‘The same thought occurred to me too,’ said Alan. ‘They’re both trustworthy lads and young Tris isn’t so daft as he likes to make out either. Jas can be foreman and they could start clearing up in the coppices. There’s plenty that needs doing and it’ll give me more time to be getting our other business finished up with.’
‘That was a tidy bit of work getting the back of that old shed sorted,’ murmured John quietly, as though he feared being overheard. ‘Can all be made safe enough down there before Hag Night, do you think? Something tells me we’ll be in need of the old Guardians’ path this time around, and old Dark-eyes holds a similar view. The Master being so jumpy has made her more edgy than ever, especially since what happened last full moon. She’s scared too much has been put on to you, and what she fears for young Caz is worse than all the telling put together. She won’t listen to me any more.’
‘Then she’ll have to listen to me, won’t she?’ said Alan. ‘I’ll have a word with the Master too, while I’m about it. There’s no need for anyone to be wasting time and good energy panicking about nothing, when everything’s in hand. All will be done and ready well before Hag Night’s upon us.’
Involuntarily, John looked over his shoulder down the track towards the dark eaves of the forest forever vigilant around Thunderslea. ‘As it will be all too soon, and what will be the outcome of that night’s work, I wonder?’
‘We can only know when it’s done,’ replied Alan.
He started up the tractor and switched on the lights while John kicked over the fire and emptied the kettle and the teapot. A thick dark mist had crept down over the hills as they were talking. A cold, persistent rain set in for the night. John climbed up into the cab, grateful for the warm air creeping up around his knees. Alan backed the tractor out on to the road. The heavy gates swung shut silently behind them.
CHAPTER 62
Jemima stood breathless with her back to the wall at the east end of the gallery outside the tower bedroom. Sir Jonas and Alan had come into the study just as she was shutting the door.
She had lit the fire in her room before supper. Sir Jonas had joined them in the kitchen to discuss the day’s work with John and Alan while they were eating. He had refused to take off his sword for the meal, leaving it in its scabbard sticking out from the back of the chair at the head of the table.
‘You must understand it is a question of security, my dear Madame Marguerite,’ he had explained when Daisy had offered to prop it up against the dresser until he had eaten.
Jemima had been horrified by his macabre recounting of the tale of the invasion and shared his fear for the consequences, in particular for the future of Kyri and the colt. My ceremony didn’t work, she thought panic-stricken. I must have got it all wrong!
Caz had excused himself as soon as the meal was finished. When the others were lingering over a last glass of wine and showing no sign of being in a hurry to leave the table, Jemima seized the opportunity.
‘I’ll be back in a couple of minutes to do the washing up, Daisy,’ she said.
Daisy shook her head, contented now that John was back and Alan had told Sir Jonas in no uncertain terms that he and Caz were best left to patrol the boundaries themselves.
‘Take your time, girl,’ she replied. ‘John and me’ll have it done in a jiffy. You go upstairs and get yourself settled. Don’t worry about us.’
Jemima went to the library to search through the books, but Sara had been rearranging the shelves and there was nothing under F for Freyja or R for ritual that might be of any use. The study was the only place left to look, and for once the door had been left wide open.
‘Sir Jonas won’t mind,’ she told herself guiltily as she crept, uninvited and unsupervised, into forbidden territory.
She scanned the titles on the cabinets. It was no easy task, particularly under pressure. The books were not organised in any way that she could understand. Some were written in French, there were many German titles and others that she took to be academic tomes in the old languages.
There was only one shelf where the authors were uniformly listed. All the books under P for Pring were handwritten and beautifully bound in green or red leather with gold lettering. Some had been written by Sir Jonas and many more were attributed to Sir Saxon. The only one that called out to her was bound in blue and gold and stamped with the title, The Role of the Seeress in the Rite of Frija, by Lady Christina Pring.
Her heart thumping, she tucked the slender volume under her sweater and hurried upstairs, listening over the balustrade for any sign that supper was finally finished in the kitchen, or that Caz might discover her and ask awkward questions. The distant voices murmured, quiet and comfortable, and no light shone under the door in the master’s suite. For the moment she was safe.
