by G Mottram
The boy nodded. ‘A new neighbour then – good. I am called Mouse.’
Mouse? Jason thought, the boy didn’t look much like a mouse with his bulging arms and shoulders. Still, perhaps there was something mouse-like about him - his angular face, stocky body, short legs... and those little brown eyes.
‘Mouse… right,’ was about all Jason could manage.
Mouse grinned. ‘It is because I am so gentle and shy…’
‘Okay,’ Jason said.
‘… or perhaps it has something to do with my family name – Muskowicz… sounds a little like Mouse-kowicz to an English person … do you think?’
‘Um… a bit I suppose,’ Jason agreed.
‘I am happy with the name now - I became bored of breaking the mouths of each funny boy who thought it would offend me,’ Mouse grinned again and wiped away the congealing blood from his forehead.
Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the big cotton handkerchiefs Dad made them carry for “first aid”.
‘Umm, you shouldn’t wipe the blood away, it won’t be able to clot,’ Jason mumbled. ‘Just press this against…’
He began to bend down to pass Mouse the handkerchief and something like a steam train slammed into his shoulder. He flew backwards, sprawling to the ground in a heap.
Instinctively, Jason managed a clumsy roll to his feet and brought his fists up.
A girl skidded to a stop right where Jason had been standing over Mouse.
‘I will send you back to your slum in an ambulance if you have hurt him,’ she shouted, her large, dark eyes glaring at him.
Her voice was hard, defiant, with touches of the same Eastern European accent as Mouse. The words didn’t really register with Jason, however. His focus was all on her lips – soft and full over perfect, white teeth. His fists dropped to his side. She was a younger version of the beautiful woman who had been watching the house earlier.
The girl’s mouth tightened into a thin, line. ‘What do you think you’re staring at? Are you a dumb-wit? Why do you losers have to come out here to fight with us all of the time…?’
Jason struggled for something to say but his mouth refused to open. The girl looked a couple of years older than him and was tall with a figure to die for. She’d the same fair skin as Mouse but had big, dark eyes framed by a neat black shoulder bob. The Levis and white tee-shirt she wore might have been moulded to her.
Jason dropped his eyes. Was she Mouse’s sister, doing her protective bit… or his girlfriend maybe?
‘Ah, Louisa,’ Mouse said, slowly easing himself up, ‘be gentle with Jason – do you really think this long, thin boy could knock me down?’ Standing at full height he barely came up to Louisa’s neck.
‘You know his name?’ she asked.
‘Of course. He is our new neighbour - we should be nice to him, yes?’ Mouse brushed twigs and clumps of mud from his clothes, holding the girl’s questioning stare.
‘So why were you on the floor and bleeding?’ she said at last.
Mouse leant back against the trunk. ‘I… fell out of the tree – it happens sometimes.’ He wiped a fresh trickle of blood from his forehead.
She moved closer to Mouse and pushed his hand out of the way to examine the cut. ‘But he was reaching for you, threatening…’
‘He was trying to give me a handkerchief for my terrible wound,’ Mouse said.
The girl, ‘Louisa’ Mouse had called her, raised one eyebrow, shook her head and turned back to Jason. ‘Boys,’ she muttered as she wiped a little of Mouse’s blood off her fingers onto the back of her Levis. She pursed her lips for a moment then smiled.
‘My name is Louisa Russof,’ she said. ‘I am sorry for… hitting you. Sometimes the Drunken Abbot boys come out here looking to fight… I thought…’
‘No, that’s fine,’ Jason cut in, ‘it was an obvious mistake to make.’ His voice sounded too high and squeaky - she must think he was about ten or something.
‘Yes it was.’ She turned back to Mouse and brought out a handkerchief of her own.
Jason was sure he glimpsed a smile pulling at her lips as she turned away. He stole another quick glance at her tight jeans but caught Mouse’s hard, dark eyes staring at him over Louisa’s shoulder as she fussed over his cuts.
Jason quickly looked away. ‘So do you two live in the village?’
‘Yes,’ Mouse said, ‘we share what you English would call a pretty “chocolate-box cottage”.’
