by Jenny Colgan
Over tea – blessed tea, which Rafe had brought with him – they haltingly explained a little – not all – of what had happened.
‘I’m so glad you’re here!’ said Cathy, beaming.
‘Thanks, Cathy,’ said Gwyneth. She’d never particularly gone out of her way to be nice to the woman, and was touched by the show of support.
‘I won’t have to do today now, will I Arthur?’ Cathy went on.
‘Well, no, I guess you won’t,’ he said, blinking in surprise. They were even more surprised however, when, seconds later, the black balloon appeared over the lip of the hill, behind the castle.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Gwyneth, ‘That thing’s weird.’
They watched it as it came towards them, like something from The Prisoner. As it drifted, fifty feet or so over the campsite, a ladder was thrown over the side and a small figure hopped onto it. With complete agility, it romped down the steps, swaying wildly in the wind. As it grew closer, Arthur realized it was the sergeant. The rope ran out about eight or nine feet above the ground, and he jumped down like a cat. The ladder disappeared almost immediately and the balloon headed towards the next peak and was soon out of view.
‘Morning,’ said the sergeant cursorily, standing in front of their fire.
Gwyneth glanced at Rafe as the balloon came in. His face was stricken.
‘I can’t believe … I feel awful,’ he said, looking at Arthur, who had gone over to talk to the sergeant.
‘You nearly drowned,’ said Gwyneth. She had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, and tried to cover it up by being terse.
‘He’s my friend,’ said Rafe, looking wounded. Gwyneth gave his hand a quick squeeze.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’
The sergeant looked around at them. ‘Busy day today,’ he said. ‘Can’t believe you all made it in one piece.’
Cathy smiled broadly.
He glanced at the new arrivals.
‘But it’s still looking a bit too busy round here.’
Gwyneth cleared her throat. ‘Um … hello … nice to meet you …’
The sergeant completely ignored her and turned back to Arthur. ‘There’s too many people in your team. I can’t allow it.’
‘No,’ said Arthur. ‘Well, Cathy here has volunteered to withdraw.’
‘Uh huh. Who’s going to accompany her down the mountain?’
Cathy looked like she was about to say she was fine, then remembered how much she hated mountains and decided to keep her mouth shut. The rest of the team looked at each other, then, as one, at Marcus.
‘What? Don’t look at me? Am I the only one having a good time?’ said Marcus.
‘Yes,’ said Sven.
‘You’ll need me and my analytical brain! Won’t you, Arthur?’
‘Well …’ said Arthur. ‘I thought you’d be glad to be finished.’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
They stood silently.
‘Let me take her,’ said Rafe suddenly.
‘But we’ve just got here!’ said Gwyneth.
‘I had a really tough day yesterday.’
‘You can’t go,’ said Arthur. ‘I need you. This is going to be the hardest day.’
Rafe and Arthur looked each other in the eye.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rafe.
‘Don’t go, then,’ said Arthur. ‘Sven’ll take her.’
‘No, I mean, I can’t …’
He plucked nervously at his neck suddenly.
‘What’s that?’ said Arthur. He peered closer. Round his neck, Rafe was wearing the white scarf Gwyneth had given the white knight at Christmas time.
‘Is that Gwyneth’s scarf?’ he said, starting forward.
‘No,’ said Gwyneth.
‘Yes,’ said Rafe, staring at the ground.
‘It was a joke,’ said Gwyneth.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rafe again.
Arthur looked at them both solidly for a long moment. Gwyneth, suddenly, felt the full force of his love; understood exactly what he felt for her simply by the look on his face. It had been real. He hadn’t been able to tell her – well, he was a man. But it had been there, and it had been real, and she had thrown it all away. Inside she turned to ice, and realized, too late, how much she wanted him.
Inside, Arthur was crumpling in despair. All his hopes and … All he could do was curse himself for being too late; for hesitating, for holding back, for never having the courage to go for what he wanted. This wasn’t how a king would have behaved. He hated himself.
He looked at Rafe, who was clearly in agony, too.
