The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (44 page)

‘Have you ever seen this many before?’ Ralf asked.

Sedley shook his head. ‘Not in sixty years of farming.’

‘What are they all doing here?’

Sedley nodded towards the dark lump. ‘Carrion birds,’ he said. ‘Sefton. Dead overnight.’

Ralf swallowed as he realised what Sedley was saying. The crows picked at the carcass, pulling up strips of fresh pink flesh. Other birds were just sitting there, watching, patiently waiting the feast. They covered the ground like a thick, oily blanket.

Ralf felt sick. Sefton’s corpse was bad enough, but the birds! ‘There’s so many of them!’

‘A murder,’ Sedley said darkly. ‘A murder of crows. Appropriate name, eh?’  The old man looked grim. They stood there for a while watching and then Mr Sedley seemed to come to a decision. He took his boot off the gate and turned to go.

‘What are you going to do?’ Ralf asked, suddenly fearful for the man

‘Get my shotgun,’ he said, almost to himself.

‘But Mr Sedley!’ Ralf protested. ‘You can’t kill all of them!’

Sedley turned. ‘It’s not for them birds,’ he said darkly. ‘The gun’s for what’s to come after. Get off home. Bad things are coming.’

Ralf did, but he did not sleep that night.

The next morning trying and failing to shake off the dread that enveloped him, Ralf Shifted straight to Springfield. Hart’s living room was silent and cool. Dust moats danced in in the yellow sunlight from the windows but the rest of the room was grey and still. Ralf picked up a book from the coffee table and flung himself in to an armchair but couldn’t settle. Ralf tossed the book aside and jumped to his feet. He was twelve years old. An orphan. Nobody. And he had this tremendous job to do. To lead the others in whatever was to come. Suddenly, he didn’t think he could do it. There was an uncomfortable lump in his throat but he swallowed it down and, ignoring the tearful prickle behind his eyes, tried to work out what Burrowes could have wanted with the others. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything.

Desperate to be doing something, he paced up and down the small sitting room, moved things around on the shelves and picked up magazines only to drop them again unread. Eventually, he wandered over to the mantelpiece and examined the photographs there. There was one photo of a group of soldiers from the First World War. Winston Churchill was among them, Ralf recognised the younger version of the famous man immediately. Other faces gazed out at him. One of them bore a striking resemblance to the new Prime Minister. Churchill’s brother? He hadn’t heard they’d been ‘Overseas’ together. The men were fierce and grim but smiling too. They knew what they faced. They were scared. Yes, he could see it hidden in the depths of their grey eyes. But they faced it anyway.

That’s what he would have to do.

He was just wondering how much longer the others would be when the door burst open. Leo and Valen were breathless from Shifting and desperate to talk.

‘We – are – in sooo much trouble!’ Valen panted.

‘Why?’

Leo and Valen exchanged an awkward look. ‘Burrowes thinks you killed Mr Kemp,’ said Leo.

‘What?’ Ralf shouted. ‘Is he nuts?’ He jumped up and began pacing the room, his mind roaming over the last conversation he’d had with the Inspector. ‘He quizzed me for ages. I thought he was just desperate, though. Trying to make sense of what happened, you know, clutching at straws. I never imagined he suspected me! I thought it had more to do with National Security and the Zero Station.’

‘It does,’ said Leo. ‘That’s the problem. That’s why you’re stuffed.’ He glanced at Valen again and she winced. ‘He knows that we’ve been in the bunker, Wolf.’

‘He has a great chunk of my ridiculous frock to prove it,’ Valen added.

Ralf roared his frustration. ‘And we were so careful to leave it how we found it. We didn’t even eat any of the chocolate!’ Ralf exclaimed.

‘Thing is, mate,’ Leo snorted. ‘Someone did…’

‘Seriously?’

Valen nodded. ‘Greedy blinkin’ pigs ate the lot!’

‘And that’s another reason Burrowes thinks it was us,’ said Leo. ‘According to him, an adult wouldn’t have been so stupid.’

‘The whole thing’s stupid!’ said Ralf. ‘What possible motive would I have to kill Kemp?’

‘Well, he’s not too bothered about finding a motive, is he?’ Val continued. ‘I told him he’d be better off talking to Gadd and Oyler Munton but he seems to think they’ve got an alibi.’

