T
he pounding in her head brought Ankerita back to consciousness. She had been studying the Book for most of the night, long after Wesley had retired to the sofa. She had quizzed him about the origins of the tome, but his own knowledge was sketchy. Try as she might, staring at the runes and characters, nothing seemed to make sense.
The drumming continued as she opened her eyes; it was the rain on the roof of the bed-sit. It had not stopped since they had returned from the hills. She noticed a patch of damp in one corner. It grew as she watched.
“Fie,” she said. “How can you live in this guts-griping maggot-pie?”
“What?” Wesley’s unkempt head appeared from over the sofa. She had insisted on him turning it around, so the back faced the bed.
“This rats’-castle. Can you afford nothing better?”
“I have little money. What else can I do?”
“Have you no family?”
“I couldn’t stay there. My mother kind of disowned me.”
“Did she? Why?”
“Well...” Wesley stuttered. “I might have been slightly arrested for carrying an illegal substance.”
“What substance?” Ankerita’s eyes narrowed. “Look at me, thou hedge-born haggard. Tell me what passed.”
“Only cannabis,” he stuttered under her steady gaze. “That’s all. I gave a fiver to a down-and-out who looked desperate, and he offered me the weed. I only thought I’d try it, but the moment I lit up, the pigs jumped me.”
“Pigs? You have wild boar in the city?”
“No, sorry, I meant ‘the police’. They were having a crackdown on drugs. I wonder if that dealer was a plant...”
“Plant, like a holly-bush or something. I’m having a tad of trouble understanding thee. Wherefore dost thou not speak the King’s English?”
“We currently have a queen, but I’ll do my best.”
“Continue.”
Wesley eyed the beautiful girl in his bed. “Can I hold you while we talk?”
“No... why?”
“Because you are so lovely, and you look so much better than when I rescued you from the hills.”
“We are cousins, sirrah.”
“Look,” said Wesley. “There is no way I have any cousins like you. Do you mean ‘distant relative’?”
“Is that something different?”
“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”
The girl was silent.
Wesley continued. “If we are related, you can take the Book from me?”
“I’m sure we are, and I will take it,” said Ankerita, “and you can start your life again. That is your compensation, a new beginning. Perhaps your misfortunes will leave you after that.”
Wesley looked away.
“Have you lost your voice?” Ankerita sounded impatient. “You were telling me about the wild boar who set a snare to catch you eating a weed with the queen.”
“I mean it was a trap to catch me.” Wesley sighed. “My mother had to pay to get me out of jail, and the fine afterwards. She kept niggling me about it, so I packed up and left home.”
“Deserted your mother? I presume your father has been killed in the wars with the French.”
“You are very confused? My sister still lives there.”
“Of course I’m confused.” The girl scowled at him. “With all this flapdoodle about plants and stuff. I don’t know what I’m thinking half the time. All these different words and languages are buzzing in my head like angry wasps.”
“I’ll try to explain better,” said Wesley.
“Do that, and don’t look so miserable all the time. At least you know where you belong, even if it is in this hot-house.” Ankerita regarded the flat with disdain. “And how did you come here?”
“I got a few odd jobs on building sites to pay the way, but there is so much competition from the immigrants, and they are better at it than me, that the only job I could get was at a distribution warehouse. It doesn’t pay much, so I’m having to be as frugal as I can. Even in the supermarkets, the down-and-outs get the stuff that’s reduced at the end of the day before I finish work. I’m a double outcast.” He gazed down at his worn and slightly fragrant sleeping-bag.
“We should make amends with your family,” said Ankerita. “I will not have relatives of mine treating my cousin such as this. We will return and ensure that they take you back. Where is their estate?”
“A long way,” said Wesley miserably. “Down south.”
“Good,” said Ankerita. “That is where I need to go. There is a snivelling half-faced clot-pole I need to visit. He has my money and my passport. I have a job to return to. People are waiting.”
“Job?”
“I was with a band.”
“Yeah right. A band? Which one?”
Ankerita spoke hesitantly, recalling the name with difficulty. “Baal-Peor?”
“The god of licentiousness and unhappy marriages?”
“I hope not.”
“Never heard of them.”
“You will, once we start recording. We must return to your city.”
“We will have to hitch. I can’t afford the train.”
“Do you have a car?”
“You know I don’t have a car?” Wesley flapped his hands.
