by D. R. Martin
As the Chapman changed course and slowed, Johnny could literally feel the air move—the saber blade slashing an inch or two over his head.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that first ghost warrior fly off to the left, overshooting. But the other two were not far behind him, and they looked ready to strike.
Now that Johnny and Nina had slowed, they were sitting ducks.
Then, out of nowhere…
BOOM! BOOM!
There was a frightful shriek.
It sounded like the high-pitched grinding of metal on metal.
The second cavalier had dropped his saber and was dragging his hand across his shoulder.
Johnny was astonished. What just happened?
Then he glanced up the road, where the two-door coupe had slowed to a crawl.
Standing out on the running board, gripping the open door with his left hand, was Marko. In his right hand he had a big semi-automatic pistol, smoke wafting out of the barrel. He aimed it again, and the weapon barked twice.
The third cavalier yelped in pain and flew off to the side, aborting his attack. The wraith glared at Marko, then at Johnny and Nina. If looks could kill, thought Johnny, they would all be dead.
Johnny stopped the Hellcat, and he and Nina climbed off. Basil put on the brakes, as well, and Marko hopped from the running board, gun at the ready.
They were out in the middle of nowhere, with ghost cavaliers on both sides, glowing ominously.
Johnny had a hard time taking these spooks seriously. With their frills and ruffles and feathered floppy hats, they looked practically like overdressed women. But he knew they had a reputation as fierce fighters in their day.
“Why aren’t they charging?” Nina asked.
“Licking their wounds, I guess,” Johnny replied. “We’d be in a huge fix if Marko didn’t have a gun.”
“I thought that bullets didn’t hurt ghosts.”
“Oh, bullets hurt ’em, all right. Smarts like the dickens. So I figure our attackers here have never eaten lead and it stunned them a bit.”
By now, Marko and Basil had trotted over to join them.
“Nice shooting, Marko,” Johnny said admiringly.
Basil nodded in appreciation, as well. “Good thing Marko found that gun in the glove box. Quite the sharpshooter, isn’t he?”
Marko looked a little surprised himself. “Would you believe it? I’ve never actually shot at anyone before—alive or dead.”
“Amazing,” Johnny said. “And you did it from a moving car.
Nina, as she so often did, brought the conversation back to reality. “Guys, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re still surrounded. And I don’t think they’re too happy with us.”
Then, to Johnny’s great relief, reinforcements arrived.
Leaping out of the ground in front of Johnny came Petunia. And right behind her came the Centurion Quintus, his short sword in hand. He gave a quick Imperial salute, and turned to face the mounted cavaliers.
His arrival and the semi-automatic in Marko’s hand were enough to discourage the three attackers. One of them, apparently the leader, made a hand signal. They turned their horses around and galloped away, up into the sky.
“Quintus, I’ve never been gladder to see anyone than you,” Johnny said.
“After I left the horseless cart, I found the child here,” Quintus said. He patted Petunia on the head. “And we came after you.”
“Now what do we do?” Johnny said. “We’re to heck and gone in the boonies, and we have important information to get back to the authorities.”
“I think I know how to get you south in a hurry,” Marko said. “If you two are ready for a dicey new adventure.”
Johnny almost hooted a laugh. Hadn’t they had a whole bunch of dicey adventures already? How much worse could one more be?
Chapter 34
Friday, February 7, 1936
MacFreithshire
Johnny pulled the Hellcat off the country lane, following the Allister onto the narrow drive. It wended through an apple orchard and some woods, before spilling out onto a broad courtyard. There was a rustic, low-slung stone house on one side and a couple of large metal sheds on the other. An oil lamp flickered in one of the house’s windows.
Johnny stopped the Hellcat right next to the coupe and held it steady while Nina climbed off. Then he dismounted and put out the kickstand.
“So where are we?” he asked, as Marko emerged from the car.
“Haven’t been here since I was a kid,” Marko answered, looking around. “Spent a few weeks mucking about the place one summer.”
“And you were quite a handful!” came a booming voice.
Everyone spun around to see a stout, bewhiskered, ruddy-cheeked man of about sixty emerge from the front door of the stone cottage. He wore a blue bathrobe and a white nightcap, and he was barefoot. He had a shotgun in the crook of his left arm. Next to him was a large, growling mutt of indeterminate breeding.
