Talura crouched next to the locked bathroom door. She listened as hard as she could, hoping to hear Extolziby running back towards the lift. But there was no sound at all. It was quiet. Deathly quiet.
She swiped away tears with the back of her hand. As she did this, she made herself a promise. The chances were that he wasn’t about to leave her alive. Magellan wouldn’t let her stay in the bathroom for ever. He would break in or would have Betsy and Joe do it. She was a witness. He had let her slip through his fingers once before. She doubted he would make that mistake a second time.
She remembered a talk she had had with her father before he was killed. She had asked him if he was ever scared. He had smiled and mussed her long blonde hair. Yes, he had said, but being scared was a state of mind. It only stopped you doing things if you let it. The secret was not to let it. Then he told her how much he loved her and her mother.
She was scared now. But she wasn’t going to let it stop her doing what she had to. X was here. He needed her as she had needed him when he had arrived. He was her friend. She would not fail him in his hour of need.
Talura got to her feet and, as quietly as she could, she slipped the lock on the bathroom door. She cracked the door open and peered into the hallway. It was empty.
She squeezed through the door. Creeping down the corridor, she saw that the door into the main room that overlooked the park had been left open. She walked through. Snow was falling. It was a magical sight that she didn’t have time for. Her heart was pounding fit to burst from her chest. The kitchen was gone. Instead there was a hole in the floor. A narrow staircase disappeared down into the void.
There was no sign of X or the others. But she could hear Magellan’s voice from below.
‘Scalpel!’
On her hands and knees, so she was less likely to be seen, Talura crawled towards the hole in the floor. She looked over. Her eyes grew wide with terror. A lump formed in her throat.
Ten feet beneath her was an operating theatre. There were monitors, huge bright lights and trays laid out with all sorts of metal instruments. Barnaby Magellan was dressed in green hospital scrubs, his mouth covered with a surgeon’s mask.
Three people were laid out on three operating tables. She could see the rise and fall of their chests but their eyes were closed. Their heads were held in place by large metal clamps.
On the first table lay Joe. On the second table lay Betsy. On the third lay X.
It was X whom Magellan was standing over. There was no one to hand a scalpel to him. He was alone. He plucked the razor-sharp surgical knife from a shiny metal tray and held it over X’s scalp, ready to make his first incision.