Knowing she had little time, she went to her room and worked quickly with her new camera, but it was impossible not to be distracted by the beautifully crafted pages. She lingered over a chapter about the importance of the phases of the moon in ritual. Maybe that’s why everything went wrong, she thought. I’m sure it wasn’t full moon last time.
A door closing somewhere in the house brought her up with a start. They’re finished and I’m not done yet! She photographed the last pages and closed the book. The leather cover was smooth and fine under her fingers. She was reluctant to part with it. Would it be missed if I kept it just for tonight? she wondered. But she knew her father would not have been happy with her and Sir Jonas would never trust her again if he found out.
She took off her slippers and tiptoed back down the stairs. Alan and Sir Jonas were talking quietly together in the passageway. The old man’s stick was tapping on the parquet. They were close, but she was committed. I don’t dare get caught now!
She ran through the library and put the book back in the cabinet, trying to remember whether the glass door had been left open or not, but it was too late to worry about fine details. They were already in the library. The door to the tower staircase had been left ajar. She ran all the way to the top, thinking it would come out into the gallery, but she found herself on a narrow landing facing the choice of two more doors. One turned out to be a broom cupboard. The other was locked. She guessed she must be outside the observatory.
Trying desperately not to panic, she ran back down to the door that she had missed at the half-way point, just as she heard Sir Jonas cheerfully inviting Alan to join him for a glass of port in the study. With the utmost care not to make any whisper of sound that Alan’s quick ears might pick up, she let herself into the bedroom and made her escape into the gallery. Her heart was thumping madly. She had to stop to catch her breath, reminded of something her father used to say that she had never forgotten: ‘If something’s got to be sneaked at to be done, it’s not worth doing.’
This time she was sure it had been worth it. She crept along the gallery to her room, locked the door and sat on the rug beside the fire with her laptop on her knees, downloading the files.
CHAPTER 63
Jasper swept open the back door at the lodge, saying genially, ‘Munchies at the pub, my children! Why aren’t we poised and ready, waiting only upon my illustrious presence? More to the point, why are you still here Ma? You should be polishing the platters.’
Maddie massaged her throbbing temples. ‘Simon knows I’ll be late. I can’t go anywhere until we’ve got this sorted out first.’
With the exception of Caz, the entire family was crowded around Jemima’s laptop set up on the kitchen table. Sara raised worried eyebrows. Tristan was glowering. Melanie sat on his lap looking glum.
‘Do I detect tension in the air?’ asked Jasper.
Sara nodded. ‘The school just called.’
‘They want Caz and me to see the headmistress on Monday morning,’ said Maddie.
‘Someone left a load of incense sticks burning in the corridor when he was in the gym,’ said Jemima. ‘It set all the alarms off.’
‘And presumably it was the same someone who took a
ll the blood out of the wardrobe and wrote 666 across the stage in the studio this afternoon,’ added Melanie.
‘It gets worse,’ said Sara. ‘Take a look at the latest online.’
Jasper sat down and dragged the computer across to his side of the table. He studied the screen, frowning. ‘The ocCult of the Crone? Over 40’s Only? What crap is this?’
It was a single page of pictures and captions that ballooned individually on a click. The central picture had been taken from the school play poster that had generally been voted the sexiest poster ever. On one side, Tairmair Folpham hung on to his brother’s arm under the caption: Lock up your mothers. The opposite caption wavered over a black and white photo of a queue of old ladies gazing up at his naked back: Lock up your grandmothers. An image of a ravaged henhouse in one corner, labelled: Lock up your chickens, spurted blood over a photo cut-out of the white face from the Hallowe’en party superimposed on a man riding a donkey. The spectral green side caption was entitled: The Headless Horseman.
Three more captions popped into existence as the mouse scanned the page: He doesn’t do drugs (ever heard of steroids?); he doesn’t do food (when did anyone last see him eat?); he doesn’t do booze (crones are known to be insatiable).
The banner across the bottom of the page announced The Can’t Let Go Club with pictures of Too Sad to Kiss Kerys, Poor Cow Hayley, Dumped Frump Melanie and Jilted Julia. A Vote No button invited an immediate negative response to the question: Is Caz Wylde Cool? One hundred and eighty-nine votes had been recorded.
