The Various (43 page)

‘I have it,’ Little-Marten spoke for the first time. He drew the metal bowl from his tunic, and Henty put her hands up to her mouth with relief. ‘I found it. I knew ’twere what Henty had come here for, so I took it – to give to her.’

Maglin was becoming exasperated. ‘But if this Tinkler chi’ gave it to the Gorji maid, then why does she come here to take it back?’

‘ ’Tweren’t mine to give,’ said Henty, timid now, as she spoke to the great Maglin – for the very first time in her life. She put a shy hand through Little-Marten’s arm for support – which he was very glad to give. ‘ ’Twas wrong. The cup were made by the Tinklers, for Celandine.’ She looked over at Midge. ‘I thought . . . I thought that
she
 . . . I don’t know what I thought.’

‘But you came back here to get it,’ said Maglin. ‘So we all stand here for the sake of some
trinket
, a tinsy
stoup
 . . .’ He snorted in annoyance, his anger growing
again
as he turned to Scurl. ‘And you would have done
murder
? For
this
?’

‘Never!’ cried Scurl. ‘There’s none harmed. ’Tis all Grissel’s lies! Turncoat!’

‘Aye!’ said Grissel. ‘A turncoat. And I would ever turn my coat, and my back, and my arms against any as would slay childer – be ’em Gorji or no. And slay them ’ee
would
have done –
and tried to
. I told ’ee I’d have no part of it, and I won’t.’

‘It’s true,’ said Midge. ‘Grissel tried to help us – he
has
helped us. But
that
one,’ she pointed to Scurl, ‘and all the others – they would have killed us all if they could.
And
this wasn’t the first time. He tried once before – Scurl did – to kill me and Little-Marten, when I was leaving the forest. It was only because of that . . . what was her name . . . that old woman . . .?’

‘Maven,’ said Little-Marten. ‘ ’Twas Maven as did for Tulgi – that’s how we got away. But Scurl vowed he’d kill us both – and have been like to ever since . . . that’s why I ran away . . . left the clavensticks . . .’

‘Enough,’ said Maglin, raising an arm in exasperation. ‘Enough! ’Tis plain enough, too. Scurl, if the Whipping Stone were here, I’d strap thy miserable carcass across it and keep ’ee there for a moon or more. But that stone be in the forest – and I can vow that you’ll never come to it. For you’ll never come to the forest no more, neither – not if ’ee wants to live. You’ll go from here
now
, and take this ragtag o’ yours with ’ee. That’s thee, Benzo, and thee, Flitch, and Snerk, and Dregg. Get away from me before I raddle the lot of ’ee on a skewer. Grissel, you may choose
which
way to turn thy coat – though I reckon you’ve made a choice already. Stay if you will. As for the rest – be out of my sight. You may travel to the Far Woods, or to the bottom of this Gorji muck-pit, for aught I care. You may take your chances where you will. But if I
ever
see thee at the tunnels of the Royal Forest again, I’ll shoot ’ee myself – and think it a good day’s hunting. Get away from here, and from me –
now
.’ And Maglin, white with quiet rage, watched as his former company, the West Wood archers, gathered up their bows and quivers and made to leave.

A wretched sight they made – the three who had fallen in the lagoon looked as though they had been fashioned from muck rather than merely dipped in it – and the other two, Scurl and Snerk, were little better, soaked and bound as they were.

Scurl, apparently humbled at last, said, ‘You’ll loose our bonds, Maglin, I hope.’ Maglin said nothing, but stepped behind Snerk and slashed through the binder twine with the sharp blade of his spear. Snerk stood rubbing his wrists, and watched as Maglin cut through Scurl’s bonds in a similar fashion.

Scurl stared coldly at Midge as Maglin sliced through the binder twine. His eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, and Midge began to quail – she had seen that look before. The moment passed, however. Scurl had too strong a sense of self-preservation to try anything foolish.

