Sarah saw the throng of people gathered around the stranger who stood in the gap between the bar and the back of the pub. The unusual amount of chatter cut through the clinking glasses and tin cups and the thick clouds of pipe smoke seemed even denser that day. The barman, Sidney, was filling clay mug after clay mug with the thick bitter brew the pub was famed for and each one was passed along to the Council now gathered around the figure by the bar.
“...it's as I said,” cried one man. “It's an evil we can do very little about.”
“That's right,” said another. “An evil.”
“What would you have us do?” said a third who Sarah suspected was Sandy, the unofficial Mayor of Pine Lodge. He had the kind of voice that could cut through most crowds. “Attack the caravan?”
“That would be suicide!”
“They'd slaughter us!”
“Just hold on!” It was the stranger this time and Sarah saw that, as the crowd parted a little, he was a giant of a man and he was holding up one of his spade-like hands to silence them. They obeyed and she saw for the first time the enormous hound sat beside him, looking directly at her with the most unnerving pair of deep red eyes. “I'm not saying they should be attacked openly, not at all,” he continued. “But I've ridden from the South where these people were taken and they aren't criminals - they're debtors.”
“None sense!” cried someone.
“Ridiculous - you're talking about slavery!”
“Yes,” he replied. “I am. They're being taken as slaves because they can't afford to pay for their place in the settlement.”
“Which one?”
“I rode here from the Cloisters,” said the stranger. “They're being ruled over by three brothers who demand a high price to stay in their walls. The people on their way here are those who-”
“My sisters took refuge there!” cried a woman from the back of the crowd. “Oh no! They could be-”
The voices began drowning each other out, overlapping and suffocating the words until Sarah realised she was still stood near the door, watching. Breaking away she made her way over to the empty side of the bar and caught Sidney's attention.
“What's all this about?” she asked.
“This man came in here about half an hour ago, trying to find out where the labour market is and when they're selling. Then he said that they're not work gangs but innocent folk, taken against their will.”
“Is that true?” she asked. Sidney shrugged.
“I don't know. We don't know who he is or why we should believe him but I reckon he intends to show us, one way or another. I'd better warn Hooper when he comes in.” He picked up an empty clay mug and filled it with ale, setting it on the rough-hewn oak bar in front of her.
“I can't-” she began but he silenced her with a brown envelope sealed with wax. She added it to the mail bag and took a mouthful of the malty brew. Then, turning, she faced the crowd which was beginning to disperse as the man and his hound looked like they were about to leave.
“He's big enough,” muttered Sidney with a grin.
“Aye,” she replied. “I can see why he'd want to ride a Shire.”
“You saw it then?” she nodded. “Big as he is.”
“Aye.”
The crowd dispersed and settled back into their chairs or left through the door behind her. The stranger emptied whatever was left in his mug and set it back on the bar, running a hand through his thick black hair before letting out a sigh. The creature at his feet, the wolf or whatever it was, looked up at him, its tongue lolling out to one side.
“It's not ladylike to drink ale,” he said to it before fastening his dusty, worn leather jacket up to his beard. He wore heavy riding boots over the tops of his trousers which were flecked with mud from long days in the saddle and over one shoulder he slung a Russian NSU rifle. Then, heaving his luggage over the other arm, he made for the door.
“Excuse me,” said Sarah. “Can I have a word?”
The stranger stopped and the beast at his heels turned to look at her.
“Yes?” he asked, fixing her with a pair of warm, blue eyes.
“Your horse. The Shire.”
“What about it?” he said.
“Do you know its family history?”
The man laughed and set his bags down again.
“I'm afraid not,” he replied with a smile. “I bought the arrogant monster because he was about the size I wanted. I've regretted it ever since. Why do you ask?”
“We breed horses and I could do with studding him.”
The man's smile faltered and Sarah swore she could see a tinge of pink rise up into his face.
“I'm afraid you've got me at a disadvantage,” he said. “I don't know a thing about horse breeding. Are you looking to buy the animal? I ask because he's quite useful to me right about now and I have no other.”
“Our mares won't be ready until Spring. If you're coming back this way in the new year then perhaps-”
“I won't be,” he replied, taking up his luggage again. “Once I'm finished with this bloody slave trade you've got going on here, I'll be carrying on into the North.”
She felt her own face flush hot with anger.
“You'll find no slave trade in Pine Lodge, I'll promise you that, Mr...?”
“Good day to you, ma'am,” he said and made for the door.
Sarah snatched her mail bag from the bar and sped after him, determined not to let the rude stranger escape her. He was about to round the corner towards the stables when she strode up to him, only to be brought up short by the beast who spun around and raised the bristles on its back.
“Moll, cut it out,” said the man, turning back. “She's harmless.”
“I'll have you know-” she spat, but the man simply laughed.
“I meant that the dog is harmless, not you ma'am.”
“Oh.”
“Moll, come here,” he commanded and the beast padded over to him, moving around behind his legs. “I see you're not going to take 'no' for answer.”
