The Moon of Gomrath Page 3
“What do you want?”
Push.
“I’ve nothing for you.”
Push.
“What is it?”
Push.
“Do you want me to ride? That’s it, isn’t it? Stand still, then. There. Good boy. You have got a long back, haven’t you? There. Now – whoa! Steady!”
The moment Susan was astride, the pony wheeled round and set off at full gallop towards the quarry. Susan grabbed the mane with both hands.
“Hey! Stop!”
They were heading straight for the barbed wire at the top of the cliff above the deepest part of the quarry.
“No! Stop!”
The pony turned its head and looked at Susan. Its foaming lips curled back in a grin, and the velvet was gone from the eye: in the heart of the black pupil was a red flame.
“No!” Susan screamed.
Faster and faster they went. The edge of the cliff cut a hard line against the sky. Susan tried to throw herself from the pony’s back, but her fingers seemed to be entangled in the mane, and her legs clung to the ribs.
“No! No! No! No!”
The pony soared over the fence, and plunged past smooth sandstone down to the water. The splash echoed between the walls, waves slapped the rock, there were some bubbles: the quarry was silent under the heavy sky.
“I’m not waiting any longer,” said Bess. “Susan mun get her own tea when she comes in.”
“Ay, let’s be doing,” said Gowther. “Theer’s one or two things to be seen to before it rains, and it conner be far off now: summat’s got to bust soon.”
“I’ll be glad when it does,” said Bess. “I conner get my breath today. Did Susan say she’d be late?”
“No,” said Colin, “but you know what she is. And she hadn’t a watch with her.”
They sat down at the table, and ate without talking. The only sounds were the breathing of Bess and Gowther, the ticking of the clock, the idiot buzz of two winter-drugged flies that circled endlessly under the beams. The sky bore down on the farm-house, squeezing the people in it like apples in a press.
“We’re for it, reet enough,” said Gowther. “And Susan had best hurry if she dunner want a soaking. She ought to be here by now. Wheer was she for, Colin? Eh up! What’s getten into him?” Scamp, the Mossocks’ lurcher, had begun to bark wildly somewhere close. Gowther put his head out of the window. “That’ll do! Hey!
“Now then, what was I saying? Oh ay; Susan. Do you know wheer she’s gone?”
“She said she was going to the quarry for some peace and quiet – I’ve been getting on her nerves, she said.”
“What? Hayman’s quarry? You should have said earlier, Colin. It’s dangerous – oh, drat the dog! Hey! Scamp! That’s enough! Do you hear?”
“Oh!” said Bess. “Whatever’s to do with you? Wheer’ve you been?”
Susan was standing in the doorway, looking pale and dazed. Her hair was thick with mud, and a pool of water was gathering at her feet.
“The quarry!” said Gowther. “She mun have fallen in! What were you thinking of, Susan, to go and do that?”
“Bath and bed,” said Bess, “and then we’ll see what’s what. Eh dear!”
She took Susan by the arm, and bustled her out of sight.
“Goodness knows what happened,” said Bess when she came downstairs half on hour later. “Her hair was full of sand and weed. But I couldner get a word out of her: she seems mazed, or summat. Happen she’ll be better for a sleep: I’ve put a couple of hot-water bottles in her bed, and she looked as though she’d drop off any minute when I left her.”
The storm battered the house, and filled the rooms with currents of air, making the lamps roar. It had come soon after nightfall, and with it a release of tension. The house was now a refuge, and not a prison. Colin, once the immediate anxiety for Susan had been allayed, settled down to spend the evening with his favourite book.
This was a musty, old ledger, covered with brown suede. Over a hundred years ago, one of the rectors of Alderley had copied into it a varied series of documents relating to the parish. The book had been in Gowther’s family longer than he could say, and although he had never found the patience to decipher the crabbed handwriting, he treasured the book as a link with a time that had passed. But Colin was fascinated by the anecdotes, details of court leets, surveys of the parish, manorial grants, and family histories that filled the book. There was always something absurd to be found, if you had Colin’s sense of humour.