Johnny couldn’t blame him for greeting them with a shotgun and a dog. Considering the shenanigans that had been going on nearby, a guy had to play it safe.
“You young scamp,” the man said, giving Marko a terrific scowl. “Why haven’t you visited since then?”
Marko just grinned, striding up to the old man with his hand outstretched for a shake. But the fellow pulled Marko into an exuberant embrace, his expression transformed with a beaming smile. The big dog jumped around them both, bouncing and barking like a jumbo puppy.
“Everyone,” Marko said, “this here is my uncle, Ezra Herne. The dog’s Brownie. Uncle Ez, these are my mates—Johnny Graphic, Nina Bain, Basil Hastings. We’ve a couple of ghosts with us, too. An Imperial centurion named Quintus and a little girl named Petunia Budd.”
“A dirty, exhausted crew, if ever I’ve seen one,” Uncle Ez observed. “Let’s get you cleaned up and in the sack. Morning’ll be here pretty soon, and you can tell me your story over breakfast. I’ll bet it’s a doozy.”
* * *
By the time Johnny awoke from a very deep slumber, everyone else was assembled around the big kitchen table. Uncle Ez handed him a plate of scrambled eggs, cold toast, and fried kippers. A cup of strong black tea arrived next. Between bites, Johnny and his friends told Uncle Ez all about their adventures and close brushes with calamity in MacFreithshire.
The old boy’s jovial features darkened. “Whoever set these monsters loose on poor old MacFreithshire needs a comeuppance, I say. I’ve only avoided disaster myself by sheer dumb luck. None of them have found this place, or they’d have faced my shotgun and Brownie’s teeth.”
Johnny explained how he and Nina had stumbled onto important information about a potential attack on Royalton itself. They had to get word back to someone in authority, before it was too late.
“I got my telephone hookup just last year,” Uncle Ez said. “But the blasted thing cut out last week. Don’t know when it’ll get fixed. I’ve an old two-way radio that I haven’t used in a while.”
Johnny looked at Nina and his eyebrows went up. “Maybe you should give it a look, Sparks. If we could send a radio alert, that’d be great.”
“You betcha,” Nina said. “Do you have a directory of frequencies that I could try?”
Uncle Ez led her and Marko up into the attic. But they were gone for only a few minutes, returning with glum expressions.
“The battery’s dead,” Nina sighed. “And Uncle Ez doesn’t have a fresh one.”
“Actually, I was thinking about Uncle Ez’s biplane,” Marko said, plopping back into his chair. “That was my idea last night. Uncle Ez is an old army air corps sergeant. Loves to fly. This is how I figured we could get you south in a hurry.”
Uncle Ez shook his head. “The biplane’s in pieces all over the hangar.”
“Oh, rats!” Basil groaned. “Now there’s no way to get word to Royalton in time.”
Johnny felt sorry for Basil. He knew that the kid’s family lived in Royalton, and maybe was in danger
because of Percy’s possible attack.
“All is not lost, though,” Uncle Ez reassured. “There’s still Thumper.”
“What’s Thumper?” Johnny asked.
“It’s my gyrocopter.”
“Ummm, what’s a gyrocopter?”
“Well, young man, you know how an airplane is lifted by its two main wings?”
Johnny knew that and nodded.
“A gyrocopter,” Uncle Ez continued, “is lifted instead by unpowered horizontal rotors. Then it’s thrust forward by a front-mounted engine and propeller. I designed and built my own and have had it airborne for over two hundred hours. I call it Thumper.”
“Why do you call it Thumper?” It seemed like a pretty silly name for a flying machine.
Uncle Ez grinned slyly. “You’ll soon find out.”
“So you can get us to Royalton?”
Uncle Ez looked at Johnny over the cup of tea in his hands, and shook his head. “Afraid not, Johnny. Thumper’ll do two hundred miles, just barely, on a tank of petrol.”
Johnny deflated. Royalton was nearly four hundred miles away. And there was no guarantee they could find a fuel source en route.
“How about Gilbeyshire?” Nina asked hopefully.
