by Gill Jepson
“’Tis not thy brother’s fault my son,” said the monk softly, as though he had read his thoughts.
Rob’s mouth gaped open… what the…
“Thy brother is in great danger and thou must beware of those who threaten the abbey and its treasure,” he smiled again, almost hypnotically. Rob began to feel more at ease and his muscles relaxed allowing him to breathe freely again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about… ” he whispered huskily.
“Thou shalt in good time, my son, the time will come when thou must assist thy brother to save a precious treasure and seek out another thyself…. the time will come and ye will be in grave danger…”
Before Rob could ask more the monk began to evaporate before his eyes, becoming transparent and finally disappearing completely, leaving behind blue crackling energy. His mouth was open ready to ask all kinds of questions, but it was too late. He shivered; both he and the dog became intent in moving quickly through the coppice onto the pavement that followed the perimeter of the abbey. As he walked swiftly around the abbey he noticed Mr Mason, working on the foundations in the lay brother’s frater. The old chap waved reassuringly and Rob called over to him, saying hello.
Behind him, one… two… and then three magpies swooped silently down onto the railings beyond, unobserved by Rob, but registered by Mr Steele, the English Heritage supervisor, who was standing, sinisterly silent in the archway to the church. Steele watched them for a few minutes and then slid quietly away, ruminating on this new problem. How many more of these irritating brats would he have to deal with? He would need to contact Silas, his cousin; they must not lose sight of the treasures now!
CHAPTER 4
DIVINE INTERVENTION
The abbey rose up, a magnificent pile of crumbling red sandstone; it was an impressive edifice. Unfortunately, there was no option, it would have to go! There must be no sentiment in business – that, he knew. James had already looked at the terrain of the prospective route of the track to the east and it would add unnecessary cost and effort to the project if they tried to avoid it. After all, nobody really came here; the local people took it for granted – surely nobody would object to its destruction. They certainly didn’t cry out when the old King got rid of it in the first place.
Yet in his heart a glimmer of a concern flickered. Was it right to destroy this amazing place? He could not fail to appreciate its beauty, nor could he ignore its calm and its silence and spirituality. He knew that one of the engineers; Mr MacLean had grave reservations and constantly piped up in meetings with the Directors. No, MacLean would have to change his mind too, nothing could divert his plan, and it had to go forward. After all it avoided going through the hill and would be considerably cheaper to demolish the old abbey. It would cost almost three hundred pounds to blast a tunnel through the substantial hillside and the Earl would not be pleased if costs rose again. He already regarded the new railway as a nuisance and a drain on his resources, despite it being an essential part of the plan to industrialise Barrow-in-Furness.
James sat on the grassy hill rolling down towards the main church. He leaned back on his elbows and surveyed the scene, bathed in warm sunlight. It was close and his eyelids drooped. He dozed momentarily and basked in the warmth like an exotic plant in a greenhouse. He was overcome with a heavy drowsiness and he revelled in daydreaming about his great plans for the future. His reverie was disturbed by a cool, dark shadow falling across him. He blinked and covered his eyes with his hand against the bright sunshine. A tall silhouette was bathed in the golden aura of the sun and rose above him powerfully. James was unable to make out who it was; he assumed it was one of the local labourers. He sat up abruptly and looked more closely at the figure in front of him. His blood ran cold and his heart stopped dead in his chest.
The figure became clear and James was as still as one of the abbey carvings. He was incredulous – he knew what he was seeing was impossible. It was madness! Was this the result of sunstroke? Whatever it was, it certainly could not be what he saw before him now. A monk? Ridiculous! There were no monks living at this abbey anymore!
“My son,” a velvety voice emerged from the solemn monk.
James stared.
“Thou must not lay waste to our proud abbey. It would be a sacrilege as great as that which has been suffered before.”
James gulped and his mouth was dry.
“Thou must discover a better means to transport thy spitting, devilish beast through this valley; thou must not destroy this abbey. Thou wilt not destroy this abbey,” the monk commanded in cool, dulcet tones.
The monk stood calmly observing the young man, moving not a muscle. His white habit reflected the light of the sun, blinding James with its luminescence. The brightness was so intense that he covered his eyes again. When he uncovered them the spectre had gone.
He remained rooted to the spot as solidly as an old oak tree. His skin was clammy and he shivered involuntarily. He was too shaken to move immediately. Instead, he sat immobile for several minutes, not trusting himself to move. Thoughts popped inside his skull like a delinquent firework and his heart was beating as fast as any steam train. James could not believe that he had seen a medieval monk, it was impossible and against any scientific ideals that he held dear. He must have been hallucinating… or dreaming. The scientist dwelling within him would not allow him to believe what he had seen. Already, he was dismissing the very idea and began inventing rational explanations to allay his fears. He must have had too much sun. Yes, that was it! Sunstroke! He had heard of people becoming delirious with the sun. He comforted himself with the thought and smiled to himself.
