Borrowed Moonlight

by Helen Slavin

  The Great Grey Horse was surefooted. The Riders crowded behind, spurring their charges on, and Hettie watched where the ice cracked behind the Horse, fracturing into splinters, melting beneath the hooves of the Riders, all swallowed down in an eyeblink.

  A ripple rolled its silver ring of light across Pike Lake, then all was silent.

  The Horse had left a calling card at the rear of the Cottage, a small cairn of cobbles of dung that Hettie used on the vegetable patch that following summer. The beans that year were particularly prolific, the flowers a deep purple, lipped with grey. She harvested them, but they sat in a bowl in the scullery for a good while until she decided to dry them and store them away.

  “Grandma?” The voice was small and familiar in the dream. “Grandma. Grandma.” It wasn’t a dream, of course. Charlie was leaning over her face, her small fingers pulling Hettie’s eyelids open. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes.” Hettie blinked and stirred. “Is it time for breakfast?”

  “Mummy’s here,” Charlie said, wide-eyed with delight. “And she’s really FAT.”

  A month or more later, and it was a full moon over Pike Lake when Emily Way made her way into the world, her first cries echoing around Havoc Wood, making the owls turn their heads.

  28

  Signs and Policemen

  PC Williamson did not want to risk the patrol car on the gravel and dirt track that led to Cob Cottage, so he parked in the layby on the opposite side of Old Castle Road and walked in.

  He had not often walked into Havoc Wood. No one did. He’d been possibly three times before, and always in company with his grandmother, his father’s mother, Violet, who had “business”, as she put it, with Mrs Way. As the tarmac driveway led him into the cover of the trees, he recalled that his grandmother had always brought a gift of some sort for Mrs Way, a basket of scones or something. The basket of scones could have been used to cobble the dirt track if memory served. His grandmother was enthusiastic about baking, but baking did not repay the favour. PC Williamson wished he had brought something. It felt wrong.

  The trees were watching. It was a distinct sensation, the prickling at the back of his neck and the fact that, here and there, in the brisk November breeze, branches swayed down far enough to brush at his cap, almost knocking it off his head. Don’t look up. Don’t be afraid. He remembered his gran Violet’s instructions. She’d not been afraid. What had she been? Respectful. It was a tenet of his grandmother’s life, and, with that thought, PC Williamson took off his hat. The branches ahead of him bowed low, as if in approval.

  The tarmac crumbled away into gravel, which seemed quite civilised once you were on the pitted and rutted dirt track. He looked down to where Cob Cottage sat, just up from the shoreline, and he could see lights on. This only served to remind him that it would be dark soon, and he was walking in Havoc Wood.

  Anna Way opened the back door as he edged past the tangled garden.

  “PC Williamson,” Anna smiled uncertainly. “Want to come in?”

  If the wood had seemed standoffish and aloof, the interior of Cob Cottage was a glow of warmth and comfort. There was something cooking that smelt of garlic and herbs and made PC Williamson’s stomach grumble. He’d been so wrapped up in his investigations today that he’d forgotten to have lunch.

  “How can we help?” Anna asked. Emz turned from setting the table.

  “It’s Emily I’ve come to talk to.” PC Williamson tried to make his nod as friendly as possible. Emz looked trapped. This was always the problem with being a policeman, PC Williamson found, people were never really very happy to see you.

  “Do you need me to leave… or should I…?” Anna seemed flummoxed. PC Williamson shook his head.

  “No, no need for that. Stay.” He decided to charge into the subject. “Emily, I wanted to ask you about the party at Adam Overton’s home the other night. We’re looking into the attack on Caitlin Milburn, and I need to get statements from anyone who was there.”

  “I wasn’t there.” Emily’s voice wavered a little and her face was pale. PC Williamson felt that his police instincts ought to kick in and tell him that she was lying or covering up the truth in some way, but his instincts were quiet. It was odd. Perhaps, he thought, what was odd was that he was hearing the truth.

  “Oh.” He felt foolish. “I was told you were. One of the girls mentioned your name.” He was trying to recall which of the sixth form girls had given him this information. He did not like this investigation and the way it was turning.

