The Wreckers

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The Wreckers Page 1

by Gary Knowelden




  THE

  WRECKERS

  THE

  WRECKERS

  GARY KNOWELDEN

  Copyright © 2012 Gary Knowelden

  Cover illustration by Richard Ollive:

  www.richardolliveanimation.co.uk

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador

  9 Priory Business Park

  Kibworth Beauchamp

  Leicestershire LE8 0RX, UK

  Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299

  Fax: (+44) 116 279 2277

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  ISBN 978 1780883 885

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Typeset in 11pt Palatino by Troubador Publishing Ltd, Leicester, UK

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  PROLOGUE

  The old man, the child and the cat were frozen in time as another flash of lightning banished the night’s blackness. It illuminated the group of heavily armed men that now surrounded them. Strangely, although she was more frightened now than she had been at any point in her life, Lucy was not thinking about the imminent danger that they were now facing from these thugs. Instead she was thinking about the thunder, the inevitable crash that she knew would follow the lightning. Then it came exploding directly above her, even more deafening than the claps before. Perhaps it sounded louder because her senses were heightened by the intense fear she was feeling, but there was something else which made this clap different from the previous ones - the sound was continuing longer than the ones before. Now it had become a deep, dull roar; she could even feel it vibrating under her feet.

  The gang of thugs in front of her were obviously aware that this one was different too, for they had stopped their menacing advance and were looking about them warily. She noticed something else about them, too; there was fear in their eyes.

  The roar was getting louder and louder and the ground was shaking more violently. What was happening? She turned her back on the gang and stared at the church up the hill. It was shaking, but not just shaking - it was moving, moving towards her, faster now. She tried to turn and run, but the fear had frozen her limbs; she was paralyzed, her body refusing to obey her; all she could do was watch. The scream started to rise in her throat but she would never know if anyone heard it.

  The village, the church, the old inn, the cottages -everything plunged downwards into the violent stormy waters of the harbour. Another flash of lightning illuminated the cliff face, revealing the huge new scar across its face where just seconds before there had been the village. Pea Haven had disappeared beneath the dark angry sea.

  Three hundred years later

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Channel 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  CHAPTER 1

  Rain, rain, rain; it seemed to Edward that it had been raining forever. Normally Edward would hardly take much notice of the weather, no matter how grim it was, but today it had added to the air of gloom he was now feeling. Of course, he should not be feeling gloomy at all – in fact, he should be feeling positively happy. The long autumn school term had just finished and he now had the Christmas holiday to look forward to. But even taking this into account he still felt very miserable. The truth was that his sombre mood had very little to do with the poor weather; it was entirely the result of the phone call he had received from his mother earlier when she had informed him that she and his father would be delayed and would be unable to collect him from his school as planned.

  The arrangements had been for them to collect him from his school and travel down to Cornwall together, where they were to spend Christmas with his Aunt Agatha. But now because of their delay, this was not going to happen. Instead, his mother had made alternative arrangements; he must now make the journey alone. A cab would collect him and take him to the station where he would catch a train to Cornwall; someone would meet him at the station and drive him to his aunt’s house.

  And the reason for this annoying change to the plan was because of… a large piece of stone, yes a large piece of stone. His mother had told him about the exciting new find they had made. His parents are both archaeologists and have been working on a ‘dig’ in some desert in a place that Edward had never even heard of. She told him that they had unearthed a huge ancient stone obelisk of enormous historical interest. On the sides of this stone were carved strange writings and pictures. Because the deciphering of these writings will take a long time, they will have to bring the stone back to Britain to continue their work and there lies the problem. They had intended to fly home but because the stone is so large and heavy, the only way to get it back to Britain is by ship, which means they will be arriving a few days later than planned.

  She told Edward that they have already set sail so they will only be a few days late. They are aboard a ship named Island Queen which is due to arrive at Port Gannan, just a few miles along the coast from Aunt Agatha’s house. She said that they can put the stone into one of the outhouses; that way they can continue with their deciphering work during the holiday. Great, not only are they going to arrive late but then they will be shut away in some shed working on the horrid stone. Sounds like I’m not going to see much of them even when they do get here. Perhaps if I cover myself in strange writing and pictures they might take more notice of me, Edward thinks.

  Edward does not share his parents’ enthusiasm for the digging up of old ancient relics and it is totally beyond him what they find so fascinating about an old stone covered in silly pictures and strange writing.