‘Maybe you should go,’ he said finally, swallowing hard. Rafe’s normally mobile face was a picture of misery.
‘I wanted to be there for you, Arthur.’
‘I rather think you already have been,’ said Arthur, forcing a tight little smile. He turned to Gwyneth. ‘Maybe you should go, too.’
‘No,’ she choked. ‘No!’
‘Why not?’
They were both finding it difficult to speak. She pulled her eyes away first. ‘For the team,’ she said simply.
Arthur merely nodded and turned away. The pain sliced through him like a sword.
‘As you wish.’
‘Come on,’ said the sergeant. ‘Move it along! Move it! Move it!’
After Cathy and Rafe had packed up their things – Cathy, oblivious to the atmosphere, was rabbiting away about how she thought she’d almost lost her fear of heights – they began to trudge down the hill, Rafe shepherding her down carefully. Gwyneth was unable to stop herself glancing at him as he went; Arthur was unable to miss her doing this or to hide the sadness in his eyes.
The sergeant unpacked his rucksack and spread its contents on the ground in front of them. There were four paint guns. These were attached to odd-looking canisters designed to go on your back, filled with what looked like bath spheres. The equipment was terribly splattered with red and yellow paint. There were also four pairs of red armbands, four capes in camouflage colours, one camouflaged handkerchief, which Sandwiches correctly surmised was for him, and four pairs of goggles.
‘The enemy …’ he began, clearly trying to put a threatening spin on things. This was completely unnecessary – none of them had any doubt that Ross and his cronies were very much their enemies. ‘… the enemy is on the far side of the hill. They are well fed and well rested.’
‘Bet they’re not,’ said Sven. ‘Bet Ross was crying.’
‘Quiet, soldier.’
Sven rolled his eyes but held his tongue.
‘From this point onwards …’ The sergeant unrolled the map. ‘Anywhere higher than this point is the fighting field. I think the goal is fairly obvious.’
They looked at the castle, looming above them in the chilly morning light.
‘These are the rules, ladies and gentlemen. Shoot your opponents before they shoot you, and storm the castle. Do not go below this point. Tactics are up to you.’
‘Tactics?’ Sven mouthed to Marcus, who looked equally nervous.
‘If you are shot by the enemy – their paint is yellow, incidentally, yours is red – you are out and must sit on the sidelines. If you are shot by a member of your own side, you are also out and must sit on the sidelines. We will spot you. If you continue to play once hit, your entire team will forfeit this game. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Sven.
‘Yes,’ said Arthur, too wrapped up in himself for sarcasm.
The sergeant looked them up and down. ‘And don’t shoot them in people’s faces.’ He sounded disappointed to have to give any safety information. ‘They can be dangerous.’
‘They’re guns!’ said Sven.
‘Well, get kitted up. I’ll show you how to shoot these things, then we’ll get started.’
Gwyneth walked over to Arthur as they were putting on their masks and strapping on the canisters. If there was any chance at all …
‘Arthur …’
‘Not n
ow, Gwyneth.’
She looked at him fearfully. ‘But I want to explain.’ She did. To tell him how his holding back … her insecurity … what might have been great had all gone so wrong.
‘Not now.’
And Arthur clamped his mask over his face and lifted up his gun.
At ten a.m. precisely, a starter pistol sounded. It echoed off the hills, startling a crowd of birds, who rose dramatically into the sky with a great squawking. The team members looked at each other. They each wore red insignia on their arms so they wouldn’t shoot their own side if at all possible. They had had a quick huddle before they started. Sven had pointed out a pile of rocks right at the top of the headland, and their plan was to get up there before the other team could reach it, dig in and hopefully pick off Ross’s little gang as they came up.
They hadn’t really reckoned, however, on how hard it is to run up a steep hill, particularly if you’re an extremely overweight man pulling a dog, and that plan had to be abandoned before they’d made it fifty yards.
‘What about … if we still do it that way, but slowly?’ panted Marcus.
