TO SAY that Michael was utterly unnerved and dumbstruck at this direct question, would be putting it mildly. This man, whoever he was, clearly had some connection with the straw pony-tail – a brother probably. But, notwithstanding the direct challenge, he was clearly approaching whatever he’d come for, in a civilised way. He didn’t seem to be threatening. Michael had been prepared for a gradual build-up to any ‘difficult’ question—but not this. He had to think quickly—and decided that acting bewildered would be the best approach. So he answered, hesitantly:
“No, why on earth would you think so? I’ve never killed anyone.” (As Michael said this, the image flashed through his mind of the man who had waylaid him and Sophie on their way to Waknuk. But no, it was Sophie—Stephanie—who had killed the man). “I don’t know who you are, and I certainly don’t know who your father is—was. I’ve never met him.”
“Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I know you, Michael, and you must be Rachel,” turning to her. “Name’s Luke. Luke Skinner.”
In a flash Michael realised who this man must be. “Your father was…Jerome Skinner?”
“That’s right. So you must have known him. So—did you, or any of your friends, kill him?”
Michael suddenly remembered something else. A grim thought-shape which he had broadcast in a moment of intemperate fury—it seemed like an eternity ago: ‘It is war. Some day I’ll kill them for what they’ve done to Katherine…’
He said, “I knew about him, though I’m sure I never met him. I’d no idea he was dead…”
“You threatened to kill him. And others,” said Luke, with little emotion. “You wanted to ‘kill those who’d done things to Katherine’—”
Michael wondered how Luke could possibly know that. Then it dawned on him. “You can do thought-shapes?”
“I can hear your folk’s thoughts—faintly—but I can’t send them. I’ve tried.”
“So you overheard some of our messages to each other—during the raid on the Fringes?”
“Some of it. I picked up that threatening message, at any rate. I wondered if you meant my father.”
“I knew that your father was suspicious,” retorted Michael. “But I never imagined that he’d be involved in the torturing of the two girls. Katherine and Sally.” He thought he might as well name them, seeing as this Luke obviously knew so much.
“He wasn’t. I don’t know who was involved in that; I was never told. I learnt about it—horrible—torturing with red-hot irons to force a confession—barbaric!” Both Michael and Rachel watched Luke’s face carefully as he made that remark: the emotion was evident and he seemed sincere enough. He continued: “I should hope my father thought the same, but I’m not sure. Anyway he was in the the raiding party that followed the Strorm children down to the Fringes. As you were, I believe. But you say you never met him.”
“I didn’t meet him when he first fell in with some of my friends,” replied Michael. “He might have been with me in the raid, but I wouldn’t have recognised him. We can exchange descriptions of people in our thoughts, but they’re not very detailed—and there were more than a hundred of us.”
“All right. But Father never returned, and we never found out what happened to him. Me and my brother, we didn’t go, we had to stay home and help out.”
“Your brother…?”
“Yes. My twin brother Simon. You’ve met him, at any rate. He says so, and his description fits you perfectly. He’d been working at the farm where the girl was taken away from. The one you came asking for. Very stupid of you…”
Now it was suddenly all clear to Michael. This explained why Luke looked so much like the man who’d been pursuing them—although they were not identical.
“All right. So you’ve tracked us down. Rachel and me. What are you going to do about it. Shoot us right here, in Rigo?”
“Simon’ll do just that, I think—if he finds you. He suspects you.”
“Simon can also do thought-shapes?” broke in Michael, horrified.
“No. I’m fairly certain he can’t. In fact, I’m sure he can’t—otherwise he’d have caught up with you sooner. He just has this suspicion, and he means mischief. But I’m not Simon. I’m here to warn you.”
This was a new twist. Michael said, tentatively, “So you’re not in league with Simon? Have you fallen out with him…? Where is he, then?”
“Simon’s right here in Rigo, looking for you. And no, I’ve not exactly fallen out with him. Just that I need to—need to look after myself.”
“Does Simon know about your thought-shapes?” asked Michael.
“Of course not. I’m quite certain I’ve been careful enough not to arouse suspicion. If he found out, he’d probably shoot me—brother or no brother. He’s quite wild—gone crazy, I think, Simon has…”
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“So how do you come to be here on your own? And what about the other guys in your party? Isn’t Simon going to be suspicious?”
“Not yet. Just that we agreed to split up for the search. You’re lucky I found you first. Simon said he’d do the other end of town first, so he won’t be here for a while. The others—they’re named Lee and Barney—went with Simon: they’re his friends, not mine. But eventually…”
Michael and Rachel had to think quickly. If Luke was deceiving them, they were as good as dead already. What could they lose by trusting him—by believing his story?
“Let’s get out of here,” said Michael, quickly finishing his drink. “Find somewhere to hide. Then you can explain the rest to us.”
As they made their way to the door, Bill, who had remained sitting at the bar, caught their eye. He quickly got up and came over to them.
“You folks are in trouble—I can see that all right,” he whispered. “I’ve guessed for a long time that the two of you—Rachel and Michael—are on the run; that people are after you. And your friend here too, perhaps?”
