The people of King’s Hadow gasped in unison.
The Hall resembled the inside of a slaughterhouse. The tables and food were all as they were, except that over the top of everything, thickly spread and dripping in red rivulets to puddle on the floor were, what looked like, about four hundred pints of blood.
‘Oh my –’
‘Look at the walls!’
Ralf tore his eyes away from the carnage that was the remains of their supper and saw something that made his flesh creep cold.
The same ten symbols had been scrawled on the walls again and again, some high up and some low, each symbol huge and badly formed like the scribblings of a small child:
Ralf and Valen stared at the message in horror because, unlike the rest of the people in Kings Hadow, they could read it.
‘Nos Darras Eos Appen,’ Valen whispered hoarsely.
For the first time since she had arrived in King’s Hadow there was real fear behind her eyes.
‘Nos Darras Eos Appen,’ Ralf repeated in the Old Speech. ‘The Black Door is open.’
‘Clear the room, please Minter.’ Burrowes’ voice was calmly efficient.
‘You heard the Inspector, ladies and gents,’ the sergeant coughed out. ‘Best to wait over in the church and then he’ll have questions for you, I’m sure.’
The villagers, still gaping at the carnage in front of them, were reluctant to move.
‘But what does it mean?’ Tom Arbuckle’s whispered question spoke for the whole village. No one answered him. Ralf’s mind raced. Everyone had been accounted for. Almost everyone had been in the church – except Brindle. That instant, the information Hettie had given them earlier in the day crystallized in his brain.
‘Grab her!’ Walter Sedley cried and for a moment Ralf thought that Brindle had somehow given herself away, but it was only Hettie fainting again. The vicar was a second too late to catch her and she crashed nastily to the floor.
‘Ah! Miss Brindle. There you are!’ the vicar exclaimed, as the Post Mistress entered the Hall. ‘Perhaps, you could stay with Hettie when we’ve taken her over to the church? You know her best, after all.’
Brindle’s lip curled but she could hardly refuse. Ralf glared after her and as she left he saw something. On the back of her overalls, behind one solid knee where she wouldn’t be able to see it, was a livid splotch of red.
As they were herded back towards the church, Ralf anxiously scanned the graveyard for signs of Seth and Alfie. Leo nudged him and nodded to their left at a sudden blur in the darkness. A second later, the two boys, emerged from the side of the porch to casually join the back of the group. They looked out of breath but otherwise unscathed and Ralf gave a sigh of relief. Seth gave him a pointed look and the moment they were inside they found a quiet spot near the font to talk.
‘The Muntons weren't on The Lot's Lady,’ he said.
‘And they weren't here, either,’ said Alfie. ‘We’ve so got to do something about them. They’re dodgy as hell and slippery as a bucket of cat guts!’
‘Nice image,’ said Valen.
‘Thanks,’ smiled Alfie. ‘I been workin’ on it. After what we’ve just found on The Lot's Lady they’ve got to be our number one suspects.’
‘But suspects for what?’ said Valen. ‘The boats being cast adrift? The fish in the pond? The dolls? The ghosts? This…mess?’
‘They’re black marketeers,’ said Seth. ‘Plain and simple. There’s crates of stolen stuff on board that boat.’
‘And handy with the fireworks too, there’s a huge box of bangers in the wheel house!’ interrupted Alfie.
‘But that’s not the half of it!’ said Seth. ‘They’ve also got about a dozen vials of chloroform on board!’
‘Chloroform?’ Valen repeated. ‘Isn’t that the stuff they use to put people to sleep?’
‘Yep,’ said Seth. ‘Chloroform’s quite a powerful anaesthetic. Lethal in the wrong hands. Who knows what they’re doing with it.’
Valen’s eyes sparkled with anger. ‘Knocking me out, for a start!’ she cried. ‘They wouldn’t have got past me any other way!’
‘We have to tell Burrowes,’ said Leo. ‘They can’t muck around with that stuff. They could kill someone!’
Leo was absolutely right, Ralf thought. Though telling Burrowes would mean admitting they’d been snooping aboard The Lot's Lady, he didn’t really feel as if they had a choice. The way Seth had explained it, having Gadd and Oyler in charge of that much chloroform was rather like allowing a couple of toddlers to play with a hand grenade.
