A Whisper of Horses

by Zillah Bethell

  “There it is.” Wessex pointed.

  “Where?”

  “Over there.”

  It wasn’t clear. The grass had grown up too high but I could just about make it out. A weirdly thin and wiry shape, curving around to the squarish head. Not exactly healthy horse shaped, more starving horse shaped. As though the horse hadn’t been fed for a month or two and you could see its ribs prodding out of its belly.

  “It’s called the Uffington Horse.”

  Tab leaned forward. “The uffing puff horse?”

  “Uffington,” Wessex corrected him. “Been there for thousands of years. They say it was carved into the ground by a local tribe to show that the land belonged to them. Not much use now, of course.” His eyes looked sad.

  “They must have loved horses.” I spoke mostly to myself. “They must have loved horses to have cut one into a mountain like that.” I felt like I’d felt all that time ago in the Gallery Market, seeing Whistlejacket. Amazed and happy but also a bit sad that Mama wasn’t with me.

  Wessex nodded. “You’re right, Serendipity. They must have done. Worshipped them probably. Thought them on a par with the highest of gods.”

  Who was the God Man? I imagined him a ghostly king, peering down at us all from the clouds. Was my mama up there with him? Could she see me now? Did she still click her tongue when I forgot to wash my hands?

  chapter 22

  ASHDOWN

  NOT THAT FAR from the Uffington Horse, Trott made the train slow down and let it totter itself to a stop just past a road bridge. As the engine gave its final dying lurch, Tab’s arms seemed to miraculously separate from the stick of metal about which they’d been wrapped for the last hour or two.

  “There we are.” Wessex grabbed a dirty rag and started wiping his hands. “This is where we get off.”

  Trott tugged on a few things and threw water into the firebox before straightening up the shovels and the supply of coal.

  I looked outside.

  “Where are we?”

  “A few miles north of Ashdown.”

  “Ashdown?”

  Trott spun around to glare at me. “His Lordship’s ancestral home, of course.”

  Lordship?

  “Don’t forget Mouse.” It was only the second time that Tab had spoken since boarding the train. “He’ll be scared left alone back there.” His voice seemed to stutter and squeak.

  Trott clambered down the ladder with Wessex close behind. They lowered both Tab and me to the ground and the cool air hit my face for the first time in however long. Wessex walked back to the carriage and popped open one of the doors.

  “Out you come, chappie.”

  Mouse jumped out, his tail quivering like a twig in the breeze as he skittered happily around the young man’s legs. He didn’t even seem to notice Tab, who, obviously feeling a bit put out by the attention Wessex was getting from the flaky mutt, stepped forward and called out to his dog.

  “Oy! Mousie.”

  Mouse stopped suddenly, looking as though he was thinking hard about who his master was, before scampering over to Tab’s feet. Tab bent over and gave Mouse a tiny tap on the head. “You alright, boy?”

  “We’ll leave all this now, Trott.” Wessex indicated the carriage full of supplies behind him. “Let’s get back to Ashdown and get tidied up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And besides.” He turned and grinned at Tab and myself. “We have guests.”

  Trott tried unsuccessfully not to sigh. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  Some steps to the side of the bridge led up onto the road above and there, sitting on the verge, was a different kind of modpod. I recognized it—I had seen pictures of them before, but to see one in the shiny metal flesh was something else altogether. A car. A really, really old car from the beginning of time. It had a soft, floppy roof, a running board, a spare tire fixed to its backside and large, glarey lights that looked a little like shocked-opened eyes. And it was pitchety black, glossy and solid-looking—not like the weak and white plastic modpods that Aus drove back in Lahn Dan. They always had the look of something that would snap in two if they went over a dodgy manhole cover. But this … this was built to last. And it had lasted. A couple of hundred years by my reckoning.

  “Nice wheels.” Tab whistled, sounding like he was merely repeating something that he had heard somebody else say.

  “You like cars, Tab? Know much about them?” Wessex pulled the driver’s door open and gestured to everyone to get in. Trott eased himself old-mannishly into the passenger seat, while I climbed into the back and waited for Tab and Mouse to join me.

