Word Hunters

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Word Hunters Page 15

by Nick Earls


  Al wondered if his grandfather knew everything.

  ‘I’ve got your history books,’ he told him. ‘I’ve read them all.’

  ‘Really? I—’ Grandad Al rubbed his eyes. He pictured 30 years, vanished. And this boy, whose life so far was less than half of that and who was more like him than he could put into words. ‘That’s great. I’m glad they didn’t get thrown out.’ It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. ‘I’m glad they ended up with you.’ In the 21st century he would do better. When they were safe and his head was clear and the long Colchester night was not so recent. ‘Has Caractacus asked you for a dictionary yet? I gave him a Macquarie. I told him it was like the Australian Webster’s. He reads them, you know. Thoroughly, too. Is Macquarie still making dictionaries in the 21st century?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it is.’ There was an old paper dictionary in one of the bookcases at home, but Lexi couldn’t remember who had published it. ‘Most dictionaries are online now.’

  It wasn’t an answer Grandad Al was ready for. ‘On line? Which line?’

  Will laughed. ‘Just wait.’

  In the distance from somewhere inside Eoforwic a horn blew. The gate in the town wall opened. Four men on horses rode out at the head of an army. They led the soldiers down the road a short distance and then signalled for them to spread out. Archers appeared on the wooden battlements. The soldiers lined up in rows, bringing their shields together at the front, with long spears pointing out ahead of them.

  A horn sounded from somewhere in the camp and a cheer went up from the Viking archers, who were gathered on the slope facing the town. It sounded a second time and they all put arrows to their bows. On the third time they fired. The arrows went up and up and seemed to hang for a moment in the sky before falling on the Northumbrian troops, who had lifted their shields to meet them.

  As the archers fired again, the berserkers charged. They ran through the ranks of regular Viking foot soldiers, shouting and screaming, like a pack of huge wild dogs. The archers kept firing as the berserkers hit the Northumbrian line, some running directly into spears, others smashing shields and stabbing anything that moved.

  The Northumbrians’ shield wall crumpled near one end, but the number of soldiers behind it held the berserkers back.

  The Viking horn gave two short blasts and the foot soldiers moved forward. The archers lowered their bows. The Northumbrians closed ranks to meet the new assault. They were losing men, but holding their ground.

  A shout came up from the far side of the Viking camp. Dozens of Vikings – perhaps a hundred – charged on horseback led by Ivar the Boneless waving his battleaxe with one hand. As his foot soldiers battled at the Northumbrian shield wall, Ivar and the cavalry struck the less protected flank of the defending army. Their horses trampled over soldiers and shields and Ivar leapt to the ground, swinging his axe as he landed. The others followed and the Northumbrian defences looked like collapsing.

  The shield wall re-formed at the far end and the Northumbrian soldiers fought to get behind it. Ivar and his men kept coming. The Northumbrians backed away, closer to the town walls, and their archers sent arrow after arrow down on the Vikings. The attack slowed. The Vikings clustered together and brought their shields up.

  The gates opened and the surviving Northumbrian troops scrambled inside as the Vikings dropped back.

  They regrouped further down the slope, out of range of the archers.

  The word hunters could see that Ivar was saying something, but they were too far away to hear it. He had two arrows stuck in his shield and he was thrusting his axe in the air, starting a chant among his army.

  Once enough of them had picked it up, the sound carried. ‘Gunnhildr! Gunnhildr! Gunnhildr!’

  ‘And there it is,’ Will said to the others. ‘Gunnhildr. A woman’s name made up of two Viking words for “war”. They name all their big weapons after women, and this army has nothing bigger than Gunnhildr. She’ll throw rocks that smash those walls. The name will stick. There’ll be no record of her being here today – not anywhere, not written down – but in 500 years documents at Windsor Castle will say that there was once a great siege engine called Gunnhildr. The first gun. She’s the portal. Let’s go and find her.’

