The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue

by Heneghan, Lou

  Ralf started and had to hold on to the jetty to stop himself knocking the side of the boat. The Fire! Gordon Kemp! Part of him wanted to leap on to The Lot's Lady and scream at the brothers, slinking cowards that they were, but he stopped himself. Alfie was gripping on to the coil of rope next to him his eyes round in angry surprise.

  ‘We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Burrowes since,’ Gadd went on. ‘I say we follow instructions and handover tonight.’

  ‘But this is bigger than you bargained for and you know it! You said they’d stop looking for him after a few weeks but they never. I haven’t slept since we took him over on Hallowe’en,’ whined Oyler. ‘He’s got friends in high places. He knows Churchill! And that’s not a man to get on the wrong side of!’ ‘You know what happened to the Sidney Street Gang! Went after them his-self, he did. That Churchill will show no mercy.’

  Ralf’s brain was scrambled for a moment. There was far too much information to process. Were the Muntons really talking about what he thought they were? It couldn’t be that it had been them all along? They had kidnapped Charles Hart? He remembered the mysterious figures he and Leo had followed on Hallowe’en. The humped shape he'd seen on Grianstad and looked at Alfie incredulously. It had been right under their noses for months! Alfie nodded.

  ‘Now listen here,’ Gadd’s voice was urgent. ‘If we don’t do this… If we don’t see it through… If anyone were to find out what we’ve done...we’ll swing for it. A long drop off a short rope.’

  Oyler whimpered again. ‘But there’s dark things down there, Gadd! Evil things!’ His wavering voice was pitiful to hear. ‘We’ll be killed! Or worse!’

  A little squeal of terror seeped through the wooden hull.

  ‘Yes, there is and yes we may be but I tell you what, brother,’ Gadd said, darkly. ‘I’d rather hang than have to explain to HIM why we never done as we were told. You were there at Christmas when HE came after we restocked! HE won’t show no mercy. HE won’t give us a last meal. HE’s got power that one. Power that Churchill can only dream of!’

  There were muffled sobs from aboard the vessel.

  ‘Crying?’ mouthed Alfie, appalled.

  Ralf nodded. He never thought he’d feel sorry for Oyler but the sound of his weeping was pitiful. He signalled to Alfie. The two slid out of their hiding place and inched away along the jetty. They joined Alfie’s Crew on the dockside.

  It was a good job they moved when they did because the hatch on The Lot's Lady suddenly crashed open. Gadd emerged from the cabin to fix them with his beetle black eyes.

  ‘Still playing our little game, are we?’ He tried for a smile, an effect ruined by the collection of mossy green teeth the expression revealed, and jumped down on to the jetty. Alice Cheeseman shuddered and took a step back.

  ‘Got nothing better to do, Osborne?’ Gadd continued, sauntering towards them.

  Ralf didn’t reply. He stared back at the man as though he were diseased. Alfie, Alice and her two friends followed suit.

  Gadd climbed the steps until he stood in front of them on the quay.

  ‘Well, it’s been a fine lark for you,’ he said with a syrupy grin. ‘You’ve spooked us proper. But the joke’s over now, see?’

  He turned to Alice, who valiantly stood her ground, despite the shiver that ran through her. You kids get off and play somewhere else.’ Gadd extracted a flick knife from his pocket. His faked good humour fell away as he popped the button and the blade slid forward.

  ‘Clear off, out of it! You’d better not be here when I come back, see? Or things could go nasty.’ He made a show of cleaning a black fingernail with the knife then held it up to glint in the sun. ‘A good knife, that!’ he said locking eyes with Alfie. He closed the knife, turned abruptly and strode off down the jetty.

  Ralf watched him go whilst Alfie reassured his Crew with a nod of thanks for the lads and a wink and a pat on the back for Alice.

  ‘Keep it up, bluds,’ he said, taking a quick look at his pocket watch, ‘I’ll be back in about an hour.’

  Ralf stopped and stared at the deer engraved on the silver watch.

  ‘Let’s walk,’ he said grabbing Alfie by the arm

  ‘Oi, watch it, bruv!’

  ‘Look!’ Ralf exclaimed dragging him down the quayside, pointing to the stag on the lid. ‘It’s a deer! A hart! This is Charles Hart’s watch! Look at the engraving ‘from W.L.S.C!’ Churchill’s initials. 1916.’

