by carl ashmore
‘Darn it,’ Uncle Percy uttered. ‘Now, Joe, just –’
But Joe wasn’t listening. With a ‘YAH!’ he forced his horse into a gallop, trailing Will into the battle.
‘JOE … YOU BAGHEAD!’ Becky yelled, before turning to Uncle Percy. ‘What can we do?’ she asked frantically. ‘They haven’t got a chance.’
‘We need to stop that tank! How powerful is your telekinesis?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can you do something with the tank’s gun before it fires again?’
Not wavering for a moment, Becky fixed her gaze on the tank, locking on the gun barrel. Feeling the hairs on her neck stand up, she focused with every ounce of energy she had. She could do this. She had to do this. Concentrating hard, she imagined the barrel’s contours, its texture, as if she were there alongside it, grasping it in her fingers. Immediately, the crown of her skull felt like it had been doused with water. Exhaling slowly, she focused harder, willing the barrel to curl upward. She couldn’t see whether it was working or not, but she knew deep down something was happening.
Just then, an explosion shattered the night. The gun barrel exploded in a dazzling fireball or orange and red, metal shards showering the field like blazing raindrops.
Uncle Percy’s mouth fell open. ‘Err, well done, Becky.’ Then he pulled free his sword. ‘Ah, well, the devil hates a coward.’ He swallowed a huge breath. ‘You stay here.’ The instant the words left his mouth, he charged after Joe.
Head spinning, Becky didn’t know what to do. She didn’t have a weapon. And she couldn’t use one if she had. But she had no intention of staying put and doing nothing. And besides, she was a living weapon. Clutching the reins tight, she leaned forward, squeezed the horse between her legs and held on for dear life. The horse set off like a bullet. Looking ahead, she saw Will in the midst of the battle, twisting and turning on his horse, firing a stream of arrows down at Associates, who were taken completely by surprise. One Jeep after another skidded to a standstill as its driver and passenger were cut down. Through the crook of her eye, she saw Uncle Percy leap from his horse, run over to a stationary jeep and drag out its wounded occupants, who slumped to the ground, writhing in pain. He jumped on to the driver’s seat, powered up the jeep and sped off. Glancing round, he saw Becky and pulled the jeep parallel to her. ‘Get in,’ he shouted over the pandemonium.
Throwing her legs over, Becky pushed herself off the horse’s back and jumped on to the passenger seat, landing safely.
‘I thought I told you to wait,’ Uncle Percy yelled, his head whipping left and right, searching out Joe.
‘And miss all the fun stuff?’ Becky shouted back sarcastically. Then, above the heads of the clashing Knights, she spied Joe. ‘He’s over there,’ she yelled, pointing. As Uncle Percy steered the jeep in Joe’s direction, her eyes were drawn upward. Fear gripped her. The Pteranodon had doubled back and was soaring toward Joe, its beak trained on him like a javelin. ‘JOE,’ she screamed at the top of her voice. ‘LOOK UP!’
Joe heard her. Glancing up, he saw the Pteranodon. In a split second, he raised his Joe-bow. Barely having time to take aim, he released an arrow. THUMP. It pierced the Pteranodon’s right eye – at once, all life deserted it, and it plunged into the earth in an explosion of dirt and mud. At this, Joe’s horse reared in fright, throwing him off. Joe crashed to the ground.
Uncle Percy pulled the jeep to a halt beside him. ‘Are you okay, Joe?’
Clutching his ribs in pain, Joe got to his feet, and groaned, ‘Sound as a pound.’
‘Stop being a wuss and get in the car!’ Becky yelled.
As Joe clambered into the jeep, Uncle Percy scoured the battlefield. Spotting Will, he slammed his foot on the accelerator and powered off, colliding into one of the King’s men on the way. ‘Sorry, old chum,’ he muttered. ‘But you picked the wrong side.’ Swerving through the battle, he screeched to a stop beside Will’s horse. ‘Get in the jeep, Will!’
Sweat glazing his face, Will looked down and shook his head. ‘To the castle…’ Without giving Uncle Percy a chance to respond, he galloped toward the wall, the ditch looming ahead. Tilting forward, he vaulted it in a graceful motion and disappeared through the hole.
At the same time, Uncle Percy turned the jeep about and rocketed off after Will. ‘Err, hold on to something, please.’
