A growling tractor clattered into the farmyard, towing a trailer behind it. Ma sat at the wheel, her podgy frame dwarfing the rusting machine that she steered to a halt in front of the barn.
A large area had been cleared of junk, which had been piled round the edge of the yard. In the middle of the clearing stood a ramp-like structure made of wood. There was a graunching noise as Ma put the tractor into reverse, and then she slowly backed the machine onto the ramp so that the end of the trailer came to a stop about eight feet off the ground.
Boglehob was waiting in the clearing, and stood to lopsided attention as Ma oozed herself out of the tractor and stomped down the wooden ramp.
“It’s done,” said Ma to her sack-faced attendant. “We’ve brought the harvest home.”
From where she crouched behind a pile of old wooden crates, Bryony could see a mound of black stuff heaped in the trailer.
“So that’s the harvest,” she whispered, wrinkling her snout. “But it just looks like mud to me.”
“That is indeed the harvest,” said the Captain, who squatted next to Bryony. “But it isn’t mud.”
“It’s fear,” said the turnip, which rested on the ground between the Captain and Bryony. “Raw, freshly harvested fear.”
“How do you know?” Bryony scowled at the turnip. “You can’t see it from down there.”
“But I can sense it,” said the turnip. “And by the look on that piggy face of yours, I reckon you can sense it too.”
Bryony didn’t reply. It was true that she had a feeling of unease, similar to that she’d experienced in the Cursed Field; and it was growing by the second.
“I regret your vegetable friend is correct,” whispered the Captain. “That trailer contains the harvest from the Cursed Field. The fruit of the Barrenrake itself.”
On their way to the yard, Captain Rathbone had given Bryony a full, albeit hurried, account of events that night. A few weeks ago she wouldn’t have believed a word of it, but in those few weeks she had learned that the more impossible something seemed, the more likely it was to be true.
But there was still one unanswered question that worried her.
“But what happened to Edwin?”
“I cannot be sure,” replied the Captain. “I lost contact with your stepbrother when the harvesting began. I searched the field whilst the scarecrows cut down the crops, but could not trace him. Hopefully young Zach might have more luck finding the boy. Our main concern now is to stop the scarecrows processing the harvest.”
“I don’t care about the harvest,” grunted Bryony. “It’s Edwin I’m worried about.”
“I understand,” said the Captain. “It isn’t an easy choice to make, but being a member of the police force involves having to make difficult decisions. I expect being a Guardian of Wychetts is much the same.”
“I…” Bryony hesitated, then nodded. “Sure it is.”
She decided not to take the argument further. Whilst she feared for Edwin, she had to put faith in the Captain’s judgement. He was a policeman, after all.
But it wasn’t just her stepbrother’s safety that concerned Bryony. If anything had happened to Edwin, it meant she was the only Guardian left. The only one who could save the day. That’s if they ever got the Key back. And that’s if she could bring herself to use it.
There was a scuffling noise behind them, and Bryony looked round to see Zach crawling over to their hiding position.
“Our brave scout returns,” said the Captain. “Anything to report, lad?”
“They’ve finished harvesting,” hissed Zach. “All the scarecrows are returning to the yard.”
“What about Edwin?” asked Bryony.
Zach shook his head. “I found a few ginger feathers, that’s all.”
Bryony shuddered, but didn’t have time to dwell on Edwin’s fate.
“Here they come,” announced the Captain. “Everyone keep your heads down.”
“I’ll do my best,” said the turnip.
Despite the Captain’s order, Bryony couldn’t resist peeking over the crates to watch the line of sack-faced figures hobbling into the farmyard. She spotted the scarecrow Bill and Jane at the rear of the column, with Jed marching behind them. He clutched a stained rag to his nose, but was still growling orders to his troop.
Then Bryony saw two other forms entering the yard. A ragged black bird came swooping over the barn, and a sleek cream coloured cat minced slowly into the clearing.
Of course, Bryony knew the identity of these new arrivals even before they changed into human figures.