He sprang to his feet and brushed the loose stalks of grass from his trousers, picked up his hat and placed it on his head. He walked towards the old cottage by the lane, through the abbey, drinking in every detail as he went. Truly, it was an amazing and beautiful building, but the railway would bring jobs, it would create wealth, it was after all, progress. Who could argue against that? This old pile of stones however, beautiful was an impediment and it had to be overcome. Whether the monk was imagined or ghostly; he would choose to ignore it, nothing must stop his great railway. He would rush back to Barrow and arrange for the Irish labourers to move up the line tomorrow. The plans were laid and nothing would delay them now, not even fevered imaginings. His confidence was bolstered and his determination doubled, all thoughts of what he had seen were pushed deep within his brain, filed away and forgotten. He smiled self-assured and smug. A small lingering doubt fluttered across his mind like a moth searching for candlelight. Could he bring in the navvies and their demonic dynamite? Time would tell… but he was running out of that very commodity.
CHAPTER 5
A DISCOVERY
Rob had been mulling over the unsettling events of the afternoon. He was a black and white sort of person. Things were clear-cut in his eyes and that’s why becoming a journalist attracted him so much, because you had to provide balance, showing both sides equally. This weird stuff was not something he could understand or believe in. You could not see a fifteenth century monk in the twenty-first century. Once you were dead, that was it. Like switching off a computer. Like Granddad… out like a light. Instantly! His eyes prickled at the thought and he shook himself – telling himself to get a grip.
He let a heavy sigh escape and his eyes fell upon the last picture they had of Granddad, surrounded by his family, those most important to him. His sister had struggled most; she was only young and the whole shocking circumstance of Granddad’s sudden death rocked her whole world. However, he reasoned, he and Nate, his brother had known Granddad longer and therefore must miss him more. Whatever! He had gone! End of story.
So what was this monk thing about? He thought it could have been one of Nate’s friends dressed up to freak him out… but then how did he manage to disappear so effectively? So what did that leave? A hallucination? Or could it have been a real live (dead) ghost? He couldn’t make up his mind whether to b
e more scared of the monk or the heavies who had tried to accost him. Heavies? What was that all about? Now that was weird. Who were they? What did they want? This had to be something to do with his crazy brother, of that he was sure!
He wanted to find his brother and sort him out. Who knew what sort of a mess he had got himself into? He was going to find out, he hadn’t been seen again for days and he would need to be forced to admit to whatever ridiculous scheme he had become involved in.
Rob was down at Baycliff at teatime, working at the Fisherman’s Arms as a waiter. If he went down a bit earlier he could catch hold of Nate at Aldingham as he drove through. He slowed down at the field, which housed Aldingham motte and could see some of the string and canes, which Nate had measured out to do his field survey. He could see the little blue tent that Granddad had bought him but not a sign of the boy himself. Rob pulled in to the grass verge by the gate and peeped the horn to attract his attention. There was no movement. He certainly wasn’t going to trek across the muddy field in his work clothes. Mr Haynes, his boss was very particular about his waiting on staff and how they looked. Rob was careful to ensure that his shirt was fresh and white and his shoes were polished, he was proud of his role and had even learnt the considerable skills of silver service. He peered across the field but could see no trace.
He tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, wondering what to do next. He had a flash of inspiration. Nate might be down at the church. He often went poking around churches and graveyards; Rob shook his head involuntary. He would never understand his brother in a million years. It took two minutes to drive down to the old church hunkered at the edge of the beach at Aldingham. As he drew into the small car park he noticed some children on their bikes racing up the hill. He squinted and tried to see more clearly. He realised with surprise that it was Rebecca his sister and her friends. He got out of the car and tried to shout to them but they were too far away to hear. He shrugged and turned to the church to go and look for Nate. As he walked towards the gate he noticed a young boy sitting on the wall. He nodded in acknowledgement and continued walking towards the church.
“There’s nobody in the church,” the boy offered.
Rob turned to look at him. Bemused, he surveyed the young lad, dressed in old-fashioned, knee-length grey shorts, a jersey and a cap. He looked… odd… and what did he have on his feet? A pair of… clogs! He stared rudely at the lad’s strange attire and as he lifted his gaze he met his eyes. The boy grinned widely and winked.
“I said… there’s nobody in the church!” he repeated emphatically.
“Yeah, I heard you thanks,” Rob answered, a little irked at the lad’s cheek.
“Just saying… you’re looking fer someone aren’t you?”
Rob halted.
“Yeah… my brother… You seen him? He’s fair haired, bit shorter than me… bit of a scruff and hangs round with some right weirdos.”
The boy let out a hearty chuckle.
“Nope… not seen him… not today!”
Something about this kid was familiar. Rob studied him more closely. The twinkling blue eyes, full of fun, the broad grin, the rather large ears that stuck out just a little bit too much… and that deep infectious chuckle… he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“You a mate of my sister Rebecca? I just saw her riding up the lane… were you with her? I hope you haven’t been leading her into trouble… I’ve enough to worry about with my brother…” he trailed off.
The boy’s sincere gaze unnerved him. His brow knitted with confusion. What was it that worried him about this boy?
