by John Patrick
Geoffrey's old car was unaccustomed to long journeys and demanded frequent stops to top up with water. Geoffrey wasn't any better, his old bladder needed just as many breaks to let water out. So between the two of them, they made stuttering progress north up the motorway, one service station at a time. Finally they crossed the border from England into Scotland and Geoffrey pulled into Gretna Green Services to use the toilet again. The trip had been slow and tedious, made worse by the old woman's long, meandering stories interspersed with loud snoring. Elvis gratefully escaped the car and wandered into the shop to flick through the magazines.
Outside, a rusty old car spluttered to a halt at the petrol pumps, followed closely by a growling Subaru. Morris climbed out of his Austin Allegro and lifted the bonnet. His face disappeared into a cloud of steam.
'We should dump that piece of rubbish right here!' shouted the Bishop. 'You'd be quicker on a horse, man!'
'I'll just get some oil and water and she'll be good as new again.' reassured Morris.
Elvis replaced the magazine on the rack and wandered aimlessly around the shop. He picked up a crystal hedgehog and held it up to the light. It was rather dull compared to his red stone. He picked up a porcelain thimble and squinted at a tiny painting of Gretna on its side.
'Are you going to buy that?' snapped a shop assistant.
'Oh... em, no.'
'Why are you touching it then?'
'Well, I was... interested.' stammered Elvis.
'So you do want to buy it?'
'Em, well, maybe...'
'It's five pounds.'
'I'm not sure I've got enough.'
'Give it here! Messing up my displays.'
As the woman attempted to snatch the thimble back from his hand, Elvis's jaw fell open. Through the window, he saw Morris, quenching the Allegro's engine with a watering can. Behind him, the Bishop in his long coat was marching around the car with hands on hips, kicking the tyres with contempt. The thimble fell from Elvis's hand and smashed on the floor.
'Now you will have to buy it!'
Elvis didn't hear the woman. He turned quickly to leave. The shop assistant grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
'You're not going anywhere! Five pounds, or I call security.'
'What? But I haven't got...'
'Five pounds. Where's your parents?'
'Just a minute.' Elvis searched through his pockets, keeping one eye on the window. He saw Morris replace the radiator cap then head towards the shop. Elvis fumbled quickly through his pockets until he found enough coins. 'Here.' He tipped the change into her hands.
'No, you got to pay at the till.'
Elvis didn't have time to join the queue. He headed straight for the exit. But before he got close, the door swung open and Morris wandered inside. Elvis dived behind the magazine racks.
'Where would I find the lubricant?' Morris asked.
The shop assistant was still pushing Elvis's coins into her pocket. 'Lubricant? You mean oil? Over there.' She nodded brusquely towards shelves of car accessories.
Elvis crept around the magazine racks towards the exit. The door opened again and this time the Bishop strutted inside. Elvis span around, picked up a copy of Good Hair Monthly and peeped over the top.
The Bishop began browsing the toiletry shelves near to the door, blocking Elvis's escape. Morris meanwhile was paying for his litre of oil, and outside, Monica was strolling up the pavement in the direction of the shop.
Elvis had to get out and stop her before she was seen. But how could he get past the Bishop?
The shop manager approached him again and scowled.
'Interested in hair now, are we?'
'Em, no. I was just.... looking at that man, the one there in the black coat.'
'Why? What about him?'
'I just saw him hide some things in his coat. He's a shoplifter.' Elvis whispered the words.
'Nobody steals from my shop!' bawled the woman. She strode up to the Bishop and seized his arm. 'Mavis get Trev in here now! We have a shoplifter.'
'What the hell are you doing woman?' roared the Bishop. 'Get your hands off me!'
The Bishop shoved her away and she staggered back into a display stand loaded with sunglasses. The stand toppled over, glasses crashed across the tiled floor and the shop assistant landed on top.
'Security to the shop please.' the anxious voice crackled over the loudspeaker. 'Security to the shop. Code black! Make it quick Trev!'
'Oi, what's your bloody game?' A truck driver stepped in and poked a finger into the Bishop's chest.
A middle-aged burly security guard charged in through the door. 'What's goin' on!'
'He attacked me!' screeched the shop assistant, climbing off the broken stand. 'He's a thief.'
Elvis placed Good Hair Monthly back on the rack and slipped out of the shop. On the pavement, outside Monica was examining a poster-sized map of Britain and trying to work out how far they had left to travel.