“That’s a neat trick of yours,” said Ma, smiling at Dawes and Katya. “You must show me how it’s done. Some days I think I’d like to be an animal.”
“That simply isn’t possible,” croaked Dawes. “Unless your table manners were to undergo a drastic improvement.”
Ma’s smile flickered, but she beckoned to her visitors.
Dawes and Katya walked towards Ma, but froze as a frenzied barking started. Blossom came charging towards them, teeth bared and eyes ablaze with fury.
Luckily for Dawes and Katya, Blossom’s leash ran out before he could lay a tooth on them. But he continued to snap and snarl, pawing the air in front of him as he strained to break free from his tether.
“Can’t you shut that thing up?” demanded Katya, standing rigid as she eyed the barking dog.
“Old Blossom’s just being friendly,” said Ma. “He’s taken a real liking to you two. Specially you, Miss Pauncefoot.”
Katya grimaced. “I can assure you the feeling is not mutual. You must lock that beast away, immediately.”
Jed seized Blossom’s lead and dragged the dog towards the kennel. But Blossom wouldn’t go quietly, and in the end it took the combined efforts of Ma and Jed to bundle him inside the kennel and bolt the door shut.
“He’ll calm down in due course,” Ma promised Katya. “Now would you like to inspect the harvest?”
Katya and Dawes approached the wooden ramp, keeping away from the kennel that shook violently as Blossom pawed at the door.
“A good yield.” Dawes nodded his beaky head as he examined the contents of the trailer.
Katya seemed similarly impressed. “There should be more than enough for our purpose.”
“Glad you are pleased,” crooned Ma, wringing her podgy hands. “Perhaps now we might discuss the issue of financial recompense?”
Dawes shook his head. “The harvest is not finished. The crop must be processed for distribution. Is the machine ready?”
Jed snarled more orders at the waiting scarecrows, a dozen of which filed into the barn. Moments later a pair of broad wooden doors creaked open, and the scarecrows emerged towing a large contraption.
It looked like a cross between an old-fashioned steam engine and some sort of mechanical dinosaur. An angled metal chute protruded from one end, and a huge funnel shaped chimney sprouted upwards from the other. The squat, barrel shaped body was mounted on a giant flat wheel that had metal spikes protruding from its thick wooden rim.
The machine was heavy, judging by the time and effort it took the scarecrows to manoeuvre it into a position where the metal chute reached the end of the trailer parked at the top of the wooden ramp.
“What is that thing?” asked Bryony, glancing at Zach.
Zach shrugged. “Ain’t rightly sure. But they’ve been building it for weeks.”
“The Threshing Machine,” announced Dawes, as if he had heard Bryony’s question. “You have excelled yourself, Mr Boglehob.”
“I told you he was a genius.” Katya fluttered her eyelashes at the lopsided scarecrow. “And so very good with his hands.”
Boglehob smiled back at Katya, and for a horrible moment Bryony thought they were actually flirting.
“Get the scarecrows into position,” Dawes croaked at Jed. “The crop must be processed before dawn, or the harvest will fail.”
Jed shouted further orders at the scarecrows, which formed a circle around the Threshing Machine. Then Jed
shouted again, and each scarecrow grabbed a spike on the giant wheel upon which the machine was mounted.
“My son has trained ‘em well,” said Ma, smiling proudly at Jed.
“Those scarecrows have brains of straw,” scoffed Dawes. “They are incapable of independent thought, which is why they are suited to this task. Just like you and your pea brained son.”
“Why thank you.” Ma performed another curtsey, but then frowned. “Hey, are you saying…”
“Now let’s see how hard they can work.” Dawes waved a scrawny arm in the air. “Get that wheel turning!”
Jed bellowed a command, and the scarecrows pushed against the spikes on the wheel. The wheel turned, and Bryony heard clanking noises from inside the Threshing Machine.
“Excellent,” purred Katya. “The mechanism is functioning. Now to add the harvest.”
Ma nudged Jed in the ribs with a fleshy elbow. “This is where you come in.”
