The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue

by Heneghan, Lou

  ‘What the –?’

  Ralf couldn’t understand it. What had happened to the German gunners? Just then he got his answer because Alfie blurred back on to The Sea-Hawke clutching what looked like a collection of scrap metal to his chest.

  ‘Spiked ‘em with marbles and chewing gum when they stopped for Gloria,’ he grinned. ‘Jacked their spares while I was at it!’ He opened his arms and machine gun barrels and ammunition clips clattered to the deck.

  ‘Well done that man!’ said Gloria pulling him into a crushing, one-armed embrace.

  Realising what had happened, Keen roared. Like Rumplestiltskin at the guessing of his name, he stamped his foot so hard it thudded through the wood of the pontoon. Hart seized his chance and made a break for it. He stumbled toward the open water. Keen raised his revolver and fired.

  The bullet missed Hart but lodged into The Sara Luz’s mast, sending splinters of wood flying. Keen fired again.

  It was eleven fifty-one.

  Explosions ripped the air again but all eyes were drawn to the scene unfolding on the pontoon. The stumbling figure lurched and fell but then scrambled upwards and continued running. Shots were directed at Keen but he brushed them away and strode after Hart.

  ‘Take that traitor down!’ screamed Major Swift.

  The fleeing man fell to his knees and on both sides of the battle there was a collective intake of breath. Hart paused there, bent double in the circle of yellow light thrown from the burning Griffin.

  ‘By all the Saints!’ Ron exclaimed. ‘It’s Archie!’

  Ron spun the wheel hard to starboard and the men on board staggered as the boat responded to the turn. The soldiers on deck cried out in dismay.

  ‘Ho ye!’ a dripping Black Watch private yelled. ‘Wha’ yis doin’?’

  ‘That’s Charles Hart!’ Ron yelled. ‘We’ve got to go back for him!’

  ‘Och now, lad,’ countered the private, grabbing Ron’s arm. ‘I like him too, but let us off at tha’ ship first!’

  Ron hesitated for a second then shrugged off the Scotsman and set a course for the floundering actor.

  ‘You can’t go back!’ Valen was livid. ‘Let Major Swift deal with it!’ She gestured wildly at Ron then Tom, who was still lying slumped against a bulkhead. ‘You’re all in one piece and you’ve saved heaven knows how many people. You’ve done enough! We’ve lost Walter, we won’t lose you too!’

  Ron shook his head. ‘That’s Archie Buckle, Val. I’ve known him since I was a boy. I’m not leaving him!’

  ‘Archie Buckle?’ Leo exclaimed. ‘I thought it was Hart!’

  Ron looked at Leo like he was the village idiot. ‘Archie is Hart, you twit! He grew up in the village! Why do you think he comes back so often?’

  ‘Archie Buckle is Charles Hart!’ breathed Leo ‘Charles Hart is Archie!’

  It was said quietly but the words echoed across the short expanse of water and stopped Ralf in his tracks.

  It took only a fraction of a second for Ralf to work it out but, watching Hart reeling towards the water, it felt as if it took minutes for the synapses of his brain to fire up, to follow the trail of clues and make the connection.

  If you reversed ELCUBRATRAH you got HART ARBUCKLE. But he’d jumped to the conclusion this meant the Arbuckle boys because that’s what he wanted to believe. He’d got it wrong – staggeringly wrong! It wasn’t two heroes: one name. It was one hero: two names! Suddenly, he understood. He'd heard King say Hart's real name was Buckle. He'd seen the man's real initials – A.R.B – on his watch. The Arbuckles weren’t ‘The greatest of them. Two in one’. That honour belonged to A.R.Buckle – to Charles Hart! And now here they were with the greatest of the Natus stranded on a pontoon in the middle of the harbour being shot at by a madman. Ralf strained to see Hart’s colour and what he saw terrified him. Hart’s shining, violet aura seemed to be dimming as the strength bled out of him.

  There was a burst of sneering laughter. Keen strutted down the pontoon as though it was a promenade on a sunny afternoon. One arm was raised and he fired his pistol again. Hart, crawling now, was hit in the thigh. He fell forward and rolled in to the water.

  Ralf watched as The Sara Luz swung in a tight arc. Then her engine died.

  ‘Get that engine started!’ Ron yelled and then, to Ralf’s horror and intense pride, he stepped to the side of the boat and dived into the sea. He struck out towards Hart who was starting to sink.