‘Oh right,’ Willow said. ‘I have to put up with an older sister as well.’
‘What makes you think Louisa is my sister? Mouse said.
Louisa handed the handkerchief to Mouse and turned around to face Jason. Her face was all innocent curiosity.
‘Oh…’ Jason stumbled, ‘sorry, I just thought… when you said you lived in the pretty cottage… and you look a little bit the same. I should’ve realised… you’re going out… or…’
Louisa smiled and said ‘You are a very curious boy.’
Mouse pushed away from the tree and took a few steps forwards. He might have been a head shorter than Jason but he was about twice as broad.
‘Do not worry, Jason Willow. Louisa and I are not “going out” or dating or being boyfriend and girlfriend…’
‘Mouse.’ Louisa stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘I am sure… Jason is not at all interested in such things.’ She shot Jason a glance from under her eyelashes and smiled.
‘You think?’ Mouse muttered and wandered back to the oak where he began fixedly searching through the branches that had crashed down with him.
‘Uh look,’ Jason started, ‘sorry if I’ve said the wrong thing… I…’
Mouse dug out a sturdy branch and started to strip twigs and leaves from it. His mouth twitched into an exasperated smile. ‘No harm is done, yes? However, it is probably best if you change the subject.’
‘Mouse is a family friend,’ Louisa explained, tousling Mouse’s hair until he pulled away. ‘He lives with my mother and me.’
‘Oh, right, great’ Jason said.
Louisa raised an eyebrow then turned back to Mouse. ‘Come on,’ she said, 'we should at least clean your wound of war with some antiseptic.’ She started down the wooded valley side. ‘Walk with us, Jason - tell us something of yourself. Where have you come from, for instance?’
Jason followed them. ‘Oh… we’ve moved about a lot… Dad does supply teaching.’ He gave his standard answer automatically. With their Eastern European accents, he was hoping Louisa and Mouse were connected with the Watch but he’d have to be certain before he started blabbing about his own past.
‘A teacher?’ Louisa asked. ‘He’s not going to teach at our school is he – at Silent Hill?’
Willow shook his head. ‘I don’t think so but I’m going there after Easter.’ Suddenly the prospect didn’t seem so bad.
Mouse coughed out a laugh. ‘It is a lovely school – you will be very happy there.’
‘I’ve heard it’s a bit rough,’ Jason said.
Mouse held up his branch – stripped of twigs and leaves it was fast turning into a staff. ‘Why do you think I risk breaking my bones to find good wood like this? A little boy like me needs some protection from the gangs, yes?’
Louisa looked over her shoulder at Jason, raising her eyes. ‘Mouse likes to hit people with sticks.’
‘Only the bad guys, Louisa.’ Mouse grunted. He flicked out his branch and smacked it into a trunk.
Louisa shook her head and smiled apologetically at Jason. He smiled back but quickly looked down feeling like some grinning lunatic. Why was he so rubbish with girls?
‘Any top tips for surviving the “bad guys” at school?’ he asked.
‘Just keep out of the way of the Brash gang,’ Mouse said, ‘oh, and the Skins.’
‘Who are…?’ Willow began, but Louisa cut in.
‘Can we talk about something else? I do not wish to think about that place until we have to go back there.’
‘Oh, right… sure.’ Jason said. Mouse just hit another tree with his branch.
‘What is there to do around here?’ Jason attempted. ‘My dad said something about a cinema in Drunken Abbot.’
‘Ah – making plans for a romantic evening already, yes?’ Mouse said and glanced up from stripping the last pieces of bark from his branch long enough to wink at Jason.
‘Mouse – you are so embarrassing,’ Louisa said, gliding over to walk next to Jason, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. ‘Jason is just… what is the English word… chatting.’
Jason coughed. ‘Um… yeah… I didn’t mean….’ was about all he could manage. Louisa let him suffer for a moment longer, then finally answered his question.
‘Your father is correct - there is a cinema and also a bowling place in Drunken Abbot but it is not a nice town to visit.’
‘Oh right,’ Jason said. ‘So what do you do over the holidays?’
