Black Feathers

21

The house was old and its floorboards creaked but Gordon knew its foibles well. He already recognised one voice: the castrato tones of Sheriff Archibald Skelton. Shifting his weight stealthily from foot to foot, Gordon listened.

As he navigated the upstairs hallway, he heard Skelton say:

“He’ll be back today. I guarantee it. All we have to do is wait.”

Sheriff Mordaunt Pike made some low growl of agreement. Gordon swallowed and kept moving.

“They’re not merely protecting him out of love, you know, Pike. They know about him – the parents for certain.”

Footfalls moved along the downstairs hallway, deeper into the house.

“The younger sister is interesting, don’t you think?” asked Skelton.

If Pike answered, Gordon couldn’t hear what he said.

“Utterly loyal,” continued Skelton. “And yet, I don’t think she really knows anything about it. She may suspect, I suppose, but that’s about it. She couldn’t help us even if she wanted to.”

Creaking on the stairs made Gordon’s heart somersault in his chest. He’d expected them to search the downstairs first. There was only one place he had time to get to. He made it to the threshold of his bedroom and crossed on tiptoe to the closet.

“Now, the sick one… she might make this easy for us. It’s obvious she envies the boy. We could use her to bring him in.”

Pike rumbled a response that Gordon couldn’t make out. So they had Angela too? When had that happened? Skelton was in his parents’ bedroom. Gordon could hear him flinging items aside as he searched for something. Gordon stepped into the closet and stood to one side, pulling his winter clothes towards himself to hide behind.

Skelton’s voice carried:

“It must be here somewhere, Pike. Our boys just didn’t look carefully enough yesterday. Enjoying themselves too much, no doubt. Find the book and we find the boy. Find the boy and all this is over before it starts.”

This time there was no answer from Pike. Gordon heard Skelton step back into the upstairs hallway.

“Pike? Do you hear me, man?”

Pike didn’t answer. Gordon felt something in the silence. He heard a second set of footsteps on the stairs. Slow. Methodical. A tall, heavy man in no hurry, approaching relentlessly.

What is it? What’s wrong?

Gordon’s sweat chilled as the answer came to him. He’d left his rucksack in the kitchen. He imagined the giant holding it up to his partner.

“Ah,” said Skelton, his tone oily with satisfaction. “That does put a brighter perspective on things, doesn’t it?”

The sound of boots on worn carpet and loose floorboards came closer.

“Master Black,” said the voice outside his bedroom.

From Gordon’s place in the dark closet, Skelton’s voice was that of a woman with a hoarse throat.

“We’re so pleased you’ve come back. Your family is very worried about you.”

The voice approached no closer. It sounded as though Skelton had turned away – towards the bathroom.

“They miss you, you know. Judith… Jude… is especially concerned for your welfare.”

The motherly voice returned, coming closer than before. Skelton had to be in his room now. All Gordon had left was a tiny element of surprise; if he burst from the closet now, there was a chance he could duck past them and away down the stairs. He readied himself but he couldn’t make the move. The possibility of escape slipped farther away with each beat of his heart and each extra moment spent thinking instead of acting.

“We’ve promised them we’ll bring you back. Bring you back safe and sound.”

The voice came from outside the closet door. Gordon shook, his stomach clenched. As he reached into his coat pocket and found what nestled there, the closet door was flung wide and the hanging clothes were swept away.

The sudden brightness defined the shadow of Skelton’s giant accomplice, Sheriff Mordaunt Pike. Huge hands came for him out of the light and took his shoulders. It was like being lifted by a crane. He found himself looking straight into the death mask of Pike’s face, its hollows and angles grim, its eyes lit only by the excitement of Gordon’s capture. Pike’s breath was tobacco smoke, whisky and rot. Behind him, smiling like a wide-mouthed frog, stood Skelton. The fat little man shook his head with a grin.

“So, this is the herald of the dark messiah, the boy we must all fear. There must be some mistake, Pike. He’s nothing but a weedy stripling. A frightened, crying child.”

