The woman was silent for a moment. She shook her head slowly.
“How could I not come back when he holds my father captive? And, as for what I said to him, I told him that I love him.”
Bently snorted, then slapped his hand over his face and listened nervously as the echoes died away.
“Very touching, I’m sure,” he whispered when all that could be heard was his master’s rage again. “But quite what the point was, I really don’t know. Your father, and you, have little value to our master if your mission has failed. I doubt he, at least, will escape punishment for long. So, little woman, tell me. What did you really tell the boy?”
The woman looked up at him, her steely blue eyes reflected in his black gaze.
“I told him to find his brother,” she said.
“HIS WHAT?”
His cry echoed from wall to wall and, when it had finally expired, his master’s angry shouts had been replaced with one word, repeated over and over in the long tunnels of the dungeon.
“Bently…”
Chapter 12
It turned out that landing the Amelia was easier than taking off - it essentially amounted to falling and then bouncing along. Bill had to admit that the process of both had become less fraught by the time of the third take-off, and he was beginning to, if not enjoy the experience, then at least tolerate it manfully.
Wing Commander Flaxbottom, of course, was in her element. Bill had become used to cries of “tally ho!” and “simply spiffing!” every few minutes, interspersed with the occasional “what-what” and a joyous laugh.
Perhaps most surprisingly, Brianna had taken to flying like a well-trained chicken. She’d been following their progress on the map Vokes had given Bill, embellishing it by scratching in the occasional landmark and settlement as they flew over them.
She’d reluctantly conceded that Flaxbottom wasn’t quite the lunatic she’d imagined and had become quite excited about the possibilities this new technology afforded. Bill rather imagined she was planning on building a bigger plane and using it for transporting cargo across country in a fraction of the time it took by road, even on horseback. Either that or using it as an airborne platform for lobbing bombs at people who’d wronged her - it depended on her mood.
They’d, naturally, attracted quite a lot of attention on their journey. People being people, this amounted to equal parts of running away, waving at them and shooting arrows. In fact, Bill wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d inspired the odd new religion here and there, the Church of the Flying Poultry Monster, perhaps. It would be far from the most ridiculous he’d ever heard of.
It was nearing the end of the day and, despite three stops that lasted as long as they’d spent in the air, both Flaxbottom and Brianna said they were within ten miles of their destination. And that was when Bill’s hands went off.
It wasn’t his fault. They’d been flying over the military town of Crapplecreek which, due to its size, took quite some time to traverse. Long enough, in fact, for a message to travel by flag from the south gate to the bastion on the town’s northern limits. Brianna called an alarm as a huge boom rang out from below and, moments later, a stone ball the size of Bill’s head burst through the silk of the right wing and flew past him. In a panic, he threw his hands out sideways, and flames erupted, blasting holes in the fuselage and setting the wood instantly alight.
“Emergency descent,” yelled Flaxbottom. “All crew prepare to bail out!”
The plane went into a steep decline as the Wing Commander steered the now extremely unstable aircraft towards the nearest field.
Bill hauled himself up onto the seat next to Brianna and screamed: “What do you mean, bail out?”
Flaxbottom ignored him. “Abandon ship! All crew, abandon ship!”
She stood up as flames took a grip of the cockpit, pulled a chord and a pair of kite-like wings sprung out of her backpack. With a “tally ho”, she jumped. There was the sound of wings flapping, and the air became filled with panicking poultry flying in all directions. The plane dropped like a stone.
“Come on!” shouted Brianna. She grabbed Bill by the shoulder and pushed him sideways. Bill looked over the edge of the plane to see the ground rushing up towards them. His hands burned again and he shoulder-charged Brianna out of the other side of the plane just as jets of fire flew from his palms, setting light to the rear part of the plane. Bellowing from the pain and fear, Bill fell over the other side and dropped.
When he came to, Bill felt as if he was floating in a warm bath, just drifting away after a long day’s wood chopping. He opened his eyes, and they filled with water, sheer naked terror causing him to flail as he sank, his lungs emptying with a stream of bubbles, each containing a fraction of a scream.
