“You’re cold!” said Jake.
“Can’t seem to get warm. Trouble is I don’t get any exercise, and that makes me horrid constipated beside. Have they gone?”
Granpa spoke all but the last three words in a louder voice than usual, but they were a whisper. Jake cocked his head and listened. The wind nudged at the thin walls of the caravan, producing a series of slow, faint booms almost too deep to hear. The sea muttered at its rocks. Jake tuned these noises out and caught the light whimper of cloth on cloth—a sleeve brushing the body of an anorak, perhaps. He shook his head and cupped his hand to his ear. Granpa’s grip tightened to show he had understood.
“I don’t think we need worry too much, Jake,” he said. “All we’ve got to do is sit quiet and not annoy them. I’ve no idea what they’re up to, but the whole set-up makes me think they don’t want to hurt us and they’ll let us go when it’s over. Wearing masks when they come in here is a good sign, for instance. So I’m lying quiet, and so are you.”
“Not much I could do,” said Jake, finding it a strange relief to continue to turn his fear and shock into acted feebleness. That way he could push them outside his real self and use them as a mask. He wasn’t helpless. He’d never been helpless. If these people thought he was, that was their bad luck.
“How did you find me?” said Granpa.
“We went to the newspaper office, and they told us about the old man in the warehouse, and he said he’d told you about this place. We went to Sloughby and Penbottle first. Martin wanted to try his new bike on some real hills.”
“New bike? Ah, that explains how you got here. I’d been wondering. Tell me now, what did you make of Penbottle? I wasn’t going to bother with Sloughby for the moment. Story’s a bit too literary for my taste.”
He was still speaking in an artificially loud voice. Jake copied him as he explained about the Pele, and the way the old cottager’s story differed from Mr Smith’s. Granpa helped him spin things out by asking questions like a cross-examining lawyer, but under the sharpness Jake could sense strain and exhaustion. They finished Penbottle and were moving on to Sloughby when Jake caught another movement from outside. It seemed to dwindle. Low voices spoke, some distance away, and faded down the hill.
“They’ve gone,” said Jake, relaxing.
“Thought they would,” said Granpa in his normal voice. “Couldn’t afford to hang around long—everything they do goes to show they’ve got no spare hands, and they’re in a hurry. I’d never have stumbled on them the way I did if they’d had enough bods to keep a proper watch.”
“What happened?”
“I got off the bus at the main road. Came down the lane a bit—you can see there used to be a village there, but all the houses have gone. But there’s the hummocks of the old mine-workings in some scrubland over to the right so I pottered across to have a look at them. Nothing there, but I took it into my head to climb the tip and have a look out to sea, and once I was there it didn’t seem worth going all the way back to the lane. There’s a steep sort of sheep-path running down that side of the tip and coming out behind some derelict buildings, so I came down that way. It was a bit of a scramble, but I made it. Heard a hacksaw going in the big shed, so I poked my nose in. Coming from that side their sentry didn’t spot me.”
“Sentry? We were crossing a bridge when a man who sounded like a schoolmaster came and stopped us. He said something about insurance and the buildings being dangerous.”
“They tried that one on me. They also said they were doing industrial archaeology, but I was fool enough to let on that I knew a bit about mining and I could see that whatever they were up to it wasn’t that. Next thing the man they call Jack was pointing a gun at me. Brought me up here, and I’ve been here ever since. Didn’t tell them about sending you cards, because I hoped you’d get on to the police and get them to look for me. Never dreamed you’d come yourself.”
“Martin bought this bike.”
“That explains everything.”
“What were they doing in the shed, Granpa?”
“Don’t know. They’d rigged a screen across it half way down. Most of them were in behind there. There was one man using a workbench over on the left, and Jack and one of the girls were unpacking something from a crate. Long, thin bit of metal. Can’t think what, unless it was a helicopter rotor arm.”
“A helicopter!”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, that’s as far as I got.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No more do I.”
“We did go to the police, Granpa. I mean, they came to us, but then … anyway, they’re helping us look for you, and we promised Sergeant Abraham we’d keep in touch with her. So when we go missing … We didn’t tell her exactly what we were doing today, but she knew we’d gone to the newspaper office, so she’ll find Mr Smith, and he’ll tell her about how excited we got about his ghost stories, and we talked to several people near Sloughby and at Penbottle, so she’ll know we must have come here too.”
“That’s not bad,” said Granpa. “They should be able to trace me on the bus, too. I chatted to one or two people.”
He sounded strangely low and dispirited about it, though. No wonder, after all he’d been through, and was still going through.
“Is there really a bomb under your bed, Granpa?”
“I don’t think so, Jake. Too much of a risk for them. We had a bit of a gale a couple of nights ago, and twice I thought the caravan was going over, but they didn’t come to check.”
“I don’t think so either. That man was putting it on, like a horror movie.”
“Yes. On the other hand they must have done something. They went to a lot of trouble, setting this up. Two of them spent most of one evening on it. They started off by screwing up the windows but when they got to the big one that end they found they’d nothing to screw to. So they had a palaver and fitted me with this leg-iron. Then they went out and had another palaver and spent a good hour mucking around outside. They certainly fixed up something. In the end they came in and told me this story about the butane cylinders and gave me a demonstration of the see-saw effect like the one they gave you. My guess is that they’ve wired up a rocker-switch all right, but they’ve connected it to some sort of alarm down at the hotel.”
