Down: Trilogy Box Set (147 page)

“We will find another way,” Garibaldi said. “You have your own battles to fight, John. Turn your attention away from our poor plight. Forneau and I must return to the palace. Queen Mécia and her generals await us for a war summit. We will do well to attack Stalin before he has the rifles. A great battle is coming.”

“I’d like to stay a while longer, Giuseppe,” John said, throwing his arms around the king. “I’ll come by a little later to say goodbye.”

Emily took a few steps back and left John to be alone with his brother’s memory. When she heard the poignant words to Kyle flowing from his mouth she retreated further afield so he wouldn’t become distracted by the sound of her uncontrollable sobbing.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance to change your mind,” John said.

They were in the main courtyard of Robespierre’s palace and John was towering over Brian paying lip service to a task he knew would be unsuccessful.

“Well, I appreciate the effort and all but I haven’t changed my mind,” Brian said. “I’ll be staying here to fight the good fight.”

“I’m not surprised,” John said. “Had to ask.”

Emily was having the same conversation with Alice and she too was not budging.

“We’re in love, you know,” Alice said of Simon. “I had to come a very long way but now I’ve found love I’m not giving it up. I see the way you look at John. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Emily said, giving her a hug.

Caravaggio approached Emily and stole a kiss while John had his back turned to them.

“I lose you yet again,” he said. “Would that you could see your portrait when completed.”

“Please take care of yourself,” she said, “and never stop painting.”

“How could I? It is as much a part of me as your beauty is a part of you. Remember, if you should ever return to our sad world without your Signore Camp, I will care for you as if you were a rare flower or a delicate songbird. I will worship the ground whereupon you tread. You will be my princess, I your slave.”

“Such a charmer,” she laughed.

“Do not tell John I say these things. He will punch my face and make it resemble a turnip.”

Forneau assembled his personal troop of crack soldiers to accompany them to Calais and loaded one of the wagons with the gold John needed to pay their passage back to Brittania.

Before Loomis climbed onto a wagon Emily said to him, “Paul, I’m not going to renege on my promise. We will take you to Britannia but please tell me what you know in case something should happen to you along the way.”

He apologized but said he was holding firm.

“Don’t you trust me?” she said.

He mounted the wagon and said, “Don’t take it personally, Emily. I don’t even remember what trust is anymore.”

John came over to her. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

“Look.” He pointed at a palace balcony where the red-shirted Garibaldi was waving a farewell. “I almost wish we could stay to help him.”

Their wagon broke an axle early in the morning and they had no choice but to tackle the final few miles on foot. Along the way Trevor scanned the woods, his crossbow cocked. Each of the boys, even Andrew, clutched a sword in a fist, and Angus opted for a two-fisted approach with a sword in one hand and Bess’s pistol in the other.

They were close to Sevenoaks and safety. Trevor didn’t want to lose one more lad. He wished he could have rescued all of them. Four were dead. Six were on him.

A river to their north corresponded to the River Darent on his silk map.

“Almost there,” he said to himself. “Keep it together.”

Angus picked up his pace to draw alongside Trevor. They walked in silence but it was clear enough the boy wanted to talk.

“All right, then?” Trevor asked.

“Yeah.”

“We’re getting close.”

“That’s good.”

“Look, Angus, I know you’ve been through a lot and it’s going to take a lot of time to sort things out but if you’ve got something on your mind, I’m a pretty good listener.”

The boy raised his pistol hand. “It’s just that …”

“Just what?”

“I, you know, I shot her.”

“It was self-defense. She shot your mate. She would’ve shot you next.”

He repeated himself robotically. “I shot her in the face.”

“You did what you had to do,” Trevor said firmly but gently. “You were a hundred-percent in the right. When you came here you were a boy. You’re leaving here a man. I’ll be sure to tell your father about your bravery.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I did. Just before we left.”

“Was he worried?”

“More than worried, I’d say. Not that he said as much. But I could tell.”

“I don’t really know him that well. I only see him on term breaks and summer hols but he’s always away.”

“What about your mum?”

“I suppose I don’t know her too well either. I had nannies.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“I’m an only child.”

