Henry, the Gaoler

by A. W. Exley

  "There is something I must know, Henry. Do you love me?"

  How to answer that? Yes seemed like such a trite answer. The single word not big enough to explain how I felt about her. When I die, if they autopsy my body and crack my chest open, they will find her name carved into my heart.

  Always and forever, I mouthed the words but my vocal cords wouldn't let the noise free.

  She fixed her gaze on me. "You have to say it."

  Why was she tormenting me? If I managed to squeak out the words like a frightened mouse, would she laugh at me?

  Hazel rose and crossed to me at the window. "How long, Henry? How long have you loved me?"

  Easy. Since the first day I met her. I can't say it was when I first laid eyes on her. No, it took minutes longer than that. When she smacked me in the head with a rock for staring was when I saw stars. From that moment on, there had never been another girl for me. No one compared to her. No one ever would.

  I opened my notebook and drew a quick sketch. A few strokes to show the school house with its large bell hanging on a frame by the front door. Trees around the edge, children of different sizes playing. Then I added a small girl, caught in the act of bending over to pick up a rock. A boy in short trousers watched her.

  I held the page out to her and as memory caught at her, she laughed. "The day we met, when the school house opened. Since then?"

  I shuffled from foot to foot. Each second like a hot knife-edge pressed to my skin. Why did she want to torture me like this? At length I nodded, hoping my agreement would put the questions to an end.

  "I think I hit you too hard in the head that day. I should have used a smaller rock."

  A hand tightened around my chest and squeezed my heart. I should go. We both should go. It was time to take her away. Decision made, I turned when her hand touched my arm.

  Her fingers teased the fabric of my shirt. "I stayed here waiting for any word or sign of you. Four years I sat at this window, hoping to see you ride across the meadow. Do you think I did that because I was bored or trapped?"

  No. She could have escaped at any time. Love and a sense of responsibility to her parents bound her in chains to the tower. But they shattered those chains when it became clear they used her and the final betrayal, blocking our correspondence to each other.

  Her fingers curled deeper around my arm. "I stayed because I love you, Henry."

  My knees buckled and I sat down. Luckily the window seat was right behind me and I dropped hard to the cushions. I had a strong urge to turn around in case another chap called Henry stood behind me, levitating outside the window, for surely she addressed him, not me.

  "That's why it hurt so much when I thought you had forgotten me. But finding all these letters—" Her hand swept over the field of paper littered at our feet. "Now I know the truth."

  I gathered her to me and pressed my face against hers. Cheek to cheek, I closed my eyes and prayed for my vocal cords to let the words out. I never wanted anything so hard as I wanted to say two simple words. For her.

  "Love. You." The syllables rasped and grated out my throat, like an old gate hinge protesting a hard shove. I winced. It didn't sound right, harsh and rough. But I spoke. Words managed to squeeze past my broken cords. Only the need to tell her how much I loved her acted as a strong enough motivator to break the grip shellshock held over my body.

  "Oh, Henry." She placed her hands on my face and gazed into my eyes. "Now shut up and kiss me."

  I had two choices before me: I could argue how unfair it was that I finally spoke and she tells me to hush up, or I could capitulate and do as she asked.

  I always was much better at following orders.

  I ran one hand up her back until I cradled the nape of her neck and drew her toward me, inch by inch, until her warm breath kissed my skin first. Then our lips touched and we bumped noses. Then we both leaned the same way, or opposite ways really, and bumped noses again. We pulled back. I felt like an idiot made worse when she laughed. I looked into the magical glint sparkling in her eyes.

  "Try again." She leaned her head one way and her arms slid over my shoulders and around my back.

  We had known each other for twelve years. We grew up together, played and got into adventure and mischief. We often touched as friends do. A slap on the back. A hug when needed. A punch or extended hand depending on the situation. But holding her in my arms changed everything.

