by Dan Davis
Cedd pushed her forward, more gently this time. ‘Don’t get any ideas about that water, girl,’ he whispered, before raising his voice. ‘Good evening to you, lads,’ Cedd said to the men as they approached. ‘Prisoner for the gaol.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said one and he pushed at a small door that was cleverly set into the huge door. She stepped through into a wide, short corridor lit with lamps set into alcoves on the left. The ceiling was very high above. Every surface was whitewashed but grubby. The floor was covered with filthy straw. On the right was an open doorway and inside she glimpsed a couple more soldiers lounging at a table, drinking and laughing. Cedd hurried her past it and down the corridor they came to another open door, beyond she caught sight of a large hall with long benches and tables.
‘Not that way,’ Cedd said, pulling her back. ‘That’s the mess hall. We go this way,’ he pointed to an opening with stone steps leading down into inky blackness. ‘We’re for the gaol, dear girl.’
Down the steep stone steps into the darkness, heart drumming in her ears. Round a bend, through an open door into an antechamber. There was a huge soldier in a filthy uniform behind a square table stuffing his face with cooked animal flesh. A corridor led off behind him, iron-bound doors leading off of it.
‘I have a prisoner here from the Vale,’ Cedd said. ‘I’m going to put her with the other one, where is he?’
‘I’m to do what?’ the soldier said, squinting up in the lamplight. He was a big man; tall and with a huge belly and shoulders but he also seemed incredibly stupid. ‘You an officer?’
‘Yes,’ Cedd said. ‘Where’s the prisoner brought from the Vale?’
‘He’s down there, third door on the right, sir.’ He jerked a filthy thumb over his shoulder.
She hoped Keeper was not hurt. Her friend must be feeling just awful being kept apart from Burp, she thought, and what that separation may have done to him was a terrible thing to consider. It was cold down in the gaol and the air was damp and smelled of mould and stale sweat and human filth. Poor, poor Keeper.
‘Well, hand over the he key, man,’ Cedd said
‘Hand it over?’ the guard looked appalled. ‘Just hand over the key to a prisoner’s cell, sir? Dangerous prisoner like that, sir?’
‘Give me the key,’ Cedd said. ‘Now.’
The guard’s eyes glazed over. ‘Give you the keys,’ he mumbled and lifted up the big roll of belly that covered his belt and rummaged around for a moment, clanking and jangling until he peeled off a single key. ‘Key, sir,’ he said and went back to stuffing some greasy muck into his pasty face.
‘Come,’ Cedd said and they walked down the filthy, dark corridor. Water dripped from somewhere and the drip-drip-drip noise echoed strangely in the narrow space until they reached the heavy third door. Cedd raised his voice. ‘Hello, boy. You do not know me but I know you. Do not be afraid. I have your friend with me.’
Cedd turned the key. Writer looked back at the guard who was twisting his fleshy body round in his chair, frowning at them.
Cedd pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Writer heard a man’s voice crying out. ‘Look, I told you everything already, didn’t I? Wait, what’s going on? Who are you?’ The voice was gravelly, angry. Familiar.
‘Who are you?’ Cedd growled back. ‘Where’s the boy?’
‘Boy?’ the voice, like a chain dragged over gravel. She knew that voice.
Writer stepped in behind Cedd. It was empty other than a pile of dirty straw and a wooden pail overflowing with human effluent. The stench hit her like a wave.
‘Listen, guv,’ the man said. He was filthy, dressed rags. ‘After everything I told you people about that place and all, I deserve better than this, right? After all, fair’s fair, guv. Fair’s fair.’
Writer’s skin crawled. She recognised him now. His face was dirty and his beard thick and, in truth, she had thought him dead but she knew it was him.
It was Pym.
The Dragon’s Cage
Archer looked round the corner across the moonlit street into the dark streets leading to the marketplace. His breath misted in front of his face. The air was bitterly cold and promised to only get colder through until dawn. People walked the streets around them and voices from distant crowds floated in the air along with the cloying stink of burning coal. No one paid him and Weaver the slightest attention while they waited for Winstanley to arrive. They had until sunrise to rescue Burp, meet the others and get away before anyone knew they were gone.
Only, Winstanley was late.
