by Jacky Gray
Finally, the message got through to Archer. ‘You fancy him don’t you?’
‘Stiff? No way. He fancies me and I have to suffer …’
‘No, I meant Jack.’
She wouldn’t meet his gaze, emptying the contents of her makeup bag on his desk, to get the mascara.
He watched her applying it expertly, waiting for some kind of response, but she was obviously not going to talk about it, so he changed the subject. ‘Why do you have to suffer?’
She looked at him for a while as though trying to decide if she could trust him. Shaking her head, she sighed. ‘He said if I didn’t do what he said, he’d get Kellie to do it. He would too, I’ve seen the way he looks at her.’
‘Swine. I can’t stand boys that threaten girls. He needs to be taught a lesson. One he won’t forget in a hurry.’
It was fairly straightforward to plant the final piece of information: that Archer was going to do the deed at five o’clock on Saturday.
Stiff was cautious. ‘And you’re sure he’ll be on his own?’
‘Yeah. He hasn’t got any friends apart from Peter and he’ll be away visiting relatives.’ Jack played his part well, just the right amount of reluctance.
‘Excellent. This couldn’t be better. Well Jack, if it all works out, I might consider letting you go. You’re boring me now with all this going straight shit. You’ve lost the fire in your belly. I need to have people I can trust.’
So the scene was set. Jack came away with some relief, it was the first time in almost a year he would not be dancing to someone else’s tune. Somehow, he had to believe that he was worth more than the nasty piece of work he had become.
There was one big flaw with their scheme, but it couldn’t be helped. They overlooked the fact that Stiff was such a coward he would never tackle Archer on his own so he insisted on forcing Brett and a couple of others along for the job. The security fence was no challenge at all to fit young men and they moved like shadows in the dark. The school was an eerie place on a damp, chilly Saturday evening, their footsteps echoed as they crossed the playground.
‘Right, one of you stay here and keep an eye out for the caretaker. He’s probably sat watching telly, but if you see anything, throw a stone up to Barstard’s office. That’s the big window up on the first floor. As he pointed, they saw a flicker of light and ducked behind the hedge. ‘Look’s like he’s up there, just like Jack said.’
‘What are you gonna do if he fights?’ The boy was a friend of Brett’s and was really regretting the decision to help him out.
‘What do you think? After the way he’s buggared up the whole shoplifting scam, I’m gonna beat the crap out of him. But just in case …’ He pulled a knife out of his pocket, pressed the button and a squat, curved blade glittered in the streetlights. Flicking it at the boy, he grinned at the satisfying flinch. ‘If you’re pussy, you can wait in the hallway in case bug-a-lugs here lets the caretaker past.’
‘He might come from another direction.’
‘So watch them all.’ He closed the knife with a snap. ‘Right, everyone set? Come on, then.’
At the back of the building, Stiff climbed up to the window in the boys’ toilets and forced the broken catch easily. They squeezed in, creeping through the dark, empty corridors. As they approached the door to the head’s office, a siren sounded somewhere in the distance and they were frozen to the spot.
‘It’s all right; it’s probably just an ambulance or something.’ Stiff set the second lookout in place and pulled out the knife. ‘If anyone comes, just bang on the door then get the hell out. Come on then Brett.’
They opened the door to the outer office and crept in, watching the beam of torchlight moving as though someone was looking for something. Sneaking into the head’s office, they were expecting to surprise Archer, but got the worst shock of their lives. Both boys were blinded as black hoods were thrown over their heads. The knife was knocked harmlessly out of Stiff’s hand and he heard a curt order not to touch it as his arms were bent backwards and his wrists shackled tightly. He heard Brett’s shout of protest, a thump, then sounds of a struggle.
‘Get him out of here, stick him with the others, we’ll deal with them later.’
‘What’s going on? Who are you?’ Fear turned Stiff’s voice into a squeak.
‘Shut up. You speak only when you are spoken to.’
35 An Innocent Man
For the first time in his life, Stiff was in the same position as his victims: helpless and afraid, with someone else calling the shots. But unlike his victims, he was not an innocent, forced to take part in some kind of criminal activity. He listened as the disembodied voice described some of the dreadful things that would happen to him if he did not do as he was told. The visitor’s chair in the headmaster’s study was his prison, with his own belt securing his wrists to the chair’s back. His ankles were bound to the legs of the chair and every time he did not comply, there was a pinprick on his arm. A mental image of the cruel stiletto blade carving its retribution, brought prickles of sweat all over his body.
The voice was relentless, telling him he had one chance to put things right, to atone for all his sins and save the souls of those he had tried to destroy. Stiff had little imagination when it came to dishing out punishment, relying on brute force and infliction of pain. This mental torture was far more terrifying, with darkness pierced by painful light shining an inch from his eyes. The eerie silence was broken by random crashes all around him, each one making him jump. The scariest part was that he had no idea how many people were in the room, where they were, or what they would do next.