“I had the opposite problem. My mum and dad were all over me up to the time I went into the army. I couldn’t talk on the phone to a girl or leave the house to chill with my mates without them wanting to know all the details.”

“You turned out all right,” Angus said shyly.

Trevor smiled and patted his back. “Different paths to greatness, I reckon.” He turned his head back to the road. When he spoke his tone was suddenly businesslike, “Get the lads into the woods. That way. Now.”

Ahead, maybe half a mile away, a large group of Hellers were congregating on the road, their backs to them.

Angus shooed the boys into the forest and Trevor crept a little closer to the Hellers along the tree line. It was hard to tell how many there were but it was at least a hundred, possibly many more. Some were on wagons, some on horseback. They were stopped on the road as if they had encountered a roadblock.

Trevor rejoined the boys and told them they needed to travel the rest of the way through the woods.

Andrew began to whimper. “Are we going to die?”

Trevor was about to reassure him but Angus stepped in. “Listen to me, Andrew, we’re not going to die. We’re going to walk through the woods a ways, piece of cake, then we’re going to meet up with the SAS and then we’re going to go home.”

The slender boy said, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Look at that ruddy great sword in your hand. Danny, stay close to Andrew, all right?”

Danny nodded.

“Why not me?” Nigel asked.

Angus grinned. “Because you’re going to protect me, you big oaf.”

They got going and Trevor whispered to Angus, “You’re a born leader, know that?”

“You think?”

“I know.”

When they got close to the Hellers milling on the road they veered further south to give them a wide berth. But Trevor didn’t want to lose contact with the road completely. After trekking for about a mile he told the boys to stay put beside a giant oak and proceeded to reconnoiter to the north.

He crept up to the road and crouched low. To the west he saw the other side of the Heller crowd. His estimate of a few hundred was probably low. To the east he saw something altogether more appealing. Two SAS squaddies from Marsh’s A Group were pacing the road with their AK-47s, facing the Hellers off.

Trevor started to backtrack to pick up the boys. His plan was to keep going through the woods until they were inside the SAS perimeter.

“What was that?” Kevin said.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Nigel said.

“There it is again,” Kevin said.

“I heard it too,” Danny said.

It was a faint cry like a baby’s, scratchy and high-pitched.

Kevin, the young outdoorsman, suddenly looked alarmed. “Shit. I know what that is. It’s a bear cub.”

The mother, the size of a small car, lumbered into their midst and roared.

Danny began to wave his sword furiously but Kevin whispered for him to stop. “Everyone, just freeze,” Kevin said.

They heard another cub crying from behind the oak tree.

The brown bear reared up on her hind legs until she was eight feet tall.

Andrew began to run.

Kevin shouted for him to stop.

The bear got back on all fours and began to give chase. It was a race she was going to win.

BOOM

Trevor heard it.

The Hellers heard it.

The SAS soldiers heard it.

Trevor got there first.

The bear was a yard from Andrew, lying on its side and bleeding from a flank wound. Angus had the smoking pistol in his hand.

Trevor didn’t have time to give praise or complicated instructions. They could hear Hellers coming through the woods toward them.

“Follow me!” he shouted.

They began running as fast as they could, jumping over roots and vines, dodging saplings and bushes. Trevor lost his bearings. He wasn’t sure where the SAS picket line was; he didn’t want to undershoot it. When he felt they’d gone far enough he angled to the north.

They burst out onto the road at a bend. Trevor couldn’t see the SAS soldiers any longer but on the other side of the road, to the north, he picked up the familiar sight of the Sevenoaks rotting room.

There was a rifle crack. A bullet cracked into a tree trunk, just to the left of Trevor’s head.

“Cease fire! Cease fire, goddamn it.”

It was Captain Marsh’s voice.

Members of A Group, dirty and heavily bearded, emerged from hiding places in the grass and bushes.

Marsh came running toward Trevor. He would have been unrecognizable were it not for his shiny bald head, his features hidden by mountain-man facial hair.

“Jesus, Jones,” Marsh called out. “You actually found them.”

