The Bone Quill (7 page)

Above them, Zach was sprinting back towards Charing Cross Bridge. Two policemen, looking like extras from a silent film, were in close pursuit, having heard the warning bells of the wagon driver when his vehicle had been emptied of its cargo seconds after Zach tumbled to the street.

Zach spotted a horse-drawn omnibus pulling away from a crowded pedestrian stand. Cutting into the street, he ran, leaping on to the bus platform, bouncing the entire bus as he did so. He scrambled up the circular steps to the top deck. The policemen were still following, and so was the child-catcher in the black wagon.

There’s a posse chasing me.

Unfortunately for Zach, the omnibus took on and released passengers regularly. The men chasing him were catching up. At the next stop, he would be trapped.

Em
could now see Zach standing at the rear of the bus, watching the chase on the road behind him. Matt darted between two coal barges and shot underneath Charing Cross Bridge as Em clung to his waist.

Matt flung a thought at his twin sister.

Tell Zach to get on the pedestrian side of the bridge. He’ll lose them in the crowds up there.

Em stared up at the bridge packed with pedestrians walking across to the east bank of the Thames and a line of sad-looking men and women pushing their overflowing carts along the edges of the bridge. There was hardly any space between them and the rails.

Zach? At the next bus stop, climb off.

But they’ll catch me.

Not if you climb on to the struts of the railway bridge.

Matt was doing his best to hold the jet ski steady as they bounced beneath in the waves.

‘We can’t sit here like rubber ducks for long, Em,’ he yelled. ‘It’s too dangerous. We’ll be spotted.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Em, patting their sketch of Monet’s painting tucked away in her pocket. ‘But Zach needs to get off that bus. And fast.’

A
t
Charing Cross Station, the mail sacks had been loaded on to the train. Leaning from his carriage, the conductor whistled his signal to the driver in the engine at the front. The driver signalled the engineer, who fired up the boiler.

A belch of black smoke followed by coughs of white steam erupted from the funnel, filling the station. The train’s pistons gasped and wheezed, its iron limbs spewing steam, chugging the train from the station, gathering speed as it emerged into the daylight, on to the bridge and over the River Thames.

Zach
waited until most of the passengers had climbed down from the top deck of the omnibus before he jumped, scraping his arms and legs as he landed on the struts of the railway bridge.

You need to get to the footbridge fast, Zach. If the police climb to the top of the bus, they’ll see you. When you’ve made it, jump over and into the river. We’ll tear up the sketch as you’re falling and get us all out of here.

That’s your best plan?

Zach’s terror jarred Em’s mind.

Trust me.

‘Aw, man,’ said Matt, shifting the jet ski closer to the bridge.

An official-looking tug boat was steaming towards them.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Matt, panicking.

‘Try to keep us steady for a few more minutes,’ said Em. Her heart was pounding at the audacity of what they were trying to do.

Zach had climbed the struts of the bridge and disappeared. Em could no longer see him.

She could hear the train whistle as it thundered into view, looking like an iron monster belching black smoke and white steam. The men chasing Zach were on the top of the bus, pointing and shouting.

Em followed their gestures. Her heart froze. Zach had made a mistake. Instead of dropping down on to the footbridge, he had ended up on the train tracks. She could see him desperately trying to find a way off. The locomotive was charging at him, its bells and whistles screaming, the bridge vibrating with its weight and speed.

‘Matt!’ Em screamed. ‘Zach’s on the tracks!’

On the bridge, Zach felt the locomotive before he saw its massive face rising up out of the steam on the crest of the bridge.

Climb over the side and jump! Now, Zach!

The train was charging closer. Zach’s heart was racing and his mouth was dry. Tears were gathering in his eyes, blurring his vision. He felt sick. He was going to die, and his dad would never know what had happened to him.

This isn’t going to work, Em. The train’s too fast and the steam is going to burn me alive.

Matt steadied the jet ski directly under Zach’s tiny figure on the bridge. Em was crying, feeling Zach’s terror. Behind the twins, the tug boat was almost upon them.

Jump, Zach!

You’re out of your mind! We’ll all die if I land on top of you.

We’re not going to let you hit us. Matt thinks if we tear up the sketch as soon as you get close, we’ll be okay.

Matt THINKS? This is so not a great plan, Em!

‘Jump!’ screamed Matt, even though he knew Zach couldn’t hear him.

‘Oh no! No!’ screamed Em in horror. ‘The train’s going to hit him! It’s too late!’
Jump!

