A Raucous Time

  *

   

  Once more Rhyllann watched bodies scurrying around. Only now Crombie lay face down beside him providing a running commentary.

  ‘They think they’ve found it. Looks like they’re attaching a winch to something in the ground.’ A muffled cheer floated their way. A smaller figure was dragged from a jeep, then suddenly bodies started dropping out of sight. Rhyllann sprung upright, Crombie yanked him back.

  ‘A tunnel. They’ve found a tunnel.’ Oh lord. When they found the treasure, what would happen to Wren?

  ‘What are we gonna do?’ He asked. Crombie looked over his shoulder towards the unseen town of Tintagel.

  ‘That’s miles away Crombie!’ Rhyllann spat. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  Crombie didn’t answer. With mounting desperation Rhyllann realised the detective had no idea what to do next.

  ‘They won’t harm him.’ Crombie said. ‘They’ll want a hostage.’

  Rhyllann shook him. ‘Don’t lie to me! Mikey Stern blames Wren for his father's death. He hates him! And anyway – we can’t let them take Wren with them!’ Rhyllann's voice rose. He staggered upright.

  ‘Come on!’

  Crombie pulled him back. ‘What do you think we can do? Ask them nicely to come quietly?’

  But Rhyllann had a plan; of sorts. ‘They might not have left a look out. We can roll a jeep over the tunnel. If we get the other one started we can drive back to Tintagel – get help.’ It was a crap plan. Wren would be trapped down there too. But at least it was a plan.

   

  Crombie insisted that instead of sneaking around furtively, their best chance was to act like tourists and march up to the ruins. And hope they weren’t recognised.

  ‘Pretend we’re lost – try to gain their confidence.’ He said stooping to slip a rock into his pocket. ‘You knee one in the balls – I’ll wallop ‘em over the head!’

  ‘Yeah right.’ Rhyllann said, biting back a comment about not having his ju-jitsu socks on.

   

  There was only one lookout. They changed the script slightly. Rhyllann approached limping and sobbing. The guard slipped out the jeep to comfort him, playing his own part of a concerned council worker. Crombie crept up behind and slogged him over the head. Then frisked the guy while Rhyllann searched the jeep. He found a bundle of cable ties and some rope. Bingo!

  ‘Look!’ He said – waving them at Crombie. Crombie widened his eyes to show delight, then waved his own prize.

  ‘Look!’ he echoed.

  ‘Oh nice. Swap?’

  Crombie smiled, tucking the matt black pistol inside an inner pocket against his chest. He rolled the unconscious man under the jeep, jamming his hands together while Rhyllann secured his wrists with three cable ties.

  ‘Put one round his thumbs. Ankles too.’ Crombie said. Rhyllann wanted to rush down the tunnel. Crombie held him back – demonstrating how to temporarily disable a diesel engine by yanking out the glow plugs.

  ‘See?’ He said, shiny metal nestling in his palm. ‘Won’t start without ‘em!’ Crombie explained. Rhyllann saw and disabled the second jeep under Crombie’s supervision.

  ‘Atta boy. Petrol engines are easier, just snap out the spark plugs. Make a copper of you yet.’

  Or a thief thought Rhyllann watching the two essential parts slip into yet another pocket. He wondered if anyone had ever suggested a man-bag to Crombie – and lived to tell the tale.

  ‘Come on son – let’s go!’

   

  Plastic keep away tape had been twisted around the metal rods which surround a large hole in the ground. An official looking sign warned. “Danger of Death. Keep out.” A hand written sign read “Danger. Deep Mine Shaft.”

  Stepping over the tape they dropped down into a room sized pit. A clay wall had been demolished revealing wide smooth steps gouged from stone, fading as they sunk into darkness. Reaching for his mobile Crombie led the way. As they descended the stairs widened dramatically, opening into a cathedral sized cavern. The last seven steps swept to the right, completely exposed. Two then three voices called out; the acoustics rendering their words inaudible. Free standing halogen lamps lit up the place casting ominous shadows against the wall. As Rhyllann’s confused brain tried to make sense of the scene Crombie darted back, pushing him up the steps, pressing a finger firmly to his mouth. Huddling in the anchoress cell below ground level they held a hurried discussion.

  ‘I counted four of ‘em down there. Four! We were lucky not to be spotted.'

  ‘Wren – did you see him – is he ok?’

  ‘Yeah yeah. He looks fine son.’ Crombie wouldn’t met his eyes.

