by Danny Weston
He broke off as he heard an unexpected sound, something he hadn’t heard since he’d arrived in the Brocéliande – the sound of an automobile engine. He turned and walked over to the window. A motorcar was pulling up outside. It wasn’t the black Daimler and for a moment, he relaxed a little. But then he saw the two stern-faced men climbing out of the vehicle and panic jittered through him, making his heart thud in his chest.
‘Oh no,’ he whispered.
‘Who is it?’ asked Mr Sparks fearfully.
Owen backed away from the window. ‘It’s them,’ he said.
‘Them? You mean …?’
Owen nodded. The men were heading towards the door now. There was no time to think. Owen span around, ran to the chair and swept Mr Sparks up in his arms. Then he went behind the counter, opened the door to the workroom and stepped inside. He turned back for a moment and examined the door. There was an ancient metal bolt on it, so he took a moment to slide it across. As he did so, he heard the shrill clamour of the bell at the front door. He turned away, went through to the kitchen and opened the back door.
He stood for a moment on the step, looking uncertainly around. He was aware of Mr Sparks shaking in his arms. For a moment, Owen was frozen in his tracks. He didn’t know what to do. Then Mr Sparks looked up at him imploringly.
‘Don’t let them get me, Owie,’ he whispered. ‘Please!’
Owen didn’t answer. The forest track lay ahead of him, the long ribbon of dirt unspooling as it led between the trees, deeper and deeper into the forest. There was nowhere else to go. Owen put his head down and ran.
Wilkins went to ring the bell a second time, but Quinn gave a snort of irritation and pushed him roughly aside. He reached out and turned the handle of the door, which opened easily. They found themselves in an empty shop, the shelves stacked with brightly painted wooden toys. Quinn looked quickly around, his keen eyes taking in every detail. His gaze came to rest on a beautifully carved marionette, hanging in the window.
‘This has to be the place,’ he muttered. He spotted the door behind the counter and walked quickly around to it. He tried the handle, but it was clearly bolted from the other side. Without hesitation, he lifted one foot and kicked, hard, just beside the handle. There was a harsh splintering sound and the door flew back, the bolt shattered. They walked through into a workshop but that too was empty. An open door at the back of the room gave onto a small kitchen and there was a clear view of another open doorway and the track leading into the forest. At the far end of it was the figure of a boy, running for all he was worth.
Quinn cursed beneath his breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pistol. He began to raise it to aim it at the fleeing figure.
‘Wait,’ said Wilkins. ‘You’re not going to—’
Quinn grunted. He lowered the pistol. ‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘He’s well out of range. Come on.’ And with that, he ran through the kitchen and out of the back door, his long legs covering the distance with ease. Wilkins stared after him for a moment. ‘You … you aren’t going to do anything daft are you?’ he shouted after Quinn, but he got no reply. So with a groan, he followed his employer, his heavy frame lumbering in pursuit.
25
The Chase
Owen ran full pelt along the winding track. He had only been this way once before and then, only as far as the Merlin Tree. He had no idea what lay beyond it – more forest, he imagined, and hopefully places where he might hide. Mr Sparks had his arms up around Owen’s neck and was gazing fearfully back over the boy’s right shoulder.
‘They’re following us!’ he gasped.
Owen didn’t dare to look back, in case he tripped on a tree root, so he just kept going, while he tried to think of some kind of plan. Da and Gerard would be in Paimpont by now, he decided. He had no way of letting them know what was happening here and who knew when they would be back? He didn’t know anyone else in this area or even where there were other homes where he might take refuge. It occurred to him that the two men weren’t interested in him, that he could just leave Mr Sparks on the track and carry on running and that would be the end of it. But the idea filled him with a sense of shame and though he knew that the dummy had done bad things, still it didn’t seem right to just abandon him to his fate.
‘They’re gaining on us, Owie!’ Mr Sparks’ voice was hoarse with terror. ‘You’ve got to run faster.’
‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ gasped Owen. ‘I can’t—’
He broke off in surprise as a section of tree trunk just ahead of him burst open in an explosion of splintered bark, flinging fragments of wood in all directions. ‘What was that?’ he cried.
