When they reached the river, the tide was lapping against the shore. George bent and gave Spud a quick pat.
‘Good dog. Here, let’s let you off this for a bit.’ He unhooked the lead and shoved it in the side pocket of the knapsack.
They set off along the path, George and Spud in front, Kitty bringing up the rear. They had almost reached the bridge when Kitty grabbed George’s sleeve.
‘I thought I heard something.’
‘Where?’
‘Back there, in those bushes.’
He glanced over to where she was pointing. The bushes were swaying from side to side, their branches caught in a sudden chill breeze.
He shrugged. ‘It’s only the wind. Look, if you want to go back—’
‘No!’ She hoisted her shoulders and marched past him.
A wave of relief rippled through George. He was glad she hadn’t changed her mind. Truth to tell, he wasn’t keen on the idea of going back up there in the pitch black, even with Spud for company. He threw another quick look behind him and hurried after her.
It was as they were climbing up on to the road that led over the bridge that he saw the light. It was coming in quick pulses from a spot about halfway along the parapet, reflecting out across the river in the direction they’d just come.
Spud arched his back and gave a low whine. Clamping a hand across his snout, George ducked out of sight behind the bridge wall and signalled to Kitty to do the same. He waited for a moment, then raised his head slowly and peered back to where he’d seen the light.
A man was squatting in the shadow of the parapet, holding what looked like a long black torch in his right hand. As George watched, he lifted it up and signalled again.
Kitty poked her head up alongside him. ‘What is he doing?’
George frowned. ‘Sending a message to someone downriver, from the looks of it.
‘Do you think it might be one of the guards from the pillbox?’
‘Maybe. Still, better to be safe than sorry.’ He unhooked the knapsack from his back and rummaged inside for the penknife. Pulling it free, he poked it into his trouser pocket and shot Kitty a tight-jawed look. ‘Just in case.’
They waited for what seemed like an age. At last the man finished his signalling and slipped back across the bridge, heading in the direction of the pillbox.
‘Looks like you were right. We’d better go carefully. We’ve had it if he spots us.’
Kitty nodded. They waited for a moment, then crept forwards, staying low and keeping to the shadows as best they could.
As they slunk beneath the pillbox, George peered up at the slits in its walls. There was no sign of anyone. No sound of them either. He frowned. Maybe the man had gone off on patrol. Best keep a lookout though; leastways until they reached the cover of the woods.
The trees arched above them, blotting out the moon and casting a net of shadows across the road. Every time they stumbled, or stopped to catch their breath, the raven flew back to them, urging them on with a ratchety croak.
But then, as they reached the path that led into the woods, it deserted them, swooping up over the trees and away into the gathering night.
Kitty stared after it. ‘Where is it going?’
George shrugged. ‘I dunno. We don’t need it anyway.’ He peered in amongst the trees. ‘Let’s risk the torch. We can turn it off when we get closer to the big house.’ He pulled it out of the knapsack and flicked the beam on.
It was slower going than in the daylight. There were tree roots everywhere and they had to stop more than once to free each other’s clothes from low-hanging branches and spiked holly leaves.
George pulled up as the edge of the pit came into view. ‘Me and Spud’ll cross first, then I’ll shine the torch back so you can see what you’re doing. Come on, boy.’
He set off, Spud following close behind. When they reached the other side, he turned and pointed the beam back along the narrow trail.
‘Just take it slowly.’
Kitty nodded. Scraping her hair behind her ears, she took a deep breath and set off. She was three quarters of the way there when the strap on her sandal snagged on a tree root. She bent to free it, but as it came loose, she lost her footing.
She stumbled and slid sideways, toppling into the darkness with an ear-piercing scream.
George’s stomach lurched. ‘Kitty!’ He scrambled back down the path, Spud barking excitedly at his side. Heart pounding, he swept the beam back and forth across the tangle of rocks and branches at the bottom of the pit. ‘Quiet, boy! Kitty! Where are you?’
