by S L Ager
‘Gwilym, what’s wrong with you?’ she shouted, her hands pushed together, beseeching him to act. ‘He’s gonna get the gem. Stop him; do something; stop him smashing the case!’ Her screams were now hysterical37. Spluttering, she fanned away the caustic smoke and wiped her lips. ‘Gwilym, please, he’s going to get it,’ she said, coughing. Her arms sagged to her sides in resignation38. ‘Do something,’ she begged, frowning at him, imploring him to answer.
‘Claire, look behind you,’ murmured Gwilym, his soft tone barely perceptible39.
With the faintest tilt of his head, he gestured a subtle nod beyond her. She turned to see Drane dragging Rebecca from the office and into the hall. Rebecca could scarcely stand. At the same time, Jack sprinted across to Gwilym and sat by his feet. Claire was about to run over to Rebecca when a sound deafened her ears. The case finally capitulated40, giving way beneath the might of the Cutter’s supernatural41 blows. The fragile cracks surged forth into a myriad of spreading fissures42.
Claire looked from the case to Gwilym, baffled by his apathy43. A physical ache pulled at her chest as tears sprang again. Her hands, clenched tightly shut, were glued into fists of sweat.
‘Trust, Claire’ were Gwilym’s only words as he turned and walked away, a reliable44 Jack at his heel.
‘What? Gwilym! Jack!’ shouted Claire after them.
They didn’t look around. She knew they wouldn’t. She knew they weren’t coming back.
Torn, she looked away from the maniac45 by the case and back towards the office. Mrs Evans lay on the floor, groaning – she would have to wait.
‘Josh Drane,’ she shouted, outraged46. ‘Leave my sister alone!’
Drane didn’t even look up; he yanked Rebecca, dragging her towards a fire exit.
‘Drane,’ she shrieked, ‘put her down!’ But her cries were futile.
‘Claire? Claire?’ Rebecca drawled.
‘Shut up!’ barked Drane into Rebecca’s confused face. ‘Shut up!’ he hissed, shaking her with ferocious47 jerks.
Lamentably48, Rebecca looked sapped of any fight; she was wilted49 and defenceless.
Livid50 in a way like never before, Claire snapped. She charged at Drane shouting, ‘YARRHHH!’ circling her arms in opposing directions.
She’d seen Ben do something like this at his martial art competitions. Leaping as high as she could, she landed just over a metre from Drane. She planted51 her feet firmly on the floor, bent her knees and crouched down low, ready to lunge, hands crossed before her chest.
Drane paused, a bemused52 expression fleeting across his face; then he looked straight at her and burst out laughing. Throwing back his head, he howled, inadvertently53 relaxing his grip on her sister. Claire seized the moment to karate chop hard at his arms, and Rebecca thumped to the floor.
Josh Drane’s face portrayed a picture of shock and amazement. Stunned, he stared as Claire spun on one leg, built up momentum and speed, and in one adept54 move, planted a perfect kick into the softest part of his stomach. As if feather-light, she landed back on her feet, ready and poised like a panther planning its next move.
‘Not laughing now, are you, Rat-boy?’ she taunted as her right foot left the ground, and her left flashed upwards after it, connecting cleanly under his chin.
She had spectated55 at Ben’s competitions most weekends, watching him make these moves, and this skilful56 whipped strike landed right on target, flattening him with one sweet blow.
With Drane despatched57, Claire turned her focus on her sister. ‘Becca, wake up,’ she said, gently shaking her. ‘Becs, please wake up.’
Now out cold, Rebecca unmistakably needed to sleep off whatever Drane had given her. Claire removed her coat, as she was sweating, anyway, fashioned58 it into a pillow, and laid it under her sister’s head.
‘Dewi.’ Claire crouched frozen. Concerned for Rebecca, she’d forgotten he was there.
Swivelling round, she saw nothing but exhibits – Dewi had gone. An eerie silence filled the hall. Incredulous59, she checked again; he’d seemingly vaporised60. She ran to the smouldering61 case, a mass of cracks. Her heart tumbled. She’d saved Rebecca, yet Dewi must have got the gem and escaped. Gwilym was nowhere to be seen.
