by Robin Jarvis
Staggered by the visions he had just experienced, the Reverend Peter Galloway shook his head and drew a hand over his face.
‘Incredible,’ he finally managed to utter. ‘Amazing!’
Thought looked at him sternly. ‘Thy foolish tongue near spoiled our Lord's intricate design,’ he cawed with scorn. ‘Thou didst play thy part most poorly.’
Peter turned and stared down into the valley where street lamps now shone and vehicles barged along the Shepton Mallet road.
‘I'm sorry,’ he apologised. ‘But I don't understand why we had to lie. Who was that young woman and the strange little girl? Why won't you explain properly?’
The raven cackled. ‘Thou art here to fulfil our Lord's wishes, not query or gainsay them. Verdandi hath been chosen to bring this glorious prize unto us—that is all thou needeth to know.’
‘But the deceit can't be right. Already I've stolen a car and now I've been part of a cruel fraud. You made her think the person she loved was dying! Surely this isn't how it should be?’
A sly smirk appeared upon Thought's ugly face.
‘What matters a score of falsehoods if the goal is won?’ he muttered. Think only of His suffering. If thou doth wish to aid Him further then hearts must be broken and tongues must betray. Better to fix thy mind solely upon the outcome of this most noble of quests. He shalt be returned. The world will believe in Him again, the proof we seek must be found.’
‘You're saying that the end justifies the means,’ the vicar said wretchedly. 'I can't accept that.’
“Tis folly to believe otherwise.’
Peter's eyes closed and he tried to unravel the confusion in his soul.
‘But that pretty young woman,’ he murmured, ‘if she is the only one who can get us the holy treasure then why couldn't we simply tell her the truth?’
The raven's hunched shoulders shuddered as though he were laughing silently. Then, fixing the vicar with his beady stare, he croaked, ‘Verdandi and the whelp art in no danger. Turn thy thoughts and concern to thine own future. This night all thy prayers shalt be granted. Prepare thyself for new marvels.’
Peter wasn't sure that he could, but he steeled himself for whatever trials and tests still lay ahead for him and nodded slowly.
‘Then let us begone,’ Thought crowed, beating his wings and rising into the air. ‘The time of the gathering is upon us—dost thou not sense it? The Twelve are waking!’
Chapter 20 - The Crimson Weft
‘Be safer to go back to Tor Hill by way of the road,’ Tommy said when he, Neil and Quoth left the derelict barn. ‘Them fields is too girt an’ open with nowt to hide us if'n we need it.’
Keeping the looming, shadowy bulk of the Tor upon their right, the tramp led them around the dark expanse of ploughed earth, tottering warily along.
‘Safe for now,’ he wittered to himself, patting his satchel. ‘Just nuff time for Tommy to get to the tower.’
‘That's not where you're thinking of sleeping tonight is it?’ the boy asked. ‘You'll freeze.’
Raising a large, red-knuckled hand, Tommy pointed across the murky gulf to where the street lamps stretched from the main part of town to climb the lower rise of Wearyall Hill.
‘Either that or Tommy kips next to the Holy Thorn,’ he said. ‘Them nasties dursn't touch him there, but that'd be even worse cold—what with no walls nor no stone bench fer Tommy to lie on.’
‘You don't think you'd be better off in a hostel or somewhere?’
The tramp pulled a disgruntled expression and aired his tongue as if he had tasted something unpleasant. ‘Not on no one's Nelly,’ he mumbled. ‘Tried to get Tommy put away lots of times they have, but he won't have it. ‘Sides, they places bain't no use in keeping the bird women out.’
‘Bird women?’
Tommy's pale eyes turned on him and the tramp put a finger to his lips. ‘Hush now,’ he urged. ‘Not so loud, it's dangerous to tempt fate. You should know that boy.’
The country lane they had taken now joined the main road and the dazzling headlamps of the oncoming traffic made Quoth shake his head and keep his one eye half closed.
‘We'll just get on along Coursing Batch,’ Tommy told them, ‘then us can go up the Wellhouse Lane way.’
The old man hurried along. Soon he would be climbing the Tor to claim the sanctuary of Saint Michael's tower and, with his collection of angels to protect him, he was sure to come through the night unscathed.
