Petronella & the Trogot (6 page)

“No, he won't. If Lord Fortesque or his men as much as dare go anywhere near Percy, they'll have me to deal with. Now how much money did Mrs Trollope owe you?” Petronella said.

“Did? Be she dead?” the milkman asked.

“No, she be nat dead... No, I mean, she's not dead,” Petronella noticed that she had even begun talking like a Strincas.

“So if she be nat dead, where be she?” asked the milkman.

“She is not here now but I'm sure she'll be back later on,” Petronella answered.

“You doth talketh strange, ma'm, if ye doth nat mind myn saying so,” the milkman said. “Now how much of this wholesome milk doth I giveth ye, ma'm. Still nice and warm so be it, fresh from my prize cow Daisy,” he said as he unscrewed the lid off his churn. “Excuse me, ma'm, I must needs get on with myn rounds. Could ye goeth and get a tin-can?”

“What tin-can, sorry?” Petronella said.

“Well, the tin-can for me to ladleth myn milk into. Where doth I putteth the milk if ye doth nat getteth ye tin-can?”

Of course, Petronella hadn't thought of that. And, off she went to see if she could find a container. As she watched him pour the thick milk from his churn into her plastic jug, she noticed that there were still cows' hairs in the milk. The milk was like cream. Not exactly the skinny milk Petronella was used to.

“That be enough, I can only giveth ye a quarter pint. Mrs Trollope oweth me half a crown as it be. But I hath pity on the poor boy in there. He must needs some strength for that there hard work.”

“Now, you fill this container up, Mr Milkman, and I'll give you ten pounds.”

“Ten pounds? That be a fortune, ma'm,” he said.

“This is a new ten-pound note, you may not have seen one like this before. But I can assure you it's real,” said Petronella.

“It sure looketh good to me,” said the Milkman, as he pushed it into his trouser-pocket. Off he went back into the woods chuckling to himself. “And, what be thy name, ma'm,” he shouted back.

“Petronella. And yours?”

“I be Pepin. Pepin, The Dairyman,” he shouted back, as he waved to Petronella, mounted his horse and disappeared into the woods.

 

 

Back in the village a group of Strincas peasants were heading for Farmer Giles's house, angrily waving their pitch-forks. It was indeed in this Manor House that Lord Fortesque had spent his summers playing croquet with his family in the large grounds complete with duck ponds and sparkling streams.

The peasants thought it was very strange that no guards were standing at the wrought iron gates. They couldn't believe how easy it was to surround the house.

“Cometh out, ye evil man. Ye soldiers hath killeth our families and friends. Cometh out if ye hath the guts,” one of them shouted out towards the house.

Farmer Giles took a peep from behind his silk curtains. What he saw was a scene from times gone by. Ragged men wearing patched-up trousers, tatty tunics and broken straw hats. In another setting they would have been quaint, but not here and now. Those nasty pitch-forks swaying backwards and forwards did not look at all friendly. A couple of the most hot-blooded peasants started throwing stones at Farmer Giles's windows. Indeed, they broke the window behind which Farmer Giles was spying on them. He was hit in the chest. The shout he let out was heard by the peasants. They broke in through a downstairs window and quickly ran up the stairs, ready to give Farmer Giles a good hiding. Bursting into his bedroom, they grabbed Farmer Giles from behind, thrust him onto a chair and tied him up tightly.

“Ah, Lord Fortesque, we hath at last got the better of ye. A long time I hath waiteth for this. I never thinketh I would seeth this day,” said the leader of the peasants.

“What the heck, get out of my house you good-for-nothing louts. How dare...?” Here Farmer Giles was cut off. The peasants had stuffed an old neckerchief of his in his mouth to stop him talking.

“Quick!” said the leader. “Go looketh for all the silver, jewels, and money ye can findeth. We must needs giveth it back to the poor folk of our village. These are the riches madeth from the sweat and blood that hath poured from our bodies. We must needs getteth back what belongeth to us!”

The peasants went off and ransacked the house throwing everything they could find into their sacks. “Here, looketh ye at all this food in the pantry. This shall feedeth the lot of us for a few days.”

