by Dan Davis
‘And it’s not just soldiers and horse that they’re taking,’ Lilly said.
‘Surely not,’ Winstanley said.
Lilly nodded. ‘They have a landship.’
Shattered Plans
‘Where can they be?’ Writer said for the twentieth time, to nobody in particular. They were gathered on the far side of the north gate bridge under a large beech beside the road. It was cold. The moon was bright enough to cast shadows upon the frosty ground. The road surface was cobbled for the most part but the ground to either side was churned up and lumpy from the passing of hundreds of boots and hoofs. The pits and hollows created by such disturbance had frozen hard into their new shapes.
‘Maybe they ain’t coming,’ Pym said. No one responded. Cedd and Keeper just kept staring back across the bridge at the dark gate. Keeper was desperate to see Burp but he also seemed to be suffering from some mental exhaustion.
Writer poked the crusting peak of one with the toe of her boot, pushing gently on the surface then tapping cracks into it with a gentle tap, tap, tap. It was extremely curious, she thought, how water is able to freeze into so hard a substance as ice. Hard and yet brittle. Unyielding to pressure evenly spread yet prone to shatter under sudden impact. And then when a puddle is heated by the sunlight or a pot is boiled the liquid changes its form once again into steam and then dissipates into the air until it is no more. Is that what I am? Writer wondered. Am I hard as ice and just as easily breakable? Shall I shatter from a sharp blow? Or will I boil away into nothing? Frustrated, she stamped her foot into the muddy ice peak and walked it flat.
‘Patience, my dear,’ Cedd said. ‘There is yet time.’
She listened to the gentle bubbling of the Colne flowing under the bridge. Felt the edges crusting with ice. Something off in the dark scurried by. A fox, she thought, or perhaps a badger. Probably nothing more than a rat. Archer would know, she thought.
‘Reckon I’ll be off now, then, squire,’ Pym said.
‘You stay until your oath is fulfilled,’ Cedd said. ‘Or you shall not live to be sorry.’
Pym scowled and opened his mouth to argue but Keeper’s voice broke over them, speaking the words she had been longing to hear. ‘There they are.’
The mule pulling the wagon through the open gateway was being driven by Winstanley and she could make out Archer and Weaver sitting on the back. Yet there was no iron cage. And no Burp.
Keeper ran by her with a grin on his face but after just a couple more steps he stopped dead. His shoulders slumped once more; his brief joy shattered like a frozen puddle.
‘He’s not there, Keeper,’ Archer said, jumping down from the cart as it stopped in the road under the tree. He threw his arms round his friend. They were both short but where Archer was built like a sparrow, Keeper was like a badger but she knew he was strong and he had to be to hold Keeper steady in that moment. ‘He’s not there but we know where they’re taking him and we’re going right after him.’
‘Not London?’ Cedd blurted out.
‘They’re taking him back to the Vale, to Bede’s Tower. They want to do something with his powers, whatever that means, to use him to get into the tower or maybe it was to make Bede’s magic things work, I’m not sure. But that’s where they’re going.’
Cedd sighed. ‘That’s a relief.’
‘What, they’re taking it right back to where you started, ha ha!’ Pym said but he stopped laughing when a sudden wind started to blow up, whipping through the branches above and making the twigs snap and thwack into one another.
‘Is that... Pym?’ Archer said and his eyes were glowing in the darkness as he walked slowly towards the disgusting soldier.
‘Hold on,’ Pym said, backing away with his hands up. ‘You just hold it one moment there. I been helping your friends out. Your witch here and this nasty old alchemist, I been helping, doing them a favour to get your dragon boy out of that castle.’
Archer hesitated and Writer knew she had to stop this before it turned ugly. ‘He’s telling the truth,’ she said. ‘Almost. We made him help us but he did help rescue Keeper.’
‘We killed you,’ he said to Pym.
Pym laughed. He obviously knew he was safe again. ‘Oh it takes more than being shot with arrows, stabbed, set on fire and savaged by wolves to kill old Pym, my lad.’