The engine was bearing down on Zach, a black beast spewing fire. And Zach was swallowed up in clouds of hissing steam and choking black smoke, the sounds of Em’s cries filling his head.

The Monastery of Era Mina

Middle Ages

A
fter
taking his leave of Brother Renard, Cornelius and the Abbot, Solon made his way down to the water’s edge. Dusk was falling, and as if someone had already summoned it, the peryton was waiting on the shore, its wings folded back against its haunches, its silvery antlers and lustrous coat shimmering like crushed velvet and illuminating the spot with its enchanted brilliance. At the sound of Solon approaching, the beast lifted its head and stretched to its full height.

Solon held out his hand in greeting. The beast trotted forward, bending its forelegs and tilting its antlers to meet Solon’s careful caress.

‘Greetings, my friend,’ said Solon, stroking the stag’s thick neck, feeling a warmth radiating up his arm and into his chest.

Suddenly, despite the task ahead, Solon’s whole being filled with confidence, the fears he had about entering Skinner’s Bog diminishing in his mind. He felt the way he did when the Abbot calmed him.

Had the peryton the power to inspirit?

Solon climbed on to the peryton’s back. With graceful ease, the creature rose up into the moonlit sky, its gleaming white presence gliding over the tall trees and looking to the curious villagers below like a swift silver cloud. The peryton’s wingspan was wider than the spreading branches of the greatest tree in the forest, and yet it flew with only a faint whoosh of its wings.

Solon peered down in wonder as the monastery and Brother Renard’s partly-built tower on the northern tip of Era Mina sank away beneath him. From this vantage point, he could see the islands in their entirety for the first time. He marvelled at how tranquil they looked.

Shifting forward, Solon gripped the peryton’s neck.

‘You need not worry about navigating to the bog,’ the Abbot had told him. ‘The peryton will find the place.’

A rough journey that would have taken Solon hours on foot had taken only moments. The silvery white peryton landed between two tall pines, the feathered tips of its wings grazing the branches and leaving a patina of white on the leaves like a dusting of snow. Kneeling on its front legs, the peryton let Solon slide on to the crunchy undergrowth that littered the forest floor. Skinner’s Bog was directly ahead of him. He’d seen it from above.

For a moment, Solon stood with his back to the peryton, getting his bearings. He felt small and vulnerable in the creature’s company, but sensed no threat from the magnificent beast – only a buzzing heat from its body. The peryton had brought him to the centre of Auchinmurn, beside the island’s highest peak, riddled with caves and treacherous pitched overhangs that had seen many a robber or smuggler wandering in the dark and falling over the edge to the jagged rocks below.

Solon crouched and picked up a handful of pine-needles. There was no scent, no perfume from the pine, no suggestion of the wild mint that Solon knew was everywhere on these islands. This was the most isolated place he had ever been.

The wind was still, the stars bright. But beneath the canopy of the tall pines and oaks, they contributed very little light. In the glow from the peryton, Solon took a few steps towards the Devil’s Dyke – a ring of monolithic standing stones that formed a barrier round the bog. The villagers on Auchinmurn and many of the monks believed the Devil and his minions had erected this megalith to protect the bog’s secrets. Legend told that only the Devil himself, riding on his black stag, could pass through the stones and the impenetrable undergrowth beyond.

Solon leaped out of his skin as he heard the sound of grass being torn up somewhere to his left, before realizing that it was only wild sheep grazing nearby. He felt a change in the air around him. The darkness was heavy, as if it had a presence. Up this high, the night was tangible. A sheen of sweat settled beneath his leather tunic and leggings. The gloom felt as if it was seeping under his garments and crawling along his skin.

He rubbed his arms together. It was cold. In the darkness, he could barely make out the thick swirling outlines of nettles and hawthorn bushes crowded together beyond the stones, their leaves glistening in the pale starlight.

The peryton stood to its full height, startling Solon from his reverie. Its eyes blazed with a light so strong that it illuminated everything. Solon stared at the brightly lit thorny briars and nettles surrounding the obelisks before him. How was he ever going to get through that tangled mass?

The peryton pounded its hoofs on the ground and raised its wings high into the air. But the creature did not lift up into the heavens. Instead, Solon had to jump out of its path as it trotted forward, the light radiating from its body revealing a narrow opening through the jagged thorns that Solon would swear had not been there a moment ago.

The peryton had created a path for him.