“Yes, I forgot you said. Can you drive?”
“I learned a long time ago. I do still have a licence.”
“Good,” Ankerita decided. “From what little I can understand, I believe that your Book points to the location of the Chariot of Morgan Mwynfawr. We will need that.”
“What the heck are you talking about?”
“Reading from here, it is one of the Thirteen Treasures of Albion, a fabled carriage that would transfer the owner quickly and directly to where he wants to go.”
“Are you serious? That sounds like something out of fantasy. How long ago? Albion? This country has not been called that for thousands of years.”
“Of course. Fabled treasures have to be old.”
“How can such a thing be still around?” Wesley scratched his head. “Have you lost your mind?”
“It is in the Book,” said Ankerita, “and there is a map. Have a look.” She climbed out of bed and pointed to the page. Wesley touched the vellum.
“Ow, it tingles. It’s not done that before.”
Ankerita ignored his protest. “Look at the map.”
“I’d never noticed the before, but it is familiar.” Wesley turned it around in his hands a few times. “I think it might be not too far away. I recognise the village name, although it’s spelt differently.”
“I suppose it is possible that names will have changed over time.”
“If it’s the place I think, I’ve been walking around there; I have a map of the area on the shelf. I’ve never seen any chariot though.”
“Good,” said Ankerita. “That will mean nobody will try to prig it. We go as soon as breakfast has been consumed. Has it stopped raining yet?”
H
eads turned as Ankerita and Wesley walked into the bus station. Wesley grinned as people did a double-take trying to understand the miss-match of the stunning girl, and himself, an apology that would make a scarecrow look refined. Enjoy it while you can, he said to himself. She will leave you; they always leave you.
“Will it to be, and so will it be,” said Ankerita, totally unaware of the effect she was having on the other passengers. “We craft our own destinies.”
“What?” Wesley was lost in his thoughts.
“You said I would leave you.”
“No I didn’t.”
“As it be,” said Ankerita. “Now where’s this stagecoach we need?”
T
he bus dropped Ankerita and Wesley in a small village in the hills. The girl produced the Book from her shoulder-bag and sat down in the bus shelter to flick through the pages.
“I’m sure it’s the right place,” said Wesley.
“I think so too.” His companion pointed up the road. “That way.”
“What makes you think it is still here? After all these centuries, why would a chariot still be here?”
“I don’t know; in a museum or something?” Ankerita got up and strode ahead.
“It’s not on my map,” said Wesley, unfolding his large scale chart in the shelter. “Wait a moment, and have a look.”
“What is there?” Ankerita indicated roughly where the Book was suggesting that they look.
“A building.”
“That will be it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I will it to be, and so it will be. I thought I told you that.”
“That’s not a very scientific approach.”
“Does it have to be scientific?” The girl half smiled at him.
“I suppose not. This is a ‘feral dodo’ hunt, you know.”
“Humour me.” Ankerita dumped the Book back in her bag. “Hopefully we won’t have to fight off any of said creatures. This way is it?”
The explorers walked into empty countryside. The road was narrow, with stone walls on both sides, and they were forced to squeeze out of the way of an occasional car. Once, a man on a tractor stopped to ask if they were lost, but Wesley told him they were hiking. Ankerita received a sympathetic grin, as the farmhand took in her muddy boots, and her ‘unsuitable’ clothing. Wesley of course was dressed correctly; in fact his only serviceable clothes were his hiking rig.
“My feet are hurting.” Ankerita sat on the verge.
“That’s the trouble with footwear,” replied Wesley. “You have to make sure you get a pair that fits.”
“You got me the wrong size.”
“I got you a five as you asked. Read the label inside.”
“I will.” Ankerita took off her boots, and peered at the size label. “They must have got the sticker wrong.”
“Come on,” said Wesley. “We haven’t got far to go. It’ll be the return journey which will be the problem.”
“You will have to carry me.” The girl grunted as she pulled the boots on. “Although I don’t suppose you have the strength.”
“I supported you all the way down that mountain,” retorted Wesley. “The Book will help.”
She gazed up the road. “Are we there yet?”
“That barn is the only building near.” Wesley pointed across a field. “The big doors at the front look solid.”
“That’s where,” Ankerita asserted. “How do we get in?”
“There must be a gate. Oh...”
“What?”
“It’s full of cows.”
“Bullocks.”
“There’s no need...” Wesley grinned, but Ankerita was scanning along the wall.
