The Boy Who Flew

by Fleur Hitchcock

  Crack

  “Pwaah!” Tod bounces out of the water next to me, Beatty’s seaweed hair stuck to his face, her face white next to his, but her eyes open.

  Crack

  The Colonel fires again; this time the bullet bounces right in front of my nose.

  Crack!

  I strike out, grasping a handful of her dress, and Beatty’s tiny arms flap, but I can’t tell if it’s her or the river moving them. The current’s fast and Tod loses his grip, swept on beyond us. Beatty’s dress threatens to pull us out into the stream but I fight for the bank even though I can no longer feel my arms or legs, and only the sight of my own hand gripping hers tells me that I’ve still got her.

  We’ve drifted so far downstream that I can make out the main horse bridge into the town right in front of us. The winter storms have filled the arches on the right with broken trees and fallen branches, forming a dank wooden island. If we can stay afloat and head to the right, we’ll arrive with the other rubbish and not get sucked underneath. I try to pull my legs up to the surface, stretching as flat as I can, pushing Beatty sideways so that we take up the longest area and have the best chance of hitting the bridge itself. We float on the brown river, and at the last second a current bounces us towards the debris, until with an iron blow my shoulder hits a tree trunk and we stop. Tod drifts to the next island of twigs, his clothes all brown with river mud, his hair the same.

  I stay there, clinging to Beatty, rubbing at her face and sucking in great wonderful mouthfuls of air. Sooty, coally air, but air all the same. Beatty’s face is cold, her eyes are closed, her arms icy. I lift her arm, it falls back, limp. Oh no, not after all this. I pinch her cheek. Her eyes open and slide towards me.

  “Athan,” she says. “I knew you’d come.”

  It takes me an age to climb from the river. No one helps; they hurry on by as if mud-brown people clamber from the water every day. I look back towards Tod and notice that he hasn’t moved since he hit the bridge pillar.

  I drag Beatty on to the cobbles; she’s grey from head to toe and shivering. She looks like a ghost.

  “Where’s Tod?” she says, jamming her hands under her armpits for warmth.

  “I’ll get him,” I say.

  Staggering to the side, I lean over the parapet of the bridge. Tod’s still there, wedged in the branches.

  “Tod!” I shout. “Get up, you silly beggar! You’ll freeze to death.”

  His head lifts and falls again. He doesn’t turn to face me.

  “Tod!” I shout.

  Beside me a drover stops and peers over. “He’s not moving,” he says. “Looks dead to me.”

  “No,” I say. “Can’t be. Give me a hand.”

  Together we reach down and pull Tod from the water; he doesn’t resist. He doesn’t help.

  “Tod,” I say. “Come on, wake up.”

  He’s really heavy and the drover’s sweating by the time we get Tod up and we all collapse back on to the cobbles, water streaming from our clothes.

  And then I see it. On Tod’s chest, a red flower, growing. I tear the sleeve from my shirt and hold it over the blood, pressing down, but I don’t know if it works with a bullet hole. I’ve never seen a bullet hole before.

  “Tod,” I say. “Open your eyes!”

  “He’s been shot,” says the drover. “How’s that then?”

  “Quick, call someone – get a surgeon! Tod!”

  “Let me see,” says Beatty, crawling across.

  “Oh!” she says, pulling the hair from Tod’s face. “I’m here too, Tod,” she says.

  “Beatty,” he says, his tongue slow, a slight smile on his face. “Glad we could—”

  “Tod!” she shouts. “Tod – wake up!” And then she goes quiet.

  I look down at the shirt in my hand. The blood’s soaked it, but there doesn’t seem to be any more.

  “Tod?” I say quietly, just as the drover returns with a woman I recognise as a midwife. She leans over and puts her finger to Tod’s throat, her face serious.

  Beatty looks up at her; they nod at each other.

  “He’s dead, Athan,” says Beatty. “Tod’s dead.”

  Chapter 27

  I wait to see the river men hoist Tod on to a cart, watching all the time through tears that wash the mud from my face on to Beatty’s. We stand shivering and grey in the rain, clutching each other, while a crowd forms around us.

  “He’s the lad from the coffin yard,” says a big man, stopping to see Tod laid straight.