‘He’s firing at us!’ squealed Mr Sparks. ‘He’s a madman. He’s got a gun!’
‘Oh my …’ Owen tried not to panic. It had never occurred to him that these men might be prepared to kill him.
‘Get off the track,’ said Mr Sparks. ‘We’re sitting ducks here.’
Even amidst his panic, Owen registered the command and when he glimpsed a narrow trail veering off to his right, he took it, plunging headlong through the undergrowth, trying to ignore the twigs and dry leaves that scraped at his face and his clothing, as though attempting to hold him back. His heart thudded in his chest and a thick sweat trickled down his spine. But he didn’t hesitate. He lifted one arm to shield his eyes as he blundered through a screen of thick foliage and then emerged suddenly into open air. Ahead of him, he saw a stretch of flat, open ground and beyond that, the still-mirrored surface of the lake he had seen last time he was here. It occurred to him that Mr Sparks probably wouldn’t be so keen to be here, but the dummy was still gazing back the way they had come, so Owen kept going, telling himself that he’d run around the long curving edge of the lake to its far side, where thicker undergrowth seemed to offer more places to hide.
‘Are they still coming after us?’ he gasped.
‘I don’t … I can’t … ah, yes, I can see them now! I think the trees have slowed them up a bit.’
‘Good.’ The muscles in Owen’s legs felt like they were on fire, but he didn’t dare slow down. He aimed for the easternmost edge of the lake and told himself if he could just get around it, then perhaps he had a chance.
Quinn burst through the undergrowth and came to a halt, gasping for breath. He studied the lake for a moment, thinking that he’d lost his quarry, but then he saw the boy, a distant figure, toiling around the far side of it. He lifted the gun and took aim, but instantly dismissed the idea. He was a decent shot but even an expert marksman wouldn’t have a chance at this distance.
Just then, Wilkins came blundering out into the open, gasping and wheezing like a walrus. He nearly ran into Quinn, but managed to pull himself to a halt just in time. He leaned forward, hands on hips, as he tried to fill his lungs with air. He was looking at the gun in Quinn’s hand.
‘We … won’t need that … surely?’ he protested. ‘He’s only a … kid.’
‘Thanks for the advice,’ said Quinn. ‘But he’s fast, so if I have to use it, I will. He’s not getting away from me this time.’ He pointed off to his left. ‘You go … around that way,’ he suggested. ‘We’ll cut him off.’
‘That way?’ Wilkins stared off at the still-distant lake for a moment in sheer disbelief. ‘But … that’s miles.’
‘Move your fat carcass!’ snapped Quinn. ‘If the boy eludes us again, I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
‘But—’
‘Move!’
Wilkins straightened up and began to plod away.
‘Faster!’ bellowed Quinn and he waved the pistol, as though suggesting that he might actually shoot Wilkins if he didn’t pick up the pace. Wilkins took the hint and broke into an ungainly trot. Quinn turned back to look for his quarry. Now the boy was close to the edge of the lake and beginning to circle around it.
Quinn leaned over and spat onto the grass. Then he too began to run.
They were moving alongside the lake now, and for
the first time Mr Sparks noticed where they were headed.
‘Not here!’ he hissed anxiously. ‘Owie, I can’t go here.’
‘There’s no other choice,’ Owen told him, grimly. ‘We have to.’
‘But this … this is where—’
‘I know. But … don’t worry, we’re only going … around it. There are more trees on the far side and … maybe we’ll find somewhere to hide.’
Mr Sparks didn’t reply to that but Owen noticed he was still trembling.
‘Where … where are they now?’ he gasped.
‘I can only see one of them,’ whispered Mr Sparks. ‘The thin one.’
‘Maybe the other one … dropped out?’
‘Maybe. He was no stranger to a chip supper.’
