Mrs Argyle rallied the small group and led them back through the campsite to the main road, Ken stopping at the Land Rover to get the box from its boot. Why they needed to take music with them, Owen didn’t bother asking as he doubted he’d get an answer from Ken or Celia lest he ‘spoil the surprise’.
They walked a short distance downhill, until they came to a sign for a footpath on the left. From the view he had when they entered the town, Owen figured this to be in the direction of the sea.
They walked down a lane and then through a gate, the hedges on either side of the path becoming higher. They marched in single file, with Mrs Argyle taking the lead, and Ellie, Clive and Owen following, with Ken taking up the rear. The path started to drop down as the hedges were replaced by trees. They joined another path as it descended down a gully. On the right the trees grew up the side of a hill; on the left they dropped down towards the sound of running water.
The path continued its descent, turning left around a bend revealing a river at the bottom. Owen noticed that a few metres in front of Mrs Argyle there was a large rock that overhung the right hand side of the path, the remainder of it buried into the hillside. From its edges dangled several threads of what looked like black string, tied to which were countless pieces of broken glass and shells. The air was still; otherwise Owen imagined that they would make a pleasant chiming noise if blown.
Proof of this theory was provided by Mrs Argyle, who opened up her palm as she walked by, creating a soft breeze that agitated the threads. They made a surprisingly symphonic and orchestrated chorus as the sounds were bounced off the underside of the rock and across the gully. As Mrs Argyle passed the last of the threads the sounds began to die down.
Owen thought he recognised the tune but couldn’t quite place it. Ken however seemed familiar with it, as he carried on the tune by whistling away to himself. Owen looked at him quizzically, and asked what tune that was. Ken scolded him for not recognising it, although he did admit it sounded better on “dangling metal pipes”. Owen shook his head at this latest addition to Ken’s collection of incomprehensible statements.
The path continued to the right of the rock, and one by one those at the front of the procession disappeared from view.
Owen followed and saw that around the corner was a dilapidated and very old looking single storey wooden structure. The path narrowed before it so that its front porch was positioned almost directly onto the shallow river. It had the appearance of a fairy-tale cottage in the woods, with its two windows either side of a single door, the stone chimney to one side and the ivy that was starting to envelope the other. Owen thought that there were some similarities to Victoria’s pristine house, as if that building had been suddenly consumed with years of decay and transported hundreds of miles west.
There were some differences though, aside from the lack of a first floor. From its roof there protruded a large wooden beam that extended over the river, and the back wall of the structure appeared to be buried in the hillside.
“It used to be a water-mill,” said Ken from behind, and Owen imagined that the beam may have been attached to a large wheel.
Mrs Argyle had by now reached the front of the building and was scanning its frontage. She turned to Ellie who had just joined her side.
“Is he home?” she asked.
Ellie closed her eyes and stroked her fingers against her palm. “Yes,” she said softly.
“Owen, be a dear and pop your head inside and see if anyone’s home,” Mrs Argyle requested. Owen detected the briefest of winks at her brother and Clive.
Not sure why he was being asked to do this, Owen walked up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer, so Owen looked at Mrs Argyle for further instructions.
“Just pop your head in and see if he’s home,” she advised.
Owen did as he was told and pushed the door open. Beyond the front door lay a room that ran the width of the house and was about two metres deep. The walls were covered in horizontal planks of wood, a few of which were missing or broken. Stacked up against the side walls were some logs and kindling and draped over an old mangle were a few more of the threads that they had seen on the rock earlier. These ones however lay in an unfinished state. On closer inspection Owen realised that the threads were made of unspooled cassette tapes and not string as he had previously imagined. A few of them had shells and glass in place; the others were awaiting decoration.
Along the back wall were two sets of shelves upon which stood empty glass bottles and jars. Below them in a corner was a hammer surrounded by shards of glass, where the wind chimes were apparently crafted.