  He led them into the trees, keeping them out of sight as they skirted around the Viking camp. Al tried to imagine what the very first gun would be like. He had Mons Meg in mind – a big fat cannon – but he knew it wouldn’t be that. It would be a catapult, a trebuchet, a ballista. Something to fling rocks. He’d seen pictures, but all the names could get confusing.

  The Viking chant kept going. ‘Gunnhildr, Gunnhildr—’ Stray horses were being rounded up and brought back to camp. Some men were returning with injuries. Will had seen Gunnhildr come from the forest last time, pulled by a team of oxen.

  Somewhere ahead through the trees they heard a hammer hitting iron. They crouched as they moved forward, making as little noise as possible. Suddenly Will’s hand went up. The others stopped. He pointed through the trees. At the edge of the forest, crouched next to a line of bushes, were six men in grey robes. They were watching the Viking camp and the battleground, and waiting.

  ‘That’s where I came from last time,’ Will whispered. ‘I’m sure that’s where everyone comes from, if it’s their first time. It’s where “TH” and “VH” put their initials.’

  He didn’t need to say what was going on. The men in grey were waiting to trap word hunters.

  ‘Let’s go to the portal.’ Grandad Al’s eyes stayed fixed on the men in grey as he said it. ‘We need to get out of here if we’re to do any good. There are six of them. They’ve got at least two axes and one sword. That’s just what I can see. They probably have more.’

  Will was about to disagree, but he stayed quiet. He signalled for them to go deeper into the woods. As they moved away Al looked around through the trees. He could imagine a man in grey robes behind every one of them, waiting with a sword and ready for word hunters.

  ‘I think we should go back there,’ Will said to Grandad Al once they were safely away. ‘We could surprise them. Or persuade the Vikings to attack them. We could say they were people from the town trying to escape.’

  ‘It’s too risky.’ Grandad Al looked back the way they had come, as if even talking about the men was dangerous.

  ‘What about the next word hunter coming through?’ Will wasn’t letting it go. ‘Those men are waiting.’

  ‘There won’t be a next word hunter while these two have the dictionary.’

  ‘But what about what happened to me?’ Will turned to Lexi and Al. ‘We ended up in the same place at the same time, and I’m from almost a century before.’

  ‘That’s very rare.’ Grandad Al kept his voice low and his eyes on the trees around them. Nothing moved or made a sound, other than the hammer – still beating out a rhythm – and the distant noises of the camp. ‘I’ve just met my grandchildren. I’m not putting them at more risk than I need to. If the next hunter is with the Vikings right now, we may still have years to save them before they come this way. And we can do it, but not by charging in recklessly. We have to pick our battles, Will. You know that. You know how many battles there are.’

  ‘But—’ Will let the breath go. ‘All right.’

  He knew the other three weren’t with him. And he could see the sense in what Grandad Al had said. If they charged the men in grey, surprise would only get them so far. Any one or all of them might be killed, perhaps for nothing. But he could also picture the next word hunter, searching for the portal, coming up the slope towards the trees.

  They picked their path by the sound of the hammer, keeping wide of it until they were sure they were on the opposite side of it to the men in grey. As they got closer they could hear other tools at work. Through the trees they could make out two men planing a trunk that had just been cut down. Two others were
working to fit an iron frame together. Not far away some twisted ropes were lying on the ground. At one end the ropes were loose, but at the other there was a handle, and from its centre came the blinking golden light of the portal.

  Al reached into his sack for the home peg and his grandfather took his own from beneath his leather chest plate.

  ‘You go first,’ Grandad Al said. ‘Leave your key in the peg. I’ll pull your peg out just as the portal’s closing and put mine in.’

  ‘Aren’t we going together?’ Lexi put her hand over his peg. ‘What if you get stuck here? We came all this way to find you. That’s why we’re doing this.’

  ‘And you have found me.’ Grandad Al checked the levers on his peg. They worked smoothly. He pulled the key in and out. ‘I want to go back to my own time, to 1983. I want to be your grandfather when it comes to your time. If I go back with you now, I can’t be. I’ll be the same age as Mike and I won’t be able to be me. I won’t make sense. I want to be your grandfather. I have to take this chance.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Will said. ‘He’s got a place in your century. And in your family. He should take it. We’ll meet him there.’

