The Owl Killers (43 page)

She flushed crimson and began to walk away.

“That’s right,” I yelled after her. “Go off in a sulk and pretend to be lost now, so that we’re forced to look for you. Well, I for one won’t bother. You can stay out here until you starve, for all I care!”

She did not turn.

God in Heaven, would this rain never stop? What on earth had possessed Servant Martha to drag Healing Martha out here in the middle of a tempest? Both of them should have had more sense. Servant Martha had given no explanation when she returned. She looked a hundred years old in the lantern light, all drabbled and drawn. When we asked her questions, it was as if she didn’t understand us. She walked through us like a ghost. Pega said she thought Servant Martha had broken her arm. I caught a glimpse of it, and the wrist did seem bent at an unnatural angle, but she wouldn’t allow anyone to look at it.

Somewhere deeper in the copse I heard Leon barking excitedly, followed by shouts and whistles. They’d found something. I barged through undergrowth in the direction of Leon’s barks. Pega and Merchant Martha were crouched over what looked like a heap of old clothes. Shepherd Martha was pulling Leon aside, patting and praising him as his tail wagged frantically. But all I could see was a pair of worn muddied shoes. The feet in the shoes were not moving. The other women stood a little way off, silent and holding one another.

“Is she … ?” I blurted out as I reached them.

Merchant Martha glanced up. “She’s in a bad way. Catherine,
Osmanna—fetch the bier. Hurry, we must get her back, before she perishes from cold. She’s lain in this rain all night. Move yourselves.”

Osmanna jerked into action and ran past me. Catherine followed. The others continued to stand and stare. What was wrong? Why didn’t they try to help her? I moved closer to peer over Pega’s shoulder, then clapped my hand to my mouth to stop a scream escaping.

Healing Martha was filthy, her grey hair wet and matted with twigs and dirt. But it was not her appearance that horrified me—it was her face. Flushed and contorted, it was not a human face but a grotesque, mocking caricature of the face I knew. Her left eye was open wide staring at us, but her lid drooped down over her right eye, closing it. Her mouth was twisted down at the corner; a stream of vomit and saliva had run unchecked down her neck. She made a gargling sound. Merchant Martha tried to lift up the poor woman’s head and shoulders to help her swallow, but it made little difference. Healing Martha’s breath rasped like a dog strangling on a leash.

“What happened? Has she been attacked?” I asked.

Merchant Martha shook her head. “No blood or bruises to speak of, at least not on her head anyway. She’s been struck down, that’s for certain, but not by any human hand.”

Healing Martha’s right arm hung limp, the other scrabbled at Merchant Martha’s cloak. The good side of her mouth worked furiously, dragging the paralysed side into a series of hideous grimaces. A meaningless series of noises crawled out from somewhere in her throat.
“Ga. Gar.”

Merchant Martha and I looked at each other.

“What is she trying to say?
God?”
I bent close to her. “God has answered your prayers, Healing Martha, we will soon have you home.”

“Gar! Gar!”
Healing Martha pounded her fist against the ground.

Merchant Martha shook her head. “Her wits have gone, poor soul.”

Pega pushed me aside and laid the bier down next to her. “Merchant Martha, you take the head. Beatrice, can you manage the legs?” She wriggled her arms under Healing Martha’s body. “Catherine, take her right arm and hold it up out of the way. Come on, Catherine, she’ll not hurt you! Oh, get out of the way, lass! Let Osmanna do it. Ready? Gently now, lift.”

Healing Martha’s legs flopped limply in my hands. She had wet herself. I could smell it, even though her clothes were soaked with rain. I only hoped Merchant Martha was right and Healing Martha was not sensible of her state. But as we bound her to the bier, I saw that she was weeping.

w
ATER
’
S UP TO THE CURRANT BUSHES NOW
,” William yelled from the doorway

I scrambled over to the door. The rain was still pouring down outside. Brown muddy water was swirling round the bushes at the edge of our herb patch. The last time I looked out, it had only been up as far as the big stone on the edge of the road. I couldn’t even see where the road was anymore.

“Mam, Mam, where are you?” I wailed. She’d been gone ages. What if she couldn’t get back to the house ’cause of the water? I tried to squirm past William to go outside and look for her, but he grabbed my braid and pulled it until I squealed.

