by James Erith
Had she found one of the others?
Oh! apples alive, he cursed, how could he be so hopeless?
He summoned his strength, trying to ignore the pain screaming through his legs.
He urged himself on, but each time he slumped back down.
His eyes watered. He probed the swollen flesh, now juicy like a purple summer-pudding. Was it a tear or a break? He turned his head and his back screamed out as if a knife was stabbing at his vertebrae. Even his hands were hurting, blood pouring from a cut in the middle of his left palm.
What had he been thinking, swinging on ropes at his great age?
His body was beginning to shut down. Shock; Old Man Wood knew the feeling well. Then it struck him. The Resplendix Mix he’d found in the cellar! Of course, he’d self-medicate!
With his swollen hand, he reached into his pocket. He transferred the bottle to his bleeding left hand and attempted to remove the lid.
Did it twist, did he have to pull out a cork, or was there some kind of stopper?
Nothing happened, apart from his hand slipping around the rim.
He inspected the bottle.
But there was no lid, or stopper.
Maybe it needed a sharp pull. He tried, but there was nothing to pull on.
Old Man Wood shook his head in frustration. No shaking, twisting, pulling, or yelling would make it open.
He felt his eyelids grow heavy. He thought of smashing the top on a rock, but even this idea slipped away as he fell into unconsciousness.
Seventy-One
Gus Wonders What Will Happen
Gus put his head out of the canopy. ‘Still can’t see a thing,’ he reported back, ‘apart from muddy water. Fancy some grub?’
Sue was starving. Gus opened a tin of tuna and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and took a swig of water. When they’d finished, he had an idea.
‘Look, Sue,’ he began, ‘one of us had better have a kip—we’re going to need to sleep at some point and there’s not much room. If we do it this way, the other can keep look-out.’
Sue hadn’t thought of this. ‘Good idea, brain-box. On sailing boats, I think they do four hours on and four hours off. Want to give it a try?’
‘Sure,’ Gus said. ‘It’s five-fifty now. Have a sleep till half nine—if you can. Then I’ll look out till one and do the early morning shift at four or five. Sound OK?’
With a bit of a shuffle, Gus pulled the planks he’d stowed from the bottom of the boat and made up a bed—of sorts—where at least one of them could lie down. Gus unfolded a plastic sheet and laid it on top of the boards so they wouldn’t lie in the wet. Sue lay down and he spread the dust sheets over her. It wasn’t great, but it would have to do.
Sue closed her eyes. She didn’t really feel like sleeping, but having a rest now after all that bailing out was welcome. And Gus was right, one of them needed to be on look-out—especially if there was a place they could land—and it would be a disaster if they were to miss out while they slept.
Gus moved out to the bow of the boat and breathed a sigh of relief.
Quite amazingly, it seemed that for the time being they had got over the worst and his makeshift canopy had saved their lives. He laughed. He’d have won the DT prize for that; just goes to show what you can do when the pressure’s on.
He wondered if Sue had any idea how close it had been, and then he thought of his mum and dad. Mum would be worried sick, but he reckoned his dad would be chuffed to bits. He hoped they hadn’t gone looking for him—there was nothing he could do about it if they had. Anyway, what a surprise it would be when he got home.
At least they had food and water and could keep dry. And so long as the boat held together they had every chance. Plus they made a good team. He took a deep breath as the last gasps of daylight started to eke away. Yeah, they made a very good team.
If only they had some way of telling where they were. He thought for a minute if it wouldn’t be worth dropping the oars and trying to make it to land by rowing hard to one side. Or maybe he could drop an oar at the back and use it as a rudder. But, then again, what if he didn’t have the strength to handle it and spilled an oar into the water. It wasn’t worth the risk. He wiped the rain, which was now bearable for more than a minute, off his face. Best keep on and hope the boat might bank somewhere they could make off to safety.
