“They can’t see us,” said Robert. “The bars of the bridge are in the way.”
Billy looked back at the weir, cross that it was he who needed calming. The chain didn’t end, but dropped through an iron loop, down into the water. Here, the weir was higher. As they approached it, Robert appeared to be getting ready to jump.
“Where do you think you’re going?” said Billy. “It’s going to be as slippery as hell.”
“It won’t be that bad,” said Robert, and made the point by leaping the last couple of feet onto the wooden topside. “Told you.”
The boat followed him, bumping into the side of the weir. The water was actually calmer here, and the boat seemed happy enough to sit there. Billy peered over the front of the boat, looking for a clue as to the whereabouts of the wheel. All he could see was weed-covered concrete. He pulled on the chain, but it simply held; there was no more give in it. What if he was supposed to swim down the chain? The wheel might be deep below the water. The thought of trying to swim in the dark through unseen currents that wanted to throw him under the weir scared him silly. He was a good swimmer, but that was really asking for trouble. However, no other option presented itself. He had to learn to trust his instincts; surely that was what this was all about? This time he couldn’t tell if his instincts were leading him towards or away from swimming down the chain.
“Pass the bar.”
Deep in thought, Billy had failed to notice that Robert had not been idle on top of the weir. A slim trapdoor was now lying open and he was flat on his front, with his right arm delving deep into the weir. Billy was displeased with himself; he was hardly covering himself in glory here.
“I think I’m supposed to do this bit,” said Billy, feeling every bit as clumsy as he sounded.
Robert looked up in confusion. “Don’t be stupid. I’m right here, I can feel a kind of cog, with a missing place for that bar. Pass it over.”
He was outgunning him at every turn: the chain, how it worked with the boat, and now the completion of the task. It was only the tiniest part of Billy’s mind that spoke up: wasn’t this just a bit too easy? He shook off his doubt along with his ego and passed Robert the bar, and then made to join him on the wall.
“Look, there isn’t enough room. Just give me a minute.”
Robert took the bar that he had placed by him and transferred it to his right arm, once again delving into the guts of the weir. He looked up, eyes widening. “Got it!”
There was a dull clank from inside the wall, then Robert yelled out and looked up at Billy in horror.
Billy leapt to his feet. “What is it? Is your arm trapped?”
“It just fell away.”
Anger flashed through Billy; they couldn’t afford to mess this up. He took a step towards Robert. As he did, there was another dull tone, quieter and deeper.
Robert gave a soft whistle. “That was a long drop, this thing is really deep.”
Before he could reply, they both heard another, mechanised noise, rising up through the trap door and from under the water itself, which had begun to spit and froth. The sound rose then fell and the water settled back. Then, from somewhere deep within the workings of the weir, they heard a sound like an enormous metal lock falling into place. The chain started to move in Billy’s hands.
“Whoa!” said Robert. “You’d better get up here.”
Billy shook his head. “No. I think you’d better get back in the boat.”
The chain, which had begun by spooling slowly out like a fish nibbling at a line, now gathered pace. Within the weir, the sound of paddles turning through water began, as though a steamboat was approaching. Robert realised where the sound was coming from, and looked over to the far side of the structure. He looked back at Billy with disbelief.
“Waterwheels. The weir’s sprung loads of ’em. At least six.”
“Get back in the boat!”
“You get out of the boat.”
Billy looked back at the chain, and towards the church bank where it was joined. He wondered how long it would take before it ran out of slack, and what might happen when it did. Before he could think further, there was a massive cracking sound. Robert went pale; the noise had definitely come from the weir, and Billy was sure that he must have felt that through his feet.
“I think I’ll get back in the boat now,” said Robert, moving at once, hopping past Billy to the seat with the tiller to steer.
“Get the chain out of the turning block,” said Billy, looking back at the graveyard wall. The chain had started to become visible through the water. Whatever was pulling this was doing so with great force; the chain must weigh tonnes. “Now would be good.”