Before Michael could answer, Luke stepped in. “Yes, they’re on the run—and so am I. Or at least, I will have to be, if I’m seen with these folks. If you’re prepared to help us…”
“You mentioned ‘somewhere to hide’. You can come to my lodging for a few hours, if you like. Not up to much, I’m afraid, but safer than any of the inns.”
None of the three could think of any better answer to this. Michael wondered about Benjamin and Laura, but it would not now be safe to go to their house, he thought. So they quickly followed the old man out of the inn. He led them along the waterfront for a few yards, then he turned into a narrow alley between shops, which led to a flight of stone steps. Climbing these, they reached another narrow street set back from the sea. Bill took them through many twists and turnings: they were almost completely disorientated when he finally opened a door in a dingy terraced building which faced straight onto a narrow street, and they climbed three flights of stairs to reach a dimly-lit garret furnished with only a couple of tables, a few chairs, a cupboard and a bed pushed into one corner.
Bill lit a candle and gestured to his visitors to be seated.
“Not very spacious for four people, I’m afraid—but I’m used to cramped quarters on board ship. Make yourselves at home as best you can.” And he fumbled for a while in the cupboard, and produced a bottle of rum and some glasses. “At least no-one’s going to think of looking for you folks up here. But you’ll have to shift once you think you’ve lost the pursuit.”
The three of them thanked him profusely, and Michael eyed the bottle warily. “I’ve seen men drinking rum in the inn, but I’ve never tasted it myself.” “Nor have I,” put in Rachel. “Nothing stronger than wine…”
“Well, now’s your chance to sample the strong stuff. You’d better get used to that, if you’re still thinking of taking ship. You can add some water if you prefer,” and he produced a jug.
Luke was evidently quite accustomed to the strong liquor: he drank his straight off. Michael and Rachel were more hesitant: they watered their glasses down and then took experimental sips: the drink made both of them cough and their eyes water. Bill and Luke chuckled. Eventually Rachel managed to master the strong drink and gulped it down: Michael following some time later with some difficulty.
Michael and Rachel, both feeling the warmth of the drinks pervade their bodies, felt it was now high time to ask Luke plenty of questions. There was a lot of explaining that needed to be done.
“First of all,” began Rachel, “tell us why we should be trusting you, at the same time as your brother wants to kill us? What is it between you and your brother?”
Luke thought for quite a long time, whilst Michael and Rachel (as well as Bill) eyed him warily. Then he began. “It’s quite a long story. You know, of course, that Simon spotted you—recognised you, at that funeral. He suspected you all along of being involved in some way with our father’s death or disappearance. And you still haven’t explained that…”
Michael felt that he now had to give some account of the scene in the Fringes clearing. But he didn’t want to recount the full horror of the carnage. Having no choice but to mention the Zealand people briefly, he said that some travellers from a far off land, arriving in some sort of flying ship, had launched a ‘superior weapon against which Fringes people and Labradoreans alike were powerless’. Michael and his friends had only been spared because they had the thought-shape powers. If Jerome Skinner had been in the clearing, he would certainly have been among the dead…
After a while Luke continued: “I think I believe you. And your story agrees to some extent with the tales other men who escaped brought back. So what they called the ‘spider’ was in fact a flying machine?”
“Correct,” replied Michael.
“Well, once Simon saw you he wanted to go after you straight away, but he had to round up his friends, and me, first. I agreed to go along—partly to try and rein in Simon whenever he flew into one of his rages—which was often enough! Once we established that you and Rachel were no longer in Waknuk, we guessed you’d make for Kentak—and it didn’t take long to find out where you were staying. You were lucky to escape us there—and even luckier to manage to lose us on the Rigo road.”
Michael and Rachel smiled at each other.
“So eventually we realised you must have turned off the road somewhere. We argued for quite a time as to whether you’d gone north or south: I said, I thought you’d gone north towards more barren country, but the others insisted you must have gone south where there were more houses to hide up. So we found a trail leading south and visited I don’t know how many farms and villages, asking after you. Each time we drew a blank. Simon was getting more and more worked up; at last I persuaded him to abandon the southern search and strike north. So we went back to the main road and took a path to the north.
“Here we had a stroke of luck. We came to a village called ‘Kipalup’ where the store-keeper remembered a couple answering your description, calling in and buying some stuff. He told us that you’d stopped the night with an old lady in the village—”
“Beth!” Rachel couldn’t help exclaiming, just before clapping her hand to her mouth—too late.
“Yes, that was the name the man gave us. Aha! So you had passed that way! I knew I had got it right!
“So we asked the store-keeper to point out her house, and went up and knocked. At first the old woman denied everything, said she hadn’t had any visitors for over a year, said they must have got the wrong house. But Simon was insistent, and rudely went on ‘Try to remember, old woman. A young man and girl, only a few weeks back. Think again.’ But the woman repeated that she knew nothing about it; that she’d had no callers.
“Then Simon ‘lost it’. Big-time. He shouted ‘Dirty lying bitch!’ and went for the lady. I tried to intervene, but Barney and Lee held me back. He threw a punch full on the lady’s face. She fell to the floor, groaning. I wanted to stop and see if she was badly hurt, but Simon grabbed her purse then he and the others bundled me out of the house and back to our horses.”