Between the shelves was a shallow alcove about Owen’s height, the back of which was bare rock. The room was completely devoid of human life though, so he wasn’t sure why Ellie thought otherwise.
Owen exited the house and told the others that no-one was home. Ellie shook her head and tutted.
Ken walked to the front porch and gave the box he was carrying a shake then placed it on a small log that was stood upright next to the front door. “Did he notice?” Ken asked Ellie after a few moments had passed.
Ellie closed her eyes again, and then nodded. “He is coming.”
16
Ambrosius
The door creaked open slightly and first a bony hand then a wizened old face appeared. Two sparkling brown eyes were sitting atop a bulbous nose, shielded by two of the bushiest eyebrows Owen had ever seen. He studied the sky for a short period of time and then opened the door partially so that he could be seen properly. The man’s hair was grey, slightly wild looking, and joined seamlessly with a bushy beard. He wore a pair of baggy green trousers and a brightly patterned loose fitting jumper. Finishing off his outfit was a pair of trainers that were fashionable enough to have not looked out of place on the feet of one of Owen’s classmates.
All in all: very un-wizard like.
He looked at each of the visitors in turn, considering them from head to toe. He left Owen until last and reserved for him a smile and a wink. Chuckling to himself he opened the door fully and gave his full attention to the contents of the box, muttering to himself as he examined each cassette in turn, some of which would receive a kiss on the front, and others would be tossed carelessly over his shoulder.
The majority though received the positive response, and once he had given each one a suitable appraisal, he wagged a finger at Ken and clapped his hands together. “Kenneth, your taste is as eclectic as ever, and its quality as variable too. However I accept this bounty and will allow you passage.” He then walked up to Mrs Argyle and planted a sloppy sounding kiss on her cheek. “La Mistral!” he called her, as she wiped her cheek with a handkerchief. “It’s been far too long since you graced my humble abode with your radiant presence. Come along, all are welcome!” He turned around and went back into the building, humming away to himself.
Mrs Argyle puffed her cheeks and blew out a mouthful of air before following after him.
“After you, old boy,” Ken said to Owen and held his arm out to lead the way.
Owen followed Mrs Argyle inside. As he entered inside, the old man was nowhere to be seen. Mrs Argyle though was walking straight ahead, towards the small alcove. As his eyes readjusted to the darkness, Owen noticed that the rear of the alcove (which before was bare rock) now led to another room into which Mrs Argyle’s back was now disappearing.
Owen followed into a larger room, seemingly carved out of the rock. It was about ten metres wide and roughly circular, its roof dome-shaped. Light was provided by hundreds of tea lights that flickered throughout, exaggerating the shadows of those already present, reminding Owen of a shadow play he had once watched.
Owen looked back and saw the others entering the room, an odd white glow around the edge of the doorway.
“Who needs a lock, eh?” Clive commented as he ambled through.
In one corner of the room was a wooden framed bed, in the other were several large hessian bags, out of which poured more of
the small candles waiting to be lit. There was also a small desk in the corner with an old cassette deck on top, attached by a wire to a couple of car batteries sitting next to it. Hung above it on the wall was an ancient looking rusty sword.
Aside from that the only other furniture was a large round table in the centre. Its surface was smooth but did not appear varnished, and around the edges were several blocks of wood for chairs, similar to the one next to the front door. The man had set the box on top of the table and was walking around the room lighting more candles. He wasn’t using matches or a lighter; instead he was opening his fingers next to the wick, with a small flicker of flame emerging from the gap. It was how one would snuff out a flame, only in reverse.
He then sat down on one of the blocks of wood at the table, and Mrs Argyle joined him on the one to his left. Owen positioned himself on the one next to her, keeping his neighbour between him and the man, feeling a bit wary about the man’s sanity and his ease of access to naked flames. The others followed suit until one half of the table was occupied, with Mrs Argyle and the man sitting in the middle. Ken sat down on the block on Owen’s other side.