Beaming his toothless smile, he suddenly noticed a single light travelling shakily down the road and immediately recognised the plump figure which sat behind it.
‘How do!’ he shouted. ‘You hurry on home, girlie!’
Her eyes fixed upon the rear lights of the car in front, Lauren Humphries looked up sharply at the sound of the tramp's voice.
Since leaving The Glastonbury Experience, the girl had not known what to do when she returned home, but now a wild idea came to her and she swiftly applied the brakes of her bicycle.
‘Tommy!’ she cried, putting one foot upon the pavement. ‘You were right—there is something weird going on here.’
Caught in the beam of her bicycle lamp, the tramp halted when he saw the distress written upon the girl's face.
‘Now then,’ he muttered gently, ‘what's got you so worked up?’
It was then that Lauren noticed Neil and, remembering how the local boys had bullied the old man the other day, looked at him suspiciously—although she was astonished and even a little afraid to see a large, one-eyed raven perched upon his shoulder.
‘Don't you be spooked by this ‘ere lad now,’ the tramp reassured her. ‘He be Tommy's newest pal.’
Neil nodded politely at the girl, but he was anxious to continue to the Tor and the narrow pavement made it impossible to squeeze past Tommy's large frame.
Quoth, however, was willing to be more communicative and gave a hearty chirp whilst viewing the girl and her wheeled contraption with much curiosity.
‘Hail and well met!’ he chattered. ‘Oh fine, dumpy damsel! Fie, ‘tis surely false when ‘tis said that a pretty pig doth make an ugly old sow. Thou hast a most comely face.’
Lauren stared at the bird in shock and Neil hastily wrapped his fingers over Quoth's jabbering, offensive beak.
‘Sorry about that,’ he quickly explained. ‘He's not right in the head.’
‘Perhaps you should teach him a better repertoire,’ the girl suggested coldly before turning back to Tommy.
‘Don't you mind that overgrowed, baldy sparrow,’ the tramp told her. ‘He's good as gold really.’
‘Forget the bird!’ Lauren said in a frantic rush of words. ‘I have to talk to someone about what's happening before I explode. At first I thought it was just my imagination. But I know now that it's real and horrible and my stepmother's caught up in it.’
Lifting the peak of his cap, Tommy sucked his gums and his white, whiskery brows formed a deep frown.
‘Always hoity-toity, that ‘un,’ he muttered. ‘But she don't deserve none of what's in store. Real sorry, Tommy is, but there's nowt no one can do if'n she's been got. There ain't no use you goin’ back home neither, safer to stick your head in the mouth of a lion whose belly's rumbling. You best come with us.’
Lauren shook her head. ‘It's not too late!’ she protested. ‘I know what's causing it all—it's the crow dolls! I don't understand how, but they're responsible! You've got to help me, Tommy.’
‘Help you do what?’ he spluttered. ‘Tommy don't know nowt about dollies, nor want to neither. He's got to get up that hill double quick.’
‘But Dad won't be back yet and there's no one else who'll believe me!’ Lauren pleaded. ‘If we can just get home before my stepmother goes to bed, then I can throw the foul thing on to the fire and she'll be all right. Please come with me, Tommy—I don't want to go on my own.’
The old man gazed at her forlornly. The girl was shivering with emotion and fear, so, casting a sorrowful look at the dark shape of the To
r, he assented.
‘Tommy'll go with you,’ he agreed. ‘But if'n we're too late, then he ain't stoppin’—even if he does have his angels to guard him.’
‘Thank you!’ Lauren cried.
Brushing her gratitude shyly aside, the tramp turned to Neil. ‘Tommy can't come with you now, lad,’ he said. ‘But you know the way from here, just keep on down this road and cut into Wellhouse Lane.’
Neil was secretly relieved that the tramp was heading off with the girl. He was desperate to meet up with Aidan again. So far he had failed to do anything Miss Ursula had requested and the consequences of not finding Edie or Miss Veronica didn't bear thinking about.
Sitting close to his ear, however, Quoth had grown still and silent. Lauren's words concerning the crow dolls had triggered some vague memory deep in his decayed brain and a horrendous sense of foreboding flooded over him.
‘Hold!’ he squawked suddenly. ‘Avast! Belay! Desist! Master Neil, Master Neil!’
