Shadow of a Hero (26 page)

‘Wait. I, er . . . there won’t be anyone there for about ten minutes.’

‘Very good. Thank you.’

Only as she put the receiver down did it strike her that she ought to have made a mistake over the number. Then he couldn’t have called back. She’d have time to think. What could she say now? She couldn’t find the bike? No, it mustn’t be
anything
that he could find out in the end was a lie, because then he’d know she’d been lying about the packages. He could find the bike himself somehow. He could ask the man at the garage. He’d known she and Momma had been there, taken things away. The panniers had been locked.

Or she could change her mind again, tell him she’d made a mistake about the colours, after all. He’d just think she was a stupid little girl . . .

Biddie let her in.

‘A man just called,’ she said. ‘He was asking for Vivian’s sister. I said did he mean Letta, because if he did you weren’t back, and he said he’d try again, and I said he’d have to wait five minutes because we’ve got a trick phone. Is that OK?’

‘Thanks.’

‘I thought your brother’s name was Van. Is it short for . . .’

‘No. I’m sorry, Biddie. I don’t want to involve you, but . . .’

‘Do you want me out of the way while you’re talking?’

‘Doesn’t matter. We’ll be talking in Field.’

Biddie was frowning at her, really worried.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Letta. ‘It’s all right.’

‘Is it?’

‘No, but I can’t tell you. Oh, Biddie!’

‘I’m sure it’s not your fault. I’ll make some sticky sweet cocoa.’

Letta waited by the telephone. The red light which showed you couldn’t use it was still glowing. After a little while it went out. A few seconds later the phone rang. The moment she answered Mr Orestes said, ‘What can you tell me?’

‘He was coming down the motorway. A van pulled out and pushed him into the barrier. He’s
got
a broken arm and collar-bone and ribs, and his foot’s smashed.’

‘My regrets. Where is the motor cycle?’

No, thought Letta. If that’s all he can say about Van, I’m not going to tell him I made a mistake. I didn’t. I was right.

‘At a garage at King’s Worthy,’ she said. ‘A policeman told us where it was.’

‘A policeman? Us?’

‘Just a traffic policeman. My mother drove me out. She doesn’t know. Look, we haven’t got all that much time before this phone goes off again. I’m sorry. It was the best I could do.’

‘Understood. Go on.’

‘My mother was telephoning when I got Van’s stuff out of the panniers. Nobody was watching. I got the false bottoms open OK, but there wasn’t anything under them.’

‘The false bottoms? Explain. There are supposed to be two packets.’

‘Yes, I know. One yellow and one black. Van said they were in his panniers, under the false bottoms. There’s a trick with the key to open them.’

‘That is where he told you to look?’

‘Yes. He told me exactly. All about the keys and so on.’

Pause.

‘When will you be seeing your brother again?’

‘Tomorrow, probably. It depends how ill he is. Look, I really don’t want to worry him.’

‘We are speaking of Varina, my dear. You could surely ask him . . .’

‘Only if I get him alone. And listen, he doesn’t remember what happened . . .’

‘Nothing?’

‘I don’t know. He just said he didn’t remember about the journey. I don’t know how far back.’

A longer pause.

‘Listen,’ said Letta. ‘Time’s nearly up. I’m not supposed to be using this phone. My friend’s parents will be coming back any moment. Don’t ring back. I’ll try and think of something better, and if I find anything out I’ll call you from a phone box tomorrow.’

‘And meanwhile, if you could go back to the motor cycle . . .’

The telephone gave its warning buzz.

‘I will if I can,’ gabbled Letta, trying to fill the time without putting her foot in it at this last moment. ‘But I really don’t think . . .’

The line went dead and the red light glowed. Letta blew out a gust of the spare breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Her heart was pounding so that it almost hurt. It could have been worse, she thought. It could have been much, much worse. She’d told several lies, but provided she stuck to her story there wasn’t anything anyone could find out about, unless they searched her room. Now all she had to do was get rid of the packages. You couldn’t put something like that in a dustbin. And she’d have to think of something to tell Van . . .

Dazedly she made her way into the kitchen. Biddie was pouring hot milk into two mugs. They sat down at the kitchen table. Biddie’s parents didn’t approve of sugar and never bought it, but they collected give-away packets from restaurants and airlines in case they had visitors less high-minded than themselves. Letta slowly tore five open and dribbled the sugar into her mug, then stirred, hynotizing herself with the brown eddy.

