"Well, I'm sure it was pixies then, dear," said Tessa sarcastically.
Kristof, in contrast, put down his drink and leaned toward Ben with interest. "I don't know anything about Shanty Wood specifically, but there are plenty of old stories about fairies, goblins and the like getting up to mischief in this part of the world. You know—the usual stuff about little folk with big flappy tongues and toadstools on their heads. Undoing shoelaces is a traditional pastime, I believe. I don't know about doing them up again, though."
"Are you kidding?" said Andrea, glancing incredulously at Sam, who just looked bored.
"I bet those pixies love to drink petrol as much as I adore my chardonnay on Friday," said Tessa, clearly still proud of her previous jibe. She put down her empty glass and reached for her handbag. "As much as I'd love to talk about the Tiddy people all night and grow a toadstool for a bonnet, I really should be getting going. My brood of elves will be getting hungry."
Ben felt grateful when Tessa, and then Andrea and Sam, said their goodbyes. Kristof, who was currently in between girlfriends and in no more rush to get home than Ben was to return to his parents' attic, fetched west-country cider for himself and orange juice for Ben. He settled on the opposite side of the booth, savouring his drink.
"Honestly," said Ben. "Weird shit happened this afternoon. I can't really explain it all. You see, I met this guy—"
"Oh yeah!" Kristof snorted, amused. "No wonder you didn't want to talk about this in front of the boss. Been having too much fun in your working hours, eh?"
"Nothing like that," said Ben. "He was just… a guy, and anyway, that was nothing to do with it. I can't account for a couple of things that happened, and I'd kind of like to go back there. It's not just the, um, weird shit. I'm not really satisfied I made the area safe, you see? While it was quiet this afternoon, there will be families with kids around there this weekend. Plus, I need to pick up my car, and I really don't fancy that walk up the lane again. Are you, er, busy tomorrow?"
"Nope," replied Kristof, and he smoothed his lips together. "But if you want me to go help you finish your work on a Saturday morning, you're going to have to buy me fish and chips on the way home from here."
"Deal," said Ben. They tapped glasses, juice clinking against cider, sealing it. As Ben drained the rest of his glass, he basked in a glow of happy warmth that shouldn't have been there after the trauma of the day. With Kristof at his side, he felt brave enough to go back to Shanty Wood and find out what had been real and what hadn't been. Because he couldn't trust his own senses right now.
And he needed to find Lyle. He had to know what'd happened earlier and… Well, it was no good denying it. He wanted to see Lyle again.
Chapter Four
"Ben, your friend is waiting outside in that enormous Land Rover of his. Oh, and I've made you some sandwiches. Cheese and cucumber—your favourite."
"Thanks mum." Ben climbed backward down the steep ladder-like stairway from his attic bedroom, ducking under the many low beams that the family regularly whacked their heads on as he hurried along the landing. "You really shouldn't have troubled with making me food. I might be back for lunch."
"I do hope not," said his mum. "It's nice to see you getting out with folk. Don't rush back."
He descended the main stairway of his parents' cottage, every footfall eking a groan from the ancient treads. His mum waited by the front door in her usual Saturday morning outfit of pink dressing gown and curlers, holding his lunch bag. Her chipper smile faltered when she saw him. "You look tired, dear. You're not coming down with something, are you?"
"No, no. I didn't sleep so great, that's all." He took the proffered bag, her ongoing scrutiny prompting him to explain why he'd tossed, turned and sweated in his single bed, and hardly got a wink of sleep all night. Though he hated having to lie yet again, especially to his mum, the untruths flowed readily: "The first giant spider of the spring season chose last night to come romping across the ceiling and abseil down into my bed. Seriously, it was so fat that when it landed there was a thud. Took me hours to catch the little bastard, and then I just couldn't get off to sleep."
She tutted. "Wildlife has always loved our thatched roof far too much. The fresh air should perk you up, though." Ben pulled on his boots and coat. His mum, meanwhile, had a thought which visibly perked her up. "It's very kind of Kristof to take you back to the woods to pick up your car. Are you and he by any chance… together?" She pursed her lips, which meant she demanded an answer.