“Get back inside, Pisspuddle, Mam says I’m not to let you out.”

“But I want to see where Mam is! She might be lost!”

“She’s not lost, you daft beggar. She’s trying to collect up the hens afore they drown.”

I was still struggling to get past him when Mam splashed round the side of the house with an old wicker basket in her arms. Its broken handle was bound up with a piece of yellow rag.

“What are you two fighting about now? I swear you’ll be the death of me. Standing there with the door wide, in this wind, you’ll have the hinges ripped off. Get inside, both of you.”

Mam pushed us back in the house with the basket. I could hear clucking from inside.

“Did you rescue Bryde, Mam?” I tried to lift the wicker lid, but Mam slapped my hand away.

“Don’t let them out again, girl. It’s been hard enough catching them. I only managed to get three of them. Rest have taken to the trees and the water’s round the trunks now. I can’t reach them. They’ll just have to take their chances out there.”

“But you did get Bryde, didn’t you?”

“Chickens are chickens; be thankful I got any,” Mam snapped.

I ran to the door and pulled it open. The wind and rain rushed in again, sending everything rocking in the cottage. Mam grabbed me and hauled me back inside, slamming the door. I fought her, trying to wriggle out of her hands.

“I have to find Bryde,” I wailed. “She’s only little; she won’t know what to do. She’ll drown if I don’t rescue her.”

“I’ve got Bryde safe in the basket; now stop fretting,” Mam said. “And I thought I told you to tie up the blankets. We have to hang everything we can from the beams, keep it out of the water, case it comes into the cottage. Come on, William, don’t stand there gawping. You stuff the gap under the door with rushes from the floor, tight as you can. Hurry now.”

IT WAS DARK
save for the tallow candle flickering on the iron spike in the wall. Mam, William, and me sat all bunched up together on the bare bed boards. Mam was clutching the wicker basket with the hens inside. It was so cold. Mam had wrapped a blanket round me, but I couldn’t stop shivering. The noise outside was so loud now it was like we were in the middle of the river. I wished Father was home. He wasn’t afraid of anything and if he was here, Mam wouldn’t be scared either. But Father wouldn’t be back from the salterns for three more days. And the water was already inside the cottage. At first we hadn’t seen it creep in. Then William had yelled, “Look, Mam! The rushes!”

I stared hard at the rush-covered floor. It looked the same as it always did, but then I saw rushes moving; the water had crept up underneath them and they were floating.

“What if it reaches the top of the bed, Mam?” I said.

“It won’t,” Mam said. “It’s come in afore and it’s never been more than hand deep. It’ll not rise any higher.”

But it had. The rushes were almost floating up to the top of the bed now, but still we sat there. I wondered if the bed would start to float soon. Little trickles of cold water were running over the boards and wetting my skirts. Mam’s eyes were closed and she was whispering something over and over. I wanted her to open her eyes and look, but I didn’t dare speak, for if she stopped praying the water would get even higher.

I was praying too. “Mam, make it stop, make it go away.”

There was a huge bang as something crashed against the door of the cottage. The walls shook. Mam jerked upright. She crossed herself and pushed the blanket off me.

“We have to get out. Now.”

“We can’t, Mam,” William sounded terrified. “If we open the door, more water will come in.”

“Out the window at the back.” Mam tugged me off the bed. I yelled as I sank into icy water up to my knees. I could feel the rushes bobbing round my legs like spiders scuttling over my skin. Mam reached for William and pulled him off the bed into the water. We splashed across the floor.

When Mam flung back the shutters on the small window, the wind tore into the house and at once the tallow candle went out. And we were in the dark. I yelped again as something hard bobbed against my leg. I couldn’t see what it was.

“You first, William. Get out and then grab hold of your little sister when I push her out.”

William heaved himself over the edge of the window sill and wriggled through. There was a faint splash from the other side.

“William, are you all right?”

His head appeared. “All right, Mam.” We could hardly hear him over the sound of the rain and rushing water.

“Here—grab hold of your sister’s arms.”

Mam tried to heave me over the sill. The sharp edge of the window dug into my ribs.

“No, Mam! No, it hurts! I want to stay with you!”

