‘Agh . . . agh . . . let go. Little-Marten . . .’ Midge gasped, and staggered to her feet, frantically scanning the weir. She heard Henty’s screams from the other bank, but couldn’t take her eyes from the seething waters.
‘There!’ shouted George. ‘Over there!’
A head had bobbed up, midstream. It disappeared for a moment, then came up again, sweeping away from the main current and into the slow circling eddy at the far side of the weir-pool. A clumsy splash of arms and wings and the head turned round. Scurl. He cursed and spat, thrashing at the water, his attempts to stay afloat hampered by the fact that he still held the knife in his hand.
‘He’s gone! Little-Marten’s gone!’ Midge was beside herself with anguish. She tried to push past George, but George shouted, ‘No! Look!’
And there he was – Little-Marten – miraculously coming to the surface in a flurry of movement, coughing and spewing water, not two feet from Scurl. He was facing the opposite bank, and immediately began trying to paddle towards the heavy clumps of reeds that grew there, grabbing at the water in panicky little strokes.
Little-Marten was obviously unaware of the danger that was right behind him. But Midge saw it, and grabbed George’s arm in horror as she realized what was about to happen. Scurl gave a great surge forward, lunging out with his free hand and grasping at Little-Marten’s ankle. The two of them disappeared for a moment, and when they rose again Scurl was roaring with fury. He lifted the knife high into the air, plunged it into the foam, lifted it a second time . . . and then his whole body seemed to scoot sideways, propelled across the weir-pool by a hidden force.
The waters heaved and the long pale flank of some great creature broke the surface, a glistening torpedo of solid muscle, delicately mottled in green and white. Up it rose, wheeling majestically through the sunlight, diamond droplets scattering heavenwards from the lazy flick of its broad tail. Its motion was smooth and unhurried and unstoppable, the gleaming arc of its body as bright as metal, machine-perfect in its power.
Midge and George were locked in the moment, open-mouthed. The huge pike seemed to hang in mid air, pausing at the top of its flight, before descending into the boil of the weir-pool.
The monster had shown itself at last. It had arisen from the gloom of its underwater lair to burst upon the brightness of the upper world in a breathtaking display of savage grace. Then with a heavy swirl of its tail it was gone, returned once more to the dark mysteries of reed and river-bed.
And Scurl was gone with it. A single gurgling scream, and Scurl was pulled beneath the waters, his white face fading into darkness like a moon behind the clouds. Nothing remained but a rising string of bubbles, and a final ripple broadening across the pool.
Into the blank vacuum that followed came the rush of the weir, and the sound of Little-Marten. He was still there, still trying frantically to stay afloat, and it was his loud kicking and splashing – together with Henty’s screaming – that dragged Midge and George from their shocked state.
They ran across the bridge and scrambled through the bramble bushes in order to get down to the water’s edge.
‘He’s all right!’ Midge shouted in Henty’s direction – although she could no longer see her. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get him!’
‘You go and help her,’ said George. ‘It’s OK. I can pull Little-Marten out.’
‘Shall I?’ Midge was reeling, helpless and uncertain, as she looked across at the weir-pool. Little-Marten was amongst the rushes now, and already more or less safe. ‘All right, then.’
Midge threaded her way through the bushes as quickly as she could, though all her movements were clumsy and disconnected. She was surprised by Henty coming the other way. The Tinkler girl had apparently managed to break free, and was still untangling herself from trailing lengths of orange binder-twine as she went. Midge could see what the effort had cost, though. Henty’s wrists and neck were red raw where the twine had cut into her, and there were a couple of nasty bramble scratches down the side of her face, beaded with blood.
‘Henty – are you all right?’
‘Aye . . .’ Henty fought to catch her breath. ‘But Marten . . . Marten . . .’
‘He’ll be fine. Come on. Can you walk – do you want me to carry you?’
‘No. I can walk.’
They stumbled down to the weir-bank to find George leaning out over the reeds, reaching towards Little-Marten with a long willow branch. ‘Just hang on to this,’ he was saying. ‘I’ll do the rest.’
