The Cathedral of Cliffdale (25 page)

Chapter 40

Jonas walked back to the camp seething with anger. School was as bad as he remembered and it hadn’t taken long for the other kids to pick on him – his clothing, the fact that he didn’t have a cell phone or even a wallet, for that matter. They mocked his rough accent, and worse, there was a letter in his faded, torn satchel from the deputy-head regarding an incident in the cafeteria that would no doubt raise his father’s ire. In all fairness, Jonas hadn’t started the fight – it had been a burly, thick-set boy who had, in a moment of pure teenage stereotype, tripped Jonas up and sent him hurtling face-first across the cafeteria floor. Jonas had retaliated and the boy had been sent to the school nurse with a bleeding lip. He could tell by the way the deputy had gazed down his long nose at Jonas that he had already assigned blame without even questioning the other students. Not that any of them would have come to Jonas’s defence anyway. 

Balthazar would not take this well, but Jonas would die before he admitted he had made a mistake. The only reason he had insisted on going in the first place had been to find Monique. He had been so sure that she would be there, but he had searched for her everywhere, his heart skipping a beat every time he spotted a long, dark red ponytail... only to be disappointed when it wasn’t her. 

“How was school?” Rowena called as he approached through the trees. She and Balthazar were alone in the woods on the outskirts of camp. Balthazar glanced up from where he sat a few yards away, pouring over his textbooks. His father had been withdrawn for the past few days, as though he had a secret that he wasn’t ready to share. Jonas didn’t care about Balthazar’s secrets, but at least it kept his dad’s mind off Jonas and he hadn’t noticed that his son was even more sullen than usual.

“What happened?’ Rowena asked, perceptive as ever.

“This,” Jonas handed her the note, his eyes pleading. He cast furtive looks across at Balthazar as her dark eyes scanned the page, a small frown creasing her smooth brow.

“I’m assuming you didn’t start it?” she asked quietly when she had finished. Jonas gave her a pointed look and she nodded. “That’s what I thought. You got a pen?” Jonas fished one out of his bag and Rowena signed off the form, stuffing it quickly back into his hands.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and then, wanting to change the subject, “what’s dad up to?”

“Just the usual research,” she answered, a little too quickly.

Balthazar had sworn Rowena to secrecy after they had discovered the portal at the canyon. Rowena understood his reasoning. If they disclosed its location, not even Balthazar’s informal authority would stop their entire community rushing through it, and it was imperative that the Guardians did not learn of the discovery, not until Balthazar had figured out what to do next.

“Why do you want to go to that school anyway?” she asked, distracting Jonas. “And don’t give me that bullshit you fed your father about leading a normal life and getting an education. I know you despise it there.”

“I don’t!” he exclaimed, but Rowena fixed him with a knowing look. “Okay, maybe I do.” Jonas had always been able to confide in Rowena far more than he ever could his father. She didn’t judge him and she never made him feel guilty for having an interest in something other than the search. “I met a girl,” he confessed, dropping his voice to barely more than a whisper. “I thought she might be there.”

“And I take it from your delightful mood that she’s not?” Rowena smiled.

“I don’t think so. She might be – it’s a big campus.” Jonas still held out hope that he might find Monique at school. She could be in different classes or might have been off sick. Either way, he refused to give up until he was absolutely certain she wasn’t there. Until then, he would have to endure it.

“Where did you see her?” Rowena asked as an afterthought.

“At the gas station, a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I hope you find her – although she’s probably not good enough for you,” Rowena nudged him with her shoulder.

“Probably,” he agreed half-heartedly. “I better go and do my homework.” He headed towards the tent he shared with Balthazar when his father wasn’t ensconced in the flatbed of Rowena’s truck. Gypsy women were extremely promiscuous, but Rowena and Balthazar had a very rare relationship – a monogamous relationship out of wedlock.

