Mister Creecher (16 page)

Some miles into their journey, Billy noticed that the coach seemed to be picking up speed. The driver and his guard were passing a bottle between them and the driver whooped with delight as he flicked the reins and urged the horses on.

Billy got a better grip on the hoops and he saw that even Creecher was now looking concernedly at the trees hurtling past.

‘Oi!’ yelled Billy as a low branch whistled past his ear. ‘Slow down!’

He was not sure that either the driver or the guard heard him, but neither took the least bit of notice if they did. Instead the pair cackled like witches, and the coach raced onward, heading downhill through a wood, gaining speed all the time.

As it rounded a bend, Billy felt his side of the coach rise. He looked over the edge and saw the wheel lifting from the ground.

‘Slow down, you fool!’ he yelled to the driver. ‘You’ll have us over!’

The guard threw him a wild look, his flat face looking like a carnival mask. He laughed as the driver gave another flick of the reins. This time the wheel began to float and the coach to tip.

Billy had a strange weightless feeling for a few seconds. He saw the driver panic and struggle to regain control, but it was too late. The coach leaned and fell on to its side.

The lane was banked and, fortunately, treeless at this point, otherwise it would have fallen flat on its side and even been crushed with the weight of those inside and the luggage on top.

Creecher and Billy were flung free on to the bank while the horses dragged the coach on two slanted wheels until the driver could get them to stop.

Billy shook his head and rubbed his neck, and gingerly got to his feet. Creecher was already standing and seemed as unharmed as if he had simply stepped from the coach.

Billy ran to help the guard get the people out of the coach, while the driver calmed the horses. The passengers were shaken but seemingly unharmed. They were forced to climb out of the door on to the side of the bank, and slide down to the ground. While Billy helped an old man out, the passengers all gathered on the other side of the lane, staring back at the coach.

‘It’s going to take an age to get that righted,’ said the guard. ‘We’ll have to uncouple the horses and see if we can’t drag it on to its wheels. Hopefully they ain’t damaged – or the axle – otherwise we’ll have to ride into town and fetch help.’

‘And what are we supposed to do while you do that?’ said the woman passenger. ‘These woods are full of highwaymen and murderers.’

‘Maybe if we all got round behind it and shoved,’ a young soldier suggested.

‘Hah!’ said the old man. ‘You may be able to shove. You can’t expect me to do it – or the lady there.’

Suddenly there was a great creaking sound, and everyone turned to see the coach moving slowly towards them, until finally it landed back on all four wheels.

The lady began to applaud, and slowly everyone, including Billy, joined in. Creecher stood back and Billy could tell that he was bemused and touched, and a little embarrassed.

‘Bravo!’ said the lady. ‘He is a Hercules.’

She walked forward with the lamp.

‘Come on, sir,’ she said. ‘Don’t be shy –’ But she did not say anything else. She put her hand to her mouth in horror and staggered backwards. She screamed once – a sound so shocking in that dark and silent place that it seemed to rip through the air like a ragged blade. And then she dropped to the ground in a faint.

Her husband rushed to her side and stared at Creecher. Another passenger rushed forward and picked up the lamp she had dropped as she fell, and advanced on Creecher, who did not move an inch.

The others edged behind him as the light gradually illuminated the giant. He had removed his hat and scarf in his efforts with the coach and even Billy, who had seen him many times, shuddered at the face the lamp revealed, set against that gloomy place.

‘Sweet mother of –’

‘He’s some kind of monster,’ shouted the old man.

‘A devil more like,’ the guard muttered.

‘I sought only to help,’ said Creecher.

‘He’s French!’ cried the driver.

‘He ain’t French,’ said Billy.

‘I ought to know that accent,’ said the driver. ‘I was at Waterloo, fighting them bastards.’

‘He ain’t –’

‘Do something!’ yelled another.

The guard walked forward with his blunderbuss and aimed it straight at Creecher.

‘Hey!’ shouted Billy, rushing forward and standing in front of Creecher. ‘Why don’t we all calm down a bit, eh?’

‘He tried to kill my wife!’

‘He never touched your wife!’ Billy protested. ‘And have you all forgotten it was him who set the coach straight? Without him you’d all still be stranded here.’

‘It was the weight of him that probably turned us over,’ said the driver, and everyone murmured their agreement.

‘You brought the coach down, you lying bastard!’ yelled Billy at the driver. ‘I told you to slow down!’

‘The lad’s right,’ said one of the passengers. ‘You were driving too fast.’

Billy saw a flicker in the driver’s eyes and, while the man was clearly never going to accept responsibility for the incident, it did seem to stop him in his tracks and calm him a little.

‘Come on,’ he said, turning to the passengers. ‘Everyone back on board.’

‘What about them?’

‘Look,’ said the driver. ‘Do you want to get to Oxford, or do you want to stand here all night?’

After a small pause and some disgruntled muttering, the passengers returned to the coach. The guard, who had never once taken his eyes off Creecher, lowered his blunderbuss and followed them.

‘Thanks,’ Billy said to the driver.

‘You’ll have to make your own way from here,’ he replied.

‘What? You can’t just leave us here in the middle of nowhere.’

‘It ain’t that far. But even if it was, there ain’t no way you’re coming back on that coach. Try it and Jack will blow your face off.’

A stream of the foulest abuse Billy could muster burst from his lips and outlived the rumble of the coach wheels as they died away in the distance. Eventually Billy stopped yelling and stood, head bowed. An owl hooted in the woods nearby.

‘Come,’ said Creecher.

‘Shut up!’ Billy snapped. ‘Why do you have to be such a . . .’

