Wicca

by James Follett

  Nelson Faraday was dressed entirely in black therefore it was understandable that the stable lad didn't see him. Faraday emerged from behind his tree and watched the fake blackshirt riding away. By the light of burning torches dropped on the ground, he could see what had happened at the brink. He could also see a discarded shotgun. No one saw him creep forward. He had no clear plan in mind but he would think of something once he had a weapon.

  Chapter 63.

  TO HIS IMMENSE RELIEF, Harvey Evans saw that the dogcart had not gone right over the edge but was hanging down at a dangerous angle. There were plenty of people at the site trying to make it secure. There was nothing he could do about that situation so he moved onto the second phase of his attacks -- to ensure that the exodus from the Temple of the Winds became a rout.

  `We'll be taking Ellen and Vikki to a safe house,' Malone had told him. `We don't want any blackshirts or sentinels in the area that might take it into their heads to follow us. The whole area has to be cleared.'

  Luckily the sentinels were easy to spot in their white gowns. A small group were holding a conference at the foot of the track that led up to the Temple of the Winds. None appeared to be armed. They fled in panic towards the relative safety of Pentworth when Evans flew towards them and dumped four more bombs at their heels. The consternation that a mixture of pressurised flour and talcum powder could produce amused him but it was understandable.

  Two blackshirts halfway down the track were made of tougher stuff. They stood their ground, one even raised a shotgun, but their courage deserted them when they realized that they had been spotted, and they, too, joined in the panic-stricken flight towards Pentworth.

  Evans patrolled the area for another ten minutes, scouring along the valley for any sign of movement. He was tempted to return to the Temple of the Winds to see what was happening but he had to conserve fuel, and he was now close to Temple Farm.

  He didn't have to make a pass over the farm to alert Charlie Crittenden and his younger boys. They had been waiting outside. The moment they heard the microlight's approach, they raced along the recently close-mown paddock, lighting the lane of torches.

  Evans' landing was remarkably smooth -- like touching down on a bowling green. He brought the machine to a stop, shutdown the engine, and reflected that a lot of work had gone into the paddock to mow it so short, roll out bumps and fill hollows. Gus trotted along the makeshift airstrip dousing the torches and pulling them out of the ground. He and his father hauled on some wheeled chicken houses to park them in the middle of the paddock before turning their attention to Evans.

  `How'd it go?' Charlie asked, inspecting his bomb racks.

  `A couple of hitches but it looked like everything was being sorted out when I left. Your bomb racks worked perfectly, Charlie. Could you do something about the rockets, please. Thank God I didn't have to use them.'

  Evans felt better when the rockets had been disarmed and removed from their tubes. Charlie also unloaded the unused bombs and released their charges of compressed-air. The group trundled the diminutive biplane across the paddock to the rick that had been hollowed-out to hide it. The makeshift hanger also housed Evans' supply of spares for the microlight including a spare engine, all of which Charlie had collected when he had installed the bomb racks at Evans' home.

  Evans glanced at his watch and noted that 25 minutes had lapsed from take-off to landing. It had seemed much longer. He experienced a little twinge of guilt when he realized that he had enjoyed every minute of the bizarre operation.

  Chapter 64.

  THE TWO STABLE LADS urged their horses backwards. The creatures were jittery at the sight and smell of the dead horse but the voices and confidence of their riders calmed their nerves. The ropes fastened between their saddle pommels and the teetering dogcart tightened. The cart was now secure.

  Dan Baldock was the lightest of the group. With the long-handled bolt-cropper hanging from a cord on his belt, he climbed gingerly onto the precariously balanced wagon while others held torches for him. He carefully eased himself onto the crossbar so that he was immediately above Ellen and Vikki, hanging by their leg irons and manacles, their faces white with terror, unable to speak. He appraised the situation quickly and decided to start with Ellen. She was the heavier, her wrists and ankles had suffered the worst abrasions.

  `Soon have you have got of this mess, ladies,' he said cheerfully. `Can't have you hanging about like this all night, can we?'

  He passed a rope around Ellen and secured it with a bowline knot, taking care to position it above her breasts so that it was a snug fit under her armpits.

