The Lightning Bolt

by Kate Forsyth

  It was a poster showing a snarling bear beset upon by a pack of rabid dogs. Emilia could not read the letters printed below, but she did not need to. The blood drained from her face. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Not our poor Sweetheart.’

  Luka was furious. ‘How dare you!’ he cried. ‘We gave her into your care. Sebastien promised he’d look after her. She’s a tame bear! She’ll be hurt, or killed! How could you?’

  ‘She was a pain,’ Nadine said. ‘Always moaning and complaining and slowing us down. We were all sick of her. We were glad when Sebastien finally offloaded her.’

  She spoke these words in a low hiss, but Julisa heard her and whirled around.

  ‘Don’t you go blaming my Bas! You know he had nothing to do with it. He tried to stop them. You’re a sly little snake, Nadine, to be bad-mouthing my Bas. If you think this is the way to get him to marry you, you’re greatly mistaken. He’d never have you, and frankly, I’m glad!’

  In the silence that fell after her words, Luka and Emilia suddenly heard a frantic banging coming from the largest of the caravans. Both Julisa and Janka looked towards it guiltily.

  Luka caught his breath. ‘Who . . . is that . . . is Sebastien locked up in there?’

  Neither answered him.

  Luka leapt up the steps and banged on the door. ‘Sebastien?’

  ‘Let me out!’ a voice cried from within.

  ‘Hang on, won’t be a second!’ Luka was not exaggerating. The caravan door was held shut with nothing more than a stick thrust through the handles. In seconds he had it open. Sebastien stumbled out. He was pale and dishevelled, and sported a black eye.

  ‘Why are you all locked up? What happened?’ the children cried. Zizi shrieked and leapt up and down.

  ‘I tried to stop my father from giving your bear to the thief-taker,’ Sebastien explained, grinning widely at the sight of them.

  ‘Oh no! But why would he . . .’ Emilia clasped her hands together in distress.

  ‘It’s a trap, to lure you in,’ Julisa said. ‘And maybe, who knows, a punishment too. He’s a nasty piece of work, that thief-taker.’

  Nadine tossed her head. ‘He paid us good money for the bear, enough to almost cover our losses this summer,’ she said. ‘What did you expect the Big Man to do? Try to save the bear, and have us all tossed in gaol too?’

  ‘He didn’t need to tell the thief-taker Sweetheart was here,’ Sebastien cried, ‘or that Emilia and Luka were coming here to Horsmonden. We could have just kept our heads down and slipped away, like we normally do.’

  ‘Your father told Coldham about us?’ Luka was incredulous. He had liked and admired Felipe Hearne, who had seemed so handsome and assured. Emilia, however, was remembering the bag of gold she had seen Sebastien’s father take from Nat, the Duke of Ormonde’s servant, and how, soon after, the soldiers had come galloping up. She had barely escaped that morning, and what’s more, the Duke of Ormonde had barely escaped too. Later, Nat had been revealed as a traitor, trying to lure the duke into a trap. But how had Felipe let Coldham know? He had not left the gypsy camp that morning. He had sauntered about, smiling and taking bets and winking at Emilia. How . . .

  ‘It was you!’ Emilia turned on Nadine furiously. ‘You followed me and Bas that night, and you told Coldham where we were hiding. That’s how he knew exactly where to come!’ Overcome with anger, she threw herself on Nadine, pummelling her furiously. Nadine fell backwards, howling in pain.

  Janka pulled Emilia off. ‘That’s enough now,’ she said shortly. ‘Go on, you two! Get away from here before you’re caught.’

  ‘We have to save Sweetheart,’ Emilia cried, tears burning her eyes.

  ‘What could you possibly do?’ Janka shrugged. ‘It’s too late. Let the bear go, and think about saving your own hides.’

  But Emilia could not possibly walk away from their own dear Sweetheart, the cub of her grandfather’s bear, whom they had known and played with all their lives. She gazed imploringly at Sebastien. ‘You’ve got to help us,’ she begged. ‘You promised to take care of her. You’re practically our brother now! Please, won’t you help us?’

  ‘But how? What could we possibly do?’

  ‘We’ll think of something!’ Emilia cried. ‘Won’t we, Luka?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said gamely. ‘Of course we will.’ But he did not look very sure.