Please be all right. Please!
A strangled groan echoed up from somewhere down below. He jerked the beam in the direction of the sound.
And then he saw her.
She was clinging with both hands to a tree root, a foot or two below the top of the pit; arms taut, her legs dangling.
‘Hold tight.’ George dropped down on all fours and propped the torch against a stone, directing the beam down on her head.
She puffed out a breath. ‘Quick! My hands are slipping.’
He stretched out and made a grab for her left hand, but it was no use. She was too far away.
‘Can you get a bit closer?’
‘I . . . I think so, yes.’ She screwed up her face in a look of determination and edged her hands slowly along the tree root, one after the other until she was almost beneath him. She looked up again, hair and face damp with sweat. ‘Try now.’
He stretched again. This time his hand found her wrist. He clung on to it and thrust out his left arm. ‘Take my other hand.’
She swiped and missed. ‘It is no use. You will have to get closer.’
He inched forwards, extending his arm as far as it would go.
She grunted and reached again. As his fingers made contact with her other wrist there was a loud splintering sound. She gave a panicked cry.
‘It’s all right. I’ve got you!’ Slowly, surely, keeping a tight grip on both her wrists, George hauled Kitty towards him. As her head and shoulders appeared, he reached across her back with his right hand, clutched a fistful of her cardigan and swung her up on to the path.
They lay there, chests heaving, gasping for air.
A wet tongue rasped the side of George’s face. He lifted up and ruffled Spud’s ears. ‘It’s all right, boy. We’re all right.’
Kitty took a deep breath and sat up slowly, a dazed look in her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ She leant forwards, ran a hand over her left foot and winced.
‘Are you OK?’
‘My ankle.’ I think I have sprained it.’
George hauled himself into a squat and shone the torch over it. ‘It don’t look too good. D’you think you’ll be able to walk on it?’
‘I am not sure. Maybe with some help.’
He nodded. Sliding his hand round her waist, he heaved her up on her feet.
She hobbled forwards biting down on her lip. ‘It is all right, but we will have to go slowly.’
‘Put your hand on my shoulder. When we get past the pit it’ll be easier.’ He shone the torch over the edge. The tree root she had been hanging from had broken in two and was dangling limply over the rocks below.
He shivered. It’d been close. Too close.
They set off, George taking the lead, Kitty limping behind. As they cleared the pit and the path widened, he drew alongside her so she could use him as a crutch. They stumbled on, stopping every few minutes to give her a chance to rest her ankle. When they reached the edge of the wood, George pulled to a stop and glanced behind him. ‘Spud? Where are you, boy?’ He peered back into the trees, but there was no sign.
Kitty followed his gaze. ‘Where did he go?’
He frowned. ‘I don’t know. I thought he was following us.’
‘Perhaps you should go back and look for him?’
‘What, and leave you here on your own?’
‘I will be all right.’
‘But I promised your granddad.’
Kitty twisted round to face him, eyes flashing. ‘I do not need you to look after me, George Penny! I have travelled halfway across Europe on my own and—’ She stopped and gave a sudden choked cry.
‘What? Is it your ankle?’
She shook her head and took a step backwards, pointing at something behind him. As he made to turn, a gloved hand clamped the back of his neck. George flung the torch to the ground and struggled to break free.
‘George, no! He has a gun!’
A sharp metallic click sounded in his right ear.
‘Yes, and if you do not do as I say, I will have no choice but to use it.’
George jerked his head round just in time to catch a glimpse of the man’s fair hair and narrow face before a circle of cold metal dug against his cheek. His stomach turned over. It was the poacher!
‘Keep your eyes to the front and put your hands above your head, both of you.’
The poacher’s voice was posh, but there was something odd about it too. Foreign-sounding . . . like the way the Regenbogens spoke.
George’s stomach jolted again. What if Kitty was right after all? What if he was her granddad’s digging partner?
