A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (29 page)

Wren studied the rugby player twitching at his feet with the interest he had shown the Devil’s Stagecoach Beetle all those years ago. Weeks ago. No barely a week, Rhyllann reminded himself. Panicked voices sounded again from behind the wall calling for help. Rhyllann shrunk deeper inside Crombie’s jacket, pulling it over his head like a shroud, welcoming the darkness. Better, much better. Old leather, petrol fumes and greasy oil kept out the singed charcoal smell. Inside his mind, he hunted a tune, a nursery rhyme and started humming. Anything to shut out the voices. Rhyllann’s knuckles found his mouth and he bit down.

‘Son are you okay?’ Crombie reached out to Wren, patting his shoulder. Ignoring the question Wren asked his own.

‘Did WPC Hewes call that man there Mr Crombie?’

Crombie hesitated for a long time before replying. ‘My brother. I haven’t seen him since … When he mussed your hair like that … I used to follow him round like a puppy.’

Wren made small comforting noises. Crombie spoke again. ‘Is he dead?’ As though he couldn’t bear to look for himself.

‘Stunned. Just stunned. He caught the backlash.’ Crombie walked unsteadily over to the prone body. Then ever cautious stooped to wrap cable ties round his brother’s wrists. He looked back at Wren.

‘Christine – WPC Hewes – she touched that lever – did you know what would happen?’ Wren leaned against the boulder surveying Crombie with eyes of blue innocence. But he took too long to answer. Eventually he admitted.

‘I didn’t think it would be with that force.’

Huddled behind his rock, cocooned in Crombie’s coat, Rhyllann heard the lie.

Wren called over ‘Annie – come on! We need you.’

Rhyllann waved impatiently. He’d lost it. He’d lost the next line. He’d have to start over. “Gay go up gay go down, ring the bells of London Town” – better. “Oranges and lemons say the –“ no! not again. This time a figure loomed into view.

‘Son – come on – I need your help. I need to get you and your cousin out of here.’ Rhyllann shook him off and started again.

‘Detective Crombie – what’s wrong with him?’ Wren wailed.

‘It's alright son. Nothing to worry about.’ Crombie waved a hand in Rhyllann’s face. He swatted Crombie aside and started again. If he didn’t recite the rhyme in the correct order the ground would open again. He couldn’t risk one wrong word. Rhyllann fixed on the small crevice in the wall, blotting out the irritants in front of him.

‘Wren stop that.’ The sobbing continued. ‘Come on now. You can’t go to pieces as well. Your cousin’s going to be ok. I’ve seen this before. He’s in shock. But he’s going to be ok. He’s strong. He won’t sink … like an overloaded computer – he needs to reboot. Let’s get you up the steps – I’ll come back for him.’

Rhyllann let words wash over him, he wanted to reassure Wren, but it seemed
 
much more important to get the rhyme right. He watched listlessly as Crombie checked on his brother once more. Wren limped over to stand beside him, then stooped awkwardly to pull a battered leather book from Declan’s back pocket. Wren spoke tonelessly to Crombie.

‘He didn’t know about the bomb. I thought he was going to kill Stern when I told him. He wanted to send a couple of men onto the moors. To move the jeep from the tracks. They wouldn’t … they’d taken pictures on their mobile. Hewes had. Said Rhyllann would be on the train if I didn’t … I’m sorry Detective Crombie.’

Crombie put an arm around his shoulder. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Rhyllann worked it out. We stopped the train.’ Crombie said simply. Wren sagged against him. After a moment or two Crombie half carried him across the cavern and rested him against the steps.

‘Rhyllann. Rhyllann son.’ Crombie sighed, but this time didn’t attempt to touch him. ‘I’ll be back. Don’t move.’ And turned to help Wren up the steps.

*

“When will you pay me, say the bells of old Bailey. I’m sure I don’t know, say the great bells of Bow.” He’d made it … “Here comes the candle to light you to bed – here comes the chopper to chop off your head –“ the world began tuning in like a faint radio signal – he could allow that now – almost there –

“Chip, chop. The last man’s …

At that precise moment Wren screamed, and a single shot rang out.

Crombie crumpled against Wren, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. Through gritted teeth he let go a low moan of pain. Wren pushed him to one side and began rifling through the battered text. Joan’s own words. Spinning round Wren thrust it towards the man holding the gun.

‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot him again. Look! Read for yourself – Oh thank god – they’ve made an English translation!’ Holding the book open he read aloud. ‘But the treasure is guarded by Caliburn. He who wishes to enter the secret room must first ensure he knows of the Celtic rites. Another may enter, provided he is accompanied by one who has been initiated into the Celtic mysteries. No other hand is permitted to touch Caliburn, sacred sword of the Celtic nations.’ He raised his head. ‘Do you understand – it’s almost certain death to touch the sword. You need me.’ He stopped, breathing heavily.

