by Dan Davis
‘Fun?’ Writer said. ‘Fun?’
‘Don’t tell me you’d say no to a lovely wolf fur for wrapping round your neck this winter? Course you wouldn’t, all women are the same,’ he said, nodding to himself.
‘So you’re in here hunting wolves?’ Archer said, fearing for the ones that had been nearby only recently.
‘Well, no, not exactly for that reason,’ Pym said, rubbing his stubbly chin. ‘I mean, I shot a couple of them before and made a pretty penny out of them, and if I sees one again of course I’m going to shoot it dead, stands to reason don’t it. But I ain’t looking for them, oh dear me, no. Old Pym’s just off to Coalschester.’ He pointed southwards. ‘Gots me a lovely young woman down in Coalschester and now the protection spells is down I thought I’d have a go taking a shortcut right through the Haunted Wood and the land of Bede. Because alchemist’s magic don’t scare Pym. And to tell you the truth,’ he lower his voice and tapped his nose, winking, ‘I’ve had just about enough of being a soldier, thank you very much.’ He laughed.
‘What’s a soldier?’ asked Keeper.
Pym stared at him, mouth open. ‘You having me on?’ he said. ‘You never even heard of what a soldier is?’
They all shook their heads. Archer had no idea what he was talking about.
‘Deary me,’ Pym said, shaking his head, ‘your alchemist really has given you a sheltered life, ain’t he. You poor folk, you don’t know nothing. Well, let me heducate you once more. A soldier, I suppose, is someone who kills other soldiers, on behalf of his boss. Which in my case is Old Ironsides.’
‘You kill?’ Writer asked, appalled. ‘Kill people?’
‘Well,’ said Pym, ‘not proper people. Only them that would follow old King Charlie and his Alchemist’s Guild, what controls him. Mostly them. But mainly, to tell you the truth, what we mainly do is march about all over the place and dig great big holes.’ He laughed at them. ‘Earthworks, they call them, these holes. Big long great holes with big long great banks on top. Big enough to stop a cannonball.’ He smacked the trunk with a slap and grinned at them. ‘But I’m betting you lot ain’t heard of a cannon, have you?’ Then he laughed again. ‘Let alone the ball what comes out of a cannon.’
Archer shook his head. ‘Who’s King Charlie?’ he asked. ‘I remember hearing about kings from stories but I don’t remember that one.’
‘King Charles is his real name, and he ain’t from no story, more’s the pity,’ Pym said. ‘He’s King of England. Though he ain’t even in England no more, he’s over in Ireland with what few alchemists he’s got with him still.’ He shrugged. ‘Or he’s in France or Wales, so they say, or Scotchland but then you know what opinions is like.’
Archer was having trouble understand half of what Pym was saying but he thought he knew what the man was getting at. ‘And this in England that we’re in now?’
‘Stone the crows!’ Pym slapped himself on the forehead. ‘You don’t even know you is in England? Imagine that, Pym, imagine not even knowing that you was an Englishman.’ He shook his head, slowly. You are all English, whether you knows it or not. Old King Charlie is your king, so he is, although not for long, not if Old Ironsides says anything about it.’
‘Who is Ironsides?’ Writer asked. ‘And why is everyone old in your stories?’
‘Ah, now, Old Ironsides, he’s the boss, you see,’ Pym said, winking. ‘Him and his lot got a few problems with how Charlie and his gaggle of alchemists has been treating the likes of you and me,’ he stopped and looked at them. ‘Well, the likes of me, anyway. See, we has this Parliament, right, and they don’t like the king tells them what to do all the time so they was trying to make him behave himself, only old Charlie weren’t having it. You follow me so far?’
Archer and all of them shook their heads. ‘Where do the alchemists come into it?’ Archer asked.
‘Ah, well now, my lad, they been part of the problem ever since forever,’ Pym said, tapping the side of his nose again. ‘They always been on the side of those that govern. The alchemists like telling us folk what to do as much as the kings do, only more so. These alchemists have foreign masters. The Prime Archalchemist, he lives in Rome and he tells all our Lord High Alchemist in London and the High Alchemists in Canterbury and York what to do and they force our Kings to do it.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Keeper said.