Little-Marten grabbed the far end of the branch, clung on tight, and in a few moments George had hauled him staggering and splashing through the reeds and back onto firm ground. Henty ran straight to him and took him in her arms, soaked through though he was and plastered in river mud. The two of them clung together for so long that George started to get fidgety.
‘Come on,’ he said to Midge. ‘Let’s go and find that pillow. We can rub him down a bit with that.’
‘What? OK.’
They walked back up to the bridge and stood there for a while, looking down into the endlessly foaming water. Midge had to lean against the locking gear as reaction to all that had happened began to set in. She felt horribly sick and shaky. Her mouth filled with water and she had to keep swallowing.
‘That was awful,’ she said. ‘Just . . . awful . . .’
‘I know.’ George’s voice sounded normal, but his face was very pale. He shook his head and let out a deep breath. ‘Old Whitey,’ he said. ‘I just can’t believe that he’s really . . . real. Really down there. And he’s huge. Big as a pig, just like Dad said. God, that was horrible, though. When he—’ George stopped for a moment, gazing out across the weir, remembering. ‘And when you were up here with Scurl, that was horrible too. I couldn’t believe what Little-Marten did. He was amazing. I thought you were going in with them, though.’
‘Yeah . . . so did I.’ Midge let out a long breath. She couldn’t seem to get her lungs or her heart back into rhythm. ‘I would have done too, if you hadn’t grabbed me.’
‘Huh. I should’ve been thinking quicker in the first place. But it was like I just couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Nor me. I was too scared to run even. Anyway . . .’ Midge let out another juddering breath, and pushed herself away from the stanchion. She had to occupy herself with something in order to keep this whirling dizziness at bay. ‘We’d better see if we can get Little-Marten cleaned up a bit. I still don’t understand what’s been going on.’
‘No. I thought Scurl was supposed to have been waiting in the barn.’
‘Maybe that’s what he wanted us – me – to think. He knew that I wouldn’t have been expecting anything to happen here.’
George picked up the pillow, and they walked back across the bridge. Midge stopped and looked down at the quiver of arrows that Scurl had dropped. She put one foot forward, kicked sideways and swept the whole lot into the weir. Her balance was so unsteady that for moment she thought she was going to go with it.
The pillow didn’t help much. They rubbed Little-Marten down with it as best they could, but he still looked as bedraggled and mud-smeared as ever. His saturated woollen leggings sagged at the knees and his hair stood on end like a chimney-brush.
‘What shall we do with him?’ said Midge to George. ‘He’s going to catch his death out here if we don’t get him dried off properly. We can’t take both of them back to the farm, though. Not on the toboggan at any rate . . .’
‘We’m going home,’ said Little-Marten. He was shuddering with cold, but his voice was firm – as though putting an end to any argument in the matter. ‘Agreed?’ He looked at Henty.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But ’tis you that must talk to my father, for I shan’t.’
Midge looked at them. ‘Well . . .’ she said. ‘I think it’d be best if you did go back. And if you are going, then you can take a message from me. It’s very important. Tell Tadgemole – or Maglin – that I’ve got the Orbis. I found i
t. Tell them that I’m going to bring it to them later on. Today.’
‘The Orbis?’ Little-Marten stopped wringing out his sleeves. ‘Thee’ve truly found it, then?’
‘Yes. Truly. And I’m going to bring it to the forest. You can go and give them the news.’
Little-Marten blew out his cheeks. ‘Well if that don’t make old Tadgemole smile on us then I dunno what would. Eh, Henty? What do ’ee reckon to that?’
Henty took Little-Marten’s arm and looked up at Midge. ‘You’ve been a friend to us,’ she said. ‘And we shan’t forget. If you hadn’t a-come . . . then I don’t know what would . . . what Scurl would have—’
‘Well he’s gone now,’ Midge cut in. Her mind shied away from Scurl and from the terrible things that had happened. She didn’t want to think about it, or talk about it.
‘We thought you were supposed to be in the barn,’ said George to Henty.
Henty nodded. ‘Scurl reckoned Little-Marten might give warning, so he brought me to hide here, where you’d not think him to be. He had the bow – and the knife. I couldn’t say aught, nor shout out.’
