Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1)

by Arnot, Tim

  But surely Mayor Griffin must know she was here, in this room, in this house. Did this make her a prisoner? She resolved to find out: she would leave.

  But where could she go? Obviously not home. Of course! Maggie and Fred’s house. They lived close to the school, near where she’d said goodbye to Shea, and he’d finally kissed her. That backed onto the estate, so all she had to do was get out of the house, cross the fields and hop over the wall. It was simple when she put it like that.

  She just needed to get dressed and sneak out. Now that might be a problem. When she escaped from the fire, all she had on was a nightshirt and a dressing gown. She still had a nightshirt on, a different, clean one, but no other clothes. She looked through the wardrobe for anything she could wear, but all she found was another dressing gown. It would have to do.

  She felt better than she had in days, the best she’d felt since the fire, now that she had something to look forward to. She decided to go straight away, so she carefully opened the door and crept out.

  There was nobody outside in the corridor. One of the floorboards creaked as she stepped on it and she stopped, holding her breath in case someone had heard and came running. But no one did, so she continued to the top of the grand staircase. She listened for the sound of voices, but there was nothing. Maybe everyone was out, or in a different part of the house. She crept down, the rich carpet muffling any sound from her bare feet. Then she heard voices coming from one of the rooms off the lobby. Fortunately the door was shut. But now she had a dilemma. Should she go for the front door or slip out the back way. Either one had the risk of being seen. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided on the back, since it was closer to the wall. She slipped out through the door and ran across the terrace to the steps down onto the lawn.

  Now she just ran. Ran as fast as she could across the grass. A shout went up behind her; she’d been spotted. She risked a look back, two men were chasing her. She ran again, but the pain and stiffness from her cuts and bruises slowed her down. The men were faster than she was. They were catching her. If only she could make it to the wall and get over it, she’d be free. Just another fifty metres… She heard them shout for her to stop. She didn’t dare look back now. Forty metres… thirty… twenty…

  The impact felt like a huge bull had just run her down, knocking her senseless. She had a vague sensation of being tossed over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes and then the world went dark.

  When she came to, she was back in the room, lying on the bed. She still had the dressing gown on, as if she’d just been dumped there. She got up slowly; from the feel of it, several new bruises had been added to the collection she already had. She tried the door.

  Locked.

  She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. So much for leaving. It was now clear to her that she was being held a prisoner.

  Some time later, she didn’t know how long but the light was starting to fade, she heard a key turn in the lock. She sat up as Mary entered with a tray of food. Flick caught a glimpse of black uniformed guards outside in the corridor as the door closed behind her. So she was being guarded too.

  ‘We can’t have you running about the gardens in your night clothes now, can we? You might hurt yourself,’ Mary said, her voice all reasonableness. ‘Besides, some of George’s workers… well, they can be a little rough. Just stay here; lie down until you’re better, okay dear?’

  Or until you figure out how to get rid of me.

  Flick nodded.

  As Mary left, the key turned in the lock.

  The door stayed locked except for mealtimes, when Flick could clearly see a guard standing outside. Once she had opened the window, but it was a good fifteen feet down to the hard stone terrace outside, and there was no convenient drain pipe, even if she could climb down it. And anyhow, there was a guard standing there. It seemed like she was trapped, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. At night she would have nightmares, crawling through the burning inn, calling Rosie’s name, while fiery timbers fell on her, or standing on the ledge banging on Rosie’s window while flames licked at her. Always Mayor Griffin was standing in the background, laughing, and she’d wake screaming in a pool of sweat. Very quickly she did not want to sleep, and soon she had a gaunt, haunted look.

  During the day she dozed fitfully, or sat staring out of the window, sometimes looking at the view, sometimes looking at her reflection in the glass. At night she’d pace up and down in the darkness or do exercises, anything to stop herself from having the nightmares. The cuts and bruises started to heal up, and she quickly got rid of the bandages. Mary only came in once a day, to bring food and change the chamber pot. She didn’t speak.

  One day she opened the closet. She hadn’t looked in here since that first day when she grabbed the dressing gown. She was surprised to find at the back there was a door. It opened onto another door, and that opened into another closet.

  She crept through the closet and out into the room beyond. It was clearly a boy’s room; the bed was unmade and there were clothes strewn about. It had to be Joe’s room. On the dresser was a mirror and she caught a glimpse of her reflection. At least she assumed it must be her reflection; the figure that stared back at her was blotched purple with bruises. Her face was puffy in the places where it hurt, and her hair, normally spiky and blond now had blackened frizzy patches.

  ‘You look a mess,’ she muttered.

  Looking at the clothes on the floor, she saw her opportunity and quickly changed out of her dressing gown and into some of Joe’s clothes. They were very loose, but at least she felt dressed once again.

  This was her opportunity to escape; if she could get out of the house, she was in better condition and had a good disguise, from a distance anyway. There was still some time before Mary was due to arrive with the food, the only question remaining was could the guard outside her room see the door to Joe’s room? There was only one way to find out.