“Jonas,” she called, and he cringed at the volume of her voice. “If you do find her,” Rowena continued, “maybe you could bring her here for the bonfire.” Once a month the gypsies lit a bonfire, dancing and singing through the night. It was their way of celebrating - the gypsy equivalent of a party. Nodding, Jonas continued on towards his tent. If he did ever find her, he doubted Monique would be impressed with the gypsy idea of revelry, but he was so desperate to see her he would probably ask her anyway.

“Our people need answers,” Rowena spoke, watching Jonas’s hulking departure. She and Balthazar had visited the portal again while the boy was at school. It was hard to keep him away – it was as if he needed constant reassurance that their discovery had been real – that they had indeed finally found the lost City. “We can’t keep them here much longer without an explanation,” she persisted. 

The gypsies had stayed in one place this long before, but always with reasonable explanations – clues, that had invariably turned out to be nothing. Never before had Balthazar withheld information and the lack of communication was starting to cause discord among the gypsies. Melchior, in particular, wanted to press on, insisting that the presence of a single cornflower was not enough to warrant a lengthy stay. Rowena had never liked Melchior – he had hurt a few of her girls in the past and he had a vicious streak in him that Balthazar refused to see.

“The Guardians will mow us down if they feel there is any threat to the City,” Balthazar intoned hollowly. “We cannot make a move until we know for sure what awaits us.”

“Twelve Guardians await!” Rowena snapped. “What else is there to know? That is not going to change so I don’t understand why we are procrastinating.”

“That is not true,” Balthazar pointed out. “We have seen that the Guardians come and go. I want to track their movements – it may so happen that we can enter when there are only very few remaining.” Seeing her dark scowl, he continued more gently. “Rowena, we have waited a lifetime for this opportunity. What’s a few more weeks? Surely we should take the time to gather more information before we rush blindly in?”

“Fine,” she sighed, “but you better start thinking of something to tell the others before they simply move on without us.”

They sat in silence. Balthazar loathed the distance growing between them and he placed a hand on Rowena’s thigh. Dutifully she spread her legs, lifting her heavy skirt, but Balthazar pulled away in disgust. He hated it when she treated him like the others. Their relationship meant more to him than that.

By the time they returned to the camp, Balthazar’s mood had darkened considerably. Rowena and the other women had a local fair to attend, and, as he watched her truck lumber out of the clearing, laden with herbs and gypsy potions that would be sold to unsuspecting humans, he spat at the ground near his feet.

“Trouble in paradise?” Melchior observed drily, watching Balthazar as he stared after the departing truck.

“That woman will be the death of me," Balthazar replied.

“Perhaps I could teach her some manners for you,” Melchior grinned lasciviously. “You have spoilt her, brother. She should be reminded of her place.” It was not uncommon for the gypsy men to share their single women, but the thought of Melchior’s meaty hands on Rowena’s soft, pliant body filled Balthazar with rage.

“You will not lay a finger on her, Melchior,” he warned menacingly.

“She refuses to marry you,” Melchior reminded arrogantly, “you have no claim on her.”

“Well, unless she seeks out your services, I suggest you leave her be,” Balthazar spat back.

He cursed Rowena’s fiery nature. This, coupled with her refusal to marry him and thus place herself out of bounds for the other men in camp, only fuelled the other gypsies’ lust. Balthazar longed for her hand in marriage, not only so that she would belong to him completely, but also to protect her from the primal ways of their people. The gypsies lived harsh lives and they were a physical community. Drink also added fire to the flames, and, on more than one occasion, women had been hurt after a particularly festive bonfire.

The women themselves were wild and often asked for trouble – stripping down to their bare flesh and dancing suggestively. The competition for male attention was fierce, and some of the women had been known to physically attack the others, when vying for a particular male’s affections. Rowena had always steered clear of this custom – she was dedicated to Balthazar and Jonas and behaved accordingly, but she spoke out against the viciousness of the men when things got out of hand, and there was certainly more than one man in camp who longed to give her a good lashing.

Knowing the sun would not set for a few more hours; Balthazar followed the path the truck had taken only a few moments before. He had never been to a fair – it was the women’s job – but he wanted to see Rowena. Arriving at the fairground, he watched, unnoticed, as the gypsy women set up their wares, along with a small tent at the far back, which had a red sash tied to a post beside it, which he assumed was where the card-reading took place.

