Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1) (2 page)

The two occupants of the car had got out and brushed themselves down. They were both wearing black military uniforms, picked out with small gold crowns. They stood looking at the innkeeper expectantly, studying him like a hunter studies his prey.

The innkeeper swallowed, ‘This way gentlemen,’ he said, motioning to the door with his unshaken hand. ‘Felicity will be along directly with your bags.’ He turned and hurried back into the inn. The two men in black followed at a leisurely pace. They didn’t give Flick a second glance.

Flick unhitched the horse from its harness and led it towards the stable.

‘Adam!’ she yelled at the top of her voice, ‘get your lazy arse down here and give me a hand!’ Even shouting, her voice was melodic, although her Oxfordshire accent gave it a certain twang.

While she waited for her younger brother to appear, she tugged at the heavy black gates and latched them shut. There was still no sign of him and she yelled again, ‘Adam!’

When the door eventually opened, a young girl of maybe twelve, appeared. Her long blonde hair was bunched into two pony tails, contrasting with Flick’s short spiky look. ‘Oh hey, Ro,’ said Flick, ‘do you know what’s happened to that good-for-nothing brother of yours?’

‘He’s your brother too,’ the younger girl snapped back.

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘Dad says he doesn’t know where he’s at, so I’m to give you a hand.’

‘Thanks Ro. You look after the horse while I take the bags in, and then we’ll stable him and brush him down together.’

Rosie nodded and grinned. She loved horses.

Flick went around to the back of the carriage. There was an emblem, a large silver cat, pouncing. Beneath it, a wide chrome strip had letters embossed into it, the name of the maker, lost in the mists of history. She traced the letters casually with her finger, saying them in her mind, ‘J … A … G … U … A … R.’ She rolled the word in her head, savouring it.

‘Jag-you-are.’

She wondered what it meant; something from before the Dark Time, no doubt. But that was idle speculation, and indulging in it was not her place. She snapped out of it, popped open the boot of the car and hefted out the two large bags before heading into the inn.

Flick juggled three mugs of ale between the people standing in the bar. Friday nights were always busy with a mixture of locals and guests, although the locals tended to stick to the downstairs bar, and the few guests kept to themselves in the upper rooms.
 

Working the bar came with being the owner’s daughter, and Flick had quickly developed a thick skin. Besides, her shrewd head for business had soon realised that a little bit of flesh and a knowing wink was good for trade, and The Crown had the busiest bar in town. In any case, one day the inn would be hers.
 

Three lads in green serge uniforms sat around a table, the faint glow on their faces cast by a solitary candle wedged into the top of an old bottle. Flick approached and put the glasses down, and three hands reached eagerly for them.

‘Now lads, not without paying,’ she said, winking. The hands quickly disappeared and seconds later reappeared holding coins.

‘Thank you Fred,’ said Flick as the first lad put his coins into her outstretched hand. His fingers lingered, touching her skin, almost caressing it. ‘How is your lovely lady?’ she continued without missing a beat or even looking down. ‘It was such a lovely wedding, and only a month ago; I think we’ve still got some cake out back. I can have Maggie bring it out…’

Fred’s hand beat a rapid retreat, and it seemed that the room grew several degrees warmer as he muttered something under his breath. The other two were more circumspect, dropping their coins into Flick’s hand from a height of at least several centimetres.

‘Stanley, Bill,’ she acknowledged as they did so. Bill and Fred were brothers. Flick had known them since they were all small. Bill was her age and Fred a year older.
 

Flick was turning to go when Bill motioned her to come closer. ‘I heard,’ he said in a loud, conspiratorial whisper, ‘there’s a pair of Kingsmen staying here.’

She leaned toward him as she answered, ‘What's it to you, Bill Watson?’

Bill got an eyeful of Flick’s cleavage. He swallowed nervously at the proximity of all that soft flesh before continuing. ‘What are they… I mean, like?’
 

The other two roared with laughter, obviously thinking that Bill’s theatrics were designed just to get him up close and personal with Flick, but she sensed the worried edge in his voice. She drew herself up to her full five-foot-four height and looked at the trio.

‘Well, they’d take the three of you without even looking! I mean, have you seen yourselves?’ The three Watchmen looked crestfallen. ‘But don’t worry lads,’ Flick continued, ‘they ain’t interested in you; they’re just passing through. Be gone in the morning.’

