The War of the Grail (8 page)

The wind continued to wail outside and the rain battered against the shutters. But, for the moment, they were alive and safe – and a faint cord of hope still led off into the darkness ahead of them.

Lightning flickered overhead. The flash filtered through the hooded smoke-hole, the cracks in the window shutters and the edges of the door frame. Jack lay on his back in the dark, waiting for the thunder. After a few seconds, the heavy crack split the sky and rolled away across the valley. As the sound faded, he again heard the splatter of the rain on the muddy ground outside.

Saleem snored on the other side of the hut, but Jack lay awake, unable to sleep. His thoughts were as turbulent as the storm outside. He remembered Sir Alfred the last time he’d seen him three months ago, in Newcastle … Then Jhala at the battle of Ragusa … Then Katelin on her deathbed, reaching out to him with her weak hand …

He imagined an army swarming over the green hills of Shropshire. He pictured Folly Brook on fire …

Another flash of lightning lit up the rafters for a second. Thunder grumbled shortly afterwards.

Jack shut his eyes. He had to rest.

Then he heard a scratching sound.

His eyes shot open and he sat up instantly. All his senses quivered into life. He listened intently. The rain pattered and slurped. The wind whined. But there was nothing else.

Had he imagined the sound?

Saleem snuffled and turned over on his bed of straw. Jack eased himself back down. He must have imagined the noise.

But then it came again. He was certain this time. It sounded as though something were scraping lightly against the door.

He crouched and stared into the shadows. Was someone there? Who would come at this hour? If it were someone from the village, they would have knocked more loudly.

Slowly, carefully, he eased himself up. He avoided rustling the straw even slightly – although, with the storm whirling outside, it was hardly likely anyone would be able to hear him.

The scratching sound came again. A slow scrape that lasted for only a few seconds.

He crept across the floor towards the door. Once again, he was a tracker and an army scout, sneaking through the forest behind enemy lines. His eyes searched the dark for any sign of movement. His ears sifted through the sounds of the storm.

He reached the doorway, crouched beside it. He studied the thin gap between the bottom of the door and the ground. The faintest trace of moonlight, like a hint of breath, drifted under the door.

He bent closer, stared harder. And then he saw it – a shadow that was no more than a slight darkening in the centre of the gap.

There was someone on the other side of the door.

He shot straight back up again, his heart beating faster and a light sweat filming his forehead.

Whoever was there couldn’t have good intentions if they were lurking outside in the middle of a storm. At the same time, they’d scratched at the door and alerted him. Why would they do that if they wanted to sneak in and attack or steal?

None of this made any sense.

He snatched a look around him, and his eyes locked on the two muskets hanging on the wall. Neither of them was loaded, but he could use their knives. Still, they would be cumbersome and he would have to cross the room to get to them. There was no lock on the door – whoever was on the other side could enter at any moment.

His knife. It was in the chest behind him.

He turned, edged the lid of the chest up and felt around inside. His hand slid amongst the old clothes and blankets and finally touched cold steel. There it was. He felt along the blade and found the handle.

Holding the knife in one hand, he stole across to the nearest window. If he got the shutter open and stuck his head out, he would be able to see whoever was at the door. He might even be able to slip out unnoticed and attack the person.

He paused when he reached the window and glanced back at the door. From this angle he could no longer make out the telltale shadow of the person on the other side, but he could hear, once again, the faint scratching. And there was something else now. He thought he could hear a voice, a whisper.

Was the person outside speaking?

He shook his head. Perhaps he’d imagined the voice. He must have.

He lifted the latch and slid one of the shutters open just a fraction. The dark night was alive with rain. Trees tossed and swayed a few yards away. But from this position he couldn’t see the doorway.

He would have to open the shutter wider. That could risk alerting whoever was outside. But he had to do it.

His heart quickened as he edged the shutter open further and inched his head out. The wind howled and blasted rain in his face. The droplets beat in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Blinking away the moisture, he looked along the side of the cottage … and saw a figure hunched beside the door.

So, he’d been right. But what was the person doing? Listening? Waiting for Jack to come out?

Whatever the case, Jack would have to take a closer look.

The figure’s head appeared to be turned away, so Jack lifted himself up, swung his legs over the window sill and splashed down into the mud outside. The rain battered him, drenching his nightshirt and plastering it to his back. His hair was stuck to his scalp.

He tightened his grip on the knife and crept forward. The mud squelched and sucked beneath his naked feet, but there was little chance of him being heard over the wind.

The figure didn’t move. Good. Jack hadn’t been seen. All he had to do now was sneak forward a few more feet and then he could pounce.

He moved faster, the rain pouring over him. A flash of lightning lit up the walls of the huts nearby for a second. More thunder racked the sky.

The figure remained still.

And now Jack could see that the person was sprawled before the door, as if they’d collapsed. They appeared to be wearing an overcoat and some sort of hat.

Jack froze. That was no hat. It was a turban. A scarlet, army-issue, officer’s turban.

The figure was a Rajthanan.

Why had a Rajthanan officer sneaked into Folly Brook? A dark thought crossed Jack’s mind – had the army already arrived in Clun? That was unlikely. They couldn’t have marched from Ludlow in such a short space of time. And in any case, why would an officer come all the way to Folly Brook alone?