  Edward had really been looking forward to this holiday and the opportunity of spending some precious time with his parents; he had not seen them since he waved farewell to them as they disappeared into the airport departure lounge at the start of their journey to their desert destination three months ago. Edward starts to ponder. Oh, why did they have to find that old stone? It’s probably been lost for thousands of years, why couldn’t it have stayed lost for another couple of weeks? Oh well, no point in wasting any more time thinking of that old stone and talking of old relics. A smile returns to his face as his thoughts turn to Aunt Agatha and his journey to see her. I had better get a mo
ve on with this packing or the cab will be here before I’ve finished. He glances at his watch: he has just over an hour before the cab is due and he still has to make his packed lunch for the journey. Anyway, these things happen. His thoughts once again return to the phone conversation. ‘Oh well, it’s only a few extra days before I see them,’ he tells himself in a half hearted attempt to cheer himself up.

  He is really looking forward to meeting Aunt Agatha; he has never met her before but he remembers his mother talking about her and showing him an old photo of her in which she looked quite ancient. His father had told him some stories about her that made her sound quite eccentric. He is also looking forward to staying at the old house which his father had told him was very large and very old with secret passages, though Edward knows that his father often says things like that just to make his stories sound more adventurous for Edward’s sake. Still, Edward is sure that a house that big and that old might well have secret passages – it may even be haunted.

  CHAPTER 2

  The taxi pulls up outside Paddington Station and Edward reluctantly steps from the warmth and dryness of the cab out onto the grey, dreary, rain-soaked street. He drags his heavy suitcase up the steps and enters the busy station. The sight of so many people rushing this way and that way makes him feel quite nervous; he suddenly feels very small and alone. He decides that perhaps it would be a good idea to find a quiet spot out of the way of all these people to sit and have his lunch; the food will probably make him feel a bit better and he still has plenty of time before his train departs. After his lunch, he will go to the departures board to find out which platform his train will be leaving from.

  He walks across the station concourse, dragging his case behind him. In a corner of the station, he sees a large statue of a man on a stone plinth. The area around the statue appears to be fairly quiet so he makes his way through the rushing people towards it. He sits down on the stone step at the base of the statue.

  He turns his head to peer up at the figure above him. Just below the statue is a metal plate with the name “Isambard Kingdom Brunel” engraved upon it. I’ve heard of him, Edward thinks to himself. I’m sure he built things, like bridges and railways. Oh that makes sense, he probably built this railway. That would be why his statue is here. ‘Well Mr Brunel,’ Edward says quietly, ‘if you don’t mind I will just sit here and have my lunch.’

  Turning away, he unzips his suitcase and removes his packed lunch. He opens the foil and picks up one half of the sandwich. He has just put it up to his mouth when he hears someone very close by say, ‘Mmm yummy, sunflowers.’

  Edward, with his mouth open wide, poised over the sandwich, is frozen for a second or two, as still as the statue. Realising that he probably looks slightly silly with his mouth wide open, he closes his mouth slowly and looks around him to see who has spoken.

  There does not appear to be anyone near enough for him to have overheard their voice. It had sounded like they were right next to him. How strange, he thinks, as he looks about him again. It must have been a trick of the acoustics; something to do with the high ceiling of the station perhaps, he wonders glancing upwards. He pauses for a second, slightly perplexed, and not totally convinced with his own theory. He shakes his head in dismissal and again raises the sandwich to his mouth. ‘Mmm sunflowers, my favourite.’ There was the voice again; it sounded even nearer this time, like someone speaking just a few inches from his ear. Edward’s reaction is quite different this time. His mouth snaps shut and his head spins around in the direction from where the voice had come from. He gasps in shock; there was no one there. Edward jumps up and briskly walks around the statue. There was definitely nobody behind the statue. He looks in every direction; there was not anybody near enough to have spoken to him. But he was certain he had heard a voice. His eyes come to rest on the statue’s face again. It looks different. The statue is smiling and looking directly at him. He was sure it was looking towards the platforms just a minute ago and he didn’t think it had a smile on its face.

  Edward stares at the statue for a few seconds. Pull yourself together, it’s a statue, it cannot talk or move, he thinks to himself. He laughs half-heartedly then sits back down. He glances nervously around one more time to make sure there is definitely nobody nearby who could be playing tricks on him.

  After several moments of feeling very confused, Edward comes to the conclusion that it must have been his imagination playing tricks on him. Though it must be said, Edward had always considered himself seriously lacking in the imagination department. Certainly there seemed to be little evidence of any creativity from Edward whenever Mr. Brown, his English teacher, plopped a blank piece of writing paper in front of him and expected that at some point in the near future Edward would deliver an essay full of interest, wit and creativity. In fact, the normal literary offering from the pen of Edward was only remarkable in that it was always an accurate and almost word perfect version of the story Mr. Brown had read to the class at the beginning of the lesson as an example of what a good composition should be. Edward’s literary efforts were always received by a resigned Mr. Brown, his face displaying a mixture of sadness, disappointment and worse of all, defeat.