“They won’t be a problem. There’s a gate. Through there. You can climb over, and open it for me.”
“Yes, miss.” Wesley pretended to tug his forelock. Ankerita didn’t see, because she was scrutinising the barn.
“It’s there,” she said. “I can feel it. Hurry up.”
Wesley wrenched the old wooden gate sideways. It bent alarmingly. Ankerita squeezed through, and left him to shut it behind her. As she limped up the field to what appeared to be a windowless stone building, the herd of young bulls galloped down to them. Wesley held his breath, and prepared to climb to safety. It was at that point he saw the sign lying in the mud, ‘Beware of the Bull’.
“Run,” he shouted to the unsuspecting girl.
“Don’t be a dewberry,” she said. “They’re only inquisitive. I can’t run. These boots you got me are worse than anything a jester would wear.” She stood her ground. The stampede froze in front of her, apparently confused. She patted the nose of the nearest animal, and it shied away. “Come on,” she called to Wesley. “We haven’t got all day. If I’m wrong, we’ll need to get the bus, again.”
She forced her way through the herd.
“I hope you’re right,” muttered Wesley, “but we’d better get this over with. Luckily it’s not raining... yet.”
The barn was closed and shuttered. Ankerita and Wesley stood inside a ring of bullocks, all jostling for attention. “It’s in there,” said the girl. “I know it’s in there.”
“The Chariot of Mayflower?”
“The Chariot of Morgan Mwynfawr, yes.”
“After all these years?”
“Oh yes. So, you have to get in, and open the door for us. Come.” Ankerita limped around the side of the barn. “There.” She pointed at a small window halfway up the wall. “That isn’t fastened. The wall is uneven. You can climb up.”
“Supposing the farmer sees?” Wesley glanced around nervously.
“I’ll explain that we seek the Chariot,” said Ankerita. “He will understand.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course; why wouldn’t he?”
“Because we will be breaking and entering.”
“I’ll tell him who I am,” said Ankerita. “I am not daunted by peasants.”
“And he will believe you... any more than I do?”
“Of course he will. Are you going to break in, or do I have to do it myself?”
“I’ve got no head for heights; I’m no good at climbing.” Wesley had gone pale.
“Flap-dragon,” said Ankerita. “Give me a leg up and I will stand on your shoulders to reach. Come on, hurry up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Be quick. Bend, and lift me up.”
Wesley obliged. The girl put her muddy boot into his locked hands.
“Right... up.”
She reached the sill and clambered up Wesley’s coat until she was standing on his shoulders. In other circumstances he might have enjoyed the experience, but here, he kept glancing furtively around, worried about the consequences. There was a creak as Ankerita pushed the window aside, and then she stood on his head to get the final push. She was in.
“See you at the doors,” she shouted over his grumbles.
Inside was dark. The two young people stood, eyes adjusting to the gloom; Wesley had insisted on closing the barn doors again, and then he rounded on her. “Go on, where is this chariot? Where would you even hide one in here?”
“Over there.” Ankerita pointed at a pile of mechanical junk, old farm vehicles and other rubbish. “Come on, there’s something under that sheeting.”
Wesley helped her remove the debris around the tarpaulin, and they pulled it off. Underneath was a car, not a chariot. It was dusty, but a quick wipe over with a discarded old shirt revealed a red Mark 1 Ford Escort.
“My God,” said Wesley. “It must be fifty years old. Not exactly a chariot, is it?”
“It’s what we need,” said Ankerita simply. “I guess a chariot would be less convenient; I don’t suppose you have a horse?”
“Not on me.”
“Right. Let’s get in, and you can make it go.”
“It’ll never work after all this time,” Wesley complained. “Either way, we can’t steal it.”
“It is one of the Treasures of Albion. We are not stealing. The last person to own it was Myrddin the Mage.”
“This is not going to look good in court,” said Wesley. “I don’t think your argument will save us.”
“Oh fie,” said Ankerita. “Are you going to drive it or do you want me to?”
“Can you drive?”
“I can ride a horse; how difficult can it be?”
“You’d better let me,” said Wesley. “It’s not going to start, after all these years. Will you then be satisfied, and we can get back to my flat, and live life as it should be?”
“Try it,” said Ankerita. “You won’t know if you don’t try.”
“We don’t have the key.”