"No, mum. Kristof isn't gay." He was sure he'd told her that before.
"Shame." She sighed. "I do wish it wasn't so difficult for you to meet people in a small town like this, Ben. You should get on the train to London or Leeds more often, dear, try some of those clubs that young people like you go to, and—"
Kristof honked his car horn, unwittingly coming to Ben's rescue. Ben rarely made it through one of his mother's "you need to get out more" lectures without becoming fractious. It wasn't that he didn't want to meet somebody special, he really did, but his mother seemed to think him lonelier and far more desperate than he really was.
On the other hand, he had felt pretty desperate to see a particular man again last night, although it hadn't been Kristof or any mystery man he'd never met. It'd been Lyle. Ben just couldn't get out of his head how sad and lonely Lyle had looked. It'd touched Ben's heart, and he didn't even seem to care anymore that Lyle had acted extremely oddly and been a bit of a prick. That said, at least half of Ben's keenness to see Lyle was in order to find out what'd happened yesterday. He'd passed a couple of those sleepless hours speculating how he'd got from the woods to the pub without some Star Trek-style transporter. He'd repeatedly drawn a blank.
"I'm not that young anymore, and I never liked clubs, anyway." He leaned down and pecked his mum on the cheek, receiving a whiff of primrose morning cream in return. "So I don't think I'll be finding my soulmate in one any time soon."
She bristled. "You won't be finding him with your straight work colleague on a woodland walk either, dear."
"I know, mum," said Ben. "Have a lovely day. Oh, and thanks again for the sandwiches. I appreciate it." He shut the door.
*~*~*
"At least nobody has nicked your car, Ben." Kristof steered his four-by-four across the bumpy potholed carpark toward where Ben had left his little Peugeot convertible the day before. The clock had nearly reached ten, and there were half a dozen other cars already parked. "That's good news."
Ben's scant feelings of relief that his car hadn't been torched or vandalized slammed home once more how distant he felt from his usual self. The aging soft-top was his most valuable possession. On a usual Saturday morning, he could well have been plying it with a shiny coat of wax.
"You're bloody lucky it wasn't burnt out or dumped in a ditch," said Kristof, as he climbed out of his driver's seat and stepped over a giant muddy puddle. He passed Ben a can of petrol, which reminded Ben of yet another lie he'd had to tell. The car, of course, had plenty of fuel in it.
"Thanks. I'll fill it up when we get back," said Ben. He opened his boot and placed the can inside. "Shall we go?"
"Hell, yeah." Kristof grinned. Never a man to do things by halves, he'd showed up kitted head-to-toe in premium-make hiking gear, including some brand new boots. "Let's go hunting pixies."
Ben gave a dry chortle. You don't know the half of it, mate.
The morning was bright, the wood transformed utterly from the previous afternoon's foreboding and gloom. Yesterday, Ben hadn't spotted a single flower until Lyle had taken him to the pool, yet today he noted snowdrops breaking out in several sunny spots. Even the odd daffodil had sprung its nodding golden bloom. Songbirds were prolific too; on a low branch, Ben spotted a chaffinch puffing out its pink breast and chirping with all its might. As they set off in the direction of the tower, a woman with a couple of yapping terriers chasing at her heels bid them good morning. Farther up the path, a man was building a den inside the hollowed trunk of an ancien
t tree aided by two keen but not particularly helpful little girls.
"You really don't have to come any further," said Ben, abruptly, and not only because nothing felt threatening anymore. He'd a sudden notion he wouldn't find Lyle hanging around if he trailed everywhere behind Kristof. "Not if you don't want to. It's been really kind of you to give me a lift, but it's my responsibility to check on the hazards, and I feel really bad hijacking your weekend."
"Nah, its fine," said Kristof. Ben couldn't prevent his heart from sinking a little. "Hiking makes a change from my usual jog, and besides, the least enchanting-feeling of forests has its mysteries—even this place. After what you said last night, I had a quick look online, and found some scans from old newspapers in the 1930s. Seems there was all sorts of rumours back then about 'queer' goings on, as they called it. Some young guy disappeared into Shanty Wood for weeks, and when he came back… I dunno, they said he was 'touched'. Gone mad. He claimed he'd met some fairy prince. They locked him up in an insane asylum in the end. Awfully sad."