The track around the lake began to curve to the left and Owen went with it, telling himself that there were many tall trees up ahead and that when he reached the cover of them, where the thin man couldn’t see him, he’d angle sharp right and head into deeper undergrowth. He passed a pile of boulders, piled higgledy-piggledy one on top of another, leading steeply upwards. He realised that this was the diving place, the spot where young Charles had climbed up to his doom all those years ago. He wasn’t sure if Mr Sparks had recognised it but he wasn’t going to say anything. He rounded the bend, telling himself that soon he’d be able to make his break for deeper forest. But that was when he saw the figure straight ahead of him, the heavyset man with the bowler hat, who was lumbering around the western end of the lake and coming straight back towards him. Owen came to a halt, staring straight ahead, mouth open. The man had seen him now and was quickening his pace.
‘Why have you stopped?’ cried Mr Sparks. ‘They’ll catch us!’
Owen turned on his heel, began to retrace his steps, telling himself that if he broke for the deeper woods now, the second man would see him and would head him off before he ever got to them. He ran back past the pile of rocks, aware now that Mr Sparks was making a low whimpering sound. Owen ignored him, started towards the curve of the lake again. To his horror, he saw that the thin man was heading straight towards him. He was trapped. For a moment, he froze, not knowing what to do, but somehow he willed his feet to move and they obeyed him. He wheeled around, looking desperately left and right. There was only one possible escape. He ran back to the rocks and began to climb, telling himself that if he could get high enough, his pursuers might assume he’d headed into the trees and go that way.
‘What are you doing?’ shrieked Mr Sparks. ‘No, Owen, not here, not here!’
‘Quiet, they’ll hear you,’ snapped Owen. ‘We’re just going to—’
‘No, no, no, no, no!’ Mr Sparks was screaming, his voice echoing around the rocks. Owen pulled him away from his shoulder and clamped a hand tight across his mouth, continuing upwards as he did so, his feet straining to find purchase on the slippery grey rock. After a few moments, he had to release Mr Sparks and let him hang around his neck so he could use his arms, but thankfully, he’d gone quiet.
The rock face here was very steep. Owen spotted a shallow opening a short distance to his left and edging sideways, crammed himself into it, hoping against hope that he would not be visible from below. He stiffened as he heard voices.
‘Where the hell is he?’ snarled the thin man.
‘He didn’t pass me,’ insisted the other one. ‘I swear. He saw me and turned back. Then he went around the bend out of sight.’
‘He didn’t get past me either. Which means …’ A long pause. Then a sly, mocking call. ‘Hello, up there! My goodness, you are resourceful, aren’t you? But that looks like a dead end, I’m afraid. My advice would be to come down from there and hand the dummy to us. That way, you won’t get hurt.’
Owen pressed himself back hard against the rock. Mr Sparks’ face was only inches from his and the dummy’s eyes were closed, his lips moving as though he was muttering some kind of prayer.
‘Hello? We know you’re up there. Be a sensible boy and give the dummy to me. If you do that, I’ll let you walk away unharmed. But if you make me come up there and get you, I won’t be so forgiving.’
‘Look, he’s only a kid.’ The other man’s voice sounded worried. ‘Let me talk to him, see if I can get him to come down.’
‘Stay out of this, Wilkins.’ A pause. ‘Well, boy? What’s it to be?’
Silence. Owen was aware of a breeze, blowing on his face. It ruffled Mr Sparks’ red hair. The dummy opened his eyes and looked straight at Owen.
‘Don’t give me up,’ he whispered. ‘Please, Owie. He wants to hurt me.’
Owen nodded. He moved sideways, back out of the crevice and started to climb again.
‘Right,’ he heard the thin man say. ‘You asked for it. Coming – ready or not!’
‘You don’t expect me to climb up there, do you?’ The second man sounded nervous.
‘Earn your money, Wilkins.’
‘But—’
There was a brief silence and Owen could picture the scene, the thin man pointing the gun at his companion.
‘All right, all right. I’m coming.’
Silence fell, the tense silence of fierce concentration as they all fell to the task of scaling the rock. Owen didn’t have the first idea what he’d do when he got to the top. Hopefully there’d be some way of climbing down the far side. He knew only too well what might happen if he tried to dive off.
‘Owen, this is ridiculous!’ The thin man’s voice echoed off the rocks. ‘You might as well just accept it. It’s over. We’ve come a long way to find you, you needn’t think we’re going to let a little thing like this deter us.’