  ‘You know what that means, innit?’

  Ralf slapped the side of his own head in a gesture of frustration. ‘The dolls and the wails at the Sedleys’ on Hallowe’en were a diversion! Of course they were! Leo and I saw the car headlights and we followed the Muntons right into Tarzy Wood, right to the clearing by the Zero Station. They must have been moving Hart into their hideout!’

  ‘And I found the watch on the road the very next day,’ Alfie said.

  ‘He must have lost it in the struggle.’

  ‘Or dropped it deliberate, maybe,’ Alfie suggested. ‘A clue for people looking for him. And I never done nothing! I’ve had it all this time...’ Alfie looked stricken.

  ‘And there was another diversion on Grianstad. The fireworks and the blood at the Christmas party in the Village Hall! You heard them, right?’

  ‘They restocked their hideout and whoever’s paying them went with them to check on Hart. They’re well scared of him, whoever He is,’ said Alfie with some satisfaction.

  Ralf thought back to Grianstad night. The strange humped figure he’d seen right before the Shadows appeared and he’d Shifted away. He’d known it was them! ‘We have to go to Burrowes,’ he said.

  ‘Did you hit your head again?’ Alfie exclaimed. ‘He’s more likely to arrest you than listen to you! He didn’t believe us before and he won’t now! He’s convinced you murdered Kemp, probably with our help, and we got no proof that the Munton’s have Hart or that it’s all connected!’

  ‘But the watch,’ Ralf insisted.

  ‘Means nothing!’ Alfie shot back. ‘You got to wake up, bruv. All the watch does is point to me being guilty of not handing in lost property. Burrowes won’t care that we didn’t make the connection between the watch and Hart and he won’t give a monkeys that I checked it with the Sedleys neither! He’s got me pegged as a thief and that’s all he’ll see!’

  Ralf frowned. Put that way, the case against them seemed very strong indeed. ‘So there’s nothing for it but to try and find proof, or try and solve the problem ourselves.’

  Alfie nodded vigorously. ‘It’s our word against the Muntons’, mate. And let’s face it, as a suspected murderer and a known thief; we ain’t exactly pillars of the community.’

  Ralf had to agree. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘We keep away from Burrowes.’ He looked up at the sun, which was beginning to climb a clear blue sky. ‘We’ve got a lot to do, you know. And not much time.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ said Alfie. ‘But we take it one step at a time, right? We stay away from the feds, find Hart and when we’ve done all that we go off and save the world.’

  Ralf couldn’t help smiling.

  Alfie grinned back. ‘So, I stick with Oyler then, yeah?’

  ‘Like glue,’ Ralf nodded. ‘But don’t do anything stupid. Keep out of the forest. Watch and nothing else. I’ll round up the others and get back as soon as we can.’

  Ralf’s plan was a good one and, like all good plans, went well until something totally unexpected happened.

  He Shifted to pick up Leo from The Fisher King and they left with Cabal almost immediately. They moved quickly and Ralf was just filling Leo in on all that had happened when they spotted Burrowes outside the Village Hall. The two boys and Cabal crouched behind the old oak, wondering what to do for the best. ‘We’ll have to double back and go around,’ said Ralf, breathlessly.

  ‘Shift to the graveyard and then behind the Hall?’ Leo suggested, but suddenly his head snapped round and Cabal gave a warning growl.

  ‘Too late for that,’ said a
voice behind them. Ralf’s stomach lurched. He had no time to even attempt to Shift before Minter’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  ‘Got him, sir!’ the Sergeant called.

  Cabal’s teeth pulled back further from his gums and Leo leapt to put a restraining hand on his neck. Sensing that his dog was about to spring, Ralf jerked out an arm to stop him.

  ‘Hold!’ he ordered. ‘Easy Cabal! Stay!’

  ‘That’s right, lad,’ said Minter, a little shakily. ‘No sense in causing a ruckus.’

  Burrowes strode over.

  ‘Good work, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘Now then, Osborne. I think it’s time you and I had a little heart to heart.’

  Leo stood, hanging on to the thick fur at Cabal’s neck, as the sergeant bundled Ralf across the street. All sense of secrecy left him and he yelled ‘What should I do, WOLF?’ at Ralf’s retreating back.

