Blackwater - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,4

and whooping with the crowd. God, we were young then. He’d taken off his shirt as well, even prouder of his wiry frame than I was of mine.

I saw my attacker coming out of the darkness. My brother was dancing where I had been dancing and he was dressed almost exactly the same. The man smashed a bottle over the base of his skull and the two of them hurtled off the stage to the dance floor, parting the crowd as they fell.

I froze for a moment, and I’m not proud of that. It felt like the music had stopped, but of course it hadn’t. Carol screamed and then I moved, jumping down and grabbing hold of two slippery bodies, locked together. My brother had been taken completely by surprise, but as I heaved at them he was grunting and fighting like a madman. I could see the whites of their eyes and bared teeth. The pair of them were straining at each other’s flesh with desperate strength. I couldn’t break my brother’s grip. My hands slipped on the skin, and to my horror I realized there was a hell of a lot of blood coming from somewhere. There was broken glass everywhere and beer and blood on my hands. I reached down again, and at that moment the dry ice machine kicked in. Thick fog filled the dance floor and we all went blind.

I strained to take a breath, terrified that I was going to be punched or cut while I couldn’t see. I still had a hold of slippery skin, and somewhere below me they continued to gouge at each other in a frenzy, causing as much pain and damage as possible.

I heard the bouncers coming at last and there were pointing hands and shouting people everywhere. I felt strong arms pull me away. God knows where Carol had gone to at that point. I didn’t blame her for getting clear of it. I blamed the evil little drunk that the bouncers threw out of a back entrance.

My brother was lifted to his feet looking like a wild man. He was dazed and covered in trails of blood right down his bare chest. The bouncers took him to their own bathroom somewhere in the back of the club, and I went with him to wash the muck off my hands. It really is amazing how blood can gum up your fingers. Even a small amount can go further than you think.

We were alone in that echoing bathroom and I felt like an actor behind the stage. The music had continued right through what happened and we could still hear the thumping rhythms, though they were far away. All right, I hadn’t been involved, but I’d been afraid and I was bloody. I felt like I’d survived a battle. Away from the crowds and the danger my spirits rose quickly enough, even when I saw the gash in his neck from the bottle. It seeped sluggishly, producing a dark, heavy trail that would not be staunched.

He looked at it in the mirror and I saw how pale he’d gone.

‘We should get you to hospital, for stitches,’ I told him. He was still stunned and I didn’t want him to ask why he’d been attacked by a maniac for no reason. I knew it should have been me and I felt enough relief and guilt to be lightheaded.

When he turned to me, I could see he was raging. I handed him a wad of toilet paper for his neck.

‘He could have killed me,’ he said, dabbing at the wound while he stared back at himself in the mirror. ‘Where did he go?’

‘He’ll be long gone by now,’ I replied. ‘The bouncers threw him out.’ He shrugged, pulling on his shirt over the pad of tissues. He swore as he saw his trousers had been gashed and that there was more blood staining the cloth.

‘He owes me,’ he said.

I followed him out.

He should have gone home, that man, whatever his name was. He shouldn’t have been standing at a bus stop only fifty yards from the club. That was his second mistake of the evening, and sometimes just one can get you killed. When he saw my brother stalking towards him, he should have run, he really should. Instead, he just grinned the same soft grin, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

My brother hit him hard enough to put him down, cutting his knuckles on the man’s teeth.