The Gorgons Gaze # 2 (Companions Quartet) (26 page)

Absolutely nothing—it’s just that you aren’t supposed to have them. You’ve got to behave like a regular horse, remember
.

Mack guessed what the companions were saying to each other. “You’re expecting him to pass himself off as an ordinary beast, are you? Risky, very risky,” he said, sucking his teeth. But it goaded Skylark into submitting to the indignity more willingly.

Tell your father that he’d be surprised what I can do
, he snorted back to Col.

Mack disappeared into the stable and re-emerged mounted on a tired-looking mare with a dull brown coat. On seeing the stallion, she perked her ears forward and picked up her hooves, giving a flirtatious flick of her scraggy tail. Col’s face cracked into a smile as he sensed Skylark’s embarrassment, but they had no time for amorous feelings, welcome or otherwise, just now.

“We’ll have to go if we’re going to reach the beach in time,” Col told his father as he swung onto the pegasus’s back. “I wonder if Dr. Brock’s got anywhere with that old bat.”

“That old bat,” said Godiva sharply, emerging from the house, “has agreed to do what she can. That old bat has accepted that she is quite mad—you all are—but it seems you require my particular sort of madness to save my great-niece.”

Dr. Brock appeared at her elbow and held out a helmet. “Like old times, Iva?” he said with a roguish smile.

“Not quite—I was a good deal more flexible then.” She crammed herself into his sidecar.

“We all were.”

“Yes.” Godiva crossed her hands on her breast, eyes closed, resigned to her position. “Start this infernal machine of yours and let’s get this over with. Tomorrow, if I’m still alive, you can have me put down as a crazy old woman who hears trees speak.”

As she was driven away, a golden missile shot across the farmyard and circled Col’s head twice before landing on the crest of his helm. “Here, Argand, you’ll have to hide,” said Col, lifting a corner of the horse-cloth, but she took no notice of a boy who was not a dragon companion. Instead, she lay still, like a carving, her tail curled around the red plume.

Col swore, but he knew that it was pointless trying to communicate with a creature with whom he had no bond. He would just have to hope she would behave herself.

Mack had been thinking the same thing. “That’ll have to do,” Mack said. “It looks quite convincing. No
one would suspect her for what she really is—not if she doesn’t move, or breathe fire or something.”

Col took off his helm, resting it in front of him. It was uncomfortable with the added weight pressing down on his brows. He wished now he had never asked for the little dragon’s help.

“Let’s go then,” Col said with resignation, urging his mount forward.

To show the mare what a real thoroughbred could do, Skylark trotted off smartly, leaving her trailing in his dust some distance behind. Col could feel the pegasus pulling forward about to leave the ground, but then remembering and checking his urge just in time.

After a couple of miles at this brisk pace, they turned out of the quiet country lanes and onto the busier roads leading into Hescombe. Festival goers were streaming in from all over the country, heading up to the site where the stages had been erected, roof racks crammed full of camping gear. Most car drivers gave the pair of riders ample room as they passed, sparing a friendly wave as they cheered on the pageant participants. But one or two sped by without slowing down, provoking Skylark to unleash a stream of invectives.

You humans need to be taken down a peg or two
, he muttered to Col.
Acting as if you own the place!

Not thinking of joining Kullervo, are you?
Col asked sourly.
That’s what he thinks, too
.

Of course not. That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it
.

Sorry. I’m just—

You’re just worried, tired, and miserable—I know, Companion. But, if we possibly can, we’ll save Connie, I promise you
.

By the time they arrived just after nine-thirty, the beach was packed with people and horses, a muddle of spectators, participants, and reporters strewn across the strand at the edge of the iron-gray sea. Seagulls soared overhead, on the watch to see if the unusual crowd would mean rich pickings later. Anneena was ticking off arrivals on her list with her mother while Jane and Mr. Nuruddin wandered among those in costume, checking that everyone had their gear.

“Hey, Col!” Jane said on seeing him clatter down the pathway onto the firm sand. “You look great! Amazing helmet! That dragon’s so cool! Where did you get it?”

“Oh, it’s a family heirloom,” he lied, shifting his shield to hide Argand from her admiring gaze.

