by Julia Hughes
‘He saw me! Five minutes. Give him five minutes. He’s gonna create a diversion. And Crombie… get a load of this…’ Rhyllann hesitated biting at his lip. ‘Crombie … you’re really not going to believe this.’ As he spoke Crombie’s face drained of colour, he seemed frozen to the spot.
‘What? Impossible!’ He snarled as the full betrayal sank in. ‘I will personally rip stripes from uniforms. I will press for maximum charges. I will …’ Rhyllann yanked him forward mid threat herding him back to the anchoress cell. He didn’t know what Wren planned, but knew they had to be in position. As they descended the steps voices raised and echoed. It seemed Wren’s diversion was well under way.
A man shouted furiously: ‘We had a deal! You warned him! You even spoke to him! Now you play ball!’
‘I won’t. You filthy murderer. You murdered those innocents on that train, and you murdered your own father.’ Wren’s voice sounded crystal clear and emotionless, emphasising the enormity of the words.
‘Shut up. Ignore him Mikey.’ That sounded like Hewes.
‘Coward. Yellow belly coward. Old men and bombs. Very noble.’
‘Shut up! If anyone’s responsible for my father’s death it's you; you little runt! God he used to make me sick. Wren this, Wren that. He thought the sun shone out of your arse and you set him up!’
Wren screamed out with pain.
‘Leave him alone Stern!’
Rhyllann coiled, ready to make a dash across the main cavern. Crombie held him back. ‘Wait. Wait for the fighting to start.’ He hissed.
‘Ladygate prison. Maximum security. Queen Charlotte Hospital. Geriatric ward. Oh and where d’you suppose the charming Rhyllann will end up? Some young offenders’ home? Never mind. I’ll find him. After I’ve dealt with you.’ Hewes purred. ‘And we’ll find the treasure. If we have to blast the entire place to kingdom come.’
Someone sniggered. ‘She’s right. Let’s go get the rest of the explosives … leave him down here.’ Shaking off Crombie’s grip, Rhyllann coiled again, ready to spring out and use teeth if necessary.
Wren stopped him. ‘Stay where you are. Don’t move. I’ll show you. It’s been staring you in the face all this time, but you’re too blind to see.’
As Wren spoke a low rumble filled Rhyllann’s ears. It seemed to come from the ground itself and go on forever. Feeling Crombie nudge him forward, crouching low, hugging the wall he crept into the cavern. Just in time to see stone walls rolling away on well balanced mechanisms.
Aladdin’s cave. It was an Aladdin’s cave. Rhyllann stared open mouthed at the contents inside the secret chamber. Huge metal trunks reinforced with thick bands covered the floor, stacked with plates of gold, jewel encrusted crucifixes, triplexes showing icons, their frames studded with precious stones. More plates hung from the wall, smaller gold coloured chests were heaped in one corner. Treasure piled upon treasure, gleaming under the artificial lights. Rhyllann’s eyes dropped back to the hefty load bearing trunks. Large enough to hold a baby elephant, and there his imagination stopped. Without warning Crombie grabbed him, throwing him behind an outcrop of rocks, squeezing his bulk in after. No one noticed them. The cavern echoed with ooohs and ahhhs.
Wren watched with detachment, he hadn’t moved from his spot. He rested a hand lightly against a sword buried halfway inside the boulder. The sword: Caliburn. Rhyllann’s eyes were drawn to it once more. The secret room threw out a golden glow. Caliburn swallowed light. Glinting dully with an eerie iridescent blue sheen which crackled; shimmering around the hilt to run up and down the blade before disappearing into the boulder. Wren’s profile seemed outlined in monochrome. His blond hair turned platinum. He turned to stare in Rhyllann’s direction with eyes of cold metallic steel.
Then the trance broke, Hewes sprinted towards the room followed by the men, laughing and whooping, their voices echoing back. Wren watched with a smile. With his hand against the sword’s hilt, he levered it upwards, from a forty-five degree angle to its original upright position. The ground beneath Rhyllann rumbled again as stone walls pivoted on mighty hinges to swing closed. Angry shouts reverberated and calls of
‘The walls – hold them back! Quick!’