  Ralf knew he had to do something but then all strength was ripped from his body. He could almost smell his own terror as Keen raised his face skyward and screamed an otherworldly battle cry.

  Even from this distance, Ralf could see the cat-like yellow flash of his eyes and he squinted as Keen’s colour pulsed outwards. A deep, dense black surrounded the Captain like a hole in the night. Seabirds swooped down from the murk to drape themselves over the jetty and the water around it boiled with thrashing fish. Keen’s eyes met Ralf’s. He grinned madly and then Ralf heard him say, quite calmly but very clearly: ‘Kill them.’

  Ralf blanched. What? Who? How? He whirled around and his skin flared with electricity.

  ‘Gloria!’ The shriek was from Valen. Amid all the noise and confusion Gloria crouched stock still aboard the grounded Sea-Hawke her attention wholly on the men in the water. She did not see and had not sensed Tank get to his feet and, with a smirk of satisfaction, pull a long, curved knife from his blazer pocket.

  In that millisecond Ralf knew he had lost. He was too far away to help Gloria. Charles Hart was thrashing in the undercurrents of the harbour and Ron was struggling against waves and bullets in a doomed attempt to rescue him. But whilst his logical forebrain was calculating the enormity of the unfolding disaster something far more primitive kicked in to action.

  ‘Ambrose you’re killing me,’ he murmured with a half-smile. Then he started issuing orders.

  ‘Alfie!’ he yelled. ‘Grab the coracle and get after Ron. Get Leo. He knows. Hart is the key. Get Leo and head for Ron and Hart. We can’t lose them all!’ Alfie rushed to obey and Ralf signalled across the water to Valen. ‘You’re on Gloria, Valen! Watch her back!’

  Deliberately, Ralf now put them from his mind so he could think. Tank, the German machine gunners – they were just pawns. Ralf now knew for certain where the real power lay. It was Keen. Keen was doing all this. Think! He must think of something to stop him!

  And then it hit him. Whether it was a distant memory or some element of animal instinct, Ralf knew with absolute certainty that part of Keen’s power lay in the dagger in Tank's hand. It was a conduit, a channel that Keen was using to control the weak-minded boy. He had to get rid of it. But how? Shifting was not a possibility, he realised. Tank would see him before he got close enough. Ralf smiled grimly. This would have to be a stealth mission.

  Slowly, he edged to the port side of The Sea-Hawke and, grabbing a small landing net, climbed overboard to hang, in a passable imitation of Spiderman, from the side of the yacht. It would be a slow journey, dangling perilously above jagged rocks, but if he could just get around behind Tank he could net the cursed blade.

  ‘Gloria!’ Val screamed. ‘Look out!’

  Puzzled, Gloria peered across at The Sara Luz, totally unaware of Tank who was sneaking up behind her, the knife sharp and low in his right hand. In a blur that lasted only a split second, Valen Shifted.

  Her face stark white and her hair wild, Valen crashed into Tank with such force that he ought to have been sent flying. Instead, the large boy merely staggered. He thrust out a hand that knocked Valen to her knees.

  Gadd Munton’s black eyes narrowed. He squinted at Gloria, crouched and vulnerable at the rail, appraised Tank’s bulky form and the viciousness of the knife. Then he began to inch slowly away. On the pontoon, Keen’s gaze flickered to Tank then to the thrashing figure of Charles Hart/Archie Buckle. He smiled a little smile.

  Valen Shifted to her feet and around Tank in a whirlwind of colour. He slashed at her but she shunned the knife and his arm
flew wide.

  ‘Drop it, Tank!’ Valen screamed.

  Tank’s eyes glinted gold in the reddish light. ‘Make me!’ he barked back.

  ‘Put it down, Tank,’ said a quiet voice from the mole. King, blood pouring from his head wound was staggering towards The Sea-Hawke. He had seen Valen appear suddenly on the deck of his boat and then the knife in Tank’s hands. He raised a quizzical eye at Gloria, who shot him a ‘Do something!’ glance in return.

  ‘No need to worry Tank, old bean,’ said King, thinking quickly. ‘Major Swift has sent for reinforcements. We just have to hold the fort here for a while. Now, do be a brick and help me up.’

  Tank stared back at him, eyes glittering with malice.

  King changed tactics. Signalling Valen still with a quick hand gesture he smiled.

  ‘I say, Tank. Is that the knife from the Barrow? We’re going to be in dreadful trouble with Winters, you know!’

