The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (28 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Lurking Urk

The snow continued to fall. For the first few days everyone was filled with excitement. The Crispin’s boys and village children competed in snowball fights and sledge races down the hill from Short Face Cross. Snowmen were built and demolished on the Village Green. Crispin’s boys who owned boots trooped down to the village in droves to skate on a now dead-fish-free Sparra's pond.

As November gave way to December though, and the snow did not budge, the novelty began to wear thin. People began to mutter about it. The snow was too early. It was staying too long and the birds were behaving strangely. Large numbers of them had gathered in the village but were slow to migrate. Swallows and martins, swifts and nightjars called shrilly to each other from the trees.

Even when the blizzard hit late one Friday the birds stubbornly refused to move on. They froze to telephone wires and rooftops as fishermen battened down their hatches and villagers checked their stores and closed their doors. The wind raged all weekend and snow fell in a swirling mass. The harbour froze. The sea froze. No one could quite believe it but when the wind stilled and the first few people ventured from their homes, it was clear to see. The water sloshed beneath a thick grey blue layer of ice, which only thinned and broke into sheets about a mile out to sea.

Fishermen emerged to check their boats and villagers waded through snowdrifts to their shops, each attempting to carry on as normal despite the conditions. The farm children had work to do tending livestock and the boys from the school were conscripted to clear paths.

Then, one arctic night in the second week of December the temperature fell still further and tempers flared.

Tension between the school and village, which had been simmering under the surface because of the competition over raffle ticket sales, reached breaking point when Mallison made the mistake of knocking at Mrs Tomkins’ door. Her worry over her husband away in France, her patience worn thin by her five children and the anxiety over where their next meal would be coming from, made her a trifle less than friendly. The words ‘raffle tickets’ were hardly out of Mallison’s mouth
before she threw a bucket of dirty dishwater over him.

Afterwards everyone commented how unlike her this was. Rosie Kemp, when she saw her later, said she looked demented. Ben Cheeseman thought ‘the school had a nerve sending snooty lads with silver spoons in their mouths to beg off hardworking people’. Frank Duke insisted ‘the snotty little blighter had it coming’ having knocked on the Tomkins’ door twice before.

It was the turning point in relations between the school and village. Within hours Will Tomkins was set upon by three Crispin’s youths and beaten soundly.

By five o’clock, when Ralf and Leo met up with Valen and Alfie outside the Hall, the village was in uproar and Valen was livid.

‘Cowards! That’s what they are!’ she cried. ‘Three against one and all of them older than him too! You should have seen him, Ralf. His eye was all swollen shut and it took ten minutes to stop his nose bleed.’

‘How was Mrs Tomkins?’

‘Well vexed,’ said Alfie. ‘Everyone was. Will’s not sayin’ who did it, but my money’s on that Tank geezer and maybe Aston and Childs.’

As they skidded down the High Street on hard packed ice, people peered out at them shaking their heads and they saw many of the shops now had notices in their windows reading: ‘No Crispin’s Boys.’

‘Everything seems so different now,’ said Leo. ‘Do you remember what it was like when we first arrived? People were happy then.’

‘The villagers have changed,’ Ralf agreed, trying to rub some warmth back into his chilled fingers. ‘And it’s not just the war.’

‘Everyone’s changed since we got here,’ said Leo. ‘Even us.’

The going got easier as they reached the lower end of the High Street, the snow had been cleared and piled high on corners, and they hurried down towards Ralf’s house anticipating the warm stove and a hot drink.

‘Seth’s changed, that’s for sure,’ said Ralf. ‘I hardly ever see him now.’

‘Talk of the devil,’ said Leo.

Seth was coming out of the newsagents. He saw them immediately and came over.

‘Have you seen this?’ said Seth
, furiously slapping at the newspaper he was holding.  ‘Can you believe if it had just been a bit less foggy in Munich last month, this whole war could have been over by now!’

‘Fog in Munich?’ Alfie repeated, looking blank. ‘Seriously bruv, you gonna have to give us a bit more to go on, on this one. I’ve got no clue what you’re on about.’

