Bryony opened her eyes, and saw an ugly sack face staring down at her. She cried for help, but the sound came out as a piggy squeal.
Boglehob’s slitty mouth twisted into that all too familiar grimace of a smile. Bryony struggled, but found her legs were lashed together with twine.
A lantern hung from a beam on the ceiling, casting enough flickering light for Bryony to tell that she was back in the tool shed, where her nightmare on Barrenbrake Farm had begun.
Bryony heard a whimpering sound, and looked round to see Zach slumped beside her. He was tied to a wooden beam, his wide eyes full of tears as he gazed back at her.
The boy was a nervous wreck, reduced to blubbering like a baby. But unlike Zach, Bryony didn’t intend to go down without a fight.
“Let us go,” she shouted at the lopsided scarecrow. “Untie me at once, you ugly sack faced clown! I’m a Guardian, and I can do magic with the Wychetts Key. So let us go, or I’ll make you wish you had never been born!”
Bryony wasn’t sure if that made sense. Scarecrows like Boglehob probably weren’t born, at least not like humans. Unless he had once been a human, like the others. Staring into those empty eyeholes, Bryony found it hard to tell.
Boglehob chuckled. It was a wheezy, husky sound that unnerved Bryony even more than those sightless eyes and twisted grin.
Still chuckling, the scarecrow drew something out of his waistcoat pocket. It was long, metal, and looked like an old fashioned key.
And that’s exactly what it was: the Wychetts Key!
Boglehob dangled the Key above Bryony, his wheezy chuckle warping into a deep rasping laugh.
“Give it back to me,” shouted Bryony. “That doesn’t belong to you.”
Boglehob slipped the Key back into his waistcoat, and then hobbled out of the shed. The door slammed shut, and Bryony heard a jangling noise from outside.
“He’s padlocked the door,” she sighed, turning her critical piggy gaze to Zach. “This is your fault. Why did you give him the Key?”
“I didn’t have no choice,” mewled Zach. “Thought he was gonna turn us into scarecrows, and I don’t want to end up as a sack of straw.”
“That wouldn’t make much difference to you,” snorted Bryony. “You’ve no backbone anyhow. If you had, you wouldn’t have given up the Key so easily. That was our only chance to save Edwin and turn the other scarecrows back into people.”
Suddenly Zach stopped mewling, and fixed Bryony with an accusing stare. “You told me you couldn’t use the Key. So how come you told Boglehob you can do magic?”
“I...” Bryony hadn’t realised what she’d said.
“Edwin told me you’ve got magic powers,” snarled Zach. “So if you’re a Guardian, why didn’t you use the Key when you had the chance?”
Bryony didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing, and stared at the floor instead.
“I’m sorry,” sighed Zach, after a period of awkward silence. “It is my fault. I shouldn’t have let Boglehob take the Key from me. And I shouldn’t have taken you through the veggie store in the first place. I knew there were horrible things in there.”
“No,” said Bryony, still staring at the floor. “It’s my fault.”
“No way, lady.” Zach shook his head. “I should have warned you about this place as soon as I found you here. I should never have let Ma throw you into the Plunge Pool. I should never...”
“It’s my fault,” repeated Bryony, unable to stop a tear trickling down her snout. “Because I am a Guardian. And I could have used the Key.”
Zach frowned. “So why didn’t you?”
“I’m scared,” whispered Bryony, lifting her head to look at Zach. “I’m scared of the magic.”
Zach’s frown deepened. “But ain’t it fun using magic?”
“It was to start with,” agreed Bryony. “But things went wrong. I nearly got us all killed. And then there’s Mum. My real mum. She’s involved in the magic too, but I don’t know how. And that scares me more than anything.”
Zach nodded. “At least you still got yer dad.”
“But he’s been turned into a scarecrow. And my stepmum Jane. And poor Edwin might have been taken by that fox.” Another tear splashed from Bryony’s snout to the floor. “They’re all gone, Zach.”
There was a whimper in response, and Bryony glanced up to see that Zach was crying too.
“I lost my mum and dad last year,” he burbled. “They were taken from me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”
Bryony felt a lump rising in her throat. “You mean...”
“Prison.” Zach shut his eyes as the word formed on his quivering lips. “They got sent to prison.”
“Oh.” Bryony wasn’t sure how she should respond.
“They were found guilty of fraud,” continued Zach, saving her the trouble. “Fiddling taxes, that sort of thing.” He opened his eyes and looked straight at Bryony. “But they didn’t do it. My parents are honest, not cheating worms like Ma and Jed.”
Bryony nodded. “Your parents own this farm?”
