‘No, of course not!’ Seth retorted. ‘How many times do I have to explain it? The ‘ghosts’ aren’t ghosts! There’s a Time Fall at Hawkes Manor and through it, Gloria has been contacted by someone from another point in history.’
‘Like who, though?’ asked Alfie.
‘You’re forgetting the message,’ said Ralf. ‘It said we were trapped until ‘the stream re-joins the river’. Sound familiar?’
Valen’s eyes lit up. She’d figured it out.
But Alfie still looked confused. ‘I still don’t get you. It could be anyone, innit?’
‘Yeah, Alf,’ said Valen, smug now she’d made the connection. ‘Cos I bet there’s a whole queue of people from other times trying to communicate with us. Use your head, numpty! There’s only one person it could be – Ambrose!’
Seth shook his head. ‘We’ll need to confirm it but I really can’t see who else it could be. The whole ‘river of time idea’ again,’ he said. ‘I still don’t understand it and I’m not buying into all this superstitious clap trap but…’ Seth took of his glasses and polished them on his shirt. ‘Well, something has happened in this village – something’s been screwed up and it’s destabilised everything. It’s like a giant has just chucked a huge stone in the centre of the river and part of it has branched off to one side to flow where it didn’t flow before. I think King’s Hadow really is the source of the problem Ambrose was telling us about.’
‘So he’s looking here?’ said Valen.
Seth shrugged. ‘Even if he is, the river’s split so he can’t get to us. We’re in a parallel universe.’
‘So he’s giving us instructions through Gloria!’ said Ralf excitedly. ‘It’s like a plan, a road map of how to get out of here. We just follow the advice in the rhyme and we can get back home.’
‘But what does it mean?’ asked Alfie. ‘I don’t get a blimmin’ word of it!’
‘It’s a series of clues,’ said Ralf. ‘We’ll need time to figure them out, but hey, we’ve got plenty of that, right?’
Leo frowned ‘So, we work out Ambrose’s message, do what he wants, and then he picks us up?’
‘I can’t see another explanation,’ Seth nodded. ‘But he’ll only be able to reach us and get us out of here when the branch of the river we’re stuck in re-joins the main flow.’
‘History needs to get back on track before we can get out of here?’ groaned Valen. ‘How are we supposed to make that happen?
‘The second part of the message,’ Ralf cried. ‘By using our skills!’
‘Oh, I know, I know!’ Alfie whispered excitedly. ‘Valen’s a mean-machine, Seth’s a genius, Wolf’s read everything, I’m the best thief since Robin Hood and Leo, er...’
‘...has incredible charm and good looks!’ Leo laughed. ‘You don’t think our skill might be the Shifting, then?’
Alfie’s face turned a warm, ruddy pink. ‘Yeah, right. Totally. Forgot about that for a minute.’
Ralf was still laughing at this when they left.
For Ralf there was a lot of laughter that day. The afternoon was spent with the Arbuckles and then, as the clock on the mantelpiece struck six, they sat down to a full Hilda special: roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, vegetables, crispy roast potatoes and rich, meaty gravy. He looked around the table at the faces of his family and the Arbuckles and felt strangely like one of those perfect happy families you see in television adverts, all smiles and contentment.
‘Couldn’t teach Gloria how to make this, could you?’ Niall asked his sister as she served out thick wedges of the second apple pie she’d made.
‘What does she need with cooking?’
‘I dunno, you might be doing whoever she decides to marry a favour though,’ Niall said with a sly smile.
‘Gloria? Married?’ laughed Ralf.
Niall gave him a sideways look, his eyes twinkling, but Hilda tapped him on the knuckles with a serving spoon.
‘Don’t any of you let the Major hear you calling her that!’
Ron laughed. ‘I like it,’ he said. ‘Makes her sound like a film star.’
‘She acts like one,’ said Tom. ‘You should have seen her talking to Burrowes this afternoon.’
‘She was talking to Burrowes?’
‘Oh yes, she was tellin’ him this and that and making him write things down. He didn’t know what to do with hisself.’
‘What did he want, anyway?’ Hilda asked.
Ron shrugged. ‘Questions about Hart. When people last saw him. Did he have any enemies in the village? That sort of thing.’