Then, hands were under his armpits, and he was being hauled upright.
“Get up, you idiot,” said a harsh, familiar, voice. “It’s only four feet deep!”
Bill stood up, wiping his face and spitting out rancid pond water. He blinked at the late afternoon sun reflected off a small pond. Luckily for him, it seemed, he’d landed near the water’s edge.
Brianna was now emptying her boots on the bank. “I suppose I ought to thank you for pushing me out of the plane. Fortunately, I landed on the roof of a barn, so I only got severe bumps and bruises as I bounced off it onto the cobbles of the farmyard. It could have been so much worse. I expect, but my backside will be sore for weeks.”
“Thanks for pulling me up,” Bill said, too tired to respond to her sarcasm. “Any idea where Flaxbottom ended up?”
“Here, my boy!”
The Wing Commander strode into view surrounded by several men carrying pitch-forks and scythes. The eldest forker clearly regarded himself as “in charge” because he kept nudging Flaxbottom as if her already brisk pace wasn’t fast enough for him. The result was that Flaxbottom arrived several seconds before her captors.
“Where’s Amelia?” Bill whispered.
Flaxbottom’s face dropped.
“Oh, my dear boy, she’s gone. Consumed! Those damn Crappers and their incendiary cannon. I’d never have imagined they possessed the ingenuity.”
She pointed west in the direction of Crapplecreek whose walls would have been just visible in the distance if it weren’t for the farm buildings and, behind them, wooded landscape.
“What are you doin’ on my land?” shouted the lead forker, waving his weapon in the direction of each of them in turn.
Brianna sighed. “Well, I’m emptying my boots after rescuing that fool from your pond. Once we’ve dried off a bit, I daresay we’ll be on our way and off your farm.”
“Oh no, you won’t,” the forker responded, “we’ve got standing orders to hold anyone who comes onto the farm without permission until the sheriff's men come and pick ‘em up. I’ve already sent one of the lads up to the big ‘ouse so you won’t ‘ave long to wait.”
“Oh come on, my man, surely you can allow us to be on our way? We won’t tell anyone!” said Flaxbottom, attempting, it would appear, an appealing, feminine voice.
The farmer put a little extra space between himself and the Wing Commander. “No, I ‘ave me orders and it’s more than my life’s worth to risk breakin’ ‘em.”
“Oh, where’s your spine?” Brianna spat. “Time was when ordinary folk stuck together in these parts. It’s come to a pretty pass when the Fitzmichaels don’t even have to do their own dirty work, they get the peasants to do it for them!”
The farmer’s face turned red.
“I ain’t no peasant, and I don’t work for no Varman, but I don’t know you and, seems to me, you’re up to no good. My lad says he saw you fall from the sky. Whether I believes ‘im or no, there’s somethin’ goin’ on, and I don’t care to be a part of it. Now, get on with you.”
He hoiked his pitchfork back in the direction they’d come and Bill, shivering by now, traipsed from the water and stood beside Brianna as they trooped off along a farm track.
As they walke
d, and were occasionally prodded by a forker, Bill turned to Brianna. “What are we going to do? We must be so close to Mother Hemlock’s, we can’t let the sheriff’s men get us now!”
There was a susurration in the ranks of forkers and scythers. The words “Mother Hemlock” seemed to travel from back to front before arriving at the ears of the farmer, who was leading them. The chief forker paused momentarily before continuing his march.
“Brianna!” hissed Bill. “Did you hear me?”
Out of the corner of her mouth, Brianna whispered.
“Be quiet, something’s going on.”
The main farm complex appeared to their left, and Bill could see the barn that would be their temporary accommodation while they awaited the local constables. A couple of old men stood outside, leaning against the wall of the barn and carrying what looked suspiciously like kitchen knives strapped to broom handles. As the prisoners and escort walked up the lane towards them, the old boys straightened up and assumed what might half a century ago have been a pose appropriate for guard duty. One of them saluted.