Hewes managed to dodge out – Stern almost made it. He screamed out in pain and terror as the walls continued to trundle shut. In a flurry of movement Hewes caught him under the arms – suddenly the rugby player was there helping. There hadn’t been space for him to crowd into the hidden room. He yelled at the two still inside to shove and with an awkward back roll Stern was free. The walls finally thundered shut with a thud that shook the cavern.
Crombie was on his feet and would have rushed over to help if Rhyllann hadn’t yanked him back. Brandishing the pistol he rose again to wade into the confusion.
‘Wait!’ Rhyllann cautioned him. ‘Wait for Wren’s signal.’
There was no doubt now who was running this show. The rugby player knelt over Stern’s body, it twitched then lay still. Muffled cries sounded from behind the wall.
‘Christine get help! Get Frank down here! Bring water and the first aid kit.’
Rhyllann thought Stern looked beyond first aid. With a screech Hewes charged at Wren knocking him to the ground.
‘You little runt! What did you do?’ She shook Wren banging his head against the stone floor. The giant rushed over to prise her off.
‘Leave him alone! He’s only a kid!’
‘It was him! He did something – touched something!’ Picking Wren up by the scruff, she clung onto him as her head twisted, searching the cavern. Inches above her Caliburn glimmered.
‘How can she not see it?’ Rhyllann murmured. Crombie nudged him for an explanation.
‘The sword.’
Crombie looked even more perplexed.
‘The sword in the stone.’ Realising he had shouted the words, Rhyllann clasped a hand over his mouth.
‘Caliburn.’ He whispered. ‘You call it Excalibur.’ But its true name and true nature was Celtic.
Hewes was squinting now, peering at Caliburn. Had she finally noticed? Wren, released from her grip, scuttled over to his new best friend. The strange smile on his lips again as Hewes’s head swivelled trying to fix the illusive non-light in place.
‘What the hell are you talking about Christine? What is it?’
‘I dunno Crombie. Some kind of lever – sticking out – screw your eyes up and squint – you can almost see it. It’s all kinda wavy – like smoke…’ As she spoke, her hand reached to grasp Caliburn’s blade.
The electric blue spasms surged into over drive; crackling like hot fat. Lightning exploded through her body shocking her hair into a punk rocker’s. A sonic boom ruptured the cavern and she flew backwards. Her body crashed against the rock formation sheltering Crombie and Rhyllann, causing them to duck; then slid to the ground with a thump.
Rhyllann shook. The air surrounding him ignited and every breath he took seared his lungs. If he breathed through his mouth it coated his throat, breathing through his nose drew the stench of scorched meat so thickly he could taste it. His teeth chattered and every blood cell in his veins tingled as they scurried to and fro, trying to escape through his skin. A harsh rasp rattled beside him, Rhyllann lifted his head slowly, certain some new monster had come for him. It was Crombie, his features fallen into a haggard mask. Sensing frightened eyes on him, he turned and tried to smile.
‘S’okay son, it’s okay. Some kind of freak accident.’ He slurred. Rubbing a hand over his face, he quietened his breathing.
‘Annie. Detective Crombie Sir. You can come out now.’ Wren’s voice sounded; clear and strident as ever. Rhyllann couldn’t face him. Not yet.
‘Come on son. Your cousin needs us.’ Rhyllann shrunk from Crombie's touch. Plunging his hand into first one pocket then another, Crombie shrugged off his jacket to drape round Rhyllann.
Rhyllann watched him stride forward, pistol in one hand, a handful of cable ties in the other, detouring around the rock and the crumpled bundle
of rags. A chill swept over him and he wanted to call Crombie back, to warn him not to – not to … his mind panicked, telling him to keep quiet, not to draw attention to himself. Two lamps had fallen over, Crombie picked them up. Wren was propped against the boulder again. Blue strands sizzled through Caliburn, as it faded back to a dull sheen.
Wren studied the rugby player twitching at his feet with the interest he had shown the Devil’s Stagecoach Beetle all those years ago. Weeks ago. No barely a week, Rhyllann reminded himself. Panicked voices sounded again from behind the wall calling for help. Rhyllann shrunk deeper inside Crombie’s jacket, pulling it over his head like a shroud, welcoming the darkness. Better, much better. Old leather, petrol fumes and greasy oil kept out the singed charcoal smell. Inside his mind, he hunted a tune, a nursery rhyme and started humming. Anything to shut out the voices. Rhyllann’s knuckles found his mouth and he bit down.
