The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (37 page)

Ralf was congratulating himself on this move, marvelling at how his body knew exactly what to do even though his brain had no idea, when something large sideswiped him into a nearby tree. His head smashed into the bark with such force that he actually saw stars, (little twinkly ones in lots of different colours).

He was under a great weight and somewhere, it seemed like a long way away, a voice like King’s was screaming: ‘NO! I didn’t want this! Stop! Stop!’ desperately, over and over again.

Suddenly, the weight was off him and when he opened his eyes he could see sky through the leaves. It was quite nice lying down and he thought he might stay for a while until someone dragged him roughly to his feet and shouted at him

‘Go Wolf! Go! They’re getting away from you!’

There was an egg-sized lump protruding above his left ear. He touched it gingerly, winced and shook himself. Chaos surrounded him. The main group of runners had passed them; some hesitated, looking at the fight but soon they were off again running for the far side of the wood. Two King’s Hadow Primary girls were being dragged along the ground as they held on tenaciously to Alloway’s legs. Kat was engaged in a pitched battle, throwing sticks, pine cones and whatever she could lay her hands on at a flinching Ward, whilst Alfie had given up trying to hold Benson any other way, and was just sitting on him.

‘Where’s Tank?’ Leo roared, Shifting back and forth across the path in a red blur.

‘I thought you had him!’ Alfie shouted back. Valen materialised an inch from Ralf’s face. ‘GO!’ she bellowed.

It was only then, when he took his first shaky steps, that Ralf saw it.

There was a hazy blotch of light in the bushes ahead. Another Fall! As he watched, the patch darkened and a second later, two Roundheads stepped from it into the wood. The two soldiers were in mid conversation but stopped talking, and walking, when they registered the sounds of the fight around them. Like two kids coming into the wrong classroom, they shared a look of embarrassed surprise, then turned and stepped back into the Fall they’d come through.

In spite of everything that was going on, Ralf couldn’t help a snort of laughter. He looked to see if any of the others had seen but they were all immersed in their separate battles. Ralf’s smile died when he realised that only one other person in the wood was still.

King.

The tall boy was standing a short way ahead on the path, staring at Alloway’s struggles with an expression of disgust on his face. Ralf shook his head to clear it then ran. A moment later, King saw him approaching and he was off too.

King was only six yards ahead as they cleared the trees. The ninth marker was a little further down the lane and, oblivious to what had just happened in the wood, the main group of runners had stamped their cards and were moving off. King marked his own card quickly and tore off round the corner. Ralf increased his pace. He didn’t like not being able to see the leading pack but he was feeling surprisingly all right, head throbbing only slightly. He told himself he’d catch up by Sparra’s Pond.

Ralf pulled his card from his shorts mid-stride and was feeling confident, when Tank burst from his hiding place behind a towering elm tree and snatched up the stamp. His beady little eyes twinkled with malice.

A bellowing cry
thundered down the lane sending birds squawking in the trees and rodents scurrying from the underbrush. Will Tomkins exploded from a bush and took a flying leap at Tank. He was too small to make a dent in the big lad’s body so he’d done the sensible thing and gone for his legs. Tank’s weight carried him forwards even though his feet were no longer moving and he and Will slithered through mud and crumpled in a heap on the ground. The stamp went flying.

‘Stamp your card and go!’ Will shouted happily.

Too stunned to do anything but obey Ralf did as he was told, so he didn’t see Will’s little victory dance or hear him yelling: ‘Not so tough now, are you, you big donkey!’

Ralf caught up with King at the top of the High Street. King stamped his card and Ralf followed a second later. Ahead lay the rest of the runners and the long hill down to the finish. Soaked and splattered with mud, they ran side by side, their legs pounding in unison as they overtook the other runners one by one.

They caught up with Fred Cheeseman two hundred yards from the finish line and raced abreast into the final straight. The crowd were beside themselves.  One side of the lane was a sea of Crispin’s burgundy and green, the other a navy wave of colour as villagers flapped scarves and hats. Those
sitting got to their feet. Those already standing, jumped up and down.

Ralf’s choice of white clothing had been attempt to take some of the pressure off, to not take ‘sides’ but now, sandwiched between the two clashing colours, he realised it just made him feel more alone. He scanned the crowd for a friendly face but saw no one. Both villagers and schoolboys were in a frenzy of shouting, their eyes fierce and hard. Feeling strangely isolated Ralf tore his eyes from the unfamiliar faces and fixed them on the finishing line.

By the last hundred yards, Fred Cheeseman was tired, his feet dragging and he was sweating freely. When Ralf and King powered by on either side of him he just didn’t have any fight left. His pace slowed. He’d settle for third.

Did King have enough left in him to make a final dash? Ralf knew he shouldn’t, but he stole a glance at the boy next to him. King responded with a smirk and broke for the finish line.