“When it concerns accusations against this settlement, then I'll never take 'no' for an answer. We don't trade in slaves, that's the truth. Why do you think we do?”
“You'll find out tomorrow at Hooper's 'labour market', won't you?”
“What are you planning?” He continued walking towards the stable. “Please tell me you won't cause any trouble.”
“I intend to, but not for you.”
“Then-”
“Good day, ma'am. Have a safe journey.”
And with that he went inside. Sarah let him go but not without casting one more glance at Moll who looked like she was grinning back at her with a mouthful of sharp, white teeth.
Back inside, Sandy was waiting for her. He'd been behind the bar, collecting both his thoughts and the packet for Abbingdon and he handed over one without betraying the other.
“Same as usual?” she asked, forcing it into the last bit of room in her bag.
“Aye, lass. Make sure he doesn't just throw them on the pile with all the others; we need an answer about the next grain shipment. I don't want Calderbank's men getting wind of it this time.”
“Will do.”
She finished what was left in her mug and turned to leave, silently cursing the stranger for distracting Sandy enough to rob her of a sandwich. As she opened the door, dreading the chill outside, she saw him mount the enormous Shire and lead it towards the road, heading east. Then, kicking his heels, he broke into a gallop with Moll running at his side.
“It isn't often you see a man like that in Pine Lodge,” he said behind her. She turned and smiled when he slipped a parcel into her hands. “Thanks, Sarah - we appreciate what you do.”
“It's a pleasure, Sandy,” she replied. “And no, I guess we don't, do we?”
CHAPTER TWO
Sarah rode on into the late afternoon, crossing the high hills through the often-walked path that had retained most of the frosty coating it'd gained the previous night. It dusted
the rocky outcrops like salt and showed a real determination to see the day out. It was beautiful country; she couldn't deny that, but the cold nip at her cheeks and the breeze that made her eyes water seemed to argue otherwise. Still, she reasoned, it couldn't be helped. The mail had to be delivered and that was that.
Ziggy enjoyed the miles, never seeming to lose patience or be easily distracted. It was one of the reasons she loved the horse; they'd become firm friends from the day her Papa had first seen him wasting away at a farm not far from the settlement and felt compelled to buy him and bring him home. After careful weeks of nursing, the Bay was soon speeding Sarah across the dales like he was finally alive for the first time. After that, though many came and went on the farm, Ziggy and Sarah were the best of friends.
At a break in the tree line up ahead, she noticed that a herd of sheep had been startled and were darting away to the east as fast as their little matchstick legs could carry them. She drew Ziggy to a halt with a firm pull on the reins and looked at the woods about a quarter of a mile away. There didn't seem to be anything moving but something had caused the group of Farmer Walker's livestock to bolt for home. Sarah had learned long ago to trust the environment around her to offer clear warning signs of danger. A wild cat perhaps. A report of gunfire. An ambush.
In a pouch on her belt she took out a monocular and gazed through its lens at the woods. She passed it back and forth slowly but failed to see anything other than trees and shrubs, swaying in the breeze. She unfastened the flap on the rifle and withdrew it, sliding back the bolt and chambering a round. Then, laying it across her lap, she urged the horse forward, ambling along the road towards the break in the pines. Inside her stomach tightened and she felt a cold wave of fear run down her spine. Part of her had expected an ambush to come on the way home, not on the way there. The information coming from Abbingdon had to be far more valuable than what was going there.
The sudden eerie silence of the countryside was broken only by the fall of hooves and the occasional snort from Ziggy who seemed to feel the same trepidation as his rider did. The break in the tree line was getting closer and Sarah found herself gripping the reins even tighter, trying to make a primeval choice between fight or flight.
Something snapped to her left and she yanked back, dragging the horse up so quickly that his hooves slid momentarily in the dirt. She paused. Nothing. Something.
Quickly she slid the rifle back into the holster and, gathering the reins in her hand, whipped the horse's flank and spurred the beast forward at full gallop with a cry that echoed in her ears. There was movement to the left as Ziggy tore ahead. There were three, maybe four of them and they came scurrying out of concealment, pulling on something stretched across the road in front of her. Seeing the rope with barely any time to respond, she ducked down in the saddle, feeling it cut through the air above her head with a snap.
“Get her!” came the cry as she raced through the break and back into the open fields once more. Her heart was pounding in her ears but fear was transforming itself into action. She spurred the creature on as fast as she could, thundering along the path as it turned sharply to the right to run along a fast flowing stream. Without hesitation she broke away, looking for the narrow banks she knew so well and, bracing herself, made the leap to the far side, feeling her stomach pitch and roll as the horse took to the air. She landed hard, kicking up great clods of dirt. She was still a few miles from Abbingdon and although she could keep this pace going the rest of the way, she was no coward. She'd counted four of them, no doubt Calderbank's people, but there could have been five, maybe even six. They knew where she was heading and they'd have mounts of their own.