  ‘We’ll have to find another way in. Crombie please. We’ve come this far.’ Without waiting for an answer Rhyllann hauled himself from the cell. Scrambling back to the jeeps, Rhyllann surveyed the area. To his left the ground rose slightly, before breaking off to form the cliff edge. The ruined monastery lay to the right, almost hidden in a dip, and beyond that the town. The immensity of the scene was emphasised by its solitude. There didn’t seem to be another living soul around, unsurprising as rogue clouds continued to float by dumping their loads indiscriminately. Rhyllann heard but didn’t register the sound of a jeep bonnet being slammed shut. Chewing at a knuckle, he wondered if they should investigate the monastery ruins, search for a hidden passage way maybe connecting the monks with the nuns, thinking if only Wren were here … An engine spluttered then rumbled. Spinning round he saw Crombie at the wheel of a jeep, checking the gears’ locations, and giving little experimental pumps on the accelerator. The traitor! Racing up to tear open the driver's door he threw himself at Crombie.

  ‘You promised! We can’t leave him – we can’t just leave him! Crombie!’ Grasping Rhyllann, Crombie heaved him over his lap and into the passenger's seat like a life sized doll.

  ‘Get in, sit down and buckle up. Then shut up.’ With that the jeep sprung forward jolting Rhyllann into his seat. Before he could say a word, they’d reached their destination and Crombie wrenched the handbrake full on, carefully selected reverse and killed the engine. Rhyllann gulped. The jeep’s windscreen actually overhung the cliff top which angled steeply inwards, back to rocks at least fifty feet below. He felt sweat break out on his palms as two huge waves smacked together sending spray halfway up the cliff. They were perched on the very edge, the slightest breeze would surely topple them over. Rhyllann cringed back in his seat, eyes wide with horror. At that moment the jeep rocked and he screamed:

  ‘Crombie get us out of here!’

  But the driver’s seat was empty. Clinging onto the jeep’s frame Rhyllann slithered from his seat, happier with firm ground beneath his feet, but wanting it firmer. Crombie had vanished. Still clinging to the jeep Rhyllann inched his way to the cliff top in nightmarish slow motion and peered over, mesmerised by foaming waves slamming over the rocks far below. He started, grabbing the bull bar for balance at a voice coming from the ground.

  ‘Son stop mucking about and give me a hand here.’

  Crombie was on his knees at the jeep’s other side, securing a length of rope to the bull bar. Rhyllann swayed with relief then toppled backwards to plump down on his backside. Then he scrunched back a few inches, flinching as a rope whipped into his lap, followed by Crombie wriggling upright. Not even bothering to hang onto the jeep, ignoring the Atlantic Ocean battering the cliffs inches away; Crombie stood up and began tying a noose at the rope’s end. Noticing Rhyllann hadn’t moved, with a jerk of his head he said.

  ‘Take a look down there.’ Rhyllann whimpered but wriggled forward on his stomach obediently. Vertigo rushed to meet him and he closed his eyes tightly, turning his head against the jeep’s front wheel. The smell of rubber made him feel even sicker, Rhyllann twisted his face the other way, only for green wellies to fill his vision. Next thing Crombie was sitting beside him, legs dangling over the cliff, smacking him on the back and wanting a conversation.

 
‘Did you notice that crevice – just a chink of light – I reckon some kind of tunnel or maybe even a ventilation shaft.’

  Rhyllann sensed Crombie leaning forward, and wanted to tug him back, but his fingers were glued to the earth somehow. In fact, his whole body was paralysed – apart from his insides – they squirmed frantically.

  ‘Get me out of here, get me out of here.’ He whined.

  ‘Are you listening to me? Rhyllann? Oh for god’s sakes.’ A hand grabbed at his jacket, scraping him back from the edge and yanking him into a sitting position. Immediately the paralysis left, and his limbs trembled uncontrollably. Crombie’s mouth tugged at the corners, a look of delight crossed his face.

  ‘Vertigo! Don’t tell me you suffer from vertigo!’

  Suffer was the right word. And he didn’t see what Crombie found so funny.

  ‘It isn’t vertigo. It’s self preservation.’ Anger fuelling him, Rhyllann forgot to be frightened. Standing up he took a couple of steps towards the edge telling himself it wasn’t that bad. The drop wasn’t that steep and the rocks weren’t that black and shiny and jagged. The ocean looked deep though, deep enough for sharks maybe or even killer whales. Rhyllann dragged his eyes back to Crombie holding the coiled rope. Hands on hips he said.

  ‘Don’t tell me. You’re going to lower me down and I’m going to crawl through that tunnel.’

