The dog, Cabal, or Rex as Brindle called him, was suddenly trembling and gave a low whine. Ralf put a reassuring hand on his head.
‘That animal belongs to me!’ Brindle’s voice was shrill and angry.
‘Send him back, Ralf!’ Valen hissed, but before Ralf could even try Brindle called again. She was much closer now.
Cabal’s tail drooped between his legs and he whined pitifully, nudging at Ralf’s hand.
Ralf stared at the others. ‘Just go!’ he cried. ‘I’ll deal with her.’
Seth nodded once and Shifted. Valen and Alfie followed a second later. Leo didn’t say anything but walked over to stand next to Ralf facing the one path that led into the clearing. He wasn’t going to let Ralf face Brindle alone.
There was a shrill whistle, extremely close. It proved too much for Cabal and with a final curdling howl the dog leapt away from Ralf’s outstretched palm and shot away from Brindle, through the trees.
‘OSBOOOOORNE!’
Brindle was feet away now with only a sprawling holly tree between the two boys and the infuriated woman. The only way out was straight past her. Could they Shift without hitting her? Without being seen?
‘Quick! In here!’ It was Alfie, frantically beckoning from a large hellebore nestled against the leaf-strewn bank behind them. Ralf ducked towards him, wondering why he was holding on to a large branch, and just as he registered the narrow rocky opening that lay beyond, felt Leo shove him through it. The ground gave way beneath him and he slid several feet to land in a bruised heap in utter blackness. A second later Leo’s boots thudded into his back. A second after that there was a muffled ‘Oomph!’ as Alfie landed on Leo in a mess of bodies and gas mask boxes.
‘Quiet!’
For anxious minutes they sat in silence, hearts thumping in the dark. Ralf was glad the other two couldn’t see his face. Cabal was his dog and with his return Ralf had felt for a time as though he’d had a long lost gift returned to him. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and drew in a deep breath.
‘Sounds like she’s going,’ Leo whispered.
Above their heads, muffled by layers of chalk and earth they could hear Brindle talking to herself. Her voice grew fainter and fainter as she moved away.
‘Always known that boy was a bad lot…no parents…should be in an institution. Evacuees, slum born filth…riffraff and criminals…Jews and Negroes…’
Ralf bolted upright and scrambled towards the lighter patch of darkness that marked the entrance. ‘That racist…foul…evil…’ he spat each word as though it were poison. He was so angry he hardly knew what he was doing until he felt two sets of hands on his blazer holding him back. The three of them scuffled in the dark until finally Ralf went still.
‘She’s gone,’ said Leo into the silence.
There was a loud click as Alfie flicked on his torch and Ralf blinked with the suddenness of it. Alfie’s dirty, frightened face stared back at him. Leo’s eyes glinted cold and dark but when he spoke his voice was steady.
‘Stay in character, Ralf, remember?’ he said.
Ralf swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Everyone else was so much better at this than him.
‘Ralf!’ Valen’s worried voice came from above. ‘Leo? Alf? Where are you? They’ve fallen down a denehole, Seth! Probably broken their stupid necks!’
The tense silence was broken as the boys down the hole burst out laughing. ‘We’re all right, Valen!’ Leo managed through chuckles. ‘We’ll be up in a sec.’
‘Wait up,’ said Alfie. ‘Now that’s well weird! What d’you reckon those are for?’ The circular beam of torchlight had fallen on the far wall of the hole in which they sat. Unlike the other walls this one was made up of six or seven rough wooden boards.
They crawled over. The boards were hinged. And there was a handle. Alfie’s hand reached for it.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Leo.
‘What?’ They could just make out Alfie’s indignant expression in the torchlight.
‘It’s probably one of those whatchamacallits – like Valen said –’
‘Deneholes,’ said Ralf. ‘Very likely. Open that and you’ll probably fall through. Some of them are hundreds of feet deep.’
Alfie’s hand went for the handle.
‘I don’t think –’
But it was too late. ‘No such thing as a door you shouldn’t open,’ said Alfie. The well-oiled handle turned noiselessly and before Ralf or Leo could do anything the door was open and Alf was crawling through it.
