by Dan Davis
Archer forced himself to stay calm.
‘What about Keeper?’ he asked.
‘We were too late,’ Winstanley replied. ‘He is already locked in the castle gaol.’
‘So how do we get him out?’
Winstanley looked very tired. ‘Let us go to my house.’ He led them through the crowds and up the hill towards the foul stench pouring down from the city above. There were people everywhere, people walking and horses and donkeys hitched to carts laden with goods loading and unloading by the boats the riverside docks. It stank of smoke and dung above and the dock behind stank of mud and black filth and green slime. There were buildings everywhere lining the cobbled street up the very long, slight hill with the tiled roofs of the distant ones at the top catching the morning light. Above the farthest buildings to the north-west he could just see the top of the alchemist’s red brick tower with its strange green metallic roof glinting.
‘There is talk of tearing all these houses down,’ Winstanley said.
‘Why?’ Writer asked, appalled.
‘It’s a weak point into the city,’ Winstanley explained. ‘The soldiers are concerned about defending Coalschester against the Royalists. On the western wall they look down upon the road from up on high and have cannon covering all approaches. The north wall is long but protected in front by the River Colne and there is only one bridge across into the city. The castle and its defences cover the north-east. Only here in the east and south corner that has become so congested. The wall itself is no longer to be seen. People built their houses and taverns right up against the outside of it. And other people built their houses against those and so on all the way down to the Hythe docks.’
‘Lucky for us,’ Cedd said, quietly. ‘It’s the only way in without papers.’
‘What is that... thing?’ Writer asked. As they rounded slight a bend in the road there was an open space between buildings to their left and in that space there was something like a vast metal box on wheels. On a great many, broad metal wheels, in fact. The front and sides sloped somewhat. There were ports and vents in it and soldiers on top and beside it, looking down the road toward the Hythe dock. It reminded Archer of the paddle steamers they had seen. That same great, iron immensity, that inhuman solidity.
‘That’s a landship.’ Winstanley said grimacing.
‘A ship?’ Writer asked. ‘On the land?’
‘It is the size of a ship, is it not?’ Winstanley said. ‘Only it is propelled along the ground by those great wheels, churning up earth deeper than any plough. Powered by a steam device, as those ships are.’
‘What’s it for?’ Weaver piped up.
‘War,’ Winstanley said, mouth twisting like he. ‘You see it has cannon inside? And soldiers with muskets on top and inside. ‘Cromwell ordered them built, only a few years ago, after Gilbert was taken to London. Cromwell wanted them to counter the alchemists’ magic in battle.’
‘How does that thing beat an alchemist?’ Archer asked him.
‘The Alchemists’ Guild fought alongside the Royalist Army in many battles, using their powers and engines of war against the Parliamentarians. Cromwell needed something powerful to match them. So he captured other alchemists who knew about such things and put them to work in the Tower of London to make their own devices that could be used against the King and the Guild.’
‘Why is it here?’ Archer asked.
They lowered their voices further and kept talking as they walked up to the top of the hill where the houses became larger ones and the people even more numerous.
‘The lack of a proper wall between the dock and the city is a weak point in the defence. Having a landship here can ward off any attack that beats its way past the river forts. A landship is a fort on wheels. It is very slow but they have never been defeated in battle. They are helping win the war for Cromwell.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Cedd said. ‘Fascinating.
They followed Winstanley through the streets. The houses were huge and built right up against each other. Some of the streets were so narrow that the buildings blocked out the light. The gutters were full of stinking filth strong enough to burn the back of the throat. Winstanley stopped at a narrow door. He and Cedd looked both ways down the street while Winstanley unlocked it and they were all ushered through into the dark, cramped, cold room.
‘Make yourselves at home,’ Winstanley said. ‘I shall get us some porridge on.’ Winstanley was as good as his word and in no time at all the small house was warming and light and they took off their cloaks and crammed themselves around a table shovelling down a salty porridge.
