The Drowners (26 page)

‘Reckon we’d better be moving if you’m wanting to get there and back afore midnight,’ he said pleasantly. Ignoring the group, he felt in his bag to check the equipment was all
there, slung it over his shoulder and set off along the narrow grass verge towards a gap in the hedge. The shuffling of feet from behind him indicated the bunch had at least started off. Moving softly and easily around the hedges and across ditches, he led his little band of followers along a footpath before turning off and seeming to follow a faint trail in the grass. After several minutes this too faded away and Tom struck out into the heart of the marshes, his confident
movements
a stark contrast to the tripping and swearing that followed him. He suppressed a grin as he listened to the sounds of the lads from Bristol slipping and splashing around the edge of the marshes and took great delight in leading them further into the boggy wasteland before stopping and
gesturing
for silence. Max ploughed over to him, teeth gritted in fury.

‘What the bloody hell you think you’m playing at?’ he demanded. ‘What we doin’ out here? ’Ent nothing for miles so why is we in this … this bloody swamp then?’

Ignoring his hostility, Tom waited for quiet before answering.

‘That’s rather the point, ’ent it,’ he said. ‘A few farms, see – over there – so you need to tell them,’ he nodded towards Max’s two followers, now looking thoroughly wretched, ‘to pipe down a bit. Lot of water around here and sound carries real well over water. Wouldn’t want to be attracting too much attention now, would we?’

Max stared at Tom, holding himself very still before swivelling round and barking at the other two.

‘Shut the fuck up! You don’t like it out here – maybe you can just bugger off back to the car an’ wait there. ’Ent like you’s any use anyway.’

Tom tried not to let the satisfaction show as he said, ‘Maybe they should stick with us Max. Is a bit tricky, getting back ‘less you knows the way.’

This was just the type of thing to bring out the latent arrogance of Max’s gang and, just as he’d hoped, the two stragglers shrugged their shoulders and exchanged a grin.

‘Just a bit of mud,’ said one. ‘Don’t frighten me none. Now St Pauls, Saturday night, that’s something to be scared of.’

His mate nodded like an eager donkey.

‘Well, you just watch your step,’ said Tom feigning
reluctance
. ‘You see that line of trees over there?’ He pointed back the way they’d come. ‘Just head for the centre of that, then keep on the grass, single file mind, and you should make it back.’

He watched as they set out, veering off the indicated route almost immediately as they shoved one another and sniggered over their shoulders. Max screwed up his eyes as he peered into the gloom. ‘Am I gonna need a couple of new lads?’ he asked, a touch anxiously.

Tom, who had deliberately chosen a route with the
maximum
of mud but no really dangerous areas, hastened to reassure him.

‘No, should be all right. Not too much rain around recently. Is further in you might need to watch your step. Wouldn’t want to ruin them nice shoes, eh?’

Max gave him a hard stare but seemed reassured by the sounds of wrangling and grumbling coming from his mates, which gradually faded as they became more distant.

‘Well, lead on then,’ he said. ‘Don’t know what all the secrecy is about though. Is easy enough to find, this path. And easy enough to see at night for miles if’n we’d use torches.’

Tom turned away to hide a smile, setting a steady pace across the Levels.

It was almost full dark by the time they reached the first of the bridges and Tom was grateful for the pale silver of the moonlight. To an uneducated eye the land looked no different from the slightly boggy ground they had been covering, but even at night Tom could tell they were approaching the centre of the marshes. The air was cooler and there was a sense of dankness as the excess moisture filled the air. It was quiet too, a deeper, heavier quiet that came from a lack of wildlife, for few animals lived in the deep marsh. The land turned to liquid
mud at the lightest rainfall and even amphibians struggled to survive the treacherous conditions.

Impatient at the delay, Max elbowed Tom aside and made to step out onto what looked like a path. Grabbing his shoulder, Tom pulled him back on solid ground and held up a hand as Max turned to remonstrate.

‘Watch,’ Tom said and broke a piece off a nearby, pathetic apology for a bush. He leaned forwards, making sure his feet were firmly on solid ground and pushed the branch into the path ahead. It slid below the surface smoothly and Tom let go when it was almost half submerged. Max watched as the rest of the stick continued to slip forwards until only an inch or so was visible. Then, with the tiniest of popping sounds it vanished.

