by Dan Davis
‘No,’ Writer said. Cedd looked at her, surprised. ‘Archer is correct. He must go and warn our people.’ Archer nodded his thanks. She smiled back but the truth was she did not want him to go. ‘And you must take Keeper with you.’
‘I’m going to where Burp is,’ Keeper said, looking up. ‘Those soldiers are going to pay for what they’ve done.’ The red of his eyes glowed like dying embers being fanned into flame again.
‘We’re not going to rescue Burp right away,’ she said, as gently as she could. ‘We cannot do so without alerting every soldier in that camp and then we would be shot to pieces. You can pay them back later,’ Writer said. ‘After we get the Wicungboc and raise Bede to life, we will fight.’
‘Fine,’ Keeper said. ‘But then I will destroy them.’
She patted him on the arm. ‘Quite. But now you must go with Archer and Winstanley.’
‘I am going to the Vale too, am I?’ Winstanley said. ‘How exciting.’
‘Weaver—’ Writer started.
‘I’m going with Archer,’ Weaver spoke without looking up. She was swiping bread around her empty bowl.
‘But we may need—’ Writer started.
‘Yeah, I’m going with Archer.’ Weaver licked the soup and crumbs off her fingers.
‘Fine,’ Writer said. ‘If we are going to get the Wicungboc back then we must do so unnoticed. Hopkins must not suspect until we are away.’
‘So,’ Archer said, looking bemused and concerned. ‘I am taking Winstanley, Weaver and Keeper into the Vale? Are you going by yourself? What about Cedd and Pym?’
‘I’m going to need them.’ Writer said.
It did not take long for Archer and the others to get ready to leave. They gathered outside the Thorne inn by the stables. Cedd and Archer were talking furiously about something. Weaver was dancing round Keeper, pretending to fight him but Keeper merely stood looking off to the north. Pym stood guard up the road. ‘Keeping looksee,’ he called it.
The mule and wagon was sold to the innkeeper, in exchange for enough food and supplies for everyone. Enough to get them home to the Vale, at least. Writer stroked the old mule’s nose and patted his neck. ‘Thank you for pulling us in the wagon last night,’ she said to him. The mule snorted and tossed his head. ‘I hope the innkeeper lets you roam about and spend time with other animals.’ The mule tossed his head again.
‘You are good with animals,’ Winstanley said, uncoupling the harness from the wagon.
Writer thought about it. ‘I have never really known any,’ she said. ‘I just think it would be better if we did not have to buckle and harness them so.’ She gestured to the wagon over to the side.
‘But he is a wagon mule,’ Winstanley said. ‘That is what he was bred for. That is his function. It is all he has ever known. He needs the harness or he will not know what to do with himself.’
‘Would you say the same thing about people?’ she asked. ‘People who had lived under a kind of harness of their own?’
‘You mean the Vale folk?’ Winstanley said, scratching his head. ‘But... that’s not the same thing at all.’
‘Is it not?’ she answered.
Archer walked over carrying one of their bags of food. ‘We are ready,’ he said to her but looking at his feet.
‘Good,’ Writer said. ‘Well, not good. Obviously I do not think it is good that you are going, merely that, since you are in fact going, the fact that you are ready to go is good.’ She coughed.
‘Yes,’ Archer said, scuffing the floor with the toe of his boot. ‘Be careful with Pym,’ Archer muttered. ‘And don’t trust Cedd either.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
‘No, obviously,’ Writer said. ‘I won’t.’
She wanted to tell him to be careful but she did not want him to think she thought he would take risks. She wanted to tell him that she would see him in a few days at Bede’s Tower and that they would together find a way to save the Vale but nothing she could think of sounded right. She wanted to tell him how touched she was that he had come to rescue her from Hopkins and how even though she had never actually needed saving in the first place it had been the nicest thing anyone who wasn’t her parents had ever done for her and parents don’t count anyway because they have to do things like that. And she wanted to tell him that she was going to miss him.