He threw her a quick glance. Her eyes were wide and startled-looking, her cheeks pale as paper.
‘Wh-who are you?’
The man tightened his grip on George’s collar and forced him forwards with the muzzle of the gun.
‘Where are you taking us?’
‘Somewhere where I can keep a close watch on you.’
‘Are . . . are you going to kill us?’
The pressure of the gun lessened. The man gave a quick clear of his throat. ‘Not unless you give me a reason to. Now, take a lesson from your friend here and keep quiet unless you are spoken to.’
George shot Kitty another look. ‘Are you all right?’
She gave a quick nod and dipped her head down.
George grimaced. Where was Spud when they needed him?
As the man marched them off up the grassy slope, the hut they’d passed earlier in the day came into view. Steering them over to it, he drew back the bolt, yanked the door open and pushed them inside.
George peered about him, nose wrinkling at the mildewy smell. It looked like some kind of workman’s hut: a pile of tarpaulins in one corner, an old wheelbarrow and a spade in another.
‘Sit down.’ Their captor jerked his pistol at the tarpaulins.
George spun round to face him. It was the poacher all right. ‘Stop ordering us about, will you?’
An uncertain look flashed across the man’s face. Close up, he didn’t look much older than Charlie. George took a step forwards.
The man tightened his grip on the gun. ‘I am warning you . . .’
Kitty tugged on George’s sleeve, her voice tight with fear. ‘Do as he says.’
George puffed out his cheeks and helped her over to the pile of tarpaulins. ‘Now what?’
‘Now we wait.’ The man pulled back the sleeve of his overcoat, glanced at his watch and frowned. Then, without another word, he turned and stepped back outside, slamming the door behind him. A few seconds later there was the sound of the bolt being rattled across it, and a pair of footsteps marching away.
Kitty hugged her arms to her and gave a small groan. ‘I was right. It is him.’
George licked his lips. ‘Your granddad’s digging partner?’
‘Yes. Hans Ritter.’
‘Are you sure?’
She gave a quick, wide-eyed nod. ‘He came to the house once to look round Opa’s museum. I was ill with the mumps. I was meant to stay in bed, but when I heard them speaking in German, I crept out on to the landing and spied on him over the banisters.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘No. I did not want to get into trouble with Opa so I kept out of sight. But he must know it was us at the camp.’
‘He ain’t said anything about it yet, has he? Maybe he didn’t get a proper look. I don’t understand though. Why risk his life coming back here for the sake of getting hold of some old crown?’
Kitty sat bolt upright. ‘But it is not some old crown. It is the Kingdom-Keeper. It is why the king wants you to bring it back to him.’ She gripped hold of his arm, her eyes darting anxiously to the knapsack on his back. ‘We must not let Ritter get it, George, or he will take it to Germany and it will be too late!’
‘All right! All right! But we’ve got to find our way out of here first.’ He jumped up and scanned the walls, searching frantically for an opening they could try and make bigger somehow with the spade. But apart from a small knothole in the door, there was nothing. Anyway, even if they did manage to get past their guard, with Kitty’s sprained ankle, they wouldn’t stand a ghost’s chance of getting away.
An image of King Redwald and his band of ghostly warriors sprang up before him. George pushed it down again. This wasn’t the time for fairy stories. He slumped down on the tarpaulin next to Kitty and let out a sigh.
They sat there in silence, Kitty fiddling with her pendant, George fingering his penknife and wondering what Charlie would do in his place.
Suddenly Kitty jerked up her head. ‘Someone is coming!’
George held his breath and listened. She was right. Voices. Men’s voices. He scrambled up, crept to the door and squinted through the knothole. A bunch of shadowy figures were approaching.
Kitty drew alongside him, supporting herself with what looked like an old bean stick. ‘Can you see them?’
He blinked and focused again, but it was no use; the hole wasn’t big enough to get a proper view. He shook his head.