When they had taken all they could carry, they ran off leaving Farmer Giles fuming, swinging around on the chair trying to untie himself. But it only resulted in his tipping over backwards. And there he lay on his own, looking up at his fancy decorated ceiling, grunting through the neckerchief.

 

 

After a most lovely day, spent with Percy and Maalox, Petronella was doing the washing up. Percy had gobbled down the shepherd's pie she'd made for him. He was still licking his lips. She'd also managed to talk him into taking a warm bubble bath and had been shopping for him. He now had two pairs of smart trousers and shirts, a pair of jeans, two T-shirts and a bomber jacket.
Percy said they were much nicer than the clothes he usually wore. He was expecting a new tunic and a smelly sheepskin waistcoat. His eyes widened at the steel-tipped army camouflage boots. He put them on right away. They were something else.
 

“Can I weareth them to goeth running in the woods?” he asked.

“We'll talk about that tomorrow,” Petronella promised. “For now, please put on these new pyjamas and go off to bed.”

“I used to goeth to bed in myn tunic. I just taketh the belt off,” Percy said.

“That's all changing now,” said Petronella. “You can't wear the same clothes day AND night. Come on. Put those pyjamas on and off you go to bed.”

Percy did as he was told. He couldn't believe his luck. How his life had changed for the better. He'd spent all day playing with Maalox, running around in the woods and splashing about in the lake. Though he missed his gran'ma. He didn't remember his parents that well because they died when he was five. Even if he saw them, he wasn't sure he'd recognise them.

As darkness came over Charis Cottage, Petronella heard a rustling sound outside her window. Percy was now fast asleep; she certainly did not want anyone waking him up. Could it be the wind in the trees again? She opened her curtains a little to get a glimpse of what was happening out there. As sure as her name was Petronella, she saw the figure of The Hooded Horseman standing there. She was now getting used to all these Strincas and wasn't at all frightened of them anymore.

“You can come in. I was expecting you but not quite so soon,” she said.

The figure made himself comfortable in Petronella's armchair.

“Well,” he began, “I hath cometh to ye to explain what ye duties be, Pe...tro...ne...lla. Because ye be THE CHOSEN ONE ye hath power over The Strincas. Ye can decideth what you wisheth. For example, which Strincas can continueth to liveth here in Fort Willow, or which of The Strincas must needs goeth back to the graves they was in. Nat only that, there be more. Ye be the only one who can maketh The Strincas see sense. They be hard-headed folk who do exactly what they liketh. But you can talketh them into doing what ye thinketh is best.”

“How do I do that?” Petronella asked.

“I hath here this special Metal Disc,” he said, taking out a round flat piece of metal about twice the size of an old penny piece. The Hooded Horseman handed it over to Petronella. She looked at it carefully. Both sides. It had TCO stamped on one side and a skull on the other.

“Pe...tro...ne...lla, all ye must needs do be to flasheth this Metal Disc in the faces of any Strincas and they shall be under your spell. But if ye flash the skull side at them, then they shall must needs goeth back to their burial place. Is that clear, Pe...tro...ne...lla?” The Hooded Horseman asked.

“Y
es, I suppose it is. Let me get this right. If I hold this Metal Disc up at them the TCO side, they will do what I say. But, if I hold it up and they see the skull side, they will go back to wherever they came from.”

“That be correct,
Pe...tro...ne...lla. The Strincas shall be all in ye power. But it doth nat worketh with me because I hath been the owner of The Metal Disc.”
 

“You Strincas seem such nice people. I don't see why I would want to get rid of you,” Petronella said.

“Believeth me, nat all of them be nice. Some of them can be quite cruel. Looketh at Lord Fortesque and his men who madeth Percy worketh so hard in the fields. Under the hot sun and during the freezing winter months. He worketh until his fingers bleedeth. And they beateth him if he stoppeth for a rest. Like him, many other children, too. Lord Fortesque also gaveth the order of the cruel beheadings that taketh place in the year 853. How can they be nice folk,
Pe...tro...ne...lla?” he asked.
 

“Will Lord Fortesque come back to life?” Petronella asked.

“Only The Strincas buried in the field shall cometh back here, if they be duggeth up. All the skeleton must needs be putteth together first. I be an exception.”