“But Ma!” Jed looked horrified. “You said I wouldn’t have to do no manual labour. Can’t Zach do it instead?”
“The runt ain’t up to it,” said Ma. “Besides, he’s cooking supper right now.”
“But I’m injured.” Jed dabbed his nose with the blood stained handkerchief.
“It’s only a scratch,” snarled Ma, snatching the handkerchief from her son’s face. “And it’s stopped bleeding now. So get on with it!”
Jed offered no further resistance, and clambered up the wooden ramp to where the trailer was parked.
“Now!” shouted Dawes, his croaky voice shrill with impatience.
Jed pulled a large lever protruding from the undercarriage of the trailer.
There was a rumbling noise as the front of the trailer started rising. Slowly but surely the trailer tilted higher, tipping its black muddy load into the chute of the Threshing Machine.
The scarecrows continued turning the wheel, and the clanking became a harsh grinding noise as the first clods of harvest tumbled down the chute into the Threshing Machine’s barrel shaped body. The grinding noise grew steadily louder, and puffs of dark mist began wafting from the chimney.
“It’s working!” cried Katya, as the mist puffs thickened into clouds of black smoke.
“Push harder,” croaked Dawes, waving his arms at the scarecrows. “Harder!”
The scarecrows obeyed, and as the wheel turned faster, the Threshing Machine pumped black smoke higher into the air.
“What is that stuff?” asked Zach, sniffing the air. “It looks like smoke, but I can’t smell burning.”
“That is fear.” The Captain’s normally calm voice was edged with revulsion. “The Shadow Clan didn’t intend to simply raise the Barrenrake; they wanted to farm it, extract its very essence and spread it across the world like a seed.”
Bryony noticed how the black smoke spread quickly over the sky, smothering the stars like a shroud.
“There will be eternal night,” said the turnip. “Nothing will grow across the land. No plants, no trees, no crops, fruit or vegetables.”
“That means everyone will starve,” gasped Zach.
“Eventually,” said the Captain. “But first there will be wars, as people and states launch a desperate struggle to seize dwindling food stocks. Fear will reign, and the Shadow Clan will grow in power as the world slides into chaos.”
“But even worse,” said the turnip, “the Barrenrake’s essence will turn people’s fears into reality. For to look into the smoke will show you what you fear the most.”
Zach stared at the sky, his eyes growing wider. “I can see something…”
“Best not to look.” Captain Rathbone put a paw over Zach’s eyes. “You too, Bryony.”
But Bryony didn’t hear the Captain’s warning. She was also looking at the sky, and could see murky shapes forming in the swirling black clouds.
“Look upon your fear,” said the turnip. “Behold your darkest thoughts!”
The murky shapes in the sky took substance, and suddenly they weren’t murky shapes anymore. Suddenly Bryony was looking at a face. A human face…
“I said not to look!”
“Ow!” Bryony felt a sharp pain in her right ear, and looked round to see Captain Rathbone’s snout close to her head.
“Sorry about that,” said the Captain. “I don’t usually bite members of the public, but in this case you left me with no alternative. You mustn’t look at the sky, Bryony.”
“But it is best to confront one’s fears,” said the turnip.
“Not in this case.” The Captain’s amber gaze remained fixed on Bryony as he spoke. “The Barrenrake’s power is overwhelming, and your own fears could destroy you. It’s true we should face up to what scares us, but there will be a time for that. And you will know when. Understood?”
Bryony didn’t really understand, but she nodded anyhow. Zach nodded, too.
“Good,” said the Captain. “We’ll have to keep our wits about us if we are to stop the Shadow Clan.”
But Bryony wasn’t listening anymore. Something had drawn her attention back to the trailer. Something was moving amidst the muddy black harvest.
It was hard to make out in the night time gloom, but Bryony thought she saw a tiny bobbing head, and a pair of small flapping wings. And that could only mean…
“It’s Edwin!” she squealed. “Edwin’s in the trailer!”
Luckily for Bryony, her excited cry was drowned by the grinding racket of the Threshing Machine. But the Captain heard, and his amber eyes widened as his gaze followed Bryony’s frantically pointing trotter.