  She opened the door and peered cautiously out. The corridor was empty. The guard had to come with Mary in that case, and leave when she left, relying on Flick believing that he was still there. She grinned and crept along towards the staircase. She heard voices down below. Damn! She shrank back, but the voices were getting louder, getting nearer. She needed somewhere to hide, but not here. Anywhere but here; she’d spent too much time locked up here. She ran up the stairs, to the top floor. There were several doors, she tried them but they were locked. Finally she found a door that opened, and she slipped into the room.

  What she saw was astonishing. A big table covered in boxes, each with tiny glowing lights on it, some different colours, others flashing. And there were picture frames set on top of the boxes. Many of them seemed to hold glowing drawings of things that she didn’t recognise, and there were cables everywhere. Black cables, yellow cables, blue cables, joining the boxes together and snaking across the floor.

  But the wall… That was something else. More of these picture frames covered it, from floor to ceiling almost, so that she could barely see the wall at all. And these were pictures of places, some of which she recognised. There was the corridor outside, the corridor downstairs near her room, some showed the insides of rooms, some showed views of trees and gardens, one even showed the town square; she recognised the town hall.

  Wait.

  She looked again at the pictures of rooms. Yes, that one must be hers; she could see the sprawled bed clothes just as she’d left them. That must mean that whoever was normally here could see what she was doing; they were spying on her!

  Flick felt the heat of the blood rushing to her face. She ought to be scared but instead she felt angry. How dare they spy on her after everything else!

  ‘Who are you, girl? Identify yourself!’ The voice was thin and tinny, sounding quite unnatural. Flick looked around in panic, trying to identify where it had come from. Her eyes settled on one of the pictures. It was the face of a man, he had blonde floppy hair and what looked like it could be a black uniform. The face wo
re a scowl and it appeared to be looking right at her. Then it moved.

  ‘Well? Answer me!’ the sound seemed to come from somewhere below the box.

  Flick took a step backwards back in alarm. She turned to flee, straight into something soft. It grabbed hold of her arms, pinning her. She looked up.

  ‘Ah, Felicity, you really must control this desire of yours to wander into places where you shouldn’t go,’ a new voice said. It was cold, measured, and right behind her.

  It was Mayor Griffin.

  ‘So this is how you repay my generosity and hospitality is it? By snooping around and meddling in affairs that don’t concern you?’

  Flick just glared at him, the hatred evident in her eyes. She tried to wriggle free from him, but his grip was strong and it held fast.

  ‘You murdered my father and sister,’ she spat.

  ‘Really? I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘I think there was an unfortunate accident and the whole town and I in particular were saddened at the tragic loss of life, but we were so happy that you survived. Against all odds.’ The last seemed to have been added as an afterthought.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ demanded Flick. ‘Kill me and tell everyone, “Oh what a shame she didn’t survive after all”?’

  ‘Well that is certainly an option my dear, thank you for suggesting it. But I will not be hasty. I shall have you taken to the jail, from which you will not escape, and where you can reflect on your fate while I consider what to do with you.’

  He pushed her through the door and marched her, still struggling and yelling. ‘Let go of me you oaf!’ He forced her down the stairs and back to her room, shoving her inside. She fell to the floor as the door slammed shut and she heard the distinct snick of the lock turning.

  She lay there for a moment, before climbing unsteadily to her feet. She’d scraped her arm on the rough wooden floor, opening up some of the earlier abrasions, and she’d added some new bruises to her existing collection. She’d hurt when the shock wore off. She tried the windows and the door, but they were firmly locked shut. So was the door inside the closet.

  Not knowing what else to do, she screamed and yelled and pummelled her fists on the door, all to no avail.

  She hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when the door thrust open, knocking her back into the room. Two of the mayor’s heavies–one of whom she recognised from the bar–came into the room, bringing ropes and cloth bindings with them.

  ‘So this is what you do when you’re not being rude and obnoxious,’ she said, trying to keep a brave face.

  ‘Shut it,’ one of the men growled.

  ‘We don’t want no trouble from you,’ the second man added.

  They grabbed her and one held her while the other tied her wrists behind her back. Flick struggled and kicked for all she was worth, screaming at the top of her voice, but it was no use; her wrists were quickly tied. The man behind her pulled back on her arms and she yelped in pain. For a moment she stopped kicking, giving the other the opportunity to get in and tie her ankles.

  ‘And no lip, neither,’ the first added as he stuffed one of the cloth bindings in her mouth and tied it at the back of her head, gagging her.

  ‘You’re a little minx, ain’t you?’ the second said. ‘Copped me a few bruises you did. Good for you, I likes ‘em when they puts up a bit of a fight, but you’ll pay later.’

  The thugs picked her up and carried her, struggling and writhing as best she could, down the back stairs and out to a wagon parked at the rear of the house, where she was unceremoniously dumped in the back. The men climbed into the front and the wagon moved off.

  From her position on the floor, Flick could just see through a gap in the wooden side boards. They rolled out through the gates and down the hill into the town. At the bottom of the hill she saw the shell of the inn, blackened and hollow; completely burnt out. Tears welled up as she remembered her father and sister, and how they had died. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it, as the wagon stopped and she was dragged off the back of it and through the small green door of the town hall, where she was dumped into a tiny barred cell. The men untied her bonds and left, shutting and locking the door behind them.