‘Now, let’s decide how to rescue Keeper and Burp and get us back home safe,’ Archer said to Cedd.
‘Oh yes.’ Cedd smiled. ‘I would never abandon the dragon. Or the boy.’
‘So what’s the plan?’ Archer asked. ‘And how can you help us?’
‘Well,’ said Cedd. ‘I am an alchemist, you know.’
Coalschester Castle
Writer’s hands were bound at the wrist. She was anxious and uncomfortable. ‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked Cedd for the tenth time. If something went wrong then she wanted to be able to defend herself.
It was night time but it the moon was almost full in a clear sky and lamplight spilled from unshuttered windows so she could see Cedd’s ancient, lined face as he sighed. ‘For the deception to be convincing you must be properly bound. The soldiers may well examine your bonds. Now, trust me and stop asking questions.’
They were in a side street not far from Coalschester Castle. She and Cedd were going to rescue Keeper from the gaol. Archer and Weaver were with Winstanley on the other side of the city to rescue Burp from the marketplace at the same time. Then all meet up at the North Gate and escape back to the Vale together before anybody knew what had happened. That way, when the alarm was raised they would be well on their way to the Vale with enough of a head start to outrun any pursuit.
But before any of that they had to break Keeper out. Winstanley had managed to beg, borrow or steal an army officer’s uniform for Cedd. He wore it surprisingly well, she thought. The huge white collar, the floppy hat that he’d stuck a bit of rosemary into, the sash and thin sword at his side all seemed like they’d been made for him. It looked to her like a normal soldier’s uniform only without the iron helmet and he had no musket. The cloth of the coat was heavy and clean and clearly expensive.
‘You do look like an officer,’ Writer said grudgingly. ‘But won’t the real soldiers know you’re lying?’
Cedd had smiled at her, eyes twinkling. ‘Come on,’ he said.
She followed him through the shadows between the homes. It was early in the night and there were plenty of people walking to and fro, especially in and out of the taverns. She kept her bound hands tucked in to her stomach and hunched her shoulders so no one would see.
‘People want to believe that things truly are the way they appear to be,’ Cedd said. ‘If you wish for someone to accept what you tell them, all you have to do is make it easy for them to do so.’
‘Which means I need to be bound up,’ she said.
‘This is the way it must be.’ Cedd said. They came round the last corner and there before them was a huge gate, a stone wall and behind it, the castle.
It was enormous. Four or five times the height of a normal house and hugely wide with squat towers at the corners. The roof and walls were of brick and flint cobbles that reflected the moonlight. There were soldiers standing guard on the gate.
Cedd stuck out an arm in front of her. ‘Stop here,’ he said and stepped backwards into the shadows against the building at the corner. Cedd peered round at the castle gate. ‘We have had tremendous luck because by pure coincidence, most of the Coalschester garrison, hundreds of soldiers, have been ordered out of the city to perform manoeuvres, which is like practising war. That leaves only a few to guard the castle. But the truth is, even a few could stop us if alerted to our presence. Which is why we need a particular guard to
let us through. Only... he’s not there.’
‘What guard?’ She looked round the corner at the gate. Cedd yank her back into the shadows by the shoulder.
‘One of Winstanley’s men has got himself on guard duty tonight at the gate. The man knows to expect us and will let us through. But he’s not there.’
‘Winstanley has men in the army?’ Writer asked. ‘I thought you were against Cromwell and the King both? Why would a soldier in Cromwell’s army be Winstanley’s man?’
Cedd settled his shoulder against the wall, peering out across at the gate. ‘Many men in Cromwell’s army are not satisfied with the way England is run. They were not satisfied when it was the King and the Alchemists’ Guild running things and they are not happy now Cromwell has taken on the mantle of ruler of England. There was a great hope shared by many people that the King running abroad from England would lead to a true change in the way that England is governed and result in more power for the common man. Groups have formed around certain ideas and push for changes. Many of the groups are formed by soldiers serving with the army or in the local levies and garrisons. But Cromwell listens less and less to these groups. And even though the King is not truly defeated but merely hiding overseas, Cromwell has bedecked himself in the glories of a head of state and some say he is a king in all but name. And these factions are realising that if things are ever to change then they must act now before Cromwell’s grip tightens on England and he replaces all the dissenters with sycophants.’