Ralf matched him step for step. He was starting to feel it now. The bump above his ear pounded with every footfall and his left eye was watering madly. King, on the other hand, looked like he could run all day.

At fifty yards Ralf thought he was going to lose. At twenty he was sure of it. At ten yards King shot him a huge, exultant smile. But then, miraculously, Ralf inched ahead. He sailed over the line, tape fluttering, looking over his shoulder in complete disbelief. He’d won.

King jogged over the line a second later but all eyes were on Ralf who thought he’d drown in the joy of it.  Fred Cheeseman came in next and all three boys were surrounded.

A little while later when the others had made it down to the finish and Ralf had had his card checked and been officially declared the winner, there were twenty shouted conversations going on all at once. To his left Val was singing in wild celebration. To his right Will was explaining things to Leo (‘it’s all about fair play, you see -’) and Alfie was prancing about with seven or eight battered looking Primary kids who were giggling delightedly. A bit further away he heard snatches of King’s conversation with his father (‘- better for everyone this way -’). What the heck did that mean?

‘Village or School?’

Reverend Denning’s question caught Ralf by surprise. ‘Pardon?’

‘Village or School? On the cup? What would you like it to read, Osborne?’

Over the crowd Ralf locked eyes with King. Leo whirled to say something but he didn’t have to. Ralf understood. ‘Both please,’ he said. ‘If that’s allowed, I mean.’

Denning patted him on the back. ‘Good lad.’

King’s eyes met Ralf’s once more and then he stalked off.

Later, Ralf was sitting quietly on the harbour wall with a kipper on his head. (It was a frozen fillet and was, Val explained, to reduce the swelling.)

He and the other Turnarounders were drinking bottles of squash, rehashing the race and comparing wounds. Val had skinned both knees, ripped another skirt and both sets of knuckles were grazed. Leo was sporting a fat lip and Alfie was struggling to find parts of himself that weren’t damaged. Ralf scrutinised his mottled face.

‘Alfie?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Why have you got lots of little circles all down one of your cheeks?’

‘Er, yeah – sorry about that,’ said Valen, pointing to the studded underside of her hockey boot.

‘No worries.’

Val snorted suddenly as she had a thought.

‘What’s so funny?’ Ralf asked.

‘I hope that the vicar is going to wash his hands before supper, that’s all,’ she said giggling.

‘I don’t get you.’

‘He must have checked over your card for at least ten minutes and I don’t think he knows where it’s been.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The Extra Hour

It took them a while to stop laughing but, when they’d finally got their breath, Valen got to her feet.

‘I’d better get back,’ she said. ‘I need to do something about this
skirt before Mrs Hatcher sees it.’

‘I gotta split too,’ said Alfie. ‘I have to find Charlie Duke.’

‘Why?’ Ralf asked.

‘
The Lot's Lady
’s not in the harbour. I want to know what time they left and Charlie was on watch during the run.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ Leo offered. ‘Just in case any of the Crispin’s boys’ve got hard feelings about this afternoon. Let’s make it quick, though,’ he added glancing at the dark clouds above.

Ralf and Seth watched them go.

‘Valen’s limping,’ Seth observed. ‘She hurt her foot?’

‘Impact injury,’ Ralf grinned. ‘Ross Child’s backside is harder than it looks.’

‘It was a good day,’ Seth sighed. Then he too strolled back up into the village towards home.

It
had
been a good day and as Ralf sat alone nursing his injuries, watching the rain clouds roll in from the sea he felt a deep sense of contentment. It was only when the sky darkened and the heavens opened a few minutes later that he stood and tossed the frozen fish fillet into the water. There was a rumble of thunder. Despite his aching legs, Ralf set off running. He left the village, a sixth sense guiding him in the gloom.

As he rou
nded the bend that led to Fox Earth Cottages, a flash of lightening illuminated something on the horizon. Ralf’s step faltered. 

His heart hammered until a second flash revealed a little rowing boat, bobbing on the waves some distance out to sea. Ralf just had time to take in the hunched figure of the man on board, the glint of moonlight off the blade of a scythe.
His heart leapt in his chest. Ambrose!

Ralf strained to see the small boat battling the waves and the figure at the oars straining to bring the vessel in to shore, his heart thumping in time to the drumming rain. Gradually the boat drew closer until finally Ralf was able to confirm his hopes.

‘Ambrose!’ he yelled joyfully.

‘Dear boy!’ Ambrose called back across the water. ‘You’re going to have to wade out to me, I’m afraid. I can’t come ashore.’

Ralf launched himself into the chopping water and grabbed on to the prow of the boat. At that touch the world stilled. The waves died. A muffled silence fell. Hand still clutching the wood, Ralf looked around in wonder.

‘Time Stop,’ said Ambrose. ‘Get in quick. We have a great deal to discuss and only an hour in which to do it.’