  She looked around. It was dark. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the small amount of light filtering through a line of tiny windows high up near the ceiling. She was in a small cell, no more than 6ft by 4ft, with metal bars, some of which were hinged to form a door. There was a small three-legged stool to sit on, disgustingly filthy and smelly, and a bucket that she could use for the necessary, and that was it. Carefully she unfastened the gag that the thugs had thoughtfully left in place, and pulled it off.

  This was her world now. She remembered her family in the inn and her own room. But that seemed so long ago; another lifetime.

  Then she remembered the young man that had been tossed in here just before the May Day festival; this wasn’t going to end well.

  22

  On Trial

  FLICK SPENT A long and sleepless night shivering in the cell. She still had on the clothes she’d found in Joe’s room, but nevertheless the cold from the stone floor seeped right into her bones, sapping her strength and will. Occasionally she dozed off but the same dreams haunted her and she woke, screaming and shivering.

  When day dawned it was to a thin and pale light that barely illuminated the cell. Flick just sat and stared, huddled in the corner. She didn’t know how long she’d sat there when the door opened and light flooded in. It hurt her eyes and she blinked, holding up her arm to shield herself. The door shut and she heard the key in the lock once more.

  ‘Hello Flick, I’ve come to see how you are, and bring you a few things.’ She recognised the voice; it was Fred.

  She heard his boots clomping on the stairs and the sound of a key turning. ‘Just open the top door. Whoever brung you here yesterday should’ve done it. Dunno why they didn’t; can’t have you all in the dark now, can we?’

  He pushed open the door, and a shaft of light shone down, making the place seem a bit brighter. When he came back down, he pushed a bundle through between the bars.

  ‘These are some of Maggie’s things. She’s about the same size as you. But it looks like Joe has already lent you some clothes…’

  Flick laughed grimly. ‘He probably doesn’t even know. It wasn’t like I asked if I could borrow them.’

  ‘Take these anyway, just in case,’ Fred said.

  ‘Thank you Fred. Tell Maggie, thank you. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘I suppose you’ll get them back after they hang me. They are going to hang me, aren’t they?’

  She looked up at him plaintively.

  ‘We don’t…’ Fred couldn’t get the words out. ‘Look, none of us believes you did it, you couldn’t have.’

  ‘Thank you Fred. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done.’

  ‘Nor do we. I expect the mayor’s making it up as we speak…’ He knelt and rummaged in a wicker basket that was by his feet. ‘I’ll be forgetting me own head next,’ he said. ‘The missus cooked up a bowl of gruel, just like she used to make at the…’ His voice trailed off. ‘It’s not much, but it’ll keep you going and warm the cockles, if you know my meaning.’

  He pushed the bowl and a wooden spoon under the bars.

  ‘Thank you Fred, I feel better already,’ Flick said as she tucked in.

  When she’d finished, Fred took the bowl back.

  ‘Gotta go now,’ he said. ‘I’m on duty, but someone’ll be round later. If there’s anything I can do, just let us know…’

  ‘You couldn’t let me out, I suppose?’

  ‘Sorry Flick. If I had a key I would, but the only key, well… the mayor’s got it. Not that these bars are much more than show, to be honest.’

  ‘Oh well, it was worth a try. Still, you’ll know where to find me; it’s not like I’m going anywhere!’

  ‘That’s it, keep your spirits up. We’ll think of something.’
He reached through the bars, rattling them slightly in the process, and squeezed her hand.

  Then he banged on the door, and whoever was on guard outside let him out.

  Flick opened the bundle and found a blue long-sleeved soft linen dress. She remembered Maggie wearing it the summer before, when they’d all gone up to the river for a picnic–her and Maggie, Fred and Joe–and they’d caught a fish, and Fred had fallen in the river, and Joe had jumped in after him. She smiled, a happy time.

  Then there was a pair of leather sandals, and a knitted shawl, and a thin, grey woollen blanket that would help protect her from the cold stone.

  She draped the blanket over herself. That was much better, she felt nearly human again.

  Flick was left inside the cell all that day and the next. Twice each day Maggie was allowed in to bring food and swap over the bucket, but she had no other visitors, and the only light was whatever filtered in though the tiny windows.

  On the third morning, Sergeant Taylor entered the jail, carrying a large black curtain. He said nothing, but hung the curtain against the bars of the cell. Now she couldn’t see out, and nobody outside the cell could see in. Not long after, she heard the sound of boots as a number of people entered the building and went up the stairs. They chattered on the way in, but stopped talking as they went past. She could hear their voices again in the upper room, but couldn’t make out quite who they were.

  Flick heard the rattle of the key in the lock. She looked up as Sergeant Taylor and Corporal Ross came into the cell. The two men were quite a bit older than she was and she didn’t hold them as friends, so she went back to staring at the ground and thinking about Rosie. Poor Rosie.