He was still saluting as they marched on past and continued up the lane. The other old man, a little quicker on the uptake shouted to them.
“‘Ere, Aloysius, it’s this barn ain’t it?”
Farmer Aloysius ignored him and continued on his path.
“Aloysius!” shouted the old man, and began to run, or rather hobble quickly, across the cobble-stone yard, waving his stick. “Where are you goin’ boy? Me ‘n Ernie ‘ave got the barn all set up and secure like. Come back!”
Aloysius paused, his shoulders dropped, and he shouted back. “It’s okay Dad, everything’s under control.”
“Ay?” Dad stood with his hand cupped to his ear and a puzzled look on his face,
“I said, EVERYTHING’S UNDER CONTROL.”
“Ay?”
“Wait here.” The farmer said to the man behind him before striding over to the old boy who had paused, out of puff with his hands on his knees. There was a good deal of shouting and gesturing that Bill couldn’t quite make out, and the old man went quiet, nodded and scurried off. Bill would have sworn the word “Hemlock” hung in the air as he retreated.
Returning to the front of the detail, and very obviously not looking any of the prisoners in the eye, the farmer led them past the farmyard and onto a small track that ran behind the main buildings and out over a field. Ten minutes later, they were climbing over a fence onto a bridleway.
“Please give my regards to Mother ‘emlock and make sure to tell ‘er Aloysius Mudlark let you go, okay? Follow this track and it’ll meet the main road to Upper Bottom in half a mile or so. But be careful, the sheriff’s men will be on the road.”
Brianna smiled. “Thank you, Farmer Mudlark. But what will you tell the constables when they arrive?”
The farmer scratched his head. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I ‘adn’t thought that far. They’ll be expecting somebody to pick up.”
“I’ll be that somebody,” Flaxbottom said, “I have no wish to go any further, to be honest, and I shall tell them of my flying machine and how it was on a test flight. I’ll also point out that one of their men brought it down and that I expect compensation.”
“Are you sure? Wont it be risky letting them take you away?” Bill said.
Flaxbottom laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry about me. I’m sure I can use my powers of persuasion to make them see things my way. And if not, my squadron is out there. They’ll have regrouped and will be awaiting my whistle so, if the sheriff or his men are uncooperative, they’ll have to watch out for their nuggets, what?”
Bill threw his arms around the Wing Commander. “Thank you, Permanence. I hope you get home safely. And I’m sorry about Amelia.”
Flaxbottom wiped a tear as she stepped out of Bill’s embrace. “Oh, don’t worry about that. There’ll be another Amelia. Thank you both for forcing me to fly beyond my horizons - I’ll be making a trip to the south to import some featherwood, and the next flying machine will be a wonder to behold.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Brianna, shaking Flaxbottom’s hand. Bill fancied there hadn’t been even a hint of sarcasm there.
Wing Commander Flaxbottom waved to them as they jumped over the fence. “Tally ho, my friends. We’ll meet again. I’m not sure where or when. But I know we’ll meet again on a sunny day.”
Even Brianna waved back with genuine emotion. She didn’t look at Bill, who had tears in his eyes as a last “Tally Ho!” echoed along the lane.
“Come on,” said Brianna. “We’ll have to find somewhere to hole up for the night.” She pulled on Bill’s arm, and he followed her into the gathering gloom.
Chapter 13
It had been a cold and uncomfortable night for Brianna and Bill. They’d found a copse of trees beside the road before it became dark and had blundered their way into the centre, finding a large oak and huddling down in a space between its roots.
There was little conversation. Bill tried to ask Brianna more about this Mother Hemlock person who seemed to invoke so much fear in people who lived miles away, but Brianna would only say she wasn’t surprised that the farmer had reacted that way and left it at that. The rest of the night had been spent shivering and trying to sleep, not helped either by the fact that Bill hadn’t entirely dried out from his dipping of the previous day, or that a gentle mizzle began falling in the small hours.