He ducked inside and, as Sue dozed, he slipped past her, grabbed a bucket and started the process of bailing the water out all over again. How long would the rain continue? Perhaps they were over the worst, but what if the deluge came back? He shivered. They had been lucky—astonishingly lucky; he’d never seen anything like it—but he didn’t fancy their chances if it happened again.
Staring at her peaceful face, he moved in and planted a small kiss on her cheek. What a curious stroke of luck, he thought, that they’d run into each other.
Seventy-Two
Gaia’s Dream
Asgard had betrayed the dreamspinners; Asgard had sided with Cain!
It was common knowledge and already many dreamspinners flocked to him.
Gaia poked a leg in her maghole.
In which case, she thought, it was the time to add balance to the drama.
Instantly, Gaia spun a dream into Old Man Wood’s mouth, the minuscule, fine powders sucked deep into the old man’s lungs.
Let the powders work fast on the old man, for the effect must be sharp and quick.
The dreamspinner hovered, waiting. She needed Old Man Wood to wake up.
Shortly, the old man yawned and stretched his arms out wide, then howled in pain.
Gaia watched as the old man’s face contorted in agony then moved to an expression of surprise as he found the Resplendix Mix in his lap. He studied the bottle.
Let us see how he does it this time.
Gaia saw the old man place the top of the bottle to his lips and watched as he closed his eyes. The seal opened.
Excellent, Gaia thought. It worked. And though the old man will feel great pain as he heals, there is a chance this drama will play out to the bitter end.
Seventy-Three
A Cry For Help
Old Man Wood gritted his teeth as the Resplendix Mix set to work mending damaged parts. The liquid burned like the white heat of a soldering iron welding him back together.
Shortly, he rolled his head, blinked his eyes, and breathed deeply, the air filling his lungs like bellows. Invigorated, though tingling with shooting heat, he coiled up the rope and scoured the moonlit ledge.
Now, where were they?
He’d seen Isabella below him from the rope, but the other two? Old Man Wood headed out onto the ledge. There she was, kneeling over something. A body?
Old Man Wood hurried over.
As he neared, he heard a terrible wailing noise. He prepared himself for the worst and coughed as he approached.
‘Looks like you could do with a hand,’ he said, solemnly.
‘Old Man Wood!’ she said, flinging her arms around him. ‘Look! Daisy! I think she’s, she’s...’
Old Man Wood bent down and ran a hand over Daisy’s brow. He felt only coldness. He searched for signs of breathing.
‘My goodness,’ he said softly, ‘you’ve taken a horrible beating, sweet Daisy.’
He withdrew the Resplendix Mix from his pocket noting how her lips were a pale crimson against her white skin.
He felt for a pulse and his heart nearly stopped. He couldn’t feel one.
He could sense Isabella staring at him, searching for answers in his face.
‘Now, Isabella, there is only one thing I can do,’ he said, showing her the bottle. ‘She only needs a couple of drops—’
‘Anything, Old Man Wood!’
‘It’s an old remedy of mine for healing—I’ll tell you about it another time. Thing is, Bells,’ he continued, a deep frown filling his forehead, ‘the bottle will only open if the potion within can heal the person whose lips it touches.’
Isabella frowned. ‘D
o it, please—hurry!’
Old Man Wood lowered the bottle to Daisy’s mouth and pressed the top against her lips.
‘Why don’t you just open it?’ Isabella growled, mostly in frustration.
‘As I said, I can’t. The bottle will open itself if it can heal, otherwise I am afraid we have lost her.’
He shook his head.
‘What is it?’ Isabella cried.
Old Man Wood’s lips trembled. ‘I’m so sorry.’ A tear rolled out of his eye and landed on Daisy’s cheek. He wiped it off and inspected the top of the bottle, which remained closed. ‘I fear I am too late,’ he said, his eyes glistening. ‘I am so sorry, dear little Daisy. So terribly sorry.’
Old Man Wood bent over, his body shaking, tears falling.