‘And Winstanley is in one of these factions?’ Writer asked.
‘The leader of one,’ Cedd said. ‘So we’ll wait for his man.’
‘Unless he has been discovered. Or taken ill. Or for some other reason won’t be on duty tonight,’ she said. ‘We are running out of time. We have to get to the city gate before sunrise.’
‘We have all night yet,’ Cedd said. ‘The sun has barely set and the nights are long this time of year. No, we shall wait a while longer.’
‘I thought you could talk your way in?’
‘I could,’ he admitted. ‘But the sergeant standing at that gate seems to be a veteran and his uniform is scrupulously clean. Which means he takes his job seriously. And I did not live to see a thousand years by taking unnecessary risks.’
‘Are you really a thousand years old?’ she asked.
‘In truth, I lose track. But yes, give or take,’ Cedd said. ‘Why would you doubt me?’
‘It is not that I doubt you,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘It is that Bede was in the Vale for most of that time. Conducting experiments. Changing the people. Changing the landscape. Studying, learning. Exploiting us. Creating his own new spells.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Cedd said, smiling. ‘And you wonder what on earth I have been doing with myself. Especially as I have no alchemical gifts or abilities? What in the world can this broken old man have been up to for such a long time?’
‘Well...’ she started.
‘A valid question,’ Cedd said. ‘‘I told you that Bede and I lived and worked together with our brothers in the monastery in Jarrow, far to the north. Then I travelled the Saxon kingdoms, meeting with the kings and their sons and advised them, supported one over another. My intention was to bring about a peaceful, bountiful, stable land where all could feel safe and had the chance to prosper. For a long time, two or three hundred years or so, I did this. Then the Danes came from across the German Sea. The Danes were like us Saxons before we were brought into the light of learning. They started by raiding, then they took over great swaths of the land. That was a challenging time but I advised Alfred who was almost the last of the Saxon kings. And after his successes I advised his sons and their sons and soon we had control of all England.
‘I know now that my great failure was interfering too much, and too often, in the succession of English kings. Always was I attempting to position my man to take the throne but I never saw the limits of my power to influence until it was too late. You see, I had forgotten that chance takes away our choice. That even the most powerful of us cannot control every possible eventuality. People die, unexpectedly. Others never have the children that you commanded them to have. Or they never reveal their idiocy until it is too late. I fought to get Harold Godwinson on the English throne but I could not help him keep it.
‘A Norman French nobleman named William invaded England by ship, supported by French alchemists who brought him across the Channel upon their favourable winds and provided battlefield support. With their help, William crushed us and stole the throne. Poor Harold. A reluctant king but he would have made a good one. He understood that a king served his people as much as the other way around. He understood that the king was one of the people. William, on the other hand, was insane. Mad with desire for power, he stole our land and gave it to his mad followers. Almost six hundred years and still England has not recovered.
‘My days of interfering with great events were over. Ever since I have lived a simple life. I wander from place to place, living here and there. I listen, I learn. But always living in the shadows. Never revealing my true intentions. Never rushing in. Never taking undue risk.’
‘I see,’ Writer said. She did not truly comprehend the vast time and huge events that this man had lived through and it was overwhelming to imagine. But she was beginning to think Archer was right to be wary of trusting him.
‘Ah, here is Winstanley’s man, finally,’ Cedd said, straightening.
He pushed her forward and they crossed the street. The castle behind was like a slumbering giant. It was a cold, clear night and the soldiers at the gateway were wrapped up warmly.
‘Evening to you, lads,’ Cedd said. His voice sounded completely different.