“Welcome!” the man said, standing briefly and offering a bow. “I know all of you well, except for our young guest with whom I hope to become properly acquainted.” He pointed at each of them in turn, ending with Owen upon whom his finger lingered.
“I’m Owen. Owen Johnson,” Owen announced.
The man’s mouth dropped open and he gasped. “Owen! I’ve heard so much about you. My name is…Fafnir!” he seemed to forget what it was briefly, until he remembered it with a snap of his fingers (although he did have to ask Mrs Argyle to confirm whether he had got it correct). Owen assumed that he was the Mr Wyllt that Ellie was referring to earlier.
Fafnir leant across her and clasped both of his palms around Owen’s right hand and shook it vigorously. “I met you, you know, when you were just a few days old; both of you in fact when you were there with all the other babies.” He frowned and tutted. “But then your mother came and took you away which was of course the correct thing to do as I have always maintained.” He smiled again. Owen wasn’t sure exactly what event the man was referring to or who the other baby was that he had met alongside Owen, but assumed that for whatever reason he had visited his mother in hospital just after he was born.
“That’s not what we’re here to talk about, Fafnir,” Mrs Argyle interrupted. “Owen’s father has been taken by the Remnant, and it was likely that one of our kind was involved in his abduction. We need you to help us evaluate whether a rescue is feasible.”
Fafnir’s eyes lit up. “A rescue mission, you say? Well it’s been a while,” he stroked his beard thoughtfully, finding and then extracting a twig that was residing within, “but it’s about time I got the juices flowing again. What do you need me to do?”
“First of all, tell us where he is,” Mrs Argyle requested, “and secondly tell us what we’re up against. Lastly, we could do with all the help we can muster in getting him out, wherever he may be.”
“Sounds simple,” said Fafnir getting to his feet. “Right then, which one of our former comrades took him?” Mrs Argyle whispered something into his ear, which had the effect of rendering a look of both surprise and excitement on his face. He whistled for dramatic effect. “Ooooh! Really?” Mrs Argyle nodded gravely. “If you say so. It seems unlikely but I bow down to your wisdom on such matters. It should be easy enough tracking the path of one so strong. Are you ready, Ellie?”
Ellie stood up and jogged on the spot whilst shaking her arm, as if limbering up for a race. “Ready Mr Wyllt!”
“Right then, no time like the present!” Fafnir moved two of the wooden stumps away from the table and placed them a short distance apart. He then sat down and Ellie positioned herself opposite him, taking his left hand in hers. They both closed their eyes and moved their heads with bird-like actions.
“What are they doing?” Owen whispered to Ken, deciding that he was more likely to give an honest answer than Mrs Argyle.
“They’re looking for certain signatures that our kind leaves when we use our powers,” Ken explained.
“Yes, Ellie said that’s what she could do. Why does it need both of them, though?”
“Ellie is Fafnir’s familiar,” Ken said.
“She’s his what?” Owen asked.
“His familiar,” Ken repeated in a whisper, Mrs Argyle leaning back slightly as if surreptitiously trying to listen in on what they were saying. “Sometimes two gifted individuals can combine their powers, or one can use the other to augment their own ability. One of Fafnir’s many gifts is he can locate individuals with power a long way away, but he cannot differentiate between different people, which is where Ellie comes in. By using Ellie he can focus on where and who they are precisely, in both distance and direction.”
“Can he locate normal people too then?” Owen asked.
“No,” replied Ken. “Just people like us.”
“Then what good is this going to be in looking for my dad?” Owen questioned. “You said my dad didn’t have any powers?”
“He hasn’t that I’m aware of,” confirmed Ken, “but Cee is convinced that your dad was taken and is likely to now be in the custody of someone with power, one of our own who may have remained with the Remnant when the rest of us felt it prudent to leave.”
“Who might that be?” Owen asked, his concern for his father’s safety having another layer of peril added to it. “Is it someone dangerous?”
