Easier to run
Chapter 36
She remembered this.
It was always her favourite part of the day: Story time with Dad.
She was freshly bathed, wearing her penguin print pyjamas, and tucked under the duvet; snug as a bug in a rug her father used to say.
Richard Croft was lying next to her in bed, on top of the covers. Even while at home in the manor, he still dressed like he was mid-expedition. When Lara had been very young – when her fingers were chubby and clumsy – he used to hide things in the many pockets of his cargo pants for his daughter to discover: coins, sweets and, her favourite, little puzzles that made her grin when she solved them.
At that moment though, she must have been about five.
She had just started to read. She was slow at it but bundled letters on the page were beginning to make sense, and actually match the sounds in her mouth. Not that it mattered come story time. That was when she let herself relax and get swept up in Dad's tales – and his undivided attention.
Richard Croft was always busy. But every evening, come Lara's bedtime, he would put his work aside and tread upstairs with a tome in hand.
Lara had a lot of books – colourful picture books for children. But every story time, Dad would bring something special from the library downstairs. Leather bound, centuries old often enough, with hand-painted illustrations.
Her favourite was The Jungle Book. When she stroked the hand-inked drawings she could imagine what the giant banana leaves would feel like against her skin as she brushed past. She wanted to go there desperately.
As it turned out, the entertainment for that particular evening was a set of folk tales from the Far East. And if she concentrated hard enough, she was certain that she could smell traces of incense wafting off the pages.
The book lay open on an etching of a mountain temple fronted by two stone dogs. Or lions. It was hard to tell. They were strange-looking creatures, with gaping sharp-toothed mouths. She supposed she should find them intimidating but she didn't feel scared. Instead, she thought they were quite exciting. Especially if they could come to life in their wild, bug-eyed state. That would be even more thrilling.
Her father pointed at a picture. "Do you know what those are, Ladybird?"
"They're…" She scrunched up her face. She knew this. "They're guardians."
Richard beamed. "That's my girl." He ruffled her hair. "You're absolutely right. They're guardians. But did you know that we're guardians too, your mother and I?"
Lara stared at him, wide-eyed. "No."
Richard Croft chuckled, "Well, we are."
Her mouth dropped open. "What do you mean?"
He clawed his hands and mock roared, making his daughter giggle.
"Daddy, you're silly."
Richard snuggled in next to his little girl; a housecat again instead of a lion.
He started to explain. "Well, Lara, most people tend to live in the present. Or the future. They forget the past very easily. The further they move away from it, the murkier it becomes, like when you stick your hand deep into a muddy pond, or…" He cleared his throat, "…that old fountain in front of the hedge maze when you think your mother isn't looking."
How did he know about that?
Her father didn't berate her though. He simply asked, "Do you understand, Lara?"
She nodded.
"As guardians it's our job to make sure people don't forget the furthest past: the heroes, the villains; humanity's greatest achievements and its greatest mistakes. We love to celebrate and revere instances of success; even as we're tempted to overlook our moments of greatest shame too. But we have to look back and acknowledge the whole picture, Lara. We must. The whole truth, for better or worse, no matter how difficult and painful that may be.
"Forgetting is one of the most dangerous things we can do. It opens a door to great evil and suffering; it enables its return. Forgetting lets evil sneak up on us from behind while we're only looking forward."
Lara frowned. Being a guardian sounded like a lot of responsibility.
She swallowed. Then, committed to her decision, she piped up.
She was aware of how small and childish her voice sounded, but she hoped her tone conveyed the sincerity of her resolution. "Can I be a guardian one day too, Dad?"
Richard's smile broadened. "My darling, I see you growing up to become one of the greatest guardians of all time. Putting the heroes of legend to shame."
"Dad," Lara blushed.
Just then Amelia Croft peered around the bedroom door.
She gave the pair an exasperated look. "Richard, Lara was supposed to be asleep an hour ago."
Dickie Croft winked at his daughter. "What are rules for, if not for breaking? Right, Ladybird?"
Lara nodded enthusiastically.
Richard snapped the book shut and leapt off his little girl's bed. As he was pulling the duvet up to Lara's chin, she gazed up at him.
"Dad, I want to be just like you."
"I'm sure you will be one day, sweetheart. But better and far brighter – you have your mother in you after all."
Just before he turned off the bedside light, Richard Croft bent over and kissed his daughter's cheek.
"Goodnight, darling."
"Wake up, English whore."
She was torn from the soothing darkness of her childhood bedroom into bright, abrasive light. It was a second birth, just as traumatic as the one that had brought her into the world.
She was finding it difficult to take in and process the details of her surroundings; the state of her body. Comprehension came to her in crisp detail out of the haze, but only for a heartbeat before retreating again into the blur.
Outside.
Sunshine.
Forest.
Crisp Autumn air that prickled her skin and lungs.
She was upright but not standing of her own accord. She hung bow-legged and limp between two men, each restraining her by an arm.
She let her gaze sink from the mercs' blank expressions to her useless feet, where instead of planted heels, the toes of one boot and the ankle of the other were dragging against the earth.
She slowly lifted her head again.
Dupont stood before her, quaking with fury.
"Larson was my friend, Lady Croft," he hissed.