That cheered them up.

Flick had turned to go again when Stanley grabbed her arm. ‘What is it this time?’ she asked. ‘There’s other people in this bar you know, and they all want serving…’

‘Has he, you know,
asked you
, yet?’ he asked, ‘only, you know, if he’s not gonna, I quite fancy my chances…’ He flashed his best puppy-dog look at her.

Even though she was used to being chatted up in the bar, Flick felt her face redden slightly. ‘In your dreams!’ she said indignantly, pulling away.

‘You know you want to, really!’ he muttered to her back.

‘I heard that!’ she called, making light of it, as she retreated back towards the bar, although she admitted to herself that Stanley wasn’t
un
attractive.

On the way, she collected several empties and picked up orders for more drinks, while dodging the occasional stray hand. She drew the beers from the casks and served them. Back at the bar, her father came out from the kitchen with two steaming plates of food.

‘These are for the Kingsmen,’ he said. ‘And be on your best behaviour, you don’t want to find yourself arrested, and I can’t afford to be short staffed.’

‘Yes, Dad.’ Flick rolled her eyes as she took the plates and climbed the stairs towards the back bar. The noise receded as she entered a large room laid out with tables and chairs. It was empty apart from the two Kingsmen. They sat at a table by a large window overlooking the courtyard, deep in conversation over a pile of papers. When the men did not appear to notice her approach, she coughed politely.

They stopped and looked up, saw the plates and started gathering up their papers. ‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ one of them said, ‘we were a little… preoccupied.’

‘That’s okay,’ replied Flick, setting down the plates in front of the two guests. ‘Hope you enjoy it.’

The two men unfurled their napkins and tucked them in to the tops of their tunics. Flick turned to go.

‘Just one moment, miss…’ This was the other one.

‘Felicity, sir. Felicity Carter.’ She waited to see what he wanted.

He pointed to his plate with his knife. ‘And this is?’

‘Venison, sir. And greens and spuds.’ The man waited, as if expecting more. Flick went on. ‘Roe deer, sir. Caught it myself, about a week ago. Well, me and a couple of lads. Greens and spuds come from the market, sir.’

‘And what did you bring it down with, my dear?’ This was the first Kingsman again.

‘Bow and arrow, sir. Made the arrows myself.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘What, with? Steel? Iron? Where do you get it?’

Flick was wary, sensing that he was testing her. ‘No sir, flint. Can’t afford iron or steel. I’ve got a corner of Dad’s workshop where I make them,’ she said.

‘Remarkable initiative,’ the man said, nodding.

‘I can fetch some and show you if you’re interested?’ said Flick.

‘Yes, I should like that,’ he said. ‘One more thing, my dear, how old are you?’

‘Sixteen, sir,’ Flick replied.

‘And still unwed, I see,’ he said.

Flick heard the disapproving tone in his voice but said nothing, trying hard to maintain a blank expression.

‘Remarkable,’ he said, and turned to his dinner.

The following morning, Flick and Rosie had got the horse harnessed up to the one-time motor vehicle, all ready to go by the time the two Kingsmen emerged from the inn with their bags. Flick opened the boot of the vehicle and the two men placed their luggage inside. She then rushed to open the passenger side door, while Rosie held open the other. The first man got in. He still had the same scowl on his face that he’d arrived with the night before. The second started to climb aboard and then stopped. He turned to her.

‘Felicity, wasn’t it?’ he asked.

Flick nodded.

‘Such a pretty name,’ he said, smiling. Something about that smile made Flick uneasy. ‘Last evening, my dear,’ he continued, ‘you said that we might see some of your arrows and your flint making workshop.’

Flick nodded cautiously. ‘Yes…’

‘Might I trouble you for a very quick look?’

‘Of course, this way sir,’ said Flick, waving towards her father’s old forge at the back of the yard. She didn’t want them hanging around any longer than was necessary, so hopefully they’d just take a quick look and be gone. The man whispered a few words to his companion before following her into the workshop. Several bows and quivers of arrows hung from hooks on the wall, and there were baskets of fresh sticks and chalky flints.

‘Looks like you’re equipped to supply an army!’ the man commented dryly.