The boy grimaced as the raven's shrieking spiked through his eardrum.
‘What is it?’ he demanded crossly.
‘Go with these goodly folk!’ Quoth instructed. ‘The plight of yon portly maid doth concern us most highly.’
‘But what about the others?’
The raven's eye glinted and in a harsh, woeful voice he replied. ‘Put thy trust in mine counsel. A spectre of the past is rising, and mine heart forewarns that we art all in peril. Dark pictures churneth in this addled pate and dread, riddling words of ill omen doth speak unto me from mine former life.’
Hearing Quoth's earnest, fearful speech, Neil glanced at Tommy and Lauren then said simply, ‘We're coming with you.’
*
A short while later they were all walking up the drive to the Humphries’ Bed and Breakfast. Sheila's car was parked at the side of the house and a wedge of cheering yellow light streamed across its bonnet from the kitchen window.
‘Well, she's home,’ Lauren commented, leaning her bicycle against the wall.
‘Tommy can see that,’ the tramp whispered, breathing upon the vehicle's rear window before rubbing it with his elbow.
Lauren laced her fingers together nervously as she moved towards the kitchen door. ‘Perhaps you ought to stay out here while I check what's going on,’ she suggested. ‘If she hasn't gone to bed then I could nip upstairs and swipe the creepy thing without her knowing.’
‘I thought you wanted us to come in with you?’ Neil objected.
‘I do, but you don't know what she's like. She can be a real pain sometimes and I don't want to upset her unless I have to.’
The tramp nodded sagely. ‘Arr,’ he agreed. ‘Don't like Tommy's sort that daft woman don't. Every time he done sees her, she crosses the road to get out of Tommy's way. Ha! Tommy sometimes follows her just for fun!’
‘She sounds awful,’ Neil muttered.
‘You don't have to live with her,’ the girl replied.
Standing upon the step, Lauren pushed open the door and cautiously peeped into the kitchen.
‘Hello?’ she called. ‘You in here?’
Waiting by the car, Neil and Tommy heard no response and Quoth craned his neck forward to catch the scents which flowed from the brightly-lit room.
‘Zoodikers!’ he croaked under his breath. ‘This place doth possess an evil air.’
The kitchen was empty, but on the table where Sheila had left them were five large shopping bags which were still full of groceries. With mounting unease, the girl saw that not even the frozen food had been unpacked and put away.
Unnerved, she quickly ran to the living room but, with the exception of the kitchen, the whole of the ground floor was in darkness.
Returning to the back door, she called the others inside and glanced uncertainly up the stairs.
‘She must have already gone to bed,’ she said. ‘I’ll go see if she's asleep.’
‘Don't you do nowt barmy now,’ Tommy cautioned. ‘You put your ear to the door first and see if it's snoring or screeching you can hear.’
Neil stared at him, but Lauren obviously knew what he meant.
‘I'd already thought of that,’ she told him.
Switching on the landing light, Lauren ascended the stairs.
In the kitchen, Tommy pulled the hat from his head and wrung it in his hands, whilst Quoth shuddered upon Neil's shoulder and roved his eye about the room, murmuring apprehensively to himself.
When she reached the landing, Lauren crouched upon the carpet and breathed a sigh of relief, for a gentle, rosy glow was shining beneath the door. If the bedside lamp was turned on, that could only be a hopeful sign—her stepmother might still be awake.
With her heart in her mouth, the girl crept closer. Then, brushing her flame-coloured hair out of the way, she placed her hands upon the door frame and pressed her exposed ear against the stripped pine.
For what seemed like ages, she waited, straining for the slightest sound until, at last, she heard Sheila's weary voice groan miserably.
Lauren glanced down the stairs at the others and gave a cautiously optimistic sign, then pointed to the door handle to tell them that she was going in.
Lifting his satchel, the tramp held it up towards her encouragingly and muttered, ‘Tommy's lovely angels are watching over you, lass.’
‘Sheila,’ Lauren whispered, tapping lightly upon the wood, ‘are you all right?’
Gingerly, she turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Down in the kitchen, all of Quoth's ragged feathers stood on end and the raven pulled a pained, horrified expression.