The voices grew louder. Nudging him aside, Kitty pressed her ear to the hole. She listened for a few moments, then gave a small moan and pulled back, eyes wide with fear.
‘What?’
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. And then, as the voices grew louder still, George understood why she was so afraid. Because it wasn’t English the men were speaking; it was German. His chest tightened. ‘Jerries!’
She nodded.
‘What’re they saying?’
She took a deep breath and put her ear to the hole again.
‘Ritter is telling the others about the crown.’
Another man’s voice broke in. Steel-tipped and stony-hard. A voice used to giving orders.
She shivered. ‘He is the one in charge. He is angry. He wants to know why Ritter does not have it.’
Their captor spoke again. Quieter, more nervous-sounding.
Kitty held her breath, then whispered, ‘Ritter says it is in Opa’s museum. That he has paid a local man to get it back.’
George curled his fingers. ‘That’ll be Jarvis.’
‘He says he has arranged to meet him here at midnight.’
George grimaced. ‘He’ll be lucky. Bill Jarvis ain’t stupid. He won’t show up empty-handed.’
The second man spoke again, his voice full of tight menace. George’s scalp prickled.
‘Wait!’ Kitty grabbed hold of George’s sleeve. ‘The one in charge is furious. He is asking more questions. And now . . . now Ritter is telling him. Oh!’ She stumbled back, hand clutched to her throat.
‘What?’
‘He does know it was us that took the crown from the camp. What if . . . what if he guesses I am Opa’s granddaughter?’
George frowned. ‘But I thought you said you never met?’
‘It is true, but—’
‘So, if they make us talk, we’ll say we took it to the museum because we thought it was the best place for it. That we knew the man who lived there would know what to do with it.’
Kitty chewed at her lip. George could tell she wasn’t convinced; but what choice did they have?
The man in charge was speaking again. Kitty rammed her ear back against the knothole.
‘What’s he on about now?’
‘The crown. It is not the only thing they are here for.’
‘What else?’
She flapped her hand at him t
o be quiet, listened some more, then gave a stifled gasp.
‘What is it? Tell me!’ He grabbed her by the shoulders.
She looked back at him, eyes full of terror. ‘They are here to . . . to prepare the way for the others.’
‘What others?’
‘The ones who are coming by plane.’
‘You mean more bombers?’
‘No. Soldiers. Parachutists!’
‘What?’
She shuddered and hugged her arms about her. ‘It is the invasion, George. The real one. It is coming here. Tonight.’
A flurry of thoughts and memories spiralled up inside George: of the strange plane he’d seen zigzagging across the river and the two Home Guardsmen who’d been in such a hurry to chase them away; and the man – Ritter, it must’ve been – back there on the bridge sending signals down the river. But before he had the chance to tell Kitty what he was thinking, there was a rattle of metal and the door swung open.
They leapt back as the silhouette of a man in a long dark coat filled the frame.
‘What are you doing here?’ It was the one in charge. Like Ritter, he spoke perfect English, but his voice was older-sounding and the words spat from his mouth like the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun.
George’s stomach gripped tight. This man was dangerous. More dangerous than Ritter. If he suspected they knew about the invasion plans, he’d have them shot on the spot . . . A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his cheek. As he raised his hand to wipe it away, a voice – Charlie’s voice – echoed in his ears:
When the enemy’s got you in his sights, Georgie, you’ve got to come out fighting. If he sees the whites of your eyes, you’re done for.
He gritted his teeth. Charlie was right. He was scared. Scared stiff. But he wasn’t about to let on. Not to a bunch of rotten Nazis.
‘Answer me!’
George sucked in a breath and took a step forwards. ‘It ain’t any of your business.’
The man gave a sharp, guttural laugh. ‘No? Well, we will see about that.’ He turned and barked an order in German.
‘Jawohl, Hauptsturmführer Adler.’
Buried Crown Page 15
