23. Down by dawn

Matt looked up his watch in the dark. It was five thirty. He had woken up abruptly, wondering if it had all been a dream. But he was in his sleeping bag, and he could hear people sleeping next to him. He shared the room with Lewis and Phil. So it was for real. Two weeks previous he'd have never imagined this could really exist. But the fact he could be out in the countryside with his newly made friends, the little ceremony they'd performed the night before… He had passed the knots tests, and then they'd all used him to display their tie-up skills.

He'd had his fifteen minutes of glory when it had been his turn to perform a tie-up. He had chosen Keith as his assistant for his own demonstration, and had managed a convincing hogtie; of course, the football champ and seasoned escape artist had managed to get out from the ropes. Still, it had taken over a quarter of an hour, during which Matt had paced back and forth in the room and gone into a little speech. He’d cracked lots of blonde jokes that got lots of laughter from everybody else; Keith was the only fair-haired member of the gang, so he didn't get much support from the other players.

Turning on his side and rolling into a ball, Matt went back into a hazy slumber, with vivid, very weird dreams as one gets early in the morning.

He found himself piloting a plane. It went spiralling across the air, gradually turning into a kite, which made the experience yet even more pleasant... till he suddenly got drawn back into a world ruled by the laws of gravity as he felt bodies landing on top of him. He couldn't yell in surprise as a hand was clamped over his mouth.

“Don't move,” Lewis whispered, “we wouldn’t want to hurt you. At least, I don’t… As for my friend Phil, this might be a completely different story!”

As Lewis removed his hand, Matt felt something pressing against his lips. He opened his mouth, thinking this was still part of the initiation, and his mouth was filled with a small round bag full of small grains.

“Wheat. This interesting cereal in its heavy-duty little sack should fill your oral cavity nicely and prevent you from articulating any intelligible speech, not to mention avoid the annoyance of having you squeal and disturb the peaceful slumber of our little friends.”

Matt was stuck in his sleeping bag, and anyway, with someone straddling his calves and Philip sitting on his hip, he couldn’t move. Lewis had grabbed two ribbons that he pulled behind his neck. A first knot was tightened, before the two threads were wrapped around his head again and eventually bound on his neck, grabbing a few thin hairs in the process.

“This should prevent you from warning the rest of our little party. Fred, Phil, help me out with his arms!”

Matt felt two bodies sliding along his flanks; then the sleeping bag was yanked down to uncover his torso, and allow access to his arms, which were seized and stoutly pulled behind him. He was waiting for his wrists to be tied; instead, his elbows were circled by a loop of rope. They were not pulled together, but the three accomplices handled him to get the rope going back in front of him over his chest.

A belt made out of rope was similarly wrapped around his waist. Once the ropes were securely pulled and neatly knotted, his arms were trapped against his body. The sleeping bag was pulled back, and the six hands were soon threading and cinching an intricate rope network that had Matt turned into a dry sausage ten minutes later.

“My fellow kidnappers, I should pay tribute to your outstanding skills. This would be deemed by many a tugger quite an achievement; we’ll have to make sure this is not the last accomplishment we experience over the course of this day. It’ll be short, since sun has not risen yet and will set early this evening; nevertheless, we may make the most of it and make an everlasting impression on our opponents. There’s no need for me to remind you of the degradation they had us suffer the last time we had a weekend game. Today we’re going to wash away this insulting defeat in ropes and tape!”

Matt had now gotten accustomed to Lewisian mannerisms. Though he understood all of it, he still wondered what he meant. He’d thought the game would start with everyone gathered, as he’d heard in the tale of the previous full-day game that had been told quite a few times, with many embellishments and at least three very different versions. However, they all started with a kick-off meeting with Travis. Why had he not been told anything about this time being different?

“Time to get going…” The three partners in crime all grabbed Matt by the ropes trussing him up. Phil took him at chest level, Fred at the waist and Lewis at the feet.

“We’ve designed a clever, safe and sound way to haul our prisoners around, and you’re being lucky enough to experience it first-hand, Matty boy! Aren’t you glad? Oh yes, needless to say to a bright lad like you that you should keep as motionless as possible to avoid any possible unpleasant mishap.”

