Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1) (18 page)

Her arms and legs trembled and she thought she would lose her footing, but finally she reached the end of the ledge. There was a down pipe here, and she forced herself to sit on the edge and grab hold of the old metal pipe. She swung herself off, but the last of her strength had given out and she couldn’t hold on. She dropped to the cobbled stones of the courtyard below.

SHEA DODGED THROUGH the woods. It was a good thing, he thought, that the mayor’s thugs hadn’t brought dogs. He kept the wall on his left and stayed under the cover of the trees. Now he was level with the school playing fields beyond, and he could hear children chattering nervously. There were adult voices mixed in with them, barking at them to stop, or move, or stay together, or keep quiet. Griffin’s thugs probably, he thought. He didn’t dare risk a glance over the top of the wall, just in case they should see him. Rosie went to that school, he realised, and he hoped she was all right.

He came to the end of the wall. Now he had to cross the Lechlade Road; this was going to be the most dangerous part, because it was long, straight and exposed, and anyone on it could be seen for a long way in either direction. In the distance he could see a horse-drawn wagon on its way into town. He decided to wait for it to pass.

The wagon turned out to be an ancient flatbed, with metal wheels and rubber tyres that probably dated back to before The Collapse. Wooden planks had been fixed to the sides and it was loaded up with root vegetables. There was nowhere to hide on it even if Shea had wanted to. There was no further traffic coming into town, and Shea used the receding wagon as cover while he darted across the road.

 
The far side of the road was a patchwork of fields and hedges. There was some cover, but not much, provided he stayed close to the hedge line. The first field he came to was filled with oilseed rape, its tall tough stems breaking out in bright yellow blooms. The sight was cheering, and he pushed through staying close to the edge, but even so, the pungent smell made his eyes water.

He looked back towards the town, and could clearly see the folly tower in the distance.

Damn!

If he could see that, then anyone at the top of it could see him and raise the alarm. He had a head start, but the view from the tower was such that he’d be visible for many miles around. All he could hope for was that they didn’t look too hard in his direction. They’d be looking for someone on the run, so the best thing to do was not look like he was on the run. Slow down, take it easy, stay on the far side of the hedges.

There was a farm ahead; Shea figured that if he could make it to the buildings, he’d be hidden and could then work his way around to the far side of several low hills. This would get him away from the eyes in the tower, and then he’d be in the clear.

Once out of sight, he was able to make good progress. So far there had been no sign of pursuit, but Shea didn’t expect that to last. He reached the Swindon road several miles to the west of the town, little more than a track this far from Oxford, but again there was no traffic. His plan was to make his way back to the derelict cottage beyond the railway and hole up there. Frank Bumpenny had hopefully made contact with the Scavs, and they’d be sending an aircraft to pick him up. The giant white horse carved into the hillside signalled the rendezvous point, so he wanted to stay nearby.

But first he headed west. He wanted to grab a ride on a cart, or something that would hide his scent in case Mayor Griffin did have tracker dogs that he could put on the trail. His scent would potentially last several days, so there was ample opportunity for the mayor to come after him.

Eventually someone came along the road, but it was not the vehicle he’d hoped for. It was a chopped off pickup being pulled by a cart horse, and it was going the wrong way, back towards Faringdon, but a few coins and the driver was quite happy for the strange man with the rucksack to get a ride in the back.

It turned out the man was on his way to Oxford to meet up with his family, and he wasn’t going to stop in Faringdon. This was ideal, because the thugs would not be expecting him to reverse his direction; they’d believe that he’d picked up a ride and headed towards the wilds of Swindon.

There was a tense moment as they crossed the open area in front of the town gate, but the guard was evidently not part of the mayor’s cadre as they ignored the passing traffic. Some way past the town, Shea jumped off the back of the pickup, wished the man good day and disappeared into the woods.

By evening, Shea had gone some considerable distance. He set up camp in a clearing close to a stream, but didn’t light a fire in case anyone was watching out for it. He ate cold food from his pack, and slept with his back to a tree.

The next morning there was a light drizzle when Shea woke. He was stiff and damp and cold, and a little miserable. He struck camp as quickly as he could and set off once more.

