Winter Wood (41 page)

The waters heaved and the long pale flank of some great creature broke the surface, a glistening torpedo of solid muscle, delicately mottled in green and white.
Up it rose, wheeling majestically through the sunlight, diamond droplets scattering heavenwards from the lazy flick of its broad tail. Its motion was smooth and unhurried and unstoppable, the gleaming arc of its body as bright as metal, machine-perfect in its power.

Midge and George were locked in the moment, open-mouthed. The huge pike seemed to hang in mid air, pausing at the top of its flight, before descending into the boil of the weir-pool.

The monster had shown itself at last. It had arisen from the gloom of its underwater lair to burst upon the brightness of the upper world in a breathtaking display of savage grace. Then with a heavy swirl of its tail it was gone, returned once more to the dark mysteries of reed and river-bed.

And Scurl was gone with it. A single gurgling scream, and Scurl was pulled beneath the waters, his white face fading into darkness like a moon behind the clouds. Nothing remained but a rising string of bubbles, and a final ripple broadening across the pool.

Into the blank vacuum that followed came the rush of the weir, and the sound of Little-Marten. He was still there, still trying frantically to stay afloat, and it was his loud kicking and splashing – together with Henty's screaming – that dragged Midge and George from their shocked state.

They ran across the bridge and scrambled through the bramble bushes in order to get down to the water's edge.

‘He's all right!' Midge shouted in Henty's direction
– although she could no longer see her. ‘Don't worry. We'll get him!'

‘You go and help her,' said George. ‘It's OK. I can pull Little-Marten out.'

‘Shall I?' Midge was reeling, helpless and uncertain, as she looked across at the weir-pool. Little-Marten was amongst the rushes now, and already more or less safe. ‘All right, then.'

Midge threaded her way through the bushes as quickly as she could, though all her movements were clumsy and disconnected. She was surprised by Henty coming the other way. The Tinkler girl had apparently managed to break free, and was still untangling herself from trailing lengths of orange binder-twine as she went. Midge could see what the effort had cost, though. Henty's wrists and neck were red raw where the twine had cut into her, and there were a couple of nasty bramble scratches down the side of her face, beaded with blood.

‘Henty – are you all right?'

‘Aye . . .' Henty fought to catch her breath. ‘But Marten . . . Marten . . .'

‘He'll be fine. Come on. Can you walk – do you want me to carry you?'

‘No. I can walk.'

They stumbled down to the weir-bank to find George leaning out over the reeds, reaching towards Little-Marten with a long willow branch. ‘Just hang on to this,' he was saying. ‘I'll do the rest.'

Little-Marten grabbed the far end of the branch, clung on tight, and in a few moments George had
hauled him staggering and splashing through the reeds and back onto firm ground. Henty ran straight to him and took him in her arms, soaked through though he was and plastered in river mud. The two of them clung together for so long that George started to get fidgety.

‘Come on,' he said to Midge. ‘Let's go and find that pillow. We can rub him down a bit with that.'

‘What? OK.'

They walked back up to the bridge and stood there for a while, looking down into the endlessly foaming water. Midge had to lean against the locking gear as reaction to all that had happened began to set in. She felt horribly sick and shaky. Her mouth filled with water and she had to keep swallowing.

‘That was awful,' she said. ‘Just . . . awful . . .'

‘I know.' George's voice sounded normal, but his face was very pale. He shook his head and let out a deep breath. ‘Old Whitey,' he said. ‘I just can't believe that he's really . . . real. Really down there. And he's huge. Big as a pig, just like Dad said.
God
, that was horrible, though. When he—' George stopped for a moment, gazing out across the weir, remembering. ‘And when you were up here with Scurl, that was horrible too. I couldn't believe what Little-Marten did. He was amazing. I thought you were going in with them, though.'

‘Yeah . . . so did I.' Midge let out a long breath. She couldn't seem to get her lungs or her heart back into rhythm. ‘I would have done too, if you hadn't grabbed me.'

‘Huh. I should've been thinking quicker in the first place. But it was like I just
couldn't
think. I didn't know what to do.'

‘Nor me. I was too scared to run even. Anyway . . .' Midge let out another juddering breath, and pushed herself away from the stanchion. She had to occupy herself with something in order to keep this whirling dizziness at bay. ‘We'd better see if we can get Little-Marten cleaned up a bit. I still don't understand what's been going on.'

‘No. I thought Scurl was supposed to have been waiting in the barn.'

‘Maybe that's what he wanted us – me – to think. He knew that I wouldn't have been expecting anything to happen here.'

George picked up the pillow, and they walked back across the bridge. Midge stopped and looked down at the quiver of arrows that Scurl had dropped. She put one foot forward, kicked sideways and swept the whole lot into the weir. Her balance was so unsteady that for moment she thought she was going to go with it.

The pillow didn't help much. They rubbed Little-Marten down with it as best they could, but he still looked as bedraggled and mud-smeared as ever. His saturated woollen leggings sagged at the knees and his hair stood on end like a chimney-brush.

‘What shall we do with him?' said Midge to George. ‘He's going to catch his death out here if we don't get him dried off properly. We can't take both of them back to the farm, though. Not on the toboggan at any rate . . .'

‘We'm going
home
,' said Little-Marten. He was shuddering with cold, but his voice was firm – as though putting an end to any argument in the matter. ‘Agreed?' He looked at Henty.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘But 'tis you that must talk to my father, for I shan't.'

Midge looked at them. ‘Well . . .' she said. ‘I think it'd be best if you did go back. And if you
are
going, then you can take a message from me. It's very important. Tell Tadgemole – or Maglin – that I've got the Orbis. I found it. Tell them that I'm going to bring it to them later on. Today.'

