Chapter 6: Decisions
Hours, maybe days had passed. It was all the same to Gabriel. He lay on the bed, closing his eyes from time to time. It was night, now, he could tell. The room was dark; except for a few squares of silvery moonlight that brightened the dirt floor.
Gabriel felt so helpless lying there, knowing that his being in the Bloors' custody probably meant something horrible for Charlie and the others. But what could he do? He was starving, and his parched throat could no longer be subdued by swallowing.
--
Charlie and his friends were gathered in the plaza, out after lunch. Charlie was filling the others in on the Bloors' plan, and their demands.
Lysander pressed his lips together grimly. "So that explains everything, then," he murmured. "If we had only listened to Gabe earlier…gosh, I wonder how he is."
Olivia turned away, her eyes bright, and her voice pinched and painful. "I would really rather not think about that now, thank you very much." She faltered, glancing sharply up at the sky.
Tancred's eyes narrowed into two glittering slits. "I'd like to pummel them," he expressed threateningly. No one replied; no one reprimanded his wishes.
Emma intoned, in her quiet way, "What we need is a plan; not violent wishes." She turned to Charlie. "Anything, Charlie?" she prodded him hopefully.
Charlie closed his eyes and looked away. There was a long, awkward pause. Finally he spoke. "I think…" he began, slowly; thoughtfully; "that we should wait. If I don't do anything, they'll be sure to let him get in touch with us. You know, just to scare me…and everyone else. Then we can try to track him down based on any information we can get."
Emma looked at Charlie severely. "I guess it's our only hope. No matter how risky it is." The look in her eyes made her negative sentiments obvious.
--
So they waited. And waited.
Every evening in the King's room the atmosphere was awful. The air seemed to churn (Tancred's storms were a huge contribution); and hostility hung thickly.
But finally the day came. Charlie rose from his seat and turned to leave. Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder fiercely, yanking him around. Charlie found himself inches from Manfred pale, hollow face.
"Bone," the boy snarled, his foul breath thick and heavy in Charlie's nostrils, "you know, my grandfather and I are waiting. For your wand." He pressed a finger to his cheek and gripped one of his elbows with his free hand. "Unless, of course," he intoned, with exaggerated unawareness, "You chose to leave Gabriel with us." He looked at Charlie emphatically, who turned away, deliberately avoiding his gaze.
Charlie swallowed. He needed to bait Manfred. Summoning all his courage and daring, he said, challengingly, "I bet you don't really have him. You're making it up. Prove you're telling the truth." Fear lent him strength, and he clenched his fists so vehemently that his knuckles went white and the veins winding down his wrists bulged from his skin.
Manfred took a step backwards, clearly receiving the message Charlie was trying so hard to broadcast. Realizing his error, Manfred's face contorted into a dark glare and he took two steps forth. "Fine then. I'll make sure the Silk boy gives you a call today…at around…hmm...four. Sharp." He glared at Charlie a final time, then grasped his shoulders and shoved him violently into the doorframe. "Now get out of my sight, you little brat!"
Charlie, trembling uncontrollably, fled the scene, leaving his friends to catch up.