Later that day he crossed the remains of the ancient railway line and reached the base of the ridge. He followed the ridge until he came to the old cottage. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

Shea set up a routine. Each morning he’d leave the cottage, taking care to hide any trace of his occupation, and climb to the top of the ridge. A prehistoric fortification gave him some protection from the wind and cover from prying eyes, while still allowing him to scan the horizon. Then in the evening he’d climb back down again, check his traps and hunker down for another night in the cottage.

The rescue aircraft would land along the ridge and pick him up, but he would have to signal it; no signal and it would stay away. Away to the north he could see the town of Faringdon, nestling amongst the farms and woods. On the morning of the second day he thought he could see smoke over the town, as if there had been a big fire, but it cleared eventually, and by the third day there was no more smoke.

On the morning of the fourth day, Shea saw a speck in the sky out to the west. He watched it for a while and it seemed to be coming straight towards him. It looked too big to be a bird, so, grinning broadly, he took the signalling mirror from his pack and sighted it on the speck. The speck got closer and soon he could see the triangular delta shape of the wing. He waved and jumped up and down, whooping wildly as it passed low over the ridge before turning back to land. Shea wondered who the pilot was; even at this distance he couldn’t make out anything other than faded red overalls and a leather helmet.

The sky-kart touched down, bouncing along the ridge as it slowed down. Shea ran after it, yelling and cheering, but making sure he stayed well clear of the spinning propeller at the back. It wouldn’t do to be rescued only to be chopped into mincemeat at the very last second.

‘Trust my luck to have to come and rescue your sorry arse!’ the pilot called, once the sky-kart had come to a stop. The pilot jumped out and ran across to him.

‘Bry? Is that you?’ Shea recognised the voice of his old buddy. ‘Boy are you a sight for sore eyes.’ He gave the other man a big bear hug. ‘I’ve had one massive adventure and you’re never going to hear the end of it!’ He grinned. ‘But let’s get out of here, I’m gagging for a shower and a hot meal!’

The two men climbed back into the sky-kart and moments later the aircraft rolled along the grassy ridge top and lifted into the sky. He was saved.

THE LARGE BLACK coach carrying Adam and the two Kingsmen slowed as it approached the imposing rampart surrounding Oxford. He’d tried explaining to them that it was all a misunderstanding, that he’d been trying to bring the radio to them and had been intercepted, but they just growled at him and told him to keep quiet.

He’d wondered why–if he was a prisoner–they hadn’t bothered to tie him up or handcuff him. He tried to open the door and escape, but even though there was no obvious sign of a lock, the door simply didn’t budge. The two Kingsmen just sat and watched his efforts in silence until he gave up in disgust. Obviously that was why they hadn’t bound him. Eventually he sat back and actually started enjoying the ride. The coach was incredibly smooth despite the roughness of the road, and he found he could barely even hear the horses, although he knew them to be there.

At the city gate, the coach barely stopped, some unseen signal passing between the driver and the Watchmen on duty. Adam now caught glimpses of the city through the window as the coach rolled through the streets. Stone buildings, brick buildings, market stalls, people; more people than Adam had ever seen in one place. And the stench… Adam’s nose wrinkled.

A few minutes later, the coach came to a stop.

‘Out, boy!’ the Kingsman barked, and Adam scrabbled for the door handle. This time the door opened.

He’d barely got down from the coach when the door slammed and it headed off. He looked around and saw he was in a large gravelled courtyard, surrounded on three sides by ornate gothic stone walls, and on the fourth by tall metal railings and a gate to the street.
 

‘Don’t stand there like a bloody tourist!’ a voice shouted from a doorway. ‘Get your backside over here and report. On the double!’

Adam looked towards the doorway and saw a uniformed figure, clearly female, beckoning him. He trotted towards her.

‘Well, don’t leave your effing bags behind!’ the figure yelled.

Adam stopped, confused, and the figure pointed behind him. He turned and saw a small trunk on the ground, near the place the coach had stopped. He went back and dragged the trunk over to the figure.

‘Look, there’s obviously been some mistake,’ Adam said, ‘Only, I was supposed to join the Watch, but there was some mix up with a…’ he hesitated, not sure how much he ought to tell her. He settled for
not too much
. ‘…well, something, and these Kingsmen grabbed me and brought me here. I want to go home.’

