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Taking care to retain the cover afforded by the trees and the shrubbery, as well as keeping myself crouched low, I made my way in an awkward gait along the outer edge of the garden until I came to a spot where a denser clump of planting and the tall, weather-beaten stump of a felled tree gave me a good place to hide. From there I had a decent, if fog restricted, view of both the front and rear doors. While I waited for Selkman to return, for I wanted him inside the house, I began to turn over several possibilities for some feasible scheme that would give me the upper hand in the coming struggle.
It was close on fifteen minutes later that I heard the soft tread of footsteps coming up the drive to my right; a long stride that warned me of Selkman’s approach. It was him I saw emerge through the fog close to the house. Although I was confident I could not be seen, instinct still caused me to crouch lower and deeper into my cover, as if I feared just the scent of me would alert him to my presence. For one breath-stopping moment I thought he had heard me and was intent on carrying out a search, for, just short of the front door, he stopped and turned, peering through those harsh, searching eyes of his for some sign of his quarry. But, after a moment, he turned back and entered the house through the front door, shutting it with barely a sound, and I breathed freely once more.
It occurred to me next that if I was to stand any chance of coming up with a tolerable plan then I needed to better acquaint myself with the terrain, so I set off to carry out a reconnaissance of the land and several outbuildings dotted around the property. Taking care not to tread like the amateur I was on some branch or twig that might snap with a crack loud enough to risk exposing me, I stole yard by yard across the lawn outside the kitchen, then around the back of the house. Here I found a well-equipped workshop, unlocked, with tools of all kinds, many that would make a fine choice for a weapon, and all the usual mass of timber, metal and sundry other items that may prove themselves of use. It was the very best discovery I could have hoped for and I moved on to further explorations with my confidence well restored.
Alongside the workshop was a large, well-stocked timber-framed log store, the contents of which appeared to have been recently sawn and split. Leaning against one of the inner panels was a huge axe, the blade of which was well-maintained and without doubt capable of splitting a man’s head wide open. I picked it up and felt its considerable weight in my hands, before trying a swing or two, to see how I might fare with it in a fight, But, despite its obvious attractions, I decided I had not the build or the strength in my arms and shoulders to use it effectively and concluded I would be too slow and cumbersome to gain an advantage if I did not hit home cleanly with my first attempt. With some reluctance, I placed it back where I found it.
After moving to the far edge of the lawn running along the back of the house, I pressed on across the damp grass, the water now beginning to seep into my leather shoes, leaving my feet wet and my socks clinging. Moisture was also by now building up on my face and I had to wipe it away several times to stop it from dripping into my eyes.
There was but one more outbuilding to explore, a large timber structure set back from the house on the far edge of the property. It was in poor repair, ivy covering much of the sides and a large part of the roof, which itself was holed in several places. The double doors at the front were padlocked and when I managed to wipe away enough dirt from the single window on the near side, to peer in, it appeared the place was empty, save for a few pieces of timber scattered on the floor.
If I had walked forward from this structure, I would have passed along the side of the house with Sneijder’s surgery and arrived at the top of the driveway. But there was nothing to be gained from such a risky venture, since there appeared to be nothing of interest there. Instead, I returned to the workshop, by far the most useful of my discoveries, to decide on my next course of action.
Sitting there in the cold and poorly lit interior of the workshop, I was reminded of those days in my youth when I had used my father’s well-equipped workshop as a base of operations from which I would launch sorties against my cousins, who were holed up in the stables, as we played out scenes from exciting battles fought across the Empire. It had, of course, been nothing more than a game then, but it was deadly serious now; quite literally a matter of life and death.
Turning over ideas in my head as to how to get the upper hand with Selkman, I was reminded how frequently it had been the case in those games of my youth that the winner of an engagement would be the party who gained a surprise advantage. Rarely did the startled combatant have an opportunity to regroup and launch an effective counter-attack. That, I decided, was to be my tactic now. But how to achieve sufficient surprise?
I had faced the giant twice now, on both occasions in confined space where my greater speed and agility was of little, if any, advantage, and Selkman had come out on top both times. Despite managing to escape him the second time, there was no hiding the fact he had been getting the better of things. If it did not suit me to face him inside the house, perhaps I would fare better outside, preferably in the open where there were no impediments to my movement and where Selkman might appear something of a lumbering giant, easily hit by a man of fleeter foot.
I looked around me again, taking a keener eye to those tools I had at my disposal. As I did so, a thought came to me that caused me to hesitate and re-assess my situation. Whilst I was clear on my objective of freeing Elizabeth from Sneijder’s clutches, one thing I had not so far debated was just how far I was prepared to go to make this happen and to take care of my own safety. Sneijder had made it clear during my time in the cellar that he considered my life forfeit. Since I was about to expose myself to the risk of being recaptured and then murdered, was I prepared to end another person’s life if it came down to that? It was a terrible action to contemplate; one no ordinary man, outside the theatre of war, has normally to consider. I struggled with myself as I considered the prospect, but there was no getting away from the fact that such an action may turn out to be necessary and I decided to prepare myself accordingly.