They got in. Wesley settled into the leather seat and peered under the steering wheel. “Bugger, they’ve left the thing in the ignition.”
“Go on, turn it,” said Ankerita. “I’ve watched my friend, Jo, with her little car, and I know that much. Where’s the gear stick? She liked fiddling with that.”
“It’s an automatic,” said Wesley. “You just pull this lever, point and go.”
“So get on with it. Turn, pull, point and go.”
Wesley twisted the key. “Really, nothing is going to happen,” he protested. The shed was filled with a powerful roar as the engine burst into life. “Oh dear. Well, we’re not going any further,” he said, determinedly.
“Told you it would work,” said Ankerita. “I’ll take over from here. You go and open the doors.”
“But...”
“Do it or I’ll drive straight through them, and that will be the ‘breaking’ bit of ‘breaking, entering, repossessing and driving away’. I’ll get to the other crimes afterwards.”
Ankerita squeezed across behind the wheel as Wesley got out. He went to the main barn doors, removed the locking bar, heaved them open and leapt out of the way as the Escort plummeted through the gap, in a cloud of oily smoke. Gravel and bullocks scattered outside the barn. Wesley ran up as Ankerita stalled the engine.
“Shut the barn, and go and open the field gate. I’m going to start it again, and get some practice in.”
Wesley’s knuckles were white as he gripped the passenger seat. Ankerita was shrieking with delight as they thundered down the road. She insisted on having the windows open, and her hair whipped around her face, as they slid around corners and over crossroads without stopping or looking. The scent of the fresh air mixed with the smell of leather, and the oil, as the engine burned off its protective covering.
“Slow down,” Wesley shouted above the noise, “Please slow down.”
“If you insist.” The girl took her foot off the accelerator. “What’s this other pedal for? Ah.” The car slid to a halt, as the wheels locked.
“Gently,” he shouted, but they were already stationary, blocking the narrow lane.
“Are you telling me,” Wesley faltered, “that you didn’t know how to stop the car until I told you?”
“I thought it simply came to a halt,” Ankerita replied, “like a horse if you don’t keep geeing it along.”
Wesley sighed, and put his head in his hands. “I’ll show you what the other controls are for,” he said, tiredly. “You should let me take over.”
“No, I love it.” She fended him off. “Need more of this.”
“We have to take it back,” said Wesley. “The car must be someone’s pride and joy. I think it started because they must have been working on it recently. These things take years to restore. It’s someone’s life’s work. We can’t steal it.”
“We need it,” said Ankerita. “I know it is the Chariot, or at least what it looks like these days. It belongs to Albion... and that’s me. You’ll see.”
“If that’s the case, then who’s that in the mirror?”
A black Mercedes had pulled up behind them. Ankerita screwed round in her seat. Two men were getting out. “God’s teeth,” she spat. “I know them. How did they find me?”
“You mean they’re not farmers wanting their car back?”
“Most certainly not. They are very bad men.”
“Then, drive!” Wesley almost screamed.
Ankerita put her foot to the floor and the car leapt forward, scattering stones at the men. Wesley whimpered, as she threw them around more corners, and drove deeper into the hills. “If we should meet anything...” he shouted, but Ankerita was in a world of her own, laughing insanely.
Across the mountainside, Wesley saw a gleaming silver Mercedes, shooting towards them from the opposite direction. The sun came out, and glinted on its polished paintwork. “Turn right here,” he shouted, “or we’ll be trapped between them.”
Ankerita spun the wheel, and floored the accelerator again. Tyres howled, but were drowned by the engine, as a turbocharger cut in. “What the Hell is under the hood?” Wesley gripped the sides of his seat as Ankerita took yet another corner faster than was physically possible. The other two cars had disappeared, left way behind.
“Serve them right if they run head-on into each other,” he said through gritted teeth.
“That happens often, does it,” Ankerita yelled over the noise of the engine.
“Yes, usually when I need help. There was this fight at school where two bullies turned on each other for the privilege of relieving me of my pocket-money; both ended up in hospital.”
“Great, but let me concentrate. We need to get away.”
“Who are those guys?”
“Some of the people who I was hiding from; I certainly don’t want to meet them again.” Ankerita laughed as she accelerated down a long straight incline. “This chariot is fantastic!”
“Oh Hell, we’re going down into the floods,” shouted Wesley. “Will the bridge over the beck still be there? Shit... stop before we die!”