Jasper looked around the table. ‘So how long has this pathetic piece of propaganda been circulating?’
‘A couple of days, apparently,’ Sara answered.
‘It’s not one of your bad jokes gone wrong, is it?’ asked Jemima suspiciously.
He stared at her, completely injured. ‘What are you on, Sibyl? This is bro we’re talking about.’
Sara looked bemused. ‘Sibyl?’
‘Well, what else am I supposed to call her? I can’t go on with “Oi” and “You” and meaningful silence. It just doesn’t fit. I’ve had to bow to the boss on this one, Stat. Don’t make it any worse.’
‘I prefer Lady Sibylla,’ said Jemima archly.
‘And I prefer Sibyl. It’s either that or Bill.’
Jemima sighed. ‘I’ll take Sibyl.’
‘Who’s the crone?’
‘You know, that weird woman in the smelly shop. The one Bindweed used to have tarot card lessons with.’
‘The fairground-fortune-teller woman?’
’Yes. According to Bindweed, she’s a devil worshipper and he’s had a secret thing going on with her for the last two years.’
Jasper was too incredulous to laugh. He yelled. ‘What?’
‘She told Lauren,’ said Melanie. ‘And Jen told Julia.’
‘That’s got to be the dumbest load of drivel that’s ever floated out of that feeble little flap of a mouth! What does bro say about it? What’s he doing getting his picture taken with an old crone anyway?’
‘He said she was going on at him again about hiring the ballroom for nature-nut conferences when he was in town last Saturday,’ said Jemima. ‘Whoever’s done this must have taken the photo then.’
Maddie drank water and swallowed headache pills. ‘I’m worried about him, Jas. I’m worried about this meeting as well. It was the headmistress who called me, not the secretary. I’m sure they’re going to have the truancy officer there. I think they mean business this time.’
Jemima’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘You can’t go to prison, Ma! You can’t!’
‘Don’t panic, Sibyl! Bro will charm the pants off old Ma Gerson, no problem.’ Jasper groaned and flapped his hands to ward off the heat of the immediate and communal glare. ‘Sorry, sorry! A simple slip of the tongue! What I meant was that bro will get away with it as usual. Why’s everyone so jumpy all of a sudden?’
‘Because someone’s really got it in for Caz!’ shouted Jemima. ‘Or haven’t you noticed?’
Jasper shrugged. ‘It’s just some ugly kid grabbing a chance to shine. Bro can take care of himself. Who do you know that would even think of taking him on?’
‘No one by themselves,’ said Tristan.
‘No gang stuff either. I’d think twice about taking him on now.’
‘There’s another thing,’ said Melanie. ‘Kerys, Hayley and Julia have all gone offline.’
‘That’s okay. They‘re better off keeping their heads down for a couple of days.’
‘No, they’ve gone offline to us, Jas. They don’t want to know any more passwords.’
He raised both eyebrows. ‘You mean they’ve jumped ship? They’ve just walked out of the epic of our lives without even one fond farewell? Even Kis?’
Melanie nodded. ‘She’s always been the one who really couldn’t let go.’ She pointed to the screen. ‘This was too much.’
Jasper pushed back his hair. ‘I feel my youth departing.’
‘I told you it was bad,’ said Sara.
‘I’ll get Loz to fancy her. It’ll keep the family tidy and cut out Ginswill.’
‘Ah, she’s just a bit of easy nookie, Jas,’ said Tristan. ‘It’ll go glacial soon enough.’
Jemima hunched her shoulders and stared furiously at the table. ‘Too much information!’
Tristan looked awkward. ‘But it’s not sizzling, Jem.’
‘Isn’t it the same thing?’
‘No.’ He appealed to Jasper. ‘It’s not, is it, Jas?’
Jasper rolled his eyes and ignored him. ‘We won’t change the password yet. We’ll give them a chance to change their minds. How about you, Milky?’
‘I’m okay,’ said Melanie comfortably. ‘He told me to marry Tris.’