  ‘Coldham’s such a fraud,’ Emilia said bitterly. ‘He professes to be such a good Puritan and then he plans to set a pack of dogs onto our poor Sweetheart. How can he be so cruel?’

  Luka put up one eyebrow. ‘What makes you think the Puritans banned bear-baiting because it’s cruel to the bear?’ he asked mockingly. ‘They only banned it because it brings pleasure to the audience!’

  ‘Well, we have to stop it,’ Emilia said.

  ‘But how, Milly? You heard Julisa, it’s a trap. Coldham’s hoping we’ll try and save Sweetheart. There’ll be constables there, with guns probably. How can we fight them?’

  Emilia squinted her eyes in thought. ‘You know what Baba always says? “Surrounded by gorgios, the Rom’s tongue is his only defence.”’

  ‘Aye, so?’

  ‘Well, so tonight I’ll use my tongue as a weapon.’

  Puzzled, Luka was about to demand what she meant, but just then Rollo whined and looked back the way they had come. The next instant, Emilia smelt a wrongness in the wind.

  ‘We need to go back to Fairnette,’ she cried.

  ‘What?’ Luka said.

  ‘We need to go back. Fairnette needs us.’

  ‘But . . . why?’

  ‘Fire,’ Emilia said. ‘Can’t you smell it? Their house is on fire.’

  A Hungry Beast

  Luka and Emilia ran all the way back, Sebastian at their heels.

  ‘But what can we do?’ Luka panted.

  ‘Must do something,’ Emilia panted back. ‘Besides . . . we’ll need their help. Can’t . . . rescue . . . Sweetheart without it.’

  Luka was silent. He carried Zizi in his arms, like a little child. Her hairy arms were wrapped about his neck, and her anxious face looked at Emilia over his bobbing shoulder.

  She could not say any more, her heart filled to bursting. She knew how Luka loved his monkey. She knew he also loved his mother and father and sister and grandmother, and all his cousins too. It was a cruel, cruel choice. In a way it had been easier for her. A horse was a simpler creature than a monkey. Although Alida loved her, and had always given Emilia her best, Emilia had known she was unlikely to pine away to death if they were parted. Zizi, though, Zizi was like a small, uncomprehending child. If Luka gave her away, her heart would be broken. Emilia knew she would never get over it. Alida at least was surrounded by her own kind, her nostrils filled with the smell of horse, her ears filled with the wheedling of horse-whisperers who knew how to keep her happy. Zizi was a monkey who had never known another monkey. Luka was her mother and father, the Big Man of her monkey tribe. Van was a stranger to her, a strange smell, a strange voice, a strange hand, and far too likely to let her make herself ill on fruit and sweets. Emilia knew that Luka felt he was choosing between his monkey’s life and the life of his family, going back, yet the other choice was too hard, too horrible. Because how could Luka forgive himself if he let his whole family die for the sake of his darling monkey girl?

  As they ran past the plundered beehives, the smell of burning grew. Then they heard the hungry roar of flames. Emilia felt sick with anxiety. The smoke in the air stung her eyes. They saw the red glare of fire as they burst out of the wood into the garden.

  One of the roundels was up in flames. Old Man Smith was drawing up water from the well and running to throw it onto the crackling blaze. Van was crouched in the dirt, his arms up over his head, rocking back and forth and moaning in terror. Fairnette was trying to comfort him, tears pouring down her face.

  Luka and Emilia did not stop to talk. They ran to help, Sebastien by their side. Luka seized the bucket from the old man’s hand, and flung it to Sebast
ien who quickly lowered it into the well.

  Sebastien hauled up the bucket, which was slopping over with water, and passed it to Luka, who passed it Emilia, who passed it to Fairnette, who passed it to the old man, who threw it on the burning roundel. It was of little use, though. With only one bucket, they could not move the water fast enough. The fire leapt and gibbered at the gaping windows, and tore great chunks out of the pointed roof.

  ‘Van!’ Luka shouted. ‘Get up and help!’

  ‘I can’t, I can’t!’

  ‘Criminy, Van, you’ve still got one hand, use it! Find us another bucket!’