‘Let’s just go and get Burp,’ Weaver said close to his ear. ‘We know he’s just down that road in a big marketplace, right? Winstanley said most of the soldiers have gone on movements or whatever and if there are any, well...’ she punched her fist into her palm. ‘It’ll be time for a Weaving.’
‘Winstanley’s getting a wagon,’ Archer said. ‘We can’t get Burp out of the city without one.’
‘Burp can walk,’ Weaver said. ‘He’s slow but he can sort of crawl on his wings.’
‘What do you think the soldiers will do when they see a dragon walking out the north gate?’
‘Don’t matter what they think if I give them a weaving.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘When ain’t you?’ Weaver said. ‘Do you think he’s big enough to fly now?’
‘He’ll never fly,’ Archer said. ‘Not after the Alchemist kept them chained up tight for years. When Owen smashed his chains off it was the best thing I ever saw, him being free. But his wings are crippled, always will be.’
Weaver didn’t say anything so she obviously knew he was right.
‘Winstanley will be along soon,’ Archer said, straining to see in the dark.
‘You trust him?’
‘The way I see it, Winstanley and Cedd don’t want Cromwell’s men to have Keeper or Burp and that’s why they’re helping us. But if they try to cross us later on, then...’
‘Then it’s time for a Weaving,’ Weaver said.
Archer smiled. ‘Exactly.’
He heard an ungreased axle squeaking and wagon wheels clattering along with hoofs on cobblestones echoing through the half empty streets.
‘What a relief,’ Weaver said, picking at her ear.
Winstanley’s wagon, when it finally drew near from the shadows was being pulled, very slowly, by a tired looking old mule with a drooping head. Winstanley sat atop with a heavy cloak around him. ‘Best I could do, I am afraid,’ he said, sheepishly.
‘What is this rotten load of rubbish?’ Weaver said, kicking at a spoke. ‘It’s like a pig sty on wheels.’
‘There’s a war on, you know. All the good wagons were taken by the army and we’re left with wonky wagons and broken old nags.’ The mule turned round and looked at Winstanley. ‘Oh, you know it’s true,’ he said to it.
He and Weaver climbed onto the flat back of the wagon. There were piles of sackcloth in there, a bundle of Cedd’s clothes and some tools but not much else.
‘The sacking’s so we can hide him,’ Winstanley explained as he flicked the reigns and drove the mule forward down the road. ‘The dragon’s cage is only lightly guarded,’ Winstanley said over his shoulder. ‘My men said that earlier this evening a lot of soldiers came to the cage and they forced everyone fully out of the square, told them to go home, fun with the dragon was over. One of my men crept back later and said now there’s only a couple soldiers left, counting the pennies they made from the crowd. The dragon’s cage was covered over and quiet, thankfully. Poor creature.’
‘How do we deal with the guards?’ Archer asked him.
‘All the good soldiers are off fighting the war across England in Cromwell’s New Model Army. The soldiers left guarding this city are too dim-witted to know which end of a musket is dangerous. And of all the bad soldiers in Coalschester, it’s the worst ones that get jobs like guarding something outdoors in a freezing winter night. And we know that almost all the garrison has left the city to
go on manoeuvres tonight. So these fellows should not be a problem for young folk with your considerable talents.’
‘Too right,’ Weaver said.
‘Whatever it takes,’ Archer said. The cart emerged into a wide, empty market square. The walls of the buildings around the edges were hidden in moonlight shadow. Across the square there was big box shape in the corner near the wall of a tavern. Muffled sounds of music and merriment were coming through the wall and from the shuttered windows. The cage was the size of an outbuilding on the farm but covered with heavy black cloth, one corner fluttering in the breeze. Winstanley drew the wagon to a stop beside it. The only sound was that of the mule wheezing; its breath a silver cloud.
‘Where are the guards?’ Weaver said, disappointed.
‘I can’t hear anything inside,’ Archer said.
Archer carefully lifted the nearest corner of the cloth covering the cage.
‘What’s going on?’ A man’s voice, right there in the darkness on the other side of the blanket inside the cage as the moonlight fell upon him climbing unsteadily to his feet, clutching a bottle to his chest. It was a familiar looking soldier. The wide cage door was open and the soldier staggered out rubbing his face with one hand. ‘Where’s Bill gone?’ he asked them, blinking.