“Tis here,’ he choked, urgently tugging on the collar of Neil's shirt to get his attention. ‘The stink of death which this sicklet didst fear in the hovel. That dread is on me once more! Those terrors I didst sense amidst the straw, one of their number hath been here, verily-’tis here now!’
Neil and the tramp stared at him then looked sharply up the stairs.
‘Wait, girlie!’ Tommy hissed. ‘Come you back down!’
But it was too late, Lauren had already entered the bedroom.
*
Lying on top of the covers and still fully dressed, the girl's stepmother stirred feebly when Lauren approached.
Going to the cash-and-carry had been too much for the woman. On her return she had almost collapsed in the kitchen and had only managed to struggle upstairs by a supreme effort of her failing will. She felt as though her life was ebbing away, seeping from her limbs to leave only a barren, vacant void to be influenced and controlled.
Even with the warm pink glow of the lamp falling upon her features, Sheila's skin appeared ashen and clammy, but her eyelids fluttered and her dilated pupils slid across to gaze up at the anxious girl.
‘L... Lorrie...’ she whimpered. ‘I... I... feel
Lauren lay a hand upon the woman's sweat-streaming forehead. It was hot and fevered.
‘You'll be all right, Sheila,’ she said, trying to sound calm. ‘Everything'll be fine—just concentrate on getting well.’
Her stepmother's eyes rolled upwards, leaving a hideous sliver of white showing and the girl looked away to glare at the object which she knew she had to destroy.
Hanging from the bedpost above Sheila's head, the effigy of the crow woman appeared just as she had last seen it—a rudimentary cloth doll with beads for eyes and twigs for feet and fingers.
Dangling there, inert and dormant, it seemed ridiculous to believe it wielded power over her stepmother, but after talking to Miss Pettigrew in the craft shop, Lauren knew that her instinctive dislike of the sinister image was justified.
Warily, the girl glanced at the ailing figure upon the bed. Sheila had fallen back into a swoon and was rambling incoherently in a hoarse whisper. So, taking this chance and curbing her natural revulsion, Lauren reached out to steal the vile thing.
As soon as her fingers closed about the fabric of the small checked dress, Sheila's eyes snapped open.
‘Stop!’ she yelled in a high-pi
tched, frantic shriek. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I'm taking the doll away,’ came the swift reply. ‘Can't you see? That's what's making you ill!’
Sheila's large, dark eyes stared at her in horror. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Lorrie—don't! You mustn't! Give it back—give it to me!’
Lauren shook her head and edged towards the door as the woman let out a piteous, mewling cry.
‘I have to have it!’ she wailed. ‘I will have it!’
Without warning, Sheila flung herself from the bed and lunged at her stepdaughter, knocking her off balance.
Lashing out with more strength than the girl could have imagined possible, she snatched the crow doll from her grasp and leapt back across the room to dive under the bed, where she gripped the effigy fiercely and glared about her like a wild, cornered animal.
‘Sheila!’ Lauren gasped in dismay. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Get out!’ sobbed the woman's voice from beneath the bed. ‘Leave me—leave us.’
‘I can't.’
Sheila's laboured, fitful breathing was her only answer and so, not knowing what else to do, Lauren opened the door.
‘I'll be back in a moment with help,’ she said.
‘Hlökk...’ came a despairing hiss, ‘the crimson weft must be woven.’
Hearing those words, Lauren hurried out on to the landing, closed the door after her and ran down the stairs to where Tommy and Neil were waiting.
‘It's no use!’ she told them. ‘I tried to take it but she went mad and snatched it back.’
‘She'm still your stepmother then?’ the tramp ventured.
Lauren nodded vigorously, ‘Yes, but I don't know for how much longer. You have to help me take the doll from her before it's too late.’
‘Halt, I say unto thee!’ Quoth cried abruptly.
The girl looked around, the raven was no longer standing upon Neil's shoulder for the boy had put him down on the table at his own request and had been nosing about in the shopping bags.
‘Get that filthy thing off there!’ she demanded.
Neil ignored her. ‘What is it?’ he asked the straggly bird.
Quoth paced forward to the table's edge, his beak covered in the tell-tale crumbs of the loaf he had been nibbling, but his face was grave and, when he had finished chewing, he looked long and hard at the girl.