They had not foiled his attack. The Knights Hawk had failed. Dewi had been too dominant62 and Gwilym too weak. Her sweet victory over Drane evaporated. The case’s glass was so fractured63 and crazed64 she could barely see inside. As the remaining smoke thinned, she bent closer. That’s weird, she thought, flaring her nostrils as a sweetness drifted upwards. What’s that smell? she asked herself.
Sniffing the air, she ran her finger along the glass casing. Razor65-sharp slivers66 lay in wait, snagging67 at her skin.
‘Ouch!’ She sucked at a tiny cut as she surveyed the damaged glass. It’s cracked but not broken, she thought, examining it carefully.
Realising the significance of her words, and squinting through the cracks, she tried to work out what lay inside, but the criss-cross of crevices68 made it impossible. She banged on it with her fist, but that just hurt. She pushed and jostled69 it; still it would not budge. The opaque70 glass blocked her view, and the abnormal sweet smell grew stronger. ‘Lilies,’ she remarked71, realising what the smell was, ‘I can smell lilies,’ as the mysterious72 perfume wafted up from the case.
She followed the origin73 of the smoke to find a wider cleft74 she’d not seen a moment ago. Screwing one eye shut, she squinted through the tiny split with the other. Inside the case, nestling unperturbed on a red velvet cushion, sat the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. A startling75 emerald hawk twinkled up at her. Magnificent, it sat entwined76 within an intricate band of finely woven gold chain mail. Claire had seen gold before, yet none as alluring77 as this. This gold shimmered and shone with life.
The Gwalch Gem bracelet mesmerised78 her. Open-mouthed and held by its spell, she admired its beauty and simplicity79. Its colour gleamed an indescribable green, so lush, fresh and joyful80. The extraordinary81 cut and sharp angles sparkled with a lustre82 that defined83 the hawk’s shape. Luring her, it drew her closer.
The scent of lilies intensified84, and even though she was looking through a narrow crack, an unambiguous85 scene played out before her. She had little doubt as to the participants’86 identities: a nobly countenanced87 young man, daubed88 with blood, sobbing and cradling a baby; the massive head of a grey, shaggy dog resting beside him, a final stillness about it.
‘Llywelyn? Llywelyn? Is that you?’ she asked out loud.
But the scene suddenly changed, and so did the characters. A woman with a shock89 of wavy blonde hair fanned into the picture. Claire saw the back of her head; the woman was looking towards a young man who seemed familiar. Claire couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she held something in her hands, lifting it up high before the man; it was unmistakably the sparkling Gwalch Gem bracelet.
Blowing into the crack to clear the residual90 smoke, Claire pushed her eye nearer to the gap. The woman held the bracelet in her hands until she suddenly plucked the Gwalch Gem from the Welsh gold. Curling her fingers into a tight fist around the gem, the woman moved her arm towards the man, who looked on with what Claire thought was a terrible sadness. His eyes glazed, and his skin turned an ashen grey, as if the life within him had been extinguished91.
Then, to Claire’s horror, minuscule lines began to appear all over the man in random zigzags, like the case before her; his body cracked and crazed, but somehow he remained standing. Slowly, as if being injected with a vivid ink, the man’s grey body started to change colour, gradually turning a stunning bright emerald green, just like the gem. The woman leant forward and blew a sharp, hard breath towards him. The man’s eyes took on a look that Claire could only describe as heartbroken. Then, shockingly, his body exploded, shattering into thousands of tiny, glistening shards, shooting outwards into an explosion of glittering green before disintegrating into specks of emerald dust. Had its meaning not been so distressing, Claire could almost have described it as beauti
ful.
Claire shot upright, horrified at what she’d just seen. She was now fairly sure the man depicted92 Gwilym.
She placed her eye back against the gap, squinting harder, but the grainy portrayal had gone. She had seen the Gwalch Gem wrenched out of the bracelet, and Gwilym had turned into emerald and shattered into thousands of pieces. What did this all mean? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like it. Bending down again, she screwed up her eye next to the glass, but she couldn’t even find the opening this time. It seemed to have vanished. She couldn’t smell lilies any more either.
What had she just seen, and what did it mean? She knew one thing for sure, the Gwalch Gem bracelet was untouched. Miraculously93 the case had withheld94 Dewi’s onslaught95 with the Cutter, and the bracelet had survived unharmed, laying before her in the case. But this joy was quashed96 by the vision she had just seen. Had it been an omen97, or even worse, a premonition98? If the Gwalch Gem was parted from the Welsh gold, would Gwilym die? Could all the Knights Hawk possibly die? She felt sick with worry.