The gunman beckoned for Wren to pass the book. From his vantage point seated at the top of the cell, he read, while keeping the pistol trained on the room below him.

Wren bent over the prone detective and shouted. ‘Detective Crombie – do you understand?’ His voice travelled clearly, carrying into the tunnel. ‘For some reason Caliburn can only be plainly seen and handled by a Celt. Only a true Celt can pull Caliburn from the stone. If only Rhyllann were here. We need Rhyllann. Rhyllann stopped that train crashing. Rhyllann saved me from drowning.’ He called at the top of his voice. ‘Annie where are you? I need you!’

‘Will you shut up or I will shoot! I’m trying to read.’ The gunman buried turned to the book again, while Wren sobbed quietly.

*

Deep within the cavern, Rhyllann’s head came up. Someone was calling to him. Someone in trouble called his name over and over. In a persistent strident tone. Really this was too much. He’d have to start again. But the rhyme was all mixed up in his head with pistol shots and wild talk of Caliburn and treasure and Celtic myths.

He couldn’t help anyway. Even if he wanted to. A gunman waited up top. Patiently. To ambush Wren and Crombie at the top of the steps. There was no other way out of this place. Rhyllann fixed his eyes on his special window and started again. The setting sun’s rays streamed through the crevice creating a pool of light, distracting him. If it landed on Caliburn, like a message from above that would really be too much.

Illumination flooded Rhyllann. Shrugging off Crombie’s smelly old jacket, he sprinted over to Caliburn. His hand slapped against the hilt, his fingers curled to grasp, and his arm swept upwards, pulling Caliburn from its resting place. It flew up as cleanly and sweetly as a bird taking flight. Hearing movement behind, he swung round. Caliburn followed perfectly balanced, already an extension of Rhyllann. Declan stirred, dread crossed his face as the mythical sword shimmered before him.

‘You quick – over there.’ Rhyllann motioned to the crevice high in the cavern wall, with Caliburn. ‘Your brother needs help. He’s been shot! Don’t you care?’ Declan Crombie merely stared. Rhyllann grew impatient, they didn’t have time for this.

‘Move. Or else.’ He waved Caliburn menacingly. Crombie’s brother lumbered to his feet to obey in double quick time. In the distance far away, he could hear Wren’s voice. Protesting now that he wasn’t moving until Crombie had his wounds bandaged. Rhyllann squeezed through the hole, feet kicking back against Declan’s shoulders. Hissing for him to sit back down and not to move, else he’d be back. With Caliburn. Wren would buy him time but he couldn’t stall forever.

*

The gunman sneered. ‘What’s all this nonsense – no-one can touch Caliburn?’

Wren stepped closer. ‘They’ve booby trapped the place. A lever in the shape of a sword. If you don’t put exactly the right amount of pressure – if you touch it incorrectly – it triggers some kind of primitive electrical charge.’ Wren spread his arms wide. ‘Look – I don’t give a toss. Go look for yourself – there’s a lever sticking out from a boulder. But Christine Hewes touched it. Declan Crombie only stood near it. Now she’s dead and Declan’s laying in that cavern unconscious.’

‘It’s true.’ Crombie rasped. ‘I saw it happen with my own eyes. Bates – you’ve nothing to lose. Take the kid with you – let him operate the mechanism.’ Bates looked from Crombie to Wren, then into the tunnel. He came to a decision. He laughed, mocking them.

‘Detective Inspector Crombie. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unbelievable.’

‘Bates. Don’t … Shooting me – that was an accident. Easy mistake to make. Maybe you thought I was a gang member. But if you think you can kill me and get away with it – don’t be stupid!’

‘Stupid? Me stupid? Oh no Detective Crombie not me. That evil little gang in there – brave
stupid
Detective Inspector Crombie of the Met tried to stop them. Superintendent Bates, poor old country plod arrived too late. Treasure gone. Dead bodies everywhere. What a mess! Jeff Holden will testify how impulsive you were. How he tried to warn me in time. How I came up here just for a look see. Too late. Again.’

‘Bates! For god’s sakes! Not the boy.’

Crombie tried to shield Wren with his body. Bates sneered.

‘In two seconds, you won’t be worrying about anything anymore.’

Wren broke in angrily. ‘Are you completely mad? He’s got a wife – a family …’ he gestured towards the tunnel. ‘A king’s ransom … you can buy your own island … please – his daughter’s getting married next month!’

‘Enough talk.’ Bates said stretching to angle the gun downwards.

The sun broke free from the clouds again, transforming him into a towering silhouette. Wren screamed and clutched at Crombie.

Rhyllann charged out of the sun, roaring – swinging Caliburn in a wide arc – the blade scythed upward– erupting through air and space. A startled Bates attempted to spin round, tottering on the cell edge, completely off balance now. The pistol fired, a bullet sang, and Wren screamed again, sprawling against Crombie. The earth shook as Bates toppled into the cell.

