Chapter 32

Dafne watched Silvio take the next in a succession of throws. It was slightly more successful than the others. It almost hit the dartboard Basta had nailed to a tree for him to practice on. Despite the improvement, Silvio let out a moan of disappointment. Basta wasn't exactly helping his confidence. He wasn't the most patient teacher.

"You're not listening to what I'm saying," he said, "You need to line yourself up. You won't hit it if you don't aim properly."

"I am aiming," Silvio mumbled sullenly.

"Then why haven't you hit the target yet?" Basta pointed out rather insensitively.

"He nearly had it," Dafne said, offering up encouragement. She hadn't wanted him to learn in the first place but felt compelled to say something. He looked so down-hearted. She frowned reproachfully at Basta, "Stop being so hard on him."

"I'm not being hard on him," Basta said dismissively, "The only way he's going to get better is if I drill this into him."

"You could be a bit nicer about it," Dafne said, "I'm sure you weren't brilliant at it straight away."

"How would you know?" Basta replied with a smile.

She didn't. Whether or not he had picked it up quicker than Silvio, she grudgingly admitted, not out loud, that he was skilled at it. He had performed a rather extensive demonstration for them earlier. Showing off, Dafne thought. But it was annoyingly impressive, watching him hit the target each time. He made it look effortless though she did not utter a word of compliment. Even when he turned to her expectantly and smugly,

"Pretty good huh?"

Dafne had rolled her eyes and returned to her book. She didn't want to express appreciation for something she had so strongly objected to Silvio learning. It was bad enough that inwardly she felt like a hypocrite. She couldn't help holding her breath in anticipation before each throw. She couldn't stop her heart from beating excitedly as the knife sailed through the air. But she refused to give Basta the satisfaction of knowing this.

"A student is only as good as the teacher," she said.

Basta stuck his bottom lip out at her.

"Do you think you could teach him better?" he challenged her, "Would you like to have go?"

Dafne snorted,

"Don't be ridiculous."

"No really," Basta said, pulling the knife out of the tree, "Come have a go."

"I'm reading," Dafne said, indicating the open book in her lap.

It was The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Basta had bought it back with him after taking the other book, the one they had stolen, to Capricorn. Capricorn had ordered him to hand it over to Darius so the man could begin preparing for Monster Night. The morbid festivity had been scheduled for next week. Dafne doubted any length of time spent in preparation would prevent Darius from stammering during his summoning of the creature. He could learn the words off by heart and it would make no difference.

According to Basta, Darius had requested he give the book to her. But she half-believed Basta might have simply grabbed it without Darius' permission. Darius was deathly afraid of Basta, he would not have put up any protest. If this had been the case she would have demanded Basta return it to him. He had no excuse being so cruel. She knew how Darius cherished his books. But she had no way of proving this. She reasoned that she may as well read the book while she had it in her care.

She had come outside to do just that, to read it in the sunshine, not to watch them though they had invited her. But she had ended up observing them all the same. Their lesson had proved too much of a curiosity, a distraction, luring her attention away.

To her annoyance, Basta was aware of this.

"No you're not," he said with some satisfaction, "You've barely looked at it since we got out here. You're still on the same page."

This was true. Moreover she hadn't absorbed any of the words she had scanned while secretly listening as Basta had instructed Silvio on how to hold the knife, how to stand. Not that his attention to detail had helped Silvio. He hadn't lived up to Basta's expectations. Dafne suspected it might have something to do with his eyesight. She had noticed he kept squinting at the target. Maybe he needed glasses. But she didn't want to embarrass him further by suggesting this. Basta walked around with his eyes perpetually narrowed and he threw the knife with surprising accuracy in spite of it.

"Come on," he insisted, throwing the knife in the air and catching it, "Step up little mouse."

Dafne sighed and rose from the kitchen chair she had bought outside to sit on.

"Fine."

Basta held the handle-end of the blade out to her. She snatched it up, considering the target before her.

"Do want me to show you how to hold it?" Basta offered.

Dafne shook her head stubbornly,

"I'll manage," she said.