  With our noses to the right sides, our lips touched. She was warm and fresh under my lips. A cool drink on a hot day and I wanted to consume her. Then I wondered if I was doing it right. I had little experience in kissing, apart from a few drunken fumbles while on a weekend pass. Should I be doing more? How do you know if the time is right to involve your tongue?

  Luckily, Hazel was a smart girl. Or possibly read far too many romance novels. Her teeth parted and her tongue darted out and then licked my lips. The shock to my system was equivalent to touching a live wire. It jolted through my body. One part of my mind made a note to interrogate her about her kissing experience while the rest of my brain turned to jelly, and I'm sure smoke wafted from my ears. Not that I was going to stop. She might have taken the initiative but I could follow through.

  With short, tentative strokes we explored each other and deepened the kiss. Learning together. My skin seemed too tight to contain all the emotions building inside me. I was sure I would burst and splatter against the walls like a shell. Nothing in this world could ever make me let her go now.

  "Hazel! Hazel!" Mr Morris' deep baritone echoed up the stairwell, accompanied by the heavy thud thud of his boots.

  Well, Mr Morris could probably tear us apart and toss me out the window. The door to the tower room burst open and hit the wall so hard the stone chipped at the impact with the handle. We jumped apart but I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her pink lips were brighter and softer and I desperately wanted to have another go. I would surely improve with practice.

  "Hazel, there's people at the door—" his voice trailed off as he realised his daughter was not alone. I toyed with grabbing the rope and swinging over the side like Tarzan, but I was a coward no longer. I would face her father.

  "You!" He levelled a beefy finger in my direction. "You were banned from this place."

  He took one step into the room and stopped as his boot scuffed against the letters. His gaze dropped down. Hazel let me go and stood at the edge of the spiral.

  "I found all Henry's letters that you had hidden. Care to explain why you never passed them on? Why you let me believe he had forgotten me?"

  In that moment I realised what an extraordinary woman Hazel had become. Mr Morris was a big man, with muscles of stone, yet under his daughter's steady gaze he seemed to wither and dry up. Like a plant uprooted from the soil and discarded in the sun.

  If he had been holding a cap he would have torn it up in his hands as he squirmed. "Your mother thought it best."

  She stood firm. "You deliberately deceived me and you never mailed my letters to Henry as you promised you had done."

  Mr Morris spread his hands. "The lad was at war. We wanted to spare you any pain if he didn't return."

  I snorted. Nice to think they’d both silently hoped I'd get myself blown up. I can only imagine his disappointment when I turned up at the door after four years.

  Hazel pointed out the window. "Spring has arrived and the planting is done. My duty to you and mother is done. Now that I am eighteen, I am leaving. I will of course, still visit whenever I can."

  As news of his daughter leaving filtered into Mr Morris' mind, an expression sprang to mind, learned from Aussie and New Zealander troops I’d fought alongside.

  Stunned mullet.

  The expression alluded to the goggle-eyed stare and gaping mouth of a fish that has been caught, smacked on the head, and rendered unconscious.

  "You cannot." He finally came up with something to say. "It is unsafe, Henry has told us repeatedly of those things out there."

  I held up my
hands and waved them, no. He wasn't making me a co-conspirator in holding her captive. Not when he spent so long trying to push us apart. I had my mighty steed waiting in the trees to carry her away to freedom.

  Hazel placed her hands on her hips and squared off against her father. This would be an interesting fight, but I wondered what initially motivated him to run up the stairs shouting her name. Some gut instinct told me it was important. From my spot on the window seat, I glanced out the window.

  Have you ever plunged into a well? Dropping through pure blackness only to hit freezing cold water? You disappear beneath the water, unable to tell which way is up in the darkness. You struggle for breath until natural buoyancy allows you to break the surface.

  I gasped.

  Vermin were at the door.

  18

  I reached out and grasped Hazel by the shoulders. I gave a gentle shake to break the staring contest but she tried to swat me away. There were some advantages to being taller, and spending all day engaged in manual farm chores had finally put some muscle on my frame. I turned her and pointed out the window.