Benzo had other, wilder, ideas. Seeing his leader stand free, he snatched an arrow from his quiver and drew back his bow, yelling, ‘Arms! Scurl – we have
them
– to arms!’ and in the same instant let fly directly at Midge. It all happened so quickly, and in such an unforeseen manner, that none were prepared for it; none save Pegs.

Pegs didn’t see the arrow. He didn’t even see Benzo draw back the bow – yet some wild intuition made him lurch towards the girl rather than Maglin, a wing beginning to extend in a sheltering, protective movement. He felt the sharp pain of the arrow penetrating the still folded membranes of his wing – and then gladness with that pain, conscious that the maid was unharmed by the attempt on her life. He turned to face the attacker, and was in time to see Benzo drop like a stone, crumpling in a heap beside the lagoon, his slurry-strewn limbs skewed awkwardly among the tufts of reedy vegetation, his bow lying beneath him.

Nobody had moved. Maglin’s spear was still in his hand, Grissel’s bow still pointed downwards, George and Katie had barely begun to react. All simply stared at the motionless body of Benzo.

To most of those present, the moment of realization was not long in dawning. This had happened before. This had been the fate of Tulgi. They turned their eyes in wonderment towards the stable block – the only possible cover in that open space – and knew.
She
was in there, somewhere, or had been. Now she might be anywhere, watching, waiting – unfathomable, vengeful, following some path known only to herself. Maven.

They muttered her name, those who first guessed –
and
they spoke it as a physician might diagnose the cause of death. Maven. Only Katie was totally mystified – for even George had heard the name before. Katie stared at the body of Benzo, wanting to look away, but scarcely able to.

‘Maven?’ she whispered to George. ‘What’s Maven?’

Scurl wasted no words on this occasion. He was beaten – beaten and banished. He roared no threats, spat no curses, made no murderous vows. Resting the end of his bow on the ground for a moment, he bent it slightly against his knee and unstrung it. Then he began to walk away, across the open field, in the direction of the Far Woods. The dismal figures of Snerk, Flitch and Dregg watched him for a few seconds, and then they made as if to leave also – but Maglin hadn’t quite finished with them yet. He said nothing, but simply caught their eye and pointed to the motionless body of Benzo. The merest flick of Maglin’s finger indicated to the miserable threesome that they were to take their erstwhile companion with them, and this they did – with a struggle – half carrying, half hauling the body between them as they stumbled along in the wake of Scurl. A wretched and bedraggled group they made, living scarecrows on the bright summer landscape.

Midge hardly gave their departure a second glance. Her concern was all for Pegs, who had silently borne his pain for her, and whose instinctively protective reaction had saved her life. The arrow had done little real damage, having pierced a fold in the outer edge of the wing membrane, and then dropped away to the
ground
, its force spent. Pegs had survived much worse – his still-healing wounds from the raking machine had been far more serious. Midge stood beside him, crouching slightly as she gently unfolded the wing, feeling again the now familiar soft texture of the velvety skin between the quill-like bones. There was a double wound where the arrow had gone through the folded membrane – but there was very little blood.

‘I think you’ll live,’ whispered Midge, ‘which is more than I would have done, if you hadn’t been so quick. Dear Pegs. It’s OK – don’t say anything, but listen to me for a minute. I have some news: I don’t think anything is going to happen to the woods – not for a while, anyway. Certainly not for a few months – moons. I’ll find out more about it, and then come and see you very soon, OK? Tomorrow – I’ll come to the gully tomorrow. Soon as I know more. But in the meantime, don’t worry. You’re safe there for a while longer.’

Pegs nuzzled briefly against her, relief and understanding in his dark eyes. Midge tenderly folded the wing again, and stood up. She looked towards the stable block once more, wondering about Maven, and why this mysterious person, whom she had never seen, was so concerned for her welfare . . . Twice, now, had vengeance been brought down on the heads of her would-be attackers. Why? Who
was
Maven?

Maglin was anxious to leave, now that the crisis was over. He was getting fidgety, and impatient. He glanced up at the sun, riding high in the morning sky.