She cleared her throat and rubbed some warmth into her arms. ‘Well, all the best,’ she said.
‘Thanks,’ Archer said. ‘Same to you.’
She was not sure if she could hug him or not. She started to but then found herself sticking out her hand for a handshake. He took it and they shook hands.
This is ridiculous, she thought. Say something to him.
But she did not.
And then he was gone.
She said goodbye to the others in rather a daze. They walked westwards away from the army camp. She watched them get smaller as they went further down the road. Archer turned back to wave a few times but then they rounded a bend behind a hedgerow. Cedd and Pym were there with her but she suddenly felt completely alone.
Pym rubbed his filthy hands together. ‘Let’s get back by that lovely fire, eh?’
‘That is the first sensible thing I have heard you say,’ Cedd said to him. ‘Come, child,’ he said to Writer. ‘They have their task and we have ours.’
‘Yes, we do,’ she said and before she went back inside she looked up at the smoke rising and rising into the winter sky.
Shortly before dark, Pym ran away.
He was heading for the enemy camp.
We Have to Fight
‘It’s about half a winter’s day to walk from inside the southern part of the Moon Forest to where my family lives,’ Archer said to Winstanley and the others as walked along the lane.
‘It’s a little less than half a day from here to the western borders of the Vale,’ Winstanley said.
‘Almost noon,’ Archer said, squinting at the weak winter sun hanging low to his left. ‘We’re not going to arrive until after dark.’
‘‘Is it going to rain tonight?’ Weaver asked.
‘Now that you mention it,’ Archer said and looked up at the horizon. The wind had been coming from southwest for the last few days but overnight at some point it had veered around to the northeast. And wind from the northeast in winter brought rain to the Vale. ‘Feels like there’ll be a bit of a change in the air.’
‘You can predict the weather?’ Winstanley asked. ‘That is astonishing. On account of your powers, no doubt?’
Archer shrugged. ‘I doubt I can predict weather any more than most farmers,’ he admitted. ‘My abilities don’t extend that far away from me.’
Winstanley seemed fascinated. ‘How far does your power to alter the wind extend? Is it the same distance for all of you?’
Archer thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know. Weaver,’ he called to her. ‘How far were we from those soldiers at the Tower when you did that thing?’
‘A furlong,’ she said without hesitation.
‘So a tenth of a mile or so,’ Winstanley said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘Around two hundred yards. That is very impressive indeed.’
‘Too right,’ Weaver said.
‘What’s the range on one of those muskets the soldiers use?’ Archer asked.
‘Ah,’ Winstanley’s smile fell from his face. ‘I do believe that is around three hundred yards or so. Perhaps up to four hundred yards these days, what with all these improvements the Alchemists’ Guild have been making to the weapons of both sides in this terrible war.’
Weaver said. ‘What we supposed to do then, Archer, if they can shoot us dead from that far away? What’s the point in having these powers if they’re not as good as what normal people can do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Archer admitted. ‘We’ll think of something.’
‘If Burp was here,’ Keeper said. ‘We could fly over them and set them all on fire.’
‘He can’t even fly, Keeper,’ Weaver said. ‘Even if he wa
s here, which he ain’t because he’s in a cage back that way, but even if he was there’s no way he’s flying. His wings are all deformed and twisted anyway and now after being in that cage for days on end he’s even less...’
‘Weaver,’ Archer cried out ‘Just shut up, will you.’
‘Whatever, fine,’ Weaver said. ‘Sorry, Keeper.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Keeper said but he looked upset.
The road eventually curled away southwards so they turned north across field and meadow to the edge of the Moon Forest. It was cold and the wind was bitter and threatened rain.
‘Why have so many of these fields been left fallow?’ Weaver asked Winstanley. ‘Why are there so many meadows? Where are all the sheep keeping the grass short?’