Hmm, this was just like the way Cowboy had been carried around the night they’d kidnapped him along with Billy and Phil. Now well aware of the Saint Sebastian lore, Matt could prevent feeling panic and he was able to anticipate a bit; still, he had to wait to know what Lewis was holding in store for the latest recruit.

They went down the stairs, crossed the room and went outside; the cool breeze caressed his face, but Matt kept warm in the sleeping bag. He did not long for being taken out from the feathers and nylon lining: he had gone to sleep in his new uniform, to conform to the outfit his roommates had deemed proper for the night. He never imagined he’d have to stand this winter morning in his smooth satiny short shorts, and just a nylon jersey on his back wouldn’t be quite the easiest condition to handle. Having no shoes wouldn’t help either.

The journey went on. They knew where they went and didn’t need to talk, which puzzled Matt even more as every minute took them further away from the house they’d spent the night in. He didn’t dare move, and he relished the feeling of this weird and new way to travel. It was rather comfortable. Had he not been the victim of a vicious kidnapping, and the focus of some unnerving Lewis plot, he’d enjoy the ride. Soon his questioning got to an end, as he heard the creaky sound of a rusty doorknob being turned.

The procession entered a small building. It smelt of wood fire, with a faint scent of dust mixed with the humidity there may be in a building left on closed and unheated for a few months. It reminded Matt of the hunting pavilion of his uncle Spencer. But well, now it was him who’d been hunted.

“Let’s stand him up,” Lewis ordered, breaking the unsettling silence. At last, maybe Matt was about to be told what was actually going on. They got him to stand on his feet, his back propped against a wide wooden beam that rose in the middle of the small tiled room. It was a bit more than a hunting pavilion, with doors in the back of the room telling of more living space behind; a fire was roaring in a granite hearth. Philip fulfilled his unspoken wish.

“You wonder what’s happening to you, hey? This is no hazing or any such boot camp bullcrap. This is the real thing. A few things you should know about yourself: you’re a very knowledgeable and precious scientist. You know a very important secret. We must make sure our enemies don’t learn this secret from you. So we keep you in a small park, well hidden before a team exfiltrates you this evening. We don’t know if you can be trusted…”

He was interrupted by Matt’s angry mmphing, but he didn’t flinch and quickly went on with his emotionless speech.

“No, our side can’t trust a scientist as valuable as you. So before you’re flown to a safe destination, we need to keep you close to the landing strip where your plane will land tonight.”

Fred took over the little tale to kick off the game.

“We’re supposed to keep you unharmed, which makes Phil very sad.”

Phil flashed his pearly white teeth in a grin that was a bit disquieting to Matt.

“Yes, a prisoner, a pair of pliers and a corroded saw will always make Phil the happiest of special agents.”

It was time for Lewis to end up the speech his goons had started.

“But do not fear! We know how to tame our interrogation specialist. It is not this easy to manage to curb his impulses. You’ve got to understand that our Phil derives some uncanny enjoyment from handling our captives in, say, a rather rough manner. I personally don’t like to prevent my colleagues from indulging into their peculiar habits, however strange and messy they may be; however, we need to deliver an unblemished package to our customers. Hence we’ll be content in restraining you in such a way that you can’t escape us. It’s also your duty to ensure you do not make verbal contact with our little group of antagonists. So you’ll remain gagged too. Fred, could you show our forlorn scientist the secret?”

Fred approached with an envelope that he ripped open. He took a piece of paper out and unfolded it. Going at great length into demonstrating that he did not look at it, he brought it one foot from Matt’s face. The ‘captive scientist’ read: Scientia non habet inimicum nisp ignorantem.

Matt knew a bit of French and some Japanese, but he was not well-versed in Latin. “You’ve got three minutes to memorize the secret,” Fred stated. It had to do with science and ignorant people, but the boy focused on everything in the message, quickly making up mnemonics to be sure to remember the proverb. As Fred took the piece of paper out of his sight range and threw it in the fire, the sentence was thoroughly engraved inside Matt’s mind.