‘Like what? Becky yelled over the roar of the engine.
Uncle Percy gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles threatened to break through skin. ‘Whatever you can!’ Forcing the jeep to maximum speed, Uncle Percy trained the jeep at the ditch. A few seconds later, the ground disappeared from beneath them. They soared through the air. With a jolt, the jeep’s front wheels smashed against solid ground and they bounced twice, nearly pitching Becky from her seat.
‘That was excellent,’ Joe whooped.
Becky’s hair resembled a kitchen mop. ‘Yeah, just brilliant,’ she grumbled.
Uncle Percy steered them up a steep slope, through the hole and into the castle grounds, where they saw Will had dismounted and drawn his sword. A dozen or so of the King’s men had already made it inside, and were fighting the Alnwick Knights who remained this side of the walls.
Will ran over to the jeep, when he suddenly stopped dead. He had heard something. Turning swiftly, his gaze locked on a swordfight between an Alnwick Knight and two of the King’s men, one tall and lean, the other squat and burly. The Alnwick Knight was small in stature and wore a helmet that masked his entire face. The Alnwick Knight fought hard, skirting and blocking every swipe, but the King’s men were bigger, stronger. Seizing the Knight’s sword arm, the larger of the King’s men knocked him to the ground, before slamming his boot on the Knight’s wrist, forcing him to release his sword. The Alnwick Knight gave a peculiarly high-pitched scream. Then, as one, the King’s men raised their swords slowly, priming themselves for the kill.
Those few moments were all Will needed. At once, he was upon them. Lifting his sword high, he cut the taller man down, before thrusting a dagger into the belly of the other. In less than a second it was over.
Taking a deep breath, Will peered down at the Alnwick Knight, a whimsical smile curling on his mouth. ‘Good E’en to thee, Lady Marian.’
Marian heaved off her helmet and cast it aside. Her frizzy, flaming red hair, parted at the centre, cascaded down her shoulders. ‘Will Shakelock?’ she gasped with disbelief.
‘The very same,’ Will bowed. His eyes gleamed like a man witnessing a sunset for the first time.
Marian was speechless. ‘I – I held you to be dead?’
‘Many have tried,’ Will replied. ‘But, as yet, all have failed.’ Leaning over, he assisted Marian to her feet. ‘It does me good to see you again.’
‘And I … you.’ Marian glanced at the two dead men. ‘And I thank ye for my life.’
‘Your life shall forever be assured if I am with you,’ Will said softly.
Marian smiled. ‘Why are you at Alnwick, Will?’
‘I seek Tuck. Is he with you?’
Marian shook her head. ‘Nay. He has journeyed to Wulvern House. The Lady Ann Moyer is sick. She doth not have long for this world.’
‘The Lady Ann is dying?’
Marian nodded.
Will frowned. ‘That saddens me. But we must depart for Wulvern forthwith. You must join me and my companions.’
‘No, Will,’ Marian replied. ‘Can you not see all that proceeds? Alnwick is under attack by dark forces. The castle must be defended.’
Will’s expression hardened. ‘Marian … Alnwick is lost. You speak the truth, dark forces do stir tonight. And their numbers will rise. More will come, wielding arms, in truth, you cannot comprehend.’
‘Then I shall remain and die with this castle.’
‘No, Marian,’ Will said resolutely. ‘You will be needed to help the De Vesci family repair all that will be. Alnwick can rise again. But if you dwell, all that can happen this night is your death. And that cannot be.’ The lig
ht dulled in his eyes, but he held firm and spoke with complete sincerity. ‘Have faith … those that have caused this bloodshed will suffer for their wickedness. But not tonight. Do you trust me, Marian?’
‘With all that I am.’
‘Then you must journey with me and my friends, and we must depart now…’
Chapter 21
Under Loch and Key
Becky watched the conversation. She saw Marian nod twice, glance nervously at the jeep, before making hesitant steps toward them.
‘That’s Maid Marian,’ Joe whispered in Becky’s ear. ‘How cool is this?’
‘It would be if we weren’t in the middle of a war zone!’
Will hurried Marian into the jeep. Climbing in beside Joe, her eyes scanned the strange vehicle, overwhelmed and frightened.