Basta shrugged,

"Suit yourself" he sniffed, folding his arms looking sceptical.

Silvio was watching her interestedly, his disappointment temporarily forgotten.

Dafne adjusted her fingers the way she remembered Basta telling Silvio.

She faced the dartboard straight on, shifting her body into position.

Left foot forward, right foot back, bend your knees, what else did he say?

She drew the knife back past her head, lining it up with the target. She stared it down determinedly.

Okay, here goes, throw hard, bring your arm straight down, keep your wrist stiff...

She counted down. One, two, three...

She threw it with all her might. She felt the knife as it flew from hand, hurtled away from her.

There was barely time to blink before the tip buried itself in the lower half of the dartboard.

Dafne regarded its place of lodgement in disbelief.

She broke into a triumphant grin, glancing at Silvio and Basta. Their eyes were still glued on the knife.

They were stunned.

"Wow," Silvio uttered in awed voice.

"Well well," Basta said, shaking his head, looking pleased rather than irritated by her success, "Who would have thought it? Little miss no-violence good with a knife."

"Shut up," Dafne said, irked by his words, "It just goes to show you that anyone can throw a knife."

"I can't," Silvio piped up miserably.

Dafne grimaced. She hadn't meant to make him feel singled out.

"You'll learn," she said optimistically, trying to cheer him up, "You just need to practice."

"That's right Silvio, we can't all be naturals like Dafne," Basta said as he went to retrieve the knife. He pointed it at Dafne, "Let's see if you can do it again."

"How about you stand in front of the target this time," Dafne replied in a sweetly threatening voice, "See if I'm good enough not to hit you."

Basta laughed. He jerked the knife out her reach as she went to grab it,

"I don't think so."

Dafne chased after the blade.

"You said you'd give me another go," she said in a childishly demanding tone. She wanted to throw the knife again. The thrill of the first time was infectious.

Basta put the knife behind his back, blocking her from it with his shoulder.

"I'm not sure if I want to now. I might regret it."

But he didn't sound worried, only amused.

"You've really changed your tune haven't you," he teased as she reached an arm over his shoulder to swipe at the blade, "What happened to 'knife throwing is bad Basta'?"

"It depends on the target," Dafne said, attempting to justify her new desire, "A dartboard isn't the same as a person. Or whatever you're going to make Silvio practice on next. Poor little lizards?"

"I don't want to hurt lizards," Silvio said, looking squeamish.

"They're only lizards," Basta said in annoyance, forgetting Dafne a moment. His distraction didn't help her, her arm wasn't long enough.

Silvio looked ponderingly into the sky.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he said.

Basta shook his head in confusion,

"Geez, it's like you two swapped places," he said, "You don't want to learn but she does."

"I don't need to learn," Dafne muttered, "I'm good at it."

"Big words. You've only thrown it once."

"Well you won't give me another go," Dafne complained.

"Say please," Basta said in a singsong voice.

Dafne scowled but then she had an epiphany and she broke away from him.

"You know what, there's plenty of knives in the kitchen," she said, "I'll just go get one."

Basta frowned at the idea,

"No don't do that, you'll ruin them."

Dafne smiled over her shoulder.

"Then let me use yours."

"I was just about to," Basta said, waving it in front of him, "So come back here."

Dafne trod back over,

"Just stop teasing me," she told him.

"It's hard not to. It's funny that you like something that you think is naughty."

He proffered the handle to her.

She was in the process of reaching for it but then she stopped, eyeing the sleek steel. Basta kept the blade immaculately clean. His diligence to polishing it gave the appearance that it had never been used.

But it had been used. The knife had a long history. It was tainted with blood although its owner always wiped it off. This knife had caused pain and fear. This knife had been pointed menacingly at her, at Resa, at Isolda's children, along with countless others whose names and faces she did not know.

How could she use such a knife for sport? Doing so seemed to make light of all its monstrosities.

She had momentarily lost sight of that. The reason she had been so opposed to Silvio learning how to wield it in the first place.

Suddenly the idea of taking hold of it filled her with repulsion. It made her ashamed of her enthusiasm.