Ralf did as he was told and sat facing Ambrose who was sitting with a picnic basket on his lap in the stern of the boat. Propped next to his leaning scythe and a strange wheel-like contraption, was his hourglass and it was as still as the sea around them. Ambrose pulled a packet of sandwiches, flask and two tin cups from the basket. He poured steaming liquid into the mugs and handed one to Ralf.

‘Hey!’ he
exclaimed, nearly dropping the cup in astonishment. ‘The rain’s stopped in mid-air!’

‘Time Stop,’ said Ambrose again. ‘I say, are your ears alright? I could have sworn I’d said that already.’

Ralf grinned. He was so happy to see Ambrose he didn’t mind his tone. He had about a hundred questions rattling around inside his head but Ambrose beat him to it.

‘That’s going to be a real shiner,’ he said pointing to Ralf’s swollen eye. ‘The run?’

Ralf’s eyes widened in surprise but Ambrose just smiled at him. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘So very well done.’

Ralf shrugged. ‘It was just a race.’

‘Tsk tsk,’ Ambrose admonished, shaking his head. ‘It was so much more than that. You won. Despite everything they threw at you, you won. More importantly, though, you claimed the win for Village
and
School. It won’t heal all the wounds but it’s made a real difference.’

‘It’s about the only difference I have managed to make,’ Ralf muttered.

‘Nonsense! You’ve remembered who you are. All the Turnarounders played their part today but you were the one directing things. I think you’ve realised by now that it’s you who must take charge in the coming weeks. It’s down to you to hold the line.’

Ralf’s head throbbed at that and he rubbed his eye. He didn’t know what to say.

‘Drink your tea,’ Ambrose directed. ‘You look peaky.’

Ralf took a sip. It was different from before, sappy and bitter and he couldn’t help but shudder. 

‘I’ll have you know that the people of this proud nation have been drinking nettle tea for generations,’ Ambrose sniffed, noticing. ‘And anyway, you used to like it.’

‘Modern tea’s better,’ said Ralf. ‘You should try it.’

‘You said that about hedgehog,’ said Ambrose grumpily. ‘I had wind all through the Dark Ages.’

Ambrose handed him one of the sandwiches. ‘Eat that. You need the energy.’

Ralf took a tentative bite and was relieved to find it contained only cheese. He munched gratefully and studied the man in front of him. He appeared older than before. There were deep lines round Ambrose’s eyes, a deeper furrowed frown line and his cheeks looked sunken.

‘Are you all right?’ Ralf
asked. ‘Seriously. You don’t look so good.’

‘I’ve been pretty busy these last months.’ Ambrose looked grave. ‘Time is so tremendously complicated, Wolf. Lines running parallel, criss-crossing and winding round each other. It’s like a vastly complex spiralling web or a ball of –’

‘Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff?’ Ralf suggested. His face reddened. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that!

‘Well you’ve been paying attention in physics, at least,’ said Ambrose with a smile. ‘And while you’ve been studying, I’ve been plugging up Falls and tracking escapees from all sorts of different Timelines.’

‘The stream must re-join the river,’ said Ralf faintly.

‘That’s right. But each job takes something out of me, and the bigger the job
the more exhausting it is. These last few weeks have been horrendous. Frankly, I’m shattered.’

‘The galleon?’ Ralf asked.

‘A variety of sailing vessels, actually,’ sighed Ambrose. ‘Getting them back was a nightmare.’

‘Why?’

‘You try it!’ Ambrose exclaimed. ‘Balancing on a rowing boat in six foot waves with an hour glass in one hand and a scythe in the other – all the while attempting to explain to two hundred panicking Spaniards that you’re not the devil coming to take them to hell but someone trying to help them!’

‘But why were they so panicked?’

Ambrose gave Ralf a look. ‘One minute they were part of a one hundred and sixty strong fleet of galleons; the next they’re on their own except for a thirty-foot fishing boat, complete with petrol motor. It’s a miracle I managed to keep them away from any naval vessels or submarines!’

Ralf fought a sudden urge to snigger. Ambrose saw.

‘It’s not a laughing matter! Can you imagine what might have happened if the RAF had been patrolling? How do you think your average sixteenth century Spaniard would have coped with a Spitfire?’

Ralf laughed outright.

Ambrose smiled, in spite of himself. ‘Yes, well, I suppose it is a little bit funny. But so many enormous Falls in such a short period most definitely are not. And it took quite a lot of energy to get Erik home just now.’

‘Erik?’

‘The Viking!’ Ambrose retorted, as if this should have been obvious. ‘Yes, fortunately there were only seagulls to witness that one. Nice fella. Not too hot on advertising, though. He named his last discovery ‘Iceland’. Hardly sells the place, does it! Still, he gets better with the next one – though it’ll take more than the name Greenland to make that spot popular, you mark my words.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Oh, never mind. The point is that getting a Spanish galleon and a Viking longship back to when they should be has knocked me a bit. Hence the frazzled appearance!’