The gypsies’ apportioned plot was at the very edge of the fairground, a short distance away from everything else, to ensure that no young children visited their stall unattended. They made the most of their money at these fairs and they only wanted customers with long purse strings. He marvelled at how organised the women were – how they worked in unison, setting up tables and positioning everything on display. His heart leapt as he spotted Rowena, moving gracefully between the others, checking everything and offering words of encouragement. Her long black skirt swished around her ankles as she moved, her bare feet leaving indentations in the soft grass. He noticed that she had slipped a flower behind her ear and her lips were painted red. He had never seen her with make-up on – she always washed it off before she returned. Balthazar didn’t like the black, heavy charcoal surrounding her dark eyes. She looked incredibly beautiful, but he preferred her the way she looked first thing in the morning – before the sun had even risen – her hair a dark, tousled mess and her eyes still heavy with sleep.

Seeing Rowena calmed him more than anything, and, feeling better, he strolled around the market place, his curiosity piqued. The fairground was alive with colour, sound and scent. Balloons for the children, flea-bitten ponies that swished their tails lethargically as they waited for their next rider, and every conceivable art and craft lined the trestle tables. The smell of popcorn was heavy in the air and made Balthazar’s stomach rumble. He had not eaten anything since breakfast. Passing the vendor he bought two large boxes of popcorn and headed back towards the gypsies' allocated plot.  

Mindful of the customers queuing before the tables, he moved around to the far end of the plot, approaching the tent. He could not see Rowena anywhere. The other women were preoccupied with the loud, demanding customers and Balthazar frowned as he glanced around. He checked the back of the truck but she was not there either. As he emerged, one of Rowena’s friends spotted him and gave a gasp of fright, dropping the small bottle she was holding. Her reaction sent a flash of alarm through Balthazar and he followed her gaze to the tent, only a few yards away. As he ran towards it, he prayed that Rowena was performing a card-reading, but the terror-stricken look on the young girl’s face made him doubt it.

As he got nearer, he heard the unmistakeable grunting that could only be male, and his chest constricted so badly he stumbled. Jerking back the tent flap his worst fears were confirmed. Rowena lay on her back, fully clothed save for her black skirt, which was lying in a crumpled heap at the tent entrance, staring up at the canvas ceiling. She looked almost bored, but her legs were wrapped tightly around the waist of a portly, balding man and she was bucking her hips erotically up against him, whispering dirty, suggestive words that Balthazar had never heard her utter before.

As her dark eyes swept towards his, Balthazar thought he might black out. Oblivious to the unexpected witness, the man on top of her gave an enormous groan of satisfaction into her neck and collapsed on top of her, groping for her breasts in the process. The glint of gold around his ring finger was too much for Balthazar, who finally regained control of his senses. Rowena was already trying to scramble out from underneath the now-limp man, but Balthazar was too quick for her. Grabbing him around the neck, Balthazar yanked him to his feet, the revolting squelching sound making him sick to the stomach.

“Balthazar, no!” Rowena yelled, over the man’s startled gasp of shock. Balthazar did not pay heed – drawing back his fist he let it fly, slamming into the man’s face with as much force as he could muster. Rowena cried again, reaching for him, but Balthazar pushed her away in revulsion, so hard that she hit her head on a small wooden chair that sat in the corner of the tent. Smashing his fist again and again into the man’s face, Balthazar could see nothing but an ugly red haze.

“Balthazar! That’s enough!” Rowena finally managed to get a good grip on his arm and despite feeling dizzy from hitting her head, she pulled him off the bloodied, beaten man. He was whimpering desolately, his pants still around his knees and Rowena averted her eyes as two of the other gypsy women entered the tent and helped him dress. Balthazar stood as still as a statue, staring at her as if she was a complete stranger, his entire body shaking. Only when the women had helped the stranger outside, did she speak again.