Isabella stared numbly at her lifeless sister. An intensity of energy she’d never experienced before rushed into her. She demanded action.
Directing her hands towards her sister, she closed her eyes and screamed.
‘Don’t be stupid, Daisy de Lowe. You are not going to die. Understand! I will not allow it!’
A strange, pink glow emanated from her hands, cocooning Daisy’s body like strands of candy floss.
‘Do not give up,’ she roared. ‘Not yet.’
Daisy’s eye’s flickered.
It worked! What had she done?
Isabella held the glow as long as she could, then reeled, stumbling and falling, exhausted. The pink cocoon floating away like vapour.
Old Man Wood, reacted fast. Placing the bottle to Daisy’s lips the spout opened.
‘Come on, Daisy, one drop is all you need.’
Moments later, he noticed a blush of pink in Daisy’s cheeks and felt the trace of a heartbeat.
The old man carefully scooped up her limp and cold body, and carried her into the darkness of a cave he’d noticed.
Inside, Old Man Wood switched on his torch and found a circular pit, like an empty, buried hot tub. It looked as good place as any to rest. More importantly, as he stepped inside, he felt a soft, sandy, talc-like substance which, to the touch, was smooth as tissue and as soft as thick fur.
He lowered Daisy in, making sure her head was propped up. Clambering outside again, he rushed to Isabella’s side and placed the Resplendix Mix to her lips. In no time, he’d done the same to Isabella, placing her sleeping body next to her sister.
Two down, he thought, one to go.
At least the girls would be warm and out of danger while he set about finding Archie.
Seventy-Four
Archie Flies
Archie’s mind was a blur, his head whirling. Before long, he found that his body was turning and heading into a spin too.
He steadied and, as he levelled out, he realised he was flying. He soared like a bird, swooping first one way then another before shooting high into the air, twisting as he went, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness. Each gust of wind caressed his body and he cried out at the freedom of flight and the thrill of speed.
Now he was diving, flying fast as an arrow. He screwed left and found himself heading, at breakneck speed, towards a rock face as if he himself was a bolt of lightning.
Maybe he was.
He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t turn fast enough and there wasn’t enough room for him to manoeuvre. But he wasn’t afraid. He would wallop it with his head and it wouldn’t hurt, it couldn’t hurt him.
BANG!
The rock shattered into several pieces.
In place of the boulder was the entrance to a cave. He looked inside. Isabella and Daisy were there with Old Man Wood. They were beckoning, teasing him to come in and join them, laughing and smiling. They wanted to tell him something.
He raised his foot and carried on through the entrance. But as he did he felt the anger of Cain smash into him and he fell, Cain kicking him, first in the ribs, then chest, and finally, his face.
Why would Cain want to hurt him? They were on the same side, right?
He felt air leaking out of him like a balloon with a small hole, shrivelling quickly.
He gasped, struggling to breath.
He gulped, realising he needed air so badly; so badly that it hurt...
Archie surfaced and thrashed the water, desperate to find a hand-hold. His fingers touched on a rock. He pulled himself up and vomited, expelling water from his lungs and gut, retching and hacking until his internal organs threatened to come out as well.
He lay on a flat stone and shivered.
Daisy? Isabella? He couldn’t see anyone close by. In fact, he couldn’t see anything at all.
He crawled further on and curled up like a baby, shaking uncontrollably.
Cold, so cold.
‘Help,’ he called out, his voice squeaking like a shrew. ‘Help me.’
But with Isabella gone, and Daisy gone, who was left?
He wanted to yell for his parents, for Old Man Wood, for Mrs Pye. But in this cold and inhospitable, broken place, however, he knew there was only one person who could help him.
Cain.
‘Cain!’ he yelled. ‘Cain, HELP ME!’
Through the cracks in his eyes, he swore he could see a figure appearing.
‘Cain,’ he cried. ‘You’ve got to save me.’