Lewis had taken some toast and a thermos flask of tea out of rucksacks that were already in the little house when they came. Breakfast was eaten by all four boys, Matt being fed by Philip once his gag was removed. The talk was on the necessity to thwart any attempt from Ben, Keith and Billy to gain access to the prisoner and the confidential information he held. Fred turned to Matt.

“Can we count on your cooperation? Are you on our side?”

It was clear to Matt that he was not to yield if he wanted to get any respect from the gang. Not only this, but not resisting would spoil everybody’s fun.

“You must be joking. There’s no way scumbags like you will manage to keep me prisoner. If the others don’t free me, I’ll manage to esc…mmmph!”

Lewis’ hand kept him from finishing his sentence.

“A feisty lad, isn’t he? So much the better!”

Since breakfast was over anyway, Philip and Fred took care of their prisoner. The little grain-filled bag was jammed inside his mouth anew, and Phil strengthened the set-up with some duct tape over his lower face. As their friend was busy silencing the captive, Fred and Lewis used more rope to tighten the helpless bundle to the post against which it was leaning. Their job done, they took the proverbial steps back to admire their handiwork; Lewis held a Polaroid camera in his hand, the flash bulb cast its blinding white flash over the powerless package.

“Time for going on with the plan. This should convince our foes we’re not kidding,” Fred gloated with a menacing voice.

“We leave you with Philip, so no funny stuff! Don’t give him any reason to try his kind of tricks on you…”

Lewis and Fred left. Phil bent over one of the bags and stood up again, holding a hunting knife in his hand. He stepped close to Matt, the tip of the blade inches only from his eyes. This wasn’t exactly the best part of the game to Matt, but he knew he was safe. Still, he stared wide-eyed and grumbled the loudest “Mmph!” the thorough gagging allowed him to utter.

“We’re on our own, Matt. I think we should have fun.”

It was the first time Matt was actually alone with Phil, and he wondered to what extent this was all a game to his gaoler. At least his current situation didn’t require him to engage into any conversation to find out if this was just a lark.

***

A few hundreds of yards away, three innocent—well, not exactly innocent, but at least unaware—boys were enjoying some peaceful rest while downstairs, two conspirators, oddly barelegged for the season and enfolded in thick jackets were busy laying down their scheme; it was supposed to be faultless, and once all the details had been taken care of according to the plan, they moved on towards the stairs. They climbed quietly, eager not to have a board creak so they would not disturb the ongoing slumber of their rivals. An unnecessary concern indeed, since spiking their opponents’ tea the night before was certainly caution enough, but conspirators are always better safe than sorry.

As the door flung open to give way to Lewis and Fred, Philip was lengthily describing a torture used by the pirates in the seventeenth century, which consisted in nailing a part of the intestine to a tree. Phil stopped his entertaining narrative to listen to his leader.

“No time for childish tales, we should be moving on. Everything’s set; it’s only a question of minutes now before they get on our trail. Let’s get our precious asset out of his gift-wrapping so he doesn’t slow our progression down.”

***

A fire alarm! Keith heard the fire alarm, he had to react. He had to get all of his friends out of the building. But someone was calling him. It was Billy, but his voice wasn’t betraying any panic. What was going on? The alarm stopped.

“Keith! Wake up, I think something’s up. It’s nine already. We were all supposed to get up at eight. There’s no time to lose, Lewis must have played one of his tricks again. The alarm clock is his signature.” His friend’s voice was slightly drowsy, but Billy’s determination was transpiring and got Keith out of bed in a jiffy.

Ben, Keith and Billy soon were downstairs. They’d gotten into tracksuit trousers and put on thick woollen sweaters. They spotted the envelope, the cups and the toast. While Billy rushed over the envelope and tore it open, Ben filled the cups with the content of the thermos flask that was in the middle of the table.

“I think you’d better throw this liquid in the sink and make some fresh tea. With water from the tap,” Keith calmly suggested. Ben looked at him, puzzled. His unspoken question got a reply. “Lewis laced our tea with something last night. We’d never oversleep on a major TuGs day, would we? And you’d have woken up as they moved around. They drugged us. I suspect this tea must have some drug in it too.”

