by Kate Forsyth
Luka ran full speed at Coldham, knocking him to the ground again. Then he seized Emilia’s hand and pulled her away, crying, ‘Run!’
With Rollo leaping beside them, they ran through the orchard, dodging under the branches and scrambling around the tree trunks. There was no time to do anything but run, for Coldham was back on his feet in an instant, sprinting after them. He was fast for such a big man, driven by fury. In only a few strides he had Luka by the shoulder and hurled him down to the ground. Zizi shrieked and leapt for Coldham, clawing and biting at his face. He swept her away as if she were no more than a fly. Dazed and bruised, Luka tried to roll to his feet but Coldham had his boot on his back, driving him into the ground. Emilia crouched beside him, sobbing, trying to drag the thief-taker down by the leg. He seized her by the hair, pulling her up.
‘Thought you’d made a fool of me, didn’t you?’ Coldham panted. ‘I’ll show you!’
He gave Emilia a blow across the ear. She cried out in pain, and at once Rollo gave a bloodcurdling snarl and leapt for Coldham again. The thief-taker had no time to reload, so shifted his grip on his pistol, using it like a club to beat the big dog around the head. Rollo did not seem to notice, his teeth clenched in Coldham’s leg. Coldham tried to kick him away, all the time shouting for reinforcements.
Panting, his mouth full of earth, Luka tried once again to twist free. He heard Zizi gibbering with rage from somewhere in the trees above him. Then the orange, flickering light of torches fell upon him. He could see each blade of grass outlined, like a mighty forest at sunset. Boots came running at him out of the darkness, too many pairs for him to ever fight. He lay still, closing his eyes, trying to gulp air past the boulder that had lodged in his throat.
‘Well, you two led me a pretty chase, but I got you in the end,’ Coldham gloated. ‘I always get my quarry in the end. Pastor Spurgeon will be pleased. So too will Cromwell’s spymaster. He’ll have some questions for you both, I think. He’ll want to know everything you know. If I were you, I’d be quick about telling him.’
‘But we don’t know anything,’ Luka said, his voice choked.
Coldham snorted. ‘Likely story. Haven’t you lot been gallivanting round with spies and traitors for the past two weeks? In it up to your necks, you are.’
‘We’re just children,’ Emilia said. She gripped Rollo’s ruff, holding the growling dog back. Her black eyes stared up defiantly at Coldham through a tangle of wild black curls.
‘Old in sin,’ he said, and jerked his head at the soldiers. They lifted Luka to his feet, and went to drag Emilia up as well. Rollo snarled and lunged for them. Coldham loaded his pistol.
‘No, no, please don’t shoot him too! He won’t bite, I promise!’
‘That’s for sure,’ Coldham responded and raised his pistol.
‘Go! Go, Rollo!’ Emilia cried and, grabbing a fallen apple from the grass, she hurled it with all her strength into the darkness. Rollo bounded after it, his ears cocked. Emilia seized all the apples she could find, heaving them after the dog, shouting, ‘Home, Rollo, go home!’ Tears flowed down her face, and she wiped them away angrily, throwing apples until she could find no more in the grass. ‘There, he’s gone,’ she wept. ‘He’s gone. You can’t kill him too. Oh, Sweetheart, darling Sweetheart! Why did you have to shoot her?’
Coldham huffed out his breath in exasperation.
‘See if you can’t find that dog and kill it,’ he said to two of the soldiers. ‘And there’s a monkey round here somewhere too, I want it shot as well. You lot, go back to the house and turn it inside out. These two were not here for a polite call, they had some purpose in coming here to Ham House and I want to know what it is. You, go and get rid of that bear.’
‘What am I meant to do with it?’ the soldier said blankly.
‘I don’t know, dump it, make a rug out of it, you think I care?’
Emilia pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.
‘What do you want us to do with these two?’ said the soldier who was holding Luka, shaking him roughly.
‘I’ll take them back to gaol,’ Coldham said. ‘Where’s that other miserable brat we caught in London? Tie them all up together!’
To the children’s horror, a soldier dragged forward Tom Whitehorse, his hands bound before him. He was pale and dishevelled, with a bruise on his cheekbone and a nasty stain seeping through the grubby linen of his sling. His blue eyes met theirs unhappily.
‘Tom!’ Luka cried. ‘What happened?’