  `Okay -- lift.'

  The four men holding the rope heaved.

  `Stop!'

  The chains were now slack. Ellen smiled her relief at the sudden removal of the excruciating load on her ankles and wrists. The bolt-cropper made short work of the four chains and Ellen was free. Baldock gave the signal and she was lifted to safety. David had a cold chisel and club hammer to break the locks open on the irons.

  Baldock repeated the process with Vikki. By the time he had climbed back onto the rim, both women were sitting, clutching their gowns around them, badly shaken, yet smiling happily for the first time in a week. David was making a fuss of Ellen that Malone sensed she found embarrassing. The men held up blankets to screen the women while they changed into underwear, jeans and T-shirts that had been hidden in the supplies cache for them. None of the clothes fitted but they were too pleased to be out of the gowns to complain.

  Everyone clustered around near the edge of the sandstone scarp was too preoccupied with the rescued women to notice Nelson Faraday creep forward and retrieve the shotgun.

  `This is a decent cart, Mr Malone,' said one of the riders. `We ought to try and save it.'

  `We don't have time -- best let it go,' Malone replied.

  The ropes attached to the horses were released, and the lanky youth and his mates relinquished their grip on the dead horse. The weight of the dogcart dragged it towards the edge. The cart sank out of sight with a loud grinding of splintering wood and finally it and the dead horse disappeared. Two seconds silence and then a loud crash echoing up from the darkness, followed by a series of smaller crashes, and then silence again.

  Faraday could scarcely believe his luck when Malone moved slightly away from the main group. He had a perfect sight on him against the moonlit sky. He raised the shotgun and aimed.

  `No!'

  Startled, Faraday swung the shotgun towards the voice but Sarah was upon him, a kicking, screaming dervish, blonde hair lashing and a bony knee pile-driving into his groin as she tried to wrest the shotgun from him by grabbing it by the barrels.

  The first barrel discharged into the air.

  The second barrel discharged into Sarah. Over fifty grammes of deer shot hit her in the stomach and hurled her backwards like a discarded peg doll. Malone's charge was stopped by Faraday swinging the shotgun around by the barrels. The stock catching him on the temple. It was a glancing blow but the few seconds of disorientation Malone suffered were enough for Faraday to drop the shotgun and disappear into woods.

  `Get after him!' Malone yelled at the stable lads as they galloped up. `Don't for Christ's sake let him get away!'

  The two riders plunged into the darkness after Faraday but they had been too busy mounting their horses to see which way he had gone.

  `Sarah!' Vikki screamed. Before her rescuers could stop her, she raced across the plateau to the still form of her beloved friend and gathered her into her arms, unmindful of the huge spread of warm blood that was soaking through the front and back of Sarah's clothes. `Sarah!' Vikki kept sobbing. `Oh, Sarah... Why? Why?' She rocked her friend's body back and forth, trying to stroke Sarah's hair from her staring, sightless eyes and succeeded only in smearing blood across her face.

  David touched her shoulder. `Vikki--'

  `You've got to get help for her!'

  `She's dead, Vikki...'

  The distraught girl stared u
p at the circle of ashen faces that had gathered around. She hugged Sarah's body closer to her and her tears mingled with the dead girl's blood. `Why couldn't you have left us alone!' she screamed, her voice cracking in hysteria. `Why! Why! Why!'

  Chapter 65.

  IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER 9 O'CLOCK on Sunday morning. Prescott was sitting behind his desk feeling very relaxed and very pleased with himself although his expression was grim for the benefit of Roscoe and Faraday. The cult leader was badly rattled by the night's debacle at the Temple of the Winds. Serve the religious loony right for thinking he could get the better of him.

  Prescott's intercom key was down, in conference mode, the front panel hidden by some papers, and Vanessa Grossman was at her desk in the outer office wearing audio typing headphones and seemingly intent on some minutes she was typing. He had sent a car for her and she had come immediately. Ten minutes briefing on the night's shambles was all she needed, and she had offered some seemingly sound advice on turning the night's disaster to his advantage.