“I haven’t done anything… don’t worry, nobody will harm her, not while I’m around,” he said. “Anyway, got to go and get my tea – it’s a long ride back to town,” he beamed disarmingly. He turned to get on an old battered bike, which was propped up against the wall. It looked ancient and had a basket at the front, not exactly state of the art.
“While you’re around? And what use do you think you’ll be… you’re a puny little shrimp!” taunted Rob, laughing.
The lad laughed and rode off slowly.
“You’re right… in fact they call me Titch at home… but I’m stronger than I look and I’ll do anything to look after…” his final words were muffled as he turned to face the direction he was going in.
With that he was gone, disappearing into the distance.
What was that he said? “He’d do anything to look after… family”… no that couldn’t be right, he must have misheard. He wasn’t related, he would know if they were. He hadn’t a clue who he was… what sort of name was Titch? The only person he knew who had been called Titch was Granddad; when he was a kid, because he was so small, not that he had really believed him – because he certainly wasn’t small as an adult.
He opened the car door and suddenly he felt a trickle of sweat run down his back making him shudder. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end and he could feel the blood slowly drain from his veins. The realisation of what he had just heard made him nauseous with shock. The frisson of fear made every nerve in his body quiver and seemed to confirm his suspicions. The boy was odd and quaintly dressed because he somehow didn’t belong, because he was from another time. He was called Titch the same as Granddad… because… he was Granddad. Impossible! So, what was going on? More weird stuff… a bit too weird… and he still hadn’t found Nate. And what about Rebecca? What had all this to do with her? He would bide his time before he mentioned anything, but now… now… he was late for work! Typical!
As he drove away from Aldingham he didn’t notice a lone magpie take flight from the tree in the churchyard, his black wings beating silently as they propelled him towards the motte.
CHAPTER 6
TIME TUNNEL
Rob was worried. It seemed strange that Nate had said nothing to him. Maybe he had been wrong, maybe he had misread everything. Perhaps those guys at the abbey had mistaken him for someone else. He had decided not to mention anything – he didn’t want him to think he had gone completely mad. Nate was still camping anyway. Whatever it had been, things had calmed down and returned to normal… almost. He had feelings of doubt and often woke in the morning with heaviness in his head and a squirming sensation in his stomach; it was as if he had all the worries in the world.
He had tried to keep an eye on Rebecca too. He was concerned that she was involved in things she didn’t understand. All that stuff with the weird boy – he had decided that it was definitely not Granddad… after all how could it be? It was purely coincidence that his nickname was the same. He convinced himself that he had wanted to make the facts fit. He was fiercely protective of his kid sister, especially since Granddad had died. She seemed ok now and she was often hanging out with those friends of hers. So he hadn’t spoken to her either – all of which left him feeling a bit useless.
He had been given a small story to cover in his capacity as trainee reporter. His work placement had gone well and the editor, a kindly grandfatherly man, had said he could stay on and would be allowed to cover some of the ‘softer’ stories. He felt elated – this was what he wanted to do with his life – be a reporter… a really good one too… one who went to dangerous places and really made a difference with his investigative journalism. He knew he had enough determination Granddad had always said he was like a dog with a bone… wouldn’t give up, and that’s what he would be like with every story.
However, for the moment he would have to be satisfied with the story he was assigned to. It wasn’t a terribly exciting one, but maybe he could give it a different twist and make it sound interesting? He had to go to Furness Abbey to cover the special event they were putting on down there. It was a gathering of all kinds of people to support the idea of ‘Making Poverty History’ ; everyone was meeting at the abbey for a church service. By the time he arrived, with his notepad and camera, people were already congregating. The excitement of the day caught hold and he strode off down the slope into the abbey grounds.
In the distance he could see his sister and her friend Megan. The two boys from his street were there too, with the Scouts, the older one was waving to Rebecca. Rob walked past two ladies sitting on a picnic blanket, not realising one of them was his mum. She called out to him and he waved, but carried on – the last thing he wanted was to be caught chatting to his mother when he was on a job.
He sauntered towards the nave of the church, where all the action would be. He passed by Mr Mason who tapped the brim of his English Heritage helmet and smiled. Rob returned the smile and crossed the nave to a low wall, where he sat down. As he did so, he caught sight of another familiar figure. It was that kid… Titch… bold as brass, sitting on a broken column. Rob stood up to make his way across the nave to speak to him, but the lad leapt down from the masonry and ran across to where Rebecca and her friends were. As he watched, it was apparent that there was some sort of problem. A tall, thin man was obstructing them. He pushed his way through the crowds to reach them, but they were too far ahead. They had all run off towards the back of the abbey with the man in hot pursuit. Mr Mason had also appeared and was drawing the children away from the man. As he reached the cloister the crowd thinned and he ran towards the direction they had taken. Without warning a pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him back. He struggled and tried to pull away. The hands spun him around and he discovered it was the man who had stopped him in the woods with Sam.
“And where do you think you are going young man?”
“Gerroff! You great ape!” yelled Rob.
“I don’t think so… you will stay exactly where you are… you are delving into things which do not concern you!”
“You’re mad! I don’t know what you’re on about,” argued Rob pulling himself free momentarily.