“They did,” said Zach. “Until they got sent to prison. That’s when Ma and Jed arrived. They’re distant relatives, or so they claimed. I’d never heard of ‘em, and neither had mum or dad.”
“So now Ma and Jed own the farm?”
“They don’t own it,” hissed Zach. Then a wry smile cracked his lips. “I own it. Or rather I will, when I’m eighteen. Ma and Jed are like godparents. They’re supposed to be looking after me and the farm until I’m old enough to run the place on my own.”
Bryony couldn’t believe that. Ma and Jed were far from her idea of what ‘godparents’ should be.
“I should have stood up to ‘em,” said Zach. “Dad would have. He’s a strong, brave man. I’m just a cowardly little runt.”
“No you’re not,” said Bryony. “I wouldn’t be alive now if it wasn’t for you.”
Zach dismissed Bryony’s praise with a derisive sniff. “But you wouldn’t be a pig, neither. And you wouldn’t be tied up here at the mercy of Boglehob.”
Bryony glanced nervously at the door. “I wonder what he’ll do with us?”
“Compost,” said a voice that wasn’t Zach. “That’s what he does with the rejects. Mulches them up for compost. That’s why I’m here.”
Bryony looked around, but couldn’t see anyone else in the shed. “Er… who said that?”
“Over here.”
Bryony traced the voice to a large wooden bucket in the corner of the shed. She hadn’t noticed the bucket before, but that’s because it contained nothing but rotting vegetables.
And it was one of the vegetables that talked to her now: a turnip, with a human face on it.
“A vampire turnip!” wailed Zach, who had seen it too.
“I ain’t no vampire,” said the turnip. “Ain’t got the teeth for it.” The turnip opened his mouth to display a pair of blunt, stumpy fangs. “That’s why Boglehob threw me in this bin with the other rejects. I ain’t fit for nothing but compost. Such a disappointment. I thought at worst it’d be chutney. No shame in chutney, see.”
Bryony realised the turnip posed little threat, and her fear gave way to curiosity. “So Boglehob grew the vampire turnips, and those flying carrots and exploding cabbages?”
“Aye,” said the turnip. “He’s trying to produce the perfect crop of deadly killer vegetables.”
Bryony nodded. “So that’s the harvest Ma was talking about?”
“Naw,” said the turnip. “We’re just Boglehob’s little hobby. I believe the real harvest is something far worse.”
Bryony stared at the turnip. “What do you know about Boglehob and the harvest?”
“Of the harvest I know little,” admitted the turnip. “For I am a lowly root vegetable, and not privy to the plans of my masters. But I can tell you something of Boglehob, for I have heard the other vegetables whisper stories of how he came to be. Though I must warn you, it is a grim and grisly tale.”
Bryony nodded. “Somehow I
didn’t expect puppy dogs and rainbows.”
“It goes like this,” began the turnip. “Many years ago there lived a landlord, who owned two hundred acres of prime farmland in the west of the country. He was a rich and prosperous landlord, but cruel with it. He drove his workers hard, and made no distinction between horse and farmhand when it came to the whip. And he kept all the harvest to himself, not so much as a grain of corn did he give the workforce for their hard labours. Villagers starved of a winter, but the landlord didn’t care, and lived a life of luxury on the profits his corn made at market.
“One day, it is said, the local villagers decided they’d had enough of their master’s wicked ways. So they formed a gang, and ambushed the landlord one night as he rode home from business in town. The gang dragged him from his horse, and cut him to pieces with scythes and sickles. Then they scattered his remains across his land, and dressed up a scarecrow with his fine clothes as a final insult to his memory.”
“That’s horrible,” gasped Bryony.
“But that’s not the worst bit,” said the turnip, seeming to relish recounting such a gory tale. “The farmer’s wicked spirit would not rest, and his ghost rose from the soil and took possession of the scarecrow which came alive, and enacted a terrible vengeance on those who killed him. But even when the villagers were slain, the farmer’s spirit could find no peace, and the creature now known as Boglehob has been wandering the countryside ever since, his twisted spirit bent on death and cruelty.”
Bryony swallowed. “He’s a monster. But what’s he doing on Barrenbrake Farm?”
“He was sent by the Ministry,” said Zach. “The Ministry of Agriculture. I ain’t sure if it’s a real ministry, but that’s what they call themselves.”
“Them?” Bryony looked questioningly at Zach.
“The people who come visit Ma. Mr Dawes and Miss Pauncefoot.”
Bryony’s jaw hung open. “Katya Pauncefoot?”
“That’s her,” Zach nodded. “Blonde lady, wears a cream coloured suit and diamond necklace. Something odd about her, though. But that Mr Dawes is even odder, with his tiny grey eyes, bald head, and big…”
“Beaky nose.” Bryony completed the sentence for Zach. “And I bet he wears a tatty black suit?”