  ‘Get Valen and make sure Alfie doesn’t do anything stupid!’ Ralf shouted, before being thrust into the Village Hall and roughly escorted to a dark little room at the back of the building.

  Minter made him empty his pockets, patted him down and then slammed him into a chair.

  There was no cat and mouse with Burrowes this time. He glared into Ralf’s face with naked venom.

  ‘Why did you do it, Ralf?’

  Ralf willed himself calm and took a deep breath. ‘I was just down at the docks with Alfie. We heard the Muntons talking aboard The Lot's Lady. They’re the ones who’ve kidnapped Hart!’ Burrowes’ face flushed. He opened his mouth but Ralf rushed on before he could speak. ‘Inspector, you’ve got to listen to me! I don’t know who they’re working for but they’ve got a hideout in Tarzy Wood. That must be where they’re keeping him. There’s another entrance somewhere off the main road. The fireworks just before Christmas were a diversion, so they could get in without being seen. I don’t know, maybe they were taking in supplies… or had to move him for some reason… Gordon Kemp was getting too close to the truth so they set fire to the Bakery!’

  Burrowes shut his mouth. His face was a horrible shade of beetroot now and the electric blue around him pulsed like a bright gas flame. The Inspector thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out Ralf’s marble bag and dropped it with a dull ‘thunk’ on to the table.

  ‘Yours, I believe!’ he spat.

  Ralf reached for it instinctively.

  ‘Yours!’ Burrowes roared triumphantly. ‘Found at Springfield Cottage, home of the missing man!’ Ralf groaned inwardly. He pictured the nest of blankets he’d slept in the night before, the marble bag entangled in its folds. He’d left in such a hurry that morning he’d forgotten to pick it up.

  ‘And I have evidence that you and your little friends broke into a secret bunker!’

  Burrowes snapped then. His face, level with Ralf’s ear, flooded purple. ‘The big question though, Osborne, and this is what has been keeping me awake at night, is what made you steal a gallon of petrol from that Zero Station and set fire to Kemp’s Bakery?’

  ‘I-I didn’t,’ stuttered Ralf. ‘How could you think that? I didn’t –’

  ‘No?’ He yelled. Burrowes’ breath hit him like a hot wave and spattered him with miniscule particles of saliva. ‘Then how do you explain that I found an half empty can of that missing petrol in your shed?’

  Ralf felt as though he’d been knocked on the head again. Stolen petrol in the shed? The broken lock on the door. The footprints round the house! Not only had the Munton’s set fire to Kemp’s they had also deliberately, and quite cleverly, covered their tracks by framing him.

  ‘When I think of all the advantages you’ve had, Osborne,’ Burrowes raged. ‘The St. Crispin’s place. A loving family. The patronage of Major-General Kingston-Hawke. And you try to foist the blame on two poor fishermen! Why Osborne? Why did you do it? Why kill a fine man?’

  Colour rushed to Ralf’s cheeks at that and he sprang to his feet. He was destined never to answer the question, though. Nor tell Burrowes what a horrible mistake he was making, because Minter popped his head round the corner and cleared his throat. The sergeant, Ralf noticed, had no aura at all.

  ‘Telephone call for you, sir,’ Minter intoned. ‘In the Post Office, sir.’

  Burrowes raised a gingery eyebrow. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Major-General Kingston-Hawke, sir. He said to tell you it’s urgent.’

  Burrowes threw his chair back and got to his feet. He looked like he was inflating, he puffed up so rapidly.

  ‘A matter of National Security, I shouldn’t wonder, Minter,’ he declared. ‘Right. I’ll drive myself. You guard this one until I get back.’ Burrowes turned back to glare at Ralf. ‘I will see to it you rot in jail for this boy. It’s just a shame you are too young to hang!’

  Immediately Burrowes left, Minter produced a thin copy of The Mirror from inside his uniform and settled himself on a chair by the door to read. ‘Fighting on the Streets of Calais’, the headline read and the date, 26th May 1940, screamed out at Ralf from the page.

  Tonight if all went well the Natus would fulfil their destinies and secure the future. But if the Natus should fail? Ralf wouldn’t let himself finish that train of thought. The consequences were too awful to contemplate. Instead Ralf’s mind screamed with questions; What was happening outside? Where was Winters? And Walter Sedley and The Arbuckles? How was he going to persuade Burrowes to search that clearing for Hart? The evacuation of Dunkirk would be starting in a few hours. Were the rescuers already on their way? How could he help them locked up like this? How could he fulfil his destiny?