  “No. Sorry.” Emily’s voice was even quieter, and PC Williamson visibly wilted.

  “Wild goose chase?” Anna asked with some sympathy. PC Williamson nodded.

  “I apologise. I might have misunderstood the information I was given. They might have said you weren’t there, and I was not listening properly.” He was feeling lightheaded and waved his notebook in surrender. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot of information and statements and interviewing going on.” He checked back through his notes, the pages making a dry rustling sound.

  “Did you speak with Winn?” Emily asked, her voice gathering a little strength. “She found Caitlin.”

  “Yes. She thought she’d fallen from a horse. Can you tell me anything about the horse?” PC Williamson thought that it might be important. “It was saddled up, Winn said,” his mind was picking a path, “but no one can find the rider.”

  He felt the tension twang a little.

  “It doesn’t belong to Logan Boyle,” Emz said, her face pinked a little. “If that’s what anyone has told you. It’s not his horse.”

  “No one suggested it was.” PC Williamson was regretting the lack of lunch, he felt out of sorts and lightheaded. “It was worth throwing it in the mix. Winn said it was saddled up, so I assumed some poor bugger might have fallen off.”

  “Is it just gossip you’re listening to?”

  “Emz?” Anna stared at her sister, who was not to be tamped down.

  “I’m serious. At school they’re saying…” the name was impossible to say. Emz swallowed it down, “…he raped Caitlin. They all believe it.”

  “I can’t tell you anything about the case.”

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to not go with all the gossip.”

  “Emz. Seriously.” Anna was stern.

  “No.” PC Williamson shook his head. “I can reassure you that I am investigating this thoroughly. Hence my calling here tonight.”

  There was a silence. Emz backed down a little, nodded.

  “I can say that Logan Boyle is no longer helping us with our enquiries. He’s made a statement, and I’m following up any leads, which is why I ask about the horse.” PC Williamson felt the tension release itself. He glanced out through the window.

  “Shit, is that it?”

  All eyes turned.

  The Great Grey Horse stood at the shoreline of Pike Lake as if looking out admiring the view.

  “Wow.” It was the only word that had come out of PC Williamson’s mouth since they had all hurried out of the cottage. “Wow. Wow.”

  “It is a bit,” Anna said. The horse turned to survey its audience and nickered greeting. PC Williamson could not take his eyes from the splendid animal.

  “That saddle…” he moved forward a step or two to take a look, holding his hands up as if in supplication, “…that’s an expensive bit of craftsmanship.”

  “Is that a clue to the rider?” Emz asked.

  “Probably. We should ask Marlow Whitburn up here, from Caracole Stables. She knows about saddlery and stuff,” PC Williamson advised and then caught the look from Anna. “When I say ‘we’ I mean you.” He took in a deep breath and looked again at the horse. It looked, very distinctly, back at him, its head turned to focus its left eye upon him. He heard his grandmother’s voice in his head, saw her lips move as she packed a brick of fruitcake into her plastic shopper.

  “This…” he nodded to the horse, “this looks like Havoc business.”

  Anna and Emz
looked at him. PC Williamson gave an uncomfortable smile.

  “My gran knew your gran,” was the only explanation required. “You’re the Gamekeepers.”

  At this a look passed between Emz and Anna; PC Williamson cleared his throat, nervous.

  “Yes. Right. So anyway…” he was fumbling a little. Anna rescued him.

  “We’ve searched for the rider and come up blank,” Anna confessed.

  “You don’t think they’re connected?” PC Williamson asked. “When did this chap show up? Was he here before the first attack?” He pointed to the horse. Anna was quiet.

  “I think we can safely say that the attack on Caitlin is police business.” She was cool, uneasy. “She was in Leap Woods.” Anna did not look at Emz, as a terrible thought drifted across her own head. The woods were sisters, frayed together at the edges; the question was how frayed.

  “Right. Yes. Well, I don’t want to step on toes,” PC Williamson said. “I have my beat, you have yours,” he conceded. “Can you keep me in the loop regarding the horse?”

