A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) Page 15

  Rhyllann patted his shoulder. Then with a shove told him to get going and can the lecture.

  Chapter Twenty

  Crombie turned the battered mobile over and over in his hands, thinking. The operation hadn’t been a complete disaster. Following the Scottish lead, Interpol had arrested three suspects. Somehow though Stern and eight others had slipped through the net, making their way to Cornwall. Though Devon and Cornwall were spitting bullets over the failed raid, they had four gang members in custody, all of whom wanted to talk. Considering they were facing grand theft, not to mention murder in some cases, not surprising.

  Not as good as it could have been, but not too shabby.

  He looked up as Christine Hewes entered the room, carrying an evidence bag.

  ‘Found these Sir, on the boulders by the monolith.’

  ‘Thanks Christine. Is it still raining?’

  ‘Fraid so Sir. The lines to London are down.’

  He grunted, examining the browning apple cores through the plastic bag. He needed to talk to Cavan. He supposed he would view the operation as a success. Strange really, how the gang had separated, some flying up to Scotland, some travelling down to Cornwall. Opposite ends of the country. Crombie opted to steer clear of Interpol, and landed by default in Cornwall. At least he was familiar with the place. His wife and girls loved holidaying here.

  He spoke outloud, using WPC Hewes as a sounding board.

  ‘Why do you suppose some of ‘em went up to Scotland?’

  She hesitated, as though he had posed a trick question.

  ‘Didn’t Interpol say they’d found the blond kid’s notebook? Apparently he laid a false trail for them.’

  Crombie already knew that. And yet. A thirteen year old managing to outwit that nasty little gang? Wren Prenderson had convinced them his notes were authentic, by risking not only his gran’s, but his own life. But Mikey Stern hadn’t fallen for it.

  ‘What made Stern come to Cornwall instead d’you think?’

  She blushed. ‘Dunno Sir. No idea. Maybe he thought he’d be better off keeping tabs on the kids, then when he found Joan’s diary, he worked out the Celtic Connection.’

  Crombie stared at her, really puzzled now. ‘Joan’s diary? What are you talking about?’

  She blushed a shade darker an stammered. ‘"The Brotherhood” Sir … they were talking about Joan’s diary – I presumed it was the Welsh book that the old man had … old man Stern? And Mikey Stern found it.’

  Crombie shook his head slowly. Something didn’t add up, but he couldn’t work it out.

  ‘No, no no. I searched those houses personally.’ He scratched an ear, then pulled at the lobe. ‘Unless. That envelope we found?’ He gazed up at Hewes, feeling a twinge of impatience when she merely gulped back at him.

  ‘C’mon Hewes. You’re normally sharper than this. The envelope. Back at Green’s?’

  She lowered her eyes, teeth nibbling her lips; Crombie sighed. If they’d managed to catch the kids there, got them back safely in custody …

  Now Mikey Stern and that nasty little group calling themselves The Brotherhood were in Cornwall. Along with both kids; and somehow those kids had managed to get hold of whatever had been buried in that metal chest for eight hundred years.

  Were the kids and Stern working together? Crombie shook his head again. No, that didn’t make sense. Somehow that blond kid had them all chasing rainbows and shadows; The Brotherhood, Stern, The police. And his cousin.

  Crombie examined Rhyllann’s phone again, as though hoping it would miraculously ring. Outloud he said.

  ‘Where are you son? Where on earth are you?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Rhyllann stood blinking down at a concrete field. A group of executive style detached houses dwarfed the manicured gardens they stood in. They were saved; the nightmare was over. But even as the cousins watched a small convoy of people carriers and shiny off roaders streamed out of the close heading away from the boys, presumably for the nearest town. With a gasp, Rhyllann broke into a run splashing along the shallow river surging down the lane. They had to get a ride.

  Finally something went right. A Volvo estate was still loading up. As Rhyllann sprinted up the drive a man emerged from the house, carrying a baby’s car seat. Clutching his side, Rhyllann panted up to the car, the man’s head swung round then back as he hurriedly strapped the baby in. Wren limped into view as a woman in an identical grey track suit emerged pulling a large shaggy dog and a suitcase, behind her two kids of about eight smothered in bright orange waterproof capes struggled with a coolbox. Rhyllann swallowed hard, swiping a mat of hair from his forehead and tried to talk. The little family acted as though he wasn’t there. Even the dog didn’t bark.

