now, and feeling that their silence signified a sympathetic indulgence of her feminine frustrations, blundered on regardless. “It’s no good shouting about and sulking. We’re here now and we need to outsmart them if we’re going to get out of this mess. There are loads more of them than us, so we’ll have to outwit them somehow. I’m sure we can do it if we set our minds to it, work as a team.” Mel’s voice faded to not much more than a whisper, like a receding wave on a beach. She stared back at the faces of the two doctors, her moment of anger spent. “I still think we should go along with them; make out we’re prepared to try and help the sick man upstairs. If they think we believe that they will let us go, they might start to trust us. I’m sure we’ll get a better opportunity to escape from upstairs.”

  “There is absolutely no way I will co-operate with these thugs, Silas snarled. “I don’t care if the man dies. With a gun to my head, I won’t do anything to help them and I certainly don’t intend to go play-acting, pretending that I care in the slightest about the health of their gangland friend.”

  “I’m inclined to think he’s right.” Clive agreed cautiously. “We really can’t go along with their ridiculous plan. To even attempt any sort of medical intervention, much less a surgical operation, would probably render us culpable for his murder. I’m not even sure that ethically we should even be considering assisting a man who could quite easily be transferred to a hospital where he would be given the correct and appropriate treatment. This is not just a first-aid situation. He has been brought here with the intention of keeping him hidden. It seems to me that to help them would implicate ourselves in their criminality.”