The Last Siege

by Jonathan Stroud

  Emily and Simon Allen looked at Marcus dumbly. Emily was so amazed by his interruption that she had lost track of the argument, and though the last thing in the world she wanted was to have anything to do with Simon, when she tried to voice her objections they seemed somehow petty and foolish. It was clear that much the same thing had happened to Simon. He coughed and dropped his gaze to the snow again.

  ‘Well,’ he said in a mumble, ‘I’m sorry about the snowballs.’

  ‘. . . That’s OK.’ Emily could barely force it out.

  Marcus grinned. ‘Great! Let’s get on with it. You get up the slope, mate and – ’ He stopped short. ‘Who’s this lot? More volunteers?’

  Emily looked, her heart sinking. Five figures, five grinning faces were approaching along the bottom of the moat. Katie Fern, Deirdre Pollard, the three brothers.

  ‘Like a motorway, this moat,’ Marcus said.

  The biggest brother spoke. ‘We lost you, Si,’ he said. ‘Bit worried. Didn’t know where you’d got to.’

  ‘Well, now you’ve found me,’ Simon said sulkily. ‘Not much to see, is there?’

  ‘What you doing slipping off here? Made some new little friends?’

  ‘Leave it, Carl.’ Simon’s voice was wearily defiant.

  ‘Maybe we’re not good enough for you?’

  ‘Leave it. I’m not doing anything.’

  Katie Fern pointed at Emily’s sledge. ‘He was going to sledge,’ she said.

  Carl whistled. ‘In that thing?’

  ‘I wasn’t, I wasn’t going to sledge.’

  ‘Bleeding toy sledge, that is,’ Carl said. He laughed, triggering an instant echoing giggle from the two girls.

  ‘What’s wrong with our one?’ Carl asked Simon.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s all you know. Deirdre broke it with her arse just now.’ More giggles. ‘But that’s not the point,’ Carl went on, moving a little closer to Simon. ‘This is – what are you doing with this posh little cow?’

  Emily bristled. She swore at him.

  ‘Charming,’ one of the brothers said.

  ‘Filthy,’ Katie Fern agreed.

  ‘Ooh dear,’ Carl said. ‘You watch your language when you’re with our Simon, love. He’s a good little boy.’

  ‘Get lost.’ Emily picked up her sledge cord and turned, but Carl stretched out a great thick arm and blocked her way. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I want to see what’s so good about this thing.’ He wrenched the cord from Emily’s hands and sat heavily down on the sledge. There was an audible crack. The two girls shrieked with glee.

  A thin bolt of anger pierced Emily like an electric charge. Almost before she knew what she was doing she had leapt across and kicked Carl Allen on the shin as hard as she could. He roared with pain and fell back clutching his leg.

  One of the other brothers stepped forward and lashed out at her with a fist. In a daze she felt herself land heavily in the snow. The boy loomed over her; he lifted back a boot – Oh God, he was going to kick her! – then she saw Simon fling himself on his brother from the side and carry him face down beside the sledge.

  Emily struggled to her feet. Simon and the brother were wrestling to and fro, Simon just landing a punch; Carl Allen was still holding his shin in agony, the other brother was coming forward – and suddenly Katie Fern was bearing down on her, both fists flailing.

  In an instant they were grappling and Emily was having her hair pulled and pulling in return; in pain and desperation she stuck her foot behind Katie’s ankle and pushed savagely. Katie toppled with a squawk and fell flat on her back.

  Emily looked across. Simon was on his feet again, fending off two brothers, but his time was almost up. With ponderous intent Carl rose, pushed his brothers aside and, reaching Simon, walloped him hard. Simon fell down. Carl raised his fist again. At that moment an unexpected thing happened.

  Out of nowhere a speeding missile appeared. It collided with Carl. The missile was in the form of a rather gangly figure, who wrapped his arms around Carl’s neck and twisted him backwards so forcefully that he lost his balance and crashed to the ground. Carl cried out and clutched at his neck. Marcus sat up beside him, looking about in a dazed sort of way.

  ‘Well done, Marcus!’ Emily shouted, then – ‘Watch out! . . . Oh.’

