BENJAMIN was more or less recovered in the morning—and, what was more important, Peter was briefly conscious and able to give some account of himself. They asked him what had happened but his memory was foggy. Benjamin had turned up and hammered on the door, to Peter’s astonishment: after a quick explanation Peter had sent him down into the cellar and slid the desk back in place. A few minutes later the thugs forced their way into the house and roughly demanded that he yield up the ‘Black Mutant’ they were chasing. Peter professed ignorance. That was all he remembered until he sensed Laura tending to him.

Benjamin was more forthcoming. He explained that the journey alongside his father’s remains had passed uneventfully: he was able to hide in the wagon whenever they encountered strangers on the road. Once the funeral was done and Samuel decently buried, the Sheriff helped him to procure a horse and he set off for Ragnarok with all speed.

Whether by his skill or by luck, he managed to evade the Blue­blacks throughout most of the journey. And the ordinary Labrador folk took no notice as he passed: despite his skin colour, they were evidently not ready to do the Blueblacks’ work for them. It was only in the last two or three miles that he realised there was a posse on his tail, so he raced to Peter’s house at a full gallop, dismounted, slapped the horse’s rump to make it continue at a canter along the road, and sought his way into the house. The rest they knew.

“I’m lucky that Peter had enough time to hide me. I suppose the posse galloped straight through the village, chasing after the horse for a while until they discovered it was riderless. Then they must have turned back—how they found the right house I don’t know. Maybe a neighbour saw me: not everyone in the village can be trusted. But I suppose the Blueblacks must have given up the search after they’d dealt with Peter…”

Benjamin examined Peter again that morning, and declared that he should be all right given time, but he needed several days’ rest. They all agreed that nothing would be decided until both Benjamin and Peter were fully fit again, so they had better make up beds in the house, overcrowded as it was with the eleven of them, including the children. And even more so, once Justin returned from hunting. This reminded Michael of something.

“Benjamin, do you know Tim and Rachel—the other Rachel? Who live just down the road. Do you know if they’re around?”

“Yes, I know them, but I haven’t seen them—not that I had much chance! Best ask Peter, if he’s awake.”

As it turned out Peter was asleep again so they left it for the rest of the day. Michael and Rachel remembered where the animals were kept and were able to tend to them. Benjamin’s horse failed to return: they assumed the Blueblacks had taken it. Towards the evening Peter was awake again, and some of the dizziness had gone. He welcomed Mark and Stephanie, “I’ve heard about you two. Glad to meet you, both of you.” And he seemed ready to talk, so they then asked him about Tim and ‘Big’ Rachel.

“Oh—you’ve missed them. They’re gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. About two weeks ago,” explained Peter. “They were worrying about what’s happening in Rigo and wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and the city. Put the house up for sale and went off, heading west. They must have made up their minds all of a sudden: they didn’t even tell us until the day before they left. They didn’t know where they’d end up, they said they’d write once they were settled. They’re out of telepathy range now,” he added, switching to thought-shapes.

“You can talk freely, Peter,” said Mark. “Benjamin and Laura are both in on our little secret.”

“I guessed as much,” said Peter. “But we must still be careful.”

“Didn’t you think of moving West too, Peter?”

“I’m too much attached to this place: I don’t want to move even if all the Blueblacks in Labrador were after me. As well they might: Ruffer will have found out by now that I’m a friend of Hilary’s, so I’m a marked man. I heard she’s in jail, but I don’t know how they’re treating her.”

“Neither do we,” said Michael. “I fear the worst.”

“You haven’t been around the house yet,” put in Rachel. “It’ll need a bit of tidying up.”

“I’m not surprised. The way those ruffians act, I’d be surprised if anything was left standing. Are my books intact?”

“Some of them are torn, but they can probably be mended. It doesn’t look as if they stole any. What would Blueblacks want with your books?”

“That’s good. Well, until I’m up and about again, you good folks can set to work tidying up the house. And where has everyone been sleeping? I see. Well, some of you can use Tim and Rachel’s empty house: I’ve got the key. A bit more comfortable!”

Peter’s good advice was welcomed, and for the next few days they set about tidying up the house. Michael repaired the front door which had been kicked in, and Rachel busied herself with tape and a pot of glue and fixed most of the torn pages from the books back in their rightful places. And it was decided that Benjamin and Laura and their children, and Michael and Rachel and little William, would move into Tim and Rachel’s house—“to give Peter a bit of peace and quiet,” as Rachel remarked. The baby had been waking up and crying rather often in the past few days: Rachel could quieten him by nursing him, but the peace didn’t last long. Mark and Stephanie remained in Peter’s house, but they now had a bedroom to them­selves.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

After some days Peter was up and about again, and was quite impressed with the work the young people had done, especially Rachel’s book-repair efforts, with which he was delighted. He checked over the bookshelves carefully, and announced that only about six or seven books were missing: destroyed or damaged beyond recovery. He also said he expected Justin to return any time now.

As it happened Justin appeared that same day, with the spoils of his hunt. To say he was astonished to find all the visitors there would be putting it mildly, but his first concern, of course, was with the well-being of his father, once he learned about the attack.