'Mum, quick, we've got to go!'
'What was going on in there Elvis?'
'He's here! Morris, in the shop, and that other man! We've got to go!'
They hurried back to the car. Geoffrey and Mother Munro were waiting.
'We'll have te hurry then.' said Mother Munro after Elvis had explained. 'I thought we might have had a little bit more time than this. Those two and their kind will stop at nothing te get control of this stoon. And I mean nothing. We canna let them catch us. Mister Geoffrey, we'd best be takin' the quiet roods, away fro' the traffic. An' remember, no matter what else happens, tha' stoon must be at the Toower of Hallbar at midnight.'
They sneaked around the rear of the service station and onto the back roads. Elvis took the job of map reading. It was a slow and winding journey. Darkness fell. The feeble headlights of the old Princess struggled to penetrate the blackness ahead. Soon after dark they were lost and Geoffrey needed to pee again. He pulled the car into a lay-by and disappeared into some bushes. Elvis took the map around the front of the car and held it before the headlights.
Two more sets of lights appeared in the wall of darkness behind them.
'Put oot the lights! Quick!' barked Mother Munro.
'What's the matter? They'd never find us here.' said Monica. 'Would they?'
'Dinna under-estimate them Monica. Their eyes are everywhere. Noo put them oot, please.'
Monica leant forward, twisted the light switch and the lay-by fell back into darkness. Behind them, the cars were approaching quickly, their lights stripping back the curtain of night from the fields and hedgerows.
'This will be them all reet.' said the old woman. 'Elvis, make sure you hang onto that stoon. Mister Geoffrey, will ye be much longer?'
'Hide Elvis, quick!' shouted Monica.
Elvis dived into a bush. He'd stay hidden until the cars had gone by.
But they didn't pass. Instead there was a screech of tyres as the first vehicle came to a halt, the engine growling softly. The second chugged in behind, rattled a little then fell quiet. Elvis pushed himself deeper into the undergrowth.
The Bishop climbed from his Subaru, slammed the door and marched to the back of the Princess. He booted the rear bumper.
'Game's over. Get out!' he shouted.
Geoffrey was appalled. He wanted to knock the man's block off but he knew that his old bones weren't up to that. Instead he shuffled out from the bushes to confront the man who'd dared to kick his pride and joy. He was met by the figure of a man in an ankle-length trench-coat, silhouetted against the dazzling headlights.
'Who the hell do you think you are?' Geoffrey shouted bravely, shielding his eyes.
'I am the Bishop of Southwark.' he growled. 'And you have something that belongs to me. Jarvis! Get round here.'
Geoffrey reached inside the car door and pulled out a tyre iron. He tried to raise it over his head but his shoulders were stiff and slow. The Bishop pulled the iron from Geoffrey's hand and shook his head with contempt. He placed a hand in the old man's chest and pushed him into
a bed of nettles.
'Rest of you. Out of the car. Now!' He crashed the tyre iron onto the car roof.
'No!' howled Geoffrey.
Monica and Mother Munro climbed out and stood at the side of the vehicle.
'Come on Jarvis. Where are you man? Search them! Find my stone!'
Morris slowly appeared from the car's headlights.
'Morris?' said Monica 'Is that really you?'
Morris started searching them, without looking at his wife.
'Morris. How can you do this? How could you lie like that to me? Didn't I ever mean anything to you? Anything at all?'
'Shut up!' snapped the Bishop. 'Come on man. Find the damned stone!'
Morris continued searching in silence.
Elvis crawled out of the bush. He crept unseen into the driving seat of the Subaru. He'd often driven an Imprezza around city roads and even rally circuits; but that was on his X-box. Surely it wouldn't be that different in a real one. The engine was still running. He just had to press his foot on the brake and slide the gear stick into drive. He pressed his left foot down as hard as he could and tugged the gear shift until the D lit up. He was ready. He gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, swallowed hard, then lifted his left foot and rammed his right all the way to the floor.
The engine screamed like a wounded pig, gravel flew like missiles from from the tyres and the car hurtled forwards, lurching from side to side. Elvis wrestled with the steering wheel. The Bishop dived into a bush. The Subaru tore off the door of the Princess and sent it cartwheeling away into the ditch. Elvis pulled the wheel hard right, the car screeched onto the road, snaked several times and then streaked away into the night.