‘Years and years this has been going on,’ Pym said, ignoring him. ‘Imagine that, my young friends. Imagine having a foreign bloke telling good Englishmen what to do. Controlling our King and all. And our lot weren’t having it no more and we told King Charlie he had better put away his Lord High Alchemist and listen instead to his own folk. But alchemists are a tricksy lot and King Charlie was always weak and they told him to round up all our lot and lock us in the Tower. Well, we weren’t having that. So we got our army and rounded up as many of the alchemists as we could find, all round the country. Some run away to the king or went abroad. Some went and hid. But your one? Old Bede? He’s different.’
‘Our one?’ Archer asked.
‘Oh yes. He’s got protection. That’s his speciality, so they say. Protection spells and tricks with time and things of that nature. Bede, his name is, right? The Alchemist Bede. That’s his land through their. Makes sense, don’t it? The Land of Alchemist Bede. Everyone calls it Bede’s Land. Anyway, if he ain’t dead and gone by now, we’ll get him soon enough, mark my words.’
‘Hold on,’ said Archer. ‘You know our alchemist? You know his name?’ Archer turned to Writer. ‘Did you ever know his name?’
‘I do not believe so,’ Writer said. ‘But then I do not even know my own, so it is possible I have forgotten.’ The others shrugged too.
Archer turned back to Pym. ‘But how do you know his name? If you outsiders have never been able to get in to the Vale, how could you?’
‘Oh dear me,’ Pym said. ‘He really done a number on you, didn’t he. We know because every year Bede comes to Coalschester to sell his wheat and his wool and cider and whatnot. The merchants hoover it all up in a day or two and then Bede disappears back to his land a very rich man indeed. Loaded with coin, he is. Bent double with it, scurrying off back to his Tower.’
‘His wheat?’ said Archer. ‘His wool? We grow that wheat, we gather that wool. That’s what our families are working so hard for all year round? Why we go hungry every winter? So that the alchemist can gather wealth?’
‘Makes you sick, don’t it,’ said Pym. ‘They’re all the same, all over England. Hexploiting us honest folk. Now, I can see you is going to be on our side, the sight of right. You’ll help us finish rounding up all the alchemists of England, won’t you? You lads will make fine soldiers for the King’s Parliament, and you little ladies will make fine wives for keeping house’
‘Shut up,’ said Weaver. ‘I ain’t being no one’s wife.’
‘Ha ha!’ Pym roared. ‘I pity the poor fellow who ends up with you.’
‘You’re an idiot,’ said Weaver, which only made Pym laugh harder.
‘You’re rounding them all up?’ Writer said. ‘So why did you never capture Bede when he came to sell our cider and other goods in this Coalschester?’
‘Well, he’s not been around this past five, six years or so,’ Pym said, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘And before then, well, we did try to catch him a couple of times but you see, it’s not easy to defeat an alchemist as powerful as Old Bede.’
Archer and the others exchanged looks.
‘Why?’ said Writer. ‘You say you have captured others, why not him?’
‘Magic. I told you that Bede’s skills is in protection magic and the like? Well, he is able to freeze a man dead in his tracks just by pointing at him.’
‘Really?’ said Keeper, looking at Archer and Weaver.
‘And he can disappear into thin air. Just like that.’ Pym clicked his fingers, although his gloves made it just a slight swoosh sound. ‘And when you shoot him the musketballs never even r
each him, they just stop like this and fall down. How’s a man supposed to fight that? Other alchemists ain’t so powerful. Other alchemists ain’t got no powers at all and the only thing they’re good at is reading books and ordering a man what to do. But some of them do have powers.’ Pym nodded, once. ‘Them ones we ain’t got, yet. But mark my words, my little kits, they only gots a matter of time afore they is all locked up with the others in the Tower.’
‘The Tower?’ said Archer. ‘What, our Tower?’ He turned but they could not see it yet through the trees.
‘Eh?’ Pym said, scratching his backside. ‘No, not your alchemist’s tower, you sweet fool. The main one, the one with the king of the alchemists, where their bosses always lived. The Tower of London. The Lord High Alchemist’s Tower of London, said full and proper, but all and sundry calls it the Tower.’
‘There’s lots of alchemists, then?’ Keeper said, Burp still peeking out from behind his legs.
‘You said thousands, before,’ said Archer.