Hilda bristled. ‘Enemies in the village!’ she huffed. ‘Good grief! A finer man you couldn’t meet and those are the questions Burrows is asking. And he knows the answers anyway. He knew him better than most. What is the world coming to?’
‘He always was a bit like that,’ said Old Bill. ‘Saw conspiracies everywhere, even when he was a boy.’
‘Burrowes? Really?’ Leo asked. ‘What was he like?’
‘A funny lad. Always had his head in a detective story. Archie used to rag him about it. They were a pair, those two. Right comedians they were. Mimicking folk and such like.’ Bill chuckled, remembering. ‘They always had an eye for a mannerism.’
‘Imagine what they would have made of Brindle!’ said Tom. He filled his cheeks with pie, plucked the tea cosy from the pot and put it on his head. He pointed his spoon at Ralf. ‘Burrowes!’ he cried in Brindle’s acid tones. ‘This – boy – has – stolen my dog!’
Leo and Ralf roared and so did Tom until he swallowed his pie the wrong way and had to be slapped on the back.
‘That was a dreadful impression!’ chuckled Niall.
‘Best not give up the fishing just yet, Amos,’ said Ron wickedly. ‘You’ve got a ways to go before you’ll be Archie’s standard.’ Tom’s face fell.
‘Now lads, don’t start all this again,’ said Old Bill, looking slightly sheepish. ‘Amos is a fine English name. And anyway, your mother insisted on it.’
‘Amos?’ Ralf echoed.
‘It’s Tom’s middle name,’ Leo explained. ‘He hates it.’
Ron sniggered again but Tom grinned back at him just as mischievously and saluted. ‘I bet you didn’t know that Ronald is actually his middle name –’
‘Don’t you dare, Tom!’ Ron bellowed. He got up and made a lunge for his brother but Tom was quicker. He danced round the other side of the table and hid behind Hilda.
‘Aye, aye, Admiral!’ Tom cried. ‘What ever you say, sor!’
‘Tom, I’m warning you!’ Ron made a final grab for Tom but it was too late.
‘– his real name’s Horatio!’
Ralf choked and sprayed Leo with ginger beer.
‘I think Burrowes must be good police, though,’ said Niall as Hilda continued to dish up. ‘For all he used to be a bit of a joker. He only asked me three questions and I practically told him my life story.’
‘He was good with Miss Brindle this morning, too,’ said Michael. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when someone would get the last word on her.’
‘I didn’t set much store by her story of how she got the dog,’ said Old Bill. ‘I never heard of there being a breeder of wolfhounds up Hastings way.’
‘That’s because there isn’t one! Her story was complete codswallop!’ said Hilda. ‘She hasn’t been out of this village, except to Dark Ferry, in more’n a year. I remember seeing her the morning the dog came too. It was the day Charles Hart disappeared and I did think for a minute the animal might be his.’ She handed Leo an extra large slice of pie and then the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. ‘She did look ridiculous though, didn’t she? I had the devil’s own job keeping a straight face when she turned up all covered in muck like that!’
‘She looked like a slug,’ said Old Bill. ‘He put down his spoon and considered for a moment. ‘Or a cow pat with a feather on top.’
The boys erupted into laughter and Michael pounded his fist on the table.
‘You’
re spilling the cream!’ yelled Niall. Hilda dumbfounded at Bill’s language, closed her open mouth and put the jug down.
‘Bill!’
The old man twinkled at her. ‘Well, she did, love,’ he chuckled, wheezily. ‘A great, fat, steaming cow pat, all slippery green and brown with a tiny, little dot of fluff resting on her head. Like – like – a cherry on a big, squishy bun!’
‘Sshh, Bill!’
‘I says what I sees and I’ll not apologise for it,’ said old Bill, wiping the mirth from his eyes with the edge of the tablecloth.
Eventually things calmed down and the boys helped Niall check the blacks and add to the fire while Hilda cleared the table. They sat down for tea as the first clap of thunder rumbled outside. The mantel clock was just striking eight when there was a loud hammering on the door.
Hilda opened it to reveal Will Tomkins, clutching his knees, panting. The men all got to their feet.
‘The boats!’ Will puffed. ‘Mr Cheeseman sent me. Come – Come, quick as you can!’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
All at Sea
‘What about the boats?’ Old Bill asked, alarmed.