'Elvis! No!' screamed Monica.
'Oh my poor Princess!' shouted Geoffrey.
'You little bastard!' roared the Bishop. 'Jarvis! Jarvis! In that car now!' The Bishop raced to the Allegro and jumped in. 'Get this piece of junk moving!'
'Turn left in three miles.' the GPS advised Elvis coldly.
Elvis was struggling. One headlight was knocked out, and to make it worse, the seat was so far back he had to slide down beneath the steering wheel to reach the pedals. Elvis fumbled under the seat in search of a handle to move the chair.
'You are over the speed limit.' pointed out the GPS.
Elvis found the lever. He pulled it up, the seat lurched forwards, the car lunged sideways and Elvis found himself smashing through a hedgerow and skidding into a field.
'Come on, go faster!' ordered the Bishop.
'This is it! My foots on the floor.' replied Morris.
Monica jumped into the driving seat of Geoffrey's Princess and turned on the ignition. 'Get in!' she barked.
'What are you doing?' shouted Geoffrey. 'She's broken.'
'Get in or I'll leave you here!'
Mother Munro was already in the front passenger seat. Geoffrey climbed reluctantly into the back. Monica planted her foot to the floor and they chugged out of the lay-by.
Elvis was stuck. He rammed the car back and forth into reverse and drive but barbed wire and fence poles were tangled under the car. He rammed it into reverse again and planted his right foot to the floor. The engine screamed and the front bumper tore away. 'Yes!' Elvis roared triumphantly. He slammed the car back into drive and skidded back through the hedge and onto the road. Morris and the Bishop were now only yards behind.
'That's him!' squealed the Bishop 'Catch him!'
'In five hundred yards, turn left.' said the GPS.
Elvis squinted into the darkness. He couldn't see any road signs, just tree trunks flying past and disappearing back into the darkness.
'In one hundred yards turn left.'
There was a gravel road into the forest. That must be it. Elvis stamped on the breaks and pulled the steering wheel hard left. He tugged on the handbrake just as on his X-box. The tyres squealed, the car slid towards the ditch, the wheels scrambled for grip. Elvis planted his foot back on the accelerator and the car roared away into the forest.
Morris indicated left, slowed down and turned carefully onto the gravel.
'Faster for God's sake!' roared the Bishop.
Monica, Mother Munro and Geoffrey were a mile or two behind. They'd lost sight of the chasing cars.
'Where is this place?' asked Monica. 'Have you ever been here before?'
'Aye, I have dear, a long time ago and that was in daylight. Things looked very different. I've not been here since they did the extension. A lot can change.'
'When was that?'
'Och, sometime in the fifteen hundreds I think, I forget noo.'
'Look a sign. What did you say it was called.'
'The Toower of Hallbar.'
There was a large road sign advertising accommodation under the tower's name. Monica pulled off into a single track lane leading through forest. Eventually they came to a small car park containing a spotless Audi SUV. Ahead the tower stretched up towards the stars, the pale craggy stone lit up by the moonlight.
'What hour is it?' demanded Mother Munro.
'Ten to twelve.'
'Come on, we'd best get ready.'
'But where's Elvis? He should be here?' said Monica.
'Och, we can only hope that lad o' yers finds his way. We have te trust the boy noo.'
They walked along a path through thick shrubs. A bush rustled alongside Monica. She walked a little faster. A man appeared from the darkness, dressed in kilt and sporran, claymore in hand. Monica screamed.
'Brodie! Ye made it!' Mother Munro threw her arms around him, her tiny limbs barely making it halfway around his bulky frame. 'An' ye dressed fer the occasion.'
'Aye, A did. What d'ye think?' He did a quick twirl.
'Very dashin' Brodie. Ye look quite the lady's man. D'ye no think so Monica?'
'Do you mind telling me what the hell's going on?'
'Brodie's brought the Lee Penny, the other part. Is that no right, Brodie.'
'A have Muther.' Brodie replied, slapping his sporran. 'A have.'
'Good, come on then, we'd best keep on.'
The Tower of Hallbar was a daunting block of stone that looked to have been torn from a medieval castle and dropped into the midst of the forest. There was one very solid looking door at the top of a wooden staircase and then an occasional slit between the stone blocks that sufficed for windows. Higher up the builders had felt confident enough to be a little more generous and a soft yellow light shone from a larger window near to the top.