Robert, seeing the chain clear the water, didn’t need telling twice. “Get it out of the front too.”
The fairlead had a decent grip on the chain, and Billy was trying to twist it out. It wouldn’t come, and he could feel the tension in the chain increasing every second. “Give me some slack.”
Robert looked up and dropped the links in his hands. “Too late. Get this side of the chain!”
“What?”
“This side, this side. Get this side!”
Looking up, Billy could see what Robert meant; if the chain snapped tight, he would be pinned and crushed against the boat. The boat lurched around, its aft being dragged sideways through the water.
Robert was on the right side of the chain. “Move, Billy, now move, move, move!”
At the last moment, Billy managed to duck as the chain snapped tight above him. He could feel the water churning with the paddles through the bottom of the boat. As he sat up, the world seemed to sway. No, not the world, the weir. It was beginning to rise up out of the water, fooling his perspective. The boat was still being pulled sideways in the water, but as the wall rose, it exposed the mechanics responsible for this feat. A series of waterwheels were providing the power, spurred on by the massive amount of water passing. A mixture of concrete and heavy timber arms was falling into the space left above the waterwheels, tumbling and sealing against the water.
Billy saw the chain continue to tighten as it was lifted into the air. He realised that one of the waterwheels was winding the chain in, like thread on a bobbin. He had a flash of understanding. It was supposed to be a brake, a limit to stop the weir from rising too far. But the wall by the church was old, and the pressure of the water driving this mechanism had to be immense. He realised he wanted them to be well away from the chain if it decided to let go.
“We’ve got to go,” said Billy. “Right now.”
Robert looked back at him and pointed at the chain above their heads. “With what?”
With the weir climbing behind them, there was no way for them to escape other than swimming, which would leave them even more vulnerable. Moving together, they kicked the boat away from the weir and stuck their hands over the side, trying to paddle the heavy boat away from the danger area. Billy fought hard against the water. At least with the water blocked against the weir, there was no more current to fight, just a sort of static boiling which had no particular direction.
A huge metallic report from the far side of the river told them they were too late. Looking up, they saw the colossal chain rear up like an angry cobra. Behind them the waterwheels accelerated, increasing the noise and rate of ascent of the wall. The chain arced like a bullwhip before plummeting back to the river. Spotting its trajectory, Robert let out a scream. A split second later, the gnarled end of the chain bit into the prow of the boat, sending splintered wood in all directions.
Like a hooked fish, the boat skipped and spun about, nearly throwing them both into the black water. Now free of the brake chain, the weir was rising with colossal speed. Looking over his shoulder, Billy saw the unseen weir climb above the neighbouring locks. He looked back towards the church. The water level had climbed into the graveyard, and was still rising. This wasn’t magic, this was an ancient device designed to flood Marlow.
The boat lurched again. The slack
on the chain had now run out.
“Hold on,” said Robert, winding his arm underneath the seat.
The chain hoisted the boat out of the water, and as the waterwheels continued to turn, pulled it quickly into the air. Billy found himself standing, shaking, next to Robert, clinging to the seat as the boat turned gently in the air.
“Should we jump?”
Billy shook his head. In every boat-related disaster story he had seen on television, no matter how wrecked the craft looked, it was the people who left their vessel that ended up as fish food. Some seconds later, he knew the boat wouldn’t be getting much higher in the air. The old wood of the prow creaked with the strain. It gave quietly and the boat fell straight down. For a second, Billy thought it was going to land the right way up, but it bobbed and stumbled before pushing them into the water headfirst and covering them.
Billy popped up, spitting out gobs of black river water. He’d floated up underneath the upturned boat. It should have been pitch black but with the prow ripped open, light crept into the space.
Robert was already there, coughing up his share of the River Thames. “Great idea, Billy, let’s go out and drown ourselves.”
He had a fair point. This was too much to ask of an old friend, let alone a recent enemy. However, yelling at each other was pointless.