‘Fine,’ Archer said, then turning to Keeper. ‘We’re going to get him back, only...’ He looked around at everyone in the group. ‘The whole city garrison is heading to the Vale, to take control of it and Bede’s Tower. The dragon is with them. Soldiers, horse. And the landship.’
‘What’s the plan, Archer?’ Writer asked him.
He shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he said, surprising her for a moment. ‘Nothing other than attack them, defeat them, save Burp.’
‘Yes,’ Weaver said, grinning her lopsided grin at Archer.
Cedd sighed. ‘You’re a soldier, Pym. Tell us what the soldiers will be doing if these children attack them as they attacked you.’
Pym laughed. ‘Your English soldier only knows how to do three things. March, dig and fire his musket. First thing any halfway clever officer will do is have his company lined up firing and reloading and firing three rounds a minute at you all.’
‘So what?’ Archer said, glaring. ‘You fired at me and I pushed the musketballs to the side by moving the air. You know, that time you tried to kill me so you could steal Burp.’
‘You moved the air, did you now?’ Pym said, seemingly impressed. ‘Well, that explains how I missed hitting you dead centre at such close range.’ He touched his filthy index finger to the middle of his forehead and smiled. ‘How many shots did I get off again? Two, was it? And I could have sworn my second ripped your ear right off your head. Seems to have grown back though don’t it.’
‘I’ve got better since then,’ Archer said to everyone. ‘Anyway, like Pym said, we four have the Elixir of Life in us, from Bede. Our injuries heal quickly.’
‘Can you imagine hundreds of muskets firing at once? All aimed at you four kitlings? Shooting again and again; how many musketballs you would have to shift? Now, I ain’t what you might call gifted as far as numbers go but I can tell you that there is a big number. A thousand metal balls, two thousands? You ain’t got a hope. You might have magic spells and whatnot but you ain’t got nothing can stop a cannonball, have you?’ Pym cackled his hideous laugh.
No one spoke for a moment. Even Archer looked lost for words.
‘There is but one man in all the world powerful enough to stop cannonballs,’ Cedd said, lightly. ‘Bede.’
‘Bede?’ Writer blurted. ‘Bede is... gone and he’s never coming back.’
Cedd pursed his lips. ‘That is not necessarily true.’
‘What?’ Writer said.
‘I am largely ignorant of magic, of course,’ Cedd said. ‘But I have known Bede for centuries and picked up a thing or two. Which is how I come to know that some transmutation spells are... reversible.’
‘What’s he saying?’ Weaver asked.
Writer broke out in a cold sweat. ‘He’s saying we could turn Bede back into a man,’ she said. ‘And then Bede can protect us against the muskets and cannon.’
‘Why did you not mention this before?’ Archer cried.
‘You would never have agreed,’ Cedd said. ‘And we need Bede’s Codex, the Wicungboc.’
‘Hopkins has it,’ Writer said. ‘Hopkins is currently surrounded by hundreds of soldiers who would defeat us.’
‘Unless we take the book without being discovered,’ Cedd said.
‘You’re suggesting,’ Writer said. ‘That we catch up to the soldiers, sneak past hundreds of them, break in to Hopkins’ personal belongings, take back the Wicungboc and escape without being discovered. Then climb into the north Moon Forest, find Bede’s basket so I can bring him back to life again. Then Bede will defeat Hopkins and the army for us.’
‘Yes,’ Cedd said.
Archer
shook his head. ‘That’s madness.’
‘No,’ Writer said. ‘It’s our only chance.’
Burning the Moon Forest
Sweet sleep lay beyond Archer’s grasp as the wagon rattled and groaned northwards through the dark. Winstanley had kindly suggested they lay in the back of the wagon bundled up in the sackcloth, for warmth and comfort. They were all four side by side. Archer laid next to Keeper who seemed to be dozing fitfully, murmuring and twitching at every bump or squeal of the ungreased axel. Weaver was on the other side of Keeper and snoring like a drain. Writer was next to her and Archer hoped she was able to get some sleep as she had looked pale and exhausted.
Pym snored, lying across the rear of the wagon, one leg hanging off the back. Archer was sorely tempted to push him off but Pym had wedged his arm through a gap in the side planking. Winstanley was up front driving the mule with Cedd beside him. Archer could hear them murmuring to each other but frustratingly was unable to make out more than a few words here and there.