‘The man’s a donkey,’ said Alfie, coming through the front door. His expression was one of amused derision. Alfie grinned at Ralf, perched on the arm of the sofa and pulled off his tam o’ shanter. ‘Everything points to the Munton’s. It’s gotta be them. They knew they were in trouble. Kemp was sniffing around ‘em like a dog round sick. S’cuse the image,’ he said, giving Valen a winning smile. ‘Catch.’ He pulled a bag from his pocket and threw them each an apple. ‘Scrumped these from Brindle’s on the way over.’ His face fell when Ralf didn’t immediately take a bite.

‘Eat up Wolf, that might be the last decent grub you have before they cart you off to the
Clink!’ he advised.

‘Stop joking around!’ yelled Valen. ‘This is serious. Even if Ralf doesn’t get arrested in the next half hour, we’ve still failed. Mr Kemp’s dead. We didn’t even get properly started and we’ve failed.’ She looked drained and thinner than she had. Ralf thought that the fire from her eyes had been extinguished at the same time as the one at Kemp’s. All that was left was a dark, smouldering anger.

‘We don’t know that –’ Leo objected.

‘Don’t be thick, Leo!’ Valen snapped. ‘He was murdered! What other reason would anyone have to kill Gordon Kemp if he wasn’t one of
the Natus?’

‘But Ralf said Winters was
the Natus, not Kemp,’ insisted Leo. ‘You saw his aura with your Echo Eye right? You were sure it was him!’

‘I thought I was. But,’ Ralf admitted, ‘I didn’t see Kemp after my eye changed. His aura could’ve been just as bright as Winters’.’

‘So we
are
stuffed then?’ Alfie asked.

The silence grew.

‘Maybe the other four Natus can manage it on their own?’ Leo offered, eventually. ‘And the Arbuckles are the important ones, aren’t they? They’re still O.K.’

‘The rhyme said ‘Five!’ Valen yelled, cutting the quiet. ‘Five! And one of them is dead! It’s hopeless!’

‘No, Valen,’ said Ralf. ‘That night on the boat. It was one of the things that Ambrose told me. I didn’t get it at the time. He said ‘Five will become Four’ but we shouldn’t give up.’

‘Exactly. I say we carry on as before,’ said Leo. ‘We don’t even know for certain Mr Kemp was one of
the Natus. So – so let’s hope he wasn’t.’ Leo’s eyes met Ralf’s and then he looked at the others in turn. ‘I can’t explain it,’ he said. ‘I know you all feel bad. I feel bad. Mr Kemp was, for certain, a ‘righteous man’. But there are other Natus out there, other Righteous Echoes, and they need our help. We can’t give up. I know we can’t.’

There was a noise in the hall and then Seth walked in, his face flushed. ‘Well let’s not count our chickens too soon,’ He stopped, giggled, threw himself into a chair then sniggered again.

Ralf raised his eyebrows. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Not really!’ said Seth. ‘Winters is gone! Talk about unbelievable! A huge black car came for him ten minutes ago. He said he had to look after me but they just bundled him in the back. Wouldn’t say where they were taking him or anything. Just took him. Now we haven’t got Kemp or Winters.’ He started giggling again. He looked feverish and drawn. His new haircut made him look gaunt and the circles under his eyes were darker than ever. His fingernails, Ralf noticed, were bitten to the quick.

‘Stop.’ Ralf’s voice was quiet but his tone clear.

‘Fine,’ Seth replied, shortly. ‘I’ll stop. But tell me, do you have a backup plan to save the world? Because our first one doesn’t seem to be going too well!’

‘No he doesn’t, Seth,’ said Alfie quietly. ‘No one does ‘cos it’s like Ambrose said. We won’t know what to do until it happens and then when everything kicks off it’ll all be clear. Or not!’ He grinned. ‘The point is – is what I said to Wolf before the run. There’s nothing we can really do about the Natus for what…’ he looked at his new pocket watch, ‘…thirty-six hours? In the meantime, I reckon we have some serious problems to solve.’

‘Like what?’ asked Ralf in surprise. He hadn’t expected Alfie to be so thoughtful about the whole thing.

‘Well, back in the real world I think we’ve gotta find out who started the fire and, o’ course, who’s nicked the History teacher!’

There was a snort of laughter at that then Seth was off again, laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks.

‘Enough!’ Ralf shouted. How could they be sniggering like that? Seth of all people? ‘Alfie’s right. We have to remember that whatever happens our ‘other selves’ will be left dealing with this whole mess unless we sort it out. I’m facing a murder charge and you lot could be done as accomplices. Until tomorrow night our priority is to clear our names.’