‘Did you hear any of that?’ she said. ‘Did I sound as if I was lying?’

‘I don’t think so – just dead worried.’

‘You can say that again.’

Letta sucked at the cloying cocoa – just what she needed. Good old Biddie.

‘Can I tell you?’ she said. ‘I’ve got to tell someone. I promised Van I wouldn’t . . . Oh, hell!’

‘Did you understand what you were promising?’

‘Not really. Not what it meant.’

‘Then it wasn’t a promise. Wait. If it’s as bad as that, then I’m not going to promise anything. I can’t. Don’t you see? I’ll do my best, but . . . well . . . that’s how it is. I’m sorry.’

‘No, you’re right. It’s like the daughter of Olla.’

‘Come again?’

‘They used her. She didn’t understand. It’s one of our stories. Hell. Listen. Suppose somebody told you there were two packages he wanted you to collect, and you’ve got to do it secretly, and you mustn’t tell anyone. They’re in a hiding-place. Two hiding-places, because they’ve got to be kept separate. They’re quite safe like that. They’re probably safe if they’re together, but they’re quite safe if they’re separate . . .’

Biddie nodded and stared at the table, doodling a blob of spilt cocoa with her forefinger.

‘This somebody isn’t a scientist?’ she said. ‘Nothing to do with scientists?’

‘No. I’m pretty sure.’

‘I was trying to think of something else. It’s got to be a bomb, though, hasn’t it? Explosives in one packet, timer and detonator in the other.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Bad.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’d better tell me. You’ve pretty well told me, in fact, haven’t you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Something to do with Varina?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought that was all bagpipe-dancing and poems about mountains.’

‘It’s people. It’s people taking my grandmother away, and the body of a girl they thought was my mother, and no-one ever seeing them again. Remember, I told you about that.’

‘I am remembering. It’s like the worst kind of nightmare.’

So Letta started right back at the festival. Some of it Biddie had heard before, but bits and pieces in no special order. It took a while. Biddie asked a few questions, getting things clear. When Letta had finished she sat thinking.

‘If it’s a bomb,’ she said slowly, ‘then we’re not up to this. We’ve got to pass it on to grown-ups. I ought to tell my parents, if you think you can’t tell yours.’

‘Van made me promise not to. He did it in a way . . . oh, I can’t explain.’

(How could she? The bones of St Joseph? Letta didn’t really believe that they were his bones, or ever had been, but still they were a kind of password, a proof. If you broke a promise on the bones of St Joseph it was as if you had stood up and said, ‘No, I am not a real Varinian. I am only playing at it. But when it comes to the hard test, I’m an outsider, and Potok was a pretty dream.’)

Biddie was looking at her, desperately worried.

‘If you tell your parents they’ll tell the police,’
said
Letta. ‘Van will go to prison. It would break Momma’s heart.’

‘Yes, I know, but I ought to. I’ll have to think. But if you tell yours, I won’t. I still ought to, but I’ll leave it to your family. And please, Letta, do think yourself about what I said before. He made you promise, didn’t he? And you didn’t understand what you were promising . . .’

‘I did, sort of. He’d told me about the packages first.’

‘But he made you. He’d sent for you specially. He was hurting badly, waiting just for you, so he could pass the message on and have some painkiller. You couldn’t have said no, could you?’

‘No. But . . .’

‘All right, let’s try it like this. This Otto Vasa is bad news?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Not just bad news in himself – bad news for Varina, bad news for your brother?’

‘Yes. If you’d seen the way he winked when he came in through the window . . .’

‘OK, let’s take that as fixed. Now, he gave your brother the bike. Did it have these secret compartments in it when he gave it to him?’

‘I should think so. It looks sort of all one piece.’

‘So it wasn’t just a present. It was so Otto Vasa could use your brother to carry things in secret.’

‘Right – but listen! He must have had it ready before anyone knew Van was going to be thrown out. I was talking to Grandad about this. There wouldn’t have been time to get it painted up in our colours.’

‘Let’s take that as fixed too. What Otto Vasa wants is bad news for Varina. He gave the bike to
your
brother to do something he wanted. That has to be bad news for Varina too. Your brother had his accident and had to get you to finish the job off, but it was bad news for Varina so you found a way of not doing it. So far so good.’