Basta frowned at her hesitation,

"What's wrong? Take it," he said, extending it further toward her.

She was about to shake her head, her hand beginning to withdraw. No.

But then a voice called out, announcing the presence of a familiar limping figure.

"Hey Basta there you are."

Cockerell wasn't alone. He had the hulking man with him who had been present at her kidnapping. Flat-something. Flatnose, she remembered, taking one look at that squashed facial feature.

Neither Cockerell nor Basta looked pleased to see the other. Flatnose simply looked indifferent.

"What do you want?" Basta demanded.

"What do you think?" Cockerell replied impatiently, "Or have you forgotten the little pick up job we need to do today?"

Dafne turned to Basta enquiringly. Pick up job? But Basta didn't look at her. His expression was serious.

"No. I haven't forgotten," he said quietly.

Cockerell threw up his hands,

"Then what are you waiting for? Let's go."

Basta didn't put up an argument, whatever it was they were heading off to do.

"Alright then," he said, stowing his blade in readiness.

"Gee, don't look so happy," Cockerell quipped sarcastically, "I would have thought you'd be looking forward to it. It's been ages since we've kidnapped somebody."

Basta grimaced as soon as Cockerell uttered the word "kidnapped". As soon as Dafne heard the same word she looked at Basta not with anger but with sad disappointment. A few days ago he had held protectively and promised to protect her from harm. It saddened her that a man capable of such a gesture could put aside such sensitivity, continuing to do the horrible deeds asked of him.

She drew away, ashamed of him rather than outraged. She was tired of being continually outraged. What was the point? He might love her, but outside of his feelings for her, he remained unchanged. Basta watched her retreat with a pained expression. He leaned forward as though he might go after her, his lips slightly parted as if he were about to speak. But he did neither. He stayed where he was, hung his head, closed his eyes and sighed.

Cockerell put his hands to his face in mock embarrassment,

"Oops, was I not supposed to mention that? Your little girlfriend's probably a bit sensitive about that kind of thing. With us being the ones what kidnapped her and all," he scratched his goateed chin thoughtfully, "Come to think of it, I think she was last person we did kidnap. Funny that."

Flatnose laughed a brutish sounding laugh.

"Ain't it just," he agreed, "Just goes to show long it's been."

Dafne already knew who the unfortunate victim was. Sara the waitress, it had to be her. Her thoughts had often dwelt on the girl since she had found out Capricorn's intentions. Basta had never confirmed whether he would be involved in acquiring her for his master. It was obvious now that he was.

This is the reason I can't love you, she thought. You're so desperate to love me yet you can't see that. Is it worth it? Is Capricorn's false love more important to you? It hurt to be placed in second to that monster. But there was nothing she could do. She could rage and lecture and plead but she knew none of it would work.

The two of them would never work.

Why was that realisation so painful? Had she wanted it to? She didn't know, all she knew was that it couldn't.

She retrieved her book and held it protectively to her chest.

"Come on Silvio," she murmured to the boy.

Silvio did not raise his voice to protest or question. He glanced at Basta somberly before following her into the house.

Basta made no attempt to prevent them from doing so.

Meanwhile Cockerell was enjoying the situation.

"Looks like your woman's giving you the silent treatment," he jeered, "Guess she's not too happy with yooouuu."

"At least my woman didn't leave town without me knowing because she was sick of me," Basta replied.

Only Flatnose laughed at this. Basta didn't smile. He was still looking grim.

Cockerell's face went as red as his hair.

"Shut up!" he spat, "She'll be back. She always is. When she does, she'll beg me to be with her."

"More like the other way around," Basta said,

"Who's side are you on?" Cockerell said as Flatnose laughed again.

The large man shrugged.

"No ones. I laugh at things I find funny."

Cockerell took a threatening step towards him,

"Funny? I'll show you funny..."

Basta moved to place himself between the two, his hand on Cockerell's chest, shoving him back.

"Save it," he said, "Let's just get this over and done with."

Dafne watched them through the window as they departed, Cockerell trailing behind because of his leg.

She turned away to find Silvio's worried face looking at her.

"Are you okay?"