  At that point Mr Morris remembered why he had ran up the stairs. "You don't understand, love. Those things are outside the gate."

  Hazel and I kneeled on the window ledge and looked out. Below, in the approaching dusk, shuffled at least four of them. They stared at the thick door as though trying to remember how they worked. Push or pull?

  If they figured it out, they would swarm into the enclosure. We all stared at each other, realising there was one other person down there who didn't know what waited outside. Someone who couldn't ascend the steep tower stairs or run.

  Mrs Morris.

  "Rachel!" Mr Morris screamed and ran for the door at the same time. His heavy boots and weight shook the stonework as he barrelled down the stairs to his vulnerable wife.

  There was only one weapon in the tower, Hazel's rifle. I grabbed it and thrust it into her hands. Then I leaned out the window. My rifle was tied to the back of my saddle, which happened to be on Cossimo in our usual hiding place on top of the nearby hill. I wondered if I whistled if he would gallop over the meadow, rear at the bottom of the tower and wait for my next command.

  Probably not. If I had a feed bin to rattle he would find me faster than a cheetah with its tail on fire.

  We also didn't have Ella and her sword. If I were to ride and fetch her, it would mean leaving Hazel and Mr Morris alone with those things. We would have to make do with what we had on hand.

  "Father has another rifle downstairs," Hazel said from by my shoulder.

  I could run up the hill and grab mine, while Hazel held them back up here. But we needed to act fast before the vermin realised pull didn't work and they needed to push on the ancient timber of the door. I needed to get down to the ground, quickly. Which meant skipping the slow ladder and rappelling down the rope.

  I tapped the rifle in Hazel's hands, mimed shooting and then tapped my forehead. The colour drained from her face. It was one thing to shoot a rabbit eating all the vegetables, or to deliberately miss at me. Quite another when someone asks you to aim for between the eyes of our fellow villagers.

  She shook her head. "I can't, Henry, those are people down there."

  Were, I mouthed. Not any more.

  Then I kissed her. It was a brief kiss but I needed something to motivate me to run extra fast. Grabbing the rope beside the ladder, I created a loop as an impromptu harness and to ease my descent. With a nervous smile, I last saw her clutching the rifle with white knuckles as I disappeared over the ledge.

  I hit the ground and bent my knees to absorb the impact. Then let the rope go to shake my hands free of the cramp in my fingers. The vermin had finally figured out how to open the door and two pushed on the ancient wood. Bet Mr Morris wished he had locked it. With a groan not unlike their moans, the door gave way. The first two, who had been pushing, tumbled through and ended up on the ground. The other two stood around, clawing at the implacable stone walls.

  At this point I started to regret going out the window. Perhaps I should have run down the stairs, but I had no way of knowing they wouldn't make it through before I reached the bottom. Now I felt rather foolish, standing around in the rapidly fading light with no weapon should they turn en masse and stare at me.

  By some miracle, a soft muzzle nudged my back. Cossimo had wandered down the hill, either to investigate all the fuss or to remind me he was missing dinner. Never had I been so grateful to see the horse. Shielding myself behind him, I unbuckled my rifle and took the lethal bayonet from the sheath hanging off the other side. I fitted the bayonet and then crept around the solid horse.

  At that point one of the things turned and stared at me. This one wasn't as decayed as the others. It also wore a familiar smirk.

  Phelps.

  The man bullied me for years but I still saved him from a vermin. Then he sickened and died, and now he returned from the dead to torment me some more. It really wasn't fair. You should be able to bury your problems and they should stay dead.

  I narrowed my gaze at my tormentor as anger rippled over my skin. That was when it happened. The dark shadow, the reflection of death that lay over me, tore itself from my skin. I gritted my teeth as the chill washed over me as it lifted up and wrapped itself around Phelps.

  My personal demon given physical form.

  I gripped the rifle and walked toward him. A crack rang out from above and the other vermin behind Phelps staggered back. It stared at its chest and swatted. Hazel in the lookout above would keep that one busy while I dealt with my nemesis. That left Mr Morris to handle the two that made it inside the compound.