Gwyneth was looking all around, anxiously. ‘They’ll pounce on us,’ she said.
‘What about crawling through the undergrowth like those slinky action men?’
‘It’ll take us nine hours to get up there,’ said Arthur. He looked around, too. The hillside was woefully exposed – there were no trees or shelter anywhere. The best they could do was try to scamper from one small rock formation to another. Arthur craned to see if anyone was coming over the horizon. Part of him hardly cared.
Their patchy rhythm wasn’t helped by Sandwiches settling down to take a long and relaxed dump in the middle of the open hillside.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Gwyneth. ‘Do we all have to stand around and watch?’
‘Yeah, how would you like it?’ said Sven. ‘And, normally, he likes the Daily Telegraph.’
‘I meant, can’t we hide?’ said Gwyneth. ‘And I hope you’re going to pick that up?’
‘What do you think the Daily Telegraph is for? And no, I’m not going to pick it up here, thank you. If you might like to examine the ground for a moment, anything five foot deep in sheep crap can take a little bit of ex Pedigree Chum.’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Arthur. ‘Let’s keep moving. I’m sure he’ll catch us up once he’s … finished his business.’
‘I’m not leaving him out here unprotected,’ said Sven, stubbornly.
‘Very good, soldier,’ said Marcus, rolling his eyes.
They had reached the rocks, and the party let out a sigh of relief. There had still been no sign of Ross’s troops, who must be further down the hill; and they arranged themselves so they could see in every direction below. For five minutes they watched; ten, fifteen.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Arthur.
‘They can’t be that much slower than us,’ said Marcus. ‘We got … held up.’
‘It’s too quiet,’ said Sven. ‘Ooh, I’ve always wanted to say that.’
Arthur turned and looked up at the castle. He stared fiercely at it.
‘Bloody hell,’ he said finally. ‘Look carefully, but I think I just saw something move.’
Gwyneth focused on the pointed direction. At first she thought he was just imagining things, the wind moving in the rushes. Her heart was thumping. She forced herself to concentrate, and suddenly she did see it – someone was pushing through the undergrowth, coming up round the castle’s other side.
‘I see it!’ she yelped, quietly.
‘Dirty buggers,’ said Sven. ‘I hope they crawled through Sandwiches’s poo.’
‘Dammit, they’ve avoided us completely,’ said Arthur. ‘We should have thought of that way. And they’re a hell of a lot closer to the castle than we are.’
‘Can we run up behind them and mow them down like dogs – I mean, like badgers,’ coughed Marcus.
‘Okay, everyone. We’re going to make for my right, there. If they’re together, we should be able to get immediately behind them.’
‘Won’t they see us running?’
‘No – we’re below them, heading the other way, and they’ve got their noses in the dirt.’
‘What if they’ve got someone covering their rears?’ asked Marcus.
‘Good question. We’re completely fucked.’
‘Okay.’
‘Right … on my shout.’
It wasn’t a bad plan, as plans go. They made a huge right angle under the crest of the hill and crawled back up the other side, behind the other team. Now they had to run as quietly as possible, with even Sandwiches taking care not to let his claws bounce off rock, and crept up to the rear of the enemy’s slowly snaking line, leaving Sven at the back to keep watch.
The person at the rear of Ross’s line, Naimh, took a routine look round just as they were coming upon her, and screamed so hard it echoed round the mountains.
Arthur picked up his gun to fire it, but before he could do so, there was an almighty WHUMP and a ball of red exploded onto her newly exposed chest.
Naimh lurched backwards in shock, clutching her heart as if she’d been shot by a bullet. Arthur and Sven stared in amazement, Arthur shocked out of his torpor.
‘Ah – good recoil,’ said Marcus, blowing calmly on the nozzle of his gun.
But …
‘GET DOWN!’ screamed Sven, and they hit the floor as the other three men came cascading round the corner of the castle.
‘Those bloody bastards SHOT me!’ screamed Naimh, as if this was the most ridiculous thing one could imagine in the middle of a paintball game.