  Carl Allen clouted Marcus hard across the face. Marcus collapsed in the snow. Carl got to his feet, kicked him once, then, gingerly fingering his neck, turned and began to limp away along the bottom of the moat.

  His retreat was the signal for the end of the fight. The others followed in their leader’s wake, Katie Fern giving Emily an evil glare as she did so. Deirdre Pollard, who had spent the battle as a shrill spectator, brought up the rear.

  ‘Giving up?’ Simon called after them breathlessly.

  A brother looked back. ‘We’ll see you at home.’

  One by one they disappeared round the corner of the moat. Their scuffles and coughs faded on the air. Three people were left on the field of battle, tending to their wounds.

  {2}

  Simon Allen got slowly to his feet, rubbing at his jaw. He looked at Emily. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’ It felt as if most of her hair had been torn out by the roots. ‘Fine.’ She took a deep breath.

  ‘Thanks for helping me out.’

  ‘Whatever. You got Katie, I saw.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good. She’s a silly cow. And Carl’ll feel his leg for a while. That’s good too.’

  There was a plaintive groan beside them. Marcus was still sitting in the snow. He was bleeding a little from one nostril.

  Simon crouched down beside him. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Mnngh.’

  ‘I’m sorry . . . My brother – that was good though, when you piled in. He didn’t know what hit him.’

  Marcus rose onto one elbow and rubbed the side of his face. ‘Nor did I,’ he said in a bunged-up voice.

  ‘Sorry.’ Simon looked up at Emily. ‘That was great though, eh? Gave Carl something to think about.’

  ‘He dropped this.’ Emily held up a small brass flask with a clear panel on the flank. Yellowy liquid sloshed about inside.

  ‘Oh, that’s mine.’ Marcus held out a hand. ‘I could do with that now.’ He took the flask from her, unscrewed the top and took a short swig. Then he held it out again. ‘Have some.’

  ‘What is it?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Whisky, what d’you think?’

  ‘I don’t – ’ Emily began, but Simon had taken the flask. When he had drunk, he coughed briefly and held it out to her. She paused.

  ‘Go on,’ said Marcus. ‘It won’t kill you.’

  Emily took the flask and raised it to her lips. The whisky stung her mouth, filling it with burning heat and a strong peaty taste. She swallowed hastily, shuddered and made a rasping noise. Simon grinned.

  ‘Don’t you like it? It is a bit strong.’

  ‘Top quality that,’ said Marcus. ‘Bell’s. It’ll help clear my nose out.’

  He took another gulp and returned the flask to his pocket.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Simon said. ‘You didn’t buy it.’

  Marcus shrugged. ‘My dad.’

  ‘Won’t he skin you?’

  ‘He won’t notice.’

  Emily rubbed the last tears from her eyes. ‘You’d better get up out of the snow,’ she said. ‘You’re soaking.’

  Marcus stood and began to brush vigorously at the snow carpeting his front. Emily looked at her watch.

  ‘I should go,’ she said.

  ‘I was going to have a look inside the keep,’ Marcus said. ‘Why don’t you two come along?’

  ‘You can’t,’ Emily said. ‘It’s closed. It doesn’t open in the winter.’

  ‘What, you can’t get in?’

  ‘Nope. All locked up.’

  ‘Wow, that’s great,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘You mean, the keep’s intact?’

  ‘Nah,’ Simon said. ‘It’s ruined.
No one lives there.’

  ‘It’s got all four walls, if that’s what you mean,’ Emily replied.

  ‘The roof’s fallen in,’ Simon went on. ‘It’s a dump. Full of birds’ nests.’

  Marcus did not seem put off. ‘There’s a castle near where I live,’ he said. ‘I used to go all the time to read and stuff. It’s on a mound, and there are bits of wall with a couple of windows and a good view from the top. I loved that castle when I was a kid. I thought it was the best, thought I was king. Not any more. There’s not enough of it left – you can’t imagine anything properly.’ He dabbed at his nose with a tissue. ‘But this place,’ he went on, ‘this is the real thing. You must come here all the time.’

  ‘Nope,’ Emily said.

  ‘Three pounds fifty,’ Simon said.

  Marcus frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Three pounds fifty. That’s what it costs to get in. When it’s open. Three pounds fifty for a few stone walls and bird-shit on your shoes. We’re not queuing up exactly.’