‘Times are hard,’ Winstanley said. ‘There is a war on. Many of the men have been called away to serve in the army and not enough remain to work all of the land. The women and children and aged work as much as they can but with much of the workers gone there are fields that do not get ploughed and planted. The sheep and cows were mostly slaughtered during lean winters. And the last few winters have been lean indeed. The summers have been too wet or else bone dry. The winters have been colder than any since time out of mind.’
‘Eating your animals is pretty desperate,’ Keeper said.
‘Not here,’ Archer said. ‘They do it all the time.’
‘What?’ Keeper said. ‘Even when they don’t need to?’
‘You people are totally mad,’ Weaver said to Winstanley.
‘I could not agree with you more,’ Winstanley said. ‘England must change.’
It was already mid-afternoon when they trod beneath the bare branches of the Moon Forest. The wind rattled and whistled above them. Birds of all kinds were flying for early roosts, a sure sign that heavy weather was on the way. Despite everything, despite his exhaustion and worry it felt good to be back in the woods of the Vale. He kept an eye out for wolves but was disappointed.
‘Where do we shelter for the night?’ Winstanley asked, peering up at the branches whipping back and forth. Twigs and nut husks rained down all about.
‘Town called Bures,’ Archer said, having to raise his voice over the wind. ‘Biggest town this end of the Vale. There’s inns there. My family trade at the market. But we won’t make it before the rain comes.’
They stumbled the last mile or so in the dark, drawn by the dim glow of lamplight and noise and smell of wood smoke and were soaked to the bone by the time they fell through the door of the inn just off the market square. The innkeepers fussed over them, drying them off and pressing cups of hot wine infused with herbs into their hands. A few slices of cold turnip pie were dished up with much apologising and then some steaming hot carrot and onion soup was served as they sat by the roaring fire.
Footsore and nodding off, Archer was woken by the a group of angry men and women stomping into the inn’s parlour and cramming themselves into every empty chair around the room, leaving a few standing over him, steam rising from their cloaks. Rubbing sleep from his eyes he recognised them as members of the Bures Merchant’s Guild. His mother and father had eaten and traded with some of them often enough. Strangely, around half had black eyes and bust lips. Had they been brawling with each other? He glanced at his companions but Weaver, Keeper and Winstanley were all fast asleep in their chairs.
‘It’s true, you came back, lad,’ one said.
‘I did,’ Archer agreed.
‘We heard you went off down Vale to rescue your fancy girl,’ another said.
‘She’s not my fancy girl,’ Archer said. ‘She’s my friend.’
‘Course, lad,’ one said and a few chuckled. But in truth they were all grim indeed.
‘We left the Vale for a few days,’ Archer explained. ‘We went to rescue our friend, and the dragon.’
‘We heard.’ Many nodded their bruised heads. ‘Nasty business.’
‘And we learned that there are English soldiers coming,’ Archer said, sitting up straighter. ‘Hundreds of them. They’re coming to take the Vale from us. I came to warn you. Warn everyone. We have to run, as soon as we can or else they’re going to turf us out and probably steal all our stuff and ruin everything.’
The Guildsmen looked at each other. Some leaned back in their chairs.
‘You don’t believe me,’ Archer said, sighing. ‘I know it’s difficult to take in and you don’t really know me...’
‘We believe you,’ a woman said.
‘We already know,’ a man with two black eyes said, looking down.
‘They’re already here,’ another explained.
Archer felt like he’d been punched in the guts. ‘They’re in Bures already?’
‘They come today. Riding big horses. Wearing shiny metal hats. One of them gave a speech in the marketplace telling us to gather all of our belongings and ready ourselves. In the morning we have to carry our valuables to the Tower. Then we’re to be taken away.’
‘They called us rebels,’ one said. ‘What’s that mean?’
‘They called us alchemist sympathisers,’ said another.
‘What did you do?’ Archer asked.
‘Some of us said no,’ said one man with two black eyes. ‘That’s when they started walloping us.’
‘Some of us fought back,’ a small woman said.
‘And that was when they beat us down,’ one of the older men said, a hemp grower with a big beard. He had a fat lip and scratches round his face.