‘Evening, Captain,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘Good to see you again.’ He was nervous and his breath smelled of wine. There was a sprig of rosemary in his lapel.
‘You know this man, Perkins?’ the Sergeant asked.
‘Most certainly do,’ Perkins the nervous soldier said. ‘Fought with us at Edgehill, didn’t you, Captain.’
‘Too right I did, Perkins,’ Cedd said in his disguised voice.
‘What’s this girl you got here all tied up like this for, Captain?’ the Sergeant said.
‘Prisoner,’ Cedd said, shrugging. ‘Taking her to the prison to be questioned.’
‘Right you are then, that’s all sorted now, very good,’ Perkins said, frantically. ‘Through you go.’ He waved them through.
‘No, hold right there, sir,’ the Sergeant said. ‘I don’t believe I’ve been told about a prisoner coming through. What’s the charge? Where’s your written orders, sir?’
‘She is one of those Vale folk,’ Cedd said. ‘Like the other boy who was brought here.’
The Sergeant shuffled back half a step from her, as if he’d just noticed she had stepped in something disgusting. ‘One of them alchemist worshippers? Like that little fat boy?’
‘That’s right,’ Cedd said, brightly.
‘But I don’t have no orders, sir,’ the Sergeant of the gate said. ‘I been told I ain’t let no one through without written orders, not even officers, or else I be strung up. Most of the garrison’s gone away today so we has to be careful. You’ll have to go back, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so, go back and get papers before I can let you through. Sorry sir.
Writer’s mind raced, trying to think of a way through. Then she was hit with a wave of inspiration. ‘Get your stinking hands off me,’ she shouted. And then she spat onto the Sergeants uniform. She’d never spat before ever, she didn’t think, and she was shocked to see it splat right there onto his red coat. She recovered her shock and shook Cedd’s hand from her shoulders, then aimed a kick at the Sergeant’s shin. Her toe connected hard and the soldier yelped and jumped back. ‘Our alchemist will destroy you all. Your landships won’t save you from our wrath,’ she cried, and kept going. ‘Surrender now or suffer the consequences.’ She was about to kick the shocked Sergeant again when Cedd grabbed her and y
anked her back. Perkins looked shocked, his mouth hanging open.
‘That’s enough out of you, young lady,’ Cedd shouted and he cuffed the back of her head.
‘Get her in that gaol, sir,’ the Sergeant cried. ‘Ain’t no alchemist worshipper going to do that to me.’
‘Quite right, Sergeant,’ Cedd said and he poked her forward, very roughly. She started to turn and protest but he shoved her again. ‘Quiet, you alchemist worshipper. You’ll get what’s coming to you.’
She knew it was all just pretend but still she promised herself she would kick Cedd in the backside the next chance she got.
‘Well done,’ Cedd whispered in her ear as they hurried into the castle grounds. ‘Very well done indeed, my dear.’
‘I thought you said you were good at lying?’ she hissed at him over her shoulder. ‘You’re useless.’
‘Perhaps it was you I was lying to?’ he said. ‘Hush now, we must get by these next idiots.’
The castle was enormous before them, like some great giant block of stone jutting into the moonlight sky. There were outer bastions and earthworks like little hills in parallel rows all around the walls of the castle itself. Cedd walked through the defences as if he knew exactly where he was going and occasionally he nodded or spoke a greeting to the handful of soldiers who walked by or who were lounging about smoking pipes, rubbing their hands and stamping their feet against the cold night.
‘Here is the gate,’ Cedd said. ‘Across the bridge over the moat.’ The bridge was wooden, wide enough for five people to walk abreast. The great doors at the far end, in the wall of the castle, were huge. As tall as the height of two people, or taller. There were two soldiers with muskets standing in front of the doors. Unlike the other soldiers these were standing straight and alert and seemed as though they would be ready to use their muskets if they had to. She hesitated, and looked down past her boots through the wide cracks in the boards at the black water below.