'Och, look hoo huge it is, now!' declared Mother Munro. 'It's like one o' yer big city buildings.' She pulled out the rusty old iron key from her pocket. She tried pushing it into the lock but it wouldn't fit. She tried again. 'Och the barstards! They've gone changed the lock!'
'Here Muther, le' me hulp.' Brodie raised his claymore over his head.
'Wait' said Geoffrey. 'No need for that.' He produced a large bunch of master keys and began trying each in turn. After several tries the lock clicked and turned and the door was open.
'That was good planning, Mister Geoffrey, bringin’ those keys 'specially for us.' smiled the old woman.
'Oh yeh, 'specially, that's right.'
Elvis was tearing through the forest. The road had turned into a track and it was becoming ever more difficult to make out with one headlight. Was that a bend ahead? Elvis leant forward and squinted into the gloom. Suddenly a huge stag appeared from nowhere. It stood tall and noble, its antlers shining like lightening bolts in the headlight. Elvis stamped on the brakes. The wheels locked on and off and the car started to skid. Elvis fought the steering wheel for control. He lost and the car span. Elvis pressed the brake pedal with all his might. He closed his eyes and hoped. The car whirled and lurched before coming to a halt with a mighty thump. Elvis opened his eyes. Outside his window was a wall of cut logs towering over the car. It was the end of the track. The stag snorted, hopped over a high wire fence and faded into the night.
Elvis turned the car around and screeched back in
the direction he had just come.
'Route recalculation.' said the GPS without remorse.
The Austin Allegro headlights flickered through the trees. They were getting closer. Elvis squeezed the steering wheel tightly into his sweating palms. There would barely be room for both of them to pass on the narrow track. It was going to be a battle of wills. Elvis kept his foot down as far as he dared, he tried to keep the car to the left but the ground was soft and kept trying to pull him into the ditch. The Allegro headlights appeared around a corner straight ahead. In a flash they were side-by-side, wing mirrors smashing together. Then Elvis was past; the Allegro was in his rear view mirror. But the Subaru's left wheels were in soft ground, tugging the car from the road. Elvis pulled back on the steering, the car lurched out of the ditch but he'd pulled the wheel too far. He skidded sideways; the car began to lift. It flew up into the air and crashed onto its roof. It rolled over and over before finally coming to rest, upside down.
Morris skidded to a halt. They were a couple of hundred yards from the smashed Subaru but the track was too narrow to turn around. The Bishop cursed. They jumped from the Allegro and hurried back towards Elvis on foot.
Elvis's head was hurting. Blood ran into his eyes and blurred his vision; but he could still make out the silhouetted figures of two men hurrying towards him. He had to get out. He released the seatbelt and fell into a heap on the underside of the car roof. He throbbed everywhere. He wriggled out of the smashed window on his belly and crawled off the track and into the forest. He tried to hurry but under the trees the forest was almost pitch black; the ground was strewn with fallen branches and he stumbled and fell repeatedly. Eventually he came across a crater ripped from the earth by the roots of a falling tree. He fell into the hole and hid. The wind hissed in the pines overhead.
Morris and the Bishop arrived at the broken car. Morris knelt down and gazed through the smashed windows.
'Turn left in three hundred yards.' the GPS went on.
'He's not here.'
'Check the car. He might have dropped the stone inside.' ordered the Bishop.
'You check the damned car.' snapped Morris. He turned and peered into the black forest. How far could Elvis escape on foot through that? How badly was he hurt?
'I can't find it.' growled the Bishop. 'We've got to find that boy. He must still have it. You go that side, I'll search over here.'
They both began to try and pick their way through the trees in the darkness. The Bishop howled repeatedly as he tripped over rocks and walked into branches. Morris wasn't doing any better.
Elvis pulled himself further under the roots of the fallen tree. His head was still bleeding and he was finding more sore spots by the minute. Morris was just a few yards away but in the pitch black, Elvis was invisible. Then there was a familiar burping ring tone. Elvis was receiving a text message. His pocket lit up. He threw a hand over his trousers to try and hide it but it was too late. Morris had seen him. Elvis tried to scramble out from his hiding hole but the dirt was soft and loose. Morris dived into the hole and grabbed Elvis's leg.
'Get off me you freak! Get off!'