‘I have been misapprehended and mishandled most grievously!’ Tom said in his most aristocratic tones. ‘My father will be most displeased when he hears of this miscarriage of justice! I demand . . .’
‘Shut your cake hole!’ Coldham snarled. ‘You were caught red-handed pawning a ring which belongs to a spy and a traitor. You’ll be lucky to keep your head.’
‘You are mistaken. I know nothing of any traitor. I was in London on my father’s business . . . ’
‘With the Duke of Ormonde’s signet ring in your hot little hand,’ Coldham sneered. ‘Well, what a fine haul I have tonight. I should be rewarded richly for this!’
‘Curse you, Coldham!’ Emilia flashed. ‘May your name be forgotten!’
‘And gag them too, will you? I’ve had enough of that little witch’s curses!’
By Fire Struck Down
Thunder grumbled. Leaves battered their faces. Luka, Tom and Emilia stumbled through the dark, the rope about their wrists biting cruelly into their skin. The other end of the rope was tethered to Coldham’s stirrup. He rode ahead of them, a looming shadow among shadows.
The night was so black it was as if they had been blindfolded as well as gagged. Not a star or a candlelit window could be seen anywhere, only the red glaring eye of the lantern hung from Coldham’s saddle. Emilia felt more desperate and miserable than she had ever felt in her life.
All their hopes of rescuing their families had been turned to ash. She and Luka had travelled so far, and faced so many dangers, for nothing. Tomorrow they would all be dragged before the magistrates, and by the sounds of it, a quick hanging was the best she and Luka could hope for. Better to be hung than sent to London to face Cromwell’s spymaster. Emilia had heard all the stories about John Thurloe, who was said to have a special room at the Tower of London where he interrogated people suspected to be spies and traitors. No one ever said exactly what he did there, but from the way people shuddered and winced, she guessed it must be something dreadful. And Emilia had seen the severed heads and decomposing limbs of such traitors displayed upon London Bridge. It was impossible not to feel cold with fear at the possibility of such a death.
She grieved too for their darling animals, for the inert lump of shaggy fur that had been Sweetheart, and for Rollo and Zizi, who could not possibly understand that anyone would wish to hurt them. She imagined Rollo returning to look for them, and being met with a soldier’s bullet. She imagined Zizi’s small brown body tumbling down from the trees to lie cold and still in the grass. She imagined the soldiers laughing and joking as they dragged Sweetheart’s body over the gravel. It seemed so cruel, so pitiless. Emilia could only weep silently, unable to even gasp or sob because of the gag binding her mouth. She wiped her face on her sleeve and stared at Coldham’s thick shape, for the first time in her life feeling real hatred.
On and on they staggered, the hard stone of the highway hurting Emilia’s bare feet. Rain lashed their faces. Thunder muttered constantly, like an angry housewife complaining about her chores. Every now and again, lightning flickered along the rim of the sky. It had grown suddenly cold.
A high wall ran down the length of the highway. Behind that wall, Emilia guessed, was Richmond Park. Somewhere in that park was a small circle of caravans drawn up near a pond. Their friends would be there, huddling into their bunks, listening to the howl of the wind and the hammering of the rain, wondering where she and Luka were, worrying about what had happened to them. Once again tears mingled with the rain on her face.
She and Luka had been so close to reaching their friends, a matter of only a few miles. Yet here they were, trussed like goats, being dragged to their doom.
A spark of anger lit in her. I will not let him win, she thought to herself. I must not let him win.
The sky was torn apart by lightning. In the sudden illumination – so bright it hurt the eye – Emilia saw the township of Kingston-Upon-Thames lying in the dip of the valley. The river was wild with whitecaps, trees bent from the waist as if dancing a drunken reel. Glancing back she saw Luka’s face, down-turned, his eyes cavernous with misery, and Tom, staggering with weariness.
Seconds later all was darkness again. Coloured dashes sizzled against her eyelids, the after-image of the lightning flash. Emilia clenched her fingers about the rope, trying to ease its spiteful bite into her skin. I won’t let him win, I won’t, I won’t.