  `So you're claiming three ringleaders, Adrian,' said Prescott, making notes. `Mike Malone, David Weir and Dan Baldock... Not forgetting the role played by Harvey Evans. Dropping flour bombs... hardly illegal and therefore I see no need to issue warrants for their arrest.'

  Roscoe stopped his angry pacing and stared at Prescott. `They disrupted a legal execution!'

  `An illegal execution, Adrian. Hanging is the only legally-sanctioned form of capital punishment in England. If you want to use your sentinels to search for the two women -- fine -- their warrants are still in force. But we leave Malone and the others alone until we have concrete evidence against the Country Brigade.'

  `Every detail!' Roscoe fumed, resuming his pacing up and down the office. `They knew every detail! How? How?'

  `Pentworth House always was leaky, Adrian,' Prescott observed.

  The cult leader continued pacing, twisting his bony hands together to control his rage while watched apprehensively by Faraday who was decidedly unhappy, his fine leather pants and cloak torn and scratched by brambles from having to alternatively flee and hide from his mounted pursuers until he reached the outskirts of the town. He was even more unhappy when Roscoe turned his glare on him.

  `Only you and me knew the details! And the whole of the Country Brigade, it seems! How?'

  `It's not possible that they knew anything, father.'

  `Not possible!' Roscoe thundered. `They unseated Tom and Kes with a wire strung between two trees at the Temple of the Winds! They knew every move we made before we knew ourselves!'

  `How many were involved in the planning?' asked Prescott.

  `Just the two of us,' Roscoe replied, nodding to Faraday. `He had a copy of the timetable and schedule.'

  `So how many copies were there of this timetable, Adrian?'

  `Two! The one I typed, which has never been out of my possession, and the carbon copy which I gave to Faraday!'

  `Father -- I give you my word, there's no way that anyone could've...' Faraday's voice trailed away when he realized something.

  `Well?'

  `Claire Lake...' Faraday breathed. `She was in my room when I was asleep.'

  `She wouldn't do anything. Claire's a trustworthy girl.’

  `She got into my room on a crazy pretext on Wednesday night during the party,' Faraday answered. `I'd had too much to drink so I let her in. She's usually a prissy little bitch, but not on Wednesday night. When I woke up, she'd gone. She could've gone through my things when I was asleep.'

  Roscoe picked up Prescott's telephone and was about to ask the operator to put him through to Pentworth House but Prescott took the headphone from him and replaced it on the hook.

  `This is my office, Adrian. If you wish to use the phone, you ask.'

  `Undermine him at every opportunity,' had been Vanessa's advice. `Never call him father, and never let him try to seize any initiatives. So much the better if he gets angry -- angry people are easier to manipulate because your behaviour is controlling their emotions. The centre of an angry person's personality moves outside them for others to control.'

  Prescott calmly returned Roscoe's glare, his hand remained firmly on his telephone.

  `May I use your telephone?' Roscoe snapped.

  Prescott grinned at the capitulation and took his hand away. `Go ahead,' he said generously, reflecting on the shrewdness of Vanessa Grossman's advice. She was proving very useful.

  Roscoe put his call through and asked for Claire Lake to be brought around to Government House immediately. He listened for moment, and replaced the headphone. He stared accusingly at Faraday. `The duty sentinel says the log shows that Claire Lake went jogging at her usual time last night and hasn't returned. I want her found, too. Use every blackshirt you've got.'

  `If you don't mind, Adrian,' said Prescott mildly. `I'll be the one to decide on the deployment of government resources.'

  Roscoe was shaken. He started to protest but Prescott cut him short. `As I've said, Adrian, if you want to use your own staff to hunt for Ellen Duncan and Vikki Taylor, that's up to you. But Claire Lake has broken no laws. If she wants to leave your brethren, she has a perfect right to do so. Now, if you don't mind, I wish to discuss what needs to be done next with my head of security. You've had a long night. You look dead on your feet and you're not thinking straight. If you wish to see me tomorrow, call my secretary to fix an appointment. Now go and get some sleep. Oh, by the way -- a small point. Have those stakes removed from outside ASAP. Next time you want to put something like that up, you might consider applying for planning permission in the normal way.'

