Crybbe aka Curfew

against his ankles. It didn't startle him. It was probably a cat, there being no dogs in Crybbe.

It whimpered.

Powys went down on his knees. 'Arnold?'

It nuzzled him; he couldn't see it. He moved his hands down, counted three legs.

'Christ, Arnold, what are you doing out on your own. Where's Fay?'

He looked up and saw he'd reached the corner of Bell Street. Sudden dread made his still-bruised stomach contract.

Not again. Please. No.

No!

He picked Arnold up and carried him down the street. If the dog had made it all the way from home, he'd done well, so soon after losing a leg. Arnold squirmed to get down and vanished through an open doorway. Powys could hear him limping and skidding on linoleum, and then the lights came back on.

Powys went in.

He couldn't take it in at first, as the shapes of things shivered and swam in the sudden brilliance. Then he saw that Arnold had nosed open the kitchen door and was skating on the blood.

PART SEVEN

… but we could not bring him to human form. He was

seen like a great black dog and troubled the folk in the

house much and feared them.

Elizabethan manuscript, 1558

CHAPTER I

Max Goff said, 'I came as soon as I heard.'

Indeed he had. It was not yet 8 a.m. Jimmy Preece was surprised that someone like Goff should be up and about at this hour. Unhappy, too, at seeing the large man getting out of his car, waddling across the farmyard like a hungry crow.

Mr Preece remembered the last time Goff had been to visit him alone.

This morning he'd been up since five and over at Court Farm before six to milk the few cows. He couldn't rely on Warren to do it – he hadn't even seen Warren yet. Mr Preece was back on the farm, which he still owned but was supposed to have retired from eight years ago to make way for future generations.

Becoming a farmer again was the best way of taking his mind off what had happened to the future generations.

Everything changing too fast, too brutally. Even this Goff looked different. His suit was dark and he wore no hat. He didn't look as if he'd had much sleep. He looked serious. He looked like he cared.

But what was it he cared about? Was it the sudden, tragic death of Jonathon, followed by the grievous injury to Jonathon's father?

Or was it what he, Goff, might get out of all this?

Like the farm.

Mr Preece thought of the crow again, the scavenger. He hated crows.

'Humble said you'd be here.' Goff walked past him into the old, bare living-room, where all that remained of Jack was a waistcoat thrown over a chair back. No photos, not even the old gun propped up in the corner any more.

Goff said, 'Reason I came so early is the meeting. It's the public meeting tonight. What I wanted to say – there's time to call it off, Mr Mayor.'

'Call 'im off?' Jimmy Preece shook his head. No, it would be an ordeal, this meeting, but it couldn't be put off. The meeting would be his best opportunity to make it clear to this Goff that he wasn't wanted in Crybbe, that this town had no sympathy with him or his ideas.

There would, however, be a great deal of sympathy – overwhelming sympathy – for old Jim Preece, who'd lost his grandson and whose son was now lying maimed for life in Hereford Hospital.

Goff would have realized this. Cunning devil.

No way Mr Preece wanted that meeting calling off.

'Too late now. People coming yere from all over. Never get word out in time.'

'If we start now, Mr Mayor, spread the word in town, get it out on Offa's Dyke Radio…'

'No, no. Very kind of you to offer, but the town council stick to their arrangements, come fire, flood. And personal tragedy, like.'

He'd be making time today to pay a final visit to each of the farmers with land around Crybbe, make sure they all understood about the need to keep the stones away. He thought they were still with him, but money could turn a farmer's head faster than a runaway bull.

'Thought I should at least make the offer, Mr Mayor. And tell you how sorry I was.'

'Aye.'

There was a long silence. Mr Preece noticed circles like bruises around Goff's eyes and his beard not as well manicured as usual.

'Well,' Mr Preece said. He might as well say it now, make it clear where they stood. 'I expect you'll be wonderin' 'bout the future of this place. What's gonna happen if Jack's crippled and with Jonathon gone, like.'

'It's a problem, Mr Mayor. If there's any way I can help… We're neighbours, right?'

'No,' Jimmy Preece said. 'There's no way you can 'elp. And no, I won't be sellin' the farm.'

Goff spread his legs apart and rocked a bit. He didn't laugh, but he looked as if he wanted to.

'Aw, jeez, I realize you got to be in an emotional and anxious state, Mr Mayor, but if you're thinking maybe I'm here because I'm angling to buy the place, let me say that was about the last thing… I'm not a fucking property shark, Mr Preece.'

'No,' Jimmy Preece said, and it might have been a question.

'This family's been here four, five centuries, yeah? Isn't there another son, young, er…?'

'Warren,' said Mr Preece.

'Yeah, Warren.'

'Who don't want anything to do with farming, as you well know, Mr Goff.'

'Huh?'

'E's gonner be a star, isn't that right?'

'I don't…'

'Pop guitarist, isn't it? You're gonner make the boy a millionaire. Sign 'im up, turn 'im into a big star so he 'e can get his lazy arse out of Crybbe and don't need to 'ave nothing to do with us ever again… You ask me if there's anything you can do, Mr Goff, I reckon you done enough.'

For the first time, Murray Beech had locked the church for the night. He'd waited until the curfew was over and then walked over with the keys, surprised to find Jimmy Preece and not his son emerging from the belfry.

In an arid voice, from which all emotion had been drained, Jimmy Preece had explained why he was here, leaving Murray horrified. He'd remembered hearing the ambulance, wondering who it was for. How could lightning strike twice, so cruelly, at a single family? How could any kind of God…?