‘The Orbis?' Little-Marten stopped wringing out his sleeves. ‘Thee've
truly
found it, then?'

‘Yes. Truly. And I'm going to bring it to the forest. You can go and give them the news.'

Little-Marten blew out his cheeks. ‘Well if that don't
make old Tadgemole smile on us then I dunno what would. Eh, Henty? What do 'ee reckon to that?'

Henty took Little-Marten's arm and looked up at Midge. ‘You've been a friend to us,' she said. ‘And we shan't forget. If you hadn't a-come . . . then I don't know what would . . . what Scurl would have—'

‘Well he's gone now,' Midge cut in. Her mind shied away from Scurl and from the terrible things that had happened. She didn't want to think about it, or talk about it.

‘We thought you were supposed to be in the barn,' said George to Henty.

Henty nodded. ‘Scurl reckoned Little-Marten might give warning, so he brought me to hide here, where you'd not think him to be. He had the bow – and the knife. I couldn't say aught, nor shout out.'

‘I saw 'un, though,' said Little-Marten. ‘And tried to call to 'ee. But he got a hold on me . . .'

‘Well, it was enough to give me some warning,' said Midge. ‘And then George saw him and shouted too. So I knew that
something
was going on over on this side of the bridge. I wasn't that surprised to see him here.'

Little-Marten hung his head. ‘I shouldn't ha' done it, though. Shouldn't have brought 'ee. I could've gotten 'ee killed . . .'

‘But he'd have got me anyway, in the end.' Midge tried to make him feel better – yet at the same time the thought of Scurl made her stomach tighten again. ‘I think he's tried once or twice already. If you and Henty hadn't been around, and none of this had happened, then he . . . he would have just waited until
I was on my own some day . . . walking in the fields or something. I wouldn't have known he was still alive until it was too late. So really you've saved me from him.' She took a shaky breath. ‘But what are you doing out here in any case? Have you run away?'

Little-Marten looked at Henty. ‘Aye. We'd be together, but Tadgemole'll have none of me.'

‘What? Why not?'

‘I be Ickri and she be Tinkler.' Little-Marten shrugged as if it was obvious.

‘Well . . . what difference does that make?'

‘'Tis like raven and magpie. We ain't o' the same feather.' Little-Marten's teeth were chattering, and Midge thought it better to stop asking questions.

‘Listen, then,' she said. ‘Go back to the forest and tell them that I'm bringing the Orbis—'

‘Tell them
we're
bringing it,' George interrupted. ‘I'm coming too.'

‘OK, then.
We're
bringing it,' said Midge. ‘And then I'll talk to Tadgemole, if you like. He owes me a favour or two, I reckon.'

Henty and Little-Marten looked around the landscape, uncertain of their bearings. George said, ‘The quickest way is just to follow this rhyne. It's a straight line nearly all the way there – see? Stay close to the water and you should be safe.'

Little-Marten took Henty's hand. ‘Come, then. We'm away. And I s'll be glad to be out o' this, I can tell 'ee.'

‘Don't forget,' Midge called after them. ‘We'll come to the tunnel as soon as we can. Make sure there's
somebody there to meet us – Maglin or Tadgemole. Doesn't matter which.'

‘Aye.' Little-Marten's voice drifted over his shoulder as he and Henty disappeared among the brambles. ‘One or t'other shall be waiting for 'ee.'

‘Think they'll be OK?' said George, once the pair had gone.

‘Yeah. Hope so. And I hope the Orbis is still safe, now that I've promised to bring it to them. Come on. We'd better get back.'

‘Do you really want to do this today, though?' said George. He was walking ahead of her as they began to cross the weir. ‘I mean, haven't you had enough?'

‘Yeah – I
have
had enough. That's exactly it. I've had more than enough, and that's why I want to get it done. It's school again tomorrow, and so there won't be another chance until the weekend. I just don't want to have to be thinking about it any more. I'm going to get it over with. Today. It won't take us long.'

‘Well, OK then.' George picked up the toboggan rope and they began the long walk home. ‘Hey,' he said. ‘What do you think the time is anyway?'

‘That's the weird thing.' Midge puzzled over her thoughts for a moment. ‘I'm sure the alarm was set for eleven-thirty. I watched your mum do it. But it wasn't even ten-thirty when it went off.'

‘Maybe when the clocks get turned back in the autumn, Dad forgot to do that one.'

Would that make any difference? Midge couldn't work it out. And that was another thing: what was she
going to say to Uncle Brian about his nice old alarm clock? That she dropped it in the water and lost it?

‘I know what we did forget,' said George, after a while. ‘The pillow.'

‘Yeah, well. Tough,' said Midge. But then a wave of dizziness hit her again, and she said, ‘George, is it OK if I hang onto your arm for a bit? I don't feel very good.'

The Orbis was lying on the floor of the Stick House, still safe in its carrier bag, where Midge had left it. She picked it up, waited for George to prop his toboggan against the wall once more, and the two of them walked in silence over to the farmhouse.

‘Oh good. You're back.' They entered the kitchen to find George's mum all packed up and ready to go. Her briefcase was sitting on the kitchen table and she was buttoning up her coat. ‘I'm finished,' she said. ‘Come on, then, George. I need to be away.'

‘What?' said George. ‘We don't have to go yet, do we? It's nowhere near lunchtime. You said twelve-thirty.'

‘I know, but I've had a call from the office. They've got the auditors in, and they want me to go and look at some figures.' Auntie Pat picked up her briefcase.

‘Yeah, but I'm not ready yet. There's some stuff I have to do,' said George. ‘With Midge.'

‘It'll have to wait then, I'm afraid. Come on. Get your bits together.'

‘But I can't . . .' George looked at Midge. ‘Couldn't we just have another hour? That's all we need. Just another hour.'