‘Ow! Urrrgghhh!’ A loud groaning noise came from across the hall. Drane was rolling around the floor, whining and rubbing at his chin.
Ignoring him, Claire darted across the exhibition hall to the cinema and tore open the doors.
‘Help!’ she shouted as loud as she could. ‘Help! My sister, Rebecca, needs help!’ she yelled over the loud film.
Mr Hollie shot up from his seat, looking confounded. ‘What? Who on earth are you?’ he stammered99. ‘Please refrain from behaving like a feral100 animal. Speak concisely101, girl,’ he said, condescendingly102 looking down his nose at her.
‘You have to come and help my sister. She’s ill, and you left her with that horrible boy Drane, and Mrs Evans is ill too. Come now!’ she demanded, ignoring his rank103 of teacher.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he stuttered, tripping over his own feet. ‘Miss Malik, wait with the class,’ he instructed his assistant. ‘Where is that curator fellow104 Evans?’ he rambled105 on, following Claire back into the exhibition hall.
‘What the blighter’s happened here?’ shouted the astonished teacher. ‘Where the hell is Drane?’ he asked with a mystified106 look.
At that moment, the two security guards walked back into the hall, holding a boy by the scruff107 of his neck. It was another of Hollie’s pupils, the decoy boy who had been rocking the case to distract the guards earlier.
‘Sir, will you stop faffing108 about and help my sister now,’ Claire shouted at Mr Hollie; she didn’t know his name. ‘Rebecca, help her now!’ she ordered, pointing.
‘Oh my word,’ bleated Mr Hollie as he followed the direction of Claire’s finger to see another of his mislaid109 pupils.
Rebecca sprawled fast asleep on the floor. Drane, nearby, was nursing his bruised chin. His white school shirt hung out of his trousers, revealing a patch of blood across the bottom.
‘What in the world have you done, boy?’ Mr Hollie barked.
‘Nothing, sir,’ replied Drane. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he answered, trying to tuck his bloody shirt into his trousers.
Noisy, exuberant110 teenagers now poured out of the cinema, obviously desperate to join in the furore111. The young teaching assistant tried to herd112 them back, but they ignored her. The two security guards tried to assist, joining the fiasco113, but the kids disobeyed them all, running riot, clearly enjoying the tumult and uproar114.
‘Miss Malik,’ Mr Hollie yelled, flapping about uselessly and exacerbating115 the situation.
Claire looked on, despairing at the bumbling116, incompetent adults. Exhausted, she knelt to Rebecca, who was still oblivious. Looking over at Drane, she shivered at an unexpected rush of excitement and pride. She’d floored him, and with style. Behind her the main doors to the museum flew open. Two enormous117 policemen marched in, silencing everyone. They headed straight for Mr Hollie.
‘Oh my,’ he squeaked, looking faint.
‘We received a report of an attempted118 robbery,’ the tallest boomed to the group in a gravelly119 voice. ‘Who’s in charge here?’ he demanded.
‘That’ll be me,’ the fattest security guard announced, waddling across like an overfed duck. His substantial120 girth121 swayed as he moved.
He waded through the throng122 of kids, who craned their necks to see everything.
‘I’m in charge.’ He glowed as he spoke. ‘Dave Wise, head of security,’ he added, holding in his belly and rocking onto tiptoe. He had spiky hair and sagging jowls, oddly resembling a pufferfish.
‘Thank you, Mr Wise. What has happened here?’ asked the tallest policeman as the other went over to inspect the damaged case.
‘Some kid rocked one of the cases, setting the alarm off. But we scuppered123 his prank124 and removed him from the hall,’ replied Dave, rubbing his double chin with a look of misplaced pride. ‘We’ve got him though; no need to worry,’ finished the guard.
‘Well, manifestly125, that prank may have been a ruse126 for something more serious,’ replied the police officer, gesturing towards Rebecca and then the case. ‘Seems that one of your cases has been irreparably127 damaged. We will need to tape it off for fingerprints and will require access to your CCTV footage. We will continue from here,’ he stressed. ‘I’ll call an ambulance for these two. And keep this lot quiet,’ he nodded at the impudent128 pupils, throwing a pointed look at the two teachers.