It was, therefore, a thoroughly miserable Bill Strike who cautiously left the tree line to peer up and down the road as the morning finally arrived. Brianna was hardly any brighter as she, too, was now pretty wet. At least the rain had stopped, for now.
“I reckon it’s 8 miles or so from here to Upper Bottom,” she said. “But we can’t walk along the road, it’s too risky. We can’t rely on Flaxbottom to keep them off our trail, and there may be others. The closer we get, the greater the danger.”
Bill gave a grim chuckle. “Oh, you’re an absolute ray of sunshine on a grey morning, aren’t you?”
Brianna turned to him. He’d expected a severe telling-off, but she simply shrugged. “Let’s get on with it - stick to cover beside the road where possible. We’ll get there today with luck.”
They edged out onto the road, checked again that there was no-one else on it and then headed off along the verge. It was a miserable journey. Neither had much food left in their packs so breakfast, such as it was, consisted of little more than a few stale biscuits and an old, wrinkly, apple Bill found under his spare pants and shared with Brianna.
Every so often, Brianna would stop to check their position on the map. It wasn’t much help because the scale was too large but she’d been in the middle of scribbling some landmarks on it when they’d been shot down the previous day, so she had a fair idea of which direction to head in. As the morning went on, she became more and more confident, recognising landmarks and lanes. Twice, during the morning, they had to hurry for cover at the sound of hoof-beats on the road, and the sense of tension grew as the miles passed.
“Aha!” said Brianna. The first words she’d spoken for at least an hour. “We’re nearly there, Upper Bottom should be just over that bridge.”
She pointed down a small slope to where a river crossed their path.
Bill immediately burst out of the undergrowth and started down the path.
“Hold on!” hissed Brianna.
“Nope,” called Bill over his shoulder. “I’ve had enough of skulking around, I’m making a dash for it.”
Breaking into a run, he headed for the bridge as Brianna struggled to keep up with him.
There was a cry from the road behind them and three riders appeared, spears levelled.
“Run!” shouted Brianna, and they both shot towards the bridge. Their only hope was to get across and disappear amongst the houses, and it was nothing more than a desperate hope.
The horsemen nudged their horses into a leisurely trot, confident of catching them before they reached the bridge.
; “Halt, in the name of the Commander,” called one as they neared the fleeing duo.
The end of a spear touched Bill’s back and then, abruptly, fell away. There was the sound of horses and men falling and Bill risked looking back to see that they’d somehow become mired in a bog that neither Bill nor Brianna had noticed. The riders were too concerned with saving themselves and their horses to see the woman who’d appeared, as if out of nowhere, at the bridge’s entrance.
“Greetings Brianna. I see you’ve brought our friend with as little fuss as you promised.”
Brianna opened her mouth to protest but was cut off.
“Come with me, you need to disappear.”
Chapter 14
Bill woke in the blissful embrace of the soft, clean, straw of Mother Hemlock’s barn. He rolled over and could see light shining through cracks in the roof which meant he’d either slept the whole day and night away or that he’d been asleep for just a few hours. His headache suggested the latter. When he’d collapsed here, Brianna had lain down nearby and, he imagined, also fallen asleep, but she wasn’t here now. In fact, he shared the barn with no-one and nothing bigger than the inevitable rats and mice, assuming such creatures dared to live on Hemlock’s Farm.
Bill got up and brushed straw from his clothes. They still felt a little damp but, despite the pain in his head, he was determined to get some answers and to then set off for home. Assuming it was safe to do so having delivered the precious coal scuttle. The scuttle! Bill dived for his pack, which had been lying on the floor beside him, but the copper bucket had gone, along with its message. Could it have dropped out of his pack during the chase to the bridge? Was that why his pursuers stopped in that patch of mud? Had it all been a waste of time?
Feeling lightheaded from panic and exhaustion, Bill staggered to the barn door and pushed it open, blinking in the late afternoon sun. He headed across the courtyard to the farmhouse opposite and banged on the big wooden door.
“Brianna! Are you in there?” he shouted. “Brianna! It’s gone!”
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