  The Phelps vermin growled and lashed out. I was thankful for the extra length the bayonet gave me. I learned from the lesson in front of me, there was no way one of them was scratching or biting me. I had someone to live for, up in the tower acting as my sniper backup.

  I lunged but Phelps lurched sideways, trying to block me. He might be cunning, but I was breathing and I suspected my brain worked a lot faster. After all, it wouldn't have taken me fifteen minutes to figure out a door.

  Gripping the barrel tight, I met his milky gaze, grinned and charged. He must have forgot that I held a rifle fitted with a bayonet, or perhaps he thought I wanted to dance. Phelps roared and came straight at me. The tip of the sharpened steel penetrated the middle of his chest but I kept on running, straight at what terrified me. I ploughed forward until Phelps was shoved up against the stone wall, and even then I kept throwing my weight behind the rifle and drove the bayonet through his torso.

  His snarling never stopped and his teeth gnashed as though he imagined ripping and tearing at my flesh. The bayonet seemed to have embedded in the mortar of the wall and it held Phelps upright. Which gave me a moment to contemplate my predicament. What was I to do with him now?

  He clawed at the bayonet and a finger sliced off and dropped to the grass. I didn't want to ease up on the pressure in case he broke free. Here was a problem we didn't have to deal with at the front. Once you bayoneted an enemy soldier they tended to die and lay all still and quiet, letting you move on to the next one. Vermin were already dead so they kept on fighting. There was only one way to send Phelps back to whatever Hell he belonged in.

  That was when the dangling rope caught my eye. Hazel had pulled up the ladder (although if they couldn't figure out a door, a ladder was well out of their mental capacity), but the rope swung back and forth. Reaching out with one hand, I grabbed the end. An idea formed in my head. A somewhat gruesome idea, but the best I could formulate with what I had to hand.

  I made a loop in the end of rope and lassoed it around Phelps’ head. A gentle tug to pull it firm and then I tossed another loop over him. He paused in his struggles to pull the bayonet out and began to yank on the rope. I kept enough pressure on it to stop him unwinding the length while I cast around for Cossimo.

  The horse was unmoved by events and seemed to be waging his own battle on a patch of cl
over, determined to suck every blade into his mouth. The rope had just enough slack to enable me to tie it to the saddle, but I had to let go of the rifle to do it. I hoped Phelps didn't pull it out and shoot me.

  Rope attached to the crupper ring, I gave Cossimo a slap on the rump and the gelding obligingly walked forward. The tension in the rope pulled tight and the horse leaned into the pressure as though he was in harness and ploughing the field. The snarling from Phelps changed to a higher pitch as the rope dug into his neck and the horse walked forward another step.

  I couldn't look, but from behind came a strangled wail and pop. The rope sagged as it gained extra length. Only then did I turn. The Phelps vermin was still pinned to the wall and its hands made a feeble effort to free the body. Although he was now a lot shorter. My gaze swung back and forth, looking for his head. It appeared to have shot off like a champagne cork and travelled several feet before rolling to a stop in the longer grass.

  I didn't have much time to bask in the triumph of defeating my darkest enemy. A scream came from within the enclosure. A very human scream of a terrified woman.

  Hazel.

  I yanked the bayonet free of Phelps and it slumped to the ground, twitching. Then I ran through the door. The vermin Hazel had shot had stumbled through before me. It took no effort to bayonet it in the back and push it to the ground. I shoved hard on the weapon to ensure it drove deep into the soft earth. Its arms and legs flailed as though it were swimming, possibly the breast stroke. Being face down, it had no way of reaching the steel in its back and I could move on to the next problem.

  A quick glance around and I spied my next weapon. A pitchfork by the vegetable patch, probably left over from forking compost into the ground. I snapped it up as another scream broke the air. Fortunately, it wasn't Hazel as she barrelled out the bottom of the tower, the rifle slung over her shoulder. We both looked around in the low light for her parents and the two missing vermin.