  ‘I’ve been once,’ Emily said, laughing. ‘Before we moved here. It was all right.’

  ‘All right?’ Marcus cried. He seemed almost angry. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are! I’d be here every day.’

  Simon shrugged. ‘You’d be on your own. So – ’ this was to Emily – ‘you heading off?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  He nudged her sledge with the toe of his boot. ‘I don’t reckon Carl’s bust it badly. We could sledge a bit if you want. I’m in no hurry to go home.’

  Emily hesitated. She still half-remembered the first attack, with Simon part of the taunting crowd. Then she thought about yet another long afternoon sitting silently beside her parents, watching television and eating nuts that made her throat itch, and she was grateful for his offer.

  ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘What about you, Marcus?’

  Marcus had moved a little way off, scuffing snow between his shoes. His brows were furrowed; he did not look at them. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I told you. I’m going to look round the keep.’ Without another word, he stumped off along the moat, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head down, thin shoulders high.

  Simon watched him go. ‘He’s weird, I reckon,’ he said.

  ‘He’s OK. Helped you out.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  Rather against Emily’s expectations, sledging with Simon was good fun. To get extra speed, they took turns pushing the sledge on a long run up to the edge. Simon could push so fast that Emily felt herself take off as she shot over the brink. He was also much more agile than he looked and could pull the sledge back up the slope without any trouble.

  After half an hour, the snow on the slope below the wall was sliced to ribbons. They came to a halt and looked up at the darkening sky. Glowering clouds hung heavily over Castle Field and a first few lazy flakes were falling.

  ‘Snow’s up,’ Simon said. ‘Shall we pack it in?’

  ‘Yes. I’m freezing.’

  Together, they set off along the bottom of the moat towards the steps that led up to the bridge. They trudged in a silence that quickly became awkward. Emily searched for something to say.

  ‘Thanks for bringing me my hat,’ she said at last.

  Simon grunted. ‘’s all right.’ Silence again.

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  Silence. Emily ran out of inspiration. They walked a little further.

  She tried again. ‘So, you’ve got four brothers then?’

  Another grunt. ‘Yeah. And my sister, Pauline.’

  ‘You’re the youngest, right?’

  ‘Yeah. Mart’s the eldest, twenty-three.’

  ‘He’s the one – ’ Emily broke off almost as she began.

  ‘He’s the one inside, if that’s what you mean.’ His voice was toneless, carefully neutral. He probably didn’t like to talk about it. She certainly wouldn’t if she were him.

  ‘I’d like to have brothers,’ she said.

  Simon flicked a look at her, perhaps gauging whether she was being ironic. ‘You reckon?’ he said. ‘You saw what they’re like. Beat me up the whole time, me being the youngest. I wish I had a younger brother. Then I could beat someone else up for a change.’

  ‘What about your sister?’

  ‘Her? She’s the worst of the lot! A bloody cat, she is. You not got brothers, then?’

  ‘Nope. Nor sisters. Just me, Mum and Dad.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Can’t imagine that. Must be quiet.’

  ‘Very.’

  They were almost at the steps when the grey sky suddenly and silently unleashed its burden. Small grit-sized flakes fell, first sporadically, then in greater force, and the light around them drained away. A bitter wind whipped the snow up into their faces, stinging their skin.

  ‘Where did this come from?’ Emily said. ‘I can’t see a thing.’

  ‘Make for the gatehouse,’ Simon shouted. Emily could barely hear him. The squall was buffeting her cagoule hood against her ears. She led the way up the steps, her feet searching out the planks that formed each raise. To her left, the moat ditch was an insubstantial well of grey and white.

  At the twenty-first step, the grey stones of the gatehouse wall appeared alongside; at the twenty-fourth, Emily arrived on the wooden bridge that the heritage company had constructed across the moat. Its squared yellowed timbers were hidden under several inches of snow. The ruined arch of the gatehouse was on her right and she passed quickly into the shadow of its protection. Beyond, through the billowing curtain of snow, she glimpsed the looming mass of the castle keep.

  Simon’s lips were blue with cold. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘The gatehouse room will be better than this.’