  He knew exactly why Grandad Al had to do it. Will had hit 1918 five years too old to go back to London. He could have made his way there and found the dictionary where he always kept it, but his 15-year-old self was still in London that March. Even if he’d waited until the day he’d got lost chasing ‘hello’, the 20-year-old Will couldn’t simply step in and take his place.

  Grandad Al had his own peg. Compared with the alternative, his plan would cost him 30 years. But Alan Hunter could have everything.

  The men working on the siege engine started fixing the timber beams to the iron frame. When all four of them went to lift the final log into place, the word hunters moved.

  Al hugged his grandfather as Will activated the portal, then Lexi hugged him too. She didn’t want to let go in case it might be the last time. Second time and last. She wanted much more of her grandfather than that.

  Will tapped him on the shoulder, reached out his hand and said, ‘See you in the 21st century.’

  Lexi locked the peg into place and turned the key.

  As the wind rushed in and fog poured through the trees, she watched Grandad Al hold his hand up to wave. She told herself to remember everything – every feature he had, every word he had said in the time they’d been together – in case it was all they ever got.

  As the portal flared and he lost them in the light, Alan Hunter stepped back a distance that he thought was exactly far enough to avoid being drawn in, and hoped that his guess was right.

  Lexi, Al and Will flew through the trees and over Northumbria – away from the Viking centuries and the Normans and the wars with the French. Kings fell in battle and died in their sleep or of too much cider or lamprey, and new kings were crowned in their place. Cannons and muskets came to war, and then better cannons and better muskets. Engines turned the wheels of industry and sent ships into the wind. There were planes in the sky, then rockets and, back on earth, the great quiet work of medicines, the sound of music, the smell of rainforest and gum trees and a creek.

  They landed in the park. Mursili was standing next to the dictionary as they dropped through the trees.

  ‘You’re all here,’ he said. ‘Good. I wasn’t sure with it being “gun”. I knew Will had done it before, but—’

  ‘We found our grandfather,’ Lexi told him.

  Mursili looked around the park, then up into the treetops. ‘Is he—’

  ‘He’s fine.’ She felt dizzy. The ground beneath her seemed to shake and then steady again. She was home. And she’d met him.

  She wanted him here, even if he was the wrong age. They would have found a way to make it work. But he was back with the Vikings outside York. Or somewhere else. Not here in the park.

  ‘It’s complicated.’ As he said it, Will reached out to steady Lexi and she leant against him. ‘He was captured in 1648. That’s where he’d been all that time. Colchester. It was the men with the grey robes. They’re after us. He had his pegs, though, so he was planning to make his own way home from the last portal.’ He put his arm around Lexi’s shoulders. ‘Maybe it’s worked. Maybe you’ll see him and he’ll get to be your grandfather. That’s what he wants. And you know he couldn’t do it if he’d come straight back with us.’

  ‘What about you?’ Al knew Will’s position was different. He couldn’t pull a peg out of a portal in the hope of getting his exact life back. His home peg had gone in the 1830s. ‘I get why you didn’t leave us in Paris, but—’

  ‘I’ll make it home someday.’ Will looked across the park, towards their house. ‘Caractacus’ll get me back there when the job’s done.’ It sounded good. He hoped it was true. ‘Anyway, people are expecting me at the hostel and the pizza’s still cheap for another half-hour. Love this century.’ He let his arm slip from Lexi’s shoulder. ‘I think you’ll get to see him. He knows his stuff. Call me when he turns up, okay? We’ve got things to talk about once we’ve all slept this one off.’ He noticed a bus coming along the road next to the park. ‘I think that’s got my name on it.’

  Mursili turned around. ‘Mine, too. All right. We’ll get together in a couple of days. I don’t like the sound of those men who had your grandfather. You ran into them with “dollar”, too. There’s something going on.’

  ‘And “water”.’ That was the first time and Al wasn’t going to forget it. ‘Just before we met you.’