Archer looked inside the cage. There were some sacks of stuff and a musket and a dim lamp but nothing else.
‘Where’s the dragon?’ Archer said, trying to calm the cold fire rising in his heart.
‘Look,’ the soldier said, his face twisting into anger but still somehow familiar. ‘We told you people the fun’s over. No more chucking stones at the dragon, right? It was funny while it lasted but the dragon went away, understand?’ He looked at the bottle in his hand, shook it and sighed. ‘Wouldn’t go grab my musket from in there, would you, mate? Don’t trip on the stones and sticks in there what you people threw at him, I ain’t got round to sweeping it all out yet.’
‘No,’ Archer said, stepping close to the soldier and staring up at him. ‘We want that dragon.’
The soldier seemed to shake himself, like a dog that’s banged its head. He looked at down at Archer. He looked at their wagon. The mule looked back at him, and snorted. ‘Thieves are you?’ the soldier said loudly and standing straighter. ‘Bill,’ he shouted. ‘Bill, it’s me, Richard. We got some thieves here.’
‘Now, hold on there, my good fellow,’ Winstanley said, his tone even and calm. ‘I am sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. Perhaps I could purchase for you another bottle of wine?’
‘Richard?’ Archer said, suddenly realising where he recognised the soldier from. ‘You’re the one me and Weaver saw on the road. You found my arrow. You stole old Ellen and Owen’s silver and burned down Cobnut House. You’re the one who captured Keeper and Burp in the first place.’
Weaver yelled and ran at the soldier and butted him in the chest so hard that he fell backwards and cracked his head into the cobbles. His bottle smashed into a thousand pieces in an explosion of glass.
Richard looked groggy as she jumped onto him and knelt on his chest. She grabbed his collar with one hand and raised the other fist high. ‘Tell us where the dragon’s gone or I’ll knock your block off,’ she said.
‘Alchemist’s Tower,’ the soldier called Richard said, eyes unfocused. ‘Please don’t hit me, miss. They took that stupid dragon up to the Alchemist’s Tower a couple hours ago.’ He held a shaky finger up and pointed upwards over the houses to the west.
Archer looked up at the Tower, its shining green metal roof reflecting the bright moon. It was very tall. And it was clear across the other side of the city.
‘Then that’s where we’re going,’ Archer said. ‘Where’s Ellen and Owen’s silver? And all the other stuff you stole from the Vale?’
‘In the cage,’ Richard said, quickly. ‘I was guarding it while the others had a drink. We sold some already but it’s mostly there.’
‘Winstanley, bring the wagon, quickly and grab those sacks of stuff from in that cage. We’ll take it all back to the Vale and return it to Ellen and Owen. But we have only until sunrise to get Burp from the Coalschester Tower so there’s not a moment to be lost. Weaver?’
‘What?’ she said, still kneeling on Richard’s chest and holding him by the lapel of his coat.
‘We can’t have him telling the other soldiers about us,’ Archer said, pointing at the soldier who had so enjoyed hurting Burp and ravaging the Vale. ‘Knock him out.’
‘With pleasure.’
All Water Under the Bridge
‘No,’ Pym looked past Cedd and saw Writer. He was pointing at her as he backed into the dank rear wall of his cell. ‘Keep away from me, witch.’
Writer was astonished that Pym could be terrified of her.
‘What on earth is going on?’ Cedd said, looking annoyed. ‘Maerwynn, who is this man?’
‘You gots to help me, squire,’ Pym said to Cedd. ‘Protect old Pym from that witch.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Cedd said to him. ‘Do you know this creature, Maerwynn?’
‘This man attacked us in the Moon Forest,’ she said. ‘After we escaped Bede’s Tower we were heading home. Hungry, cold, tired and he was following us. He tried to steal Burp.’
‘And then what happened?’ Cedd said.
‘They did me in,’ Pym wailed from the corner of the room, crouched against the wall with his hands holding his head. ‘Poor old Pym who ain’t never done nothing to no one and they done ripped me to shreds, that’s what.’