"That's pretty drastic," said Ben, attempting to sound casual. Lyle hadn't exactly looked like a fairy prince, but that seemed beside the point. If there were weirdness—or magic, or whatever—Lyle appeared to be at the heart of it. Then again, despite everything, Ben still wasn't convinced he believed in any magic. Maybe he was going mad, like that poor bloke in the 1930s.
Or could they have both met a fairy prince? Nah. A fangless auburn-haired vampire prince, maybe. Anyway, Lyle was far too young to have been hanging around in the 1930s. Although, of course, fairy or vampire princes probably didn't age...
"I'm sure it was all nothing, really, the stuff with my shoelaces," said Ben, cutting off that worrying line of thought fast. "I mean, it was gloomy and miserable, and I got a bit weirded out. It all seems a bit silly this morning."
"What about that guy you said you met?" asked Kristof.
Ben mustered a nonchalant laugh. "Oh, that was nothing."
"Don't spoil my fun." Kristof peeped back over his shoulder and winked. "I'm hoping to be kidnapped by a fairy princess—preferably a witty, intelligent and exceedingly well-read one, who also happens to be a complete nymphomaniac. And you can have first dibs on any stray fairy princes."
Ben chuckled and rose to Kristof's banter. They picked their way through the woods toward the tower. It seemed to take even longer to find than yesterday, so when Ben spotted the red stone structure up ahead, he sighed with relief.
"Wow," said Kristof. "Does Rapunzel hang out there? It just needs a cute pointy roof."
Under a blue sky marred by a few fluffy white clouds, the tower indeed looked more Brothers Grimm than merely grim. But the weather wasn't the only thing that'd changed since Ben left the scene.
"Where have my barriers gone?" He strode across the bracken where he'd erected his poles and spread out the hazard tape. "Somebody's bloody-well nicked them!"
"That's bad," said Kristof. "I've got poles and some hazard tape back in the Land Rover—yeah, I know it's sad, but I never take 'em out, even off duty. Do you want me to go get them?"
Ben faintly registered the words but didn't reply. He marched around the tower, gazing up at the gargoyles—at the complete set of eight dragon gargoyles, each poised as if they'd been carved and placed there that morning. Under the exact dragon that had not been up there the day before, lay the faintest trace of red dust in the grass.
"What are you looking at?" asked Kristof. He'd drawn close behind Ben and made Ben jump.
"Nothing," said Ben. "Do you think this tower looks structurally unsound at all?"
Kristof scanned the tower with a scowl of concentration. He walked around it then poked his head inside.
"It's not that old," he said, emerging from the dark interior with a single pigeon feather stuck in his hair. "Early Victorian, I'd say, definitely 1800s. They loved building these old follies back then, for hunting lodges or for a bit of secret nooky in the forest. The sandstone is in great condition for its age. What did you think was dangerous about it?"
"The gargoyles," said Ben, feeling stupid. Without a shattered dragon at his feet, his assertion sounded feeble. "Do you reckon they, er, might fall down?"
"Without carrying out a proper survey, I can't be a hundred percent certain. If you want my professional opinion, I'd say they look fine, frankly. Not worth dragging back to the car to get the poles for. So where's this deep water then?"
Ben led Kristof under the same pine trees that Lyle had taken him through yesterday. At least, Ben believed they were the same pines. Beyond lay a boggy patch of mud, fringed with some of the same white flowers, but no pool. After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, Ben looked beneath the identical pines he had initially taken Kristof to. And this time, the pool was there.
"At bloody last," said Kristof. The frustrating search had dented his weekend exuberance. "How did we miss this? I swear we looked here before."
"Sorry," said Ben. "I owe you some more fish and chips for this. And probably several more rounds of beer."
At least his hazard tape remained, at the far end of the pool. As he watched Kristof stride around the bank, his mind raced.