Ralf itched to speak to the detective and he could see the others were jittery too but the night seemed to stretch on interminably. Burrowes dismissed the women and children from the Manor early on but then, using Minter as messenger, he called villagers over to the Hall in ones and twos for questioning. It took hours.
Eventually the waiting crowd thinned and it was their turn. The boys huddled in the church porch as Valen was escorted to the Hall with the Hatchers. She emerged a short time later looking angry and stepped out to walk back towards the others. Minter wasn’t going to allow that, though. He headed her off and she was led, grumbling, back home with Mrs Hatcher clucking over her all the way.
It was the same with Alfie and the Sedleys, Seth and Winters and eventually Leo and all the Arbuckles. By the time Ralf and Hilda were called, the church clock was softly chiming three.
Burrowes sat at an unstained table. He’d nodded at Hilda as they came in but his attention was all on Ralf.
‘Right, suppose you tell me everything that happened tonight?’
Hilda started to answer but Burrowes held up his hand with a smile. ‘I think I’ll hear it from Ralf, if you don’t mind,’ he said.
Leaving out the undulating Shadows, which he knew might cast doubt on the rest of his story and probably his sanity too, Ralf told Burrowes what had happened in as much detail as he could. When Hilda heard how he’d followed Walter to Brindle’s, her lips compressed into a hard line but she held her tongue. He glanced up and her look told him everything. She’d say nothing now but, boy, would he be in trouble when they got home. He put that uncomfortable thought aside and finished his account with a question.
‘Have you spoken to the Muntons?’
‘Your friend Seth has just told me a proper tale about them,’ Burrows laughed. ‘But we have, in this country, Ralf, an institution of which I am rather fond,’ Burrowes explained. ‘The Law. The Law states that a man is innocent until proven guilty and I always abide by the Law.’
‘Please,’ Ralf begged. ‘Go and look on The Lot's Lady! They’re part of this. I know they are!’
‘What would you say if I told you that I was aboard The Lot's Lady earlier today and saw nothing there but nets and tackle?’ Burrowes asked, mildly.
‘That Gadd and Oyler somehow knew you were coming and hid everything they didn’t want you to see,’ said Ralf firmly. ‘They’re smugglers. For goodness sake, everyone knows it!’
‘They say they rowed out in their dingy to set creels near Scarth Point earlier.’
‘Setting creels?’ cried Ralf. ‘In this weather? Do me a favour! They were up on the Merle Farm Lane tonight. Carrying something they didn’t want anyone else to see,’ Ralf insisted. ‘Maybe they let off the fireworks as a distraction?’
‘Let off the fireworks? And how would they have done that and been on the Merle Farm Lane, just a minute or two later? How could you, come to that? I think we both know it would have taken you much longer than just a few minutes to get all the way out there and back.’
Ralf flushed. Burrowes was right, of course, and there was no way he could explain that he’d Shifted. But the Muntons couldn’t have done! They couldn’t be in two places at the same time. Confused, he quickly changed tack.
‘What about Brindle, then?’ he countered. ‘She had blood on the back of her leg when she came in here. How d’you reckon that got there?’
Burrowes gave a small smile. ‘You noticed that to
o, did you?’ He turned his gaze to Hilda. ‘If he could just get past this nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, the lad might consider a career in the Force. A good eye. Even Minter didn’t spot that little detail.’
‘So, you asked her about it?’ said Ralf. ‘What did she say?’
‘I’m sorry to break it to you, Ralf but the clue turned out to be what we call a red-herring. Miss Brindle butchered one of her pigs earlier. Bound to get a bit mucky doing a job like that,’ he said.
Ralf and Hilda were silent. Ralf was seething with anger. How could the man be so stupid? Ralf was certain that Brindle had slaughtered one of her pigs. He would have put money, too, on the mess on the walls being pig’s blood.
‘We’ll have to check, I suppose,’ said Burrowes, as if reading his mind. ‘But it looks like that mess is pig’s blood too. Miss. Brindle was planning on making black puddings, you see, and had two buckets of the stuff set aside in her lean-to. Earlier this evening she saw the door was open and found that the blood was missing. She was just on her way to report the theft when young Sedley and his friend arrived.’
‘How convenient!’ Ralf sucked his teeth and turned his eyes away from Burrowes to stare at the grizzly message on the walls.