Will clutched on to the doorframe as if he might collapse without it, he’d obviously run all the way from the harbour. ‘The boats, Mr Arbuckle! They’re gone!’
‘What d’you mean, gone?’ Ron asked, incredulous. ‘There’s close on twenty boats in that harbour. They can’t have gone!’
‘The lines!’ young Will gasped. ‘Someone’s cut the lines!’
The men were moving in seconds, reaching for boots and oilskins. The Arbuckles hurried next door to grab their things and had returned, carrying shuttered lanterns and rope by the time Niall had dug his fishing gear from the trunk in the back lean-to.
‘Is it the Germans?’ Will panted. ‘Enemy Sabotage?’
‘In King’s Hadow?’ said Michael. ‘Don’t be daft!’
But seeing the boy’s hurt face, Hilda gave him a motherly squeeze. ‘I don’t think so, love. More’n likely a mistake. Probably not as bad as it looks…’
They didn’t hear the rest of her sentence because they were already out of the door and running.
When they reached the moorings, with a puffing Old Bill only half a minute behind them, they realised that Will had exaggerated. Not all the boats had gone – just most of them. Whoever had cut the lines that secured the vessels to the wall had timed it perfectly to coincide with the turning of the tide. Six fishing boats pitched in the choppy grey harbour; the rest, The Sara Luz among them, could be seen in the distance, drifting like leaves out to sea.
Captain Keen appeared at their side. ‘It’s a bally shambles isn’t it, eh?’ he shouted over the roar of the wind. ‘Lord knows what might have happened if Corporal Jenkins hadn’t been passing.’
‘Corporal Jenkins?’
‘Yes. You met him the day you arrived, Ralf,’ Keen replied.
An army car rumbled along the cobbles towards them. ‘Ah, here he is!’ Without further ado, Keen leapt into the passenger seat. ‘Coast Guard, Jenkins! Quick as you like.’
‘Sir!’ Jenkins replied. The car roared off up the hill.
‘Bloody fool!’ The boys looked round, surprised. Gordon Kemp was shaking his head. ‘He’ll never get there in time. Nearest Coast Guard’s more’n an hour away.’
‘He’s trying, though,’ said Ralf. It hadn’t escaped Ralf’s notice that Keen was already thinking of a way to help. And he had a bad arm. He couldn’t help admiring the Captain, despite his over the top ways.
‘He’d be better off using his head instead of blundering around trying to be a hero. Hardly surprising he fell down that hole,’ said Kemp dismissively. ‘Never looks before he leaps.’
‘But what could he do, Mr Kemp?’ Leo asked.
Kemp pursed his lips then answered, speaking as if to a five year old. ‘Tel-e-phone. It is 1939, you know!’
Ralf didn’t know what to say.
‘The box in the village is out. Line’s down in the storm, I think.’ The baker shook his head. ‘But he could have just called from the station. Lloyd Hatcher’s on his way now.
‘There’s a phone at the Post Office too,’ Ralf said.
‘Tried it but Miss Brindle’s out with her dogs,’ Kemp tutted. ‘In this weather! I ask you!’
The rain was slashing down by the time they joined the cluster of fishermen on the end of the slipway and Ralf had to turn up the collar of his oilskin to stop water dripping down his neck. He and Leo pitched in to push rowing boats towards the water then scrambled aboard the last to leave. Even with Niall and the four Arbuckles aboard, it took nearly ten minutes to row out to the six vessels that remained in the harbour.
Once there, the men split themselves between the fishing boats and started their engines. How they were planning to board the vessels out at sea Ralf didn’t know, but there was a gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach now and he watched the waves anxiously. It was full dark, the moon was new and the winds rising.
The men were quiet as they chugged out to sea. Ralf stood at the rail of The Griffin his eyes fixed on The Sara Luz. Leo, next to him, was shaking his head.
‘What?’ Ralf asked.
‘Something's not right,’ he said.
‘There’s a lot of us here,’ said Ralf with more confidence than he felt. ‘And Niall and Michael are here to help. It’ll be okay.’
Leo frowned. ‘Not that. Something earlier. Something someone said...’
Ralf was about to reply when a shout cut the air.