Col’s entrance, accompanied by the miserable-looking jester, attracted the attention of the news reporters, who were on the lookout for eye-catching costumes, and he found himself surrounded by the last thing he wanted: a swarm of photographers. He tried to keep moving so that Skylark’s strange shape and the recumbent dragon were not too closely noticed, but this became increasingly hard
as they pressed closer. The pegasus was getting jittery, not having been among non-Society people before.

“What’s your name, boy?” one man called out as flashes from cameras exploded like shooting stars around them.

“Col Clamworthy,” Col said, trying to calm Skylark’s nerves with a reassuring pat on his neck.

“No, no, your pageant name, I mean.”

“He’s Sir Galahad,” Jane supplied.

“Put on your helmet, Sir Galahad. Let us get a picture of you in full armor. Tell us why you’re joining the protest.”

“Er…” said Col, momentarily devoid of ideas, his head full of Kullervo and Connie.

“Move back from the horses there!” Mr. Nuruddin called, having noticed the difficulty Col was having with Skylark. Anneena’s father stepped forward to wave people away, allowing Col space to get through to join the procession, which was assembling further down the beach. Breaking free from the crowd, Col spotted Rat and turned Skylark toward him.

A friend
, he told Skylark.

I know
, Skylark replied.
I can feel it
.

Col wondered what he meant, but there was no time to ask as they were now level with Rat, who was dressed in a green tabard and mounted on the back of Mags.

“Hey, Col, wicked costume!” Rat grinned. His eyes fell on the horse that towered many hands above Mags.
“Even wickeder horse. Where did you get him?”

“Borrowed him,” Col replied quickly. He reached down and scratched Mags on his poll, the area between his ears, to let him know that he had not forgotten him. His horse twittered with pleasure.

Mack cantered up behind them, his hat drawn low on his brows, giving him a surly look.

“Hello there, Mack,” Rat said at once, not at all bothered by his extraordinary appearance. “I see Anneena conned you into wearing that old thing. We all told her that none of us would be seen dead wearing it.”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” Mack muttered.

A whistle sounded at the front of the line and the procession began to move down the beach. Col recognized the lead rider as Mr. Masterson, the farmer’s ample frame now draped in threadbare king’s robes, a gilt crown on his head. The Society had posted him there to keep watch on the procession and lead a retreat should Kullervo attack. Pacing alongside him was the shaggy-haired drummer from Krafted, Zed Bailey, pursued by a pack of photographers.

As the procession left the beach to clatter along High Street, fear of what was to come sharpened Col’s senses, making him alive to every detail of the present. Ahead he could see wisps of chiffon blowing around like tiny flags from the tall headdresses of the ladies, the rich colors shining jewel-like against the gray skies of the blustery day.
He spotted Shirley’s fair hair whipping around in the wind as she trotted along behind her father. Lances bobbed like masts over the heads of the participants. His own armor gleamed with dull splendor in the light, reflecting the roofs and trees in ever-changing patterns across its surface. He took no pride in it, but welcomed a shell he could retreat behind, taking comfort that no one would guess that this young knight was feeling far from courageous.

Only the foolish feel no fear
, Skylark commented, following Col’s internal debate.
Companion, do you have a plan?

Not really
, Col admitted.
This was as far as it went. I thought I’d get us up there in disguise and then…well…improvise
.

Mack must have been wondering the same thing because he spurred his horse alongside his son, his bells jingling at every step, and said: “The first thing we need to do is find out where he’s holding her. Do you have any idea?”

Col shook his head. “That’s what I’m hoping Connie’s great-aunt can help us with. And as soon as we know where to start looking, we’ll let Argand loose. She can sniff Connie out for us.”

“If we can—look at all these people! I didn’t realize there’d be so many,” Mack said, gesturing at the crowd of spectators lining the road up the hill. Zed was stopping to sign autographs for his fans, gathering up even more followers
like the Pied Piper.

The procession was now approaching the edge of Mallins Wood, where an even bigger crowd was waiting for them. Over to the left, the festival field was decked with flags. A big stage had been erected at the far end. To the right of the road, a line of dark blue uniforms marked where the police were holding the protesters back from the road builders’ machinery. Over their heads, Col could see seven or more bright yellow bulldozers waiting for the signal to begin their work.

A council representative strode up and down behind the police line, appealing ineffectually for the crowd to move back and let them pass. His words were met with jeers and boos.