“That’s right,” said Zach, his forehead wrinkling. “You know these people?”
“All too well.” Bryony found her throat had suddenly turned dry. “But they’re not from the Ministry of Agriculture. They work for the Shadow Clan.”
“What’s the Shadow Clan?” asked Zach, but the shed door started rattling before Bryony could reply.
“He’s come back!” Bryony tensed, expecting the lopsided scarecrow to come hobbling into the tool shed.
But the door didn’t open, and the rattling stopped.
“That wasn’t Boglehob,” said the turnip. “Seems someone else is sniffing about.”
Then Bryony heard a scratching sound from below.
The shed had no floorboards, and as she looked Bryony saw cracks appearing in the bare earth floor. Suddenly a small patch of floor crumbled away, and a head emerged through the hole. It was a dog-like head, with large pointed ears, a long snout, and a pair of bright amber eyes.
“The fox!” gasped Zach.
The fox emerged from the hole, shaking dirt from its rust coloured coat. Then in a blink of an eye the fox disappeared, and there was a man standing in its place. The man wore a tweed suit, and had amber coloured hair, large sideburns, and an old-fashioned handlebar moustache.
“Captain Rathbone!” Bryony couldn’t believe her piggy eyes. “You’re really a fox?”
“That would be self evident,” said the Captain, dusting lingering specks of soil from his sleeve. “I apologise for the somewhat unconventional entrance, but the door was padlocked and I am not permitted to force an entry without an official warrant. The hole in the floor will be made good to the satisfaction of the landowner once this case has been resolved.”
Bryony didn’t know what to say, and could only watch as the Captain grabbed a scythe propped up against the wall. Then he advanced on Bryony, raising the scythe as though to lunge at her.
Bryony squealed as the scythe sliced down. Then suddenly her legs were free.
Whilst a confused Bryony clambered to a standing position, Captain Rathbone freed Zach with a similar swish of the scythe.
“What are you doing here?” Bryony recovered from her shock to fix the Captain with a bemused stare.
“Official Police business,” said the Captain.
“You’re a policeman?” Bryony didn’t know what she found harder to believe. “A policeman and a fox?”
“Best not worry about that right now,” said the Captain. “I recall it took some time explaining the same to your stepbrother.”
“You’ve seen Edwin!” Bryony’s spirits lifted at the news. “He’s OK?”
“I saw Edwin.” The Captain nodded, but there was an uneasy look in those amber eyes. “However I regret that I lost contact with him in the Cursed Field.”
Bryony’s spirits sank again. “He’s in danger?”
“We are all in danger,” said the Captain. “A most grave and immediate danger, unless we stop the Shadow Clan unleashing a terrible evil on the world.”
“But what is this Shadow Clan?” repeated Zach.
“A coven of evil witches and wizards,” explained Bryony. “We’ve met them before, Edwin and me. They tried to take over our home and use Wychetts’ power to rule the world.”
“They doubtless have a similar aim again,” said Captain Rathbone. “But there is no time for a full briefing just now.” The Captain was suddenly a fox again. “I shall explain en route to the stakeout position. Now follow me. The chase is on. Tallyho!”
The fox disappeared down the hole in the floor.
“We’d better do as he says,” suggested Zach, in answer to Bryony’s questioning gaze. “I’ve known the Captain for years. He was a friend of my dad.”
“But did you know he’s a policeman?” asked Bryony. “And a fox?”
“Can’t say I did,” admitted Zach. “But I know he’s a good sort of guy. So come on, in you get.”
Zach ushered Bryony towards the hole. She was about to clamber in when the turnip spoke again.
“Please don’t leave me here. I’ll be mulched in the morning for sure. Take me with you. I could lend a hand.”
“You don’t have any hands,” pointed out Zach. “You’re just a turnip.”
“That’s typical,” said the turnip, indignantly. “People in this country have such a low opinion of root vegetables. It’s different abroad, where we are held in much higher regard. My pen friend Bjorn is a bank manager in Stockholm.”
“And he’s a turnip?” asked Bryony, incredulous.
“Actually he’s a swede,” said the turnip. “So please take me with you. I’m sure I’ll be of some use.”
Bryony looked at Zach. “We may as well take him,” she suggested, not wanting the fate of a talking turnip on her already over burdened conscience.
Zach didn’t look convinced, but picked up the turnip and tucked it under his arm.
“Thank you,” said the turnip, as Zach clambered into the hole after Bryony. “I promise you won’t live to regret it.”
Chapter 15- Harvest Home
Wychetts and the Farm of Fear Page 17
