Band of Gypsys (43 page)

‘Oh yeah,’ countered his brother. ‘And how many Chinese words do you know, smartarse?’

‘I know the name for England. It’s Yingguoren, it means, “brave country”’

That cracked everybody up.

‘They’ll have to think of something else,’ said Mrs Brown from the Anchor at Hartfield, where Ax had gone begging, basically, at the kitchen door; and been treated like a king. Which had impressed him very much, from an infidel, until it dawned on him (duh) that she knew who he was. Mrs Brown’s teenage daughter, Alison, had been doing a Hedgeschool Maths and Physics degree. ‘If you had the exact flight plan,’ she offered, trying her best, ‘you could work out some parameters for the fuel, couldn’t you?’

‘If I had the exact flight plan,’ snapped the egg man, going red in the face. ‘I’d beat you over the head with it. Callous little bugger!’ he exclaimed, in general. ‘It’s not a pub quiz! It’s people’s lives, it’s—’

The Forest Ranger, the one who’d caught Sage and Fiorinda nicking hazel poles, nudged him sharply; and he shut up. Apart from that outburst no one showed any distress except the railway linesman, who was a little weepy. But there were long pauses, in which Ax’s guitar came up singing.

At nightfall Fiorinda lingered over putting her fire to bed. The chimney in the west gable had proved functional, once they’d removed the starling nests. They’d cleaned it, by dragging bunches of heather through the flue. Just leave us alone, she thought. Let us mend our house in peace, we don’t care where the government lives. The rain had stopped, a few stars were coming out. Sage and Ax emerged from the bothy with the poacher, the last guest.

The three men stood gazing at the sky.

‘I’d better be going,’ said Dave. Then he looked so solemn and daring that Ax wondered what the fuck was coming: but he just thrust out his earth-coloured right hand. Ax shook it.

‘
Thank you
,’ said Dave, very chuffed. ‘Well, now they’ll find out.’

Ax grinned, and nodded. ‘Now we have to win the peace.’

The poacher was maybe no older than Ax and Sage, but one of those people who moves quickly to a permanent ageless state. He looked at Ax as if calculating the behaviour of something wild, and maybe dangerous.

‘Ah. Is that what we’ve got to do, Sir?’

‘It’s the only way.’

They stood looking after him, til he’d vanished between the thorns. Their eyes were adapted to this time, the half-light that animals live in. ‘I didn’t think I’d spend today celebrating a wake,’ said Ax. ‘I had no idea I knew how to do it,’ said Sage. ‘The awkward silences and everything,’ agreed Fiorinda. ‘We did well on the food.’

Ax had not realised how much he’d missed this state of mind, the cream poured over the bitter shot of liquor; you think you remember but you forget, until you’re back in the same situation. I have the light of destiny in me again, he thought. I’m going to find a way out of this snare, and I don’t give a damn, right now, if believing I can do it is dangerous medicine. ‘One more Shakespearian moment,’ he said. They nodded: yeah. The king and the queen, and their lover, the great Minister, stood in the courtyard of their last castle, at the nadir of their fortunes. Now out of this nettle, danger, we will pluck the flower, safety.