The description of what Ambrose actually did reminded Ralf of the man’s power and a question occurred to him. ‘So, why can’t you come ashore?’ he asked through his last mouthful of sandwich.

‘Because this isn’t the correct Timeline,’ Ambrose said. ‘I’ve had a real job getting here. Sorry it’s taken so long. The Book’s haywire and whatever I had half planned for you has all gone out the window. Call it fate if you like… I don’t know…’ he said scratching his domed head, ‘but you’ve been dragged here because this is where you should be now. On this Timeline, very soon there’ll be a Nexus – a point where all possible futures come together. I can’t get you out now, you understand that, don’t you?’

Ralf nodded. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. How things had changed since their first day when they’d believed Ambrose would just materialise somewhere and whisk them back home.

‘Even if you could get us out, I don’t think we’d go,’ Ralf said. ‘I don’t know what has to be done and I’m not sure whether we’ll be able to do it when the time comes, but this place…these people are part of our lives now. We have to help them. They’re
our
people. They’re family, friends. They’re important. We couldn’t leave them alone to face what’s coming without us. It would be worse than cowardice. It would be betrayal. Do you understand? This is our time to make a difference. Maybe the only chance we’ll get.’

‘Exactly!’ said Ambrose. He glanced down at the hourglass, which hadn’t discernibly changed. ‘And we’ve got exactly fifty-two minutes before the Time Stop ends, to work out how you must do that.’ He squinted up at Ralf’s white face and smiled. ‘Tell me everything that’s happened since you arrived.’

It took a long time to tell but Ralf was thorough, ordering things in his mind carefully before relating them as quickly and simply as possible. Ambrose looked grave throughout his tale but gasped with excited pleasure when Ralf told of Gloria’s Spirit Guide and his cryptic message. By the time he had finished talking, Ralf was exhausted and his throat parched. Reluctantly he drank more tea. It wasn’t improved by being cold.

The wheel-like
instrument Ralf had noticed earlier now sat in Ambrose’s lap and he ran his long fingers over it while he thought for what seemed ages. Ralf couldn’t stop himself from eyeing the stationary hourglass in front of him. Finally, Ambrose looked up.

‘One of
the Hidden has been trying to help you, that much is clear. But as to who he is…’ Ambrose pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration. ‘From what you say, it seems he was making contact with Gloria secretly. The Hidden are going through a period of great change at the moment and it could be that his actions weren’t approved by the Council.’

‘They have a Council?’ Ralf asked, but Ambrose waved him quiet.

‘As for the poem, that comes straight from Hidden folklore. The legend of the Natus.’

‘Natus?’

‘The story is that in each timeline there are five Righteous humans. These five are, of course, Echoes and in some or all of their lives they do something or set wheels in motion that will affect the path of the future for good.’

‘That’s what we figured, but how do we know which people in the village are Echoes? We’ve narrowed the list down but –’

‘Which of them are the Natus?’ Ambrose finished for him. ‘Which of those Echoes’ actions will be world changing? And which are the ones who must see this war ended in this Timeline?’

‘End the war? Is it really as important as that?’ Ralf asked.

Ambrose looked steadily into Ralf’s eyes. ‘I have seen many versions of the future, Wolf. I have witnessed other Timelines in which this war ends differently. Make no mistake, in all of those futures the Nazis winning the war is just the beginning – the beginning of a spiralling descent into blood, horror and the end of all things. The Turnarounders must prevent that happening.’

‘But how?’ Ralf
cried. ‘How do we find out which ones are the Natus?’ he asked. ‘And when we do, what then?’

‘Use your power. You are
Turnarounders. You’ve been equipped with everything that you need to fulfil your destiny. You have Skills defined by nature and preternatural Gifts you can utilise when the time comes.’

‘And that’s in May, right?’ Ralf asked. ‘We think – well, Seth worked out – it will be at the end of May.’

Ambrose nodded. ‘The Natus ‘Must be kept safe till Hawthorn’s gone’,’ he said, tapping the small hawthorn leaf carved into his wheel. ‘At that time, the Natus will be in mortal peril. In order for Time to get back on track and for the Allies to win the war, they must survive.’

‘But, if something happens to one of the other Natus before then –’

‘If they should lose their nerve, their ability to accomplish their allotted role...’ Ambrose didn’t need to finish his sentence. His grave face said it all. Ralf knew what would happen. Each of the five Natus was like a tiny cog that fitted into the workings of time. Each cog must do its part or the whole clock would eventually wind down and stop ticking.

‘Is someone trying to frighten the Natus then? To stop them doing what they should do? Is that what all the weird stuff happening in the village has been about?’