  ‘Quickly Molly, next to your sister – Brian hurry – get the boot open.’ Brian's missus double locked the front door as she spoke.

  At last the words tumbled out: ‘Please – please we need a lift.’

  Now the woman was at the estate's boot urging the dog in, slamming it shut she hurried to get in the passenger seat. The man threw the elder girl with the coolbox into the car, strapping her next to the baby. Rhyllann rushed to his side, dragging at his sleeve feeling panicky.

  ‘Please – didn’t you hear me? Please!’

  The woman let down the driver’s window leaning across to yell.

  ‘Clear off! I know your sort. Always holding out your hand for something!’

  The man shrugged him off looking shame faced. ‘I’m sorry – sorry – you can see for yourself – there’s no room.’

  ‘There’s plenty of room – we’ll sit in the back – with the dog!’ Rhyllann screeched. From the corner of his eye he saw Wren collapse against the garden wall. One of gran’s phrases sprung to his lips.

  ‘For the love of Christ help us!’ The two girls watched as though this was an act for their benefit. One started sniggering.

  ‘Oh spare us.’ The woman sneered. ‘Come on Brian. Honestly – where are their own parents? Probably bladdered out of their minds dancing round some standing stone. Come on. Else we’ll never get through.’

  Her last words to Rhyllann were:

  ‘And you can get him off my lawn!’

  Rhyllann chased after the car banging on the windows with his fists. The two girls swivelled round to stick out their tongues and pull faces. Their parents stared straight ahead. An almighty crack sounded. For a moment Rhyllann thought he had broken a window and stood back allowing the car to escape. Seconds later he could barely see the rear lights through the torrential rain, and lightning seared the sky again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rhyllann staggered as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. He tracked across the lawn to slump beside Wren. The miniature Cornish wall provided some shelter for their backs. The cousins sat hugging their drawn up knees, shivering uncontrollably. Rhyllann watched puddles spread on the herringbone pattern brick drive, bulging, melting into others to form a sheet of water before spilling onto an already saturated lawn.

  ‘Annie – this is a deluge. If those lakes overflow.’

  Rhyllann still smarted at his recent rejection. He’d come across hostility before – he lived in London after all. But here – in God’s own country!

  ‘They had plenty of room in that car – we’d be warm and dry by now.’ He shivered with pleasure at the thought of being warm and dry, a state he’d always taken for granted.

  ‘They’re just jealous of us.’ Wren said with a wry smile.

  Another of gran’s phrases. Whenever people were “mean” to Rhyllann or “nasty” to Wren that was gran’s standard response. Rhyllann believed her. Who would not want to be him – Rhyllann Jones? Now he lowered his head to his knees and allowed sobs to wrack his body. Those people had everything – he and Wren were so obviously needy. Yet they had taken one look at the raggle taggle pair and decided they weren’t fit to keep their dog company.

  Wren shook him. ‘Look – an alarm. If we break in – set it
off – someone’s bound to come.’

  Rhyllann let the words sink in. It meant waving a white flag. But at least they’d be out of this soul destroying rain. Still sobbing he stood to heave and shove at the wall with swollen chapped hands. Finally dislodging a stone, he charged towards the house; summoning the last of his strength to hurl it against the largest window. Thunder crashed again masking the sound of shattering glass. Rhyllann peered up at the burglar alarm, puzzled at the silence.

  He turned back to Wren – ‘There’s no electric. The power’s down.’ He shouted competing with the thunder and rain. Rhyllann didn’t think he’d heard him, but then Wren buried his head in his knees.

  Jeez! Rhyllann slogged back to haul him to his feet.

  ‘Not now brawd, please – don’t go to pieces on me now. Come on.’