‘I told you to go home!’ Ben Cheeseman, far from comfortable on the deck of the pitching vessel, was holding Will Tomkins by the shoulder and giving him a good shake. Will, shame-faced, started to say something but Mr Cheeseman cut him off. ‘How did you manage to slip aboard, anyway? Your mother will be worried sick!’
‘It can’t be helped now,’ said Old Bill. ‘He’ll have to stay ‘till we’re done.’
‘Well, he can make himself useful as he’s here,’ said Niall, not unkindly. ‘Ralf and I could do with an extra pair of hands on The Sara Luz.’
Old Bill nodded, turned to Leo. ‘You alright to go with ‘em too, lad?’ he shouted over the rising wind. ‘Niall could do with another sailor if he’s taking that landlubber aboard!’
Leo grinned and minutes later, when they reached The Sara Luz, deftly secured grappling ropes and followed Niall aboard. Ralf helped Will Tomkins, who was now shaking with a mixture of excitement and fright, over the rail and then shoved him towards the cabin. There, he rummaged in a locker until he found a spare life vest and watched, stony faced, as the younger boy buckled himself into it. Ignoring Will’s flushed embarrassment he grabbed the seldom used life line from the locker, tied one end on to Will and secured the other to the rail.
In the meantime, Niall had started the engine and Leo had thrown back the lines. Satisfied that everything aboard The Sara Luz was alright The Griffin chugged away. Not far away, The Inga, a small sailing boat, was being tossed around on the rising waves. With some difficulty in the worsening rain, encumbered by life vests of their own, Niall and Leo managed to throw grapples whilst Ralf, now at the wheel, held The Sara Luz steady. With The Inga safely secured, and Will watching the towrope, the others cast their eyes towards the horizon in search of other escaped craft.
‘Looks like they’re having trouble with The Fisher King!’ Leo shouted over the wind.
Niall wiped rain from his eyes and frowned into the distance. ‘I can’t see any of the others,’ he said. ‘Let’s give them a hand before Old Bill does himself an injury.’
The Fisher King was not the trouble, though. The problem lay with The Griffin. For the first time in nearly a decade, her engine had cut out.
‘I don’t understand it!’ shouted her skipper, Ned Beechy, from the cabin doorway as a green looking Ben Cheeseman tried to hold the wheel steady. ‘I checked her over yesterday!’
‘We can tow her back in on The Fisher King,’ Michael called. ‘If we
can get close enough to board...’
Niall nodded and manoeuvred The Sara Luz closer. Again he and Leo threw grapples. Ralf could see the strain in their faces as they hauled against the waves to pull the boat closer. Soon, lines flew from The Griffin too and one after another the Arbuckles clambered aboard.
Ralf hadn’t thought it was possible but the waves seemed to be getting larger and, seeing his concern, Niall took over the wheel. It would take an expert hand to guide the boat back to shore and the young soldier’s mouth set in a grim line as he anticipated the journey ahead. What a way for Niall to spend his last night at home, Ralf thought.
He was just about to shout something of the sort to his brother, when a shout from The Fisher King told him the grapple lines had become entangled
Perhaps Will Tomkins wanted to prove himself or make up for coming when he knew he shouldn’t have? Maybe he was just caught up in the moment? At any rate, before Ralf could move and Leo could do no more than roar ‘No!’ in his direction, Will had unhooked his lifeline and run to the side to grab the offending rope. The boat pitched. Ralf looked on in horror as Will faltered for a second, his arm reaching over the side and his feet off the deck, then plunged headfirst into the water.
What Ralf did next was neither brave nor stupid. It was just necessary. Even as Ralf grabbed a rubber life ring and ran to the rail, an inner voice was snorting at the situation. How many times was he going to have to save this kid from drowning before he got smart enough to stay away from water? His mirth vanished, however, the moment he leapt overboard.
Ralf felt like a truck had hit him. The water was icy and the shock of it, combined with an oncoming wave, made him splutter and gag. He fought to keep his head above the surface and looked round for any sight of Will. He was splashing a few feet away and Ralf struck out to grab him as two more bodies hit the water. Michael and Ron Arbuckle had leaped from The Fisher King to help and they ploughed through the swell, reaching the boy at the same time as Ralf.
Although buoyed up by his life vest, Will was in a state of complete panic. He thrashed, screaming in terror, arms churning in the water, waves breaking over him, coughing and retching out seawater.
The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue Page 24