Jack couldn’t wait any longer for answers. He charged the last few feet, leapt upon the man and held the knife to his throat. The man was strangely limp and offered no resistance. He did nothing other than give a low moan.

‘Who are you?’ Jack shook the man.

The figure groaned again and slowly turned his turbaned head.

Jack recognised the thin, bearded features through the slanting rain.

It was Kanvar.

The Sikh’s face was gaunt and his cheeks were streaked with dirt. But he was unmistakeable. His eyes wandered about, as if he were drunk, before they finally focused on Jack.

Jack dropped the knife in surprise, and it plopped into a puddle. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

The rain beat against the side of Kanvar’s face and dribbled down from his beard. He opened his eyes wider, gripped Jack’s shirt and tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a hoarse croak. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed against the door.

E
lizabeth placed a blanket over Kanvar’s shoulders. The Sikh sat shivering before the flames in Elizabeth and Godwin’s hut. His sodden tunic, cummerbund and trousers had been removed and he instead wore a loose nightshirt that Godwin had lent to him.

Elizabeth went to untie his turban, but he raised his hand to stop her.

‘But it’s soaked through,’ Elizabeth said.

‘It is all right,’ Kanvar said. ‘A Sikh must wear a turban.’

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and flicked a look across at Jack. Jack nodded at her to leave the turban. He knew the Sikhs had as many strange customs as the Rajthanans.

The storm outside had eased, but the rain still rattled on the shutters and the wind still whined through the cracks in the walls.

Jack cast his eye around the fire. The little group that had been sitting about the hearth a few hours earlier – Saleem, Elizabeth and Godwin – had reassembled. Jack hadn’t wanted to wake them, but he’d needed help with Kanvar, who’d seemed near death.

At least Kanvar was now less pale and was able to sit upright unaided.

‘You’re looking better,’ Jack said.

Kanvar stared back with his wide, fish-like eyes. ‘I’m fine.’

‘What happened to you?’

‘I became weak. I had to use many powers in order to get here. I had so little strength that I was unable to even open the door to your cottage.’

‘You’re lucky I heard you out there. And why were you wearing that Rajthanan uniform?’

‘A disguise. I can no longer wear the uniform of a Sikh anywhere in England. It has become too dangerous. Vadula’s forces are spread too widely. Too many spies …’

Kanvar’s voice trailed off and he stared into the flames. The fire wheezed and smoked as the green wood burnt.

Jack cleared his throat. ‘You took your time coming back.’

Kanvar started, as if he’d been woken from a dream. He gazed at Jack and the others in turn, as if seeing them for the first time. Finally, he said, ‘I am sorry it took me so long to return.’ He looked down. ‘After I left, I faced many obstacles which prevented me from coming back. It was difficult for me to come here even now. But I knew I must.’

‘Why? Why have you come back?’

Kanvar frowned. ‘I promised that I would. Also, I wanted to know whether you were alive, Jack.’

Jack half smiled. ‘As you can see, I am. I managed to use Great Health in the end. It saved me.’

‘That is very good. I had been wondering how far you had progressed.’

‘Progressed?’

Kanvar glanced at the others, then stared at Jack again. ‘Do they know about your special ability?’

‘You can talk openly here,’ Jack said.

‘Good.’ Kanvar looked at the fire again, seemingly transfixed. He said nothing further.

Jack shot a look at the others. They were all frowning as they stared at the Sikh. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at Jack again.

‘Kanvar,’ Jack said. ‘What do you mean about me progressing?’

Kanvar looked up in surprise once more. He licked his lips and then seemed to remember where he was. ‘Oh yes. I wanted to know whether you had mastered your special ability yet. Whether you could now use it at will.’

Jack scratched the back of his neck. ‘Unfortunately not. I used Great Health in Scotland. Then I used Find Water last week. But every other time I’ve tried to learn a new yantra, I’ve failed. I can’t control my ability.’

‘I see.’ Kanvar nodded slowly. ‘There is no pattern to it?’

‘Not that I can see.’

‘Ah. It remains a mystery. I perhaps had hoped for too much. At least you are alive.’

‘I’m alive, but we’re in a bad situation. The army have invaded.’

‘Yes, I know. I saw many English soldiers on the move as I made my way through Shropshire. But I will do all I can to help.’ Kanvar patted his satchel, which lay on the floor beside him. ‘I have brought more war yantras. For your students.’

‘I’m not sure the students will have much time to learn them,’ Jack said. ‘But thank you. We need all the help we can get at the moment.’

‘Indeed. Things are very bad. Unfortunately, I cannot stay long. I must leave by tomorrow night.’

‘That’s a pity,’ Jack said. ‘One day isn’t much time.’

‘I know,’ Kanvar replied. ‘But I have an … important matter to attend to.’

‘What important matter?’

Kanvar frowned and stared into the fire. His lips worked, as if he were muttering to himself, although he made no sound.

‘Kanvar,’ Jack said. ‘What important matter?’

Kanvar kept his eyes fixed on the flames and spoke slowly. ‘I must go to Scotland. I am looking for something.’

Jack sat back. ‘That’s strange. Saleem and I were in Scotland just a few months ago. We were also looking for something. The Grail.’

Kanvar looked up quickly. ‘That is a strange coincidence.’ He rubbed his beard. ‘The Grail. An old story, I believe. Did you find it?’