  Somehow Rhyllann managed to get Wren through the broken kitchen window, into an immense lounge, straight out of a glossy magazine. With Wren collapsed on one of the two sofas, Rhyllann scoured the kitchen for food. A soggy packet of fish fingers, half a box of dog biscuits, a tin of baby formula. And some ice cream. Unbelievable. Volvo family had cleared the house of perishables. Without boiling water, he couldn’t even use the powered baby milk. Back in the lounge, he found Wren had thrown up over the expensive looking rug covering the polished wooden floor. Even if he broke into the other houses, managed to find something, chances were Wren wouldn’t be able to keep it down. He muttered something unintelligible.

  ‘Say again brawd?’

  ‘My box Annie – where’s my box?’

  Jeez. The way things were going they would both be in their boxes. With a sob Rhyllann heaved himself through the kitchen window again into the stinging rain, barely able to see three feet in front of him. He could swear it was only around four in the afternoon, but overcast skies had brought an early twilight. The paths outside streamed with shallow rivulets, forming puddles here and there. The box was drifting slowly into a neighbouring garden. Rhyllann fished it out, then lifted a foot over the wall to test the depth of a puddle. The water covered the soles of his trainers. Before his eyes it rose to touch his lace tips. He looked around the deserted close. They had all decided at exactly the same time to pack up and go? Or had they been ordered to evacuate?

  While Rhyllann deliberated, headlights flooded the lane. He ducked behind the wall as a jeep turned into the close, immersing the seat of his trousers in water. Anxiously he cast a glance behind him at the recently vandalised window. Would the newcomers see it? Would they accept his excuse for breaking it – or should he say it was already like that? Rhyllann strained to listen, trying to work out what kind of people the neighbours were and how to approach them. He risked raising his head. Five people climbed from the vehicle, the driver made a beeline to shelter under the porch, while the other four hurried to the rear of the jeep. Throwing aside a heap of council workmen jackets, they uncovered two metal trunks. With a man either side they manhandled the trunks past the driver through the now open front door, staggering under their weight.

  ‘Keep ‘em upright – for heaven’s sake!’

  Rhyllann only caught a glimpse of the trunks’ identifying stickers; but he was pretty certain that a bright fluorescent triangle signified some kind of flammable or explosive material.

  With a sharp intake of breath Rhyllann ducked behind the wall again, tucking his head between his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible.

  Voices sounded again, but he was frozen in position, though his ears strained trying to make out words. Luckily they had to shout to make themselves heard.

  ‘Find those little runts. We need to know what was in that chest.’

  ‘Don’t worry. They won’t get far.’

  Rhyllann’s world spun, he ducked his head even lower, feeling his heart pounding against the box clutched firmly to his chest.

  ‘You worry about your friends. I’ll track the kids down. Leave it to me.’ A woman’s voice. Used to issuing orders. ‘You’re safe here. We’ve evacuated the place. Only break radio silence if it’s urgent. Understand?’

  The first man spoke again, the rain washing his words away.

  ‘No. It’s only half a mile into town. We can’t risk it, I’ll walk.’

  *

  Rhyllann squatted with icy water numbing him from the hips down, his mind reeling from what he’d heard. Could this be a trick of some kind? Maybe an vivid hallucination bought on by exhaustion and cold. He risked a peek. A military style jeep still parked on the drive opposite. As he watched he saw torch beams flickering in windows. Of all the bloody places for them to shelter in. Their luck could not get any worse. To his right, a ghostly face appeared in the window. Wren! Moving recklessly, Rhyllann hurtled across the lawn, hoisting himself into the kitchen.

  ‘Annie – A jeep! There’s a jeep!’ Gesturing wildly as though Rhyllann couldn’t see they had company.

  ‘I know! Get down!’

  Wren’s face turned even whiter as he explained the new danger they were in.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘What are we going to do Annie – if they find us!’