'Shut up!' snapped Morris. 'Are you hurt?'
'What's happening over there?' shouted the Bishop over the wind. 'Do you see him?'
Elvis desperately clawed at the bank to escape but all he was getting was handfuls of loose earth.
'Wait Elvis!' hissed Morris.
But Elvis wasn't going to be tricked. He grabbed a handful of the powdery dirt and hurled it into his stepfather's face. Morris was blinded, his eyes burnt. He released his grip. Elvis scrambled up the bank and tried to run, lurching from tree to tree.
The Bishop stood on the edge of the track and squinted into the darkness. 'Jarvis! Where are you man? Have you got the little bastard?'
Morris was still scraping the dirt from his eyes.
Elvis was struggling through the trees; he paused to wipe the blood from his eyes again. Ahead there looked to be a clearing, maybe a light.
'Ow! Blast these trees!' howled the Bishop.
Elvis looked back. The Bishop had retrieved his keys from the car, complete with a little key ring torch. It was some distance behind but the torch was heading towards Elvis.
It seemed to take an eternity but finally Elvis came to the end of the forest. He was at a small car park. In front of him the Princess was parked alongside a shiny four-wheel drive. Further ahead, the tower stood tall against the moonlit sky. Elvis checked behind. In the distance were car headlights, lots of car headlights, all seemingly heading in his direction. He pulled the stone from his pocket, still wrapped tightly in his white handkerchief. He shoved it down his underpants for safe keeping, grabbed a fallen branch as a walking stick and emerged from the cover of the trees.
Monica, Mother Munro, Geoffrey and Brodie were ascending the tower. It wasn't how Mother Munro had remembered. The bare stone walls were now beautifully painted and decorated with fine artwork, the rough wooden floorboards were buried under a deep layer of soft carpet, and lavish curtains hid the iron bars on the windows. Only the bare stone stairs were as she remembered. Each level was comprised of a single room with two doors, one to a staircase up, and another to the way down. They climbed to an upstairs bedroom. The walls were soft lemon and a nightlight glowed in one corner. A young couple slept peacefully under a puffed eiderdown
Mother Munro picked up a jar of pot-pouri. 'Och, what ha' they done wi' the place?' she complained. 'It's lik a fairy brothel.'
'Ye dinne like it?' asked Brodie taking the jar from her hand and placing it back in the table. 'A think it's quite nice.'
'Och dinna tell me Brodie that ye had a hand in this... this...' Mother Munro and Brodie carried on up the stairs towards the next level whilst the old woman continued to groan.
Monica was anxiously peered around a curtain for signs of her boy. 'Come on Elvis, hurry up.' she muttered.
Geoffrey had an eye the woman's handbag on the dressing table. With one finger, he gently opened it and looked inside.
'Get off that you thieving old bastard!' A young man in his twenties stood holding a vase, pointing it at Geoffrey's face. 'How the hell did you get in here?'
'Oh, look. We're sorry.' explained Monica returning from behind the curtain. 'We don't mean any harm.'
The man jumped and pointed the vase at each of them in turn. 'Get out before I smash the pair of you!' he roared. 'Don't think I won't do it!'
His girlfriend sat up in bed and pulled the duvet to her chin.
'No. it's not how it looks.' Monica went on. 'We're not here to steal anything.'
'Yeh, course not! And I'm gonna believe that. You'd better get out now before I do something you regret.'
'Go on Quentin!' urged his girlfriend from behind the pink duvet cover. 'Show them your Tai Kwando!'
'I will! I'll do it!'
'Och dinne talk daft, ye silly Sassenach!' said Brodie, returning from the staircase, one hand resting on his claymore. He strolled up to the wilting young man and pulled the vase from his hand. 'Ye'll be hittin' naybody.'
'I'm s..sorry.' Quentin quivered. 'Here, take my wallet. And the car keys. It's yours.' he said as he backed towards the bed.
'Quentin!' snapped his girlfriend.
'We're no here for yer loot yer silly man. Ye can keep all o' that.'
'What?'
'We haven'e come te rob yer, man! Go if ye want te and take it with ye!' Brodie nodded towards the door.
Quentin didn't need telling twice. He grabbed his clothes and began frantically pulling them on.
'Quentin!'
'You can bloody stay if you want to, Zara.' He hissed as he hopped up and down getting into his trousers. 'But I'm getting the fuck out of this place!'