  Tonight, at four minutes past midnight, the Turnarounders would have a vital role to play. A role ordained many, many centuries ago. And here he was, helpless, locked in a tiny room in the company of a small-minded man who thought he was a murderer. Ralf kicked out at the desk and looked wildly around for any means of escape.

  ‘Oi! Sit down and shut it, you!’ growled Minter, a rude reminder that, whilst the policeman was there, all thoughts of escape were futile.

  The room was oppressively small and as the minutes ticked by the shaft of sunlight from the tiny window up on the back wall, moved inexorably across the wall. Ralf studied it hopefully, remembering how they’d listened on the other side of it during the meeting about Hart, but it was far too high to reach.

  He glanced at the things on the table. Pen, paper, Charlie Duke's slingshot, marble bag and rabbit’s foot. Was there anything he could use to get out of this mess? He rolled the galaxy, admiring its twinkling centre and glossy surface and then in his frustration clenched it in his fist until his knuckles turned white. Help, he thought. I need help! For an instant, Ralf could have sworn he felt an answering pulse of warmth, but then it faded. Just as he felt ready to scream or burst, he heard knocks on the outer door and then a voice he recognised.

  ‘Sergeant Minter! It’s me, Valentine Cadwallader! Can I speak to Ralf?’

  Minter threw Ralf a ‘not in a million years’ look and folded his paper. ‘Don’t move,’ he instructed. He left, locking the door behind him.

  The instant Minter left the room Ralf was on his feet, inwardly congratulating Valen for providing a distraction. He was sliding the table over to the wall, putting his chair on top and clambering on to it when there was a sudden crack on the window.

  Wolf!’ Leo’s hoarse whisper echoed up from outside.

  Val’s tearful voice filtered through the inner door and he could hear Minter’s deep, calm tones.

  ‘Now, now, Valentine! You’ll do yourself a mischief getting worked up like that.’

  ‘But I only want to talk to him!’ Val wailed beseechingly.

  Valen was acting a blinder thought Ralf as he opened the window and peered down at Leo who was ready to throw another stone.

  When Ralf didn’t move immediately he threw his hands in the air. ‘Are you going to Shift out of there or what?’ Leo asked

  But Ralf had heard a loud commotion in the hall, which terrified him.

  ‘Ow! What are you d
oing? Let go of me!’ This wasn’t playacting. Valen sounded livid and there was a strange note to her voice. Fear?

  Within seconds another sharp cry cut the air and this time there was real anguish in Val’s voice. Then Val fell silent and other angry voices were arguing fiercely.

  Over the top of them Minter shouted in disturbed surprise. ‘Come now! You can’t do that, sir! Shame on you!’

  Ralf rushed to the locked door but even with his ear pressed close, he could make no sense of what was happening outside.

  ‘Leave that lass be!’ cried Minter and Ralf heard a strangled cry from Val. There were more voices, raised in anger. Abruptly everything fell silent.

  Ralf’s heart beat violently in his chest as he looked from door to window and then back to the door. There was nothing he could do to help Val from in there and there was no time to lose. He thrust the slingshot in one pocket. Then scooped up the rabbit’s foot, leaves and galaxy and shoved them into his marble bag. He squeezed the lumpy, leather package tight in his palm before tucking it into his other pocket.

  Spinning round, he did a quick mental calculation of the height of the window then pulled the table a little further away from the wall, wincing at the loud scraping sound it made on the floor. Hurriedly, he pushed the chair in front of it.

  ‘What are you doing in there, Osborne?’ Minter’s voice came through the door. His footsteps, coming closer across the inside of the Hall, echoed after. Ralf ignored him and backed up against the door. He studied the window, high on the wall opposite.

  ‘I’ve got enough on my plate here without you carrying on as well!’ called Minter, his voice shaky. Ralf heard the click of the key fitting into the lock. His eyes travelled from the yard of blank floor in front of him to the chair, the table and the window, which now seemed much smaller than it had only moments ago.

  Desperately, fearing he’d miscalculate and slice through, leaving a Ralf-shaped hole in the wall like a cartoon roadrunner, he took a deep breath. He stood against the door, feet planted firmly apart and concentrated. His whole body thrilled in anticipation and blood pounded in his ears.