He wanted to tell Kristof the truth, here and now, about the gargoyle, about everything. About how, unless his sense of direction had gone completely to pot, this was the same place they'd looked for the pool first yet seen only a shallow bog. But… if he stood in Kristof's shoes, and even with Kristof's evident fondness for folklore, he suspected Kristof would think he was losing it.
He rubbed his forehead; the quandary gave him a headache. Maybe he was going insane. Even so, it seemed better to share, or at least to try.
"Kristof, I need to tell you something. I— "
"Benjamin, please don't."
The voice was a weak husk and seemed to come from close behind. He felt breath on his neck, the whispering ghost of a caress.
Lyle.
Ben spun on the spot. Nobody, not a sign, just the pine trees.
"What did you say?" called Kristof. Ben whirled back to see Kristof had reached the farthest side of the pool, the part that'd been deepest and that Ben had cordoned off. Kristof edged up to the warning barrier and attempted to free a stretch of tape that'd tangled in the willows.
"I, uh — " stuttered Ben.
"No!" hissed Lyle. Ben scanned desperately for him to no avail. "Get that man away from the pool! You shouldn't have brought—"
Lyle's whispered words were drowned out by a shout. Ben turned as the muddy bank subsided beneath one of Kristof's high-tech walking boots. Kristof flailed, grabbing ineffectually for the tape, which ripped away. One of his legs slid deep into the water. The other buckled so his knee slammed down on the bank.
"Shit!" yelled Kristof, struggling in vain to find something secure to hold as he sank farther. Ben ran over and grabbed his hand.
"Got you," said Ben, though his soles slipped precariously too. Where had Lyle gone? Was Lyle going to emerge to help?
Not bloody likely.
Ben stamped down some grasses to create a firm foothold, hooked an arm under Kristof's, and started to haul him out.
*~*~*
Kristof sat down in the driver's seat of his Land Rover, his feet still on the ground outside, and tugged off his mud-sodden walking boot.
"These are going to take hours to dry out," he grumbled. "If they're not completely ruined."
"I'm sorry," said Ben, for the umpteenth time.
"Stop apologising," said Kristof, as dour as the sky had grown. During their trudge back to the carpark—or, in Kristof's case, squelch back—clouds had covered the sun. "It wasn't your fault. In fact, I'm glad it happened. That pool's a fatality waiting to happen. We'll come back next week and sort this out properly."
Kristof talked like a man vowing personal vengeance. Ben didn't fancy arguing; when Kristof set his mind to a task, he always followed through. Besides, guilt aside, Ben wanted rid of Kristof. He now knew for sure Lyle wasn't going to show his face wh
ile Kristof was about.
"Okay," said Ben. "I won't forget this. I owe you big time."
"It's fine. Let it go, mate."
Kristof turned his car heating to the max, switched on the radio, and started the engine. Ben turned to his Peugeot, alongside. He kept up the pretence of getting out the petrol can from his boot and bringing it around to the hub. The moment Kristof turned out of the carpark and the Land Rover vanished up the lane, he threw the can back where it'd been, locked up, and ran back into the forest.
When he got to the tower, which—thank heavens—was exactly where he figured it should be, he braced his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. The collar of his jacket was almost as sopping with sweat as Kristof's socks and trousers had been with pond water.
"Lyle, where are you?"
A bird chirruped.
"Lyle!"
"I'm over here." The faint call came again from the direction of the pines.
Ben sprinted over, ducking beneath the branches until he reached the pool. He then stopped, staring. A chill shot up his spine, turning the sweat icy against his skin.
Lyle sat at the base of one of the trees facing the pool, leaning against the trunk. His head lolled back, as if he'd not the strength to lift it. He looked even paler than yesterday. All the scarlet colouring had left his lips and his blue eyes had lost their lustre.
He was beautiful, still, but far too fragile. Ben's throat went dry.
"Do you have any idea," breathed Lyle, "how difficult it is for me to conceal this pool using magic? I can't do it anymore. I… I think I must be dying."
Chapter Five
Magic. This man… being… is magical.
The Lonely Merman Page 3