Zara was unimpressed. She silently pulled on her clothes and shoved their possessions into matching leather bags.
Elvis was creeping around the foot of the tower trying to work out how to get in. The wind was howling now and laced with a piercing rain. B
ehind him, the car headlights were getting closer. He'd have to hurry. As he rounded the back of the tower, he spotted a wooden staircase leading up twelve feet or so to a heavy wooden door. This had to be it. He hurried towards them. As he neared the bottom step, a boot emerged from the shrubs and kicked away his walking stick. Elvis fell to the floor. He looked up and saw the Bishop's face smirking back at him.
'You came close young man, very close.'
'There's no need to hurt the boy.' said Morris, helping Elvis back to his feet.
'I think you'd best have a look out here.' Geoffrey held back the curtain. From their vantage point they could see dozens of cars arriving in the car park, passengers pouring out and a queue of traffic waiting their turn. 'There must be hundreds of 'em. An' who's that by the stairs?'
'Elvis!' squealed Monica. 'They've got my Elvis!'
As they watched, flaming torches burst into life and the crowd gathered weapons, baseball bats, pick axe handles, shovels, and then marched towards the foot of the tower.
''Tis no more than I expected.' grumbled Mother Munro.
'What?' screeched Monica. 'You expected this?'
'Brodie, would ye be so kind as to check that the door is secure?'
'Aye Muther.'
'No, leave it!' screeched Monica. 'Elvis is out there! You can't lock him out. We have to help him!'
'We canna de much fer him now Monica. Ye'll have to place yer trust in the wee boy's wits.'
Brodie hurried down the dark stone staircase.
Quentin and Zara had put one foot outside and now were dashing back in. Quentin slammed the door and hurriedly fastened the iron bolts.
Brodie picked up a thick wooden plank and placed it across the door.
'It's...it's like some sort of witch-hunt out there! There's crazy people everywhere! Loads of them!' Quentin shook. 'What are we going to do?'
'That door's held fer many a century. I'm sure one more night won't trouble it.' reassured Brodie.
'Give it to me boy. The stone, the Mother Lee Stone. Give it to me now.' ordered the Bishop.
The mob gathered around the Bishop and Elvis, their torches burning horizontally in the raging wind. Clubs and cricket bats were perched on shoulders.
'I haven't got it. The... the old woman has it.'
'You're lying boy! You're lying! Jarvis, search him!'
'Don't mess with him.' Morris whispered as he frisked Elvis, 'Don't die for the sake of a stupid stone.'
Elvis scowled.
Morris found nothing. 'He's telling the truth. He doesn't have it.'
'Right! Smash down that damned door!' roared the Bishop.
A pine log was carried up the wooden staircase and a dozen men began ramming it rhythmically into the door. The timbers creaked and groaned, bending a little more with each blow.
'Harder!' roared the Bishop. 'Hit it harder!'
Inside the tower Quentin and Zara stood on the stairs nervously watching the old door. Zara dialled 999 repeatedly on her mobile but there was no reception inside the thick stone walls.
Monica marched to the door. 'Elvis is out there, we can't leave him! We have to help him.'
'Wait dear.' said Mother Munro, putting a hand on her shoulder. 'You'll noo help the boy like that. As long as they're trying to get in here then they haven't got what they want. Until they do, they'll noo hurt him. We have te have faith in the boy Monica.'
The banging on the door stopped.
'Hello, Mother Munro. Is that really you inside there?'
'Aye, 'tis me sure enough, Bishop.'
'It's been many a long year since we spoke.'
'Aye, though not long enough in my book.'
'I see your wit didn't die with your looks old woman.'
'It's time this was over Bishop. We both know this can't goo on forever.'
'Can't? Who says it can't? It's gone on for the best part of a thousand years already and that's just the beginning. Look at us woman! Look out here and see how strong we are! It'll never end! We'll grow more in number, we'll grow stronger. You mark my words!'
'It's an evil thing you do Bishop. You of all people should know that.'
'Don't lecture me old woman. I've come for the stone. This door can't hold forever. If I have to, I'll smash at it all night until it crumbles. And when it does, you'll have hundreds of angry people to deal with. And they won't all be as reasonable as me!'
Zara grabbed Quentin's arm and gave a silent scream.