  Anna nodded.

  “Marlow Whitburn is a bit…” PC Williamson was looking for the politest way to proceed.

  “…of a bitch?” Anna finished. PC Williamson raised his eyebrows.

  “I was going to say busy.” His eyebrows flickered up again, almost making Anna smile. “You could call Carrie instead. She’d probably have time to help.” And he said his farewells.

  “Carrie’s on her way.” Emz put her phone back into her pocket, while she and Anna stood looking at the horse as it leaned to drink from Pike Lake.

  “It is massive, isn’t it?” Emz was awed by the power of the horse. Its mane tumbled forward, the ends trailing in the water and making sparkled ripples in the waxing moonlight.

  “Must be a Shire or some other sort of draught horse.” Anna’s voice was distant and dreamy. “Look at the colour of its coat.” She reached forward, but this time the Great Grey Horse stepped away, turning its back on them and moving down the shoreline.

  Emz was looking at the ground, at the pattern of hoofprints and footprints.

  “Charlie might be able to make something of this,” she said, as Anna looked down. “You think?”

  Anna nodded.

  “What’s going on?” Charlie’s voice called down from the porch. “I nearly ran down PC Williamson on the track. What’s happened? Oh.” She spotted the horse. “Still can’t catch it?”

  Anna and Emz shook their heads as Charlie joined them.

  “Emz has given Carrie a ring. She’s on her way,” Anna brought her up to speed.

  “Good shout.” Charlie looked at the scuffed-up ground.

  “What do you think?” Emz asked. Charlie did not reply for a moment, her brow furrowed.

  “About what?”

  Emz nodded to the prints.

  “They tell you anything?”

  Charlie looked up, embarrassed.

  “No.” She dug her hands deep into her pockets and looked at Anna. “Listen, I saw that Herald bloke again today. Gave him a tour of the brewery.”

  “Oh no.” Anna was in catastrophe mode. Charlie shook her head.

  “He wants to increase his ‘local offering’, as they say, for booze.”

  “You mean he wants to buy the brewery?”

  Charlie pulled a face.

  “Have to admit that was my instinct, after what you said about the Castle Inn.” She grimaced. “Do you think Lella will sell?”

  “Yes,” Anna nodded. “She needs the cash, like everyone else these days. What about Drawbridge? Will Michael sell?”

  Charlie avoided looking at Anna and nodded her head.

  “Although Aron tells me Herald isn’t buying the brewery.”

  “D’you believe him?” Anna could see the moment that she said it that the question stung Charlie.

  “Why don’t you buy the Castle Inn?” Charlie suggested, swerving the subject. Emz looked astonished, Anna, terrified.

  “It’s not impossible,” Charlie said. “You could get a loan or a mortgage. Something.” She was defeated. “Oh, you’re right. Who am I kidding?”

  Anna laughed, a light, high sound, and hugged Charlie.

  “Hey. I appreciate the attempt to cheer me up.”

  Charlie did not look cheered and Anna took note.

  “You know he might not be evil,” Emz suggested, feeling defensive. “He might have genuine reasons for his interest. Saving the Castle Inn, maybe? Keeping the brewery going? It’s not impossible.”

  Anna and Charlie regarded her with interest.

  “I’m just saying. Maybe we’re not the only people who love Woodcastle,” Emz continued.

  “You have a point,” Anna agreed.

  “Herald is in it for profit. He owns most of Castlebury, he’s got pockets filled with councillors backing his every planning permission. And why are you defending him? You don’t know him…” Charlie could hear her own voice rise in volume and took a breath. She was riled; the thought of Ivan Herald sparked like lightning in her head.

  “Neither do you.” Emz pointed out.

  Any further discussion of Ivan Herald and his possibly evil plans was halted by the sound of Carrie’s jeep chugging down to the cottage.

  Carrie, the local vet and equine expert, looked at the horse with undisguised admiration.

  “I don’t recognise it.” She too reached out to the grey-black flecked flank, and the horse took a polite step back. “Oh my God. It is magnificent.” Carrie once more stepped forward to try to take the reins. “Here boy, here you are, not going to…” The horse did not care what she was not going to do, she was chiefly not going to take the reins. Carrie sighed.