  Somehow Edward has quite lost his appetite for his sandwiches, so he wraps them up in the foil and places them back into his lunchbox and instead takes out a piece of chocolate cake. His nerves are close to breaking point as he slowly unwraps the cake. So when the cake is just millimetres from his lips and Edward hears another vocal vote of approval regarding his lunch with the unmistakable sound of smacking lips followed by the words, ‘Mmm chocolate cake, don’t forget the sunflowers,’ very close to his left ear, he comes to the conclusion that he has either done his own creative skills a huge disservice or he really is having his lunch next to a hungry and very chatty statue. Either way, the result is that his appetite has suddenly disappeared completely and as quickly as he can he packs his uneaten lunch back into his case and hurries away from the statue.

  He glances nervously at the statue as he quickly walks away from it. He sees a sign to the ticket office and quickly heads towards it, dragging his case behind him. I don’t think I even like sunflowers he mumbles to himself. ‘You will,’ the voice replies behind him. Edward starts to run, not daring to look back.

  Edward enters the ticket office and quickly closes the door behind him with a bang. He peers nervously through the window back towards the statue; it is still standing on its plinth in the same motionless pose as he had first seen it. He tries to calm his rapid breathing.

  CHAPTER 3

  His mother had told him that his ticket had been reserved and would be awaiting his collection. He approaches the nearest free sales window. The man behind the glass is in conversation with his colleague next to him and completely ignores Edward. After what seems quite a long time, Edward decides to try and attract his attention. Edward coughs quietly. The man still ignores him and continues his conversation with his colleague. Perhaps he did not hear me, thinks Edward. He coughs again, louder this time. The man stops talking and looks at Edward. ‘You should be at home with a cough like that,’ he says. ‘Passing all your germs to everyone, no wonder I’m always ill with something. I shouldn’t have to stand here breathing in everybody’s germs.’ Edward waits quietly while the man complains. Eventually the man stops talking and stares at Edward. ‘Well,’ he says rudely, ‘what do you want?’ Edward explains that a ticket has been reserved for him and that he is here to collect it. He gives his name and the man grunts at Edward. Without saying a word, he turns and begins to search through the many small cubby holes behind him. Edward can hear the man moaning and grumbling to himself as he looks for the ticket.

  Eventually he picks up and examines an envelope closely. Satisfied, he turns to Edward and thrusts the envelope across the counter towards him. Edward, with great relief, takes the envelope and thanks the man. ‘Can you tell me what platform the train leaves from please?’ ‘Ten,’ snaps the man. ‘Oh, thank you,’ says
Edward in a small voice.

  Edward half turns away from the counter when a thought occurs to him. He turns back to the ticket seller and asks him if anyone has ever mentioned to him that the statue over there has spoken to them. The man takes a long hard look at Edward, then looks in the direction that he is pointing and then once again at Edward. ‘What do you mean?’ he asks Edward irritably. Edward tells the man about his strange experience with the statue and his lunch. The ticket seller stares at Edward, back towards the statue and then back at Edward. An unpleasant smile spreads across his face. ‘Oh, you mean the statue of Isambard Kingdom Brunel.’ ‘That’s right,’ agrees Edward, nodding his head. ‘You say he was taking an interest in your lunch?’ Edward nods again, relieved that the man is taking an interest. ‘Well that is unusual, yes very odd,’ replies the man, ‘it’s normally the weather he chats about, not food.’ There is a long silence, Edward stares at the man and then the man laughs at his own joke.

  During the time Edward has been at the counter, a large queue has formed behind him. Now they all start to laugh at the ticket seller’s joke. The man’s smile slowly turns to a scowl. Edward protests that it was true; the statue had spoken to him. ‘Of course he did, he is always talking. In fact we have terrible trouble trying to shut him up,’ says the man sarcastically. ‘Now move on sonny, I haven’t got time for all this nonsense, there’s a queue building up, come on move out of the way.’

  Edward turns around and looks at the queue behind him, their smiling faces craning forward to listen to his odd conversation with the ticket seller.

  Feeling very embarrassed, Edward quickly heads for the door. As he opens the door, the ticket seller calls after him in a loud voice, ‘Oi sonny, if you think he talks a lot you had better stay well away from the statue of Queen Victoria over there,’ he says, pointing across the concourse. ‘She’s a regular chatterbox in comparison.’ The queue of people laughs loudly at this new joke and Edward hurries out of the door, red-faced and too embarrassed to look back.

 

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