‘Bloody hell,’ said the man from Bristol stepping back and looking around anxiously.

Tom laid a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘Is quite safe if you knows what you’m doing,’ he said softly. ‘And think, who’s goin’ to follow you into that? Is the perfect safe place for carting and hiding.’

Max swallowed hard as he continued to stare at the place where the branch had disappeared.

‘So … so how far down is it then?’ he said.

‘Oh, well now, no-one knows, rightly,’ said Tom, who was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Leastways, no-one ain’t ever come back to tell us.’

Max was holding himself very still, as if a step, any step, might lead him into the nightmare of mud around him.

‘So how’s that any use,’ he said angrily. ‘Middle of the Levels is impossible to pass – well, I knows that. Everyone knows that.’

Tom knelt by the side of the path and felt around in the stubby reeds. For one panicky moment he thought it was gone, that Milosh had decided to abandon him after all. Then he found it and could barely keep the relief out of his voice as he stood and faced the reluctant young man.

‘Not for those as have access to the secret paths it ’ent,’ he said and pulled on the rope.

For a moment nothing happened, then Tom felt something give and the rope moved up and back in response to his efforts. There was a ripple in the mud before them, then a gurgling noise as thick bubbles of dark mud rose to the surface, leaving dips in the liquid when they burst. Before Max’s eyes, a slatted pathway made of timber pushed its way out of the marsh, rising above the surface before Tom lowered it carefully on to the top of the mud. Carefully tying the rope off on to a peg set at a sharp angle to the bridge and hidden in the undergrowth, Tom stepped forwards and set foot on the track. Max took another step back, watching with wide eyes to see if Tom was going to go the way of the branch but the slender pathway held, dipping a little but still supporting his weight.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Max again.

It took a few minutes to coax him on to the pathway, and then only by trotting along it to the end and back again.

‘You sure will take us both?’ Max asked, his eyes darting from side to side as he lowered his weight out on the
fragile-looking
track.

‘Long as we keep a couple of feet b’tween us will be fine,’ Tom reassured him.

Foot by foot, they stepped across the great marsh, the pathway bending and swaying occasionally but never dipping more then an inch or so below the surface. The bridge led them to a low mound, tufts of thick grass crowning the top and a halo of reeds around the base. There was just room for the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder on this tiny piece of firm ground. Max cast around for a peg or rope but Tom changed direction and stepped confidently out on the mud to the left. Again Max waited to see if he was going to sink but Tom laughed softly and held out his hand.

‘Only the entrances is sunk,’ he said. ‘Others is well-hidden see, and ’ent no-one can reach ’um without knowing where
the first bridge is so ’ent no need to be pullin’ ’um up and down all the time. Come on – them’s fixed right good – look.’

He pointed to the reeds next to Max’s left foot where the cross braces were hidden. With some reluctance, Max stepped out onto the trackway. His foot sank a couple of inches into the ooze but just as he was about to jerk himself free he felt a solid path beneath him once more. Leaning forwards and shifting his weight, he stepped gingerly along the path, following in Tom’s footsteps whilst keeping a few feet between them. Moving from one inconspicuous mound to another the two men crossed the wasteland of the great marsh, looking from a distance as if they could walk on the water.

Casting a surreptitious glance at his watch, Tom was pleased to see they were keeping to his schedule. He slowed his pace a little, using his experience to time his arrival at the final set of bridges. As they approached the area leading to the closed peat works Max froze behind him. On the breeze came a series of sounds, the same eerie flute music mingled with a strange, rhythmic moaning. Even Tom, who had experienced the music before, felt the hairs on his neck rise and his breathing shortened to a gasp.

‘What’s that?’ demanded Max. ‘Hey, you – who’s there?’

‘Shut up you girt fool!’ Tom snapped. ‘You want to just tell the whole world we’s here then?’

Max was staring out into the surrounding wasteland and for an instant Tom was reminded of something his
grandmother
had said. ‘Eyes like chapel hat-pegs, mouth flopping open catching flies’, she had snapped at him on more than one occasion. That was exactly what Max looked like,
standing
up to his ankles in mud in the cool, blue moonlight. Mind you, Tom wasn’t sure he looked any better himself. The secret of any plan was to anticipate the unexpected, but no-one could plan for the supernatural.