Mouse answered. ‘Outside, we row and swim in the river, walk in the valley and train in what you would call a martial art. Where we come from we are used to a simple life.’
‘Where do you come from,’ Jason asked.
Mouse and Louisa glanced at each other. Mouse nodded and Louisa said, ‘We come from Romania. Mouse moved over here with us as his parents both… died at the same time as my father. Our families have always been very good friends.’
‘Everyone is good friends where we come from,’ Mouse said, ‘it is like a “village thing”.’
‘Well, yes, quite so…’ Louisa said, ‘but we are like brother and sister.’
‘Lucky me,’ Mouse mumbled.
‘So anyway,’ Louisa carried on brightly, ‘we have been here in England for nearly three years now.’
‘And we are loving every minute of the time.’ Mouse said.
‘Don’t you like it here, really? Why did you move so far away?’ Jason asked.
‘It is safer here… apparently.’ Mouse said.
That left an awkward silence. Jason didn’t want to ask private questions but if these two had come to Alan Brash for safety then surely they must have been involved in whatever past life Dad had left behind. They’d lost family as well. At last, he might have found someone who he could talk to.
Jason lost his train of thought. Louisa was walking very close to him and the uneven ground sometimes edged her close enough so her hand or shoulder lightly brushed his. Jason hoped his face wasn’t blazing scarlet. He struggled unsuccessfully for something interesting to say - what if Louisa thought he was boring, or brain dead?
The trees broke onto the hard, cracked surface of a narrow road running up the steep valley side. They clumped onto the surface rutted and split by weeds and headed down to the river.
‘This is the old coaching road,’ Mouse said, ‘The brewery built the other big road many years ago for the lorries full of their Drunken Abbot Ale. A good thing I think, they would have destroyed our little bridge.’
Jason nodded, following Mouse’s gaze over the ancient bridge. At its far end, a wooden beamed, four-storey building loomed over the river. A dark highwayman rode his rearing black stallion on a pitted and creaking sign whilst a dozen small dark windows silently peered down at the three of them.
‘So,’ Louisa said, leaning against the bridge’s low stone wall and looking downriver, ‘you must have moved into the Old Mill - it is the only empty house here.’
‘Yeah, that’s right. Have you been inside - it’s fabulous,’ they could see the watermill from here, steeped in afternoon shadow now.
Mouse and Louisa didn’t say anything. He must have sounded like he was boasting.
‘We don’t own it or anything – Dad could never afford somewhere like that…’ he quickly explained. ‘A bloke called Alan Brash is renting it to us cheap… as a favour.’
Louisa looked straight into his eyes. ‘Your father and Alan Brash – they are close friends, then?’
Jason hesitated. Should he tell them that Dad really didn’t like Brash? If Brash had helped Louisa, her mother and Mouse to settle here from Romania, they might be big fans of his. Then again, if that was the case, why weren’t they living in his exclusive Darkston village? He decided to take a chance.
‘Not exactly close friends… or friends at all, really. They used to work together ages ago and Mr Brash has helped us move quite a few times but Dad never wanted us to move this close to him.’
‘How could anyone not like the wonderful Mr Brash?’ Mouse said.
‘Just keep playing with your stick, Mouse,’ Louisa said, shooting him a look.
Mouse shrugged and started poking around the cut on his forehead. He seemed to quite like the mess of congealed blood and forest floor that he had smudged over his fingers.
Louisa gave a satisfied nod and turned her dark eyes back on Jason. ‘This is a good thing - we are not “exactly close friends” with Alan Brash either. Perhaps my mother should meet your father – they can… how do you say it… bitch about him together.’
Jason grinned. ‘Sounds like a plan. You should all come around for lunch or something.’
‘That would be nice,’ Louisa said, ‘but my mother has just decided we are going on holiday – this evening.’
‘There was no planning,’ Mouse said, ‘she just came in for lunch and said we are going.’ He smiled sweetly at Louisa. ‘The Russof women are known for their madness.’
Louisa sniffed and turned her back on him. ‘She was obviously upset about something – I will find out about it soon enough. Now, we should go to pack our suitcases.’