  “Okay. I’ve got a halter in the car.” Carrie was resourceful. “Let’s give that a go.”

  They ‘gave it a go’, as Carrie had suggested, and several minutes later the landscape around the shoreline was dotted with divots of mud. Carrie and the Way sisters tried to catch their breath and check for bruises as the Great Grey Horse whinnied and stamped.

  “Well, my bad, there. He sounds pissed off now,” Carrie said as she shook some shoreline sand from her hair.

  “He sounds amused,” Charlie grinned and reached up to tighten her squiffy bun. Anna wiped a scuff of dirt from her face.

  “I’ve had an idea.” Carrie brightened, her tone dragging Emz’s gaze from the horse. “There’s that show in Castlebury, Wild Horses. Maybe it’s a runaway from there?” She looked confident.

  “Wild Horses?” Charlie looked puzzled.

  “Yeah. It’s like fantasy dressage, very theatrical. I’d forgotten. I was up at Caracole Stables the other day and Judith was talking about it. Well, disapproving of it, point of fact.” Carrie grimaced a little at the memory. “But yes. It might have wandered away from there.”

  “Sounds worth a pop to ask them.” Anna smiled but was aware of a dark look from Charlie.

  They watched Carrie’s headlights disappear through the trees before Charlie spoke.

  “It’s not come from any stupid dancing horse show.”

  “It’s out of Havoc,” Emz finished the thought.

  “It might have wandered in through Havoc.” Anna was trying to be reasonable.

  “It has never been to Castlebury,” Charlie stated the fact. “It is not a dancing tart of a horse.” She was severe. “Those hoofprints in the sand, before we all rucked them up…”

  Emz lit up.

  “You did see something.” She was delighted. Charlie was thoughtful.

  “Yes. I don’t know what it was.”

  “Describe it?” Anna suggested. Charlie looked as the horse lifted his head as if listening.

  “Lines. Criss-crossed lines. Not like a random path. More…” she groped for the right word, “mathematical, I think. Or a compass.” Charlie dug her face deeper into her jacket collar as she fumbled in her pocket for her recent doodles. She offered them to her sisters. Anna turned her page around as Emz’s gaze switched between her doodle and t
he one in Anna’s hand.

  “I’ve seen it written over the wood, as if the Horse has mapped it out.” Charlie said.

  “What if…?” Anna began, feeling inspired, “what if we’re looking at this from the wrong angle?”

  “How d’you mean?” Emz asked.

  “What if it’s waiting for someone?” Anna said. The sisters exchanged a look.

  “Good point, well made,” Charlie said, her voice sounding lighter. She was about to speak further when the horse gave a snort and began walking away. Charlie headed after it.

  “Charlie?” Anna took a few steps.

  “I’ll see you later,” Charlie’s voice lilted back through the dark.

  “Do we follow them?” Emz asked. Anna shook her head.

  “No, she’s the one with the Maps and Compass,” Anna said and then gave a small start.

  “What is it?” Emz asked.

  “Nothing.” Anna shrugged it off, headed back up onto the porch. “Just a stray thought. Let’s wait inside.”

  In the scullery, after putting a load of washing in the machine, Anna took the Paper Prophets from her trouser pocket. She felt the energy they gave off and paused for a moment to consider it. What sort of energy was it? Like an engine, ticking over.

  She stretched the elastic from the cards and put it back into her pocket. Hurrying, she did not shuffle them this time. She took the first card from the top.

  The Maps and Compass startled her. She had seen this clearly in her mind’s eye as Charlie had started off after the Great Grey Horse, and here it was. The routes on the maps depicted were complex, intertwined, and seemed not to lead anywhere. She looked at the compass and held her breath. The needle was spinning. A crash from the kitchen made her put the cards away.

  Emz was clearing away the remnants of a plate.

  “Sorry, it slipped out of my hand.” She looked uncertain.

  “What’s wrong?” Anna asked. “Is this about Logan Boyle?” and Emz folded into tears.