‘Then they just left?’ Archer asked.
‘They turfed Beth and her little ones out of the mill and moved right in. Got all their big horses tied up down there. They stole casks of ale and food and said they’d come back in the morning and march us all to the Tower.’ Now he knew why they all looked so miserable. They were afraid. And rightly so.
Archer asked. ‘You can’t just give up. You have to fight them.’
‘We did. Old Brythnoth got his head bashed in, bad.’
‘They told us we were getting off lightly, this time but in the morning they’d really mean it.’
Archer’s heart started filling with rage. ‘I came to tell you all to run,’ he said. ‘Because we have no hope of victory.’ People were nodding. ‘But now the thought of giving up our homes makes me want to fight.’
‘Our homes in exchange for our lives,’ another said. ‘Sounds like a fair trade to us.’ Many heads nodded. Others did not.
‘We best just go with them in the morning,’ a younger man said.
‘You’d understand if you were grown up,’ the hemp grower said to Archer.
‘We have no choice, lad,’ the man with black eyes said.
‘You’re right.’ Archer stood up and looked around the room at the frightened, battered faces. Weaver was awake, and she was smiling. Archer knew now that running away would not solve anything.
‘We have to fight.’
Stealing the Wicungboc
‘I cannot believe we trusted that... criminal.’ Writer spoke quietly to avoid being overheard. The inn had grown busy by nightfall.
Pym had gone to get a jug of ale and then had never come back. The stableboy had seen him walking north into the darkness, wearing Cedd’s fake officer’s uniform, no doubt to sneak into the army camp.
‘He will give us up the first chance he gets,’ Writer said.
‘Yes,’ Cedd said. ‘Of course, he may intend to steal the Wicungboc and sell it. Dee or Cromwell would give him a peerage if he brought it to them.’
‘But if he is captured in the attempt he will betray us immediately,’ Writer said. ‘We must hurry.’
She grabbed their packs while Cedd paid the innkeeper. ‘Thank you ever so kindly, my dear fellow,’ Cedd was bellowing at him. ‘My granddaughter and I must be heading back to Coalschester.’
‘In this weather, sir? At your age?’ the innkeeper cried. ‘Will you not wait for it to ease off? Stay the night, we have room to spare.’
‘Thank you for your c
oncern. But having concluded my business with the last of our contacts we shall get back to Coalschester,’ Cedd said.
They stepped out into the rain. It felt wonderful on her face after the smoke and stuffiness of the inn. ‘You were pretending we are going to Coalschester so that when the soldiers come here to find us, the innkeeper and the other men in there will tell them that and they shall pursue southwards.’
Cedd smiled. ‘Come on.’
They walked through the rain and the darkness. The rain was cold and it slashed right through her so right away she was sodden. She followed Cedd, trusting that he knew where he was going but why did she trust him at all, about anything? Archer did not, and she trusted his judgement. Cedd claimed to be an alchemist and yet one without any real powers. He claimed to be able to manipulate people but he did not appear to be very good at it. He’d also said he had taken an active part in ruling the kingdom of England through hundreds of years before a great failure forced him to stop. She could not decide if he was lying about once being so powerful or about ever stopping.
Winstanley seemed like a good man, she admitted to herself and he seemed to trust Cedd. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing. Cedd had helped them tirelessly since her trial so really, she supposed, there was no reason to doubt him.
‘Did you hear that?’ Cedd said, a dark shape right beside her with a hand on her arm.
The rain was loud and that was all she could hear for a moment, then a muffled banging. ‘Muskets?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Cedd said. ‘Muskets. Shouting. Perhaps they have captured or killed Pym, as you feared. Come, the edge of the Moon Forest is before us. We shall turn east now and head into the camp. The guards will at least have difficulty seeing or hearing us in this weather.’
‘How can you know our direction?’ she said into his ear. It was blackness in every direction.
Cedd chuckled. ‘Not so useless as you thought, eh?’