A viciously loud klaxon sounded near his ear and he twitched, inflicting pain as the bindings tore at his muscles. He had no personal courage at the best of times and this was definitely not one of those. At last, the voice gave its final instruction. He must confess to everything, the way he had organised the gang and bullied the children involved. How he’d terrorised them with threats and violence until they were forced to do his bidding.
A final pinprick on his arm was enough to convince him to tell all, the click of a tape recorder indicated that his words were being recorded. His fear of the consequences was now so strong he told it all, leaving nothing out. This little scam was just the latest in a long line of similar schemes lasting several years. At every place he stayed, he had stolen, bullied and hurt people. Initially, this was to get material things, then because he enjoyed the power and at the end, just because he could.
Once he started talking, it was as though he couldn’t stop, every last little detail about his sad, shady life came out. He was so desperate to name all of his victims and all of the atrocities he had committed, that he didn’t hear his interrogator silently leave the room and escape. Stiff was still talking as a young man entered the room, his gun pointing warily at each of the corners before bringing it to rest at the babbling figure. Normally, the detective would have announced his arrival, but a notice, taped to the door read, “CAUTION! Taped confession in progress.”
Forensic science was unable to determine much evidence from the note apart from the facts that it was printed on standard photocopy quality paper from an inkjet printer; the font type was Arial black and the font size was 72pt. Thin rubber gloves had been used to handle the paper and the tape was Sellotape, cut with scissors. Some kind of synthesiser had been used to disguise the voice that gave the information on the 999 call. The best they could manage was that four different voices had read the short message simultaneously. The music playing loudly in the background was the Guns N’ Roses version of “Live and Let Die.”
Although the confession was extracted under duress, they were able to question the suspect directly about the crimes. Having admitted to them already, it didn’t make sense to try and deny anything. It was a good collar; several unsolved crimes were cleared as a result of it. Three other suspects were caught on the school premises, questioned and charged. This may have had some bearing on the detective’s len
iency when it came to the other individuals implicated in the confessions. At Archer’s suggestion, his four friends had written statements outlining their part in the two stealing sprees and these had been handed into the police station that same night, along with some of the stolen goods still in a saleable state.
The first thing Penny and Todd knew about any of it was when the young detective came round to the house with a woman he introduced as D.C. Bell.
‘Oh dear, I hope this doesn’t mean more trouble.’ Penny looked over at Archer with a worried expression.
‘Yes and no. I’m pleased to report that Don has been completely cleared of all charges against him. We now know that he had nothing to do with any of the thefts and he was only attempting to return the stolen goods.’
‘I never doubted it for an instant.’
‘However,’ the detective fixed Archer with a hard stare, ‘we would appreciate if you wouldn’t take things into your own hands, young man. If you are aware of a crime being committed, it is your civic duty to inform the police, not wage some kind of vigilante action to undo the crime.’
Archer looked down at the floor. Something about the man’s quietly purposeful manner made him respond with due respect, but nothing would ever prevent him from trying to do what he could to reverse injustice and he didn’t want the man to read that in his eyes. ‘Yes, sir.’
Pausing for a second before allowing a few degrees of warmth to heat his voice, the detective continued. ‘I am sure you were acting for the benefit of your friends and this is one of the contributory factors in the CPS’s decision not to prosecute four of the perpetrators.’ He looked over to where Mandy and Kellie were sitting on the sofa, nervously gripping each other’s hands. ‘Apparently you have had such a good influence on them, that several of their teachers are prepared to stand up and testify as character witnesses.’
As the implications of his words pierced their anxiety, revealing the tentative smiles underneath, he addressed them directly. ‘Amanda and Kellie Brogan, you will both be required to register at the station for a period of one year’s probation. You will also need to continue with your reformed behaviour and stay out of trouble for the whole year or you will go straight to a youth offenders’ institute. You must both attend a number of compulsory sessions to help with your rehabilitation. The stores have kindly agreed they will drop all charges if you complete the required community service programme.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The ghost of a smile twitched the corner of his lips at their lively display of relief and gratitude, involving lots of hugs and high fives. Then Mandy spoke. ‘Please, sir, could you tell me anything about the two boys, Jack and Kyle? Will they be under probation as well?’
‘I’m afraid I cannot discuss any other particulars of this case, but I’m sure they will be contacting you shortly after my visit.’
‘What about the headmaster’s attempt to get Julie’s licence revoked?’ Penny was upset at the thought of her friend’s troubles. ‘There must be something we can do to help her, it’s completely unjustified.’
‘That is not a police matter; it is in the hands of social services. In view of the irregularities in the case, we will be passing on any information we uncover during our investigation. I can’t say any more on the matter.’
Archer couldn’t be sure, but there was just the brief twitch of an eyelid that looked suspiciously like a wink, then they got up. Reaching the door, he turned. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking where you were on Saturday night between five and six or if anyone saw you?’
Archer’s face reflected total innocence as he said, ‘We were all together in the town, but I don’t suppose anyone else would remember seeing us and we didn’t speak to anyone.’