Into the town they stumbled, bent against the driving rain. An overturned bucket rolled, clanking, along the road. Suddenly it was dragged up into the air and sent spinning into a wall. Thatch was torn away from a roof and blown away in a shower of broken stalks. A chicken went tumbling overhead, claw over beak in a ruffle of feathers, squawking in terror. In a second it was gone, whirled away into the night. Emilia’s wet hair whipped about her face. Her skirts were blown sideways, flapping wildly. Coldham’s mare tossed her head nervously, and the thief-taker dragged hard on the bit, forcing her forward.
What can I do? Emilia thought in despair. I’m bound and gagged and tied to that man’s stirrup. Another minute, and we’ll be at the gaol. Another minute, and our last chance is gone.
The thief-taker drew his horse into the shelter of a shop-front, shading his eyes from the rain as he scanned the wild sky. Tom edged close to Emilia, fumbling for her bound hands with his own. For a moment their fingers were entwined tightly, then Tom stepped away, leaving Emilia clutching a coil of something cold and hard, something made of metal. In the next white blaze of lightning, she glanced down at it, her heart singing with hope. It was her charm bracelet.
Her eyes flew up to meet Tom’s. He nodded slightly, and gave a little gesture with his hands. Emilia felt as if a lantern had been lit beneath her breastbone, filling her with warmth and light. She smiled radiantly, though of course Tom could not see it, and pressed her clasped hands to her chest.
Coldham dragged them onwards. Fumbling in the darkness and the rain, Emilia managed to drag the amber pendant out of her pocket and wind it about the bracelet so the small yellow stone hung next to the others. Lovingly she ran her thumb over the charms, thinking of what each meant to her. Strength, intuition, compassion, clear-sightedness, courage, the power to change. Emilia looked again at Coldham, hunched on his horse like the picture of Death in her grandmother’s tarot cards, and felt pity pierce her.
The serrated edge of the lightning bolt was sharp against her fingers. Emilia sawed it desperately, back and forth, against the rope that tied them to Coldham’s saddle. She felt a few strands fray and part, and kept on sawing away, hoping against all likelihood that the edge was sharp enough to cut right through the rope.
Around the next corner was the Hand and Mace Inn where her family was imprisoned. A low, rickety building with a steep thatched roof and a few tiny mullioned windows, it had a single door onto the street with a lantern hung above it. The lantern swung crazily in the wind, sending shadows flittering all over the street.
Lightning zigzagged. The mare reared in terror. Emilia dragged at the rope tied to Coldham’s stirrups. The girth broke, and the big man lurched sideways, lost his balance and crashed to the ground. The mare reared again, then took off, bolting into the darkness. Both Luka and Emilia were still tied to the stirrup, and had been jerked off balance by the sudden jolt. Luka was up in a moment, yanking away the gag and trying desperately to free his hands. Coldham was almost as quick. He staggered up, shouting in fury, and raised high his left fist, encased in its heavy steel glove, and swung it at Luka’s head.
Emilia flung out her bound hands. No! she screamed silently. I won’t let you hurt anyone ever again!
Lightning flashed from the thunderous clouds. It struck Coldham on his steel gauntlet. For a second he stood, sheathed in an eerie blue light that sizzled between ground and sky. Thunder roared. Then the lightning recoiled. Coldham was flung away, smashing against the far wall.
Emilia swallowed painfully. Her legs trembled and her heart pounded. She took a few steps towards the thief-taker. Smoke was creeping out of his boots, and from his hair. His gauntlet lay some twenty feet away, smoking. His eyes were wide open, staring at her blankly.
‘Is he dead?’ Luka whispered.
Emilia shook her head helplessly, shivers running all over her. She had cursed Coldham at Horsmonden. ‘With fire you fought, and so with fire shall you be struck down.’ Never had she thought it would come so dramatically true. Shakily she put up one hand and pulled down the gag, taking great gulps of blustery air.
Suddenly Coldham laughed.
The three children jumped as if stuck with a pin. They clung together.
Coldham laughed again, and lurched to his feet. Luka and Emilia cringed back, but he paid them no heed. He was looking up at the sky, lifting his arms up, crying aloud.
Lightning flashed again, over Kingston Hill. Luka and Emilia flinched, but Coldham turned his face towards it, his eyes and mouth wide open, gulping mouthfuls of the thunder-charged air. He flung away his pistol and his dagger, dragged off his helmet and his dark red coat and threw them away from him, ripped away his shirt. Half naked, he began to run. One leg seemed stiff. He lurched and stumbled and weaved from side to side, but did not stop, chasing after the lightning that flamed along the horizon.