‘Look!’ Seth thrust the paper into Ralf’s hands. Ralf frowned, trying to decipher how the report in front of him had any bearing on their own situation.

‘Yeah,’ said Alfie, annoyed. ‘Give it to him, why don’t you? It was me who asked the bleedin’ question! Oh, forget it,’ he said when Ralf looked at him. ‘I’ll have it after.’

Ralf scanned the page. Underneath a grainy photograph of a dimple-cheeked man, the headline read:

WOULD-BE ASSASSIN QUESTIONED BY GESTAPO.

Frowning, he was about to start reading the article aloud to the others, but Seth never gave him a chance.

‘So, Hitler went to a Munich Beer Hall to give some crazy, Jew-hating speech and this poor swine tried to kill him.’

‘So what happened?’ said Leo. He couldn’t quite see how any of this had anything to do with them, but it was best not to challenge Seth when he was in this kind of mood.

‘The bomb went off but Hitler had already gone – because of the weather of all things!’ Seth said savagely. ‘Can you believe that? It was too foggy for him to fly so he finished fifteen minutes early and caught the train instead.’

‘Come on, Seth,’ Ralf said quietly. ‘It’s history. I mean, we can’t do anything about it, can we?’

Seth flashed him a defiant look then kicked at the snow. ‘It could be different, though!’ he shouted, snatching the paper back. ‘If it hadn’t been for the last minute change of plans, Hitler would be gone and maybe no one else would have to die!’

‘Hitler’s had luck on his side so far,’ said Alfie.

‘There are other attempts, too,’ said Leo. ‘I remember reading about it. Two or three, I think. They all fail.’

‘You’re missing the point. It’s not about success or failure. It’s the man!’ snapped Seth. ‘This man,’ he said pointing at the picture. ‘Elser his name was. Johan Elser. Do you know who he was?’

They stared at Seth dumbly.

‘Exactly! He was nobody. He was a carpenter, for goodness sake! He was no one powerful or important. He just realised what was going on. He saw what Hitler was capable of and he took action.’

No one knew quite what to say.

‘I don’t know.’ Seth ran his hands through his hair then pushed up his glasses to rub at his eyes. ‘I don’t know about anything anymore!’ He turned and stalked away leaving them staring after him.

They didn’t see Seth the next day but on Sunday, after church they called for him at Winters’ cottage. When he answered the door, dressed in his oversized coat and scarf, his mood had changed completely.

‘Have you lot noticed the weather?’ he asked.

‘Noticed it!’ said Valen. ‘You're deranged!’

Seth glared at her. ‘What I mean is, have you been paying attention to the temperature?’

‘Brass Monkeys, innit!’ Alfie ventured

‘It’s more than very cold,’ said Seth witheringly. ‘The real winter of 1939 was bad but it was no way near this bad. Look, don’t any of you think it’s a bit odd that we’ve had temperatures well below freezing here for over a month, a blizzard, eighteen inches of snow in some places and the sea frozen – I mean, the actual sea frozen!
And there’s not a word about it in any of the newspapers?’

‘Aren’t they just too busy reporting stuff about the war,’
said Valen, tentatively.

‘Anyway, how do you know it wasn’t this cold in 1939?’ asked Ralf. ‘You haven’t memorised all the yearly temperatures since the beginning of time – or have you?’

Seth frowned at him. ‘No I haven’t, Wolf. But I do happen to know that the coldest winter on record in this country was in 1963. We read about it in school last year. The weather we’re having at the moment is equally as bad as what they had then, but no one outside of King’s Hadow is talking about it. And do you know why?’ He stopped walking and looked at them gravely.

‘No, Seth, we don’t know, mate,’ said Leo. ‘Fancy telling us?’ 

‘It’s not in any of the papers because it’s not happening anywhere else!’ Seth retorted. ‘I listened to the weather reports for a load of other places around the country and it’s cold, but nowhere near as bad as here. That in itself would be enough to grab headlines, you would’ve thought – but no! The rest of the country seems to be carrying on as normal without even noticing that King’s Hadow’s suddenly got its own micro-climate. The temperature on the High Street last night was minus sixteen degrees!’