The page that held him now was headed:
EXTRACTS: CH: WARDENS’ ACCS. 1617
A true and perfect account of all such Sumes of Money as I, John Henshaw of ye Butts, Churchwarden of Neither Alderley and for ye parish of Alderley have received and likewise disburst since my first entrance into Office untill this present day being ye 28 May Anno Di. 1618.
£
s.
d.
Imprimis Payed for Ale for ye Ringers and oure Selves
0
3
2
Item to John Wych his bill for a new Sally Poll
0
2
0
Item to a man yt had his tongue cut out by ye Turks
0
0
2
Item to Philip Lea half his bill for walking
0
1
6
Item to a pretended Irish gentleman
0
1
3
Item spent for cluckin to make nets
0
1
8
Item to a woman yt was dumpe
0
0
6
Item spent when I did goe throw ye town to warne those to bring in ye wrishes yt had neglected on ye wrish burying day
0
0
4
Item given to a Majer yt had been taken by ye French and was runeated by them
0
1
0
Item payed to Mr. Hollinshead
for warrants to punish ye boys’ Immoralities
0
0
8
But the next entry took all the laughter from Colin’s face. He read it through twice.
“Gowther!”
“Ay?”
“Listen to this: it’s part of the churchwardens’ accounts for 1617.
‘Item spent at Street Lane Ends when Mr. Hollinshead and Mr. Wright were at Paynes to confine ye devil yt was fownde at ye Ale house when ye new pipe was being put down and it did break into ye Pitt.’
“Do you think it’s the hole at the Trafford?”
Gowther frowned. “Ay, I’d say it is, what with the pipe, and all. That side of Alderley near the Trafford used to be called Street Lane Ends, and I’ve heard tell of a pub theer before the Trafford was built. Sixteen-seventeen, is it? It conner be part of the mines, then. They didner come that way until about two hundred years back, when West Mine was started. So it looks as though it was the well of the owd pub, dunner it?”
“But it couldn’t be,” said Colin. “It was called ‘ye Pitt’, and by the sound of it, they didn’t know it was there. So what is it?”
“Nay, dunner ask me,” said Gowther. “And who are yon Hollinshead and Wright?”
“They’re often mentioned in here,” said Colin. “I think they were the priests at Alderley and Wilmslow. I’d like to know more about this ‘devil’.”
“I dunner reckon much on that,” said Gowther. “They were a superstitious lot in them days. As a matter of fact, I was talking to Jack Wrigley yesterday – he’s the feller as put his pickaxe through the slab – and he said that when he was looking to see what he’d got, he heard a rum kind of bubbling sound that put the wind up him a bit, but he thinks it was summat to do with air pressure. Happen yon’s what the parsons took for Owd Nick.”
“I dunner like it,” said Bess from the doorway. She had just come downstairs. “Susan’s
not spoken yet, and she’s as cold as a frog. And I conner think wheer all the sand’s coming from – her hair’s still full of it – and everything’s wringing wet. Still, that’s not surprising with two hot-water bottles, I suppose. But theer’s summat wrong; she’s lying theer staring at nowt, and her eyes are a bit queer.”
“Mun I go for the doctor, do you think?” said Gowther.
“What? In this rain? And it’s nearly ten o’clock. Nay, lad, she inner that bad. But if things are no different in the morning, we’ll have the doctor in sharpish.”
“But what if she’s getten concussion, or summat like that?” said Gowther.
“It’s more like shock, I reckon,” said Bess. “Theer’s no bruises or lumps as I con see, and either way, she’s in the best place for her. You’d not get much thanks from the doctor for dragging him up here in this. We’ll see how she is for a good neet’s rest.”
Bess, like many country-women of her age, could not shake off her unreasoned fear of medical men.
