The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (39 page)

Ralf was out of the school grounds in a matter of seconds. The temptation to Shift was so strong that he had to grit his teeth and dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from giving in to it.

An hour later he came to his senses on the Village Green with no real memory of how he’d got there. The War Memorial caught his eye and he walked over to stare at the names. There were forty-seven of them. Forty-seven village men that Winters had known had died in ‘the war to end all wars’ and now it was happening again. Was it so surprising the man was falling apart? Ralf felt sick.

He walked, not caring where he was going, trying to get things straight in his head. Was Winters one of the Natus? How could he help him? What were the colours he was seeing? Was this what Ambrose had meant? He was supposed to be leader of this rag tag bunch of misfits, after all. That was what Ambrose had said, hadn’t he? But what must he do? How must he lead them and where?
It was all too much to take in.

Evening came and he was still stomping moodily up across the fields, when his peace was interrupted by the sound of hooves. Startled, he looked up to see a beautiful black stallion cantering towards him. King guided the horse expertly to a halt directly in front of him.

King looked every bit the Lord of the Manor. He was, Ralf noticed, a swirling mass of changing colours. They weren’t the pastel shades he’d seen round Alice Cheeseman, though. King’s aura flashed from rich red to royal blue to deep purple, reflecting Ralf thought, the clash of several strong but conflicting emotions. Ralf wasn’t going to be intimidated, though, so spoke first. ‘Bad luck, on Saturday.’

King broke into loud guffaws. ‘Bad luck? You’re priceless. You really are!’

‘For goodness sake, King!’ Ralf cried. ‘I’m trying to be nice. Why are you making it so difficult?’

King’s laughter stopped abruptly and he spoke with such venom that the horse shied. ‘Are you really that stupid, Osborne?’ His aura flared a dark magenta.

Their eyes met. King’s were not those of a beaten man. ‘What do you mean?’ Ralf asked hesitantly.

‘I – threw – the – race!’ King
smirked. ‘I could have thrashed you easily at the end, Osborne. Just knowing that is enough for me.’

Ralf’s face flushed with anger. There was no way he was going to give King the chance to crow. ‘It doesn’t count if you cheat, Julian.’

‘Cheat?’

‘The ambush in the woods? I’d’ve been miles ahead if your mindless lap dogs, hadn’t tried to pulverise me!’

‘That had nothing to do with me!’ King was almost shouting now. ‘It was all Tank’s idea – him and those other morons. I’d have stopped them if I’d known.’

‘And the white feather? That was sickening.’

‘That was Tank not me!’

‘I don’t believe you. Mine would have been bad enough, but to do it to Winters was really low.’

‘Winters? What do you mean? He didn’t get one too?’

Ralf stepped forward and grabbed the horse’s reigns. ‘Yes he did! And you know it!’ The stallion snorted and danced on the spot. Ralf reached up to calm the animal but found himself staring into a baleful, brown eye and let go.

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ said King. His aura pulsed a deep angry red. ‘But stop changing the subject. I beat you, fair and square. We both know I slacked off at the end.’

‘What is the matter with you?’ Ralf asked calmly, stepping back. ‘Why is it so important that you beat me the whole time?’

King’s face was inches from his own. ‘Because I’m not going to be the other side of your coin!’ he spat. ‘I’ve spent my whole life not living up to comparisons. It was bad enough when it was my dead brother. You can’t compete with a corpse – believe me, I’ve tried. But I’ll be damned if I’ll be beaten by you!’

‘Me?’

‘Oh, yes,’ King spat. ‘My father was at the bridge that day in the summer. He saw the whole thing. How you protected that little runt Tomkins and how you stood your ground against the rest of us.’ He straightened himself up and mimicked his father’s crisp tone. ‘
Look at young Osborne and how noble he is – how honourable! Look at all the advantages you’ve had and still he’s the better man! He always does the right thing.
’ Well I’m sick of it!’