How was it that The Hooded Horseman knew about Percy? As if reading her mind he said:

“ Pe...tro...ne...lla, I know exactly who hath come backeth to life and who hath nat. But I cannat telleth ye who they be, or telleth ye what to do. You shall findeth out for yeself. Ye must needs only to use ye good sense to knoweth what to doth. I shall leave ye now, Pe...tro...ne...lla. I wish ye good luck. Please keepeth The Metal Disc in a safe place, if it be lost all The Strincas will stayeth in Fort Willow and ye shall not be able to control them anymore. Ye be the only one who hath the power to worketh the symbol because ye be THE CHOSEN ONE.”

“Can I just ask you about The Trogot? Please. This black tree is so creepy. It worries me, so much” she said.

But as Petronella looked up instead of seeing The Hooded Horseman she heard a horse's hooves fading away in the distance. The Hooded Horseman had gone. Where he had been standing was a large black branch with black raindrops sliding off its black leaves. Petronella was in no doubt, let it be clear. This branch came from The Trogot. She was about to pick the branch up and take it outside. But as she reached out for it, the branch moved away. Petronella was just so frightened. She ran after it, tried to grab it again. But it lifted itself up and stuck itself to a figure standing behind her. The branch had now become an arm of the black monster trudging around her house. Was this the smaller version of The Trogot? No time to think about that. She called out to it. Who are you? But the figure opened the door and walked out slowly, heavily shuffling its feet. She locked the door behind it.

Petronella rushed up into the spare bedroom to see if The Trogot was still there. She couldn't see it. It must have moved. She opened the window to get a better view. She still couldn't see it. So she leaned out and looked left then... she was gripped by hard tentacles, twigs scratched her face as she shook her head trying to free herself. The branches had wrapped themselves around her in a nasty tight hug. She couldn't move. Other branches locked themselves around her legs. Petronella found it hard to breath, a branch was now around her neck, tightening, tightening. She was gasping for air, tried to breathe in through her nose. But the air wouldn't go down as far as her throat. It was no good, she couldn't struggle anymore. She was now a limp body. Thank God, she fainted.

 

 

The next morning Percy looked all around the house for Petronella. Where was she? She was nowhere downstairs.

“PETRONELLA,” he shouted. “Where be ye?”

Hearing his voice, Petronella came to. Had she just woken up from a bad dream?

“PETRONELLA!” Percy's voice again.

“I'm here, in the spare room,” she called back, as loud as she could. Shouting made her chest ache. Could have been her lungs. She wasn't sure. Percy came into the room and helped Petronella onto the bed.

“Hath ye spendeth all night on the floor?” Percy asked.

“I don't know. I don't remember. I think I must have had a bad nightmare.”

“But why didst ye nat goeth to ye bed last night? And the window. It be open.” Percy looked at the window and said: “It be all scratched. And ye neck, Petronella, it be red-sore, like a rope hath been around it.”

“Then it must have been true,” said Petronella. “It was the branches. It was The Trogot.”

“What be The Trogot?” Percy asked.

“It's that big black tree behind the house. You can see it from this window. I leaned out last night to see if it was still there. As I did so, it attacked me. I think it nearly killed me.”

Percy looked out. He could see trees, but only green ones. “No, there be no big black tree out there, far as myn eyes can seeth.”

“It moves,” said Petronella, “sometimes it's there and at other times it isn't. What else can I say?”

Percy knew that Petronella was starting to have the same problems his mother had had. Though he was very small, he could still remember that his mother was terrified by the black tree she said she could see from the same bedroom window. And she was too frightened to go to bed at night. Darkness was her enemy. Percy remembered his father telling her to stop being silly. That she wasn't to worry. Now Petronella had this fixed idea as well.

“What's the matter, Percy? What are you thinking about?” Petronella asked.

“It be nothing,” Percy answered. “Nothing, Petronella.”

 

 

For Percy's sake, Petronella got up and was determined to go about her housework as usual. She had to act normally, though she really did not feel well.

She noticed The Metal Disc The Hooded Horseman had given her the night before. It was still lying on the table.