  For a moment it looked as if Roscoe was going to lose his temper, but he controlled himself, directed a hard stare at Faraday, and swept from the office. The damper denied him the opportunity to slam the door.

  Prescott waved Faraday to a chair. `I'm not blaming you in the slightest for what happened last night, Nelson. Under the circumstances, you did extremely well to get away.'

  `Thank you, sir...'

  `I heard that Roscoe ran like a rabbit when things started to go wrong.'

  `He did,' Faraday replied bitterly. He paused and added, `There's the girl that got shot--'

  `An accident from your account, Nelson. I don't think you need have any worries on that score. The coroner is a personal friend. A sensible man. I'm sure he'll come up with an accidental death verdict. However, much has to be done to clear up this mess. It's important that we tackle everything properly. I'm going to need your wholehearted co-operation and the co-operation of the blackshirts.'

  `You can be sure of that, sir.'

  Prescott beamed. `Excellent. The armoury situation is worrying, of course. Five shotguns unaccounted for and a box of 1000 cartridges.'

  `The search unit I've sent out might turn up something, sir.'

  `I doubt it, Nelson, but you're right to try. I think you ought to get some sleep, too. You've had a far more hectic night than Adrian. We'll talk tomorrow.'

  Chapter 66.

  PRESCOTT WAITED FOR SEVERAL minutes after Faraday had gone, expecting Vanessa Grossman to come in. In the end he had to go out to her.

  `You did well, Prescott,' she said. `I particularly liked the touch with getting Roscoe to ask to use the phone. Assertiveness over details is important. His influence is definitely on the wane.'

  Her patronising tone and that she had addressed him by his surname irritated Prescott but he let it pass. She was proving to be too important for him to risk upsetting now.

  `As for Baldock, Weir, and Ellen Duncan,' Vanessa continued. `It would be useful from your point of view if it could be proved that they were members of a proscribed organization. They would lose their seats on the council, and as it's mid-term, you'd be within your rights to co-opt new members.'

  `I had thought of that,' said Prescott. `You mean proscribe the Country Brigade? All they've done so far is provide extra men on food delivery wagons and dropped flour bombs on an illegal execution party.'

  `Th
ey'll show their true colours soon enough, Prescott. When they do, you must be ready for them. You're going to have to amalgamate the morris police and the blackshirts into a single police force. That'll remove the blackshirts completely from Roscoe's influence -- especially if they're given senior positions in the new force -- which will have to be expanded considerably to cover the country areas properly. In the meantime, you ought to consider holding discussions with the leading lights in the Country Brigade before proscribing them.'

  `What good will that do? They're turning into a bunch of terrorists.'

  `They've got wide support, Prescott. It would demonstrate that you're doing your best to resolve this rift between the town and the country. You'd be seen as the peacemaker. Also, it would be an opportunity for you to see how united they are and just how much authority Dan Baldock holds -- to see if he has the clout to agree matters off his own bat or whether he's forever having to go into huddles with his cronies to get their support.'

  `Perhaps it's not such a bad idea,' said Prescott doubtfully.

  `I'll get it organized,' said Vanessa. She added, `Calling it a peace conference would make you look good.'

  Prescott was pleased. In Vanessa Grossman it looked like he was going to have a capable administrator, an excellent advisor, and a shrewd PR operator. Well worth her pay. `Fine, Miss Grossman. I'll leave all the details to you.'

  `I'll need your seal. I'll deal with all the paperwork, which is what I'm good at. You go after hearts and minds, which is what you're good at. A deal?'

  `A deal,' Prescott agreed, grinning.

  Chapter 67.

  CLAIRE MOVED HER ROOK, carefully examined the chessboard before taking her finger off the piece and announced, `Check!'

  `No it's not,' said Ellen sourly.

  Claire was indignant. `Yes it is. You said that if a rook threatens the king in a straight line--'

  `It's not check!' Ellen snapped. `It's bloody checkmate! I was hoping you hadn't seen it.'