by D. S. Butler
I groaned. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to enjoy this at all.
Grandma Grant stayed for a cup of tea, and we chatted about how she was going to improve my magic skills. Well, we didn’t really chat so much as she talked and I listened. All the while Jess watched us dubiously, and I couldn’t say I blamed her. I might not enjoy my sister pointing out my shortcomings, but she did have a very good point.
When we’d finished our tea, Grandma Grant returned home to her house a little further up the hill, and Jess left for her date with Pete.
I knelt by the fire to scratch Smudge behind the ears. Although I hadn’t had my cat for long, I’d grown very attached to her. Smudge didn’t care whether I could cast spells or not. As long as her belly was full and she was warm and dry, she was content.
Of course, she wouldn’t be very pleased if I turned her fur blue, though. I decided to try and convince Grandma Grant that I should stick to casting spells on inanimate objects for the time being. At least I couldn’t harm anything that way.
Despite a deliciously creamy pasta dish, three bars of chocolate, a good book and a lavender scented bubble bath, I wasn’t in much of a better mood the following morning.
Of course, it didn’t help that I had to get up at what felt like the crack of dawn. I didn’t enjoy getting up early, and I especially disliked it when it was my day off. But Jess paid no attention to my grumbling.
“You’ll feel better after you’ve had a shower, Harper,” she informed me, dragging the comforter from my grip as I glared at her.
“Remind me again why I agreed to this.”
“Because you’re a good sister, and you’ll have fun when you get there, I promise.”
I took a quick shower and then joined Jess in the kitchen where she handed me a bowl of porridge topped with honey. I ate my breakfast and sipped a hot cup of coffee as Jess filled me in on what we would be doing that morning.
As I listened to her, I came to the conclusion that the morning was going to be even worse than I had suspected.
“So, you’re telling me we just stand around in a field and watch a bunch of grown men fight each other with pretend swords?”
“It’s not only men,” Jess said. “Women take part, too. I’m sure they could find you an outfit if you want to participate…”
“No, thank you,” I said quickly. That was the very last thing I wanted.
We wrapped up warmly, with heavy coats, scarves and gloves, and as we were about to leave, I glanced at Smudge, who was curled up on a cushion. She looked so comfortable I couldn’t help wishing I was still asleep, too.
The battle re-enactment was held in a field just outside the center of Cherrytown, which is the nearest town to Abbott Cove. It was a couple of miles inland and was about twice the size of Abbott Cove, with a considerably larger population and more shops and amenities.
Jess parked up on the edge of the road, and we both got out and stared at the sight in front of us.
There was a large white tent set up in the center of the field, and ten or so people milling around it all dressed up in costumes. The one that drew my attention straightaway was the man dressed in armor, at least I assumed it was a man, I couldn’t be sure due to the armored helmet and faceplate.
I turned to Jess. “He looks like a mediaeval knight. I didn’t think we had knights in America.”
Jess pursed her lips. “Don’t be difficult, Harper.”
“I’m not being difficult. I just don’t understand why he’s dressed up in full body armor.”
Jess shrugged. “Maybe they are re-enacting a medieval battle.” She rubbed her hands together to try and warm them. “I have to admit, I thought they’d be doing something local.”
I raised my eyes to the sky and muttered under my breath as Jess headed off towards the group of people in the field.
At least the weather was better than yesterday. The gray, heavy clouds were gone, and the sharp sun sparkled down, glinting off the frosted grass. The trees at the back of the field were also laced with frost, glittering prettily in the sun.
I trudged over the lumpy field, trying to avoid the muddiest patches, and followed Jess.
By the time I reached her, she was already chatting with a group of people. Pete stood by her side looking strangely forlorn.
Before I could say hello to Pete, I was accosted by two diminutive figures I knew well. The Townsends. They looked like a sweet, old couple at first glance, but I knew from experience they were the worst gossips in Abbott Cove.