Claire kneeled by her sister as the ‘police officers’ worked the scene. Gwilym and Owain acted like they’d never clapped eyes on her before; they were dressed as two policemen!
She watched as they checked Rebecca’s pulse and laid her in the recovery position, placing a foil129 blanket over her. They attended Mrs Evans in the office, making her comfortable with a glass of water. Claire even allowed herself a smug smile as they searched Drane and found a small bag of white powder in his pocket. He’d also hidden a knife, which had apparently130 skewered131 his thigh, drawing blood.
‘Who’s in charge of these kids?’ asked Gwilym.
‘I am,’ replied Mr Hollie, scampering132 over, simpering133 and panting like an adoring puppy. He extended his clammy134 hand. ‘Walter Hollie, head of history. Most people call me Wally,’ he finished in all seriousness.
Gwilym ignored his hand and looked him straight in the eye.
‘Evidently135, this lad deals in drugs and tried them on his girlfriend. She’s had too much. We’ll analyse136 the substance137. His wounds are superficial, nothing serious. Take your class back to school, Mr Hollie, and we’ll be in touch.’
‘Yes, of course, sir,’ exhaled the teacher, breathing again.
Relieved, he bowed his curly head in deference138 towards the policeman. Then, resembling an overenthusiastic139, inept140 morris dancer, he swooshed off with a giddy141 prance to round up the rest of his class.
With a disbelieving shake of his head, Gwilym frowned as the hapless142 teacher tried to gather his pupils.
‘The boy who set off the alarm, shall I get him?’ asked Dave, the pufferfish security guard, practically saluting.
‘Yes. We’ll speak to him now,’ replied Owain, stepping forward. ‘Where is he?’
‘This way,’ replied the guard, leading Owain from the hall.
‘And who are you, young lady?’ Gwilym asked Claire, his tone so matter-of-fact143 she answered in the same voice.
‘I’m Claire Cadwallader … er … sir,’ she replied. ‘This is my sister, Rebecca; she’s … er … here with her school.’
‘Yes, Claire. We spoke with your teacher when you didn’t arrive at school this morning. Did you follow your sister here because you wanted to come on the school trip too?’ Gwilym frowned at her, but a mirthful144 glint flickered in his eye. ‘Your teacher remarked upon your love of history and said it would make sense if you were here. She also said something about you hating cross-country.’ He nodded. ‘Playing truant145 from school is a serious matter, and you won’t do it again, will you, miss?’ he added with a grave146 tone.
<
br /> She hung her head, feigning shame, hiding a smile as he devised147 her cover story – her alibi148. Where had she been if people asked? Now she had her corresponding149 story, everything would corroborate150, thanks to Gwilym.
A man and a woman in fluorescent151 green jackets bustled into the museum, laden152 with boxes and bags.
‘They’re over here.’ Gwilym gestured towards Rebecca and Drane on the floor.
The two paramedics153 tended to Rebecca first, checking her pulse and placing various instruments154 onto her fingers, and then an oxygen mask over her mouth.
‘She’s not going to die, is she?’ Claire asked, suddenly scared.
‘No,’ replied the woman, smiling at her. ‘She’ll be fine; all her vital signs155 are good. She’ll be home before you know it,’ she finished, winking at Claire.
Winking at traumatised relatives was most unorthodox156, but this paramedic was no ordinary one; it was Felicity, last seen as the police officer they’d left guarding the entrance to the underground tunnel at the police station.
‘Stand up,’ Gwilym barked at Drane.
The belligerent157 boy scowled an ugly look as Gwilym cuffed158 his wrists.
Gwilym looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘You’re a foolish boy, carrying knives and dealing drugs. You’re in trouble, deep trouble,’ he warned.
Claire, by now, realised Gwilym’s plan. He’d concocted159 a cover story for the relevant people, an alibi concealing the gem’s truth and the real attempted theft. Due to the knife Drane was carrying, no one would ever know a dog had bitten him. She had so many burning questions to ask Gwilym, but she knew they’d have to wait for now.
‘Claire, love! Rebecca?’ An anguished voice rose amid160 the fall of running footsteps.
‘Dad? What are you doing here?’ Claire squealed, throwing herself at Vince. ‘How did you know where we were?’ she asked.