Chapter 51
Puck's Dell, Stumblefrith Forest, Wealdshire. Saturday 30 May 1998
When the telephone rang at 5.40 on the Saturday morning, it was Mrs Jenkins who had to answer it. Her husband, the Sheriff of Wealdshire, was out for the count. She wished she'd made a mess of setting up the video recorder. If she'd tried to record a film for herself, she probably would have done. He'd opened a bottle of Glenfiddich before watching the Nine O'Clock News. By the time he'd seen News at Ten he was on his third glass. She'd tried to assure him that everyone would take his side and no-one would be taken in by the emotional words of the protesters — but she knew she had about as much chance of success as convincing a corpse that it was merely sleeping. He was sleeping now, all right. He'd finally staggered upstairs to bed some time after midnight and she'd had to help him undress. No, she thought, he'd been beyond help. I did all the undressing. Now the phone was on its tenth ring and there was no chance he was going to answer it.
'Hello. Who is it?' Mrs Jenkins asked in a tone that suggested the caller had better have a good reason for calling at this time in the morning.
'James Hinkley. Head of security at Hardtop Aggregates. I'm sorry to disturb you so early, but could I speak to Mr Jenkins?'
'He's . . . uh . . . in the bathroom at the moment. Can I take a message?'
'Yes, please. Tell him our heavy plant has gone missing.'
'Heavy plant has gone missing,' she repeated. 'All right. I'll tell him.'
'Could you ask him to get down to the site as quickly as he can?'
'Yes. I'll give him your message.'
Mrs Jenkins replaced the phone and amused herself for a moment with the image of hundreds of security men scouring the forest for an overweight tomato plant. God knows, she thought, I need something to laugh about.
It took the best part of an hour to get her husband out of the house. He had tried to convince her that she had been the victim of a hoax — those filthy protesters up to their tricks again — but when he'd taken up her suggestion of calling James Hinkley back — he struggled out of bed and demanded to know where the bottle of aspirin had been hidden.
As he drove south from Kingsbourne at 6.50, his black mood was not improved by the sight of two elderly ladies standing by an old Morris Minor in a lay-by. On the back of the car was a hand-painted sign: NEXT RIGHT FOR PUCK'S DELL. He signalled right to indicate that he would be taking the lane to Stumblefrith Forest and scowled in his mirror when he saw that the two ladies thought they had been of assistance to him.
Although it was not yet seven o'clock, the parking area was crawling with police and security guards. They reminded Alan Jenkins of ants rushing around after their nest has been disturbed by a gardener's spade. He parked his car and marched towards the ants. Blue and white police tapes marked off the area where the bulldozer and cherry pickers had been left the previous evening. White-suited forensic experts were crawling across the ground looking for clues.
Alan Jenkins spotted James Hinkley, the one who had spoken to his wife earlier, and collared him. 'What happened?' he demanded.
Hinkley shrugged. 'I don't know. Nobody knows. The machinery simply vanished.'
'Bulldozers and cherry pickers don't simply vanish into thin air. They've obviously been driven somewhere.'
'No, I don't think so.'
The Sheriff seized Hinkley's arm and shouted at him. 'What do you mean 'they haven't been driven somewhere'? They're not here, are they? They've gone. So, how else could they have been removed?'
Hinkley stared at the hand holding his arm until Alan Jenkins realised what he was doing. 'Sorry,' mumbled the Sheriff as he let go. 'Just tell me what the police think.'
'They're baffled. Completely baffled. Look where the bulldozer was parked. They've marked it with those posts. The tracks lead from where it was working last night. But there are no tracks leading away from where it was parked. Therefore, it couldn't have been driven away.'
Being a rational man, the Sheriff looked for a plausible explanation. 'The tracks must have been covered,' he asserted.
'No,' Hinkley assured him. 'The ground hasn't been touched. A bulldozer leaves deep impressions in this sort of soil. There are none.'
Jenkins breathed out noisily. 'The only other explanation, then,' he said, as if talking to an idiot, 'is that the bulldozer was lifted onto a low-loader.'
Hinkley shook his head. 'Sorry, that explanation was discarded early on. The low-loader would have left tracks and a crane would have been needed to load the bulldozer. Again, no crane tracks. And, of course, we have the two missing cherry pickers with no tracks leading away from where they were parked.'
The Sheriff snorted derisively. 'This is ridiculous. There has to be an explanation.'
Jenkins was beginning to tire of his superior's arrogant attitude. 'Of course there has to be an explanation! But we don't know what it is. Like I said, the police are baffled. What I haven't told you is that the machinery was guarded all night.'