“What are you doing here, Harper?” Mrs Townsend asked, looking at me inquisitively.
“We’ve come to see Pete in action. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“We come to these events all the time,” Mrs Townsend said.
“Wouldn’t miss it. We’re regulars,” Mr Townsend chipped in, leaning down to pick up their dog, a tiny Pomeranian.
“We love a good battle. Come on, dear, let’s take our places. You know it takes you a while to walk with your bad leg.”
I watched Mr and Mrs Townsend hobble off and wondered where their places were exactly. It looked like a barren field to me. After a moment, I turned back to the group.
“Hello,” I said, making an effort to smile cheerfully at Pete.
“Oh, hello, Harper,” Pete said in a dull tone, still looking miserable. “I’m glad you could make it.”
I frowned. He didn’t look particularly glad. But before I could ask him what the matter was, he began to introduce me to the other people gathered around the tent.
“This is Nigel Markham. He started the society ten years ago. He owns the hardware store in Cherrytown.”
I smiled at the ruddy-faced man with red hair. At least he appeared more cheerful than Pete. He looked a little familiar, and I wondered whether I’d run into him at some point in Cherrytown. He wore a rustic brown and white uniform and shiny black boots.
“Good to meet you, Nigel.”
“I know your grandmother,” Nigel said with a wide smile.
A feeling of dread invaded the pit of my stomach, and I exchanged a concerned look with Jess. “Oh, really? How do you know Grandma Grant?”
Nigel chuckled. “Don’t look so worried. She pops in from time to time to pick up tools and materials. A very interesting woman. We’ve had some fascinating chats.”
“Ah, I see.” I let out a sigh of relief. Grandma Grant’s house was old and needed constant work. Although she had income from her nursery business, she didn’t have much spare cash floating around and tried to do many of the repairs herself, which explained her visits to Nigel’s hardware store.
“This is Barbara Stewart, she was one of the original members and has been with the re-enactment group for almost ten years,” Pete said, turning to a woman I judged to be in her mid-fifties. She had her brown hair cut very short and wore no makeup. Her costume was bland, a mixture of old worn leather and gray wool pants. She held a bow in her left hand and a collection of arrows in a bag over her shoulder.
She nodded at me with a stern expression on her face. “Nice to meet you.”
I smiled uneasily. “Nice to meet you, too.”
There was something about Barbara that made me a little nervous. She had the type of penetrating gaze that made me feel scrutinized when she looked at me. Did she notice anything odd about me? I was glad Barbara lived in Cherrytown rather than Abbott Cove. I sensed it would be hard to hide secrets from her.
Before I could say anything else to Barbara, Pete quickly introduced me to the other woman in the group, Laura Carmichael. She was the complete opposite of Barbara in her appearance. She was young and pretty and wore a great deal of makeup. A cloud of blonde hair puffed out around her face. I wondered how long it took her to get her hair like that because it definitely wasn’t natural. I figured she must spend a lot of time with her blow-dryer.
She wore a floaty, green gown and didn’t look like any kind of soldier I’d ever seen.
Laura giggled and extended her h
and to me. “Hello, Harper. Welcome to the re-enactment renegades!”
My eyes widened slightly. “Re-enactment renegades? What an unusual name.”
Pete flushed and shook his head. “That’s just Laura’s pet name for us. We prefer to call ourselves the Cherrytown Historical Re-enactment Society.”
“But that’s such a mouthful,” Laura said, giggling and putting a hand on Pete’s shoulder before reaching up to ruffle his hair.
I noticed Jess’s irritated expression. That was certainly an intimate gesture. Pete blushed a deeper shade of red and took a step back from Laura.
Before the situation grew any more awkward, we were interrupted by a deep voice that came from behind me.
“It looks like we have an audience today!”