There were several vicious-looking knives, any one of which was surely sufficient to puncture a man with a deep and potentially fatal wound. I picked up one of them, a bone-handled affair with a blade some seven or eight inches long, and made several jabbing and cutting movements at some imaginary opponent. It was tempting to make it my choice, but it would mean getting in exceedingly close to Selkman and I feared giving him a chance to reach me with those enormous, powerful hands. I reached the same conclusion when considering a half-dozen hand hammers, most of which I could easily swing in a controlled manner with just the one hand, but that too would mean closing right up on Selkman.
As I began to think that perhaps I would have to take a chance with a knife, I uncovered a long-handled hammer with a heavy wooden head. What it might be used for I did not know, but when I weighed it in my hands it felt solid enough to cause a man some damage, yet not so heavy or sizeable that I might find myself struggling to control it. What was more, I judged it had a reach of a little under three feet; sufficient to keep me beyond Selkman’s immediate grasp. That, I decided, would be my weapon and I stood it, along with a small pocket knife as a fall back, next to the door.
There was a small, dust-coated window in the workshop and I took a moment to peer out towards the house. I had a partial view of both the dining room and the sitting room. The curtains remained open in every window, but there was no sign of movement inside either room, whilst the kitchen was on the other side of the house, out of my view. I shivered, the cold beginning to leach in through my clothes. It occurred to me that in another hour, perhaps one hour and a half, the light would start to fade and darkness would see the temperature fall a great deal. Whatever I was going to do, I needed to move forward with soon.
How then to encourage Selkman to leave the confines of the house? I needed some means of enticing him out into the open, something that he would not be able to resist and, if possible, that would also distract him from seeing my approach. What I wanted was the perfect ambush, one that would afford him no opportunity of fighting back.
Smoke began to climb away reluctantly from one of the chimneys, barely creeping up through the heavy damp fog. It made me feel all the colder, crouching there in the unheated workshop as my bones began to feel the chill. It was then that the idea came to me, a veritable flash of inspiration. Fire would force Selkman from the house. If I was to place a good number of dry timbers up against a suitable point of the house and ensure there was properly combustible kindling underneath them, all I had to do was set it alight, retreat to my hideaway and wait. Once the fire properly took hold, someone in the house would be sure to notice the flames or smoke and out would come the one man most likely to be sent to deal with it. Then, like a big cat on the Savannah, I could spring from my cover and put Selkman down with a single, heaving blow of my hammer.
It seemed a sensible enough plan, I thought, despite my attempts at finding weaknesses in it, and was certainly one that would offer the advantage I sought. I therefore collected together from the stores inside the workshop a fine assortment of timber, some of which was of rather good quality and a shame to set to flame, but there was no room for sentimentality. For kindling, I filled my pockets with several rags and then a small bucket with numerous wooden off-cuts.
Surveying the house again, I determined the best place to position my bonfire would be under the sitting room window. It was the room most likely to be used at such a time and there was a possibility that the fire might also be seen from either the hallway or the dining room. It also meant I would have perhaps ten yards of open ground to cover in my approach to Selkman, a distance I was confident I could complete quickly enough to avoid detection before striking with my hammer.
My excitement grew as the prospect of implementing my plan came closer and I worked happily and quickly to build my fire, making several trips between the workshop and the house, crouched low and my arms filled with timbers. All the while the house remained silent and apparently deserted.
The final trip completed and the kindling set in place, I smiled to myself, pleased with my handiwork and eager to strike the match that would ignite the whole thing into raging flames and billowing smoke. Then, in the blink of an eye, my heart sank and my whole body wilted. What a fool. A match. I needed a match to light the fire and yet I had none. I cursed myself for making such a mistake. Creeping back to the workshop, I searched in vain for a box of matches, or anything else that might generate a spark. Still angry with myself, I considered my options. The kitchen. There was sure to be a box of matches in the kitchen, if nowhere else in the house.
But entering the house, even for a brief moment, was not a prospect I relished. If my luck should run out and Selkman found me there, my plans for surprise and ambush would be gone in an instant. Such a fool! I cursed myself again. But there was no getting away from it, I had no choice but to enter the kitchen in search of matches.
Stealing around the end of the house, I positioned myself behind a section of shrubbery where I had a tolerable view of the kitchen window and observed the place for a minute or so, anxious not to stumble in when the housekeeper was there. Confident the place was empty, I sprinted across the lawn, my nerves jangling and my body tense, opened the door and stepped inside, ready for the worst to happen. Nothing greeted me but silence and the enticing, spicy smell of a fruit cake baking in the oven.
Almost at once I found a large box of matches on a shelf by the oven, which I slipped into a jacket pocket. There was also there a plate covered over with a cloth. I felt suddenly hungry, no doubt the smell of the cake doing its worst, and when I lifted the towel I found a plate piled high with warm ginger biscuits. I helped myself to a handful, then turned and fled from the room as the sound of voices arose in the adjoining dining room.