It was not the door from his dreams, Ralf was sure of that. But as he and Leo crawled after Alfie he couldn’t stop his heart thumping. Two heavy thuds behind him signalled that Valen and Seth had got fed up waiting and joined them below ground.
‘Oh pants!’ Valen’s voice was muffled.
‘What’s up?’ Ralf called, turning.
‘Only gone and torn a chunk out of this stupid gymslip,’ she sighed. ‘Mrs Hatcher will do her nut!’
Ralf couldn’t help but smile as he faced forward again. Hunched in a line, they made their way down a short passage. It opened into a larger space in which they were able to stand.
They were in an arch shaped bunker, with smooth chalk walls. The torch beam picked out a hurricane lamp on a shelf and Val rushed forward to light it. The sudden brightness illuminated the room and there were gasps all round. Attached to one wall stood a wooden bed and a table with a wireless transmitter. On the opposite wall, was a row of packed shelves and underneath them another wooden table.
‘Blimey!’ Val exclaimed. ‘Look at all that spam!’
Leo joined her at the shelf. ‘They’ve got ham, tongue, tinned fruit, about eight cans of condensed milk! There’s some medicines here too... Bandages. Ovaltine. Oh man, look at all this chocolate!’ Leo’s hand reached towards the pile.
‘Don’t touch anything,’ instructed Alfie, thrusting his own itching palms back in his pockets.
Leo gave him a dirty look but left the chocolate where he’d found it.
‘What is this place?’ Valen asked.
‘Oh my gosh!’ Ralf exclaimed. ‘I think this is a Zero Station!’
‘Do what?’
‘They set them up at the start of the war when they thought the Germans were about to invade. There were – I mean are – secret bunkers like this all over the country. Hideouts where British spies and Auxiliary Units are based.’ Ralf frowned, trying to dredge up knowledge from his hours of reading with Gloria. ‘Agents were ordinary people who would act as the Resistance if the Nazis arrived. The idea was that they’d spy on troop movements, blow up convoys and fuel dumps and pass on information to British Headquarters.’
‘So this is being used by people from the village?’ Leo asked.
Ralf nodded. ‘Yeah. People who’ve had training in combat and explosives and stuff. And there’ll be radio operators, women most likely, who’ve been taught to pass messages on. They probably don’t even know each other. They won’t have been told, in case they get captured and interrogated.’
‘They really thought the Germans were coming, then,’ Valen breathed.
‘And they were prepared to risk torture and death to stop them,’ said Seth grimly. ‘If they were caught, they’d have been shot.’
‘Makes you think, dunnit?’ Alfie commented.
‘Look at this!’ It was Leo from midway down the bunker. He was on his hands and knees examining a crate to one side of the table.
Ralf whistled softly. Inside the crate were three cans of petrol and a sinister looking box containing a series of small grey balls with strings sticking out of them.
‘Don’t touch that!’ Ralf gasped. ‘Those are plastic explosives!’
He didn’t know much about bombs but he knew enough to know that here were the makings of one heck of a bang.
‘Wouldn’t want to be around if that lot went up,’ said Valen.
‘I think we should go now,’ Alfie said. The torch wobbled slightly as he spoke.
It was getting late by the time they emerged from the woods and Valen squinted anxiously at her watch.
‘I am going to be in soooo much trouble,’ she cursed and rushed off back to the Hatchers trying to pick leaves out of her hair as she ran down the High Street.
The church clock struck six and Seth and Alfie headed home leaving Ralf and Leo to make their way back along the quayside as the first pinprick stars appeared in the sky.
Leo seemed to want to talk but Ralf was occupied with thoughts of Cabal. The dog had known him, he was sure of it. But in this life he belonged to Brindle. It must have been Cabal they’d heard whining in the kennel that time. Ralf’s stomach clenched at the thought of it.
As they reached the row of cottages at the end of the harbour lane Ralf became aware that Leo had gone very quiet. Brindle’s awful comments flooded back and he felt guilty. If he’d been angry with her, how must Leo have felt?
‘You alright?’ he asked as they arrived at his front door.
‘Bit of a funny day, that’s all,’ said Leo. ‘Look, I know we’ve got a lot to think about and everything, but will you do me a favour?’
‘Name it,’ said Ralf.