I turned around to see a huge man with messy brown hair. He wore a suit of armor and carried a metal helmet under one arm. He grinned at Jess and me. I guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, and he was incredibly tall and well-built, with broad shoulders, and towered over everyone else in the group. His smile was warm and welcoming, making his already handsome face even more appealing.
Pete’s expression was sour as he said, “This is Monty, Monty Brown. Today’s battle was all his idea.”
I turned to Jess to see whether she knew what was upsetting Pete, but she looked as baffled as me.
“And what exactly is the battle today?” I asked.
I addressed my question to everyone in the group, but it was Monty who replied.
“The Valentine’s battle. Very appropriate don’t you think?”
It was the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, so I could see why the date was appropriate, but I’d never heard of the battle. Then again, I wasn’t a history expert.
“I have to admit, I’ve never heard of the Valentine’s battle. When was it? Did it take place in Cherrytown?” Jess asked.
Monty roared with laughter. “Nothing ever happens in Cherrytown.”
“Well, that’s not strictly true,” Pete interrupted. “As a matter-of-fact, there were a number of important –”
Monty waved away Pete’s words and continued in his booming voice, “It happened in 1702, in Calais, a battle between the English and French.”
Laura tittered, and Barbara huffed out a disapproving grunt.
Nigel stepped up to Monty and looked up into the big man’s face. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little flushed.”
Monty pulled a face. “I’m not feeling great, to be honest. I think I might be coming down with a cold.” Before anyone could reply, Monty turned around and declared, “Ah, the French are here!”
I turned to see a collection of people in various outfits striding across the field. At the front, leading the way, a tall, thin man marched toward us. He wore a scarlet coat with gold buttons and an odd-looking hat. He gave us an elaborate bow when he got closer.
“This is John Gastineau, leader of the French side and our opponent today,” Monty said with a grin as he reached out to shake John’s hand.
The rest of the French group stood well back and looked at us with open hostility.
“They seem to be taking this seriously,” I whispered to Jess.
As John held out his hand to Nigel, I turned to Monty. I narrowed my eyes as I looked at his body armor. Now I could see it close-up, I was convinced it was the type of armor worn by a mediaeval knight and not of a soldier from 1702. “Why are you wearing a suit of armor?”
Monty chuckled. It seemed he found questions very amusing. “Well, why not?”
He shoved on his helmet and strode away, holding an old, battered, steel sword aloft and declaring, “Let’s get this show on the road, people. Take up your positions.”
Everyone in the group walked away from us, moving toward the center of the field, apart from Pete.
“Don’t you find it a little bit weird that Monty is wearing a suit of armor,” I whispered.
Pete nodded. “Monty makes up his own rules. He is quite new to the group, but he is trying to take over. He doesn’t seem to think historical accuracy is required. He says it’s more important to convey the feelings and emotions of the event rather than what actually happened.”
From the look of irritation on Pete’s face, it was quite clear he didn’t share Monty’s opinion.
He looked at Jess and smiled. “Well, I suppose I better get into position for the battle. Thank you both for coming. I hope you don’t find it too boring.”
Jess smiled at him, and I felt a little guilty. Pete was important to my sister, and I should have made more of an effort to get to know him better.
I’d assumed they were going to start off the battle slowly, with strategy and stealth, but I was mistaken. Monty led the charge with a battle cry, holding his sword in front of him and charging directly at John Gastineau.
The sound of their swords clashing made me jump. I held my breath as people were running about in different directions, lunging forward haphazardly and shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Go on, hit him harder,” Mrs Townsend screeched as her husband clapped with delight at the spectacle unfolding in front of him. Their little Pomeranian yapped and jumped with excitement.
“Wow,” Jess whispered. “I didn’t realize the Townsends were so blood-thirsty!”
I wrapped my arms around my midsection and shivered. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Monty was really trying to stab John.”
“I suppose they have to make it look realistic,” Jess said, flinching as John brought his heavy sword down on top of Monty’s armored head.
Monty’s legs crumpled beneath him, and he crashed to the ground. He lay motionless on the grass.