Bugger the supernatural, he thought angrily. The only ghosties on the Levels were the Drowners and they were just a story, a staged accident set up by his men. Other folk might believe all that crap but he had spent his childhood watching
his elders manipulate the
Gadjo
, playing on their
superstitions
and fears, sometimes for profit but often for survival. Appearance, he’d learned, the impression of confidence or innocence, was as important as the reality. That and saving face – and he was certainly not going to show any fear in front of this arrogant, vulgar lad from the city. Ignoring the squirm of apprehension inside, he grinned at Max and pulled on another hidden rope, making sure to secure it properly before he stepped across on to the next section of the track. Feigning a confidence he did not fully possess, he headed towards the moaning sounds. Max hesitated, eyes searching around for a way off this nightmare of a path and Tom was certain that if he knew a safe way back he’d be off like a frightened rabbit. The walk was having the desired effect – Max was truly, deeply scared, frightened out of his wits in this hostile and lethal environment. Not long, Tom thought. Soon he’ll be keeping to the roads, off my patch and the coppers’ll have him.

He almost trod on Simon as he reached the last point on the track. The boy was lying on his side, curled up into a tight ball with his hands over his ears and his eyes closed. He was shivering on the cold, damp ground and he gave an
involuntary
moan as Tom tripped and kicked him whilst trying to stay upright. Recovering his balance he turned back towards Max, trying to shield Simon from the Bristol man, who was now edging across the bridge. Pretending to check his boot laces, Tom risked a quick warning.

‘Shut up now, don’t make no sound, you hear? Don’t mean you no harm so you just lie quiet.’ He risked a glance in the direction of Max, who was still hovering, and added, ‘Wait till we’s gone and then scarper. And don’t be coming this way again, neither.’

He had no idea whether Simon had understood but at least the moaning stopped. Tom stood up and stepped forwards, waving Max across, straight up the bank and off to his left. Max was decidedly wobbly when he reached firm ground and scrambled along the bank with alacrity.

‘Where’s we now then,’ he demanded, peering around and squinting into the darkness. The moon was up but it cast a pale, blue-tinted light, giving the landscape a strange glow as if it were shimmering, a mirage that might vanish in an instant. It was almost impossible to distinguish safe ground from deadly marsh, for the undergrowth and occasional trees threw shadows across the landscape, blurring the outlines of the canals and hiding tell-tale reeds and mosses. At night the Levels became a monochrome world, cast from a horror film and twice as frightening. Tom hurriedly dropped the bridge out of sight into the marsh and straightened up, resisting the temptation to glance down at Simon, who was still rolled up, trembling on the wet earth.

‘Now we got an easy bit,’ said Tom, stepping ahead and striding towards a narrow footpath that snaked away out of sight behind a stand of trees. Simon waited, his breath coming in short gasps as he struggled to keep absolutely silent. He didn’t know who the man was who had spoken to him but he had a good idea who Max was and he had no desire become more closely acquainted. Simon might not understand a lot about the world outside his own head but he had experienced more than a fair share of malice in his life and he could almost feel the anger and malevolence oozing from the Bristol man. The last time someone had scared him that much had been his close encounter with Derek Johns, a meeting that left him kicked unconscious and left by the side of the main road outside Highpoint.

He waited until the footsteps faded away and then longer still, counting to one hundred in his head before finally
risking
a glimpse over the reeds that kept him hidden. Slowly and painfully he began to unfold his stiff limbs, biting his bottom lip as pins and needles ran through his feet and one leg threatened to spasm with cramp. Taking his weight on one arm, he levered himself up onto his knees, all the time
watching
the area in front of him. Suddenly a shadow flitted between two trees and Simon froze in place before slowly, silently lowering himself back behind the safety of the covering
reeds. Peering through the plants he watched as a figure emerged from the edge of the wood and took a step towards the footpath before stopping and then turning in his direction. After a long, long moment the figure looked down the
footpath
once more and began to follow the two men. Simon realized he had been holding his breath and let it out in a ragged gasp. He was shaking, really shaking not just shivering from the cold. Scrambling to his feet he scuttled over to the path, checked the coast was clear and set off as fast as his stiff legs would go. He didn’t know how it had happened, he didn’t care to ask any questions – in a brief flash of bright moonlight Simon had seen enough of the figure’s ragged face to recognize Derek Johns.