Johnny wanted to slap himself. Of course! If they could get to Wickenham, Dame Honoria could get word quickly to the king’s people—and they could spread the alarm.
Uncle Ez thought for a moment. “Well, just barely. With a good tail wind. Where in Gilbeyshire?”
“The famous country house of Wickenham,” Johnny said.
“Let me get out my air atlas and we’ll see.”
Uncle Ez vanished for a minute and returned with a large, paperbound book that contained a detailed map of the Royal Kingdom, showing every known airfield and landing strip, as well as flying boat ports. He pulled a pair of bifocal spectacles out of the pocket of his blue workman’s coat, rested them on his nose, and studied the map of Gilbeyshire.
“Ah, here it is. The village of Blackfield, near Wickenham. And there’s an airfield not five miles away.” He looked from Johnny to Nina, then to his nephew and Basil. “Yes, it can be done.”
“That’s fantastic!” Johnny exclaimed. “When can we leave?”
“Three or four hours to prepare and fuel Thumper,” Uncle Ez said. “No more. We’ll have to weigh you and Miss Bain. Any excess poundage will have to be left behind. ”
* * *
Thumper the gyrocopter sat out on the edge of Uncle Ez’s grass landing strip, which had to be at least a mile long. The flying machine was tied down, with blocks under the wheels. Uncle Ez was walking around her, doing his final pre-flight inspection. Marko, Basil, and Brownie the mutt observed the proceedings intently. The time was about one o’clock in the afternoon.
Because of weight considerations, all Johnny would be able to bring on the flight was himself, his camera, Basil’s cricket bat, and the dozen rolls of film that he’d shot in MacFreithshire. The only extra items Nina could take were her etheric goggles, which she hung around her neck, and her notebook. There was only one passenger seat in Thumper. So though it would be cramped and uncomfortable, Nina would have to make the journey sitting in Johnny’s lap. Or vice versa. Johnny wasn’t sure which spot would be more embarrassing to occupy.
Everyone shook hands and said goodbye. Johnny was actually sorry to leave Marko and Basil behind. Despite his early crankiness, Marko had proven a brave, stalwart companion. And Basil was simply a good kid. Johnny wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.
As soon as the gyrocopter took off, the two boys would set out in the two-door coupe to find Iris Budd. With good luck, she would have gotten all the escaped kids to safety by now.
Quintus and Petunia had already left on the mission that Johnny and Nina had devised for them. They were making for Wickenham, to warn Mel and Dame Honoria about the potential attack on Royalton. With two pairs of couriers heading south, there was a better chance that the warning would get through.
“Now, Miss Bain,” Uncle Ez said. “I know from the papers that you’re a pilot, and a ripping good one, to boot.”
Nina grinned at him and shrugged modestly.
“So I need you in the cockpit when I prop old Thumper. After it’s going, we’ll stick you in back.”
Nina agreed enthusiastically and climbed up into the cockpit. This arrangement meant Johnny had to get into the back seat and have Nina sit on his lap. Well, sometimes a guy had to make sacrifices.
“Set the magneto, Miss Bain,” Uncle Ez shouted. After she flipped the switch, he spun the propeller counterclockwise, but it didn’t catch. It took three more tries, before the engine roared to life. Then Nina climbed out of the cockpit and onto Johnny’s lap in back. Since the flight might be cold, she had borrowed a black, hooded wool jacket from Uncle Ez. Johnny made do with an ugly purple-and-green sweater.
Uncle Ez climbed up on the wing, hopped into the cockpit, and gave a thumbs-up to Marko and Basil. The boys let loose the tie-downs and removed the blocks from under the wheels.
Johnny and Nina waved to their friends as Thumper rolled forward, picking up speed. Up above, the big horizontal rotor began turning.
It struck Johnny, bouncing along the airstrip, that the aircraft wasn’t lifting off the ground. And, looking around Nina, he could see that the trees at the end of the strip were approaching rather rapidly. As his eyes widened and he held onto to his friend’s arms, he hoped that he wasn’t reliving what had happened that rainy night last October out on the Treport River—the near miss between floatplane and pine trees.
With absolutely no warning, the gyrocopter leapt into the air several hundred feet short of the tree line and climbed at a steep angle.