  A line of spittle leaked from the large boy’s open mouth and he grinned. The look was a hideous parody of a joke shared between friends but this time King was most definitely not laughing. He realised in that short second that Tank’s tiny brain had had all it could stand. The delicate thread that had anchored him to sanity had finally snapped. All remaining colour drained from King’s face.

  ‘Gloria!’ he bellowed, forgetting that he’d promised himself never to call his sister by anything other than her real name. ‘Get Below. Now! Run!’

  But Gloria did not run and Valen had waited long enough. In a blur she grabbed Tank’s arm, locking her own around it and held on. Tank pulled against her but couldn’t shake her off. He turned to confront Valen, his breath hot and stinking in her face.

  ‘I’m going to kill you, you filthy little trollop!’

  Valen sighed. ‘You’re a bully, Tatchell,’ she said quietly. ‘But what’s worse is you’re stupid. You’re as bad as the Nazis.’ She shook her head pityingly as she drew her arm back and then smashed the heel of her hand into his nose. Tank crumpled to his knees and Valen dismissed him. ‘Dummkopf!’ She turned to help Gloria.

  But she had misjudged. This was no ordinary fight and Tank was impervious to pain. As blood poured from his lopsided nose, colour flooded up his thick neck and his face flushed crimson. He twisted upwards and swung the knife in a wide arc. Shocked, Valen Shifted out of his path at the last second.

  ‘Tank!’ King shouted, pulling himself over the rail and on to the boat. ‘Tank! STOP!’

  Tank rounded on King. ‘I don’t take orders from you anymore!’ he screamed. He flung his arm in Keen’s direction. ‘He’s in command now, Juuuulian! It’s me he trusts! It was me who helped him cut the lines that night! Me who set off the fireworks while the Muntons moved Hart. Me who terrified the whole village with those dolls on Hallowe’en. HE warned you that The Door was open! He warned you in blood! But you didn’t listen. I know what’s coming! I’ve got the power now and I’ve been given HIS knife to prove it!’

  He held up the blade for them all to see. Its edge winked red in the light of the burning Griffin.

  ‘Put that thing down!’ shrieked Gloria ‘It’s an evil weapon! Evil!’

  ‘You’re afraid!’ Tank cackled. ‘You’re so afraid I can smell it!’

  ‘Listen to Gloria, Tank.’ Valen flexed her knuckles impulsively.

  Tank shook his head and slashed the knife through the air, inches from Valen’s face. ‘There’ll be so much blood the sea will turn red!’ he bellowed. ‘Yours will be the first to spill!’

  Tank roared and charged, knocking King hard and head first into the wheelhouse. Valen Shifted a foot to the left and Tank whirled like a maddened bull, hacking at her with the knife.

  As he did so, Gadd Munton froze. He’d reached the stern of the boat and was halfway over the side when his eyes glazed over. Slowly, he inched back the way he’d come. His hand slid into his pocket and came out again holding his switchblade. Gadd gazed at it for a second as if the knife, and the hand that held it, belonged to someone else.

  Tank and Valen continued to circle each other, fighting hand to hand. Valen met each of Tank’s slashes and thrusts with blocks and jabs of her own. Gloria watched them wide-eyed. She held Alfie’s torch like a club, hoping for an opportunity to use it on Tank’s head, but the opportunity did not present itself. Munton, silent as a cat, crept up behind her.

  Ralf wanted to scream a warning but he was too close to Tank’s lumbering frame now. Instead he offered up a silent prayer, ‘Somebody help Gloria, please!’ and, clinging by his fingertips and toes, his arms screaming in pain he tried to pull himself faster around the outside of boat’s hull. Just ten more feet and he could hurl the net. Nine… Eight… Ralf’s right hand slipped but he caught himself. Blood seeped as his fingernails bent back but he held his scream behind clenched teeth.

  Something flashed, impossibly fast, towards The Sea-Hawke. Seth. The slight figure Shifting with such speed that he had trouble stopping.

  ‘Gloria!’ Seth shouted, with as much authority as he could muster. ‘Get behind me!’ His knees were shaking but he made an effort to keep his voice steady.

  Gloria swung around and brought Alfie’s torch high but weakened by cold, shock and loss of blood, she swayed dangerously and had to grab for the rail.

  Munton lurched forward. Seth Shunned him. The wiry smuggler staggered backwards. Seth’s mouth set in a determined line and he Shunned again. This time, though, Gadd was ready for him. He ducked the Shun and threw the knife in a spinning arc. Seth Shifted and the blade twanged into the deck. Munton roared and threw himself forward. Man and boy crashed to the floor.