‘You couldn’t help me sell some raffle tickets, could you?’
It could have been worse. Most of the Dark Ferry pupils had been given thirty tickets – the Headmaster was taking the competition with Crispin’s very seriously – but, pleading that as an evacuee he barely knew anybody, Leo had got away with only taking ten.
‘I’ve managed to sell some already,’ he said, when they met up outside Hatcher’s Catch the next evening. ‘I Shifted up to the station first thing and sold three to men working the milk train.’
‘I’ve been practicing too,’ Val said enthusiastically. ‘It is so cool. I went all the way across the woods to the gypsy camp in four goes. You need to be careful of low walls, though,’ she said, showing them two scraped knees. ‘You can’t Shift through them. You have to go over.’
‘That makes sense, bearing in mind they’re made of stone,’ said Leo grinning. ‘I’m not Seth, but I’m pretty sure there’s a law of physics that says a person can’t move through solid objects.’
Valen scowled. ‘Because all these Time Falls and people popping through them follow the natural order, do they, Einstein?’
‘Shhh!’ said Ralf, suddenly. ‘Someone’s coming!’
Gordon Kemp strolled round the corner. It was obvious from the gas mask on his shoulder and tin helmet under his arm that he was just about to begin his ARP shift
‘Evening all,’ he said with a smile. ‘What are you young rogues up to now, eh?’
‘Hello, Mr Kemp,’ said Leo. ‘Nothing much. How’s it going in France?
‘Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,’ Kemp said smiling and touching the side of his nose.
Mr Kemp knew no more about the course of the war than anyone else but because of his new role in the Air Raid Patrol the villagers now looked to him for news and comment and he enjoyed his newfound status as a ‘Government Officer’ and ‘the man in the know’, immensely.
Abruptly, Kemp stopped walking, his eye caught by something further along the quay. ‘Now what are they doing back here?’ he said to himself.
The children followed his gaze. The Lot's Lady was moored at the end of the quay and the Muntons were busy aboard doing what looked like a thorough overhaul.
‘I think I’ll just go down and pass the time o’ day,’ said Kemp looking at his watch. ‘I got plenty of time. The Missus is putting the kids to bed and its best to keep out of her way, like.’ He chuckled softly. ‘She seems to think I stir ‘em up a bit too much before sleep time, see.’
‘We’ll come with you,’ said Ralf. ‘We were going to go down and check over Niall’s boat anyway.’
They walked along the jetty until they reached the Munton’s mooring. They’d done a lot of work, Ralf noticed. The old boat, which used to be held together with tarpaulin and bits of string, had had a complete going over.
‘Evening, Gadd... Oyler,’ said Kemp, coolly. ‘You’re doing a fine job.’
Gadd swaggered to the stern to look up at them while, Oyler carried on with his painting.
‘Smart, ain’t she?’ said Gadd.
Kemp cast his eyes over the vessel. ‘Sandpaper, paint, brushes and is that a new mainsail I see? Must have come to a pretty penny. Been savin’ up have we?’
‘Won on the horses!’ said Gadd with a touch of defiance in his eyes.
‘Horses!’ echoed Oyler from the boat. He was grinning, Ralf noticed, but his eyes shifted nervously back and forth.
‘Congratulations!’ Kemp enthused. ‘What race?’
Gadd hesitated. ‘What’s it to you Kemp? Fancy a flutter?’
‘Mayhaps I do,’ Kemp barked. ‘What was the name o’ the horse. I might put a bob down when he runs next. Oyler?’
The ganglier of the two Munton’s froze, his face a mixture of panic and confusion and Ralf had a sudden urge to laugh. Horse, my foot, he thought. That wasn’t where they got the money.
Gadd laughed and shook his head. ‘You can’t expect us to give away a tip like that!’ He dismissed Kemp with a vague wave. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we be wanting to finish afore it gets dark.’ He made to go into the cabin but Kemp called him back.
‘I hope you haven’t been doing nothing you oughtn’t, Gadd! Maybe Sergeant Minter should come down and have another word?’
Gadd tensed at the cabin door then turned slowly to face them. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you! Out to get us is what you are!’