“Come on, boys,” Trevor said to the lads. “Meet the good guys.”

There were more rifle shots to the west.

Marsh’s sergeant, who was one of the road sentries, came running around the bend, shouting, “They’re breaking through.”

“Set up a new perimeter,” Marsh shouted to his men. “Jones, bring them this way!”

They began running toward the hot zone. Marsh came alongside Trevor and said, “I thought there were ten of them?”

“There were ten.”

“Shit.”

“How’s it been?” Trevor asked.

“We’ve got three KIAs. Ammos’ running low. But we’ve got the bastards at a stalemate. Or we did.”

Trevor glanced over his shoulder to make sure the boys were keeping pace. Andrew and Kevin had abandoned their swords and were pumping their arms as if a PE teacher were yelling at them to sprint to the finish line.

“I’ve got to take the boys through,” Trevor said. “Has the hot zone expanded?”

“Definitely. One of the Hellers snuck past two days ago and disappeared in an area we thought was safe. Any idea how long we’ve got till we’re recalled?”

“No clue, sorry.”

“We’ll keep going if we have to use the fucking rifles as clubs,” Marsh said. “I’m stopping here to cover you. Keep moving in that direction.”

Trevor stopped to shake Marsh’s hand and give him his crossbow and bolts. The boys pulled up.

“Lads, this is Captain Marsh, 22 SAS Regiment, the best fighting men in Britain.”

“Glad you made it,” Marsh said.

Puffing and out of breath, Angus said, “Captain Marsh, I’m Angus Slaine. My father is …”

“I know who he is. Tell him we’re almost out of ammo. Now go!”

Trevor told the boys carrying weapons to drop them. He led them at a dead run.

He heard Marsh and others yelling at them to keep going, keep going, then all of a sudden it was quiet.

The rough fields were gone, replaced by overgrown but tame lawn grass. In the distance were redbrick buildings with slate roofs and football practice grounds.

From behind he heard small voices.

The six boys were blinking and pointing.

“It’s Belmeade,” Kevin said. “We’re back.”

Trevor wasn’t going to let his guard down. They were in the hot zone. There could be Hellers about. For all he knew the physical rules might have changed: they could be in danger of hurtling back across the dimensional divide.

“Let’s keep going till we see the authorities,” Trevor said. “Stay together. Stay vigilant.”

“Mr. Jones,” Nigel said, “our dormitory is just over there. Do you think we could stop in and change our undershorts?”

They all laughed for the first time in a long while.

Jeremy Slaine’s private secretary barged into his office at Manchester City Hall.

Slaine looked up, annoyed by his failure to at least knock.

“They’re back,” the secretary declared.

“Who? Who’s back?”

“The boys. And Trevor Jones.”

Slaine removed his reading glasses and took a slow, deep breath. “All of them?”

“Six. Trevor Jones just brought them out of the Sevenoaks zone.”

“Angus?”

The secretary closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, thank God. Angus is safe.”

Slaine stood but showing the effects of lightheadedness, he quickly lowered himself back down. “I’ll call his mother. Get me the details on the other five boys who are safe and the four who are not. I’ll need their parents’ numbers. Keep this out of the press to give me a little time. And could you get the army to bring Mr. Jones and my son up here to Manchester immediately?”

Jeremy Slaine had rented a house for him and his wife in the Manchester suburb of Hale Barns. While Jeremy possessed the storied family history, Elena, his wife, contributed the serious money and they had decamped from London with a staff. She had ordered the cook to prepare her son’s favorite meal, lasagna, and with little to do, she stood at the sitting room windows staring over the broad lawn and picking at her cuticles.

Her husband’s ministerial Jaguar appeared in a convoy of black SUVs and police motorcycle outriders, crunching the pebbled driveway.

“Jeremy,” she called out. “He’s here.”

Angus and Trevor emerged from the Jaguar wearing their filthy clothes.

“Nice place,” Trevor said, taking in the estate.

“Bit small by our standards,” Angus said.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Actually, I’m not.”

Trevor expected Angus’s parents to be rushing outside but it was Slaine’s private secretary who emerged from the house.