  “Er…” Tab hesitated. “I wouldn’t say I was an expert, you know … but … er … yeah. Yeah, I like cars.”

  Mouse leapt onto the seat beside me as Tab got in next to him and slammed the door.

  “That dog is going to make a right mess of the upholstery, sir. You do realize that, don’t you?” Trott cast yet another critical glance over his shoulder at us. “Filthy paws like his. Take weeks to get the leather buffed up nice, it will.”

  “Oh, don’t moan on so, Trott.” Wessex started the engine up and the car rumbled beneath us.

  * * *

  “Two hundred years old.” Wessex tossed the statement over his shoulder to us. “Bought by my great-great-great-…” He quietly counted in his head. “Yes, that’s right, my great-great-great-grandfather. Each generation has tried to take good care of her. Got a bit neglected around the time of the Gases, of course. Bit of rust, and all that.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes. Her. Old Gussie. That’s what we call her.”

  Tab gave a wrinkled-face sort of snort and looked at me with they’re-mad eyes. I slapped him hard on the legs.

  “Whadya do—”

  “I think it’s lovely,” I spat out as swiftly as I could to smother his protests. “Giving your car a name. Very … nice. Old Gussie. I like it.”

  The car seemed to speed up as we wheeled down the narrow lanes, our bodies jerking from one side to the other as Wessex twitched the wheel in his hands, negotiating bend after bend.

  “My great-great-great-grandfather christened her. It’s stuck ever since. Trott does most of the maintenance on her now, don’t you, Trott?” Trott didn’t answer. “But she takes a lot of love and attention, and as you can imagine, we have to be careful about how we use the petrol. We can’t just go—”

  “Look out!”

  Both my voice and the truck came from nowhere. Wessex spun the wheel hard to avoid hitting the large, white modpod and it swept past us, bumping badly along the shoulder before crashing down into the ditch on the opposite side of the track. Wessex managed to hit the brake just in time as a rickety wall made out of slate hurtled towards Old Gussie. He pulled the car back onto the road with just the slightest of scrapes to the front and a terrible-sounding screech from the tires.

  As the car shuddered to a halt, all of us sat there for a second or two, stunned at what had just happened. I looked down at my hands to see that they were shaking and I could see that Tab’s hands were quavering too. Trott’s mouth was as wide-open as his eyes and Wessex’s fingers were white with fear as he hunched over the steering wheel. Only Mouse seemed unfazed by the incident and he jumped back up onto the rear seat and sniffed at his master’s face, licking inquiringly.

  “Everyone … everyone okay?” Wessex turned to look us over. “Anyone hurt?”

  I shook my head. So did Tab.

  “You alright, sir?” Trott pulled his lips back together. “You alright?”

  “Yes … yes … I’m … But wait—” Wessex pulled the door open and started to climb out of his seat.

  “No! Don’t!” Tab cried, fixing us all to the spot. “It’s them!”

  I twisted my neck, which felt horridly stiff, and looked out of the back window to see the transporter that we’d only just managed to avoid. Steam was rising out of the buckled front end and one of the rear wheels was spinning slowly inches above the ground
.

  “What?” Wessex looked confused.

  “It’s them,” Tab repeated. His eyes stared imploringly at me. “The Minister’s men.”

  I looked again. Tab was right. It was one of the Minister’s modpods from Lahn Dan. A second, sudden spasm of panic ran up through my chest.

  “But they might be hurt.” Wessex seemed to shrug off his confusion. “They need help.”

  Wessex nodded to Trott and Trott popped open his own door, stepping out into the country lane.

  “Serendipity!” Tab clawed at my arm. “We need to get away.”

  Wessex and Trott were marching up to the truck when—

  WHOOSH.

  The two men were knocked backwards as the front of the vehicle erupted in a tornado of flame.

  “We’ve got to help them,” I cried as I scrambled out of the car. “They’re trapped inside! We’ve got to help them!”