I tried to pull away, but William’s strong hands had tight hold of my wrists. Mam gave a great heave. I yelled and fell headfirst into the
freezing muddy water, swallowing a great mouthful. I was spluttering, but the next moment William had hauled me upright again. The water was over my knees and so fast I had to cling tight to William to stand still.

Mam leant out of the window. “It’s no good. I’ll not get out this way. The window’s too small. I’ll have to get out the door. Take your sister up to the church. It’s higher ground there.”

“No, Mam, we’ll wait here for you.” William sounded really scared.

“I’ll not be able to get back round to you.” Mam reached out and touched his cheek. “I’ll meet you at the church. Off with you now. Be a brave lad, make your father proud.”

I heard William’s teeth chattering. Mine were too. He grabbed my hand so tight it hurt. “Come on, you heard Mam.”

“Don’t let go of your sister, William, don’t let go!” Mam called after us.

I turned round to wave at her, but there was no one there. The dark square of the window was empty.

Ahead we could see the black shapes of the cottages at the back of ours. William was dragging me towards the gap between them. I kept stumbling over things I couldn’t see under the cold black water. Something tangled round my legs. I screamed and screamed that it was a snake, but William reached down and pulled it away.

“Shut up,” he ordered. “It’s only an old bit of rope.”

Then we were out from between the cottages. It was so dark. The rain was smashing into my face and I could hardly breathe. Floating things kept crashing into our legs, soft hairy things that made me shudder, hard scratchy things that really hurt. I knew I’d cut my hands and my legs. I could feel the stings, but I couldn’t see if there was blood.

The water was swirling round me and kept tugging me backwards. It was much deeper now, up to my waist. I couldn’t stand up against it. I was sobbing and hanging onto William’s hand. He bent down.

“Climb onto my back. I’ll piggy you.”

My legs and arms were so cold it took ages to get up. I clamped my fingers round his neck.

He bent forward, pushing through the water. We were wading up the road, except it wasn’t a road anymore, it was a river. William kept
slipping. Several times he fell to his knees and the freezing water would splash over my head. I knew he was getting tired. He was going more and more slowly. What if he couldn’t get us there?

Ahead of us I saw some other shapes splashing along. I couldn’t see who they were; it was too dark. Maybe one of them was Mam. She’d come back to get us. “Mam, Mam!” I yelled, trying to make her hear over the wind and roar of water. But no one stopped. No one came. The shapes disappeared.

I didn’t know where we were anymore. It wasn’t that far to the church; why weren’t we there already? Maybe we were going the wrong way. The rain was falling so hard that I couldn’t open my eyes properly to look. I squinted around. There was a faint glow in the darkness ahead. It seemed to be floating high up, appearing and vanishing again through the rain.

William almost fell again. “Have … to get down … can’t carry you any … more.”

My hands were so cold they wouldn’t come apart, but he prised them off his neck and I slid down, whimpering, into the icy water. He grabbed my hand.

The black oily water was creeping up to my armpits. It was too heavy to walk through. My legs were so cold they wouldn’t move properly.

“I can’t … William … I can’t walk.”

“You can … See, there’s the churchyard wall. All you have to do is get to the wall … then you don’t have to walk anymore … Come on.”

He was pulling me forward. Then something hit me hard in the side, knocking me backwards. My head went under the water. I was choking and thrashing. I couldn’t stand up. William still had hold of my hand, but the water was dragging me away from him. I thought my arm was going to break.

“Hold on to me!” William screamed, but I couldn’t. I could feel William’s fingers slipping out of my hand. My slippery webbed fingers couldn’t curl round his.

“Help me,” William was yelling. “I can’t hold her.”

I was so cold, I didn’t want to hold on anymore. Maybe I was turning into a frog or a mermaid. My feet were growing webs just like my hand. I’d swim away right down the river to the sea where Father was.
I couldn’t hear William anymore, just a funny booming noise. I was sinking down and down.

Something heavy was splashing in the water beside me. The next moment I was swept up in thick hairy arms and the water was pouring away from me in a big torrent. I was coughing and spluttering.

“I’ve got her, lad.” John the blacksmith was carrying me into the church.

He set me down, but my legs wouldn’t work. I crumpled onto the rushes, and was sick. I heaved again and again. Finally I stopped. My belly ached and my throat was burning. I sat up shivering and blinking in the candlelight.