At the entrance, Minter gave a dry cough and when Burrowes spoke again his voice was quieter. ‘I am well aware of the situation that presently exists between you and Miss Brindle,’ he said. ‘You and your chums have got a nice little grudge against her and I’m sure it’s very satisfying to you. However, that’s as far as it must go.’ He glanced from Ralf to Hilda and back again. ‘We do not make unfounded accusations. We do not trespass on others property. We do not interfere in other people’s treatment of their animals. Is that understood?’
‘Yes!’ Ralf spat the word through gritted teeth. ‘Can we go?’
Burrowes nodded and as one, Ralf and Hilda rose and went to the door. Wait for it, Ralf thought.
‘One more thing,’ said Burrowes, as they reached the threshold.
Ralf held back a sigh. Here we go.
‘What can you tell me about Urk Fitch?’
Well, that was lousy police work, Ralf thought. What was the man playing at? First he wouldn’t believe him about Brindle or the Muntons and now he seemed to have mad old Urk Fitch in his sights as a possible suspect. Find out for yourself, if you’re so smart, Ralf thought angrily and was vague in his answer, telling Burrowes nothing he didn’t already know.
He and Hilda turned to go but his sister paused at the door. Her huge smile at Burrowes didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Pork for Christmas dinner, is it Inspector?’ she asked, nodding at a paper wrapped parcel on the chair next to him. ‘I do love a bit of crackling!’
Ralf took small comfort from the guilty look Burrowes gave them as they left.
The events of Grianstad night might have been enough to throw a pall over Christmas for everyone, but Hilda, with her relentless optimism, refused to let it. After verbally tearing strips off Ralf when they got back in the early hours she forbade him, and the Arbuckles, to even speak of it, determined instead to make the holidays as cheerful as possible.
To everyone’s surprise Michael had started to make a remarkable recovery and, though in plaster and walking on crutches, he was released from hospital on 23rd December. On his return to King’s Hadow, he was treated like a returning hero. Gifts were brought, special dishes of food prepared and delivered and by that evening a semblance of colour had returned to his cheeks and he was receiving visitors propped up in an armchair by the Arbuckle’s fire.
Ralf woke on Christmas morning to find a frayed old sock hanging from the end of his bed. Nos Darras and the Elk Cub Rat Rah message had featured prominently in his dreams but the gnawing worry they’d created was abruptly replaced by a pang of sadness. He had a sudden recollection of his other life in the future and wondered how he could have taken his yearly visits from Santa for granted? The mood was dispelled when he opened his gifts, though. Inside the stocking were nuts, chocolate, a new pair of thick woollen gloves and, wonder of wonders, an orange! Ralf held it to his nose and breathed in its heady smell. They hadn’t had citrus fruit since October and it had only been at the raffle draw that he realised how much he’d missed it.
‘Thanks for the presents, Hilda,’ he said when he got downstairs and gave her a hug.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, eyes creasing merrily. ‘That stocking was from Father Christmas. Your gifts from me are under the tree.’ She ruffled his hair before putting on her coat and galoshes. ‘Now don’t you go prodding at them while I’m gone!’ she warned. ‘The bird’s in the oven but put the potatoes on at two.’
Ralf was annoyed that Hilda had to work. ‘Of course the Kingston-Hawkes can’t cook for themselves on Christmas Day,’ he muttered, as she was leaving. But he couldn’t stay cross for long. He spent the morning with the Arbuckles and then hurried home to lay the table and put the potatoes in the oven to roast.
When Hilda got back from the Big House she looked worn and even the thought of cooking a second meal must have been exhausting. She tied her apron with her usual brisk good humour but, before she could start work, Ralf grinned and ushered her out of the kitchen. He had everything under control and for once, Hilda could relax with a small glass of port and lemon and listen to the King’s Speech.
Christmas dinner in Kings Hadow, he thought, was so good it ought to become law, even if he had made most of it himself. There was a crisp brown goose (a gift from the Sedleys), roast potatoes, stuffing, little sausages, steaming gravy, melt-in-the-mouth bacon, carrots (which he avoided), parsnips and buttered peas (which he did not). The Christmas pudding, aged for weeks in a dark corner of the pantry, was bursting with fruit, spiked with sixpences and soused with a large shot of Old Bill’s rum. They ate it (eyes watering with pleasure) with cold, thick cream, fresh from Sedley’s Farm. The Arbuckles were all there in newspaper party hats and pulling homemade crackers. For a while Ralf and Leo forgot the blood spattered Village Hall, the Echoes, the Shadow King and their future lives and enjoyed the moment.