“Yes, I see. He was sort of telling the truth, I thought, but not all of it. That might fit … is there a window that still opens, Granpa?”
“Only the big one at the front. That was the one they had trouble with.”
“I could reach that, I think.”
“I doubt it, Jake. You were a good three feet short of it when the van tilted.”
“The woman put her foot on the step. He told her to. I heard him, and I heard the step creak.”
“Umm. Not good enough. You don’t know how hard she pressed. A few inches can make a lot of difference in these leverage problems.”
“But …”
“That’s enough for the moment, Jake. I’m a bit tired, I’m afraid. This whole business has got me down, and the shock of seeing you walk in … Yes, I’m a bit tired.”
He sounded it. Jake sat for a while, gently rubbing the loose-skinned icy hand between his palms, but no warmth seemed to come. When Granpa withdrew it and slid it under his bedclothes Jake stood up and began to explore the caravan, working systematically from roof to floor, so that he knew precisely where every obstacle and projection was. On the upper bunk he found another couple of blankets, which he tucked over Granpa, who mumbled his thanks sleepily. Apart from that there was nothing encouraging. The windows this end were completely firm. The storage spaces were all empty. There was a small table and a couple of stools, and beyond them—about as far as he dared explore—the tiny sink and cooker. He went back to the bench and sat down.
He was still there, chilly and worried, when he heard voices outside again. The support-legs grumble
d and the padlock clicked.
“Tea-time,” said a new voice, a woman’s, sharp and mocking through the slight muffle of her stocking mask. “Wakey wakey, Mr Uttery. It’ll be too dark to eat any minute now.”
Granpa groaned and sat up. The wickerwork of a basket creaked as it was put on the table. Paper rustled. She came further along.
“There’s your ration, Mr Uttery. You come and eat at the table, Jake. Can you manage without help?”
“I expect so,” whispered Jake and allowed himself to be led to a chair and settled in it.
“Right?” she asked. “Then I’ll get your bed ready. Hey! Where’ve those blankets gone? There was a couple.
“I put them on Granpa,” said Jake. “He’s icy cold. You feel.”
“I’m all right,” said Granpa irritably, in exactly the tone he used when Mum fussed about his health. The thought of Mum reminded Jake of something else.
“What about that time on Exmoor?” he said.
“What’s Exmoor got to do with it?” said the woman.
“There’s a standing stone up there,” said Jake. “Some people say they’ve seen a huge shape walking round and round it under the moon, croaking as it goes. Granpa went to look for it and got pneumonia. He nearly died. You mustn’t let him get cold.”
“I’m all right, I tell you,” said Granpa. “Your mother took it into her head to make a fuss, that’s all. And it was probably only a pony.”
“Ponies don’t croak,” said Jake.
“Let me feel your hand,” said the woman.
She stood for a moment, sucking her breath meditatively between her lips, then went to the door.
“Tim,” she said. “Remember those old stone bed-heaters Terry wanted for his junk-shop—in that cupboard on the back landing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fetch a couple of them up, will you. Better make it four.”
“What’s the fuss?”
“The old boy’s chilled off. I don’t like it. I had a neighbour, once, died of hypothermia. I’ll get some water hot. Oh, and a sleeping-bag for the boy, right?”
“Right.”
Jake sat munching at a sausage roll which had been frozen and not quite fully thawed, but he found he was hungry enough not to mind the little crunching crystals in its middle. There’s only one of them now, bethought, and it’s almost dark. He listened to the woman’s movements. She sounded strong and brisk. She was working a little hand-pump to fill the kettle and a saucepan. A match grated and the gas began to wuffle. Nobody said anything till the man came back and dumped four solid objects on the floor by the sink.
“Weigh a ton,” he said. “Think of servants having to cart those up six flights.”
“Dead practical,” said the woman. “You kept them in the bedroom and took boiling water round to fill them. The heat goes into the stone, so you don’t lose any, but you don’t scorch yourself. Water’ll be hot in a couple of minutes.”
He must have made some kind of signal to her, because she left the stove and followed him out of doors. Again they thought they’d pitched their voices below Jake’s hearing, but hadn’t.
“You serious about hypothermia?” he said.
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. It’s a possibility, and you heard what the kid said about pneumonia.”
“But that means he might die on us.”
“Yes. That’s his look-out. We’ll do what we can for him, short of mucking up the project. They’ve cost us all our slack time already, him and the kids.”
“You told me no one was going to get hurt. I only came in because of that.”
“This is different,” she said, speaking in a much gentler voice as though she were coaxing a child to take nasty medicine. “We’ll do what we can for him, keep him warm, all that. It’s only three days. He should be all right. But it was him coming poking around—it’s his look-out, like I said. He might just as easy have fallen down a mine-shaft or something. There’s my kettle. You get that sleeping bag ready for the kid and take them to the toilet. We’ve got to get on, unless you want to be working till three again tonight. I’ll need your torch to fill the bottles.”