Leaning low and forward in the saddle, she veered off to the west, crossing the waist-high grasses where the untended fields had given way to tangles of fibrous weeds. They trampled a clear, visible path through the vegetation, thundering up one slope and down another, leaping a section of rotting fence and breaking north when she recognised the great stone pillars of some forgotten age. Then she knew that the ruined town was just ahead, along the old road with its crumbling tarmac and faded yellow markings, into another world.
The last time she'd ventured this far north she'd been with her father and they'd been searching the area with the rest of the settlement after one of the children had gone missing. Some wondered if little Alison had always planned to end up there after hearing all the old stories of adventure and secret, but as it turned out that wasn't where they'd found her little body after all. Still, as the decayed monuments to pre-disaster mankind came into view, Sarah couldn't help but remember the poor girl and a little of how she must have felt.
Ziggy rolled like a storm down the black ribbon, panting with the effort but Sarah wouldn't allow a moments rest, not until she was inside the town's rubble. There were places to hide there, places to lay her own ambush and she knew she couldn't halt now. She dared a glance behind her and there, in the distance, were six riders bearing down on her.
“Come on, lad!” she called to the struggling animal. “We can do this!”
With a violent snort the horse pushed forward even harder, bringing her to the junction at the edge of the town before easing off with the first flecks of foamy sweat gathering on his coat.
Patting his neck, she directed him to the left, down an alley within the pale, fragile looking stonework that threatened to fall down around their ears with every gust of wind. The cold here was far worse now that the sun was setting and the high buildings blocked off any incoming light, giving the place the same atmosphere as a tomb.
Sarah drew the rifle out once more as they trotted along, looking for a suitable spot. She found it behind an empty store front, now decayed like a mouthful of rotten teeth with streaks of rust pouring down like blood on the brickwork. She led the horse behind a faded red trash bin and jumped down, tethering it to one of its handles. Then, peering round the corner, she waited.
A moment or two later she heard the hooves on the tarmac off to the right. She worked the action of the rifle and then raised it to her eye, aiming down the narrow alleyway, waiting. She'd practiced her aim in the yard countless times and she was determined not to let her Papa or the people of the settlements down. If nothing else she'd kill one or two and scare the rest, maybe buying her time to reach Abbingdon alive. If not...
The riders came into view and it was clear from their foraged equipment that they were Calderbank's men. There were four of them and one woman but the sixth rider was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did she go?” cried one of them as they stopped near the opening.
“I don't know,” replied another. “She vanished!”
“Nonsense. Find her before-”
His words were cut short by the first round that punched through his right lung and sent him falling out of his saddle to the floor. The report spooked the other horses and one of the riders couldn't calm his mount in time to avoid being thrown backwards to the ground. He hit his head hard on the kerb and didn't move again.
Sarah fired a second time, killing the woman with a fluke shot to her skull which spun her round and tangled her feet in the stirrups before her horse bolted, dragging her face down as she went. The two remaining men charged down the road, away from Sarah but that didn't bother her - it'd bought her some time.
She yanked at the tethered reins, freeing them just as she leapt onto a box and up into the saddle again, pulling Ziggy hard around to the left and out through the back of the store. Then, once they were back on the wide road, they galloped towards the junction, breaking off to the left and back out through the western side.
Risking a look behind her, Sarah saw that she was no longer being followed and that the shots had done their job in spooking the others. She planned to loop back on herself and regain the path, but no sooner had she left the town than the question of a sixth rider was answered.
There, right in the middle of the road, sat the man on his horse with his rifle raised, waiting for her. Sara
h felt her chest tighten as she realised her mistake. But rather than welcome the consequences, she decided there was only one real course to take.
She hoped for one last push from Ziggy and he didn't fail her. His profile as he ran was beautiful, beyond anything Sarah had ever been used to and that appeal alone helped her lower her body and settle into the shape of the living vehicle just as the first shot passed by over her head. There was another on its heels but as the distance between them shrunk, Sarah felt a surge of hope and brought her own weapon to bear.
Firing from a moving horse was a waste of time, at least that was how she'd been taught by her Papa and the evidence of her previous attempts were proof of that. That's why, when she took aim and let loose a shot, seeing the man pitch over in his death throes defied belief. Not stopping, she rode straight on past him as he slid down off the flank of his chestnut mare and fell to the floor with a hole where his heart had been.
“I couldn't do that again if I tried,” she laughed in a kind of euphoric hysteria as she sped up the rise and away from the town. On the far side, perhaps ten minutes later when she was satisfied she hadn't been followed, she jumped down from Ziggy, tethered him to a low branch and emptied her stomach onto the floor, falling to her knees on the cold ground. Hot tears, perhaps the only thing warm for miles, coursed down her cheeks as the horror of the moment finally flushed the adrenaline out of her system.
CHAPTER THREE
It was late when she reached Abbingdon, shaking a little from the evening cold and perhaps from the encounter with Calderbank's men. The gates that were set into the ugly looking walls made from a mismatched collection of colourful corrugated sheeting were closed and a guard with a motorcycle helmet on called down to her from some scaffolding on the other side.
“You're late, Sarah,” he said, signaling to someone out of sight.
Beyond Hope (Tales from the Brink Book 3) Page 2