“If only I’d been here—I’d have fought them off,” he muttered.

“Not a chance: there were at least six of them,” said Benjamin. “You were better off being away. Comfort yourself with the fact that your father’s making a good recovery. I wasn’t so lucky.”

“Oh! You mean Samuel? What’s happened?”

“Just a lynching,” said Benjamin, matter-of-factly. “But we gave him a decent burial—in the same churchyard where my mother lies, as it happens. He’s at peace.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry: all my sympathy,” said Justin. Never a man of many words, he could not think of anything else to add, but he gave Benjamin a hug which spoke volumes. It was some time before anyone spoke.

It was Peter who broke the silence. “You’re planning to leave Labrador altogether, aren’t you—that’s still your plan, Michael and Rachel, is it not? And the rest of you with them, I suppose? Quite a tall order with three little girls and a tiny baby. Not all the way to Europe, surely!”

“No, not Europe, not any more. We’re thinking of Newf. In fact it was Hilary recommended it,” said Michael.

“Much more sensible, but still risky. How do you think you’ll get there? Not by sailing from Rigo, that’s plain. Although the insur­gence that’s been ravaging the city and surrounding area, and even reached as far as here, will die down. I very much fear that all those people whom Ruffer deems to be ‘Blasphemies’—like you Benjamin, and poor Samuel—they’ll have either fled, or been murdered, or—who knows? God help them!”

“What you mean is, once the Blueblacks have no-one left to torture and murder, they’ll calm down?” suggested Laura.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Peter, grimly. “But you need to steer well clear of Rigo for the foreseeable future, that’s for sure.”

“You said ‘you’. Aren’t you going to come with us?” asked Rachel.

“I said this before—and I told you exactly the same a year ago, if you’ll remember, Rachel. I’m not moving. I’m just too rooted in this place, come what may. Justin will answer for himself.”

“I’m staying too,” said Justin. “The hunting and the farming’s good enough for me.”

“So it’ll be the six of you, plus the children,” continued Peter, “assuming you all want to stay together.”

“But how on earth do we get to Newf?” asked Michael. “Are there any other places besides Rigo, safer places, where we can take ship?”

“The big ocean-going ships sail only from Rigo, as I’m sure you know,” replied Peter. “But to the north and north-east there used to be plenty of Inuit communities, and they ran several small fishing boats. That’s your best chance—if they’re still there—if the Blueblack thugs haven’t wiped them out.

“The first problem is going to be, how to reach the north-east coast. Hmmm… Difficult with the cart and all: there are no good roads that way. I tell you what, your best bet is to go by the river.”

“The river? Is there anywhere we can get a boat?” asked Michael.

“Not that I know of, but why not build one? There’s plenty of timber around here, and you’ve had plenty of practice at shipbuilding, and been doing well, or so I’ve heard. Give it a try, Michael. And once you’ve gone, you can leave your cart and the horses with us: we’ll find them useful. Fair return, eh?”

“A boat? I suppose I could manage, with a bit of help, but it’s a lot more difficult than a cart. I’ll need help.”

“Two smaller boats would be better than one big one. The river I’m thinking of, you can reach it about ten miles north of here, and it flows in the right direction, but it may run into rapids in some places. Be prepared to carry your boats at times.”

“Even so, it’d take weeks.”

“Just as well. If you start now, in midwinter, the river might be frozen over—and you’d be frozen on the journey too. Stay here until the spring, like you did last year. If those thugs re-appear, well, we’ll do our best.”

Michael was dubious, but it seemed the only realistic course of action—and his recently-acquired skills would be put to good use. Accordingly, he and Justin went to procure the tools he would need, and collect such planks and timbers as required. Meanwhile Mark and Benjamin set about constructing a crude workshop behind the house.

“I’ll need pitch, to make the boats watertight,” said Michael. “Where can we get that?”

“Better leave it to me,” said Justin. “I’ll ask around. There’s a builder’s yard in one of the neighbouring villages, I think.” And he set off with the cart to search.

So the work progressed from week to week, and two medium-sized boats with oars were slowly taking shape. Michael and Mark were doing most of the joinery work, with Benjamin helping out as needed. In the meantime, once the weather became warmer, Justin rode off north to check out the river.

“There’s a good flow of water at present, and I’ve found a sloping bank where you can launch the boats from,” he reported when he returned.

“But we need to get the boats there somehow, and I’ll want to test them nearer home, make sure they’re watertight and seaworthy—all right, ‘river-worthy’. Is there a deep enough pond nearby?”

Justin knew of a lake about a mile off, so, once the hull of one of the boats was completed, all four young men, plus Stephanie, had to help in hoisting it up on top of the cart. They set off, arrived at the lake, and tentatively lowered the boat into the water. All proved well after Michael had stopped up some leaks and added a ballast of stones, and he successfully rowed the boat across the lake and back again.

“Looking good, the boat seems to answer well enough,” he reported. “We’ll have to finish the other one, then put in enough seating for everyone, load up with provisions, and then we’ll be off!” Despite having seen so much of Labrador, he was only too eager to start a new journey.