‘Just as I thought.’
Penny saw them out to the car and was embarrassed by the racket coming from the house as her charges celebrated with plenty of noise. D.C. Bell smiled warmly. ‘You have raised some lovely children, Mrs Gardner.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m so annoyed that people like that headmaster and the shop owner can get away with trying to hurt them by lying and …’
‘There is absolutely no chance of that, I assure you. Justice will be done.’
Epilogue
‘So let me get this straight, you outwitted this evil gang leader, got him and his minions put in jail, and set free the poor children he had under his spell.’ Finn was impressed.
‘I guess you might say that.’
‘And in the process, three of the boys and two girls were released from the wicked enchantment that turned them into rogues and ruffians.’ Fletch added his bit.
Archer was beginning to wonder rather uneasily where this was heading. ‘Something like that.’
‘And one of these girls had set her sights on you, trying to enchant you into courting her.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Stop being so modest Archer, we can tell that you only gave us half the details. I’m sure if we were to pass this onto Doug he’d soon turn it into a song that would make the tale worthy of the telling.’
‘And he’s prepared to give us a handsome payment for such a tale. Apparently, “Archer son of Sedge” was worth every penny he paid for it, a thousand times over.’
‘What? You mean someone sold him my story? Was it you Fletch? Or you Finn?’ He grabbed the front of their tunics as he challenged them.
They were laughing at his pretend anger and Fletch finally admitted who it was.
Archer laughed. ‘In that case, I don’t begrudge a single coin. If Hereward managed to feed his band for a week, then good luck to him. Despite everything we’ve been told about the Renegates, he was a man of honour.’
Acknowledgements
Thank you to everyone who has helped me to believe in myself. Without you, Archer would never have lived outside of my imagination and my computer’s hard drive.
Special thanks to the following – you know the part you played and mere words cannot express my gratitude: Jo, Debby, Norman, Lynne, Steph, Sam, Veronica, Paula, Heidi, Adina, Jay, Jenny, Vickie, Jamie, Tim and Clare.
Thank you to all those people I have plagued for their opinions on the ideas, words, artwork and everything else needed to bring this massive undertaking to fruition. A very special, pond-stretching hug goes to all my World Wise Writer Ladies for their constant encouragement and support: Ace, Hannah, JD and Sho.
An extra special mention to Rebecca Sterling for the truly amazing cover artwork. I owe you, big time. ♥♥♥
A big thank you to Kevin Hicks at History Squad, Kerry at Path To Love, Marianna at Happy Glastonbury and Brian at Chalice Well for their technical expertise. Any remaining mistakes are of my own making.
The next adventure in this series is Reagan. If you would like a taster, read on:
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Reagan threw down his precious notebook and pencil in disgust. He had tried a hundred different ways to solve this puzzle and nothing worked. It was no longer just an interesting challenge. If he didn’t solve this thing soon, more people in the village were going to suffer the consequences of the dreadful run of bad luck and accidents. The devastation was just getting worse.
Closing his eyes against the pain in his head, he ground the heels of his hands into his eyelids as though it would help, or at least drive the demons out of his head. That just created white lights which remained, even after he opened his eyes. He was angry with himself for imagining his gift was so special that he could solve the problem many of the best minds in the village had been working on for over a year. It must be him. He had all the same symptoms as the other boys, much stronger than they had from what Malduc suggested.
Cradling his chin in his hands, he closed his eyes once more. The bright lights were still there, and like everything else around him, they were trying to tell him something. He relaxed and let his mind run freely as the crazy shapes tumbled around, using the back of his eyelids as their playground. He hel
d his breath as two or three thoughts detached themselves from the jumble and vied with each other to capture his attention. One of them broke away, heading to the part of his brain that turned the germ of an idea into a recognisable thought in a language he could understand. Just as it was in danger of making the final leap, his pencil decided to roll off the table and fall on the floor. It was a small sound, but more than enough to destroy his concentration before the thought reached the forefront of his brain where it could stand up and be counted.
He could have cried out in anger, but that would have given him no physical release, so he shoved everything off the table with violent satisfaction as books and papers tumbled down, landing with a pleasing crash. But not quite pleasing enough. He dropped his head so that his forehead connected with the work-worn wood with a thump that came close to causing actual pain.
Suddenly, it was as though everything his father said about not learning anything without suffering first came true. All three thoughts presented themselves to the correct part of his brain with their hair neatly combed and their bags packed, ready to go.
The first thought was that the shape did not have to be regular. The shapes spinning round in front of his eyes were triangles, pentagons and hexagons, but the sides were not the same length and they were not perfectly symmetrical.
The second thought was that the patterns written in the crops would help him to find the number he needed. He knew it was all about the sequences, and this would tell him which pattern to focus on.
The third thought was that he needed to talk to Archer. His hero was probably the only person who could help him solve the mystery before it destroyed him.
Hengist: The People of the Horse
Book 1: Archer