But for himself, sleep would not come. Even the pleasant rocking of the wagon and regular creaking of the axle could not lull him into slumber. His mind instead spun round and round like one of the wagon wheels below grinding its iron rim into the frozen road. Foremost in his mind was his family. It was not just his parents and brothers and sisters on their farm but there was his mother’s family to the north and his father’s brothers living near Bures at the far south and west of the Vale and all their neighbours, too. Everyone he knew had never done anything but grow wheat and hemp and kale, giving most of the harvest to Bede. After Bede was defeated, all their lives had become significantly better; all of their produce was kept or sold for the benefit of all.
But then just a few English soldiers stealing and burning and kidnapping as they came up the Vale to grab Burp had caused shocking damage. And now there hundreds on their way who were set to stay. The army under Hopkins would be worse even that Bede had been.
Archer sat up, rubbing his eyes. Darkness was giving way to light and the freezing air was beginning to warm from the sun yet beyond the horizon. He climbed from the back into the front, squeezing between Winstanley and Cedd, who had changed out of his army uniform back into his dark coat. Winstanley nodded a greeting.
Archer did not answer right away. ‘What did you say before about how the Vale is seen by Coalschester? By the rest of England? You said we are well known by outsiders?’
‘Ever since I was a boy I have heard talk of the Vale as a prosperous land.’ Winstanley said. ‘A land that had full harvests even when there was famine in England.’
‘But how did they know?’ Archer said. ‘No one could ever get through the Moon Forest.’
‘Bede would appear in Coalschester or elsewhere with sacks of grain and bales of wool no matter the scarcity in England. And so the land of the Vale was ever coveted. We knew there were magic spells on the land that made it fertile, that made it rain just the right amount. Many have wanted to farm the Vale. And if Hopkins takes the Vale on behalf of Cromwell then the food harvested could even help to win the war.’
‘How can food win a war?’ Archer asked.
He felt Winstanley shrug beside him. ‘Lot of soldiers to feed. Half the country is still under Royalist control. Probably Hopkins will take the Vale from you, expel all your people, send them up to farm the moorlands or even just scatter everyone to the winds. Most lost folk end up wandering to London, living in hovels by the river picking up what bits of gubbins and flotsam they can find. Sorry, lad. If your people are anything like you four children then they deserve better.’
‘You know there are no magic spells on the land, don’t you?’ Archer said instead. ‘We go hungry all the time.’
Cedd cleared his throat. ‘The land is special. Bede does something to enrich it, somehow. He has also developed the most efficient of farming practices, improving them decade after decade after recording and testing. He may even make it rain but I do not myself understand such things.’
‘Then how do you explain our hunger?’ Archer asked.
‘Surviving on a tenth of what you produce is truly astonishing. It seems normal to you but to anyone else in the kingdom that would be an impossibility. Originally, it was only one tenth he required people to hand over, which was the standard across the land at that time. To give one tenth of everything to the Alchemist’s Guild.’
‘So why did some of us starve?’ Archer said.
Cedd scoffed. ‘Bede had his reasons.’
‘He did it on purpose?’
‘I do not deny his methods could seem extreme but Bede knows as I do that the long term results are justified by the short term losses suffered by some along the way. We have lost too, you know.’
‘And you tell us that our only chance to defeat Hopkins’s soldiers is to bring Bede back?’ Archer said. ‘But then the Vale folk would be back to living under his thumb. Perhaps that would not be so bad as living in London but it hardly makes me want to fight to make it happen.’
Winstanley and Cedd exchanged a look over his head.
‘Oh, I am sure Bede would improve the lot of the Vale folk. Out of gratitude,’ Cedd said. ‘But there really is no other way to be fight so many soldiers and a landship. We are vastly outnumbered.’
‘Mmmm,’ said Archer. Cedd would say anything to get his friend Bede brought back to life. ‘But we can’t revive Bede without the Wicungboc.’
‘Quite right.’
Archer doubted such a theft was possible but he had another idea for saving the Vale. One he had no wish to share with Cedd. An idea that would leave the Vale folk in charge of their own future. He sniffed. ‘I can smell burning.’