‘Come, my brave friend,’ he said to Pegs. ‘Can ’ee
walk
? ’Tis best we were gone, then. We’ve gotten what we want – and left some of what we don’t.’ He looked up at the faces of the three children, his dark serious eyes resting finally on Midge.

‘You’re caught up here in things which never concerned ’ee, maid, as we be caught up in those which don’t concern us. And a sorry business it is – for now we be at the mercy of the Gorji at long last. The Various must look to thee and thine to keep a still tongue, till we can find our path. ’Tain’t over yet – and I doubt that this is the last time we shall meet. Though you’ll not see me, or any one of us, on Gorji land again – I can promise ’ee that.’

The Ickri General then looked around at his diminished company and led off across the Field of Thistles towards the Royal Forest. Pegs and Grissel followed. The white horse turned once to look at Midge, the soft eyes holding hers for a moment. Henty and Little-Marten walked a few paces behind, and, when all backs were turned, they moved closer together and held hands.

Chapter Twenty-seven

THEY SAT AT
the cream-painted kitchen table, and Katie slumped forward dramatically, putting her head down onto her arms.

‘I’ll never, ever,
ever
say that this place is boring again,’ she murmured, her voice muffled by the crook of her elbow. She rested her chin on her arm and looked in wonderment at Midge. ‘How long have you
known
?’ she said.

‘Since about . . . three days after I got here,’ said Midge. ‘I found the white horse, up in that old pig barn on the hill . . .’ She told her story, briefly, once more – and felt glad that this time she didn’t have to make it sound convincing. It was simply the truth.

They talked long past lunchtime and into the afternoon, Katie telling how she had come back into the house – once she had seen the Ickri leave in pursuit of Midge – and remembered the water cannon propped against the landing banister, filled it at the kitchen tap, carried it up the flight of hamstone steps on the outer wall of the cider barn – and very nearly
dropped
the thing as she yanked open the apple-loft door.

‘You were
amazing
, Katie,’ said Midge. ‘I don’t even like to
think
about what would have happened if you weren’t there. It was like Joan of Arc arriving, or a tank division or something.’

‘Yes, I
think
I prefer Joan of Arc,’ said Katie, coolly. But then she confessed – ‘Actually, I pretty much
wet
myself when I first saw them. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, Midge, the first time . . . I mean at least I had a
bit
of warning. About two seconds worth.’

George recounted his strange experience with the wind-up gramophone, and how he had managed to give Benzo the slip, only to get caught again – and how he had lured the archers onto the lagoon.

‘If I’d
tried
to make it happen, it probably wouldn’t have worked,’ he said.

Midge told of her terrifying game of hide-and-seek on top of the wardrobe – then thought of something else, and said to Katie, ‘But why
did
you come back into the house? You hadn’t long escaped – they might still have been in here, for all you knew.’

‘No,’ said Katie, ‘I saw them go – chasing you, remember? Then I ran straight in.’

‘To get the WaterBlaster?’

‘Um . . . well, actually, I think I was sort of coming in to get changed.
Then
I thought of the WaterBlaster.’

‘You came back in to get
changed
?’

‘
Well?
I’d just fallen into a load of old potato peelings and slimy rotten cabbage leaves and compost and
stuff
. I was covered in . . . what are you looking at me like that for?
Somebody
has to keep up the standards around here.’ She may have been joking. It was hard to tell with Katie, Midge decided.

Eventually it came round to a question of what they were to do next. Should they tell Uncle Brian – and Midge’s mum? They thought about the body of Tojo, stretched out on the floor of the cider barn. What were they supposed to do about that?

‘We’re going to have to tell,’ murmured George. ‘We’ve got to.’

‘Yes,’ said Katie, looking at Midge. ‘I s’pose so.’

Midge didn’t know what to say. She so wanted to pass the responsibility to somebody else – to let someone else decide. It was such a relief that George, and now Katie, knew all about it – or nearly all. Such a relief not to have to bear the burden alone. Yet, if Uncle Brian knew – and her mum – there was no telling what they might do. They might get the police or something. What would happen to the Various then? To Pegs? Wouldn’t that be a betrayal?