They were up. They had made it clear of the trees. Good ol’ Thumper. Good ol’ Uncle Ez.
For half a minute Johnny enjoyed the flight, enjoyed the MacFreithshire landscape spreading out beneath him. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t have to come back here in a long time. He’d had quite enough of the place.
Then, appearing out of nowhere, a grim wall of dense fog rushed toward them and enveloped them.
Johnny could barely see Uncle Ez up in the pilot’s seat, or the ends of the gyrocopter’s big rotors off to either side. They were practically in a bowl of gray soup, blinded and unable to see where they were going.
Chapter 35
“Where’d that come from?” Johnny yelled.
Almost simultaneously, Uncle Ez let loose a string of expletives like “Blast!” and “Blimey!” and “Oh, darts and daggers!”
“Not fog! Not now!” Nina moaned.
Uncle Ez twisted around and bellowed at his two passengers.
“Have to take Thumper up above this muck. And hope that we fly beyond it.”
Nina turned to Johnny. “If this fog doesn’t clear up, we won’t be able to land,” she explained. “We need a visual on any landing strip, and for navigation, too.”
“And if we can’t get a visual?” Johnny gulped, thinking he might know the answer already.
“Then we fly until we run out of gas. And we crash. And die.”
So yet again, out of the frying pan and into the fire. It seemed that every time they turned a corner, there was another rotten corner that needed turning. What Johnny would have given to be back home in Zenith, listening to Captain Justice on the radio, and just being an ordinary kid.
That rotor up above was awfully loud. Thump-thump-thump-thump… It was now pretty clear where the gyrocopter’s nickname had come from.
Johnny felt Thumper climb, as the air was getting colder and colder. With their luck, they’d probably fly right into a driving rain. So when they crashed, they’d be all soaked and chilled, in addition to being dead. But it was all out of his hands anyway. There was still the chance, though, that Quintus and Petunia would get through, and alert Mel and Dame Honoria about Percy’s plot.
It wasn’t exactly comfy being jammed into the rear seat with Nina. Talk about a tight sque
eze. And she was getting kind of heavy. His legs were starting to go numb. He could barely move, besides. Of course, it probably wasn’t much more pleasant for her.
When this was all over, Johnny wanted the two of them to make a pledge to never admit that this lap-sitting thing had ever happened. If word ever got out— Well, that wouldn’t be good. They would never hear the end of it.
With nothing better to do, Johnny shut his eyes and tried to doze awhile. Wouldn’t do any good to get all panicky. But sleep wouldn’t come. Not a big surprise.
Johnny started daydreaming about taking up the quest again for his lost parents—if he lived that long. He thought about the good times he and Mel and their mom and pop had had together. The trips. The family projects. The fun and games at Birchwood. He remembered how they often went to eat at Tony Weller’s restaurant, where Johnny always got the tenderloin steak burger with its delicious mushroom sauce. And they would talk and talk and talk, the four of them, in the middle of this busy bustling eatery, dreaming out loud about school and hobbies and work and…
Suddenly, Uncle Ez’s voice yanked him out of his reverie.
“We’re over twelve thousand feet now. We can go up to fourteen or fifteen, and that’s about it. I’m heading roughly south by southeast. That’ll get us closer to Blackfield.”
Johnny wasn’t enjoying the watery mist that was accumulating on his face, his hands, his clothes. Apparently it was real fog, not that stuff that had been plaguing MacFreithshire.
Just a couple of days ago he had been cold and miserable after nearly drowning in that dreadful culvert. And here was the water, coming at him once again. Not just blinding him, but soaking him. At the risk of being morbid, Johnny wondered which would be worse. To die by water? Or by flame? Well, naturally, the answer was that it’s best to live forever.
Nina had put her etheric goggles on. Johnny didn’t know why. Maybe it was to keep the mist and wind out of her eyes—the aviator goggles’ original purpose. Or maybe she thought if the goggles could help her see ghosts, they might help her to see through fog. Johnny wished they could, but he knew better.
“We just hit fourteen,” Uncle Ez shouted over his shoulder a bit later. “Not much more room upstairs, I’m afraid. Have enough petrol for another hundred miles.”