‘Hiya,’ Joe said to Marian, who was too bewildered to reply. Then, beyond the wall, sheets of scarlet light erupted across the night sky, followed by a devastating bang as if a meteor had crashed to earth, shaking the ground.
‘What’s that?’ Joe shouted, his ears ringing.
‘Reinforcements,’ Uncle Percy replied grimly, powering up the jeep. ‘By my reckoning, very big reinforcements.’
‘Can’t we just time zap out of here?’ Joe said.
‘The jeep’s not a time machine.’ Uncle Percy glanced at Will. ‘Where’s Tuck?’
‘He’s at Wulvern House. Many miles from here.’
‘Do you know where that is?’
‘Aye.’
‘Then you’re navigating.’ Uncle Percy smiled at Marian. ‘Good evening, Marian.’ He spoke with urgency. ‘I’m sure you have a thousand questions, which we will endeavour to answer in time. For now, be assured this vehicle is quite safe … and so are you.’ Not wasting another moment, he swung the jeep about, tyres screeching, and powered through the hole. Emerging on the other side, he braked suddenly. ‘Blimey O’ Reilly,’ he gasped.
A giant cargo plane had materialised just beyond the battlefield, its tail doors open, exposing a wide ramp, which angled down to the ground. More jeeps raced out of the plane, two at a time. Through the flickering glare of headlights, Becky saw a man’s gigantic silhouette march down the ramp, a rifle clasped beneath his arm. She recognised him at once. ‘Kruger’s here.’
‘Then it’s time we weren’t.’ Uncle Percy switched off the jeep’s headlights, pitching them into almost complete darkness. Taking a sharp right along the wall, he accelerated to maximum speed, before powering them over the ditch. The jeep sped away from the battlefield, into the blackness beyond.
Becky glanced back. In the chaos, no one had noticed their escape. Within minutes, they had made it onto a tree-lined path. Satisfied they were not being followed, Uncle Percy switched the jeep’s lights back on. ‘Well, wasn’t that eventful? Now, Will, where exactly are we going?’
Will told him. Then he turned to Marian and placed his hand on hers, which was trembling wildly. ‘How fare thee?’
‘Who were those with the King’s men?’ Marian asked in a low voice.
‘They are from the future,’ Will replied simply. ‘And so are we.’
‘The future?’
‘Aye. Many years from now.’ Will paused. ‘Things change, Marian. They have knowledge and skills you could not believe. They do not journey by horse, but by carriages such as this, carriages that can even soar as the Falcon soars … they have weapons far beyond blade and barb, weapons that can lay waste to mountains. And there are some, like the dark forces you have witnessed this night, that will use such power for their own wicked ends.’
Marian listened carefully. ‘And how know you this to be true?’
‘I have lived amongst them for many a year ... in their time, and for much longer than it may appear. My home is with them now - with Percy Halifax …’ He pointed at Uncle Percy, before doing the same with Becky and Joe. ‘And with Becky and Joe Mellor. These have become my kin, and I cherish them as ever I would my own blood…’
‘But how can the future be in the now?’
‘Many years hence, some can journey through time as you would journey from shire to shire. The years, the days, the hours are but pathways to hike as you would a muddy track.’
Seconds passed. Finally, Marian smiled and said, ‘This is much to accept.’
‘I concede that. But after all you have seen, you know I speak the truth.’
‘You could only ever speak the truth, Will. So what, pray, do those future soldiers want with Alnwick?’
‘They are not here for Alnwick. They seek Tuck. As we do.’
‘Tuck?’ Marian replied, surprised. ‘Why Tuck?’
‘He has custody of an object, one that may be known to you: MacDougal’s dagger.’
‘The ivory dagger?’ Marian gasped. ‘He hath shown it to me countless times and I’ve heard him voice its worth, but I believed him not.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Alnwick hath been sacked for a dagger?’
‘This dagger is a minor player in a grander production.’
‘You speak in riddles, Will.’
‘The soldiers believe the dagger will guide them to a sacred relic forged by God himself. And with all I’ve witnessed, I know there to be truth in that claim.’
‘What relic?’
‘It is known as the Sword of Ages,’ Will replied. ‘A sword that was present at the dawn of time, at the creation of all. A sword of such dominion it would imbue its wielder with greater power than even Alexander could dream.’