“Oh dear, that doesn’t look good I think he might be badly hurt,” Jess said.
I stared at Monty and felt a prickle of unease. Jess was right. It didn’t look good, at all.
Chapter 3
After Monty collapsed in a heap on the floor, everyone fell deathly silent.
Jess and I exchanged a horrified look. We’d heard the loud clang as John Gastineau’s sword had hit Monty on the head.
“Surely, all that armor must have protected him,” Jess muttered.
Monty still wasn’t moving, so we started to pick our way across the field towards the group.
Mr and Mrs Townsend hobbled along behind us. “What a fuss over nothing. It’s just a bit of a bump,” Mrs Townsend said. “He just needs to get up and walk it off.”
Mrs Townsend may have written it off as only a minor accident but Laura, on the other hand, had decided hysteria was the best option. She raked her hands through her hair and began to wail.
“Oh, no! Poor Monty! He’s dead, isn’t he?” She broke off into a piercing scream.
I fought against the urge to put my hands over my ears as we got closer to them. Laura continued to screech.
Barbara, who had been kneeling beside Monty, trying to assess his condition, got to her feet, walked over to Laura and slapped her firmly on the cheek.
Laura stopped screaming, and I decided maybe Barbara wasn’t so bad, after all.
Now, it was John’s turn to have a minor meltdown. Although as he had been the one to hit Monty and cause the injury, I could understand why he was in a panic.
“Why isn’t he moving? I shouldn’t have hit him so hard, but I thought the helmet would protect him.”
Jess and I joined the group of people standing around Monty, and I was unnerved to see that he hadn’t moved at all.
“Perhaps he’s got a concussion,” I said. “It might be best not to remove his helmet yet just in case –” I was about to say in case he had some kind of neck or spinal injury, but I was too late, Barbara had already whipped off his helmet before I finished my sentence.
We all stared down at Monty’s face. He looked flushed, and his hair was slightly damp from sweat, but that wasn’t surprising since he’d been running around in a heavy suit of armor. His eyes remained closed as Barbara checked for a pulse.
“I trained in first aid,” she said authoritatively. “I know what I’m doing.”
I was surprised to hear that because I thought anyone trained in first aid would know not to jostle the victim about quite so much.
“Be careful,” I said. “He could have a neck or spinal injury.”
That earned me a scathing look from Barbara. “I am being careful.”
Pete joined us and put an arm around Jess’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry you had to see this. It’s not normally so violent.”
John was busy biting his nails, staring anxiously down at Monty, as though he was trying to will him to open his eyes and make a full recovery.
Just a second later, Barbara straightened and looked up at us all. “He’s dead.”
For a moment, no one responded. We were all too shocked, and then suddenly everyone seemed to talk at once.
John Gastineau let out a loud gasp and then fell in a swoon. Nigel quickly grabbed him before he hit the floor and lowered him gently to the ground beside Monty’s body.
Pete pulled out his cell phone. “I better call the police.” He looked down at Monty’s body. “And I’ll ask for medical help just in case Barbara is wrong.”
Barbara looked at him grimly. “I’m never wrong.”
Jess shook her head and turned to me tearfully. “I can’t believe this is happening. Poor Monty, he was so full of life.”
I squeezed her hand. I was just as shocked as she was, but I scoured the landscape and the field around us. I figured if Monty were dead, it wouldn’t be long before I saw his ghost.
I slapped a hand over my mouth to smother a gasp as I saw a shimmering array of lights above Monty, slowly separating from his body.
It took a few moments for the shimmering to condense into Monty’s ghostly form, but when it did, I saw his ghost was dressed in a suit of armor, and he still held a partially transparent, heavy sword.
I licked my lips and stared at him, quite aware that nobody else could see what I could. Although I’d seen many ghosts, I’d only seen a couple separate from their bodies like that, and I had to admit it was a bit of a shock.