  With only a hint of sarcasm Crombie said ‘Face it son, I’m just not built for pot holing.’ Then in a gentler tone: ‘If I could do this for you, I would.’

  His pity scalded Rhyllann into action. Ducking his head and arms through the noose he sat at the cliff edge emulating Crombie’s distain for heights.

  Rhyllann slipped his backside from solid ground, and twisted, so his chest butted against the cliff edge. Then he gave a sharp nod. Crombie took up the slack and with a push Rhyllann dangled mid air trying not to think about sharks. And if they could jump. His mind chided him: Stop wimping, this isn’t so bad, you’ve flown much higher – miles higher. The worse part is over. The bit before you jump is always the scariest he told himself. And now he was committed, with his feet scrabbling for foot holds, Crombie’s bulk above him and a good solid rope around him; digging into his flesh, almost dislocating his shoulders, any moment now he would slip out the noose and his sweaty hands wouldn’t be able to hold the rope and he would fall and he wouldn’t be killed outright and Crombie couldn’t scramble down cliffs because he wasn’t built for it. Hours of agonising pain surging through his broken body racked on jagged rocks while sea creatures nibbled on his limbs probably going for his eyes first stretched before him until Crombie fetched help just too late. The rope jerked, sliding up a couple of notches and he whimpered again.

  ‘Just there son – just to your right – see it? Come on Rhyllann – you’re on top of it!’ He’d been so wrong about Crombie. He had no compassion at all. Squirming so the noose cradled his lower back, Rhyllann hauled his legs up until his knees were waist level, then bunny hopped, managing to clutch at the ridged outcrop guarding the crevice. Heaving himself face first to flop into the tunnel’s opening he struggled to free the rope. Crombie’s knot refused to give, there wasn’t enough room to spread his arms upright. If it hadn’t been for voices echoing up to him, he would have given up. Instead new hope spurred him on. Pushing back to balance on the cave’s rim, Rhyllann shrugged off the rope, then waved at Crombie before diving back in and wriggling along the sloping tunnel.

   

  Two blond heads glistened in the artificial light. Wren rested against a boulder in the middle of the cave, his chin slumped against his chest. Hewes held a pistol to his forehead. Rhyllann counted three men examining the walls and floor of the cave with their fingertips, before his eyes were drawn back to Wren. And the boulder. Involuntary, a long low whistle escaped him. Wren’s head came up, cobalt blue eyes stared directly upwards, and a dorky smile lit up his face.

  ‘What’ve you got to smile about you little runt!’

  Rhyllann flinched as the pistol slammed against Wren’s temple – almost calling out in anger.

  Ignoring her Wren spoke clearly. ‘Would you please tell WPC Hewes to stop knocking me around the head. How do you expect me to think?’

  Crombie had miscounted; from the shadows a fifth figure emerged, easing Hewes to one side. Rhyllann’s breath caught in his throat; the rugby player spoke.

  ‘Christ sakes. He isn’t going to run anywhere. Not with that foot!’ To Wren he said. ‘What is it? What have you seen?’

  Wren pointed to the far side, opposite the steps. ‘That wall there – I don’t know – does it seem different to you? Smoother – less natural?’

  The man patted Wren’s head. ‘Good work. Good. Good boy.’

  He walked over to investigate calling to the others as he went. Wren gave them a moment or two, before standing up to stretch. Covering a yawn with one hand he splayed the other wriggling all five digits. Rhyllann managed an awkward upside down thumbs up sign, then began wriggling backwards as fast as he could. Emerging from the tunnel he clambered back in to the noose and without waiting for Crombie to haul, squirreled up the rope, forgetting to be scared of falling.

  ‘He saw me! Five minutes. Give him five minutes. He’s gonna create a diversion. And Crombie… get a load of this…’ Rhyllann hesitated biting at his lip. ‘Crombie … you’re really not going to believe this.’ As he spoke Crombie’s face drained of colour, he seemed frozen to the spot.

  ‘What? Impossible!’ He snarled as the full betrayal sank in. ‘I will personally rip stripes from uniforms. I will press for maximum charges. I will …’ Rhyllann yanked him forward mid threat herding him back to the anchoress cell. He didn’t know what Wren planned, but knew they had to be in position. As they descended the steps voices raised and echoed. It seemed Wren’s diversion was well under way.

   

  A man shouted furiously: ‘We had a deal! You warned him! You even spoke to him! Now you play ball!’