'This toower has held up te bigger men than ye o'er the years, Bishop.'
'Is that right? Well I do have another bartering chip old woman.' The Bishop nodded and Morris dragged Elvis up the stairs to the door.
'Get off me you murderer!'
'Elvis, sweetie! Is that you? Are you OK?' shouted Monica, pressing her face to the door.
'Now the boy tells me that you have the stone in there.' shouted the Bishop. 'Is that correct?'
'We haven't...'
Mother Munro slapped her crooked fingers across Monica's mouth and cut her words short. 'I told ye te trust your wee lad.' she whispered.
'Do you have the stone?' shouted the Bishop.
'What if we have?' replied Mother Munro.
'We'll trade you the boy for the stone. I think that's fair.'
'That's a hard bargain.' replied Mother Munro, keeping her fingers over Monica's mouth.
'Well, you may be right, but then you're not in much of a position to barter now, are you? If you don't agree, we'll just knock the door down and take it anyway. And I'd hate say what would happen if I turned the poor boy over to this unhappy crowd of people out here.'
'I want my son!' demanded Monica.
'What say you let me and Jarvis in, and we sit down like the civilised people we are and talk this over?'
'No!' shouted Quentin 'Don't let anyone in! Wait 'til morning, 'til someone finds us and calls the police.'
Mother Munro nodded at Brodie. He lifted the plank from the back of the door and slid each bolt open in turn.
'No! Don't open it!' screamed Quentin.
Brodie paid no heed. He opened the door just far enough for one person to enter at a time. The Bishop grabbed Elvis by his ear and dragged him inside. Morris followed sheepishly.
Monica ran towards her son. The Bishop pulled out a knife and held it to his throat. 'Get back woman.' he snarled. 'The deal's not done yet.' He turned his attention back to Mother Munro. 'How nice to see you again Misses Munro. I think the last time we met was at this very place. You're looking very...old.'
'There's no need for niceties Bishop. Noo release the boy, if ye please.'
'No, I don't please. In fact, I won't be pleased until I have the stone in my hand. And the Lee Penny too I would think.'
'I don't have it.'
'Don't play with me woman. I'm in no mood for your games. Where is it?'
'Upstairs, both of them, at the top of the tower.'
The Bishop let out a sigh like the air brakes on a truck. 'Right, then we'll just have to go upstairs and get them, won't we?'
Mother Munro stood to one side to let him past.
'Oh no, old woman, I don't think so. You'll be going first.'
Mother Munro smiled then began to climb the stairs.
'And the rest of you. Go on, all of you.' He threw Elvis towards Morris. 'Jarvis, you take him up with you.'
Morris grabbed Elvis by his shirt and dragged him onto the stairs behind the rest. Brodie went to follow. The Bishop stepped in his path.
'Not you. You wait outside.'
'No, that wasn'e the deal. I stay with the auld woman.'
'Deal? There is no deal!' The Bishop walked to the door and undid the bolts. 'Either you step outside or I open this door and call everyone in. Then see what happens to your precious old woman! The choice is yours.'
Brodie looked up the stairs. They were already disappearing onto the next level. He had little choice. He reluctantly pushed past the Bishop to stand outside the door, claymore in hand, facing the mob. T
he Bishop locked the door behind him then followed up the stairs.
They reached the second floor. Mother Munro pushed open the door and they all filed through and up onto the next flight of stairs. Morris tugged Elvis back by his shirt and waited a moment until the rest had disappeared. He darted back to the door to the downward flight, slammed it shut and slid the bolt across.
'Quick Elvis. Help me!'
'What are you doing?'
Morris picked up the end of a bed and dragged it towards the door.
'Just help me! Quickly!'
Between them they pushed the bed across the door.
'I don't get it?' said Elvis. 'What is this, some kind of trick?'
'No Elvis, this is no trick. Not this time.' He picked up a chair over and placed it on top of the bed. 'I've had enough Elvis. Enough lies, enough deceit. I don't want to do it any more. I've wanted to stop for a long time.' He put a hand on Elvis's shoulder. 'I'm sorry Elvis. Just go up there and do whatever you have to do, to end this for all of us. I'll slow him down here as long as I can.'
The door latch rattled. The Bishop began banging on the bedroom door. 'Jarvis! Jarvis! What's going on? Open this door right now!'
'Go Elvis, now!'
Elvis headed for the stairs to the next level.