They exchanged gifts. Ralf had a second hand but still beautiful compass from the Arbuckles, a copy of ‘King Solomon’s Mines’ from Hilda and two copies of ‘The Dandy’ from Leo. Ralf laughed when he opened that one as he’d bought Leo a couple of ‘Beanos’.
‘You’re either both lacking in imagination or tuned in to each other’s thoughts,’ said Old Bill. ‘Come on now, Ralf, open your parcel from Niall.’
Ralf looked doubtfully under the small tree. ‘There aren’t any more,’ he said. He hoped that Niall liked the diary they’d sent and that the socks would be useful. He secretly doubted though whether Niall had had the time or opportunity to worry about a present for his kid brother.
‘No, here’s something,’ said Leo plopping a tiny ball of newspaper into Ralf’s lap. Everyone was watching expectantly. Ralf weighed it in his hand.
‘Come on!’ said Tom. ‘We’re dyin’ o’ curiosity here!’
Ralf grinned and unwrapped it as Hilda watched approvingly.
‘Whoa!’ said Leo. ‘That’s a beauty.’
Ralf was too stunned to speak he just held it up for them all to admire.
It was a marble, but not just any marble. It was the most fantastic marble Ralf had ever seen, a deep, midnight blue, suffused with miniscule stars that glinted from its inky depths and winked in the gaslight. Where on earth had Niall got it?
There was a brief note with it:
Merry Christmas, Ralf.
It’s very special so don’t go losing it to anyone up at the school! I’m serious. It’s one of a kind.
N.
‘I’ll treasure it,’ Ralf whispered. All around him nodded, not letting Niall’s absence tarnish their otherwise perfect day.
When Leo and the Arbuckles finally left, Ralf (who’d been lolling, stuffed and satisfied in Niall’s big chair and staring into the depths of his galaxy) was surprised when Hilda came back in, carryin
g a brown paper parcel.
‘I found it on the doorstep,’ she said. ‘It’s addressed to you.’
Tentatively Ralf took the package and gave it a little shake. His eye was drawn to a label written in a scrawling, untidy hand. ‘For you and your friends.’
Hilda was looking at him expectantly. Puzzled, Ralf began peeling away the paper. Under the first layer, lay five little bundles of pungent smelling leaves tied with string. He passed one to Hilda who sniffed it and examined the different shaped leaves. ‘Fennel, St. John’s Wort and this twig here is Hawthorn,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen one of these in years. What else is there?’
Tentatively, Ralf pulled away the next layer of paper. Inside were five small, furry rabbits’ paws. Ralf’s chair scraped on the floor as he recoiled in disgust and he almost dropped them.
‘Someone seems to be worried about you,’ said Hilda calmly.
Heart still pounding, Ralf couldn’t quite keep the tremor out of his voice. ‘So they sent us dead animal parts to cheer us up?’
Hilda laughed. ‘They’re charms, you mooncalf!’ Ralf looked at her blankly.
‘Rabbits’ feet for good luck. Fennel and Hawthorn to ward off evil and St. John’s Wort to keep ghosts away. It’s as old as the hills. You’ve no idea who they’re from?’
Despite the image of Urk Fitch that was now lurking in his brain, Ralf shook his head.
‘Well, you’ve got a friend, that’s clear,’ said Hilda. Tidying as she talked, she stuffed one of the rabbits’ feet and a bundle of herbs into Ralf’s marble bag with the Galaxy. Then she retied the parcel. ‘You can give these to the others when you see them.’
On Boxing Day morning Ralf did just that. He was explaining the significance of the unusual gifts to Seth and Alfie on the snow covered Green when Leo Shifted up.
‘Something’s up!’ Leo burst out excitedly. ‘Old Bill was talking about a ‘special meeting’ at breakfast, but he clammed up when I walked in. I thought it might be something about the bloodbath on Grianstad but he said to mind my own until the village gossips let the cat out of the bag.’
The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue Page 32