Billy had scanned the content of the envelope, and didn’t let the other two go into lengthy arguing.

“They’ve got Matt. The game has started.”

Billy handed the Polaroid to his teammates. It showed Matt in his electric blue sleeping bag, tied to a post and his face tautly duct taped. They had not gone through the pain of writing anything on the white space underneath the picture, but the letter, in Lewis’ handwriting, was fairly detailed. As Ben was going to boil some water in the kitchen, Billy read out loud.

“Dear worthy adversaries,

I hope my aunt’s alarm clock did not hurt your precious eardrums too much. It’s quite a loud and annoying ring, isn’t it? It was needed to get you out from such a deep slumber, you lazy bums!

Wouldn’t you know it; you’ve been launched into some thrilling adventure once more. You, as secret service agents for the Evil Empire (yes, we are on the good side yet again) have been informed of the will of a scientist from our camp to move to your country. He’s supposed to make contact with you and reveal classified piece of information; our mission, which we accepted enthusiastically, is to prevent him from meeting you before a plane comes and takes him back to our fatherland this evening at four.

We keep him within the limits of The Farm. One of yours knows exactly what these are. In case of encounter and conflict, the resolution will be done according to the usual MO, i.e. scarf in the waistband. No cheating allowed. If you don’t have the confidential data by four, you lose. Which means you won’t have the required information.

Tightest regards,

LF

It could be typical from their fellow tugger, but this note still drew some indignation from its recipients.

“How could he?”

“The nerve this guy has! He’s the one who cheated!”

“Doing this to Matt! On his first big game? That’s mean…”

“Using sedatives… This is SO uncool!”

This righteous anger soon died down as Billy steered his fellow secret agents into drawing a plan. They focused on the Polaroid. Ben tried to explain where the building where it had been taken was located. He then fetched an Ordnance Survey map from a cupboard. This map was detailed enough to show his grandparents’ farm and all the land around to a level low enough to make up a strategy. They gathered around the table and pulled their wits together while sipping tea and nibbling on toast and bacon.

***

Long before the group of plotters were even analysing the data he’d left behind to mislead them, the other group was in the woods, Fred and Phil opening the way, followed by their prisoner. Lewis was bringing up the rear; he stirred his group forward through one of his inspirational talks.

“Like chess, my friends, we need to be two, three or even four moves ahead of Billy and his ilk. Move forward, Matt my lad, if you dawdle and delay us, I’ll have to leave you into Phil’s clutches, and you do not have any desire to see this happen. Or do you? Maybe you’re into pain?”

The grunt this elicited brought much mirth to the little band of thugs.

“Hey, this means he’d love to be in my clutches, you’ve got to find another threat, Lou!”

***

They walked on. Ten minutes previous, Matt was taken out from his nylon sarcophagus. Not one, but two jackets made of polar fabric were put on him, once the tightness and general quality of the knots pinning his arms to his sides had been assessed. A pair of thick woollen socks wrapped his feet and calves before he was fitted into his shoes, which they’d brought along. He managed to kick Fred in the shin, but it only resulted in having a piece of cord used to hobble him at the ankles, with not more than two feet of slack.

“Nasty, nasty, nasty…” Lewis commented. “We’ll have to take some special measures.” He had a long white scarf in his hands, and topped the already efficient gag with it. He faced Matt, and moved a lock of thin brown hair out of his eyes. He adjusted the white fabric so it was just under his nose, then moved back behind his captive. The two ends of the scarf were tightened; Matt was grateful for Lewis managing not to pull any hair in the process.

Lewis kept the two ends of the scarf in his hand.

“A mad little pup has got to be kept on a tight leash. Move on.”

And here they were, with Fred opening the way and Matt in tow, feeling the relentless grasp of Lewis Fatbind on the scarf’s ends. Phil was more or less by his side, and the black-haired, blue-eyed torturer wannabe cast carefully acted glances every once in a while. Glances that reminded Matt of how his little cousin eyed the ice-cream box the day he unfortunately took it out. Having become the ice-cream box felt strange.