'Elvis. Do one last thing for me.'
'What?'
'Please, look after...'
His sentence was cut short by the cracking of wood as the Bishop's shoulder slammed into the door. 'Open this damn door!'
'Look after...”
The door splintered again.
“... my train-set.'
'Your train-set!'
'It's yours, all of it. And Elvis, tell your mother … I'm sorry.'
Elvis hurried to the top of the tower.
'Have ye got the stoon, boy?' asked Mother Munro.
'I have.' Elvis shoved his hand down the front of his underpants and pulled out the warm stone.
'Och, ye've really noo class, boy, have ye? Poot it on the table, quickly noo. An' where's Brodie?'
'The Bishop threw him out. He's locked outside.'
'Locked him out! He's got the Lee Penny fer heaven's sake! We canna de it withoot the Lee Penny!'
The Bishop realised that he wasn't going to get through the door alone. He ran down the stairs jumping three steps at a time. He pulled back the bolts and threw open the door. 'To the top of the tower!' he roared to the mob. 'Smash down the doors!' They poured in like water through a breached hull. They charged up the stairs and began to hack and smash at the bedroom door.
'We're lost.' said Mother Munro. 'Without the Lee Penny this all comes to naught.'
'Is this what your looking for?' asked Geoffrey, sheepishly dangling the blood red pendant.
'Och yer darlin' man! Where did ye get tha'? Did Brodie give it te ye?'
'Yeh, that's right. He... gave it me.'
'Quick, ye boy, barricade that door!' she snapped at Quentin. 'Reet noo, put the two stones on the table.
Footsteps raced up the stairs. Quentin pushed armchairs and a coffee table to the door. The banging started again.
'Open up!' bellowed the Bishop. The wood began to crack. A sledgehammer splintered through the wood. 'Don't touch those stones!'
'Elvis. If ye'd be sae kind.' said Mother Munro. 'Yer a brave wee lad. A think ye deserve the honour.'
'But what's going to happen to you?'
'When the stones touch, it'll turn back the clock fer everyone who's been in its spell. It'll turn it back 'til it canna be turned noo more.'
The door was crumbling. With a crack it split in two and fell from the frame.
'Elvis! Now!'
'Stop!' screamed the Bishop, charging towards the table.
Elvis pressed the stones together. In an instant they were scorching hot, too hot to hold. The room filled with a ferocious, blinding, orange light.
Gradually, the light faded and vision returned.
Elvis looked down. The stone had fused into one. It was in the form of a red stone heart.
'No!' howled the Bishop. He picked up the stone and banged it against the table. He pulled out his knife and tried cutting it in two; but his knife made no mark on the gem. At the doorway, Morris looked on. He smiled at Elvis and nodded silent approval.
'Goodbye Elvis. An' thank ye.' Mother Munro began to change. Her wrinkles were flattening, the spiky dark hairs on her chin retreated. In seconds, she was a beautiful, clear-skinned young woman again, her broad smile revealing perfect white teeth. Then she became shorter, younger; she was a child of ten or twelve years, younger even than Elvis. Her shawl draped on the ground. Fear was appearing on her face now. At the doorway the same thing was happening to the mob, and to Morris and the Bishop. They were getting smaller and younger, some now no more than toddlers. Elvis turned back to Mother Munro. On the floor, in the black shawl, lay a baby, arms and legs kicking. She began to cry. Elvis crouched down and cradled her in his arms, wrapping the shawl around her. She closed her eyes.
Monica pulled back the curtain. The same fate had befallen the crowd outside. Five-year-olds chased each other around the path, babies cried and toddlers stumbled and fell.
Elvis looked down at the baby in his arms. She'd gone. He was left holding an empty woollen shawl.
Monica, Geoffrey and Elvis climbed back down the tower, picking a route around sleeping babies and the outstretched arms of toddlers. They ignored the cries and kept on going. Outside were dozens and dozens more infants. The weather had calmed and many had fallen asleep amidst their oversized clothes, others sat quietly. They tip-toed between them. Quentin and Zara followed them outside.
'What are you doing?' Zara asked. 'You can't just leave them here. They're babies!'
'They won't be for much longer.' pointed out Elvis.
'No, I can't do it.' Zara took out her mobile. Outside of the tower walls the 'phone reception was back. She dialled 999.
Chapter 23
