“What?” Jack said.
“It’s the rugby final tomorrow.”
Jack grinned. “You’re going to walk it after what we’ve been through.”
Taser Town
It was a beautiful spring day. Jack cycled his mountain bike up the old driveway at Cairnfield and then onto the main road that led up the long hill into Soonhope High Street. It was a busy Saturday lunchtime and the world and his wife seemed to be out. Angus was waiting outside Gino’s with a big grin on his face. He saw Jack and waved something in the air. It was the rugby trophy.
“We won!”
“Good stuff — did you score?”
“Just one try.” Angus jerked his head towards the cafe. “Come on — chip butties to celebrate — then I’ve got to head home.”
Gino was delighted to see them. In fact he was so delighted, that he immediately closed the shop and turfed everyone else out, making some excuse about a gas leak.
“You’ve had a big adventure, eh?” he winked at them conspiratorially. “You are both big VIGIL heroes. What can I get you? It’s on the house.” He grinned. “Don’t tell me: double Gino-chino, extra shot, full fat, with caramel and extra cream…” Then Angus and Gino announced in unison, “And don’t forget the cherry.” Gino thought this was absolutely hilarious and his belly wobbled as he laughed uproariously.
“Chip butties too please, Gino.”
Jack and Angus settled into one of the booths and straight away Angus started fiddling with the large plastic tomato-shaped ketchup holder. He squeezed it so the sauce just oozed out of the top, before releasing his grip so that it was sucked back in again with a satisfying squelch.
“That’s disgusting,” Jack said after Angus had squidged the bottle for the third time.
“Sorry,” Angus replied. “Hey, have you still got it? You know, the ring or whatever it was old queenie gave you?
Jack smiled and reached into his pocket. He placed the ring on the table. It glinted up at them.
Angus looked agog. “It’s a whopper. What’s that green thing?”
“Emerald — stupid. That’s the stone. The ring is gold.”
“What do you think it’s worth?”
Jack shrugged. “Thousands, maybe tens of thousands…”
“
“Of course. It’s mine. Queen Elizabeth I of England gave it to me — the Faerie Queene. I saved her life, her kingdom and the human race… though, granted, you did help,” Jack said, smiling.
Angus just laughed.
“Hey, I brought something else to show you,” Jack said.
“Really weird this… I mean almost as weird as some of the stuff we saw.”
Jack pulled from his bag the large history book that Miss Beattie had loaned him.
“Remember Beattie gave this to me before we went back? It’s got all sorts of pictures and stuff about Queen Elizabeth and the sixteenth century…” Jack thumbed through the pages. “Check that out.”
Jack pointed at the small colour frame at the bottom of one of the pages. It was one he had noticed when he’d first leafed through the book, entitled ‘Elizabethan Troupe’. It was a simple colour plate of a group of actors in various costumes. There was one dressed as a court jester and next to him, in stark contrast, another dressed as a monk. There was a third who looked slightly more important — like a country gentleman with a fine cloak and a neat, pointed beard.
“No way!” Angus nearly slid off his seat. “It’s the Marlowe players at Corpus Christi and that’s got to be Fanshawe, Trinculo and Monk…”
“And?” Jack said knowingly.
Eyeing the picture more closely, Angus spotted two further figures off to one side. One was tall and broad with longish black hair. The other was shorter, more slender, and had a shock of blond hair. For a moment Angus could not place them — then he realised — it was the two of them: Angus and Jack.
“Didn’t really notice it before. But that’s not all. There’s a picture of the battle of Gravelines — you know, showing the ‘fiery god’.”
Angus was not impressed, “Doesn’t look much like a helicopter to me. Certainly not a WAH-64 Apache armed with a chain gun and CRV7 rockets.”
“Well, as Joplin said, that’s the problem with eyewitness accounts.”
“And historians — they’re clearly all rubbish.”
The shop was quiet for a moment. Gino broke the silence, humming behind the counter as he prepared the chip butties.
“I nearly forgot!” Jack said, pulling out his mobile. “Got a message…”
“Oh yeah? Who’s it from?”
“Dad.” Jack scrolled down the emails and waved the device in Angus’s face. “Look.”
Angus squinted at the text and read aloud:
“Let us go in together;
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out of joint; O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!”
“It’s that weird quote again — about the world being broken and someone having to sort it out. Wasn’t that what you said?”
Jack smiled. “Sort of — the verse from
Angus read on.
Jack,
Sources tell me that you have had quite an adventure. You and Angus are very brave, young men. I have heard about Pendelshape’s attempt to change history — it was poorly planned and badly executed. It is not how I would have done it, were I still in charge. Most importantly, you must know that I would never have put you in such danger.
I see now that you are finding your own way in life, and I understand that it may not be the way that I have chosen. You have to make your own choices, Jack. Despite this, I still hope that we might meet one day, talk as friends and perhaps even find a way to make peace with VIGIL. But what I really wanted to say is this: I am proud of you.
Dad
Angus looked up. “Wow. What do you think he will do next?”
Jack shrugged. “No idea. He’s in a pretty desperate situation… a fugitive. Must be tough — on the run from VIGIL.”
Jack quickly pocketed the mobile as Gino brought over the Gino-chinos and the chip butties, taking his own place next to them at the booth, with a small espresso in front of him.
“You did very well, lads. The whole team is proud.”
Francesca, Gino’s daughter, emerged from the back of the cafe. She was burdened with large bags of shopping. Gino winced, and whispered to Jack and Angus, “Watch it boys — she’s in a bad mood.”
Sure enough Francesca marched up the aisle between the booths and dumped the shopping at Gino’s feet.
“Why am I the only one who does any work around here?” she demanded.
“Hi Francesca,” Angus said breezily. Francesca returned his greeting with a withering stare.
“I’m sick of this pokey little shop and I’m sick of this pokey little town…”