'Preposterous!' thundered the Sheriff. 'Are you trying to tell me that three pieces of heavy plant simply disappeared in front of someone's eyes?'
'I'm afraid so. There were two men on duty. They said they were patrolling the area, stopped to have a chat and then, when they turned round, the machines had vanished.'
'Cobblers!' Jenkins roared. 'They're probably anti-road infiltrators. Well, we look right prats, don't we. The media will crucify us. I can see the headlines now: Are Aliens Helping the Road Protesters?'
Hinkley couldn't help looking up at the sky. 'At the moment,' he said, 'that explanation is as good as any other.'
As the Sheriff prepared to storm off, Hinkley called him back. 'There's um . . . one other thing . . .'
The look in Jenkins' eyes dared him to say something stupid. Hinkley took a breath, wondered whether he ought to keep his mouth shut, but found himself saying it anyway before he'd come to a decision.
'Some of the men on night duty said they . . . uh . . . saw a ghost.'
Instead of biting Hinkley's head off, the Sheriff roared with laughter. 'A ghost,' he spluttered. 'Now I've heard it all. Go on — I suppose I'd better hear about it.'
Looking down at the ground and feeling very uncomfortable, Hinkley said, 'A group of three men saw a misty shape gliding through the trees. It was sort of human-shaped but there were no arms or legs that they could see. It was fuzzy round the edges and they could see right through it.' He looked up when he had finished and saw that the Sheriff was no longer laughing. In fact, he looked rather pale.
One word was still echoing in Alan Jenkins' head — 'misty' — a misty shape. Wasn't that girl called Misty, the one who had made such a fool of him? He recalled how his hand holding the loud hailer had been forced downwards. Add to that the impossibility of three heavy pieces of machinery disappearing — and security guards seeing a ghost. Was it possible that there were strange and unnatural forces at work here? No, of course not, but wouldn't the media like to try to convince everyone that there were. Every paranormal freak from miles around would be attracted to Stumblefrith like flies to a donkey dropping.
Misty and Shadow were making their way to Puck's Dell from their temporary accommodation in the tent village when they saw the activity in the parking area. They bumped into Harold Bartholomew, the person who had helped set up the system for alerting supporters. Before they had a chance to congratulate him on the success of his system, however, he told them all about the missing machines and the apparent sighting of a ghost.
'I'm getting it all written down,' he said, flourishing a notebook and pen. I think the press will want to hear all about this. I'll see you later.'
As Shadow and Misty continued their walk to Puck's Dell, Shadow was unusually quiet.
'What are you thinking about?' Misty asked, 'or is it private?'
'I was just wondering how powerful your magic is. You gave us a demonstration yesterday, when you sang. You even made the sun disappear for a couple of minutes.' He stopped, turned to face her, and stared into her eyes as if looking for an answer there. 'I'm wondering whether you can call up ghosts, and make heavy machines disappear.'
'You really do have a high opinion of me, don't you?' Misty said, returning his gaze. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't know any spells for vanishing bulldozers. Or cherry pickers. Nor do I know anyone else who could do it. As for calling up ghosts . . .' she shook her head. 'Dangerous territory. I neither know, not want to know, how to do that. Assuming that it's possible, of course.'
'Okay,' Shadow said, 'I just wanted to know. So you can't take any credit for the tunnel spoil disappearing?'
'No. I know you've never believed me, but I really don't know where the earth dug out of the tunnels went to. I just accept that strange things happen — that sometimes you have unseen and unknown allies. You have to take any help that's given you and not try to find out who's responsible. If people — assuming that they are people — want to help but stay hidden, we shouldn't attempt to find out who they are.'
'You think they may not be people?'
'I don't know, Shadow. What I do know is that the earth is inhabited by far more creatures, beings, entities — than those we can see around us. Some are our friends, some are our enemies, and some simply ignore us.'
Shadow dropped his gaze and turned to carry on walking. 'All I can say,' he said, 'is that whoever, or whatever, cleared away all the stuff that we dug out of the tunnels — he, she or it has to be a friend. It was incredible. Every morning the heap of rock and soil had vanished. The Sheriff and his crew would never believe us if we told them.'
'Oh — I don't know,' said Misty mischievously, 'Now that his bulldozer has gone missing, he'd probably believe anything.'
As they approached Puck's Dell, a pair of security guards barred their way. 'We haven't got them,' Shadow teased.
'Haven't got what?' one of the men asked.
'Your bulldozer and cherry pickers. But you're welcome to search me,' said Shadow, pulling his pockets out.
The other guard folded his arms and looked at the scruffy pair in front of him. 'You guys are really something. D'you know that? I dunno how you pulled off that stunt — but it was pretty damn spectacular. Our boss is going spare. Do you know how much those things cost?'