‘Well, don’t know for sure, no one does,’ Pym said. ‘Certainly always is some around, bossing people about. Not so many no more, ha ha! What you do to your one, then?’
‘What do you mean?’ Archer said, wondering how Pym knew they had done anything.
‘Well, the protection spells is gone. Gone right up in that storm the other night. I saw it, raging and raging like no natural storm I ever seen. Lightning so thick you could read your newsbook without a lamp. A storm like that has to be alchemist’s magic.’ Pym tapped the side of his head. ‘That is what is called using your loaf. So I know that your alchemist he’s either run off like so many others or he’s dead, so which is it?’ said Pym.
‘Neither, actually,’ said Keeper, grinning.
‘Shush,’ said Writer, glaring at him.
Pym stared at them one at a time. ‘Well, don’t tell me, then, I don’t mind none,’ Pym said. ‘All I want is an easy life, full of riches and wine. No, it’s Old Ironsides is the one who hates alchemists with a passion so bad he has to hunt them all down to the last of them. But Old Pym don’t mind them so long as they don’t mind Old Pym.’
‘And who is this Old Ironsides?’ said Archer. ‘Exactly’
‘He’s the boss,’ Pym said. ‘Cromwell his real name is, Captain-General Oliver Cromwell. He’s from up Cambridge way, not far, not far. His missus was from round here, as it goes, just a little ways south of Bede’s Land beyond Coalschester. That was before the alchemists did her in, of course and now look at the mess we’re in.’
Cromwell, Archer thought to himself. Where have I heard that name mentioned before? He could not remember but he supposed it wasn’t important. ‘And he hates alchemists?’ Archer said, thinking that this Cromwell sounded like a man of good sense.
‘Hates them with a passion,’ Pym said, grinning, ‘he hates them so much he says it gives him great moral strength, whatever that is.’ Pym shrugged. ‘Certainly gives him energy, I tell you that for nothing. Do you know what a man is like when he has one cup of wine too many? Or too much of your strong Vale cider? All happy and laughing and waving his arms about and blathering away ten to the dozen?’
Archer nodded. Certainly he had seen most of the adults he knew like that, and some of the children.
‘Well, the man does not drink anything stronger than small beer or barley water but Cromwell is like that all day, every day. Before battle, even, he laughs.’ Pym shook his head. ‘Hate does strange things to a man, let me tell you. He’s not even doing in all the ones he catches, neither. He’s got a whole load of them all working on something in the Tower, though. Seems odd to old Pym, that does, almost like making your worst enemy your best friend, ain’t it? Don’t make no sense to me. But then that’s why he’s him running all of England and I’m me running off to Coalschester, ain’t it now.’ He laughed. ‘And I suppose it will mean no more of them keeping their powers and inventions and devices to themselves. They hoard secrets like an old man hoards his pennies. Well, they got them secrets off the backs of hard-working Englishmen so it’s only right and proper Cromwell should be taking it back, right?’
Archer could not take it all in. He was tired and hungry and all he wanted to was to get home. The others, too, had to get on or they would never make it.
‘It was very nice to meet you,’ Archer said, because his parents had told him you should always say that when you meet a new person, rare as that was. ‘But we really must be off home now. Good luck to you and I hope you find your way to Coalschester.’
‘Thank you, my sweet boy. Yes, well now, we’ve had a lovely little natter, ain’t we? I must say I have had a pleasant time heducating you young fools. But I have had a breather now and you seem to have calmed yourselves somewhat due to all me blathering on all harmless like so it’s time I got on with what has to be done.’
He slapped his gloved hands on his thighs, stood up and picked up his long club again from where it was leaning next to him against the tree trunk. ‘This is what we call a musket, see?’ He ran his hand up and down the metal rod on top. ‘This long tube is called the barrel. There’s gunpowder down there in the bottom and when I pull on this here trigger, this flint her ignites this little charge of powder. Alchemist invention, this is. You know when I was a lad we used to have a burning bit of rope instead of a flint but a tame alchemist put us right and now we use flint. Much more reliable, you see, especially in wet weather like today. But either way it makes a big bang and lots of smoke and the fire makes a little ball fly out from the end of the barrel and go right in someone. Right in them. Then, if you’re lucky, they’re dead.’ He shrugged. ‘Or at least they a bit of a bad day.’