  Gadd’s punches pummelled down. Seth, pinned under the larger man, was able only to rock from side to side and Munton’s weathered fists slammed into the deck. Gadd was tiring fast and his knuckles were torn and bloody but Seth was weakening too. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, his glasses were askew but, Ralf knew, he must be able to see Gadd all too clearly; his toothless grin, lank unwashed hair, the streaked dirt in the creases of his forehead, that awful spark of gold in his stare. Suddenly, Munton’s hard fingers were at Seth’s throat. They latched on, gnarled nails biting into flesh. They squeezed. Underneath his wonky glasses, Seth’s eyes bulged.

  A clear voice cut the night.

  ‘I’ll thank you to take your hands off him, Gadd!’ said King, swaying in the frame of the wheelhouse door. He held a boat hook in his hands and slammed the end of it on to the deck with a loud crack. ‘I’ll have you know, Munton, Goldberg is a Crispin’s boy.’ King raised the boat hook once more and brought it down in a chopping motion on the back of Gadd’s head. ‘And Crispin’s boys stick together!’

  Munton collapsed, a dead weight on Seth’s chest. Ralf heard the air escape from Seth’s lungs with a sigh. King swayed forward and, using his right boot and the boathook as a makeshift lever, managed to roll the supine smuggler off Seth.

  ‘Val!’ King called. ‘Catch!’

  Valen caught the boathook one handed, performed a series of whirling kendo style movements and laughed out loud. She didn’t bother to Shift this time, but rushed Tank head on. Jab. Swipe. Jab. Crack. The first blow bent Tank double. The second took his legs from under him. The third toppled him on one side.

  But he crawled back to his feet. No normal being could have withstood such a beating and Ralf knew it was the knife that was giving him the strength to continue. Muscles burning, Ralf hauled himself on. Finally, he was directly behind Tank and in a single movement he pulled himself on to the deck and threw the net. Tank’s hand snared in the mesh and Ralf dragged the evil blade out of the boy’s grip with a sharp tug. It clattered to the deck. Ralf leapt forward and, ignoring the flash of cold pain that shivered up his leg as his foot made contact, kicked the knife overboard.

  At once, Tank’s knees buckled and Val’s final blow, the coup de grace, knocked him out cold. Ralf half expected to see little blue birds circle round the large boy’s head.

  ‘Well that’s shown him!�
�� said Valen.

  Gloria whooped. The men on The Sara-Luz cheered. But King looked ashen. He raised an arm and pointed.

  The first of the swimming soldiers were pulling themselves from the water and on to the mole. They looked wrong, though. There were no coughs or splutters. Like sleepwalkers taking one mindless step after another they advanced on the grounded Sea-Hawke oblivious to the battle raging around them.

  ‘Look at their eyes!’ King breathed. The men plodded onwards, zombie like, their eyes a glassy gold, shining and empty of emotion.

  Very soon the first of them were attempting to climb aboard. Their blue-white knuckles gripped the deck and they flopped over each other like landed fish in their efforts to reach those on board.

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ Gloria cried. ‘Wake up! We’re on your side!’

  In the distance, Keen cackled.

  Seth threw his hands outwards. His Shun hit and the first wave of men fell. The soldiers behind kept walking, a flood of mindless flesh, which rushed over bodies as if they were nothing more than lumps in the sand. Valen leaped forward with the boat hook and jabbed at the first of the walkers. The man fell but the others kept coming, their faces expressionless masks.

  Keen laughed again. Ralf tasted bile and cold sweat dripped down his spine. He wheeled round. The Captain was still on the pontoon but now his strange gold-shot stare was fixed on Charles Hart who was struggling violently in the water. The more he did so, the further from safety he got. Ron, valiantly ploughing through the waves, was still too far away to help him. Bullets and spray lashed around them. Ralf looked up. Leo and Archie in the coracle were close but not close enough. They seemed to be paddling through treacle, their expressions a mixture of determination and exasperation.

  Ralf’s mind whirled. They were lost! Hart was going to die! Ron too probably… His eyes shot back to Keen, who stood, arms wide, like he was conducting some kind of weird, invisible orchestra. Shadows smoked around him, mingling with the fog. Seabirds perched unnaturally all over the surface of the pontoon. Mutant, deformed fish flopped out of the sea to flip-flap about at his feet.