‘I saw ’un, though,’ said Little-Marten. ‘And tried to call to ’ee. But he got a hold on me . . .’
‘Well, it was enough to give me some warning,’ said Midge. ‘And then George saw him and shouted too. So I knew that something was going on over on this side of the bridge. I wasn’t that surprised to see him here.’
Little-Marten hung his head. ‘I shouldn’t ha’ done it, though. Shouldn’t have brought ’ee. I could’ve gotten ’ee killed . . .’
‘But he’d have got me anyway, in the end.’ Midge tried to make him feel better – yet at the same time the thought of Scurl made her stomach tighten again. ‘I think he’s tried once or twice already. If you and Henty hadn’t been around, and none of this had happened, then he . . . he would have just waited until I was on my own some day . . . walking in the fields or something. I wouldn’t have known he was still alive until it was too late. So really you’ve saved me from him.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘But what are you doing out here in any case? Have you run away?’
Little-Marten looked at Henty. ‘Aye. We’d be together, but Tadgemole’ll have none of me.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘I be Ickri and she be Tinkler.’ Little-Marten shrugged as if it was obvious.
‘Well . . . what difference does that make?’
‘’Tis like raven and magpie. We ain’t o’ the same feather.’ Little-Marten’s teeth were chattering, and Midge thought it better to stop asking questions.
‘Listen, then,’ she said. ‘Go back to the forest and tell them that I’m bringing the Orbis—’
‘Tell them we’re bringing it,’ George interrupted. ‘I’m coming too.’
‘OK, then. We’re bringing it,’ said Midge. ‘And then I’ll talk to Tadgemole, if you like. He owes me a favour or two, I reckon.’
Henty and Little-Marten looked around the landscape, uncertain of their bearings. George said, ‘The quickest way is just to follow this rhyne. It’s a straight line nearly all the way there – see? Stay close to the water and you should be safe.’
Little-Marten took Henty’s hand. ‘Come, then. We’m away. And I s’ll be glad to be out o’ this, I can tell ’ee.’
‘Don’t forget,’ Midge called after them. ‘We’ll come to the tunnel as soon as we can. Make sure there’s somebody there to meet us – Maglin or Tadgemole. Doesn’t matter which.’
‘Aye.’ Little-Marten’s voice drifted over his shoulder as he and Henty disappeared among the brambles. ‘One or t’other shall be waiting for ’ee.’
‘Think they’ll be OK?’ said George, once the pair had gone.
‘Yeah. Hope so. And I hope the Orbis is still safe, now that I’ve promised to bring it to them. Come on. We’d better get back.’
‘Do you really want to do this today, though?’ said George. He was walking ahead of her as they began to cross the weir. ‘I mean, haven’t you had enough?’
‘Yeah – I have had enough. That’s exactly it. I’ve had more than enough, and that’s why I want to get it done. It’s school again tomorrow, and so there won’t be another chance until the weekend. I just don’t want to have to be thinking about it any more. I’m going to get it over with. Today. It won’t take us long.’
‘Well, OK then.’ George picked up the toboggan rope and they began the long walk home. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What do you think the time is anyway?’
‘That’s the weird thing.’ Midge puzzled over her thoughts for a moment. ‘I’m sure the alarm was set for eleven-thirty. I watched your mum do it. But it wasn’t even ten-thirty when it went off.’
‘Maybe when the clocks get turned back in the autumn, Dad forgot to do that one.’
Would that make any difference? Midge couldn’t work it out. And that was another thing: what was she going to say to Uncle Brian about his nice old alarm clock? That she dropped it in the water and lost it?
‘I know what we did forget,’ said George, after a while. ‘The pillow.’
‘Yeah, well. Tough,’ said Midge. But then a wave of dizziness hit her again, and she said, ‘George, is it OK if I hang onto your arm for a bit? I don’t feel very good.’
The Orbis was lying on the floor of the Stick House, still safe in its carrier bag, where Midge had left it. She picked it up, waited for George to prop his toboggan against the wall once more, and the two of them walked in silence over to the farmhouse.