“Get over this side,” said Billy. “We can kick the boat back.”
“Upside down? Why don’t we just swim for it?”
“Too far, and you don’t know what the flooding water will do. We’ve got to stick with the boat.”
Robert bobbed underneath the seat to get beside Billy. He seemed to have found his old temper. “How high do you think the river will flood?”
“I don’t know,” said Billy, wondering why that fact bothered him. “Well, over the bridge, I suppose.”
“Brilliant. Fantastic.”
“What’s the problem here?” said Billy, momentarily oblivious to the upturned boat and the rising water level.
“You’re not the only person in Marlow avoiding the police,” said Robert. “I don’t want to spend Christmas in social care.”
This opened up more questions than Billy could deal with. Without another word, they both started to kick, pushing against the submerged seat. To their collective relief, it began to work. The boat was moving, and even better, they could make out their direction through the shattered prow.
“It’s working,” said Robert, sounding cheerier.
Billy upped the pace, and Robert matched it.
“Go for the church, that will have the shallowest landing point.”
Robert looked through the prow. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
Looking closer through the split timbers, Billy could see he was right. They were basically just steering now, as the water was pouring around the wall and then back towards town, and they were approaching the church at speed. He hoped Mike hadn’t been planning a late service, as the floor of the church would certainly be underwater by now. The speed picked up again, and now they were almost holding on to the seat as the boat dragged them along.
A blinding pain shot up Billy’s right shin. It felt like he’d been bitten by stone, and his thoughts shifted to the Gargoyle. It was made of stone, surely it couldn’t swim? Robert yelled out and looked down into the water.
“You too?”
“Yeah, bashed my leg on something really hard,” said Robert, still peering down.
Billy was already fishing into his pocket, hoping that the knuckleduster hadn’t got lost in all the chaos. It hadn’t, and remained in his zipped breast pocket.
“Gravestones,” said Robert softly. “We’re only walking on the tops of gravestones.”
Billy felt the boat lift on another rising wave of water, and now they were far enough above the slabs not to risk their legs any further. Billy was struggling hard to see through the open prow. He had a nasty feeling that the boat was heading towards the park, where he’d last strayed into the path of the grey beast.
“I think we should drop off the boat,” said Billy.
Robert now had an arm over the seat trying to hold on in the fast-moving water. “If we leave the boat, we’ll be swept away.”
It was clear Robert was right, but it didn’t stop Billy’s heart sinking, as passing oak trunks confirmed they were now in Higginson Park. This task was beginning to rumble out of control. What was it Senga had said to imply that this one was going to get noticed? He couldn’t quite remember, but thought that the strange creature was a master of understatement. This was the biggest event Marlow had seen for many years. All the riverside properties near town would be flooded, as well as probably all the shops in the High Street. He imagined the punters streaming out of the pubs, trying to move their cars before the wave made them simply turn away and leave the vehicles to the tender mercies of the insurance companies.
The boat swung hard, slewing them to one side, before loud bangs could be heard on the outside of the hull. They were hitting fixed objects again. They lurched, and a wide shaft of metal plunged through the open prow. The higher end of a seesaw had caught the boat, stopping it dead. Now the water was trying to pull them from underneath the boat, but with the metal seesaw they had much more to hang onto. Within a minute, they had both clambered around so that whilst still under the boat, most of their weight was supported by the seesaw, eliminating the risk of being taken by the river.
“I think we made it,” said Billy, puffing with the exertion.
Robert looked back at him with an exhausted smile.
The first crash made them both yell in shock. The second plunged the boat down deep into the water, making them hold their breath momentarily underwater, before it bobbed back up.
Robert looked across at Billy, stunned. “What the hell was that?”