‘Uh… okay. So I won’t see you…’ Jason began but Louisa was already walking away.
Mouse looked up at him and shook his head slowly. ‘You have a saying in this country – a lamb to the slaughter – yes?’
‘Uhh – yeah, I think so,’ Jason said.
Mouse grinned. ‘Enjoy your last days of freedom.’ Then he turned and followed Louisa.
What was he talking about? Jason wondered as he tried not to stare at Louisa’s skin tight jeans as she crossed the bridge and disappeared around the first cottage on the right.
Breathing out slowly, he climbed up to sit on the low stone wall, pulling both legs in and holding his knees.
Had he just made some new friends? He wasn’t so sure about Mouse but he definitely wanted to see more of Louisa even if she made him feel like the he was the most un-cool teenager on the planet when he was around her. Perhaps she might come to see him as more than a friend given a bit of time. Mouse might have some problem with that, though.
At least with school starting in a week he wouldn’t be going into the lion’s den totally alone.
He needed to get back to the rowing boat and so he ambled back over the bridge towards the woods. It was hard to ignore the prickling feeling on the back of his neck as the Highwayman’s blank, staring windows watched him walk away.
Across the river, the water-wheel churned away as it had probably been doing for centuries. What a fantastic house to live in, right in the middle of a tiny village lost in time. And now with Louisa in the picture… even if nothing happened between them, he had finally met someone else from Dad’s past. This was the perfect opportunity to have a lifetime of questions answered... and to discover more about the agents who had murdered his mother.
Jason caught himself chewing his lip and stopped. Even if he did find out about the Brethren, what could he do about it – he was just a fifteen year old boy who was fairly handy at some obscure martial art?
He reached the little boat, untied it and settled in for the short row back. With every pull he found himself looking up to the huge oak halfway up the valley side where Mouse had fallen and he’d first caught sight of the lovely Louisa rushing out from the trees.
He stopped rowing.
When he’d rolled to his feet after being battered away from Mouse, Louisa was only just skidding to a halt at the oak tree.
She’d hurled him away from Mouse without being any
where near him. It was just like when Black had been smashed away from Miranda up in Mawn.
The boat drifted passed the churning mill-wheel as the current ushered him downstream. Jason snatched up the oars again and fought the river’s pull to get back to his new home.
Dad was hiding far more than just a secret past of hunting down some sort of cult. It was time he told them everything.
Chapter 6
‘I hate Sunday nights,’ Jason grumbled to himself, staring out of his bedroom window at the river meandering by.
Tomorrow he’d be going to Silent Hill School.
The Easter holidays had dripped by: Louisa and Mouse had not reappeared from their sudden holiday; the few other village kids he had spotted were all younger than him and not particularly friendly and Dad had point-blank refused to say any more about his past. To make matters worse, Dad had kept him in every morning in an attempt to catch up with almost a year’s schoolwork – teachers!
Jason caught a glimpse of dark blue uniforms high in the woods. It was Brash security. There were dozens of patrol teams, Dad had explained the first time they’d spotted them on one of their evening “family walks”. The teams of three were all armed with pistols and often at least one rifle. Dad had also pointed out a couple of the hidden security cameras which monitored the roads and tracks all around Darkston Wick and Drunken Abbot.
Jason watched the pair of security guards disappear back into the trees. Dad had explained that the third member of each patrol quietly trailed the lead pair to provide another viewpoint and backup crossfire if needed.
‘Food, Son,’ Dad shouted from downstairs.
‘Coming,’ Jason shouted back.
He pulled himself up from the window seat and groaned. He ached all over. With Silent Hill playing on his mind ever more, Jason had thrown himself into his training over the last few days. After the morning “school” sessions, he’d worked on countless stomach crunches, push and chin ups and Jakra patterns. He’d set up punch bags, climbing ropes and balance beams in the double garage and worked them hard every day. Finally, before any of them started to cook dinner in the evenings, he’d dragged Miranda and Dad into the garage for sparring sessions. He always lost spectacularly to Dad and Miranda beat him about half the time but he learned from every fall, kick, punch and bone-bruising throw.
