Amberville - By Tim Davys Page 0,81

two names from the list.”

His pulse beat faster. Was he about to talk her into a new, and greater, admission?

“I’ve heard the stories too,” he said. “Many of them. It’s possible to remove one name…”

“Possible? I wouldn’t call removing a name from the Death List possible,” hissed Rat Ruth, still with a degree of exhilarated scorn in her voice.

“…but two names are impossible,” concluded Eric.

“Let me put it like this,” said Ruth, “and I’m not the one who thought of it, I’m only repeating something someone said to me a long time ago. ‘One removal is for the divine, more is for the unborn.’ I don’t know what that means, but it sounds as though you’re up against the impossible.”

It was Eric’s turn to shrug his shoulders.

“Madness,” repeated Ruth.

After that she raised her voice and shouted, “Guards!”

The bear got up with a jerk. He was standing only a few decimeters from the rat and realized that he was exactly the same height as she. But before he had time to consider his options, the bats were again at his side.

“Take him to his friends,” ordered Ruth. “And throw them out of here, all four of them. Their business is going to remain unfinished. Eric Bear, to find a treasure, the treasure has to be buried.”

And with that the bats took a rough hold of his shoulders and led him away.

At the same moment as he stepped back out into the cool night the stench struck him. Eric Bear had nearly forgotten about it inside with the rat. Certainly it smelled of mold and slime inside the residence as well, but it was nothing compared to the stench here at the top of the Garbage Dump. Instinct caused him to start breathing through his mouth, and thereby he released an involuntary sigh. The bats’ grip on his shoulders was achingly tight, and despite the fact that he obeyed their slightest suggestion of where and how fast he should walk, they held him just as hard the whole time. He shuddered at the thought of the long march back to the ravine where Sam, Tom-Tom, and Snake were waiting.

Then these words came as though out of nowhere: “Release him.”

The bats stopped in their tracks.

The deep voice that had spoken these words was accustomed to being obeyed. In the next second, Eric realized that they had already released him. From the frying pan right into the fire. Eric, too, had recognized the harsh voice.

Hyena Bataille.

“You can go,” said Bataille, now at an angle behind them, and the bats were gone without Eric seeing how it happened.

He stood dead still. Should he run? No one was holding him back, and the darkness might conceal him. If Bataille caught up with him? Strength, setting, and speed were in the hyena’s favor; all Eric could hope for was luck.

That would scarcely be enough.

“We have something to talk about,” said Bataille. “But not here.”

The bear remained motionless. He had no idea what the hyena meant, but he sensed that the words were intended to distract or possibly fool him.

Then Bataille was standing there, less than a meter away.

“Follow me,” he said.

He turned around and started walking.

It was now or never.

With a leap the bear would catch up with the hyena, onto him, over him. Possibly Eric could get his paws around his neck, around his throat…

Bataille turned around. “Are you coming?”

And when Eric saw the hyena’s face and it became clear to him that this truly was the legendary Hyena Bataille, not some little mole in the schoolyard, he also realized how ludicrous the thought had been. Flee? Overpower Bataille?

Eric nodded and followed.

Bataille led the bear away from the Garbage Town, back toward the ravine where his friends were prisoners. After a little more than five minutes they passed a windmill-like propeller that was fastened to a low tower. The hyena pointed.

“This way.”

Under the propeller was a hovel in which there was a three-legged table and two gray corduroy armchairs. Bataille made a gesture toward the bear, and Eric sat down.

“I don’t know what I should say,” sighed Bataille, “but Ruth can be difficult.”

Eric nodded.

He would agree with whatever Bataille said, and he would reply courteously to whatever question was asked. Keeping yourself alive was more important than anything else. Without him, who would rescue Emma and Teddy?

“I’ve known her for…I don’t know how many years,” said Bataille in his dark, harsh voice. “And yet…I don’t know.”

Eric nodded again, then shook his head. He hoped that these