‘Wipe it off,’ said Ross immediately.
‘You’re not allowed to wipe it off!’ shouted Marcus. ‘Oh bugger – I’ve just given away my position, haven’t I?’
‘Get ’em!’ shouted Naimh hysterically. Ross, Dave, and another of Ross’s colleagues, big Al, surveyed the ground in front of them, and Arthur couldn’t believe the camouflage was actually working long enough for him to squeeze the trigger and see an enormous red splodge whistle past Dave’s ear and splash-land on the castle wall.
‘Bugger it!’ said Dave. ‘Quick!’
And the three men disappeared round the wall again to safety, leaving Naimh crying uncontrollably and stamping her feet on the grass.
‘It’s not FAIR! Stupid GAME!’
Until finally, she stomped off in the direction she’d started in.
Immediately everyone jumped up and threw themselves at the opposite wall. The base of the castle was larger than it looked from further down the hill, and lush green grass covered what had clearly once been a moat. They headed carefully around, anti-clockwise, Sven bringing up the rear again walking backwards, Arthur carefully peering round corners and between stones. They didn’t know which side of the octagonal structure the entrance was on – it wasn’t the side they’d come up. Now they just had to hope they stumbled on it before the other team made it round the other side …
Looking out across the wide landscape, Arthur suddenly felt a pull. It was beautiful up there, clear and wild. He imagined what it would be like if he was really attacking this castle, then he remembered that, of course, he was. The fact that the rest of his life was rapidly turning to shit seemed, briefly, less important.
Round the following bend, he spotted out of the corner of his eye what he had been looking for – a dark break in the stone that must be the entrance.
‘Okay, there it is,’ he whispered down the line.
‘What are we going to do?’ said Marcus. ‘Are they there?’
‘No – but they can’t be far away,’ said Arthur. ‘We’re going to have to go NOW, before they get round the outside way.’
Marcus passed the news back, and they all nodded solemnly.
‘Okay, on my count, we’re going to run for the door and then stand with our backs against it to defend … oh shit, I think I just saw a flash of yellow – GOOOO!’
They dashed out fro
m behind the cover of the wall and plunged around to the front, Sandwiches barking madly, just as the yellow armbands were trying to prime their weapons on the opposite side. The first sludge hit the wall behind them.
‘DOWN! DOWN!’ screamed Arthur. ‘And FIRE!’
The red balls went whistling through the sky with a surprising velocity.
‘And again!’
Ross’s team, cursing and outnumbered, had retreated to the cover of some nearby trees, and were digging themselves in and watching the others closely.
‘Arthur,’ said Marcus, who had turned round to open the door. ‘Small problem.’
Arthur made sure Sven and Gwyneth were in guarding positions, checked none of the team in the trees was creeping forward or trying to flank, then tried to give his undivided attention to Marcus.
The door was, in fact, a portcullis, truly and firmly down. You could tell just by looking at it there was no point in trying to budge it – this was ancient and solid metal and would neither give nor be lifted. Down on the right-hand side were three levers: one red, one blue and one green.
On the red lever it said, ‘I open this door’. The blue lever said, ‘I do not open this door.’ The green lever said, ‘The blue lever does not open this door’.
‘Great!’ said Arthur, the adrenalin in his body working properly now. ‘Pull the red lever. That’s nice of them.’
‘Hang on!’ said Marcus. His voice was shaky with excitement. Underneath the levers, there was a now familiar yellow folder. Inside it said, ‘One of these statements is true. One is false. One is either true or false. You have one chance at pulling a lever.’
‘Oh crap!’ said Arthur. ‘We don’t have much time. They’re not going to stay in that bloody wood all day.’
‘Quiet,’ said Marcus, drawing himself up to his full five foot six. ‘This, I believe, is a logical problem.’ He beamed. ‘My moment has come.’
All was silence except for Sandwiches, who was capering about, barking madly.
‘That’s not bloody fair, having an extra bloody dog,’ could be heard emanating from the undergrowth.
‘Cowards!’ shouted Sven.