Rhyllann, murderous, sprung after him without pause. Crombie twisted, trying to throw off Wren, whose arm snaked around him.

‘Enough Rhyllann – Enough.’ Crombie bellowed.

Bates’s gun dropped to the ground, he scrambled to his knees, staring petrified at this avenging angel. Grasping him by the hair, Rhyllann lifted Caliburn aloft – an unholy joy flooding his soul. Crombie’s voice penetrated the battle fugue, he risked a quick glance, saw him propped against Wren, crouching at the side of the cell. Rhyllann looked down at Bates, his eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer. From the corner of his eye, Rhyllann saw Wren make a cutting gesture against his own throat.
Kill
. Crombie pushed himself upright, swaying slightly. He wouldn’t be in time to stop him.

‘Enough.’

Rhyllann couldn’t help himself, Caliburn sang to him, demanding blood. Slowly, deliberately, he swept the sword down, tearing through flesh, which parted against the blade, peeling open like rotten fruit. It felt good. He stood back to admire his work, and Bates slumped to the ground. 

Rhyllann had no recollection of scrambling up the remaining cliff face, or circling round to attack Bates. He remembered every stroke he made with Caliburn though. He would never forget the feeling of invincibility, it was burned into his soul.

Wren held out his hands for Caliburn, his blue eyes impenetrable steel once more. Rhyllann surrendered it willingly. It belonged to him too. He thought Wren meant to clean it, but felt no surprise when he stroked the blade, dabbling his fingers in Bates’s blood. Then reached up to smear Rhyllann’s forehead.

Crombie finished binding Bates’s hands behind his back, then secured his ankles.

‘That little savage tried to kill me – you saw him Crombie – he’s the one you should be cuffing – Crombie!’

Crombie placed an oversized wellie on Bates’s rump, forcing him down.

‘You. Shut. Up.’

Bates turned his face to one side, spitting out dirt. The gash across his cheek resembled a sausage that had split its skin.

Crombie turned to the boys. Apart from blood smearing his face and hands, he was devoid of colour.

‘Rhyllann – we’ll take his jeep. You’ll have to operate the gears for me.’ He scrambled out of the cell as he spoke.

Pulling Wren with him, Rhyllann followed. Wren shrugged him off.

‘Brawd – come on – Crombie needs help. He’s bleeding all over the place.’

Wren stared at him motionless.

‘Please son.’ Crombie’s voice sounded less authoritive than usual.

Still Wren didn’t move.

‘Brawd – he’s already lost so much blood.’

A smile spread over Wren’s face. ‘Annie, leave here and we’ll never see that treasure again.’

Rhyllann felt confused. ‘What are you talking about? It's ours! We found it!’

The smile seemed pitying now. ‘It isn’t ours. It belonged to the King of England. It belongs to his heirs.’

Rhyllann looked to Crombie for confirmation. ‘Is that right? We won’t get a penny?’

Crombie spoke raggedly. ‘There’s documentation …. Proof …. the Princess of Wales ….her father’s treasure. …hoard … Not treasure trove.’ He looked haggard but managed a smile. ‘Maybe a finder’s reward.’ Crombie winced. ‘Son, I’m sorry – We need to go.’ He staggered towards the Police Jeep.

‘We’ll take him to hospital – then come back – move some of the treasure – the Queen wouldn’t mind – she’d be happy for us! If she knew what we went through!’

Wren shook his head. ‘Lizzie wouldn’t even notice if we pulled a couple of those chests to one side. I’m sure she wouldn’t begrudge us either. But the men in grey suits would.’

‘Who’s gonna tell ‘em? Not me. Not you.’ But in his heart Rhyllann knew he was fighting a losing battle.

‘Not me. Not you. Look behind you Annie. An honest man.’

Crombie was in Bates’s jeep now, turning the engine over. He managed to start it up – but he couldn’t manage both gear stick and steering wheel. He stared helplessly at the boys.

Rhyllann snapped. ‘Get up there now you little punk. He needs us.’

The sword flickered with languid energy, like a contented tiger as Wren backed towards the cavern’s entrance.

‘He needs you. But choose carefully. When you get back, I won’t be here.’ His eyes were unfathomable once more.

‘Stop talking crap. You want me to leave you here with six – no seven madmen?’ Two of whom were dead, three imprisoned. Leaving two cuffed and injured. Not counting the lookout, still unconscious under his jeep.

The amusement on Wren’s face confirmed he had read his mind again.

Lead weighing down his limbs, Rhyllann turned to heave himself from the pit. As he clambered to his feet, Wren called to him. Rhyllann turned, hoping against hope he’d changed his mind.

‘Hey Annie!’ The dorky smile lit up his face one last time. ‘You were fantastic. Thanks.’

Swiping burning tears from his eyes, Rhyllann tried to smile back, then stumbled away, this time without looking back.