‘We were defending ourselves,’ Writer shouted. ‘Archer shot him with arrows and Weaver stabbed his leg and Keeper and Burp set him on fire, a little bit,’ she said. It did sound quite bad, she realised.
‘Tell me how you came to be here,’ Cedd commanded Pym in that voice he did.
‘She magicked me,’ Pym cried. ‘Alchemist’s magic from a great purple spell book. Magic that called the guardian wolves down on old Pym. Dragged me away, they did. Dragged me out of the forest. One of Cromwell’s men found me, this bloke Thurloe. They was going to hang old Pym as a deserter. But I had stories to tell them, oh yes. Don’t think I didn’t cough it up for them. Just a bit at a time, like. You can’t go spurting the whole lot out else they’re not going to keep you around, see? Always leave them wanting more. Old Pym ain’t silly, no, sir.’
After a moment of confusion, Writer was hit by a realisation. ‘It was you,’ she said. ‘You are the reason why Thurloe, Hopkins and Stearne and the soldiers came into the Vale.’ It was all so clear to her now. ‘And that was how they knew about the Wicungboc. How they knew about Burp. How they knew who to ask about when they came to Morningtree. It was you! You told them.’ She shook with rage. She wanted to hit him but she controlled herself and just stood in the middle of the filthy cell, angry, angry and frustrated. ‘I felt bad when I thought you’d died,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I felt bad, even though you attacked us and you deserved it, I still felt bad. But now I wish you had died. If it wasn’t for you we’d all still be happy in the Vale, with no one bothering us at all. This is all your fault.’
‘Yes,’ Cedd said to her, softly and placing a hand on her shoulder, which she threw off. ‘Yes, this man wronged you and your friends. However, you... disposed of Bede and so brought his protection spells down. It was only a matter of time before outsiders came flooding in to the Vale.’
‘It might have been years away,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘And they wouldn’t have known to come for Burp and us, would they? I hate you, you awful, nasty man.’
Pym still cowered in the corner. ‘Yes, yes,’ he muttered, nodding furiously. ‘And quite right you are, too, quite right. Terrible, I am, terrible. Please don’t magic me.’
The huge guard appeared in the doorway, wheezing and leaned on the door frame. ‘What’s all this racket, sir?’ he said to Cedd while wiping a greasy hand down his coat.
‘This... man is the wrong prisoner.’ He pointed at Pym. ‘I need the boy who was brou
ght here yesterday, or the day before.’
The guard scratched his wobbly, spotty neck. ‘No boys been brought here,’ he said. ‘You’d have to be uncommon cruel to lock up a boy in this place, sir.’
Writer almost screamed in frustration. ‘Was there a boy brought to anywhere in the castle, then?’ she said instead.
‘Heard talk of a boy,’ the guard said, slowly nodding. ‘I believe he was a blacksmith.’
‘That’s him,’ Writer said. ‘Where is he?’
‘Probably the forge.’
‘How do we get there?’ she said.
‘Hold on, why is it you asking?’ the guard said to her, his fleshy face screwed up in thought. ‘Ain’t you a prisoner?’
‘No,’ Writer said, losing her temper. ‘I am rescuing my friend and if you don’t tell me where he is right now I am going to…’ she couldn’t think of something threatening but then she thought of what Weaver would say. ‘I’ll knock your block off.’
‘Rescuing?’ the guard said. ‘Escape, is it?’ He pulled a heavy wooden cudgel from under the folds of gut at his waist and held it up over his head ready to strike them. ‘No one escapes from Coalschester Gaol. I’ll see every one of you cracked on the skull first.’
Suddenly, the guard did not seem so harmless. He charged into the tiny cell right at Cedd and her. She dived one way and Cedd went the other. She darted for the door but the guard swung his cudgel down toward her head and she only just checked her forward momentum. The cudgel whistled past her face and smacked into the stone floor. Cedd came at him but the big guard elbowed the old man in the face and Cedd cried out, staggering backwards.
Then, Writer saw Pym get to his feet, grab his effluent bucket and swing it overarm into the back of the guard’s head. The bucket bounced off, spraying foul poop all over the guard’s face and body.
The guard looked surprised. His eyes and his mouth formed three perfect circles on his face. Then he keeled over onto his front with a crash that made the floor shake.