Flick gulped. Her palms felt sweaty. Was he after something? There
had
been a lot of strangers around the town lately, and now these Kingsmen, so maybe something was going on that she didn’t know about. ‘I sell them in town sometimes. It helps to make ends meet,’ she said.

‘I’m sure,’ said the man, noncommittally, pulling an arrow from its quiver and turning it over in his hands.

‘That’s one of my hunting arrows,’ she said. ‘It’s a standard hunting tip, but I can do others, smaller or bigger. Careful with it now, it’s very sharp.’

The man gave her a quizzical look, then ran his thumb cautiously across the edge. He nodded.

Flick explained how she cut up goose feathers for the fletchings, and the different threads and glues she used, and how different colours meant that each hunter could identify their own arrow and know who had made the kill and, more importantly, who got the meat. All the time the man nodded and smiled.

‘And you’re sure you only have stone… tips?’ the man asked. There was a slight edge in his voice that suggested the wrong answer could have unfortunate consequences. ‘Only I can’t help but notice the forge.’

Flick swallowed. ‘That’s Dad’s forge. He used to be a farrier, before mum died. But now…’ she hesitated. ‘Look, there’s just him and me running the inn, with some help from a girl in town. Dad can fire up the forge if there’s a horse dropped a shoe or something, but really that’s it. I don’t know anything about any armies, so if that’s what you’re looking for, you’re barking up the wrong tree, begging your pardon.’ She glared at him, heart pounding, thinking that was probably a very stupid thing to have just said.

The man raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, the other Kingsman called out, ‘Cheng, fascinating as I’m sure you find these… rustic trades, we really must be going.’

‘Of course,’ Cheng replied, turning to leave. Then he paused and turned back to Flick. ‘Do you have one that I could possibly take with me?’ he asked.

Flick went to a drawer in the workbench at the back of the room and rummaged through it. She picked out an arrow head and handed it to him. ‘That’ll be a quid please.’

Cheng raised an eyebrow. ‘Young lady, you do realise I’m a Kingsman, in the service of the crown, on official business?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Flick replied, her hand still held out. ‘It’s still a quid. Business is business.’

Cheng rolled his eyes, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black bag. He tipped the contents into his other hand and picked out a coin which he handed to Flick. She took it, looked carefully at both sides and bit it before putting it in her own pocket.

‘You think
I
would pass false coin?’ Cheng asked.

‘Can’t be too careful, sir,’ Flick replied.

‘Knowing I’d have to arrest myself, try myself, and probably even execute myself?’ he added.

Flick shrugged. Most crimes carried the death penalty, although often it didn’t come to that.

‘Or arrest you for daring even to suggest that a servant of the crown could be corrupted.’

Flick swallowed. Maybe she had gone too far.

Cheng shook his head. ‘But of course I understand you’re just being cautious.’ He gave her a long hard stare before grinning a cold, mirthless smile. ‘Thank you, young lady, that has been most enlightening. Now I must bid you farewell and continue my journey.’ He smiled and bowed briefly before turning and climbing into his seat. The reins shook and the horse and its carriage departed through the archway.
 

SHEA SCREAMED. HE was lying on his side in long grass, the smell of it filled his nostrils. He hurt. God did he hurt, but he was alive. The memory came back to him; the sky-kart plummeting, aiming for the meadow, but hitting the trees, being thrown clear, tumbling. He needed to get back, grab the radio and call for help. He tried to get up, but the pain struck him like a body blow. Intense, mind bending.

After some minutes the pain seemed to ease slightly and his head started to clear. He tried to move again, slowly and more carefully this time, gritting his teeth as he did so. His body hurt so much and he broke out into a sweat, but his arms seemed to work, and he managed to raise himself up gradually to a sitting position. Then everything spun and he collapsed back to the ground, flinging his arms out and grabbing tufts of grass, clinging on for dear life. Gradually the dizziness subsided and the world stopped spinning. He relaxed his grip and looked up. Now, moving even more slowly this time, he pushed himself back up.

He spotted the mangled wreckage of the sky-kart several metres away. Thank God he didn’t have his buckle fastened; if he hadn’t been thrown clear he’d be dead for sure. He had come down near the edge of a meadow, at the base of a long ridge of hills. Carved into the side of the ridge was the massive stylised figure of a horse, white from the underlying chalk. Behind him, the field ended in a large expanse of woodland.