But wasn’t the whole situation strange? Kidnapped by lads in outdated footie shorts, being moved around an estate in which neither the outfits nor the trussing up were at risk of being seen by unwanted eyes? Taking a walk through the woods, the bushes and shrubs scratching his knees, the freezing air numbing the little skin that was exposed; this sure was different from the average Saturday watching TV or playing computer games.

They soon reached a pavilion, not that different from the one they’d left a quarter of an hour before. Fred took a key out from his coat’s pocket and unlocked the door. Matt felt a jerk on his gag indicating he was to proceed inside. Once he’d crossed the threshold, Lewis let go of the white cloth. He took a look at his watch, as Fred and Phil framed him, a line of three adversaries facing as menacingly as possible the bound and gagged Matt.

“End of part one, Mr I-know-a-secret-but-I’m-not-going-to-tell. Not that we’re going to leave you that many opportunities to use this potty mouth of yours. At this very minute, our opponents are being deeply bothered by the alarm clock I got from Aunt Charlotte. Loudest one I ever came across indeed. As they’ve had some benzodiazepines last night, fools that they are, waking up must be, say, a little problematic. But no doubt the realization that the game has started already will pump a little adrenalin into their systems.”

As Lewis revealed his devious scheme, Matt took in his surroundings. It was the same layout than the place he’d been taken to just before. No wood fire here though. It was warm enough nevertheless, as a large radiator cast its heat from the nearby wall.

Matt didn’t have much time to assess the talents of the interior designer; a sign of the head from Lewis set his goons into motion. They moved forward, Matt stepping back to avoid them, but they eventually seized him as he got blocked by the rear wall; being hobbled as he was, there wasn’t much he could do to fight them off. They twisted around to let their rucksacks fall to the ground, and with one hand each holding Matt’s arms, they bent down to get supplies out of the bags. Lewis had come closer too. He went on with his explanations undisturbed.

“Right now they must be looking at this quite fine picture of you, which were I an artist I would name Blue Sausage with a Mop of Brown Hair... but I’m digressing. I almost hear their whimpers, as they must feel sorry for you, and whine about how I mistreat the tenderfoot. We’ll leave them to their bickering, and as you’re not going to get out of our grasp anytime soon, I can let you in on what I have in store for them. You see, Ben will necessarily identify the location where the picture was taken. The yellowish walls are unique throughout the estate , and it’s also actually the only one of these small houses that has a post like this. Hence the reason Phil and Fred are trussing you up to the chair…”

They were doing a thorough job as the boss was expatiating; Matt’s arms were brought back behind the chair once the two layers of coat were removed, and he could feel how expertly the ropes were applied. A perfect coiling, with three or four turns of moderately tense rope, but the addition of the various loops combined into a network that would make it difficult to get himself out of.

“Anyway, they’re about to head to this pavilion. They will certainly not rush, and I expect my cunning Billy to elaborate some fancy strategy. With Ben’s knowledge of the field, and the brash Cowboy’s ability to add some bold ideas if needed, they will come prepared. Sadly enough for them, we are too. Fred will take care of you while Phil and I go capture them thanks to our great contrivance. Shall we go, Philip?”

“Yeah, let’s. Fred can take care of him now. The bird’s not going to fly away.”

“We’ll be back soon, my poor captive scientist. Don’t worry, we’ll bring you some company, not necessarily of the finest kind, but they won’t bother you too much with their conversation in any case. Have fun, dear comrades.”

The disapproving grunt was quite a reward for Lewis’ infamous skill at taunting. The two elite squad members put scarves in their waistbands, grabbed their bags and left. Fred calmly went on with his task, having some more yards of rope to use on his customer.

***

“Of course, Ben, this is a trap, this is Lewis we’re dealing with. They want to lure us there. What we need to know is how the ground around the house is set,” Billy serenely explained.

Ben quickly exposed on the map how the small hills and hedges surrounded the small building. Keith sketched a map as the explanations were given.

“Right, Ben, this was a nice description. Billy, if you were Lewis and had to set up an ambush, how would you manage?”