Owen gritted his teeth, reached up to find another handhold.
‘You think he’s charming, do you? You think he’s some kind of adorable jackanapes? Let me assure you, he’s not. I don’t suppose you know that he’s had several owners before you. Well, he has. And I’d like to be able to tell you that all of them have died of natural causes. But … at least three of them, Owen … at least three, have suffered deaths that were highly suspicious. I’m including Otto Schilling in that. I believe you met Otto just before he died. Do you think he deserved what happened to him?’
Owen paused to look at Mr Sparks. The dummy was staring back at him, shaking his head from side to side.
‘Shall I tell you what he is, Owen? He’s pure evil. Unnaturally conceived, born out of madness and desperation. And a user, Owen, make no mistake about that. Like some kind of vampire, leeching the life out of innocent people. I swore when I first heard about him that I would eradicate him. I swore a solemn oath to do so. And you … you just think you’re being noble. Protecting him. When really, the only person here who needs protecting … is you.’
Owen paused again. He looked at Mr Sparks, but the dummy was still shaking his head.
‘Don’t listen to him,’ whispered Mr Sparks. ‘He’s mad.’
‘You see, Owen, one day when you’re old, like Otto was, that creature will realise that you’ve outlived your usefulness. That’s when he’ll decide to move on. It’s happened many times. Ask yourself. Is that what you want? Is it?’
Owen continued upwards and quite suddenly, he was at the top, a great level slab of stone that overhung the lake. He clambered up the last few steps, got himself upright, then walked to the edge and looked over. Beside him, Mr Sparks gave a long, low moan. ‘Don’t jump,’ he whispered.
‘Don’t worry, I’m just looking for a place to climb down,’ hissed Owen.
But there was nowhere. He moved from left to right, peering over the edge, trying to spot a possible descent, but it all looked too steep, too precarious, impossible. And then he sensed movement behind him and he turned to see that the thin man was pulling himself over the edge. He straightened up and slid a hand into his pocket to pull out the gun. He strolled forward, smiling triumphantly, the pistol pointing at Owen’s chest.
‘Nowhere else to go,’ he observed. He moved closer. ‘What a shame. You’re a plucky boy, there
’s no doubt of that. But I’m more than a match for you.’ He made a gesture with his free hand. ‘Now … hand the dummy over.’
Owen shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You can’t have him.’
The thin man laughed. ‘You don’t understand, boy. I’m not asking you. I’m merely telling you what’s going to happen. Give him to me.’
Again, Owen shook his head. ‘Why do you want him so badly?’ he asked. ‘What’s he ever done to you?’
‘To me? Nothing. This isn’t a personal thing, Owen. You see, I belong to a society; a society that has pledged itself to preserving the natural order. That … thing you’re holding. That’s not natural. That’s a twisted impersonation of humanity. Not so very long ago, people would have burned it alive in the town square. Now, they look and they think it’s amusing … charming. They don’t understand. They never will. I’m doing what I can do to cure a sickness in society. As long as that freak lives, there can be no rest for me. He must be destroyed.’
‘You … you can’t do that!’ protested Owen.
‘Oh, but I can. It’s going to happen. You may as well accept that.’ The thin man lifted the gun and pointed it at Owen’s face. ‘Now, for the last time, are you going to—’
He broke off at the sound of a grunt behind him. The other man was just hauling himself onto the platform. His face was grimy with sweat and his clothes torn in several places. He pulled himself over the edge and went down in an ungainly sprawl. He lay there for a moment, and then seeing what was going on, managed to get himself upright. He moved closer, wiping at his sweaty face with the sleeve of his jacket.
‘Oh, now, Mr Quinn,’ he said, pointing to the gun. ‘There’s no need for that, surely. Like I said, he’s just a boy.’
‘Wilkins, when I want your opinion, I’ll tell you what it is,’ growled Quinn. ‘And the boy is frankly being very stubborn.’
‘But he’s got nowhere else to go.’ Wilkins smiled at Owen. ‘You can see that, can’t you?’ he said. ‘The jig’s up, son. Time to throw in the towel.’