But Kemp smiled. ‘Nonsense, Gadd. Just curiosity on my part. Though perhaps you’d be happier if you finished your repairs and then went on back to Hastings?’ Kemp made a show of looking at his watch. ‘I better be off. Evenin’ gents.’
He nodded to the children and sauntered back up the harbour, whistling. Gadd scowled at his back, glared at the children and went below. Ralf and the others made a hasty retreat down the jetty and climbed aboard The Sara Luz.
‘Won the money on a horse! What a pair of crooks!’ said Alfie gleefully.
‘Makes you wonder why they’re so keen for everyone to stay away from the woods, doesn’t it?’ said Ralf.
‘They probably got a stash there,’ said Alfie. ‘Did you see that crate of brandy in the cabin? They didn’t get that at the Cash & Carry.’
They spent the next half hour going over The Sara Luz. Ralf was tentative at first, dredging his memory for how to do things, but soon became more confident, checking fuel and oil levels, examining hoses and inspecting the bilges and his little coracle for signs of leaks. Leo and Valen pitched in to help, glad to be doing something, but Seth seemed ill at ease on the water. He stayed in the cabin to examine the charts and shout at Alfie who was gleefully Shifting around the cramped space and crashing in to things.
It was getting dark by the time Ralf was satisfied.
‘I think that’s everything,’ he said, taking in the scrubbed deck and neatly coiled ropes. ‘I should be fine to go out in the next day or two. Thanks, guys.’
The others said their goodbyes and left Ralf checking his fire extinguishers and stock of flares.
Valen poked her head back through the cabin door.
‘I nearly forgot!’ she exclaimed, with a worried look on her face. ‘What with everything that’s going on, I didn’t ask you –’
‘What?’ Ralf asked, concerned.
‘Well, it’s stupid really,’ Valen said. ‘But, you see, I’ve been given these raffle tickets…’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nos Darras
October arrived and with it a period of unseasonably cold weather that set the farmers of King’s Hadow to shaking their heads. The sky was a constant threatening grey, the fields frost bitten and the sea an angry, churning soup.
Despite the bad weather, Ralf was busier than he’d ever been and the memory of his slow, so
litary life at Janus Gate was now so faded it almost felt like it belonged to someone else. More than a month had past since the sweltering day he’d woken on the station platform but because he’d been so occupied with schoolwork, chores, checking Falls and raffle ticket sales, it felt like much less.
They’d been lucky with the tickets so far. The Hatchers, Sedleys and Hilda had all bought one and, despite fierce competition from Crispin’s boys, they’d managed to sell most of Valen’s to local fishermen. Seth and Valen had stopped Ben Cheeseman’s milk wagon early one morning before school and he’d purchased two. And Jem Curtis, who lived way out on Hoad’s Farm on the other side of Fox Scar, had obligingly bought three – a sale made sweeter by the fact that King’s friends, Aston and Childs, had arrived at his place just as they were leaving.
Three days a week, straight after school, Ralf went to sea on The Sara Luz or paddled the harbour in his flat bottomed coracle, setting lobster pots. He lowered the rope contraptions into dark corners, under walls and jetties and, every other morning, when it was barely light, he went out to empty them. He was nervous at first but to his surprise soon found that, at the wheel of the boat, his feet planted firmly apart to keep his balance in the swell, he felt completely at home.
It was exhausting work, though, and the heavy pots made his arms ache. And on the days he wasn’t fishing he went cockle picking at low tide on the flat sands of the Dribble Estuary. The work was slow and backbreaking. Soon his hands were chapped and raw from the cold salt water and he had angry blisters from the pull of the rake. Often Leo came with him and as they worked, dumping skittering crabs into buckets on deck or waded in the shallows carrying cockle buckets, their talk inevitably turned to their situation.
‘Brilliant all this Shifting, isn’t it?’ grinned Leo one morning, as they chugged back to the mooring.
‘Yeah,’ said Ralf, grinning. ‘I keep on thinking I’m going to get caught. It’s actually really difficult not to do it once you’ve got the knack.’ Ralf smiled, thinking of the short work he’d made of the distance between the two Falls he’d checked that day. The journey from the station to Sparra’s Pond had taken less than a minute. ‘It would be a right laugh walking Cabal,’ he said, wistfully.
The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue Page 18