‘Son are you okay?’ Crombie reached out to Wren, patting his shoulder. Ignoring the question Wren asked his own.
‘Did WPC Hewes call that man there Mr Crombie?’
Crombie hesitated for a long time before replying. ‘My brother. I haven’t seen him since … When he mussed your hair like that … I used to follow him round like a puppy.’
Wren made small comforting noises. Crombie spoke again. ‘Is he dead?’ As though he couldn’t bear to look for himself.
‘Stunned. Just stunned. He caught the backlash.’ Crombie walked unsteadily over to the prone body. Then ever cautious stooped to wrap cable ties round his brother’s wrists. He looked back at Wren.
‘Christine – WPC Hewes – she touched that lever – did you know what would happen?’ Wren leaned against the boulder surveying Crombie with eyes of blue innocence. But he took too long to answer. Eventually he admitted.
‘I didn’t think it would be with that force.’
Huddled behind his rock, cocooned in Crombie’s coat, Rhyllann heard the lie.
Chapter Thirty-One
Wren called over ‘Annie – come on! We need you.’
Rhyllann waved impatiently. He’d lost it. He’d lost the next line. He’d have to start over. “Gay go up gay go down, ring the bells of London Town” – better. “Oranges and lemons say the –“ no! not again. This time a figure loomed into view.
‘Son – come on – I need your help. I need to get you and your cousin out of here.’ Rhyllann shook him off and started again.
‘Detective Crombie – what’s wrong with him?’ Wren wailed.
‘It's alright son. Nothing to worry about.’ Crombie waved a hand in Rhyllann’s face. He swatted Crombie aside and started again. If he didn’t recite the rhyme in the correct order the ground would open again. He couldn’t risk one wrong word. Rhyllann fixed on the small crevice in the wall, blotting out the irritants in front of him.
‘Wren stop that.’ The sobbing continued. ‘Come on now. You can’t go to pieces as well. Your cousin’s going to be ok. I’ve seen this before. He’s in shock. But he’s going to be ok. He’s strong. He won’t sink … like an overloaded computer – he needs to reboot. Let’s get you up the steps – I’ll come back for him.’
Rhyllann let words wash over him, he wanted to reassure Wren, but it seemed much more important to get the rhyme right. He watched listlessly as Crombie checked on his brother once more. Wren limped over to stand beside him, then stooped awkwardly to pull a battered leather book from Declan’s back pocket. Wren spoke tonelessly to Crombie.
‘He didn’t know about the bomb. I thought he was going to kill Stern when I told him. He wanted to send a couple of men onto the moors. To move the jeep from the tracks. They wouldn’t … they’d taken pictures on their mobile. Hewes had. Said Rhyllann would be on the train if I didn’t … I’m sorry Detective Crombie.’
Crombie put an arm around his shoulder. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Rhyllann worked it out. We stopped the train.’ Crombie said simply. Wren sagged against him. After a moment or two Crombie half carried him across the cavern and rested him against the steps.
‘Rhyllann. Rhyllann son.’ Crombie sighed, but this time didn’t attempt to touch him. ‘I’ll be back. Don’t move.’ And turned to help Wren up the steps.
*
“When will you pay me, say the bells of old Bailey. I’m sure I don’t know, say the great bells of Bow.” He’d made it … “Here comes the candle to light you to bed – here comes the chopper to chop off your head –“ the world began tuning in like a faint radio signal – he could allow that now – almost there –
“Chip, chop. The last man’s …
At that precise moment Wren screamed, and a single shot rang out.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Crombie crumpled against Wren, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. Through gritted teeth he let go a low moan of pain. Wren pushed him to one side and began rifling through the battered text. Joan’s own words. Spinning round Wren thrust it towards the man holding the gun.
‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot him again. Look! Read for yourself – Oh thank god – they’ve made an English translation!’ Holding the book open he read aloud. ‘But the treasure is guarded by Caliburn. He who wishes to enter the secret room must first ensure he knows of the Celtic rites. Another may enter, provided he is accompanied by one who has been initiated into the Celtic mysteries. No other hand is permitted to touch Caliburn, sacred sword of the Celtic nations.’ He raised his head. ‘Do you understand – it’s almost certain death to touch the sword. You need me.’ He stopped, breathing heavily.