Billy thought he had a good idea, and was already fighting the zip on his pocket. The wood splintered between him and Robert, and the remains of the left arm of the Gargoyle burst into the boat. Robert cried out as a piece of wood struck and stunned him. The stone arm withdrew. Try as Billy might, the zip wouldn’t budge. He kept at it, hoping that it hadn’t been bent at some point during the task. It gave an inch and he sneaked a finger into the pocket, trying to snag the knuckles. Above him he could hear stone claws scrabbling for purchase on the slippery hull of the boat. His index finger slid over the knuckles, but with the first pull he knew the gap in the zip wasn’t wide enough. Robert murmured something to him. That was good; if he was murmuring he was also breathing. This time, the good arm of the Gargoyle punched through the hull much closer to Billy. After it had withdrawn its fist, it forced its mouth into the hole, and roared, spraying sulphurous fumes over them both.
This brought Robert around in a hurry. “What the hell is it?”
“Really bad news,” said Billy, fighting with the pocket and the knuckles.
The Gargoyle’s arm fell closer to Robert, catching him with both wood and stone this time. He moaned, in a weak way that scared Billy. Having made three holes in the boat, the Gargoyle now seemed to be trying to rip out slats lengthwise, peeling back the wood to leave them open to attack from its jaws. The knuckles finally released themselves from the pocket and snapped around Billy’s hand, and as he made a fist, the flat blade snapped out of the metal. The boat lurched down once again, sending him sprawling into the water under the boat. He looked up and saw the Gargoyle’s left stump in the gaping hole it had made. Before he could find his feet, the right paw was in and grabbed Robert around the neck. The Gargoyle looked briefly at Billy, almost grinning, and was then gone, dragging its prize behind it.
Full of guilt and fury, Billy roared and found his feet. He had to dip underwater to get out from under the boat, but once out, the water was just below waist height. A noise coming from the water took his attention deeper into the park. The Gargoyle was making slow progress on its hind legs, which was good, but it was also dragging Robert underwater, and that wasn’t good at al
l.
“Get back here! Coward!”
The Gargoyle stopped and turned back to face him. He was still holding Robert under the water, and was watching Billy’s reaction to his companion’s weakening struggle. Billy paused, eyeing Robert and the Gargoyle alternately. He gambled, letting all expression leave his face. He shrugged his shoulders. What did he care if Robert drowned? An unpleasant sneer snaked across the Gargoyle’s face. It raised an eyebrow; it knew this game. Billy fought to keep his face neutral. He relaxed his fist and let the flat blade fall back into the knuckles. Moving slowly, the Gargoyle raised its right arm, lifting Robert out of the water. Robert half spluttered, half screamed in fear. Still, Billy remained impassive. The Gargoyle looked from Robert to Billy and then back to Robert, then just as slowly as it had raised him, it pushed him back under the water.
“No, Billy, help, please…”
The water took his voice. Billy knew the strength of that arm; the other had held him over the church steeple with almost no effort. He also knew that this time the Gargoyle wouldn’t bring Robert back up. He screamed and rushed at the beast as fast as he could through the waist-high water. The Gargoyle walked backwards, still holding Robert underwater, moving quickly. Billy knew that it wouldn’t get tired, and already wading through the water was sapping his remaining strength. The Gargoyle was beginning to increase the distance between them. Billy yelled in frustration. He had dragged Robert into this, and he was going to get him killed.
Then, something stopped the Gargoyle; for a moment, it was clearly distracted. It stooped, this time dragging Robert, screaming, from the water. His arms were wrapped around a fence post. A half-drowned Robert had somehow managed to slow the beast.
It was enough. Billy didn’t hesitate, but leapt onto the Gargoyle’s right shoulder, struggling to weaken his hold on Robert. It swung at him with the stump of its left arm. It connected and he was lifted clean out of the water, before falling down hard on his hands and knees, spitting the water out, gasping for breath. As Billy scrambled back to his feet, the Gargoyle plunged Robert under water again. But this time Robert had a lungful of air, and strength enough to lock his arm around the fence post again. In its effort to drag him away, the Gargoyle once again pulled him out of the water.
Billy Christmas Page 18