Emilia watched him go, shivering with cold and uncontrollable terror.
‘What . . . what just happened?’ Tom asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Luka said. ‘But it means we’re free now. The pig-man’s gone! Come on, let’s get out of this rain!’ He drew Emilia under the eaves of the inn’s roof, Tom pressing close behind, then ran back out into the tempestuous rain and scooped up Coldham’s helmet and coat, his weapons and the steel glove. ‘Could come in useful!’ Luka said with a flash of his old grin, and guided Emilia down the passageway. She was as ungainly as a golem.
A clatter from behind. The three children spun around, gasping in terror. A huge hunched shadow leapt towards them. The crazily swinging lantern caught the eerie green glow of two sets of eyes. Emilia shrieked. The very next moment the two-headed monster was upon them, whining and wriggling and leaping with joy. Two huge, muddy paws thumped on Emilia’s chest, and her face was washed thoroughly by a large, slobbery tongue, while a skinny little creature leapt for Luka, arms outstretched. He received her rapturously. ‘Zizi!’
‘Rollo! Stop it! Yuck!’
‘You found us! Clever monkey girl!’ Zizi cuddled into Luka’s neck, crooning and patting his face.
‘Rollo must have followed our scent,’ Tom said. ‘What a clever dog.’
‘The best, the cleverest dog in the world!’ Emilia hugged Rollo close.
Gladly the three children ran down the passageway, Rollo bounding ahead of them, tail wagging. Emilia was almost giddy with relief. She had dreaded having to tell Noah that his dog had been shot.
The stable was a low, rickety building behind the inn. Every board rattled, and the thatch rustled as if it were alive with rats. Shoved in one corner of the stable was a single gypsy caravan. The other had been chopped up for firewood. All that was left were a few carved panels, a broken wheel, and a pile of gaudily painted tinder. There was no sign of the family’s big cart-horses either, and Luka guessed they had been sold to pay for their family’s incarceration. It made him angrier than ever at the injustice of the justice system.
Luka kindled their lantern, and they huddled into Maggie’s caravan wrapping patchwork quilts around them. Tom was white and sick-looking, and fresh blood stained his sling. Emilia did what she could to staunch the wound, and
wished she could kindle a fire and make him some hot tea. It was too dangerous, though, so she contented herself with crumbling some willow leaves into cold water and giving him that, and binding his wound with cobwebs.
‘My charm bracelet,’ she whispered. ‘You found it for me.’
Tom nodded. ‘The duke had asked me to pawn his ring for him, to pay back Gypsy Joe for some of the damage to his inn. So I went to London on my way home, thinking it would be safer to pawn it there than in some small town where I might be noticed. A man brought in your bracelet to sell while I was there. I recognised it at once. I didn’t think the duke would mind if I used some of his loot to buy it back for you. What happened to it? Did you lose it?’
‘It was stolen.’ Emilia hid her face, carefully hanging the butterfly in amber from one link and fastening the chain about her wrist again. ‘Oh, I can’t believe I got it back again. Thank you so much!’
‘Now, that’s too uncanny a coincidence,’ Luka said. ‘The thief bringing it into the very same pawnshop as Tom? I’m beginning to believe in your lucky charms, Milly!’ Although he grinned as he spoke, there was not the usual mocking tone in his voice. She smiled at him rather shakily.
With Zizi cuddled in his lap, Luka turned the pack out onto the table and arranged their loot in neat rows. There was the sheaf of papers with Oliver Cromwell’s own signature on it. There was the half-empty bottle of powdered fish-berries. There were the copies of Coldham’s keys and the lock pick Old Man Smith had made them. There were Coldham’s handcuffs, his clothes and helmet, his steel gauntlet, and his weapons. Luka was most pleased by these, and spent some time examining the pistol, and trying to determine how it worked. It made Emilia sick and nervous, seeing the long-muzzled gun in her cousin’s hands, but eventually he laid it down.
‘We’re going to have to rescue Dado and everyone by ourselves, tonight,’ Luka said, looking inside Coldham’s cartridge pouch. ‘We dare not risk being caught again, and besides, it’s the perfect night for it – it’s raining cats and dogs and no one will be around to see us.’