Ankerita stamped on the brake pedal, and they slithered to a halt. The road was blocked by a plastic barrier. There was a large notice: ‘Weak Bridge, Do Not Cross’.
“Shall I drive over?” Ankerita looked uncertainly at her passenger. “I’ll wind the window up to keep the water out if we fall in.” She worked the handle.
“The parapet has gone already,” said Wesley. “Look, stones have fallen on to the side of the road and water’s seeping through. That’s the end of it, I guess. The bridge is definitely out. We’re caught.”
“Perhaps they didn’t see where we went,” Ankerita suggested hopefully.
“No such luck. They are here.”
Both of the pursuit cars had appeared round the corner. The Escort was blocking the road, so they were forced to stop behind. Doors opened and a suited man got out of each car.
“Are they going to kill us?”
“It’s me they’re after,” said Ankerita.
“Not just to reclaim the car?”
“We go back a long way.” She sighed, hopelessly. “They probably want to send me back to a life of prostitution, addiction and murder.”
“Why you, though?”
“It’s a long story, but all to do with the fact that I don’t have any identity or family in your world.”
“And the slight detail you are completely gorgeous,” muttered Wesley.
There was a polite tap at the driver’s window. One of the men was standing beside the car. He tried the door, but it was locked. “Good day, miss.” He peered through the condensation on the glass. “It is fortuitous we meet again.” He looked across at the cowering Wesley. “I see you’ve bought a gnome at the garden centre. No worries, we will make sure he gets planted properly, with plenty of water to help him grow.”
Wesley gave a moan. Ankerita wound the window down slightly. “What do you mean?”
“We cannot have witnesses, can we?” The man rubbed his gloved hands together.
“Look, he’s nothing to do with me,” said Ankerita. “You can let him go. He knows nothing. He’s an innocent bystander, er, a hiker I picked up.”
“You and I both know that’s not true,” said the man. “You were seen together on the security cameras at the bus-station. That is of no consequence. There is always collateral damage; you know that. We’ve had enough trouble with you so far. Are you going to step out or do we have to break the window and spoil this museum piece you are driving?”
“Not until you promise that you won’t harm my passenger.” Ankerita folded her arms, obstinately.
“Fine,” said the man. He waved to his colleague, who was standing by the car behind, idly kicking the tyres. “Go and get the hammer please, Mr Praed.”
The man smirked, and started towards the nearest car.
“Oh, and Chris...”
“Yes, Mr Jones?”
“Make it the big one.”
“You’re going to have to make a run for it,” Ankerita muttered to her passenger. “You look as though you might get away across the fields. You have the right boots. Those guys are only wearing shoes.”
“And supposing they’ve got guns?”
“Wouldn’t they be threatening us with them, if so?”
“Good point, but I’m not leaving you.”
“And what can you do?” Ankerita’s voice was sadly mocking.
“I learned to fight. I had to, to survive at school.”
“Did you win?”
“No, but I managed to inflict some harm before they flattened me. I will defend you.” His voice faltered.
“Against four big men? Do you think you’ve got any chance?”
“I could try and hold them off while you got away...”
“I can’t run in these shoes,” said Ankerita. “Brave man though; I’ll save you. Stay right where you are, my bully duck. And hold on.”
“You can’t...”
Wesley wailed, but Ankerita had already stamped on the accelerator. The Escort screamed in a cloud of tyre smoke, and hurtled straight towards the roadblock. Wesley covered his eyes. The car crashed through the flimsy plastic barrier, and leaped in the air as it hit the humpback bridge. There was a brief glimpse of the swollen stream below, and they cleared the rubble, landing with a sickening crunch on the road at the other side. As the Escort careered away, Wesley looked backwards, to see the whole construction washed sideways and disappearing into the torrent. “You can slow down,” he shouted. “The bridge has gone.”
Ankerita stopped the car, and Wesley got shakily out. He looked at the stream. The men beyond were standing, scratching heads, and looking anything but impressed with Ankerita’s escape.
“Are we safe?” she asked. “Do we need to keep moving?”
“I don’t think they can catch us without a big detour.” Wesley unfolded his map. “We should be okay for the moment, if the car suspension isn’t damaged so badly it won’t move anymore.”
“It’s the chariot. It will be fine.” She started the engine again. It sounded as good as when they first got in.
“And drive more slowly.”
“Shame,” said the girl. “I was starting to enjoy that.”