Colin never knew what woke him. He lay on his back and stared at the moonlight. He had woken suddenly and completely, with no buffer of drowsiness to take the shock. His senses were needle-pointed, he was aware of every detail of the room, the pools of light and darkness shouted at him.
He got out of bed, and went to the window. It was a clear night, the air cold and sweet after the storm: the moon cast hard shadows over the farmyard. Scamp lay by the barn door, his head between his paws. Then Colin saw something move. He saw it only out of the corner of his eye, and it was gone in a moment, but he was never in any doubt: a shadow had slipped across the patch of moonlight that lay between the end of the house and the gate that led to the Riddings, the steep hill-field behind the farm.
“Hey! Scamp!” whispered Colin. The dog did not move. “Hey! Wake up!” Scamp whined softly, and gave a muted yelp. “Come on! Fetch him!” Scamp whined again, then crawled, barely raising his belly from the floor, into the barn. “What on earth? Hey!” But Scamp would not come.
Colin pulled on his shirt and trousers over his pyjamas, and jammed his feet into a pair of shoes, before going to wake Gowther. But when he came to Susan’s door he paused, and, for no reason that he could explain, opened the door. The bed was empty, the window open.
Colin tiptoed downstairs and groped his way to the door. It was still bolted. Had Susan dropped nine feet to the cobbles? He eased the bolts, and stepped outside, and as he looked he saw a thin silhouette pass over the skyline of the Riddings.
He struggled up the hill as fast as he could, but it was some time before he spotted the figure again, now moving across Clinton hill, a quarter of a mile away.
Colin ran: and by the time he stood up at the top of Clinton hill he had halved the lead that Susan had gained. For it was undoubtedly Susan. She was wearing her pyjamas, and she seemed to glide smoothly over the ground, giving a strange impression that she was running, though her movements were those of walking. Straight ahead of her were the dark tops of the trees in the quarry.
“Sue!” No, wait. That’s dangerous. She’s sleep-walking. But she’s heading for the quarry.
Colin ran as hard as he had ever run. Once he was off the hill-top the uneven ground hid Susan, but he knew the general direction. He came to the fence that stood on the edge of the highest cliff and looked around while he recovered his breath.
The moon showed all the hill-side and much of the quarry: the pump-tower gleamed, and the vanes turned. But Susan was nowhere to be seen. Colin leant against a fence-stump. She ought to be in sight: he could not have overtaken her: she must have reached here. Colin searched the sides of the quarry with his eyes, and looked at the smooth black mirror of the water. He was frightened. Where was she?
Then he cried out his fear as something slithered over his shoe and plucked at his ankle. He started back, and looked down. It was a hand. A ledge of earth, inches wide, ran along the other side of the fence and crumbled away to the rock face a few feet below: then the drop was sheer to the tarn-like water. The hand now clutched the ledge.
“Sue!”
He stretched over the barbed wire. She was right below him, spreadeagled between the ledge and the cliff proper, her pale face turned up to his.
“Hang on! Oh, hang on!”
Colin threw himself flat on the ground, wrapped one arm round the stump, thrust the other under the wire, and grabbed at the hand. But though it looked like a hand, it felt like a hoof.
The wire tore Colin’s sleeve as he shouted and snatched his arm away. Then, as Susan’s face rose above the ledge, a foot from his own, and he saw the light that glowed in her eyes, Colin abandoned reason, thought. He shot backwards from the ledge, crouched, stumbled, fled. He looked back only once, and it seemed that out of the quarry a formless shadow was rising into the sky. Behind him the stars went out, but in their place were two red stars, unwinking, and close together.
Colin sped along the hill, vaulting fences, throwing himself over hedges, and plunging down the Riddings to the farm-house. As he fumbled with the door, the moon was hidden, and darkness slid over the white walls. Colin turned. “Esenaroth! Esenaroth!” he cried. The words came to him and were torn from his lips independent of his will, and he heard them from a distance, as though they were from another’s mouth. They burned like silver fire in his brain, sanctuary in the blackness that filled the world.