Billy frowned. Trying to put himself in Lewis’ shoes for a moment, he took into account the numbers. If he stayed outside, they’d be against him, since there was necessarily someone guarding the hostage, as the rules required. So it’d be two against three. He’d have to surprise them, or even divide them, which could prove difficult with lots of possible hideouts and paths to run away to from what Ben had told. If they wanted to even the odds, they’d need to attract them inside the building, so they wouldn’t be outnumbered. Possibly move Matt upstairs, as Ben had told them there was an attic in this house. And set a trap inside. Darn, it was difficult to think while still experiencing the after-effects of whatever Lewis had made them drink.

“’Kay, they must wait for us inside. As you said, Ben, there’s a partition in the back before the staircase, and a big cupboard in the main room, plus a small kitchen and a bathroom on the ground floor. If I were them, I’d have us believe the prisoner is downstairs, take him upstairs and hide around the entrance. Then I’d wait for the whole posse to get inside, and then jump on them as they enter.”

Ben turned to Billy, amazed by his strategic sense. “The best place to hide in this case would be down the staircase. It would be more difficult to run away, and there are at least three hideouts I can think of.”

“Perfect, I think I have an idea. Here’s what we should do…”

***

Lewis and Phil were carefully concealed behind a low hillock. They had been lying on their belly for a little more than ten minutes, visible from one angle only, one it was very unlikely their opponents would come from. It was only ten yards away from the door of the hunting pavilion. They were rather quiet, exchanging only a few whispered words, mainly to state how the bitter cold affected us.

“If my estimate on their reaction and time management is right, we won’t have to wait for more than five more minutes. Succeeding in bamboozling the twits is certainly worth having to suffer from the cruel bite of this frigid air. As some Spartan youths, we’re going to have to scold these Helots. You might even get to flog them with reeds,” Lewis whispered with a smirk.

“Interesting indeed. We stole our food from them the last time, which is quite Spartan. Some of this Spartan lifestyle is a bit more objectionable, though. Doing without books or plays? I doubt YOU would enjoy this. And forget about embracing me!” Philip winked.

“Yes, some aspects of Spartan life we could do without.”

Their conversation on the mores of extinct civilizations soon came to a halt, as they sensed, rather than they heard, the approach of the opposite party, moving towards the lodge. The steps trampling on the dead leaves and the dry twigs moved closer to the door. Lewis craned his neck cautiously, knowing a bush kept him out of sight; he could see the shapes of his targets. He pricked up his ears to get a confirmation that everything was going on according to plan.

Matt tried to feel any slack in the ropes that united him to the chair. Sadly enough, there wasn’t much more than ten minutes ago, when Fred had completed his task. His arms had been well taken care of, with anchoring points at the wrists and elbows, both on the arms and forearms.

A lesson that had long been well learned from the Saint Sebastian boys was that an inescapable tie-up could only be achieved by immobilising the hands. Hence, no slack could be obtained, and Matt tried, without much hope, to get hold of a knot. His legs were also restrained at the ankle and knees, and more rope linked those to the legs and bars of the chair, denying his body any motion .

So here they were, two boys sporting the official club uniform, one tied to a chair, the other sitting comfortably three feet in front. Fred was playing with his Game Boy.

“I’m glad Santa Claus was a bit early this year. Quite a nifty game I got too! This little elf-like guy I play has got to free a poor captive princess.”

Matt could only champ at the bit, or more prosaically chew on the wadding bag that filled his mouth. He could have had a more unpleasant show than Fred in his shiny outfit; nevertheless, he could not satisfy himself with watching his captors, however good-looking they were, without at least attempting to free himself. The expletive uttered by the black-haired captor meant he’d lost.

“Bloody sorcerer! Now I’ve got to start over the whole level.”

He raised his eyes towards his ward.

“Only in silly games do princesses get rescued by knights in shining armour!”

Matt groaned angrily. Not only was the logic flawed, since apparently the rescuer had just failed, but being called, even implicitly, a princess bothered him.

“Oh, how insensitive of me… Making such a comment in front of a poor damsel in distress!”

The low grunt amused Fred a great deal, and inspired him to have another go at the level he’d just lost in.

© Copyright Bondwriter 2008

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