He snarled and kicked a moss-covered branch and sent it tumbling into the darkness. Without the coachlights, the moon provided the only illumination to the scene.

‘You see how it is for me,’ said Creecher. ‘I try to help and –’

‘It’s always about you, isn’t it?’ said Billy. ‘Oh, poor me – I’m ugly and no one likes me. Boo hoo, boo hoo. Well, life ain’t a bowl of cherries for the rest of us neither!’

‘But you can live among them . . .’

Billy fumed for a few moments, unable to express his feelings. The truth was he had never felt part of ‘them’. He had never belonged.

‘Oh, yeah. I can get treated like filth,’ he replied. ‘I can starve or steal. I can hang. If you want someone to feel sorry for you, you’ve come to the wrong place.’

‘Yet you would not see me shot, mon ami,’ said Creecher.

‘Look what is that “monnamee” thing you keep saying? It’s getting on my nerves.’

‘My friend,’ said Creecher. ‘It means my friend.’

‘Ha!’ Billy snorted. ‘That’s funny.’

He started to walk in the direction the coach had taken, heading for the cover of the trees. Creecher stood motionless for a few moments, before following Billy into the moon shadows.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Billy and Creecher walked for a long time without speaking. The forest was dark and silent, save for the sound of their footfall and the occasional screech of an owl, or the frantic, rustling departure of some unseen creature in the undergrowth.

Branches clawed at Billy’s face and fanged brambles caught on his clothes. Billy flapped them away angrily and looked up at the blue-black sky visible between the latticework of twigs high above his head.

Billy had led the way, but quickly found that it was easier to walk behind Creecher, in the path that the giant cleared. He scowled as he walked, staring malevolently into the huge black shadow ahead of him, blacker than the night.

They continued like that for some time, neither of them saying a word. The trudge of their feet on the bracken was the only sound, and its steady beat had a hypnotic and calming effect on Billy. Gradually his anger subsided. It was Creecher who spoke first.

‘We should rest,’ he said gently, turning to Billy. ‘You should sleep.’

Billy could barely make out any features in the giant’s face, save for the faint blue glow of a smile.

‘I ain’t tired,’ said Billy, stifling a yawn, the last vestiges of grumpiness clinging to his voice.

‘Just a few hours. You will feel better.’

Billy sighed. He did not have the energy to argue. He still felt angry with Creecher for their situation and angry with himself for getting mixed up in whatever it was that he was mixed up in. But there seemed little point in forcing an argument with Creecher. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone out there in the middle of a forest.

With a dexterity, skill and speed that amazed Billy, Creecher gathered enough dry material to start a fire with flints he took from his coat for the purpose. Seemingly within moments they were squatting in front of a warming blaze, the sparks taking flight, like fireflies, to follow the coiling blue smoke’s journey towards the night sky.

‘How come you know how to do that?’ asked Billy, when he could no longer maintain his sulky silence.

‘I lived for a long time in the forest,’ Creecher said. ‘I needed warmth as you need warmth.’

‘How come you were in the forest, then?’

Creecher poked at the fire. Sparks flew around his head and his pallid face was lit by the yellow flames, making his eyes glow like hot coals.

‘When I ran away from Frankenstein’s laboratory,’ he said, a terse tone of bitterness in his voice, ‘I had to learn to live from the land.’

Creecher carried on gathering wood. Billy thought of how it had been when he had run away, so thankful to be away from the sweep, but so quickly aware that he might die on the streets, friendless and starving. The chill memory of it made him move closer to the fire’s warmth.

He remembered another boy telling him about Gratz and how he would let you stay in the dry of his warehouse if you ran a few errands for him. It took Billy a day or two to realise what these errands were and, by that time, he was a thief.

‘When I ran away, I had to find a living in the city,’ said Billy. ‘I suppose we both . . .’

Billy looked up to see Creecher walking off into the woods.

‘Oi!’ said Billy in a panic. ‘You just going to leave me here?’

‘I am going to fetch some food,’ said Creecher. ‘You must be hungry. Stay there. I won’t be long.’

Billy hunched himself up, edging a little closer to the fire. The darkness seemed to have swallowed Creecher whole and there was no sign of the giant at all. There was only the sound of Billy’s breathing and the flames’ crackle and hiss.

Creecher seemed to be gone an age and Billy kept slipping into sleep, just managing at one point to stop himself falling face first into the fire. He was just relieving himself against a nearby tree when the giant appeared in the firelight, making him start. He carried an armful of what looked like rotten vegetables.

‘What the hell is that?’ asked Billy. ‘I thought you’d gone for food.’

‘This is food,’ said Creecher.

‘Don’t look like it to me. I thought you was going to catch us a rabbit or something.’

‘I’ve told you before,’ said the giant, ‘I do not eat flesh.’

Creecher gathered his bounty and began skewering it on sticks to put into the flames to cook. He tossed a white root towards Billy, who caught it and eyed it suspiciously.

‘Eat,’ said Creecher, biting into a similar one. ‘They’re good.’

‘How do you know it’s not poisonous?’

‘It’s not, believe me.’

Billy took a tentative bite and raised his eyebrows. Creecher smiled.

‘Not bad,’ said Billy.

And the rest of Creecher’s assortment of roots, leaves, bulbs and berries were likewise surprisingly appetising. Billy sat back at the end, satisfied and full. Tiredness now overwhelmed him and, wrapping himself in his coat, he lay down.

His eyes grew heavy and Creecher’s massive form began to melt and warp in the heat haze from the fire. The giant shimmered like a ghost as Billy’s eyelids finally closed.