  They were in the semi-darkness of the living room again. Wren spoke with his head between his knees, gulping ominously, his breathing laboured. Rhyllann wanted to shake him – demand to know more about these thugs – and just what was so important about the box Wren had risked both their lives for. It sat on the coffee table in front of them. An innocuous rectangle barely four inches at the longest. Strips of ivory protected the edges, coloured wood veneers made a funky abstract pattern: Light oak, reddish teak, ebony, with inlaid mother of pearl and tortoiseshell and yellow metal. It cried out to be stroked and handled. Rhyllann picked it up, its weight snuggled comfortably in his hands. He flipped the lid open with his thumbs to peer inside, hoping for a huge egg sized diamond. Yet again he was disappointed. Inside was the weirdest looking object ever. Rhyllann fished it out for a closer examination:- A yellow metal rod about an inch long with a ring at the top. A fringe of metal jutted from the bottom half of the ring. Protruding from the other end were two flatter pieces of metal with small indentations. Rhyllann’s brow wrinkled as he replaced it.

  ‘Is this some sort of key?’ He asked. Wren took the box from him,

  ‘Yes it’s a key Annie. The Key. Don’t worry – I’ll get you your treasure yet.’ With that Wren's eyes fluttered closed and his breathing became even shallower.

  Sighing, Rhyllann went to search the house once more for food. The master bedroom had an ensuite bathroom. Candles of all shapes sizes and colours surrounded the side of the bath. Rhyllann tried the taps astonished but pleased when hot water gushed. Lighting the candles with matches he’d found in a beside cabinet, he tipped bubble bath under the running water.

  ‘A good hot bath. He’ll feel much better.’ Rhyllann crooned, the steam and scented candles making him feel light headed and dizzy. ‘Then I’ll get something to eat. I’ll get us something to eat.’

  ‘C’mon brawd, Annie’s run you a lovely hot – oh hell!’ A surge of anger rose, this wasn’t fair. No matter how hard he tried, Wren kept messing things up. Rhyllann closed his eyes shutting out the terrifying sight on the sofa, immediately the room filled with the horrific gurgling of water logged lungs struggling to take in oxygen.

  Rhyllann took a step forward, before he could rest a hand against the skull like head he felt heat radiating through Wren’s sodden clothes. Cursing himself for not acting sooner Rhyllann stripped him of the damp clothes then found a duvet to wrap him in, all the time crooning and whispering encouragement. All the time Wren’s life force visibly dwindled, breath by breath. A calm voice spoke. “He needs a hospital. You’ve gotta get him to a hospital, come hell or high water.” Rhyllann nodded agreement, repeating obediently ‘Hellorhighwater.’

  His glance fell on the mysterious wooden box. “Give it to them.” The voice urged. Rhyllann nodded. He would barter the wooden box for his cousin’s life. He dropped down through the win
dow clutching the box. The voice spoke again. “Fool. Get one of them to drive Wren to the hospital first.” Rhyllann trembled at the mistake he had almost made. He crouched, unwilling to climb back through the window unless he had to, looking for suitable hiding place in the garden. An idea struck him and he smiled. He’d hide the box right under their noses, in the jeep! With a swagger, he set off towards their drive, the voice issuing yet more instructions.

  “Describe the box to them. Explain it’s an enigma only Wren can decipher.” Enigma? Decipher? Whose bloody voice was this anyway?

  Rhyllann stepped over the dividing wall and tracked across the neighbouring lawn, and had just reached the paved drive when the front door swung open. He crouched behind the jeep thinking Shee-it. I’ll find somewhere else to hide the box.

  The voice kept quiet as three men emerged, one hurried on to open the jeep’s rear while the other two followed slowly, weighed down by the trunk they carried. Heart pounding violently, certain he’d be caught, Rhyllann crawled under the jeep, and splayed out, hugging the ground. One called back to the house, complaining loudly.

  ‘Don’t forget - you owe us! This is wrong.’

  They got into the jeep, doors slamming in temper and reversed out the drive, leaving Rhyllann horribly exposed on the drive. Clutching the box to his chest he rolled from the drive onto a strip of grass bordered by a hedge The door to the house slammed in reply as Wren’s last hope rumbled away. Still sprawling full length, feeling mud oozing and sliding, Rhyllann slithered forwards. The door had bounced open, the other two were now in the kitchen, arguing.

  ‘Crombie ain’t gonna like this. I don’t like it. This ain’t what we’re about. Not now. You know what Crombie says.’