  He went through the arch and ducked round to the right. Four ice-bound steps led down to a low doorway in the gatehouse wall. Simon disappeared into the darkness and immediately gave a loud yell.

  ‘What is it?’ Emily was close behind him, heart thudding.

  ‘Nothing.’ Simon’s voice was disgusted. ‘Just this idiot. Startled me, that’s all.’

  Emily came alongside, her eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness. ‘Marcus!’

  ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

  Marcus gave them a cheery grin. He was standing in a corner of the gatehouse chamber. It was a small, damp, evil-smelling room, lit only by the half-light issuing through the doorway and the arrow slit in the opposite wall. There was a low ledge to sit on. The floor was made of broken flagstones, scattered with stones and litter.

  Marcus was rubbing his hands. His moodiness seemed to have vanished. ‘Great storm,’ he said. ‘Had a good sledge?’

  ‘Yes. How was the keep? Locked?’

  ‘Like you said. But listen, I found something interesting. I’m glad to see you – I wanted – ’

  ‘Someone’s had a cigarette in here,’ Simon said abruptly.

  ‘That’s not all they’ve had,’ Emily said, wrinkling her nose. A thought struck her. ‘You don’t think there’s a guard around, do you?’

  Marcus grinned. ‘Not for about four hundred years.’

  ‘You know what I mean. There might be security.’

  ‘Not in this weather,’ Simon said. ‘He’ll be at home.’

  ‘Is there someone?’ Emily asked. ‘A guard?’

  ‘There’s a caretaker. Harris. You must’ve seen him about. Red-faced bloke. Lives in that house in the wood. We used to hide in the bushes and pelt him with stuff when he was in his garden. Drove him out of his mind. Bad-tempered sod, he is, and all.’

  ‘I’d be bad-tempered if you’d been chucking things at me,’ Marcus said.

  ‘Oh, it was only cones and conkers and stuff. But one time he caught Carl skulking out the back. He was livid. He dragged him into his garden, and you know those long garden canes? Well, he ripped one out of the ground, bent Carl arse-up over his fence and gave him a real beating.’

  ‘Blimey.’ Emily was impressed. ‘He did that to Carl? He must be Goliath.’

  ‘Nah, this wa
s years back. Carl wasn’t so big then. Anyway, our dad went over that night and gave Harris a thrashing. He didn’t call the police or anything, so that was that. But he’s a nasty old sod, anyway.’

  ‘Wouldn’t want him to find us here, then,’ Emily said.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s at home by the fire.’

  ‘Wish I was,’ said Emily. She sat down on the ledge. Simon sat beside her.

  ‘I’m in no hurry getting back,’ he said gloomily. ‘Carl and Neil will be waiting for me.’ He sighed.

  ‘What is their problem?’ Emily said savagely.

  Simon didn’t answer. He kicked his legs back and forth against the wall. Marcus had left the conversation and was standing on the ledge, squinting out of the arrow slit. The wind whistled against the stones. A few flakes spilled in through the hole.

  Simon cursed suddenly. ‘I’m sick of it!’ he said. ‘Sick of being pushed around. Even Pauline does it, though she’s only a year older. And a girl.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Emily said.

  ‘You know what I mean. Ah, what’s the point?’ He relapsed into surly silence.

  ‘Maybe you don’t have to stick it,’ Marcus said. ‘Forget them. Rebel a bit. Do something different for a change.’

  ‘Something different? There’s nothing different to do. You’ve seen the village. What’s it got? A post office. A grocer’s – open half days only. A pub I can’t go to . . . That’s it! Oh, and a garage half a mile up the road. Then nothing except fields and fens till you get to King’s Lynn, and there’s bugger all there either.’

  ‘It’s the same for me,’ said Emily.

  ‘I suppose you like it.’

  ‘You reckon? I’m bored out of my mind.’

  ‘How can you be bored in here?’ Marcus came away from the arrow slit. He seemed to have forgotten the cold. ‘Look around you! This place is great.’

  ‘No it isn’t,’ Emily said. ‘It’s freezing, there’s no light and it smells – ’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s just the surface.’ Marcus sat down beside them. ‘I mean,apart from that. I wish we could wait here until dark. Then we might see something.’