“Tree killer! Leave the wood alone!” shouted one red-haired woman, shaking her fist at him and trying to break through the police cordon.

“Me ma’s giving him what for, isn’t she?” Rat grinned proudly, watching his mother being restrained by two burly policemen and a policewoman and half carried away.

“Where’s your dad?” Col asked curiously, wondering what the rest of the Ratcliff family were up to.

“He’s chained himself to one of those trees. You see him—over there. He’s got Wolf with him, figuring no one will want to come near.”

“He’s right.”

Rat turned in his saddle to look up at Col, having just
remembered something.

“Only person—not counting me, of course—who’s ever got on with Wolf is that friend of yours, Connie. Ma said the dog acted real strange around her—turned into a right softie. Will she be here, d’you think? I’d like to see her again.”

“Maybe.” Col scanned the crowd to see if he could spot either Connie or his mother, but so far he had found neither of them. Where would Connie be, he wondered? If Kullervo wanted to tempt the Society out into the open, where would he put her?

The procession jingled to a halt thirty feet from the ranks of machines, police, and protesters. The protesters gave a great cheer. Zed rejoined Mr. Masterson at the head of the column. Col could see the mock King Arthur looking apprehensively around, alert for any signs of attack. Zed, by contrast, was relaxed, joking with those around him as he unrolled a speech written on parchment. He stepped up to a podium and tapped the mike.

“My lords and ladies,” he said archly, nodding at the procession, “people,”—he swept his arm expansively to the crowds—“we are here today to stand up to those who want to destroy this place of outstanding natural beauty.” A great cheer went up from the crowd. “I hope everyone here—and I’m speaking to you people driving the machines as well—I hope you’re asking yourselves what you want to leave future generations. Do you want to
leave a dead land of concrete and tarmac where the only moving things are cars—or a land of trees and green fields, filled with wildlife, open to all of us to enjoy?

“I’ve been told that among the trees at danger today is the very oak under which Merlin is sleeping. If you destroy that, you destroy both our past and our future, because the legend says that he’s gonna come back one day. Call me superstitious, but if I were you,”—he pointed at the man from the council; the crowd booed—“I’d think twice before I tried to bulldoze him.

“But our fight today is not one fought with lances and swords, but with your voices and your votes. We call upon the council to allow us, the people, to buy Merlin’s Wood from them and create here a safe haven for wildlife.

“So I’m announcing here and now the opening of an appeal to save Merlin’s Oak. Save Merlin’s Wood!”

A great cheer went up from the crowd, accompanied by the noise of swords banging on shields. Argand gave an alarmed hiss, but fortunately the noise was too great for any but Col to hear her.

During the babble of voices that followed the speech, Dr. Brock appeared at Col’s side, Godiva Lionheart a few paces behind. Dressed in a severe gray suit she looked out of place among the rainbow colors of the carnival procession. Her eyes flicked to Argand, then looked away.

“Any news?” asked Col.

Godiva cleared her throat as if dredging up the words with great reluctance. “The place you want is in that direction.” She pointed over Rat’s head. “They say that something odd is happening in the old tree in the oak grove.” Her hands were shaking but she was managing fairly well to hide her distress. Col had not forgotten that Dr. Brock had told him that she had once denied her own companion—that she’d let her wood sprite die. Today must have been nearly unbearable for her. He thought it said something good about her attachment to her great-niece that she had sacrificed her self-esteem to help.

Rat was listening in on this cryptic conversation with keen interest. “You must mean Merlin’s Oak, lady. That Connie of yours named it,” he told Col. “The procession is supposed to get there around noon. That’s where we’re going to make a stand. We won’t be moving until the bulldozers retreat.”

Col swiftly put on his helm, buckling it firmly under his chin, Argand swaying precariously above.

“Don’t wait for me,” he said and spurred Skylark forward. He broke from the ranks of the riders in a streak of silver, white, and red, galloping up the line. The crowd gave a great cheer, thinking this was all part of the show. Stirred by a sudden impulse, Col seized a lance from the stunned rider playing Sir Lancelot and charged off into the trees. Mack, as surprised as everyone else by his son’s
move, sat still for a moment, then kicked his horse in pursuit. This time the crowd laughed as well as cheered.