Seventy-Five
Sue On Watch
The boat continued to float freely, bumping into driftwood and other debris washed out into the river and then into the North Sea. Occasionally, the vessel spun and pitched from side to side, but not with the same force as earlier.
Gus wondered what they were going to eat for supper, before resisting the temptation to wolf down a chocolate bar. He squeezed past Sue to the front of the boat where, through the drizzle, he imagined he could see a spark of light way off in the distance.
When Sue woke, they tucked into a cold pork pie and shared a few pieces of chocolate. Gus stated that until they had some idea where they were they needed to conserve every single morsel. Sue complained bitterly, but Gus made it quite clear that this was non-negotiable.
By the time they had given each other a few more brain teasers, and told stories about their childhoods, it was midnight. Gus reluctantly lay down on the planks while Sue kept look-out at the front of the boat.
For a while she hummed sad melodies, her thoughts turning to Archie, Daisy and Isabella.
Had they made it? Had any of their friends survived?
Once again, Sue wondered why she—like the de Lowes—had had the premonition of the storm. Gus’s comment about her being a twin with Isabella endorsed her earlier observations about the baby photograph of the two of them.
As she thought the situation through, she noted how inseparable and similar they were, in so many ways. But best friends do that, don’t they?
And anyway, wouldn’t one of the parents have said something?
She’d told Gus she would investigate further and that when this was all over she’d begin by checking with the Registrars at the Town Hall. To her delight, Gus said he’d accompany her. He told her he liked that kind of thing.
An ache in her body made her wonder if Isabella had understood her mad shouting at the football, and she wondered if earlier, when the torrential rain gave way to spitting, that this ‘event’ was also something to do with them. Deep sadness filled her that she might never see them again.
At one o’clock, her jaw trembled of its own accord and her fingers reminded her of icicles. Staring out into the dark night, spat on by the rain as ‘The Joan of’ bobbed along, her eyelids drooped.
Sometime later, her chattering teeth woke her up. She knew that trying to stay awake was a hopeless task.
She climbed under the canopy and instinctively lay down next to Gus; nestling up to his warm body, rearranging the dust covers, and inhaling the boyish smell of his clothes.
‘Thanks, Gus,’ she said sleepily while staring at his sleeping face. She let her head fall down next his and wrapped an arm around him.
In no time, the gentle rocking of the boat sent
her fast asleep.
Seventy-Six
Mrs Pye Finds Some Rugs
When she’d seen Old Man Wood slipping out of the door, his hard hat on his head and ropes wrapped around his torso, she’d been topped-up with confidence about seeing her children again. After all, Old Man Wood had once rescued her, so why wouldn’t he rescue them?
Energised, Mrs Pye set about keeping busy. She waddled round as fast as her legs would carry her, placing buckets in every grate and under every chimney flue, mopping water out of each fireplace, rolling up the hearthrugs and adjacent carpets and then emptying buckets of water down the sink.
Round and round the house she went, from the children’s bedroom in the attic, to Old Man Wood’s room, to the parents’ room. Downstairs to the kitchen, sitting room and study, then across the courtyard through sheets of rain to her apartment. She repeated this circuit many times, drenched to the bone.
In Old Man Wood’s room, she noticed five filthy rectangular rugs that sat on the wet floor, each the size of a hearthrug. She folded them up and took them to the back door, giving them a bit of shake under the wide roof trusses. As she did so, flecks of mud and dust flew in every direction.
How revolting, she thought wondering if they’d ever been cleaned.
Though she never, as a rule, ventured into the old man’s room, she’d give the old man a good talking to when he returned.
If he returned.
As the rain belted down upon them, a black sludge dribbled from the fabric, like slurry. Immediately, Mrs Pye worried the rugs might get washed away, so instead, she draped them over a wooden clothes-horse under the wide porch.
Then, covering herself in a blanket, quite overwhelmed with tiredness and worry, she nodded off in the rocking chair in the kitchen, next to the warm metal range beneath the thick oak beams.