'Probably a bit more than Shadow's old van,' Misty said.
'You're right there, lady, unless it's solid gold.'
Shadow gave his head a shake. 'Uh-uh. Solid rust, last time I looked.'
Misty tugged Shadow's arm. 'Come on, we'd better go and check on the girls who're locked on.'
'Have you seen my husband?'
Penelope had moved away from the tree as soon as she saw Misty and Shadow. She didn't want her daughter to overhear her question.
They looked at each other. 'No, not at all. Wasn't he here yesterday?' Misty asked.
Penelope shook her head. 'No. He didn't turn up. I don't know where he can be. I hope . . .' She nervously played with her fingers before continuing. 'I hope nothing has happened to him . . . you know . . . after what happened to Jaine-Marie.'
Shadow looked concerned. 'Do you think that's possible?'
'I don't know. Could I . . . could I borrow your phone and try ringing home.'
'Yeah, course you can.' Shadow took out his phone and handed it to her. 'Here you are. We'll go and talk to the girls.'
The locked-on girls looked none the worse for their ordeal. They were explaining how the yellow-jackets had looked after them, when they were distracted by a shout.
'Hi Shadow!' called Jerry as he ran across the clearing, two guards in hot pursuit. 'Can you call these two off?'
Shadow intercepted the two goons, the ones he had joked with a moment ago, and persuaded them to let Jerry stay for five minutes. Then he took Jerry to one side. 'Where have you been? I haven't heard from you since I alerted you yesterday.'
Jerry feigned shock. 'What's up with your memory, you moron. I've been on tunnel duty, haven't I?'
Shadow slapped his forehead. 'Oh, sorry, mate. I forgot. Of course. How's it been going?'
'Good,' Jerry said, with one of the biggest grins that Shadow had ever seen. 'The Sheriff is convinced that there are at least a dozen of us down there and we've given him the impression that the only way he'll stop us beating the Fairmile record is if he nukes us. Actually, I think he's tempted to do that. I get the distinct impression he'd like to ram a stick of dynamite up each of—' He stopped as Misty approached. 'Morning Misty.'
'Carry on,' she said. 'Don't let me stop you.'
'S'okay. I'd finished.' He switched his gaze to the six girls lying by the tree. 'Hey girls. How're you doing?'
'They want to give up shortly,' Misty told him. 'But they've done really well.'
Jerry thought for a moment. 'I saw a camera crew arriving just now. It would be neat if we could get the girls filmed when they release themselves. The public love to see young girls making an heroic stand. And not just young girls, of course. Martha came over really well on the box last night.'
Shadow nudged him and whispered, 'How did you see that? Have you got a tele in your tunnel?'
Jerry slapped his hand over his mouth. 'Whoops! Me and my big mouth. Don't tell the Sheriff. He's going to die when he hears about Phantom Digger.'
'What about these girls then, Jerry? Do you want to go and grab a camera crew?' asked Misty.
'Yeah. I'm gone.'
As Jerry ran off he caught the eye of one the yellow-jackets, pointed to his wrist, and held up four fingers to indicate that he was a good boy who hadn't taken advantage of the five-minute restriction on his visit.
Misty went up to Penelope and told her that a camera crew was coming. She asked if she wanted to move away to avoid being filmed.
'Why should I do that?' Penelope asked.
Misty shrugged. 'I just thought it might be a bit embarrassing for your husband, that's all.'
Penelope smiled. 'Yes, that was a kind thought — but Andrew seems to have disappeared. I've called our number at home but there was no reply. And, anyway, my name is Fury, not Mrs Starling.'
'We've been thinking Pen— Fury. Maybe in a few days' time we could let the media know who you really are. Not if you're unwilling, of course. Things are gonna get rather quiet around here until the tunnel is cleared. It would be good if we had something to offer to keep the attention of the press on us.'
Penelope nodded slowly. 'I'll think about it. I certainly owe all you pixies a favour after the way you've put up with us.' She looked over Shadow's shoulder. 'I think the camera crew is coming. Good, because we need to get home and see to one very hungry poodle if Andrew has gone missing. I expect she'll have wrecked the house as well but, do you know, I couldn't give a monkey's.'
'We'll get someone to drive you home,' Misty said. 'There are lots of our supporters outside the camp just waiting to do something useful.'
'And there'll be a whole lot more turning up later, I reckon,' added Shadow.
Jerry arrived holding a microphone. 'I had to pretend I was with the television people to get back in. There's a couple of kids in the car park wanting to speak to you, Shadow. Twins, I think.'
'Okay. Thanks Jerry. Coming, Misty?'