  ‘I won’t. You filthy murderer. You murdered those innocents on that train, and you murdered your own father.’ Wren’s voice sounded crystal clear and emotionless, emphasising the enormity of the words.

  ‘Shut up. Ignore him Mikey.’ That sounded like Hewes.

  ‘Coward. Yellow belly coward. Old men and bombs. Very noble.’

  ‘Shut up! If anyone’s responsible for my father’s death it's you; you little runt! God he used to make me sick. Wren this, Wren that. He thought the sun shone out of your arse and you set him up!’

  Wren screamed out with pain.

  ‘Leave him alone Stern!’

  Rhyllann coiled, ready to make a dash across the main cavern. Crombie held him back. ‘Wait. Wait for the fighting to start.’ He hissed.

  ‘Ladygate prison. Maximum security. Queen Charlotte Hospital. Geriatric ward. Oh and where d’you suppose the charming Rhyllann will end up? Some young offenders’ home? Never mind. I’ll find him. After I’ve dealt with you.’ Hewes purred. ‘And we’ll find the treasure. If we have to blast the entire place to kingdom come.’

  Someone sniggered. ‘She’s right. Let’s go get the rest of the explosives … leave him down here.’ Shaking off Crombie’s grip, Rhyllann coiled again, ready to spring out and use teeth if necessary.

  Wren stopped him. ‘Stay where you are. Don’t move. I’ll show you. It’s been staring you in the face all this time, but you’re too blind to see.’

  As Wren spoke, a low rumble filled Rhyllann’s ears. It seemed to come from the ground itself and go on forever. Feeling Crombie nudge him forward, crouching low, hugging the wall Rhyllann crept into the cavern. Just in time to see stone walls rolling away on well balanced mechanisms.

   

  Aladdin’s cave. It was an Aladdin’s cave. Rhyllann stared open mouthed at the contents inside the secret chamber. Huge metal trunks reinforced with thick bands covered the floor, stacked with plates of gold, jewel encrusted crucifixes, triplexes showing icons, their
frames studded with precious stones. More plates hung from the wall, smaller gold coloured chests were heaped in one corner. Treasure piled upon treasure, gleaming under the artificial lights. Rhyllann’s eyes dropped back to the hefty load bearing trunks; large enough to hold a baby elephant, and there his imagination stopped. Without warning Crombie grabbed him, throwing him behind an outcrop of rocks that zig-zagged out from the wall, and squeezed his bulk in after. No one noticed them. The cavern echoed with ooohs and ahhhs.

  Wren watched with detachment, he hadn’t moved from his spot. He rested a hand lightly against a sword buried halfway inside the boulder. The sword: Caliburn. Rhyllann’s eyes were drawn to it once more. The secret room threw out a golden glow. Caliburn swallowed light. It glinted with an eerie iridescent blue sheen which crackled; shimmering around the hilt to run up and down the blade before disappearing into the boulder. Wren’s profile seemed outlined in monochrome. His blond hair turned platinum. He turned to stare in Rhyllann’s direction with eyes of cold metallic steel.

  Then the trance broke, Hewes sprinted towards the room followed by the men, laughing and whooping, their voices echoing back. Wren watched with a smile. With his hand against the sword’s hilt, he levered it upwards, from a forty-five degree angle to its original upright position. The ground beneath Rhyllann rumbled again as stone walls pivoted on mighty hinges to swing closed. Angry shouts reverberated and calls of

  ‘The walls – hold them back! Quick!’

  Hewes managed to dodge out – Stern almost made it. He screamed out in pain and terror as the walls continued to trundle shut. In a flurry of movement Hewes caught him under the arms – suddenly the rugby player was there helping. There hadn’t been space for him to crowd into the hidden room. He yelled at the two still inside to shove and with an awkward back roll Stern was free. The walls finally thundered shut with a thud that shook the cavern.

  Crombie was on his feet and would have rushed over to help if Rhyllann hadn’t yanked him back. Brandishing the pistol he rose again to wade into the confusion.

  ‘Wait!’ Rhyllann cautioned him. ‘Wait for Wren’s signal.’

  There was no doubt now who was running this show. The rugby player knelt over Stern’s body, it twitched then lay still. Muffled cries sounded from behind the wall.

  ‘Christine get help! Get Frank down here! Bring water and the first aid kit.’

  Rhyllann thought Stern looked beyond first aid. With a screech Hewes charged at Wren knocking him to the ground.

  ‘You little runt! What did you do?’ She shook Wren, banging his head against the stone floor. The giant rushed over to prise her off.