  “Shame,” says a woman. “Young man like that.”

  “Shot?” says a man.

  “In this town?” says another.

  They cover him with a horse blanket. His skin’s grey; he looks as if he’s been dead for hours but I know it’s a matter of minutes. The red smudge on his chest is the only damage.

  “He must have got into trouble.” A woman peers at the wound.

  “He didn’t,” says Beatty. “He was saving me – he died saving me.” But she doesn’t say any more. Unusually for Beatty, she’s lost for words.

  I feel as if I’ve been punched. As if my whole world is destroyed.

  Chapter 28

  We see Tod back into the coffin yard, his body laid gently in the embalming room, his father called and the awful grief that it unleashes. Beatty clings to me and I to her, and for an hour or two I can’t remember what I’m doing or what I want to do.

  Tod’s uncle ushers us out. “I need to wash him,” he says, his face older and sadder than I’ve ever seen.

  “Home?” says Beatty.

  Our house is draped in black. The shop window is closed off with black bombazine curtains hanging over the door. Beatty shivers on my shoulders as we walk up the hill.

  “Why’s home all black, Athan? Do they know about Tod?”

  “They think you’re dead,” I answer.

  “Me?” Beatty pushes her hands down over my eyes. “But I’m not!”

  “I know,” I say, taking her hands off my eyes again. “But Ma thinks you are.”

  “Oh!” Again, Beatty’s stuck for words.

  We stop outside for a moment. The house opposite’s all shut up, no smoke from the chimneys, the shutters closed. So where’s the Colonel now? I hesitate outside the door but Beatty’s shivering so much that I’m going to have to take her in, no matter who’s there.

  I wish Tod was with us.

  “Open the door,” I whisper to Beatty.

  She leans down and turns the handle and the door swings open. The shop’s empty.

  We stay on the mat, water still dripping from our clothing, and listen. There are rumbling voices overhead and the floor’s creaking, but there’s no noise coming up from the kitchen.

  “Where are they gone to?” Beatty asks, pulling herself closer to my neck.

  “Shh,” I say, edging across the floor towards the basement stairs. We take ages to go down, not a squeak or a creak giving us away. When we finally reach the kitchen we stop in the doorway blinking and staring at Polly leaning over the stove, her face red in the firelight.

  “Poll,” I whisper.

  She turns and drops the kettle. “Oh God! Oh Lord – Beatty!” She runs forwards and holds us both, making herself all muddy at the same time. “Oh Lord – oh my goodness!” she gasps. She sits back on a chair and fans her face with her hand, her eyes not leaving Beatty’s for a moment.

  “Who’s up there?” I point.

  “Ma, Grandma. They’re getting in touch with the dead. Oh, I can’t believe it!” She springs up and hugs Beatty even closer, and Beatty clings to Polly’s bodice, her grubby hands twisted into the black cloth. “And Mrs Love from over the road is there, they’re drinking tea with crab paste toast and seed cake. I was just making another pot.” Her face twists into something between tears and laughter. “And you’re all wet! Wherever have you been?”

  “We jumped into the river and Athan got us out. Tod’s dead.”

  “What?” says Polly.

  “He…”
But I find I can’t say it. “The Colonel, he…”

  “…shot Tod,” says Beatty.

  “Oh!” Polly claps her hand over her mouth. She sits down then stands up and begins to undress Beatty. “Oh, my little love, you’re all skin and bone. I don’t believe what you’ve told me…” She rubs away tears with the back of her hand and forces a smile. “But we’re all safe now, and, oh, my little cherub…” But she can’t finish the sentence.

  I stand, not sure where to go next. The Colonel will be looking for us – but he might not think I’m daft enough to run here. Whatever happens I need to keep Beatty hidden and Polly safe. I can’t lose them too.

  “Quick, get new clothes on her, and both of you, let’s get upstairs and see Ma, then I want to get you into hiding.”

  “Do you think we’re next?” Polly asks, rubbing at Beatty’s wet hair and peeling off her thin muslin gown.

  “He won’t stop at anything.” I think for a moment. “We’ll go to the Katz house. Mary’ll hide you, even Mr K might hide you, but first, let’s see Ma.”