“Good heavens. So that’s where he got to.”
“Why doesn’t he get out of there?” said Zach. “He’ll be tipped into the chute with the rest of the harvest.”
“It would appear he can’t get out,” concluded the Captain. “The harvest is degrading quickly. It’s congealed, and he’s trapped in there.”
“Then we’ve got to rescue him!” Bryony gawped in horror as Edwin slid slowly down the tipping trailer.
“Leave your stepbrother to me,” instructed Captain Rathbone. “You must retrieve the Wychetts Key from Boglehob.”
“But can’t you?” honked Bryony. “You’re the policeman.”
“And you are a Guardian,” replied the Captain. “The Key is your responsibility. And without the Key we don’t stand a chance of defeating the Shadow Clan.”
“But I can’t take on Boglehob alone,” said Bryony. “Then there’s Ma, Jed and all the scarecrows. Not to mention Katya and Dawes. Can’t you call for backup?”
“Backup will arrive shortly,” promised the Captain. “And you’ve no need to worry about Boglehob, or anyone else for that matter. Their attention will be drawn elsewhere.”
“By what?” asked Bryony.
The Captain turned to Zach. “I need you to create a distraction, lad. Think you could manage that?”
Zach nodded. “Leave it to me, Captain.”
Bryony grunted doubtfully. “But you’re scared stiff of Ma and Jed.”
“I might be,” admitted Zach. “But that don’t matter now. What matters is saving Edwin, and getting that magic key of yours. Besides, I got a score to settle with the Shadow Clan. It was them who got my parents sent to prison.”
The Captain had told Zach his theory of how the Shadow Clan had taken control of the farm, by setting up Zach’s parents so they got sent to prison, and putting Ma and Jed in their place. There was no firm evidence to support this claim, but knowing how Katya and Dawes operated, Bryony had little reason to doubt the Captain’s assumption.
“This isn’t about settling personal scores,” the Captain warned Zach. “This is about seeing justice done. You must remain focussed on your task.”
“I will,” promised Zach. “Just give me five minutes.”
“We don’t have that long.” Captain Rathbone nodded at the tilting trailer. “Make it three.”
Zach nodded, and gave Bryony a reassuring smile before creeping off towards the farmhouse.
r /> “Brave chap,” observed the Captain. “We could do with more like him in the Force. Now let’s take up positions. I’ll approach the trailer from the right. I suggest you tackle Boglehob from the rear. Use those old oil drums over there to cover your advance. Wait until he’s distracted, and then strike from behind. I usually don’t advocate such un-gentlemanly tactics, but the exceptional nature of this situation requires unconventional measures. Do you understand what needs to be done?”
Bryony nodded slowly. “I charge Boglehob from behind, and pinch the Key.”
“And then you must use it,” instructed the Captain. “Without hesitation. Are you ready?”
Bryony felt anything but ready, but she knew the Captain and Edwin were relying on her. Not to mention Dad and Jane, and all the other people turned to scarecrows. And the rest of human civilisation, of course. She was a Guardian, whether she liked it or not, and it was her duty to retrieve the Key and save the day!
“I’m ready,” she breathed. “But what if the plan goes wrong?”
“We have little margin for error,” mused the Captain. “But you heard Dawes say they need to process the harvest before dawn. If all else fails, we might have a chance if we can delay them until sunrise. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Be brave, Bryony.” The Captain patted Bryony’s shoulder, and then slipped away into the shadows.
“What about me?” asked the turnip, as Bryony turned to go. “Can’t I help in any way?”
“I don’t think so,” said Bryony. “You’re just a turnip. Stay here and… do whatever turnips do.”
Taking care to stay hidden in shadow, Bryony sneaked towards the pile of old oil drums pointed out by the Captain. The turnip watched her go, its eyes narrowing into beady slits.
“Just a turnip, am I? Well I’ll show you. I’ll show ‘em all I’m not fit for the compost heap just yet!”
Chapter 16- A Turnip for the Books