‘There’s your smoke, lad.’ Winstanley pointed ahead through the murky dawn. Sure enough, beyond the close hill was a great column of grey smoke catching the first rays of morning sunlight. ‘An awful lot of campfires.’
They broached the brow of the hill. Winstanley hauled on the reins, coming to a stop.
Archer stood up on the wagon. ‘They’re burning the Moon Forest.’
Breaking Up
Winstanley knew of an inn at a village called Mistley which was just outside the Vale. Mistley was where the road from Coalschester led and the road led no further. The soldiers had set up a vast camp on the edge of the Moon Forest and were working their way inwards by burning and chopping and sawing a wide roadway through the dense, ancient trees.
They would steal the Wicungboc that night. They could not approach the army camp until dark and so they would rest and regain their strength before making their desperate attempt to save the Vale.
The delay was galling and yet Writer was glad for the opportunity to truly rest for the first time in... she knew not how many days. Her exhaustion had begun when Hopkins and Stearne’s brutes had arrested her and they had kept her awake through the nights and using her abilities in Cedd’s boat had drained her more. It was only now that she had stopped that she realised how weak her limbs and her mind were. Thus it was with some relief that she sat at table in the dark back parlour of the Thorne inn with her belly full of soup. There was a fire in the hearth throwing off a soporific heat and she was content to simply sit while the strength flowed back into her body.
Archer, on the other hand, was angry. He paced back and forth across the room. The others sat around tables. They had eaten. Weaver was eating still, slurping at her third bowl of soup and tearing into what was left of a loaf.
‘This white bread,’ she said to Winstanley with her mouth full, bits of bread spraying out. ‘Bread in the Vale is well enough but it is brown and has all bits in. This stuff is so delicious. Like eating a cloud.’
Keeper was sitting between Writer and Weaver with his head in his hands, elbows resting upon the dark stained table. His bowl of soup had grown cold with a glutinous congealed film over the top and his bread sat untouched next to his bowl. ‘You going to eat that, Keeper?’ Weaver asked him, leaning over with her mouth full and elbowing him in the
side.
‘No,’ Keeper muttered without looking up so she made a grab for his bread.
Writer leaned over and slapped Weaver’s hand away. Writer gently placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘Keeper, you should eat your soup.’
Keeper shook his head slowly.
‘Please, you must eat to get strong. How can you get Burp back if you don’t get strong? ‘
Keeper picked up his spoon and began mindlessly slurping up his soup. She squeezed his shoulder.
Pym was snoring again lying face down his table across the room, covered in sacking but she could still smell his filth. The man reeked and was no doubt covered in fleas and lice.
‘We have to warn them,’ Archer said, the dark floor boards creaking under his feet as he made his turn by the window for the hundredth time. ‘We must tell the Vale folk what is coming for them.’
‘And what use will that knowledge be to them?’ Cedd replied. ‘There is nothing that they can do stop them. You would merely create a panic.’
‘Good,’ Archer spun on his heel at the other end of the room by Pym. ‘Perhaps the panic will make them do something.’
‘Such as?’ Cedd said. ‘Fight armed soldiers, horse? What can the Vale folk do against a landship? Unless you are hiding a dozen cannon in your barn?’
‘They could run away before the soldiers come,’ Writer said.
‘Where will they go?’ Cedd asked. ‘No one outside the Vale knows them. What town could take in thousands of men, women and children all at once?’
‘You said they’ll be forced from their homes anyway,’ Archer countered.
‘They will only be forced out if we fail,’ Cedd replied. ‘You must all stay with me and increase our chance of success.’
‘We have to warn the Vale instead.’
‘I won’t allow it,’ Cedd said.
‘Allow it?’ Archer’s eyes glowed with a pale white light. ‘Since when do you have any authority over me? And what makes you think you could stop me?’
Cedd looked angry, Writer thought, and she expected him to start shouting. Instead he chuckled and held up his hands. ‘A bad choice of words on my part. What I mean is that we need your help to get Bede’s Wicungboc from Hopkins. With Bede, your family and everyone else shall be safe anyway.’