Dafne sighed,

"He's not going to change Silvio."

The boy understood what she meant. She could see her own melancholy reflected in his face.

"You don't think so?"

"I'm afraid not."

"What does that mean for us?" Silvio wanted to know. He had been holding out hope of the three of them leaving the village together. This seemed unlikely to Dafne.

"I don't know dolce cuore," she said.

Silvio blushed a little at her calling him by this term.

"You know how Basta makes fun of you for acting like my mother?" he said tentatively.

"Yes."

Silvio smiled shyly.

"I don't mind that you do."

Dafne was touched by this admission. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, grateful for this boy. She loved him like he was her flesh and blood.

"Silvio, I'm much too young to be your mother," she said, "But I'll always be your family."

There was a knock on the door. The two turned their heads in that direction with surprise. They drew apart, the boy blushing.

Maybe it was Basta, Dafne thought hopefully. Maybe he had decided not to go through with it and come back.

But why would Basta knock to come into his own house?

Dafne opened the door to find not Basta, but his rival, albeit it was one-sided rivalry, waiting on the other side.

"Dustfinger," she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd drop by to see how you are," he said, "I saw Basta heading off with the other two so I knew this would be a good time."

Dafne looked at him stunned. She couldn't quite believe it was him, standing in Basta's doorway.

"Can I come in?" he asked when she didn't reply.

"Oh of course," Dafne said, a little embarrassed by her gaping.

"Dafne," Silvio hissed urgently, hovering at her shoulder.

"Yes?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

She looked at him in confusion before realising that Silvio probably knew Dustfinger as Basta's enemy. This was why he was reluctant to let the man enter Basta's house.

"It's okay," she told him, "Basta won't find out."

But Silvio eyed Dustfinger distrustfully,

"What do you want?"

"Only to talk to Dafne," Dustfinger replied, meeting the boy's gaze fully, "I understand you're protective of her. But we're friends."

Silvio crossed his arms,

"I've never seen you with her before. How are you friends?"

"Silvio we are friends," Dafne said, "Now stop treating Dustfinger that way, you sound like Basta."

"I don't him want to cause trouble for you," Silvio said.

"He won't. He's only here to talk. If you're not going to let us do it inside, we'll do it outside."

Silvio sighed, relenting.

"Okay," he said, "But I'm not going away. I get to listen."

Dafne rolled her eyes. He really did sound like Basta, acting so suspiciously.

"I never said you couldn't."

"I've never been in Basta's house before," Dustfinger remarked as he stepped inside, glancing around, "You must be a good maid. I've never seen a house so clean."

Dafne and Silvio exchanged glances.

"Trust me, it's not my doing," Dafne said dryly, offering him a seat on the couch.

Silvio sat down beside him, watching him very intently.

"Your coat is moving," he observed.

Dustfinger raised a fair eyebrow,

"Oh?" he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wriggling bundle of fur.

Silvio's expression immediately turned to fascination.

"That's the marten. I've seen him before."

Dustfinger set Gwin down on his lap. The marten raised its body in the air sniffing. Silvio's hand reached towards him.

"Careful," Dustfinger warned, "He bites."

Silvio paid no heed and Gwin did snap at his approaching fingers. But the boy was only amused.

"Aw, you're an angry fella," he cooed at him. Gwin's small eyes glared at him almost confusedly, "You want some food? I'll get you some."

The boy leapt up and headed for the kitchen.

Dafne smiled.

"How did you know Silvio's weakness? He loves animals."

"Is that right? Then I'm glad I bought Gwin with me."

Perhaps sensing the prospect of a free meal, the marten crawled down Dustfinger's leg and followed Silvio. She could hear the boy talking to it as he rustled around in the fridge. At least he was now happily distracted and not watching Dustfinger like a hawk.

"How are you?" the man asked her, "Basta was very angry when he dragged you off that day. I was worried for you."

"Worried for me?" Dafne said, "You're the one who had a knife held to his throat."

"Ah that's nothing," Dustfinger smiled, "He's done worse to me before, as you can see."

She could. One couldn't look at Dustfinger without seeing those scars.