Ralf took another step back. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Why should you?’ King said bitterly. ‘But he was watching the race. He knows I could have beaten you and he knows I chose not to.’ King’s hand was shaking on the bridle and he had to pause to stroke the stallion and whisper in its ear. ‘I told him some guff about it you being low because Niall was away. Your sad, hard life. Said I didn’t want to kick you while you were down. He lapped it up! For thirty seconds, he looked at me with, what? Pride? Respect? I don’t know…something! And then you came along and trumped me
again
!’

‘
Oh, pleeeeease, can you engrave the cup with both Village and School?
’ King mocked in a sickly-sweet tone. ‘The oh, so perfect, Ralf Osborne does the right thing again. And, yet again, Father looks at me like I’m not fit to wipe your boots!’

‘But I didn’t –’

King cut him off. ‘I played the game his way. I deliberately lost the race and for one glorious moment I had something far better. But No! Thirty bloody seconds! That’s all I got! And then it was Ralf this and Ralf that! I had to spend that whole afternoon listening to how Ralf is the very embodiment of the
school spirit
...Having that out-dated claptrap about team work, community spirit and the good of the whole rammed down my throat!’

‘But it’s true, Julian! You must see that!’

‘Oh, what?’ King sneered, then clutched a hand over his heart and turned his eyes skywards. ‘
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers!
’’ He let his hand fall and leaned down so his face was inches from Ralf’s. ‘Father dines out on that medieval bilge, but
you
believing it?
Really?
How do you think that works in real life? It hasn’t done me any favours! Well not anymore! From now on it’ll be a practical gain every time. I’m all out to win.’ King’s face contorted. He stabbed a finger at Ralf, spitting his anger and frustration. ‘I
am
better than you. I
will
beat you. I will show you both!’

‘You’re so bitter!’ Ralf exclaimed helplessly.

‘And you’re so naive!’ King dug his heels in and the skittish horse turned, its rump bashing in to Ralf, making him stagger.  The horse sped off across the meadow and King’s parting words were brought to Ralf on the wind. ‘Grow up!’

Ralf hardly slept at all that night. The clocks boomed at him. Winters, King and the King’s Hadow War Memorial were large in his mind. He heard Hilda come in at around two o’clock and the dawn found him reading in bed, trying to vanquish the shadows and banish his dark thoughts. The pale morning sunshine, which crosshatched his room, did more to comfort him in a minute than the pages of his adventure story had done in three hours.

At seven o’clock, he threw on his uniform and then went to repack his satchel ready for the day’s lessons. In amongst his books from the previous day he found a stack of lined paper, some envelopes and a copy of The Daily Telegraph. He was confused for a second until he saw the completed crossword on the last page. He must have accidentally taken it from Winters’ desk as he picked up his things. He scanned over the clues – which looked incredibly difficult – but the answers were all there. A note underneath the crossword caught his eye:

Did you complete this puzzle in less than twelve minutes? If so, you may be eligible for entry into our competition. Spectacular prizes to be won. Please complete your details below and return.

Acting on impulse,
Ralf picked up a pen and wrote in Winters’ name and the school address, detached the crossword from the rest of the paper and stuffed the whole lot in one of the envelopes. He’d post it on his way to school. You never knew, Winters might win the prize. It was a small thing but it may give him a boost. Satisfied, Ralf gathered up the rest of his books, shoved his marble bag in his blazer pocket and went downstairs.

He got to school late and went straight to History to find Weedy Green, frowning in concentration over a newspaper at Winters’ desk.

‘Where’s Winters?’ he asked Seth, as he slid into the desk beside him.

‘He had a bad night. Shaking so badly this morning he couldn’t drink his tea,’ said Seth. ‘I wanted to stay with him but he made me come in.’

Weedy Green folded up his copy of The Times and called the class to order.

‘Good morning, boys!’ he beamed. ‘Can’t seem to get in to the stock cupboard. If someone could just start by telling me where Winters keeps his keys?’