‘Biddie, you’re impossible! Nothing’s ever as easy as you make it sound!’

‘When it’s over it can be. When it hasn’t happened yet it’s tricky. But listen, you’ve got it right so far, but you can’t stop there. Otto Vasa is bad news for Varina. Who is good news for Varina?’

‘Oh, lots of people. Grandad’s the obvious one, only he’s old and tired and they won’t let him go back.’

‘But he’d know some of the others?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Well, the best way you can help the good-news people is by telling them what the bad-news people are up to. Don’t you think?’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘Put it the other way. Suppose you were him and you learned afterwards that you – the real you – had been in this trouble and you hadn’t been to him. How would you – your grandfather you – feel? Sad, wouldn’t you? Let down? Cheated? After all those crumpet teas?’

(Biddie had been a couple of times since she’d got back. Grandad liked her a lot, in spite of having to talk English.)

‘I promised,’ said Letta, miserable. ‘He’s my brother. It was Momma and Grandad he was mostly talking about when he said not to tell. Oh, God. And the Sister said he mustn’t be worried, and he’s going to worry himself sick about not knowing how I got on, and he’s going to ask when
I
see him. And . . . listen! I bet you the next thing Mr Orestes will do is try and come down and see him himself, to find out what happened to the packets!’

‘Tonight?’

‘What’s the time? No, I don’t think so. Tomorrow, though.’

Biddie sat in silence again. Letta could almost feel her thinking things through.
If this, then that, or that, but not that
 . . . A cheeringly ridiculous thought struck her.

‘You’re too like Jeeves,’ she said.

‘Come again?’

‘The great mind turns.’

Biddie smiled and put the interruption aside.

‘That makes it easier. You’ve got to stop Mr Orestes seeing Van,’ she said. ‘You’ve got two ways. You could call him again and say you’ve made a mistake . . .’

‘No.’

‘Good, because then I think I should have to tell my parents. So you’ve got to get the hospital to say he isn’t well enough to see anyone.’

‘He doesn’t know which one.’

‘He can ring round. There’s not that many, and he’ll try the Royal first. But the only person, far as I can see, who can tell the hospital to say Van’s not well enough is your mother. That means you’ve got to tell her. Now. Tonight.’

Letta felt sick again. She couldn’t move. Anything she did would be wrong.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ said Biddie.

She meant it, too, though it was after the time she was allowed out without permission. She’d be in serious trouble, and she wouldn’t be able
to
explain. She’d already worked all that out, of course, but she’d still have come if Letta had asked.

‘I’ll be all right,’ said Letta, standing up. ‘Thank you, Jeeves.’

LEGEND

The Death of Lash the Golden

NOW THE ARMY
of Selim surrounded Potok, and the army of Restaur Vax waited in the hills, and each feared to fight the other where they were. So Restaur Vax called a council of chieftains and said, ‘I have word from Potok that unless we come to their help they will surrender within the week.’

The chieftains said, ‘Selim has thrice our numbers, and great guns beside. How can we fight him in the valley before the walls of Potok?’

Restaur Vax said, ‘We will do it thus. We will attack at dawn, from between the Knees of Athur.
¹
Selim has outposts on the ridges, and first we will capture those, and our Captain of Artillery will set up her guns there to hinder the gathering of Selim’s
bazouks
, and we will be upon them before their great guns are laid ready.’

‘Still they will be too many,’ said the chieftains.

‘Very like,’ said Restaur Vax, ‘and they will drive us off and pursue us, and we will retreat between the Knees of Athur as far as Tresti, where we will have strong positions dug ready, and there we will turn and make a stand. And Lash the
Golden
will command the rearguard, to hold them until we are ready. And we will have our best marksmen hidden along the slopes, and they will fire into the flanks of the
bazouks
, as will the Captain of Artillery, and so the odds will be levelled, and being Varinians fighting for Varina, we will surely win. Now, will you be men, or will you see Potok fall?’

So they agreed, and each chieftain chose from his clan the best marksmen, and among those chosen by the Kas Kalaz was the man Paulu. On the Eve of St Jafur they came quietly down from the mountains and mustered at Tresti, where they prepared positions to turn and fight. Then they stole silently down towards Potok.