They looked at each other, serious again.

‘Makes sense,’ said Leo. ‘Let’s deal with what we can now. While we’ve still got time.’

Seth’s face changed suddenly and a little spark appeared in his eyes. ‘And if you find the murderer, who must be the person who’s behind all this, then chances are, you’ll stop whatever catastrophic event is due to occur on the twenty-seventh anyway.’

‘Right,’ said Ralf. ‘Seth. You first. Can you get up to the school and make out you’re all upset about not having anyone at home? Find out if they know where Winters has gone and who took him.’

Seth nodded. ‘Okay. They might make me stay up there for a bit but I’ll get back here as soon as I can.’

‘Valen, you get back to the shop,’ Ralf continued. ‘The best way to prove we’re innocent is to find out who really did murder Mr Kemp. So we’ll need to keep an ear out in the village.’

Valen sighed. ‘Alright. I’d better get back anyway. Mr Hatcher’s right baity with me. But if you ask me, I won’t hear anything there. Not many customers lately. Besides, we all know it was the Muntons. They probably chloroformed Kemp before they torched the shop.’

Ralf nodded. ‘I think we should have another look for the Munton’s hideout.’ He scratched his head and then came to a decision. ‘Burrowes has got no hard evidence against me but it’s probably better to keep out of his way as much as I can. Leo, can you go and get Cabal and we can check out Tarzy Wood again tonight or in the morning?’

‘No problem.’ Leo got to his feet and the others followed suit.

‘Well, I’m gonna carry on with Operation Psyche Out,’ Alfie said. ‘Not that any of you have asked! It’s only a matter of time ‘til they crack.’

‘But, that’s all you do,’ said Ralf sternly. ‘Watch them. We need to remember what we’re up against.

‘Yeah,’ breathed Valen. ‘There’s a murderer out there.’

They went their separate ways and Leo returned with Cabal just before teatime with a message from Hilda. Apparently, Burrowes had been talking to Major Kingston-Hawke and Gloria had overheard that the Inspector was all set to take Ralf in to custody. Gloria, with admirable quick wittedness for someone who had her head in the clouds most of the time, had rushed straight down to the kitchen to warn Hilda. Ralf’s sister had promptly had a mysterious dizzy spell and had been sent home to recuperate.

‘Here,’ said Leo, passing over a covered basket. ‘There’s food in there for tonight and tomorrow. Hilda said to stay away until she’d had a chance to talk some sense in to Burrowes.’

‘Does she know I’m here?’

Leo shook his head. ‘She asked if you had shelter but said she didn’t want to know where you were so she wouldn’t have to lie.’

Ralf rummaged in the basket and found a package of scraps for Cabal who was slobbering all over the table in anticipation. ‘It’s so stupid. Even if I’d wanted to kill Kemp, I couldn’t have. Hilda was with me the whole time.’

‘That’s just the thing, though,’ said Leo. ‘You don’t have an alibi. Hilda didn’t get in until about two in the morning the night Kemp was killed but Burrowes says the fire started at one.’

‘Great,’ said Ralf, sinking into a chair.

The two boys watched Cabal chomp down his supper in silence. At length, Leo left and, after a cold but surprisingly enjoyable meal of ham, tongue, hard-boiled eggs, jam tart and milk Ralf locked doors, closed curtains, lit a paraffin lamp and settled in for the night.

Springfield had warmed up considerably since the first time they were there but as night fell the temperature dropped. Ralf didn’t want to risk lighting a fire (though the cottage was isolated, the smoke might still be seen) but found a paraffin heater tucked away in the corner of the sitting room. He managed to get it going and, wrapped in blankets, holding the comforting weight of his bulging marble bag, curled up with Cabal in front of its warmth.

He woke, stiff in
the joints but surprisingly well rested, some time before sunrise and his first thought was not of himself, or Hilda or Burrowes but of the Natus. Today was the day.

He threw off the blankets and rushed to turn on the wireless.

‘...British Troops in Calais have been joined by French and Belgian volunteers to continue the defence of the town against the Nazi advance...’
Clive Addlethorpe reported and Ralf’s thoughts immediately turned to his brother. Niall was there somewhere, amongst those many thousands of men. Was he fighting? Pinned down by enemy fire, hoping for a chance to cut through to the beaches to await rescue?