  Van looked around wildly, then, unbelievably, got to his feet and ran to the forge. He staggered out with the smithy’s big quench-bucket and flung it to Luka, then went back for another. Soon there was a breathless, heaving, desperate chain of buckets passing back and forth between the well to the fire. Smoke hung heavy in the air, hurting their lungs. Each splash of water made the fire shrink and wince, but did not douse it. Then, with a roar, the roof collapsed and fell in. Charred and blackened timbers fell on the roof of the cottage, smouldering coals raining everywhere.

  ‘The whole place will go up in flames now!’ Sebastien cried. ‘We’ve got to have more water.’

  Panting, in tears, Emilia ran her fingers swiftly over her charms, her eyes shut, every atom of her body begging for rain to come and help kill this dreadful hungry beast of red flaming eyes and red devouring mouths. Rain had come before when she needed it. She believed absolutely that it would come again.

  And it did. A sudden rain-burst that drenched them all to the skin, and quenched the fire in a matter of minutes. They stood in the grey downpour, jumping up and down and cheering. Emilia felt so weak with relief that she fell to her knees in the mud. Zizi jumped up and down and squealed, then tried to creep inside Luka’s shirt. She hated the rain.

  Fairnette wept.

  ‘You came,’ she sobbed. ‘Thank you, thank you! I thought you were gone forever.’

  ‘We had to come back,’ Emilia said. ‘We smelt the smoke.’

  ‘That horrible man did it. He knew you’d been here, he heard Rollo bark. He said he’d teach us to lie to him.’

  ‘I knew it, I knew it!’ Emilia cried. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Fairnette said. ‘He’s a bad man, a very bad man. But Father knocked him down!’

  ‘I showed him!’ the old man shouted, shaking his fist. ‘He dared hurt my girl, the sweetest girl that ever lived.’

  Fresh tears sprang into Fairnette’s eyes. ‘Oh, Father!’

  Mr Smith put his arm about her shoulder. ‘It’s all over now. Come on in, and we’ll see what the damage is.’

  The roundel the children had escaped from was a blackened ruin, and the kitchen was scorched with smoke, particularly around the doorway. Miraculously the rest of the house had survived, though the floor was a mess of broken crockery and glass, with flour and honey and raisins and dried herbs littered everywhere and ground into the floor with filthy boot prints.

  Fairnette picked up the overturned chairs and set them neatly at the table, and then found a couple of battered tin mugs. The soldiers had not found her secret hoard of mead, a sweet, potent drink made of fermented honey. She poured it into the mugs and they all took turns to drink. The mead made their heads spin and their hearts leap.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Mr Smith said. ‘That rain . . . it came at just the right moment.’

  ‘Magic,’ Emilia said confidently.

  ‘Luck,’ Luka said, not quite so confidently.

  ‘A miracle,’ Fairnette said.

  They smiled at each other.

  ‘So who are our saviours?’ the old man said. ‘Friends indeed in our time of need!’

  Fairnette flashed a quick look at Emilia and Luka. ‘Father! Let me introduce you. This is Luka and Emilia Finch. They’re the grandchildren of Maggie Finch, who I think you know . . .’

  ‘Of course, I remember Maggie. She had the most beautiful long hair. Her family used to come for the horse fair in September, and to pick hops sometimes. She married . . . Sylvio Finch, of course. He had a dancing bear, and could play the fiddle like a demon. I wonder what happened to that bear?’

  ‘We have one of his cubs, though of course it’s not a cub any more,’ Luka said. ‘We call her Sweetheart. She loves to dance too, and play football.’

  The old man laughed uproariously. ‘Sylvio’s bear liked to play football too. I’ll never forget it!’

  Luka and Emilia exchanged a glance of wry amusement.

  Van had shrunk back into his hood, his stump tucked out of sight. Emilia pursed up her lips and mimicked the sound of a swallow. It made him smile crookedly, and glance at her. She looked towards Luka, who had Zizi cuddled up in his arms, then looked back at Van pleadingly.

  His colour rose. His gaze fell.

  ‘So what brings you and your cousin here to Horsmonden? It’s too early for the horse fair, isn’t it?’ The old man had noticed nothing, as usual.

  So, once again, they told him. He nodded when they mentioned the Graylings tribe and said, ‘Aye, that’s right, they left the roads and went to London, hoping to make their fortune there. Last I heard old Mala’s daughter had married a gorgio, some lawyer fellow.’