The gunman beckoned for Wren to pass the book. From his vantage point seated at the top of the cell, he read, while keeping the pistol trained on the room below him.
Wren bent over the prone detective and shouted. ‘Detective Crombie – do you understand?’ His voice travelled clearly, carrying into the tunnel. ‘For some reason Caliburn can only be plainly seen and handled by a Celt. Only a true Celt can pull Caliburn from the stone. If only Rhyllann were here. We need Rhyllann. Rhyllann stopped that train crashing. Rhyllann saved me from drowning.’ He called at the top of his voice. ‘Annie where are you? I need you!’
‘Will you shut up or I will shoot! I’m trying to read.’ The gunman buried turned to the book again, while Wren sobbed quietly.
*
Deep within the cavern, Rhyllann’s head came up. Someone was calling to him. Someone in trouble called his name over and over. In a persistent strident tone. Really this was too much. He’d have to start again. But the rhyme was all mixed up in his head with pistol shots and wild talk of Caliburn and treasure and Celtic myths.
He couldn’t help anyway. Even if he wanted to. A gunman waited up top. Patiently. To ambush Wren and Crombie at the top of the steps. There was no other way out of this place. Rhyllann fixed his eyes on his special window and started again. The setting sun’s rays streamed through the crevice creating a pool of light, distracting him. If it landed on Caliburn, like a message from above that would really be too much.
Illumination flooded Rhyllann. Shrugging off Crombie’s smelly old jacket, he sprinted over to Caliburn. His hand slapped against the hilt, his fingers curled to grasp, and his arm swept upwards, pulling Caliburn from its resting place. It flew up as cleanly and sweetly as a bird taking flight. Hearing movement behind, he swung round. Caliburn followed perfectly balanced, already an extension of Rhyllann. Declan stirred, dread crossed his face as the mythical sword shimmered before him.
‘You quick – over there.’ Rhyllann motioned to the crevice high in the cavern wall, with Caliburn. ‘Your brother needs help. He’s been shot! Don’t you care?’ Declan Crombie merely stared. Rhyllann grew impatient, they didn’t have time for this.
‘Move. Or else.’ He waved Caliburn menacingly. Crombie’s brother lumbered to his feet to obey in double quick time. In the distance far away, he could hear Wren’s voice. Protesting now that he wasn’t moving until Crombie had his wounds bandaged. Rhyllann squeezed through the hole, feet ki
cking back against Declan’s shoulders. Hissing for him to sit back down and not to move, else he’d be back. With Caliburn. Wren would buy him time but he couldn’t stall forever.
*
The gunman sneered. ‘What’s all this nonsense – no-one can touch Caliburn?’
Wren stepped closer. ‘They’ve booby trapped the place. A lever in the shape of a sword. If you don’t put exactly the right amount of pressure – if you touch it incorrectly – it triggers some kind of primitive electrical charge.’ Wren spread his arms wide. ‘Look – I don’t give a toss. Go look for yourself – there’s a lever sticking out from a boulder. But Christine Hewes touched it. Declan Crombie only stood near it. Now she’s dead and Declan’s laying in that cavern unconscious.’
‘It’s true.’ Crombie rasped. ‘I saw it happen with my own eyes. Bates – you’ve nothing to lose. Take the kid with you – let him operate the mechanism.’ Bates looked from Crombie to Wren, then into the tunnel. He came to a decision. He laughed, mocking them.
‘Detective Inspector Crombie. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unbelievable.’
‘Bates. Don’t … Shooting me – that was an accident. Easy mistake to make. Maybe you thought I was a gang member. But if you think you can kill me and get away with it – don’t be stupid!’
‘Stupid? Me stupid? Oh no Detective Crombie not me. That evil little gang in there – brave stupid Detective Inspector Crombie of the Met tried to stop them. Superintendent Bates, poor old country plod arrived too late. Treasure gone. Dead bodies everywhere. What a mess! Jeff Holden will testify how impulsive you were. How he tried to warn me in time. How I came up here just for a look see. Too late. Again.’