"I'm fine," she told him, "I mean as fine as I can be given the circumstances."

"Ow, gee eat the food not my fingers," Silvio said jovially to Gwin in the kitchen, "Here have some more."

Dafne smiled. If they ever left the village, Silvio should get a job working at a zoo.

Dustfinger's face was solemn as leaned towards her,

"I've been considering your circumstances," he said in a low voice.

Dafne took Silvio's spot next to him,

"What do you mean?" she said in a voice just as quiet.

"I know what it feels like," Dustfinger said sadly, "To want to go home. I yearn for my world so badly, every part of me aches for it. That's why I've decided that if you and Resa need my help returning to your homes, I'll do it."

"Are you sure?" Dafne said. He had earlier highlighted the dangers of another escape attempt. That was why he had been reluctant to offer his assistance then as he was doing now.

Dustfinger nodded.

"I owe it to Resa. This world feels so cold to me but her kindness has been a light. I know you're a good soul too. Otherwise you wouldn't be friends. I know Resa will try to escape again no matter what. If she is going to do this, its better that help her. Help you both."

Dafne took a deep breath.

"So where do we go from here?" she said.

"I heard Monster Night is next week," Dustfinger said, "That doesn't give us much time. I'm trusting Resa has already concocted a plan. You just need to find out what it is and let me know my part."

Dafne nodded,

"I'll see what I can do."

Escape had been at the back of her mind since she had been brought to the village. So why did her decision feel so sudden? Likely because Dustfinger had turned up out of the blue and things had been set in motion right then and there. But she couldn't let the opportunity pass. She felt Silvio, though still clinging to his ties to Basta, was now in the right mindset to agree to leave. He would just have to accept that Basta would not be coming with them.

Basta had made his choice. He had chosen to stay on the same path. She couldn't linger here and hope that eventually he would change. It felt strange considering a life without him. She had grown so used to him, more than used to him. But she had had a life without him and she had existed just fine, better than fine, she had been happy. She would be happy again.

Dafne placed her hand over Dustfinger's,

"Thank you."

"Hey what are you guys doing?" Silvio wandered in from the kitchen. He had obviously won Gwin over as the marten was perched, or rather collapsed tiredly, on his shoulder.

Dafne slipped her hand away as Dustfinger rose to his feet,

"I thank you for feeding Gwin," he said to Silvio, "he's easier to manage on a full stomach."

He scooped him up. The marten didn't protest its removal, even when Dustfinger lowered the animal back into his pocket. It was Silvio who made a fuss.

"Are you going?" he said disappointedly, "You only just got here."

It was ironic that he was loath to have Dustfinger leave after he had been so reluctant to let him in. But it was due to the fact that he didn't want to be deprived of his new furry friend.

"I apologise," Dustfinger said to the boy, "But this is Basta's house and I've stayed too long. I'm sure you two will meet again soon enough."

He turned to Dafne,

"You know where to find me."

Dafne nodded.

Once she explained the situation to Silvio, he could be her courier. He was free to move about the village while she was not. The marten could be an incentive for him to go.

There was no more that could be planned right now. She had to meet with Resa somehow. This would be more difficult given how guarded she was by Mortola. Perhaps she could bribe Orlanda...

It had been barely ten minutes after man and marten had gone, time Silvio spent sulkily pacing grieving for the latter, when there was another knock on the door.

It wasn't Basta this time either. The caller was a boy who looked slightly older than Silvio. He had one ear pierced and dirty blond hair that was cut in such a manner that it fell over his right eye. Silvio recognised him.

"What are you doing here Carmine?"

"Hey Bullet-hole," the other boy drawled with a sneer, "What's up?"

The two surveyed each other with dislike.

Carmine turned to Dafne, tossing his head so his hair flicked away his eye only to fall back into place.

"You Dafne?"

She nodded, finding the boy's attitude unpleasant.

"Yes."

"I'm supposed to give you a message," the boy said, wiping his nose on his sleeve, "Capricorn wants you to come to his house."

To be continued...

Dolce cuore means "sweet heart" in Italian. It's a term of endearment.