‘So,’ Pym said, and levelled it at Archer, pointing the end of it right at him. ‘Now you understand that if I pull this trigger, you’re dead.’
Archer froze. Was he joking?
‘So what you’re going to do now, son, is put that little bow and arrow down on the ground and step away from it.’ Pym smiled, showing off his disgusting teeth. ‘Or I’m going to blow your head clean off.’
A Nasty Business
Archer was furious at himself for being deceived. There was a cold feeling in his chest. He should have trusted his instincts and put an arrow through Pym the moment he had seen him.
He did not know whether to believe Pym about the bang and the little ball that would kill him so he hesitated.
‘How do I know you’re telling the truth about that thing?’ He nodded at what Pym called the musket.
Pym sighed. ‘You don’t half make it hard for a fellow, oh my days,’ he said. ‘Too daft to even be scared of a musket even after having the facts explained to him, what is the world coming to? I tells you what, son, you just wait there one moment and don’t do anything stupid and what I’ll do is I’ll show you with one of these,’ he tapped the things in his belt with one hand, keeping the heavy musket thing roughly pointed at Archer with the other. ‘This here’s what we calls a brace of pistols. I took them off a dead Cavalier, that’s what we call a King’s Man, you see. I took them at Edgehill after their alchemists all scarpered or got captured. Now, watch this pistol in action, my little kits.’
Pym pulled one of the short curved sticks out of the sash round his waist and pointed it at Keeper’s feet. Keeper jumped back and dragged Burp with him. But Pym was not pointing it at Keeper, or Burp but instead at Burp’s last cabbage.
There was a bang.
The cabbage splatted apart in a shower of leaves. Smoke billowed from the end of the pistol. They all jumped and someone screamed. Archer wasn’t sure if it was him or not.
‘There!’ Pym shouted. ‘How’s that for a shot?’ He shoved the thing back in his sash and gripped the musket with both hands again and gestured with it at Archer. ‘Now, you put down that bow, lad, or you’ll end up looking like that cabbage.’
Archer still hesitated. He knew that if he did as he was told, Pym could do anything to them and Archer would not be able to do anything to stop him.<
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Writer spoke up. ‘Do it, Archer,’ she said. ‘Please, do as he says or he’ll kill you.’
‘Listen to your woman, Archer,’ Pym said. ‘I take no pleasure in killing children but believe me, I do if I have to.’
Archer dropped his bow on the ground.
‘What a good decision you just made, son,’ said Pym, grinning. ‘Now go stand over there with the rest of your mates.’
Archer did as he was told. Weaver was furious. She was white with rage. She was gritting her teeth and her nostrils were flaring from how hard she was breathing and her knuckles were white on her knife.
‘Ah, that’s better,’ Pym said, lowering his musket but still holding it. ‘That’s a relief, all that nasty business being over and we can all just have a breather, can’t we.’
‘What do you want?’ Archer said. ‘We don’t have anything.’
‘Right to business, is it?’ Pym said. ‘I like your style, Archer, my son. Here’s what’s going to happen now.’ He smiled at them. ‘I’m going to take your dragon.’
‘No!’ cried Keeper, throwing himself onto Burp. Burp hissed and his tail flicked back and forth.
‘What?’ Writer said. ‘You cannot. You cannot do that. He is not yours to take.’
‘I’m going to kill you,’ Weaver said, her green eyes bulging.
Pym laughed at them. ‘I know, I know, it’s not fair. You found it, it’s yours. You’re in the right and I am in the wrong. But the thing is, I’m taking it. That’s just the way the world is, little ones, the powerful take from the weak. And it’s a hard lesson to learn and all but we all gots to learn it sometime.’
‘You were after Burp this whole time,’ said Archer, the thought hitting him. ‘That’s why you were following us.’
‘Well, yes and no,’ Pym said, tilting his head to one side. ‘I really was trying to take a short cut to Coalschester. I had to get away from them lot at the fort, they was doing my head in talking all northern all day and all night. Yap, yap, yap. But when that alchemist’s storm came and I saw you lot flying in the sky up in that great big round thing, oh my days,’ he laughed. ‘I ain’t never seen anything like that before. I knew it had to be some alchemist’s trick and where there’s alchemists, there’s profit to be made, believe you me. Old Ironsides taught me that.’