  “I want to see Ma, I want her to hug me,” says Beatty, holding out her arms for Polly to dry. “Is Mr Katz the man with the funny nose?”

  “Yes,” says Polly. “But it’s a very nice nose – just rather large.”

  “He came to the river shed.”

  “What?”

  “Yes – he came and I think it was him that put me in the bag.”

  “What?” I say.

  “You think nice Mr Katz did it?” asks Polly. “That makes no sense, does it, Athan?”

  “Beatty,” I say, crouching down. “Yesterday. Did anyone take you to Mr Katz’s house in a carriage?”

  “What do you mean, Athan?” asks Beatty. “I haven’t been anywhere. I’ve been in the river shed the whole time.”

  I sit back against the stove. It’s almost completely cold but I’m so freezing it warms my back. “Beatty never went anywhere. She never needed to. And I gave him the plans. No wonder he looked so pleased at being the go-between.”

  “So where do we go then, Athan? Where can we hide?” asks Polly.

  “Here,” I say. “In this house. It’s the safest place. If Ma realises, she’ll guard you with her life. Come on, let’s show her.”

  Polly wraps Beatty in a piece of heavy wool cloth and I bundle her up the stairs. Polly goes first and, looking back towards me to show that it’s safe, we carry her into the room.

  “Oh!” Ma screams. “OH!” She looks as if she’ll collapse, but she grips the back of the chair and gapes at us.

  “What ever?” Mrs Love half stands, her mouth falling open. “What on earth…?”

  “Child!” Ma stammers, staggering towards us. “Oh, child…”

  “Mamma, Mamma!” Beatty calls, and reaches her arms out to Ma, who wrenches her from us and squeezes her tight. Beatty’s muddy hair sticks to Ma’s cheek. Ma’s tears wash it off. Polly put her arms around them both, a huge grin stretching her face.

  Grandma stays in her armchair and shakes her head. Then stuffs another piece of toast in her dribbling mouth.

  “Well,” says Mrs Love. “Well, I never.”

  I pour her another cup of tea. She looks more shocked than Ma.

  “Where were you, child?” asks Ma between kisses.

  “With a vexatious woman,” says Beatty. “She wasn’t nice, but she gave me lots of paper for my birds, and fed me chocolate.”

  “Who was she?” Ma looks muddled. “What on earth would she want with you?”

  “It was Colonel Blade, with her,” says Beatty, kissing Ma back.

  Ma’s face is a picture of confusion. She glances at me.

  “He had me stolen. He asked me questions all about Athan. And Mr Chen, and poor Tod, and even Columbine, but I didn’t say nothing.” Beatty grins. “Nothing at all. And Athan and Tod, they rescued me, but he shot Tod – right through his heart – and he drowned.”

  “What, child? I don’t understand,” says Ma. “What’s this about Tod? And do you mean, that Athan was right?” She turns towards me, her arms open wide. “Tell me, tell me it—”

  The door crashes open and the Colonel thunders into the room. His blue eyes flash wildly and little specks of foamy spit fleck his whiskers. His jacket’s got sweat under the armpits and his waistcoat’s hanging unbuttoned.

  In one hand he’s holding one of Beatty’s birds. In the other, a pistol.

  He glares at every one of us.

  “You!” he shouts, pointing at me with the pistol. “You rat…”

  I keep my back to the wall, waiting for the shot. I glance at Polly. She grabs Beatty and slips behind the day bed, helping herself to a warming pan as she goes. Ma stands stock-still in the middle of the room.

  “I knew I knew you from somewhere.” She takes a step towards him. “You were Columbine’s fancy man, weren’t you?”

  He ignores her and makes as if to grab me, but I’m quick and over a chair before he gets near. He levels his pistol, catches Ma’s eye, but keeps it trained on me.

  “You ruined her years ago – and you’d move on and ruin me, would you?” She takes another step towards him. On her way she grabs the poker from the fireside. “Why, you evil man, you wicked creature,” she hisses. The poker swings loosely from her hand. Her eyes flash. “You’ve used me, you’ve used poor mad Columbine.” She takes another step towards him. “You’ve stolen my daughter and set me against my son.”

  “And murdered Tod!” shouts Beatty.