  Will jogged to the bus stop and Mursili took off after him. Lexi and Al watched them waving and the bus slowing down to pick them up.

  Al picked up the dictionary and went to put it in his pack. Doug was asleep on his back, snoring, and Al lifted him up, shoved the dictionary in and rearranged his scrunched pair of gloves into a nest. Doug looked like he’d be sleeping for a while.

  ‘I’m going to need that debrief with Will and Mursili,’ Lexi said as they crossed the road to their house. ‘Particularly if we don’t—’ She didn’t want to think about not seeing Grandad Al again.

  They were barely at the top of the front steps when their father opened the door. ‘Where have you been?’ he said. ‘Your grandparents’ll be here any minute and your junk’s all over the lounge room.’ He had his arms full of old newspapers and was on his way to the bin.

  He ran straight past them and clattered down the steps.

  Lexi reached for the handle of the screen door and then stopped. ‘Did you know they were coming over?’

  ‘Grandad Tom and Grandma Liz? No.’ Al was sure he had checked the calendar on the fridge earlier in the day, and there had been nothing on it. ‘I didn’t even know they were in Brisbane.’

  ‘Are they staying? I’ve dumped a lot of junk in the spare room.’ She opened the door.

  The TV room looked different. The TV was bigger and newer.

  ‘Have you seen that vase before?’ Al pointed to the bookcase at the end of the room. ‘I thought we were only away for, like, seconds. Or no time at all.’

  Their father rushed back in through the door. ‘Talking or tidying?’ He pushed past them to the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher. A car pulled up in the driveway. ‘They’re here. They’re here already.’

  Lexi found her phone between two cushions and shoved it into her bag. Al picked up a chip packet and stuffed it into his pocket. Two sets of feet started coming up the stairs.

  ‘Knock knock,’ Grandma Noela said, as she appeared at the front door. She had a sponge cake wrapped in a tea towel. She was dressed differently. She had running shoes on.

  Behind her was a man with white hair and the beginnings of a stoop. He looked at them and smiled, as if nothing special was happening.

  It was Grandad Al, 30 years older than he had been, seconds and centuries before.

 
Lexi burst into tears and almost dropped her bag. Al tried to say hello, but nothing came out.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Their father slammed the dishwasher door shut and ran out of the kitchen. ‘What’s going on?’

  Neither of them could speak.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mike,’ Grandad Al said, his voice as strong as it had been in the 9th century. ‘Lexi got her finger caught in a zip on her bag. Leave it to me.’

  He put his arm around her shoulders and Al followed them out to the back deck.

  ‘You and your bush remedies,’ Mike said, but his father didn’t seem to hear. He turned to his mother. ‘Let me put that cake somewhere.’

  ‘It’s that time, isn’t it?’ Grandad Al said once he’d shut the sliding door behind them. ‘You’re just back from York, from “gun”. You’ve just saved me.’

  Lexi nodded and hugged him.

  ‘I’ve waited years for this.’ His voice shook. He cleared his throat. ‘I knew it could be any month now. I knew you were old enough.’

  ‘But how does this work?’ Al said. ‘Our whole lives are different now. If you hadn’t disappeared—’

  ‘I know.’ He steered them towards the table and they all sat down. ‘I’ve never been gone. Your grandma, your father, your aunt – they never had to go through that. That’s what you two just did. Check your family photo albums and I’ll be in them. But we know what really happened, the three of us. And you two know why my hair went white overnight after sports day in 1983.’

  ‘But how do Al and I get to be word hunters?’ Lexi looked into Grandad Al’s face. It was more lined and the skin was less taut, but he was still the man from the photos she had looked at for years, still the man who had quietly turned himself into a warrior when he needed to.

  ‘You found the book in the wall in the library?’ He reached out and put his hand on Al’s pack and smiled. He could feel the corner of it. ‘When you saved me and I made it back home I kept going, but not long after that the dictionary went quiet. I kept checking for a few years, just in case. Sometimes I even took it home. Then I started hoping that might be it – that the words were all stable and the job was done.’

 

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