Pike’s mouth spread into a robotic grin exposing broken, infected teeth. The smile switched off after a second, as though its power had been cut.

“Still,” said Skelton, “I suppose we’d better take him in. Bring him to the car.”

Skelton led the way out of the bedroom and back towards the stairs. As though Gordon weighed no more than a walking stick, Pike transferred him under his arm. Gordon remained passive for a few seconds while his right hand worked frantically in his coat pocket. Halfway along the upstairs passage, his hand came free of his coat and he drove his father’s lock knife through Pike’s grey raincoat, towards his groin.

The knife was sharp and it slipped easily through the waterproof material. It cut through something meaty, before it struck bone and stopped. Pike stopped too and looked down to see Gordon pull his weapon free. He dropped the boy, as though discovering his walking stick was a snake. From where Gordon landed on the hallway floor, he had a moment in which to look up and see pain register in Pike’s expression, hate rising in his eyes along with–

Pike screamed, a powerful but hollow sound, like a blast from a broken organ pipe. Everything about him was motorised and emotionless.

He’s not human, thought Gordon.

The huge man’s hands went to his wound and blood welled through his raincoat. Gordon could now see it was not Pike’s manhood he’d damaged but something to the right. There was no way to tell if this was enough to stop the man from coming after him.

Gordon scrambled to his feet and charged at Skelton. The frog man was only now seeing what he’d done to Pike. At the top of the stairs Skelton crouched a little, spreading his arms wide to catch the boy or drive him back towards Pike.

Gordon didn’t stop. He didn’t turn. He rushed straight at Skelton, who seemed delighted that it was going to be so easy until he saw the flash of Gordon’s weapon coming at him like a right hook. Even then he didn’t raise a hand to protect himself. Gordon’s blade pecked hard at his face.

For a moment, a tiny moment within the arc of the blade’s onslaught, Gordon could see that Skelton believed he’d missed. His facial muscles were beginning to pull into a grin when steel sunk into the left side of his nose, above its bridge. Gordon withdrew the knife, watching pain register and blood pour forth. Skelton fell to his knees, raising his hands to the left side of his face. When he took them away, his cupped hands full of blood, he looked only through his right eye. The other was squeezed shut.

Gordon could see why. He’d sliced through Skelton’s left eye, driving the point of the blade across into Skelton’s nose. Now the man was trying to keep the ruptured contents behind his tightly closed eyelid. It did no good. Vitreous fluid leaked freely from the socket, mingling with his blood.

I should have stabbed forwards. He’d be dying if I had.

He should have, but he hadn’t. Neither Pike nor Skelton was dead. Their screams – one like the wail of a steam whistle, the other like a woman robbed in the street – were testament to that. And before he’d reached the bottom of the stairs Gordon heard the mechanical giant snorting and stomping down after him.

“Get him, Pike,” shrieked Skelton. “Bring him back to me. Then we’ll teach him how to use a knife properly.”

Gordon sprinted up the passage to the back door, raced out and slammed it behind him. Suddenly weightless with triumph, he flew across the back garden, knowing Pike still wasn’t out of the back door. He reached the green door thanking God he’d left it open and tore away up the bridleway, his knife still slick and dripping.

When he could no longer keep up his sprint, Gordon looked back. He couldn’t see Pike but he didn’t stop. Even with Pike limping, his head start would be nothing more than a very few minutes. And Skelton would be calling in for more men. The running was hard and soon he slowed to a trot, looking over his shoulder every few steps. For the moment there was no sign of Pike. Long before he reached the end of the bridleway, Gordon was interspersing running with a fast walk to save his strength but maintain his advantage.

Finally, he cleared the last bend in the bridleway and saw the opening of the tunnel. Spurred on by making it this far, he found new strength in his legs and ran the last stretch with a growing sense of elation. He had, at least in part, paid Skelton and Pike back for taking away his family and abusing their home. He reached into his coat pocket for his torch, switched it on and ran into the tunnel. Even when he saw the Wardsman waiting for him in the darkness, he didn’t quite believe it. His momentum carried him right into the man’s arms.