  “Did I get ’im? Good!” says the Colonel. “Less vermin in this town.”

  “You monster – you barbarian – you bloodsucker!” Ma stamps her foot closer to the Colonel.

  “Don’t come closer, woman. I’ll shoot your son quick as I’ll shoot his friend. I’d be within the law, it’d be self defence.”

  “Self defence? I’ll give you something to defend yourself from.” Ma’s poker whacks into his shoulder.

  “Ouch!” he shouts, stepping back.

  “You godless thing,” she mutters, swinging the poker again. “That boy Tod was an angel.”

  “He was gutter food.”

  “Gutter food! At least he’d an ounce of guts! You – you, sneaking about, stealing our hearts and our children – you’re as low as mud!”

  “Ha!” He grabs at the poker but Ma’s fast and she whisks it away. He takes a step towards her but she doesn’t flinch. “You’re no better yourself. You’re a hideous trollop from a hideous city.” He waves his gun about. Grandma hides her head behind the wing of the armchair.

  Ma doesn’t seem to notice even though she must know he’d shoot, never mind that we’re all watching. They circle each other in the middle of the room, like bare-knuckle fighters. “You used me – you stole my children,” she speaks quietly. “You took advantage of a lonely woman and a child.” She takes up all the space. She’s magnificent.

  The Colonel spits on the floor. He doesn’t answer her.

  Everyone holds their breath.

  Beatty and Polly crouch on the floor behind the day bed. I inch towards the door. The Colonel’s eyes are fixed on Ma and the poker.

  Ma stares at the pistol.

  Ma makes her move. Hoisting the poker high behind her head, she swipes it down on the Colonel’s hand so that the pistol flies high in the air and discharges so loudly the room appears to shake. A hole appears in the plaster by the fireplace.

  “Beast!” shouts Ma, striking him again. “Beast!”

  “Oh shut up, woman!” He steps forward to grab the poker from her, but Ma’s too strong. Her huge arms push against him and she kicks his shins.

  “You made a fool of me!” she shouts.

  A chair tips, and silk and threads spew across the floor.

  I beckon to Polly and she pushes Beatty ahead of her round the back of the room, still hidden by cushions. The gun’s lying by the fireplace, right next to the fight. Horrible.

  The Colonel rests his foot on the pistol. “Don’t throw words at me, woman.
I—”

  She brings her knee up to his groin. I lunge for the gun but he kicks down on my thumb. “Aargh! You fat cow!”

  “S’teeth!” I mutter. I try again, but he won’t let it go, even with Ma struggling and kicking. The room’s all legs and arms and thumping, pictures sliding from the walls, a table overturns, but the gun’s still lying there on the rug.

  Polly and Beatty are out of the door now, crashing down the stairs.

  “Poll! Store cupboard. And…”

  Polly stops, looking back up at me. “Athan?”

  “No matter what happens next, I’ll be back for you – I promise.”

  “How long this time, Athan?” Beatty calls. But I can’t answer because the Colonel’s back crashes into me, knocking the air from my lungs.

  “Think me a mere woman! Oooh!” Ma lunges forward and sinks her teeth into his nose.

  “Well done, Molly!” Mrs Love claps her hands and picking up the fire tongs smacks the Colonel on the back with them.

  “Ow!” he screams. I make another lunge for the gun, but his boot’s quicker than my hand.

  I’ll have to abandon it. It’s more important to get him out of the house and away from everyone. It’s me he wants; me and the machine. I wait on the landing although I’d love to run away, listening to the crashes as Ma flings vases and furniture across the room and the whole floor shakes.

  “Can’t fight off a mere woman!” I shout into the room.

  There’s a second’s silence.

  “Athan, careful!” calls Ma.

  But the Colonel’s boots thump on the floor; he’s coming towards the door. “I’ll get you, lad! No little starvelin’ thief gets the better of Mordecai Blade.”

  I wait until I can hear his feet on the landing, then race down the stairs into the empty shop. Something crashes upstairs and I hear Ma bellow once more, then Mrs Love screams and the Colonel’s boots thunder down the staircase. I wait on the pavement. I want to run, but he needs to see me, although I’m going to have to be fast. Faster than I’ve ever been.