  ‘Leave him alone! He’s only a kid!’

  ‘It was him! He did something – touched something!’ Picking Wren up by the scruff of his dressing gown, she clung onto him as her head twisted, searching the cavern. Inches above her Caliburn glimmered.

  ‘How can she not see it?’ Rhyllann murmured. Crombie nudged him for an explanation.

  ‘The sword.’

  Crombie looked even more perplexed.

  ‘The sword in the stone.’ Realising he had shouted the words, Rhyllann clasped a hand over his mouth.

  ‘Caliburn.’ He whispered. ‘You call it Excalibur.’ But its true name and true nature was Celtic.

  Hewes was squinting now, peering at Caliburn. Had she finally noticed? Wren, released from her grip, scuttled over to his new best friend. The strange smile on his lips again as Hewes’s head swivelled trying to fix the illusive non-light in place.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about Christine? What is it?’

  ‘I dunno Crombie. Some kind of lever – sticking out – screw your eyes up and squint – you can almost see it. It’s all kinda wavy – like smoke…’ As she spoke, her hand reached to grasp Caliburn’s blade.

  The electric blue spasms surged into over drive; crackling like hot fat. Lightning exploded through her body shocking her hair into a punk rocker’s. A sonic boom ruptured the cavern and she flew backwards. Her body crashed against the rock formation sheltering Crombie and Rhyllann, causing them to duck; then slid to the ground with a thump.

   

  Rhyllann shook. The air surrounding him ignited and every breath he took seared his lungs. If he breathed through his mouth it coated his throat, breathing through his nose drew the stench of scorched meat so thickly he could taste it. His teeth chattered and every blood cell in his veins tingled as they scurried to and fro, trying to escape through his skin. A harsh rasp rattled beside him, Rhyllann lifted his head slowly, certain some new monster had come for him. It was Crombie, his features fallen into a haggard mask. Sensing frightened eyes on him, he turned and tried to smile.

  ‘S’okay son, it’s okay. Some kind of freak accident.’ He slurred. Rubbing a hand over his face, he quietened his breathing.

  ‘Annie. Detective Crombie Sir. You can come out now.’ Wren’s voice sounded; clear and strident as ever. Rhyllann couldn’t face him. Not yet.

  ‘Come on son. Your cousin needs us.’ Rhyllann shrunk from Crombie's touch. Plunging his hand into first one pocket then another, Crombie shrugged off his jacket to drape round Rhyllann.

  Rhyllann watched him stride forward, pistol in one hand, a handful of cable ties in the other, detouring around the rock and the crumpled bundle of rags. A chill swept over him and he wanted to call Crombie back, to warn him not to – not to … his mind panicked, telling him to keep quiet, not to draw attention to himself. Two lamps had fallen over, Crombie picked them up. Wren was propped against the boulder again. Blue strands sizzled through Caliburn, as it faded back to a dull sheen.

  Wren studied the rugby player twitching at his feet with the interest he had shown the Devil’s Stagecoach Beetle all those years ago. Weeks ago. No barely a week, Rhyllann reminded himself. Panicked voices sounded again from behind the wall calling for help. Rhyllann shrunk deeper inside Crombie’s jacket, pulling it over his head like a shroud, welcoming the darkness. Better, much better. Old leather, petrol fumes and greasy oil kept out the singed charcoal smell. Inside his mind, he hunted a tune, a nursery rhyme and started humming. Anything to shut out the voices. Rhyllann’s knuckles found his mouth and he bit down.

  ‘Son are you okay?’ Crombie reached out to Wren, patting his shoulder. Ignoring the question Wren asked his own.

  ‘Did WPC Hewes call that man there Mr Crombie?’

  Crombie hesitated for a long time before replying. ‘My brother. I haven’t seen him since … When he mussed your hair like that … I used to follow him round like a puppy.’

  Wren made small comforting noises. Crombie spoke again. ‘Is he dead?’ As though he couldn’t bear to look for himself.

  ‘Stunned. Just stunned. He caught the backlash.’ Crombie walked unsteadily over to the prone body. Then ever cautious stooped to wrap cable ties round his brother’s wrists. He looked back at Wren.

  ‘Christine – WPC Hewes – she touched that lever – did you know what would happen?’ Wren leaned against the boulder surveying Crombie with eyes of blue innocence. But he took too long to answer. Eventually he admitted.

  ‘I didn’t think it would be with that force.’

  Huddled behind his rock, cocooned in Crombie’s coat, Rhyllann heard the lie.