They did the rest of their work in silence, apart from brief instructions to their prisoners. The man was much gentler than the woman. Ten minutes later Jake was lying in the sleeping-bag, listening to a new argument fading down the hill. Granpa gave a long sigh.
“Are you all right?” said Jake.
“Much better, thanks. I hadn’t reckoned on how cold I was getting. You stop noticing after a bit. Aah.”
Jake listened to the wind and the sea. Slowly he nibbled his way through a very nice wheatmeal chicken sandwich. “I don’t think there’s a bomb,” he said suddenly.
“How d’you make that out? Hear something?”
“Yes. The man told the woman she’d promised him no one would get hurt in what they’re doing.”
“Glad to hear it. I was fretting about you, Jake. And I daresay you’ll sleep easier, too.”
“How much do those bottles weigh, Granpa?”
“Lord, I don’t know. Haven’t seen one since I was your age. Five pounds? Six?”
“That means they’ve put twenty-four pounds more weight down this end of the caravan.”
“Ah, I see what you’re getting at.”
“Look, suppose I got out—not now, much later—she said something about not working till three in the morning— when does it get light?”
“About six. But it won’t do, Jake. The one golden rule for people in our position is that you sit tight.”
“No, listen. I’m different. They won’t hurt me, you see. If it goes wrong I’ll just say I was worried because you were much worse and I wanted to get them to come and look at you. I’ve only got to get past the hotel. Then I can walk up to the main road and hitch a lift somewhere. A call-box would do. You don’t need money to call the police from one.”
Granpa said nothing.
“I can do it,” said Jake. “That’s the whole point—they don’t know I can.”
This time Granpa sighed, but still said nothing. When Jake had begun talking his plan had only been a suggestion, but now he realised how strongly he wanted to hit back at these people. For a time, after the scuffle in the hotel, they had made him feel really frightened and helpless, and even now they continued to treat him like that. As he’d talked he’d persuaded himself. He could do it. He’d show them he could. The question whether it was worth doing could wait.
“Where’s the water-tank?” said Granpa suddenly.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I thought you might have heard a pipe gurgling, or something.”
“I’ll try, shall I?”
“Wait a moment. There’s a kettle and two saucepans, I wonder whether there’s a bucket.”
“Yes. Under the sink. You mean fill them up too and bring them down this end? A gallon of water weights ten pounds.”
“Say you can get two gallons down here. Twenty pounds. Say the water-tank’s level with the sink—that’s half way between the axle and the far end, roughly, so taking twenty pounds from there is the same as taking ten from the far end. That makes thirty. Add my water-bottles—say fifty in all. If there’s anything left in the tank you can pump it out
That ought to do it, unless we get a gust of wind at the wrong moment.”
“We could say the wind blew it over.”
“We’d have a lot of spilt water to explain. Besides, we aren’t really dead certain …”
“Dead certain what?”
“Nothing. You really want to try this, Jake?”
“Yes.”
“All right. If it was anyone else, I’d say no. But I don’t think you’ll come to any harm.”
“Shall I try that tank now?”
“No. There’ll be some
one round to check, I shouldn’t wonder. You see if you can go to sleep. I’ll wake you.”
“How will you know what the time is?”
“When you’ve lived my kind of life, you do know. See if you can sleep.”
“OK.”
It was surprisingly easy, at first. Jake was deep asleep until a groan woke him—no, not a groan, but the rumble of the support-legs being lowered. The second woman came in and refilled the water-bottles from a can she’d brought. She said very little. Granpa mumbled his thanks in a slurred voice.
“What’s the time?” said Jake.
“Time you were asleep,” she said like a nurse in a ward, then added “Time I was, too.”
Jake could hear the exhaustion in her voice, and the tension below the exhaustion. They must be under a strain, too, he thought. Worse than us. Except they chose it.
When she’d gone he dozed, woke and dozed again. The wind nagged at his half-conscious mind. He thought of it bustling round the broken top of Penbottle Pele and hurling across the bare slopes of Sloughby, and then he was dreaming and it became the rush of air past the pillion of the BMW as Martin drove on a frenzied errand which had to be finished in three days.
“Jake?”
“Uh?”
“If you’re going, now’s the time.”
“Are you all right, Granpa? I thought you were just acting when that woman came.”
“I’m having a bit of a down, but I’ll do. Expect it’s only worry about you.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Yes. It’s a good chance. We’ve got to take it. Not just for us, Jake. We’ve got a duty to society. If it were just for us I wouldn’t let you go.”
Jake grunted as he swung from his bunk. He hadn’t thought of it like that. Two minutes later he was working the little pump at the sink, and trying to listen to the suck and gurgle which might tell him where the main tank was.
Chapter Six
Jake was used to see-saws. When he’d been much smaller he’d taught himself to walk along the one in the school playground and enjoyed the kick of that strange moment when his own weight tilted the plank the other way, so that he was suddenly walking not up but down. Sighted children keep their balance while they do this by watching the unmoving flats and uprights of the solid world around them, but for Jake it had been a matter of learning to sense through the soles of his feet the first tremble of change and adjusting to it as it came.
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