Tank Tatchell jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll get them for you, sir,’ he volunteered with uncharacteristic helpfulness. He elbowed Alloway in the ribs. ‘Just tell us what you need and we’ll bring it all out for you.’ Ralf frowned. Tank’s colour as he listened to the Chaplain’s instructions was a smouldering flame of gold round his thick body.

‘Excellent!’ Weedy gushed. ‘Right. Let’s crack on, shall we?’

Seth raised his eyes heavenwards.

The Chaplain was a nice enough little man but he had the merry face and wistful eyes of the terminally ineffectual. Ralf let his droning voice fade in to the background and stared out of the window. Spring sunshine glistened on the clock tower and for the first time in months the sky was a clear, bright blue. After such a long hard winter, now that Spring had finally arrived, it was hard to believe that they stood so close to a night that might last forever. Ralf could feel it though. The sun outside was warm, but it wasn’t strong enough to touch the chill in his bones.

When he moored
The Sara Luz
later that evening, the feeling of lurking dread was still with him. His catch had again been poor and seeing Valen waving frantically from the quay with a look of desperation on her face, and a colour that pulsed from angry red to deep claret, confirmed his darker fears.

Valen caught his guide rope and jumped aboard. ‘Cripes!’ Valen exclaimed at his swollen eye. ‘That still looks terrible.’

‘Never mind me,’ Ralf said. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Three more Falls! Not even counting the ones on the run,’ said Valen. ‘Three! Just down the road from my window! A ninth century tinker, a group of Elizabethan huntsmen and a very confused Highwayman.’ She shook her head, sighing. ‘Ambrose must be knackered!’

Ralf sighed. ‘I know I can’t, but I’d really like to tell Winters the whole story. You’re not crazy, sir. At least no more than everyone else…’

He boxed up his catch and they did a sketchy job of swabbing the deck while he filled her in on what had happe
ned with Tank, Winters and the white feather.

‘That’s dreadful,’ she said, ‘but I’m not surprised. You don’t see it as much as I do. People have changed. Ever since we gave up looking for Charles Hart it’s as if there’s no hope and there’s a – oh, I can’t find the right word for it – a
nastiness
here. You’re on the edge but I’m right here in the village and it’s horrible.’

Ralf did understand. Everything he’d once depended on as safe and solid, Winters for example, was crumbling. It was starting. This was
the Fear about which Ambrose had spoken and, like the nightmares, it would get worse before it got better.

‘Remember how things felt just after Hallowe’en when people were locking their doors and hardly talking?’ Valen said

He nodded.

‘It’s like that,’ said Valen. ‘Only worse somehow. People are jittery and bad tempered.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And everyone’s really foul about the new evacuees. Saying they’re smelly and full of disease. Treating them like animals.’

‘I know’ said Ralf, ‘Frank Duke’s all for putting them on the next train back. Like it’s their fault there’s a war on. Like it’s their fault they were born in the slums!’

Valen shook her head ‘This was such a lovely place when we came but now…’

‘It’s far darker,’ interrupted Leo, stepping aboard. ‘You know how sometimes when you meet someone for the first time you get a feeling. An, ‘I wouldn’t trust that person with a bargepole feeling’. I’m getting that a lot at the moment. And not only with people I’ve just met either.’

He looked at Valen and then at Ralf questioningly touching his own eye but Ralf shook his head and discretely touched his lips in a ‘don’t say anything yet’ motion 

‘I know exactly what you mean’, said Val. There was a catch in her voice that Ralf had never heard before. ‘Look at the Hatchers. I mean they’re lovely and everything but – but I think what I mean is, they
were
lovely. And it’s not just me getting in trouble all the time. They had an argument on Monday, shouting and everything. Wolf, they never argue! And it was over such a little thing. And when Mrs Tomkins was in the shop yesterday… (Have you seen her lately? She was a mess! Hair not done and her dress looked like she’d slept in it!) Well, normally the Hatchers would be all concerned and try to help but they – they laughed at her!’

Ralf was shocked to see Valen’s eyes well up and reached out a hand, which he quickly drew back. Knowing how she’d react if he tried to be nice to her, he changed the subject, instead.