  “But…”

  I ran up to the transporter. Through the cracked glass, I could just make out the driver, his head leaning to the side, blood trickling down his forehead. I reached towards the handle to open the door but it was too hot. Looking around, I could see the thin oily rag hanging out of the back of Wessex’s overalls. I grabbed it and put it over the handle before yanking hard. One pull, two pulls, three pulls and it opened up. The driver started to fall out and I tried to catch him but he was too heavy for me and knocked me over, the two of us rolling clumsily to the ground. Wessex and Trott meanwhile had picked themselves up from the ground and lifted the driver off me.

  “There are more in the back!” I scrambled up and raced past them to the door to the rear. “They’ll be trapped.” I jerked hard at the door handle but nothing happened. I tried again—but nothing. The fire from the engine was raging even harder now and the smell of burning plastic was choking the air in the lane. Wessex and Trott had dragged the driver across the tarmac, and I punched, kicked and pulled the door handle until my knuckles were raw.

  And then it dawned on me. A lock in the driver’s cabin. A button to be pressed to release the locks on the doors. I ran back to the front and was greeted by a wall of tremendous heat as I sprang through the open door and into the driver’s seat.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” Wessex shouted up at me.

  Smoke was starting to billow into the cabin, making me cough. My hand searched along the dashboard for any button that I could find. It was red-hot and the tips of my fingers felt like they were being roasted off. The windscreen cracked then cracked again as the flames outside licked and flickered over it and the mirrors to the side started to drip with molten plastic. As the smoke got more and more thick and it got harder and harder to see, my burning hands dipped under the steering wheel and found it. A button. I pushed and felt it click. A second or so later I could hear a whirring noise coming from behind me. I’d done it! I’d opened the back door to the modpod.

  Stumbling down from the truck, retching from the black smoke, I noticed Trott run to the slowly opening rear as Wessex continued to drag the unconscious driver to the other side of the road.

  “There’s no one there,” Trott called towards us. “There’s no one in there.”

  Part of me felt pleased. Pleased that there wasn’t anybody injured—or worse—in the back of the truck. But another part of me was annoyed. Cheesified off that I’d just risked my life for an empty modpod.

  “Look!” Tab had got out of the car and was pointing at the modpod. We all turned to Tab before looking back at it. The fire had blistered its way through to the driver’s cabin. Where I had been sitting just a few seconds before was a thundering mass of flame.

  “We need to get away. Quickly,” Wessex shouted at us all. “Trott, start the car up. You two”—he looked towards Tab and then me—“get in.” He pulled the driver’s body awkwardly around to the passenger’s seat and pushed him in as Trott, Tab and myself clambered into Old Gussie. Shutting the door on the car, Wessex tapped on the roof and positioned himself on the running board.

  “Go, go, go!”

  Trott’s foot hit the floor and the car lurched forward. Not half a second later, a gigantic explosion seemed to lift us off the tarmac and throw us farther along the road. Trott swerved to control the vehicle, before stabbing at the brakes with his feet. Wessex stumbled and fell from the running board, rolling a little towards the slate wall.

  For a moment everything was still. All that could be heard was the roar of the fire behind us and Wessex picking himself up from the ground.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Trott called through the window. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to do it, sir. Are you alright, sir?”

  Wessex was dusting himself down. “I’m fine, Trott. I’m fine.” There was some annoyance in his voice—not for what had occurred, I thought, but for Trott’s overbearing concern. “Don’t worry.”

  “Is he dead?” Tab jabbed a finger at the man slumped in the passenger seat.

  “No.” Wessex leaned in through the open window. “But I think we’d better get him back to Ashdown as quickly as possible.”

  “You as well.” Tab nodded towards my hand and I looked down at it. The skin on the palm was black and swollen and it was only then that I realized I was in a lot of pain.

  * * *

  The road that seemed to wind from the gates to Ashdown House itself passed exquisitely lined trees on sentry duty for what seemed like miles. Suddenly a wall of hedgerow loomed up in front of us like the Emm Twenty-five Wall—only greener. Wessex steered us through a small gap in it before weaving left then right, then left again. On either side of us the hedgerow blocked out most of the sun, so he switched on the big, glowy lights to see where he was taking us. Meanwhile, my hand throbbed in and out of hot agony and I bit my tongue to try to keep it under control.