They all stopped walking now. It hadn’t occurred to them that the weather in King’s Hadow could possibly be different from the rest of the country.

‘But what does it mean?’ asked Valen.

‘Who knows?’ said Alfie. ‘But the livestock don’t like it.’ He shook his head. ‘The sheep are in well bad shape and Sefton’s lowing all day cooped up in the barn. Just saying!’ he added, when Valen flicked his ear.

‘We’re not talking about the cows, you dope! We’re discussing the time continuum and the future of the planet as we know it!’

‘No
, Valen. Alfie’s got a point. Look at the birds!’ said Ralf waving his hand towards the rooftops. ‘They’ve gathered but they’re not migrating. In this weather they ought to be long gone.’

‘Yeah,’ Alfie shivered. ‘They should be in Africa or wherever. Somewhere hot. They’re dying ‘cos there’s nothing for them to eat here. Mr Kemp was clearing them from the street with a shovel this morning.’

‘The magpies are alright, though,’ said Leo. ‘There’s either a big colony nearby or I’ve got one following me round. I’ve saluted so many times in the past few days, my shoulder’s started to ache.’

They laughed.

‘And have you seen how fat the rats are?’ said Alfie. ‘They’ve got in to the winter feed and there’s millions of ‘em.’

‘There is definitely something off here. It’s like nature has gone haywire. Just here in Kings Hadow,’ said Leo. ‘And you can call me crazy but, I think the animals sense something. Like when all the animals run for higher ground before a Tsunami.’

‘Some kind of primitive knowledge or race memory?’ Seth wondered aloud.

‘Yeah,’ said Alfie. ‘Like Uncle Mick’s dog knew he was gonna die before the doctors. He sat by him for days until he finally snuffed it,’ said Alfie

‘Science has explained many things over the centuries but I can’t help thinking that in some ways the natural order is far more advanced than we will ever be. I don’t know what it means,’ Seth admitted finally, when he noticed Valen’s exasperated look. ‘I’d like to, though…’

They walked as a group, sometimes dragging Alfie out of deep patches of snow, talking and lobbing the occasional snowball. They had no clear destination in mind, just an urge to get out of the village for a few hours, a need to escape the tension. A sudden flapping in the trees above startled them. A magpie arrowed past followed by a flock of crows, their angry caws echoing in the still air. Leo grinned as each of them gave the black and white bird a quick salute.

‘Very wise,’ said a gravelly voice making them all jump. It was Urk Fitch. He stepped from behind a gnarled oak, bear shaped in layer upon layer of patched clothing. The children stared at him, too startled to move or speak. Had he known they were coming?

‘Right to give them the respect they deserve,’ he growled.

‘Hello, Mr Fitch,’ said Ralf, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

‘Hush!’ said Urk, in a hoarse whisper. ‘Keep your voices low. We’re too close even here!’

‘Close to what?’ Seth asked.

‘To the breach in the Veil, of course!’ Urk hissed. ‘He has spies everywhere but He’s stronger in the woods.’

‘Who Mr Fitch?’ Leo asked. ‘What spies?’

‘You know who I speak of and He knows you too!’ said Urk. ‘Crows,
rates, foxes, even the Shadows are His! All around us they are, creepin’ up and tryin’ for to catch us in their claws,’ said Urk shuffling towards them through the snow. ‘They’re everywhere!’ Fitch looked positively deranged, his eyes flicked left and right and his hands twitched and jabbed as he talked.

‘But, who are they spying for?’ asked Leo. ‘Who are you afraid of?’

‘Him. The Shadow King. He’s waiting for His moment and soon the Black Door will open.’ Urk looked over his shoulder then turned back to Leo, his eyes glinting. ‘He’ll start to move. He’s watching now. Feeling out with his fingers...’ Urk’s laugh had a brittle, desperate sound. ‘None of it’s an accident, you know. It’s all Him! Even what happened with young Michael.’

‘The boats? When the lines were cut?’ asked Valen. ‘Is that what you’re trying to tell us? Do you know who did it?’

Urk shook his head, looking this way and that. ‘Someone does His work fer ‘im. But I baint talkin’ about no lines. I meant the wave! Who d’you think did that?’