Tristan looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed. ‘Caz said that?’
She nodded.
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said okay.’
A huge grin crinkled out from the corners of his mouth and raised his eyebrows right up to his hairline. ‘Hey! Magic Man!’
‘So who’s the enemy?’ asked Jasper generally.
‘I would say it’s female,’ said Sara.
Jasper nodded. ‘Me too,’ he agreed. ‘A woman scorned, most likely. How’s Titan taking the breakup?’
‘Definitely dodgy,’ said Melanie. ‘But I can’t see her stooping as low as this.’
‘What about Ginswill? She does that Goth page.’
Melanie shook her head. ‘Too close to Loz, and it’s not her style.’
Jasper’s eyes narrowed. He tapped the side of his nose enigmatically. ‘So I’m asking myself, do all trails lead back to Bindweed? Has she made a stink in cyberspace with the workings of her puny little pea brain?’
‘Peabrain’s too thick to sort out something like that, Jas,’ said Tristan. ‘She’s always been thick, even when she was a little kid.’
‘But not too thick to have one of her mates put it together,’ said Melanie.
‘That’s it!’ exclaimed Jemima. ‘She’s done it! I’m going to kill her!’
Jasper patted her head. ‘Calm down, Sibyl, let’s get a few facts sorted before we go for the guns. Bindweed’s not worth swinging for.’
Jemima smacked away his hand. ‘Then she’d better keep out of my way, because this time she might be worth it, Jasper Wylde, she just might!’
For a moment she bore more than a passing resemblance to Daisy at her most ferocious. Jasper looked away, determined not to laugh.
CHAPTER 64
A man was pedalling a bicycle enthusiastically down the drive. Sara recognised him, Caz didn’t. He reined in Freyja and nodded to Sara to do the same with Nanna. ‘Put her in behind us.’ The mare took several steps backwards in the direction of the rhododendron hedge, placidly chewing her bit as the bicycle sped past.
‘Thank you!’ the man called cheerfully. ‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’
A minute later the old tractor appeared and pulled up beside the horses. Jasper
had a shotgun beside him on the seat. Tristan sprawled in the back of the empty trailer, equally armed. He rolled over flat on his stomach and lined up the sights with Caz’s head.
‘Bang!’
Freyja snorted and lunged at him over the side of the trailer her teeth narrowly missing his ear.
‘Hey! I didn’t mean it,’ he protested. ‘It’s not even loaded!’
‘Yet!’ said Jasper, patting the box of cartridges beside the gun.
‘Live or blank?’ asked Caz.
‘If I tell you I’ll have to kill you. Good ride Stat?’
Sara’s smile was radiant. She leaned forward and patted Nanna’s neck. ‘It’s been absolutely wonderful! I just love it, and the forest is magic this morning. I’d never realised there was so much of it, or maybe it’s just different when you’re on horseback?’
‘Did you see Al?’
‘He’s south of the Beech Walk,’ said Caz. ‘You’ll see the smoke.’
He shook his head almost imperceptibly in answer to Jasper’s querying look. No, your woman doesn’t know about Thunderslea, bro, and she won’t want to hear it from me.
‘Who was that on the bike?’ he asked.
‘That was the Holy Hornet,’ said Jasper emphatically. ‘Otherwise known as the Right Reverend Adrian Windlesham. You must have seen him in the pub?’
‘No. How did he get in here?’
Jasper raised an eyebrow. ‘What diligent gentleman of the cloth could possibly resist a personal invitation to check out the boss of the local pagan outpost?’
‘Who invited him?’
‘As you know, Ma and Daisy are currently convinced that the old man is about to burst every blood vessel left in his head, not to mention his heart, which does not bode well for the future for any of us.’
‘You mean Ma let him in?’
Jasper nodded. ‘Met him at the gates herself, she did. Of course, he just happened to be there when Tris arrived to report for sentry duty.’
‘It wasn’t me that told him,’ said Tristan.
‘Her excuse was that it might calm the boss down a bit. I think they were hoping the hornet might be able to persuade him to give up wearing his sword, at least when he’s in the house.’
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