‘Oh good. You’re back.’ They entered the kitchen to find George’s mum all packed up and ready to go. Her briefcase was sitting on the kitchen table and she was buttoning up her coat. ‘I’m finished,’ she said. ‘Come on, then, George. I need to be away.’
‘What?’ said George. ‘We don’t have to go yet, do we? It’s nowhere near lunchtime. You said twelve-thirty.’
‘I know, but I’ve had a call from the office. They’ve got the auditors in, and they want me to go and look at some figures.’ Auntie Pat picked up her briefcase.
‘Yeah, but I’m not ready yet. There’s some stuff I have to do,’ said George. ‘With Midge.’
‘It’ll have to wait then, I’m afraid. Come on. Get your bits together.’
‘But I can’t . . .’ George looked at Midge. ‘Couldn’t we just have another hour? That’s all we need. Just another hour.’
‘Sorry, no. I have to go.’
‘Well can’t I stay over for the night, then?’
‘George will you come on. You’ve got school tomorrow and there’s a dozen things to sort out yet. Now let’s get cracking.’ Auntie Pat was adamant. She moved around to the back of George and crowded him towards the door. George was furious.
‘Well, I wish we hadn’t bothered to come back at all now! We should have just stayed out there. And now I’m going to miss everything. And it’s important! How come nothing I ever have to do is as important as anything anyone else has to do? This always happens . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah. Just keep moving. Cheerio, Midge.’ Auntie Pat looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at Midge. ‘Have a nice peaceful afternoon,’ she said. ‘And see you at the weekend, I expect.’ She reached across George’s hunched shoulders and opened the kitchen door.
‘Yeah. Bye, Auntie Pat. Bye, George,’ Midge mumbled.
Auntie Pat gave George a gentle shove, and they were gone. Midge could still hear George grumbling all the way down the front path and out to the car.
She was alone.
Midge put her carrier bag on the kitchen table and sat down. The place seemed unusually peaceful, no noise from the builders for once. And the room itself was almost eerily quiet, the low hiss of the Rayburn the only sound.
It was the absence of the clock, Midge realized. The fast friendly tick of the little travel alarm – so much a part of Uncle Brian’s kitchen – was no more. It lay silenced for ever at the bottom of the weir, down there in the darkness . . . along with Old Whitey . . . and . . .
It was a shame that George had been dragged off. She wished that he could have been there too, when she handed this thing over. Soon she would take the bag and trudge up Howard’s Hill with it, go to the tunnel and give it to whoever was there to meet her – Maglin, or Tadgemole. Or Pegs. She was desperate to hear what had happened to Pegs, and that was another reason for making this journey today. She couldn’t wait any longer. Today was the day, and it had to be done – and at least there was no more danger to worry about.
Midge stood up and began to zip her fleece. But her hands were all shaky, and the zip didn’t seem to want to connect. Maybe she’d better sit down again, just until her nerves were calmer. Have a glass of milk or something.
Chapter Twenty-six
HENTY LED THE way through the wicker tunnel, hopping from stone to stone as she moved along the stream, trying to keep her feet dry. Little-Marten splashed along behind her, already too tired and wet to bother about using the stepping stones. He had been surprised to find the tunnel gates open and nobody on lookout duty. Then Henty seemed to hesitate for a moment as she reached the circle of daylight ahead. Little-Marten stumbled sideways in order to avoid bumping into her, and saw that there was somebody on duty after all.
It took him a moment to recognize Ictor, captain of the Old Guard, standing close to the tunnel entrance, bow and arrow at the ready.
‘Thee’ve come back, then.’ Ictor’s manner was cold, unfriendly. ‘Where’ve ’ee been hiding – in a ditch? I’d not be in your boots, Woodpecker, wet or dry. Not by the time your betters’ve finished with ’ee.’ He lowered his bow.
Little-Marten was still wondering why Ictor had been reduced to the post of tunnel-lookout, but thought it best not to ask insulting questions of one who was armed. All he said was, ‘Maglin’ll be pleased enough to see me, I reckon. I’ve news for him – and for all here. The Gorji maid be coming. And she’ve found the Orbis.’
Winter Wood Page 29