‘Name?’ she asked.

‘Carter. Adam Carter,’ Adam said.

She consulted a list, and scanned down it before nodding. ‘Yup. You’re on the list. Says here you’re a recruit.’

Adam was confused. ‘Recruit? But I thought I’d been arrested. I wanted to join the Watch. It was my Choosing; they just dragged me off.’

‘Definitely says recruit here. You were recruited by…’ she whistled, ‘Lieutenant Dixon herself.’

Adam might have imagined it, but it seemed as if she straightened imperceptibly.

‘Chant. Dee Chant,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘But you can call me Corporal, or Corp.’

Adam wiped his hand on his trousers before proffering it.

‘Er, Adam Carter,’ he stuttered. ‘Do I salute?’

She looked at his hand briefly, then ignored it. ‘No, you don’t salute me, just the officers. We count as “other ranks”. Now, grab your trunk and follow me. Like it or not, you’re here for the duration.’

Adam was billeted in the attic of another building just around the corner. There were two rows of three simple wooden beds, each next to a tiny dormer window set into the slope of the roof. He was used to living in an attic; that was no different from his life back at the Crown Inn, but there he’d had his own room. Now he had to share with five other people, all of them strangers. The beds were all neatly made, with carefully folded sheets and blankets, except for one at the far end of the room, which just had a bare mattress. He dragged his trunk over to this one and sat down upon it.

‘Well, Adam my lad, I guess this one is yours,’ he said.
 

Corporal Chant had led him as far as the quartermaster’s store, where he’d picked up bedding, uniform and a bunch of things he couldn’t yet identify. Then he’d been pointed at the accommodation block and told, ‘You’re on the top floor. Get yourself squared away and get a good night’s sleep; you report for induction tomorrow at oh six hundred.’

‘New boy eh?’ Adam looked up. A tall, gangly figure in black fatigues was leaning against the door frame. He had a shock of black, curly hair and a grin that split his face from ear to ear. He came into the room and deposited a carryall onto one of the other beds.

‘Garrett. Kingsman Garrett,’ he said, thrusting out a hand. ‘And you are…’

‘Carter, Adam,’ said Adam, scrabbling to his feet and shaking hands. ‘I’m a bit new at this, don’t really know what’s going on, or what I’m doing here.’

Garrett looked him up and down with his piercing blue eyes. ‘You were recruited. Yes? Did the test and everything? You know, until today I was officially the youngest Kingsman ever recruited, but you look even younger than I was!’

‘It was my Choosing today,’ said Adam slowly, ‘I dunno about any test. I just went on the stage and these two Kingsmen grabbed me and said “Come with us”, and here I am. Wouldn’t tell me anything; just hit me with a stick if I said anything in the coach.’

‘Ah, a mystery. I love a mystery,’ said Garrett. ‘You’d better call me Socko, everybody does.’

Adam grinned. ‘Adam.’

‘So how did you get here if you didn’t take the test?’ Socko asked.

‘I didn’t even know there was a test,’ said Adam.

Socko unzipped his carryall and started transferring the contents to his locker. ‘Everyone has to take the test. No exceptions.’ He stopped unpacking and straightened up. ‘Maybe you didn’t realise… Did you ever meet any Kingsmen?’ he asked. ‘Before today, I mean.’

The radio. It had to be.

‘Well, there was this one time, at school,’ Adam said. ‘We went to the museum, and I got put into a room full of all kinds of crazy stuff, and got asked all kinds of questions about it. That was a Kingsman. She was well fit too.’ He made a gesture with his fist and grinned.

‘She?’ Socko asked. ‘Straight red hair?’ He straightened up, watching Adam intently.

‘Yeah. Do you know who she is?’

‘That’s Dixon,’ said Socko. ‘If she recruited you, you’re doomed man. Really sorry. Doomed.’

Adam swallowed nervously. ‘Corporal Chant said something about a Lieutenant Dixon on her form.’

‘Doomed,’ Socko repeated. He finished his unpacking and stretched out on his bunk, eyes closed and hands behind his head.