“Not necessarily dangerous but certainly ambitious and determined,” said Ken, who seemed to be choosing his words carefully, glancing briefly at his sister who was watching Ellie and Fafnir a little too intently. “There were several who lingered, and some that followed our lead and left, but later chose to return to the fold. It’s possible that any of those may have been involved in your father’s abduction.”
“Like Trilby?”
“Like Trilby or maybe someone else.”
“What powers did the rest of your team have?” Owen asked, worried about what form of torture his father may be subjected to.
“There were many others with wildly differing powers. But that’s a tale for another day. Best keep quiet whilst they do their thing.” Ken focused his attention back onto Fafnir and Ellie.
Owen risked one last question to Ken. “Do you have a familiar?”
“Why do you think I lug Myrtle around with me?” Ken replied with a smile. Owen frowned at Ken, one eyebrow raised. Ken laughed at Owen’s incredulity. “You can doubt all you like! Just check your history books and you’ll see that animals have always been the most popular familiars.” He leant forward and whispered in Owen’s ear, perhaps in an effort to prevent Fafnir and Ellie from hearing. “You’re less likely to fall out with an animal than a person.”
“Do they fall out often?” Owen whispered back, pointing at Fafnir and his familiar.
“This is the first time in I-don’t-know-how-long that they haven’t been sniping at other from the get go,” Ken said. “In fact, last time they were in each other’s company, Fafnir banished Ellie to the other side of the world.” Owen nodded, saying that Ellie had told him about that particular incident.
“That was a mere communication breakdown,” Fafnir announced loudly. Owen looked over and saw that the two of them were now stood up. Ellie was straightening out her dress, and Fafnir was returning the seats to the sides of the table. “We’re the best of friends now, aren’t we my dear?” He beamed at Ellie.
“Oh yes!” she said happily. “The bestest,” she added with an odd little dance.
“Absolutely. Now let’s go and get your dad,” Fafnir announced, clapping his hands together.
“Where have they taken him?” asked Mrs Argyle.
“Where all rats slink off to of course. They’ve headed underground.”
“The Underground?” asked Owen. “He’s in London? We’ve just come from there.”
“No no no,”
said Fafnir, shaking his head. “Underground and under hill.”
“They’re in The Hill?” asked Clive, looking concerned. “I thought they’d abandoned that delightful place?”
“It would seem not,” said Fafnir.
“Where and what is The Hill?” asked Owen.
“I only ever heard about it, I never actually visited it,” Clive explained. “Did any of you?” he asked the others who all said that they hadn’t, apart from Fafnir who furrowed his brow in concentration, apparently trying to remember.
“How far is it?” asked Owen. “When do we leave?”
“Whoa there my boy!” said Fafnir, seemingly abandoning his trip down memory lane. “We can’t go anywhere 'til my granddaughter gets here!”
“Your granddaughter?” asked Owen.
“Well, granddaughters really, I suppose,” Fafnir corrected himself. “They should be here by now. A quick catch up, maybe a bite to eat, then we should be good to go.”
“Are you sure about this, Fafnir?” asked Mrs Argyle. “She’ll be dragged into this as well. I thought you had been endeavouring to avoid such a situation?”
“I was, but I’ve only been putting off the inevitable. And it’s about time she was, if you ask me,” he said. “We’ve kept these youngsters in the dark for far too long.”
“For their own safety, of course,” Mrs Argyle added, looking at Owen, and before he could argue, quickly added: “And in accordance with their parents’ wishes of course.” This silenced Owen’s tongue. “Where are you meeting her?”
“Why here of course, she’s just outside,” Fafnir said as he walked towards the door.
“Granddad?” a voice very familiar to Owen called from outside.
And as Owen’s stomach started to do somersaults in recognition, in walked Katie.
17
Katie
The Remarkables (The Remarkable Owen Johnson, part 1) Page 14