CHAPTER 6
OLD EVIL
“I think we mun have the doctor,” said Bess. “She’s wet through again – it conner be healthy. And that blessed sand! Her hair’s still full of it.”
“Reet,” said Gowther. “I’ll get Prince ready, and then I’ll go and ring him up.”
Colin ate his breakfast mechanically. Bess and Gowther’s voices passed over him. He had to do something, but he did not know what he could do.
He had been woken by Scamp’s warm tongue on his face. It must have been about six o’clock in the morning: he was huddled on the doorstep, stiff with cold. He heard Gowther clump downstairs into the kitchen. Colin wondered if he should tell him what had happened, but it was not clear in his own head: he had to have time to think. So he tucked his pyjamas out of sight, and went to light the lamps for milking.
After breakfast Colin still had reached no decision. He went upstairs and changed his clothes. Susan’s door was ajar. He made himself go into the room. She lay in bed, her eyes half-closed, and when she saw Colin she smiled.
He went down to the kitchen, and found it empty. Bess was feeding the hens, and Gowther was in the stable with Prince. Colin was alone in the house with – what? He needed help, and Fundindelve was his only hope. He went into the yard, frightened, desperate, and then almost sobbing with relief, for Albanac was striding down the Riddings, the sun sparkling on his silver buckles and sword, his cloak swelling behind him in the wind.
Colin ran towards him and they met at the foot of the hill.
“Albanac! Albanac!”
“Why, what is it? Colin, are you well?”
“It’s Sue!”
“What?” Albanac took Colin by the shoulders and looked hard into his eyes. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know – she’s in bed – no – I mean – you must listen!”
“I am listening, but I do not follow you. Now tell me what is wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” said Colin. He paused, and then began. As he spoke, Albanac’s face grew lined and tense, his eyes were like blue diamonds. When Colin started to describe how he had followed Susan to the quarry Albanac interrupted him.
“Can we be seen from her window?”
“No – well, just about. It’s that end window at the front.”
“Then I would not be here.”
They moved round until the gable end of the house hid them from any windows.
“Now go on.”
When the story was finished Albanac laughed bitterly. “Ha! This is matter indeed. So near, after all. But come, we must act before the chance is lost.”
&n
bsp; “Why? What—?”
“Listen. Can we enter the house without being seen from the window?”
“Ye – es.”
“Good. I think I have not the power to do what should be done, but we must think first of Susan. Now mark what I say: we must not speak when we are nearer the house.
“Lead me to the room. I shall make little sound, but you must walk as though you had no guile. Go to the window and open it: then we shall see.”
Colin paused with his hand on the latch and looked over his shoulder. Albanac stood at the top of the stairs; he nodded. Colin opened the door.
Susan lay there, staring. Colin crossed to the window and unlatched it. At the sound, Albanac stepped into the room: he held the Mark of Fohla, open, in his hand. Susan snarled, her eyes flashing wide, and tore the blankets from her, but Albanac threw himself across the room and on to the bed, striking Susan under the chin with his shoulder and pinning her arm beneath him while he locked the bracelet about her wrist. Then, as quickly, he sprang back to the door and drew his sword.
“Colin! Outside!”
“What have you done?” cried Colin. “What’s happening?”
Albanac’s hand bit into his shoulder and flung him out of the room. Albanac jumped after him and slammed the door shut.
“Alb—”
“Quiet!” said Albanac, and his voice was iron. “When she is free, then must we beware. Let us hope the bracelet causes such pain that escape means more than vengeance.”
They stood motionless, rigid; the only sound was the creaking of Susan’s bed; then that stopped. Silence.
“Albanac! Look!”
A black coil of smoke was sliding under the door. It rolled forward on to the floor, where it gathered in an unstable pyramid, which grew.