Marian was lost for words. ‘And you believe this tale?’
Will exhaled heavily. ‘I have seen much, Marian. Things you could not imagine unless witnessed with your own eyes. I know relics such as this do exist. I have observed their power for myself. And it is for that reason we are here … these future soldiers, and their depraved master – a man called Drake - must be stopped from wielding that power. For he is a true villain, and hath a thirst for evil that is unquenchable…’
It was approaching midnight when a great house emerged on the horizon, bordered by trees and wide lawns. Firelight flickered in the upstairs and downstairs windows. Uncle Percy steered the jeep into a thicket, hiding it from plain view, before glancing at Will and saying, ‘Do you mind if I have a little word, William … in private?’
Will nodded. Climbing out, he trailed Uncle Percy into the shadows.
Becky opened the rear door and stepped out. She looked back at Marian, who looked as though she was about to be sick, before extending her hand. ‘Let me help you out?’
Marian took Becky’s hand and left the jeep as quickly as she could. ‘So this is how you journey in this future of yours?’
‘It’s one way, I s’pose,’ Becky replied. ‘It’s called a jeep.’
‘Verily, I favour my carriage to be pulled by something with a mane, a heartbeat and four legs.’
‘You get used to it.’
Marian smiled warmly and said, ‘And you are Lady Becky?’
‘Err, just Becky.’
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Becky,’ Marian said. ‘You are most beautiful.’
‘I’m really not,’ Becky blushed. ‘But you are,’ she said sincerely. ‘You really are.’
‘You are kind, child,’ Marian replied with a curtsey. ‘And you must be Sir Joe?’
‘Yep,’ Joe grinned. ‘Sir Joe’s good.’
‘It’s just Joe for him, too,’ Becky said. ‘His head’s already as big as a bag of spuds.’
‘Spuds?’ Marian replied, confused.
‘Potatoes,’ Becky clarified.
‘Ah,’ Marian said. ‘I ask you forgive my ignorance of your future sayings. In truth, my head whirls as a spinning wheel at these new events.’
‘Nowt to apologise for,’ Joe replied. ‘I’d be well freaked if I were you.’
Marian clearly didn’t understand him. ‘Freaked?’
‘Shocked,’ Becky said.
‘Ah, that I understand. Aye, I am shocked.’
At that m
oment, Will and Uncle Percy reappeared.
Although Uncle Percy wore a broad smile, Becky felt certain she could see deep concern in his eyes.
‘Okay, everyone,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Shall we see if we can find Tuck?’
They set off toward the house.
‘So whose place is this?’ Joe asked Will.
‘This is Wulvern House, the dwelling of Lady Ann Moyer – a very old and dear friend.’
‘And how do you know her?’
‘In my time at King Richard’s court,’ Will said. ‘Her late husband, Lord Arthur Moyer, was a close confidante of Henry Plantagenet, Richard’s father. Lord Arthur was a noble man with a gentle soul, and served the people of his manor with kindness and respect. A rare quality in the rich. Lady Ann and he were godparents to the young Richard, and in truth, were more a mother and father to him than his own…’
Up close, Becky thought Wulvern House as grand a building as she had seen. Painted in yellow and black, it had three floors, wide arched windows and a tall stone chimney.
Will approached the great oak door. Pushing it open, they entered an entrance hall, its walls decked with paintings and tapestries, most of which depicted religious scenes. A great fire illuminated the room on the north wall, pitching lengthy shadows onto a banquet table. The smell of roast pheasant coloured the air. At the far end of the hall, a steep staircase led to the rooms above.
Just then, an upstairs door burst open, followed by the rumble of heavy footsteps. ‘Who’s there?’ a deep Scottish voice echoed through the hall.
A short fat man in a tattered cloak, as wide as he was tall, thundered down the stairs, wielding a short sword. His face was as round as a football with blazing red cheeks that could fry sausage. Friar Tuck descended three steps when, looking at the group below, he came to an abrupt halt. His mouth plunged open.
‘Good e’en, old friend.’
Tuck’s face exploded. ‘Will Shakelock?’ He hurdled the remaining steps three at a time and charged over to Will, slinging his chubby arms around him in a spine-shattering hug. ‘Do mine eyes betray me?’