  “What is this?” Tab asked, his eyes swerving from one window to the other.

  “Maze,” Wessex replied. “Security. Only a handful of us know the route through.”

  “Security? Against what?” Tab looked nervous.

  “Raiders.” Trott was the one to answer, and the way he looked us up and down for the millionth time that day made us realize that that was precisely what he thought we were. Raiders. Come to help ourselves to whatever we could get away with. Best not to tell them that Tab was a smuggler, I thought to myself.

  We turned sharply left then another left then a sudden right until, eventually, the darkness of the trees opened up and a house stood slap-bang on display in the middle. It was grubby white with wet-weather weathering and dusty-looking windows dotted evenly about its face. And it was big. Big enough to house lots of families and their dogs.

  Old Gussie rolled around the wide crunching circular driveway and stopped outside the tall steps to the front entrance. A youngish woman came running down the steps and opened up the driver’s door.

  “Oh, my!”

  “It’s alright, Molly.” Wessex straightened out of the driver’s seat. “Nothing to be alarmed by. We have some guests, two of whom require some immediate medical attention. Ask one of the boys to cycle down to Dr. Buxton’s house, there’s a dear. Tell him to come as soon as he can.”

  The girl ran back inside and Wessex waved us out of the car.

  “Welcome to Ashdown.”

  Tab gave a little whistle as he stared up at the stately home in front of him. “Must costa fortune to keep this place runnin.”

  Wessex smiled but Trott glared hard.

  “You watch yer tongue, young un. Have some respect.”

  “I was only—”

  “I’m afraid Tab does just tend to say the first thing that catapults itself into his head.” I tried to soften Trott down a bit. “It does get on your nerves sometimes.”

  “Oy.”

  Wessex grinned to himself as Trott gave a dismissive tut and helped him lift the Minister’s police man out of the car. With an arm over each of their shoulders they carried him up the steps, Tab and I following close behind.

  “Whadya w
anna go say that for?” Tab spat.

  “Because it’s true, perhaps?”

  “What? I get on your nerves? Cheers. Thanks for the vote of confiduns.”

  “Look, Tab. Mr. Trott doesn’t seem to like us very much for some reason.”

  “Yeah. Miserable old sod, ain’t he?”

  “So,” I continued, “it might be better for you to keep some of your ideas to yourself. Just some of the time. Just until he knows he can trust us.”

  “Hmmph.” We got to the top of the steps and Wessex pushed the large oak door open. “But what about him?” Tab said, pointing his finger at the slouching body between Wessex and Trott. “What are we going to do about him?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “The thing I don’t understand is, where were the rest of them? Why wasn’t there anyone in the back of the modpod? What—”

  “Whoa!” Tab’s eyes widened as we entered the enormous hallway, and I elbowed him in the ribs to try to shut him up. He took the painful hint and swallowed down whatever he was about to say. I wished I hadn’t done it—my hand hurt at the sudden jolt and I tried to wince it away.

  The hallway was beautiful—far more dazzling than Bucknam Place. A colossal dark wooden staircase seemed to roll down into the room, spiraling a little as it got to the bottom. Paintings of darkly impressive men and women were hung on the walls, and wooden panels gave the hallway a slight echoey feel. Even the floor beneath us sounded clipped and important. Suddenly a door to the left flew open and in rushed another young woman. She had long blond hair that seemed to float behind her as she walked, and she was dressed in a flowing, dreamy sort of dress that brought a small rustling into the room. Her face was thin and sculpted with smooth, pale skin and her fingers were long and delicate. Back in Lahn Dan, I thought to myself, she would be an Au.

  “Roger.” She sounded worried. “I just spoke to Molly. Who are these people?” She stared hard at Tab and me before addressing Wessex once again. “And what is wrong with this man? What has happened, Roger?”

  “Oh, nothing to worry yourself with, dear.” He struggled under the weight of the unconscious driver. “Just a little accident.”