  Luka was very interested to hear this, and pressed the old man for details, but if he had ever known any more, he did not remember it. So Luka hurried on to his next urgent need, and this time, when he mentioned the wax imprints, the old man nodded his head jovially. ‘Sure, that’s easy enough. I could do that in my sleep.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve been asked to copy keys. In the bad old days, that’s all we Smiths ever did, half the time, before they built the foundry.’ He paused, and his face clouded.

  Fairnette said quickly, ‘Did you used to make keys, Father? I didn’t know. It’d be great if you could make them for Luka.’

  The cloud passed away from the old man’s face. ‘Keys! It’s been a while. The hands don’t forget, though, no. I remember everything I’ve ever made, I do. My father taught me, just like I taught my boys. You know, my father would be amazed at the things we make now from our iron. That foundry! Those cannons and cannonballs, and all those guns. Amazed he’d be.’

  Fairnette was tense and anxious, waiting for her father to grow unhappy, but he rambled on, his mind far back in the distant past. ‘Mainly horseshoes in those days, and spades and rakes and ploughs. My father had a good business making those. But his brother! It was his brother who wanted him to cut keys for him all the time.’

  Mr Smith took out his pipe and began to stuff it with tobacco. ‘He was a bit of a wild fellow, my uncle,’ he said. ‘Would wheedle keys to the grand houses out of the scullery maids, pretending to woo them, then get my father to cut them for him before he gave them back. Then he’d break into the house and steal all the silver and the jewels. If they guessed it was him, the maids wouldn’t tell, not wanting to get into trouble themselves. He’d drink away all the profits, though, and so would come back to Father the next week, with another set of keys he’d bribed or charmed or filched away, asking Father to copy them for him quick. In the end, my father made him a little tool, to pick all the locks. Worked like a charm, he said.’

  Luka leant forward, intent. ‘A tool? For picking locks?’

  ‘Aye. Simple enough to make, he said, if you knew what you were doing.’

  ‘Do you think you could make me one of those tools too?’ Luka asked.

  ‘Me? I can make anything,’ the old man boasted.

  ‘It’s true, he can,’ Fairnette said. She smiled at her father. ‘Father, do you think you could make one for Luka? Please?’

  ‘Sure I could,’ the old man said. ‘Give me five minutes, and I’ll whip one up for you.’

  Luka’s and Emilia’s eyes met in pure joy.

  While Mr Smith busied himself out in the forge, Luka and Emilia and Sebastien helped Fairnette put her kitchen back in some kind of orde
r. Zizi made herself busy sweeping up with a little broom, while Rollo fled to the garden with a rather charred bone.

  ‘First time that dog has proved himself smarter than my monkey girl,’ Luka grumbled, scrubbing the panelling with soapy water.

  Van sat and watched them. He had pulled his hood all the way forward to hide his scars, and his stump was tucked out of sight. All they could see of him was his mouth, which was set very tightly. Every now and again he gave a convulsive shudder, which he did his best to control.

  Emilia’s heart ached for him. It must have been terrifying, being so close to a raging fire when he had already suffered such dreadful burns. No wonder he had fallen to pieces.

  Luka evidently had no such compassion, for he cast him an impatient look and said sharply, ‘Aren’t you going to help, Van? Or are you going to make Fairnette do all the work, as usual?’

  ‘What can I do?’ Van cried, his voice shaking. ‘I’m useless! I can’t do anything! I can’t even sweep up the dirt like Zizi can. You ever tried to sweep with one hand? It’s impossible.’

  Rather startled, Luka picked up the broom and tried to sweep using only one hand, but found he had little control and his arm soon began to ache. He looked back at Van with a new stir of sympathy.

  The scarred boy went on, words tumbling over themselves. ‘I can hardly even feed myself, Fairnette has to cut up all my food, as if I were a baby. I can’t get myself dressed or undressed, or tie my own laces, let alone help Father in the forge, like a real man! I’m useless, absolutely useless. I wish I was dead!’

  ‘Oh, Van, don’t say that,’ Fairnette cried, tears rising in her eyes again.

  ‘Why don’t you ask your father to make you something you can stick onto the stump?’ Luka asked, with his usual practicality. ‘Surely he could rig up some way to attach a knife, so you can cut up your own food. Why, he could make a whole range of tools for you. A spade to dig in the garden, a hook to cut apples down with . . .’

  ‘A spoon to scoop up your soup,’ Emilia suggested.