swivelled sideways, waited for the thud on the ground and kicked out again. This time, his boot landed on something hard that jarred the sole of his foot.
There was a brief pause, and the screaming stopped abruptly. Cooper decided to take the chance to dodge to the side, but was too slow. A blow swished past his face and landed with a terrific clang on the scaffolding pipes.
Then, all at once, there was light. Two arc lights popped and burst into life, illuminating the yard as if it were daylight. Lucas Oxley stood in the gateway, frowning angrily at the four figures that crouching sweating and gasping around Cooper.
That’s enough,’ said Lucas. ‘If anybody takes one more step, I’ll break his stick over his stupid head.’
‘Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived/ said Fran Oxley. ‘But we were a bit busy at the cafe tonight, and I missed the bloody bus.’
That’s OK.’
‘But I see you met some of the lads. They’ve been having a practice tonight.’
With the lights on in Fran Oxley’s house, Ben Cooper found
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the four young men looked no less bizarre, and only slightly less threatening. They were all dressed entirely in black, with heavy work boots and coats that seemed to be made out of rags dyed jet black. One of them had a thick cartridge belt around his waist, and another wore black leather wristlets covered in iron studs. They had taken off their black top hats and rested their sticks against the wall. When they removed their mirrored sunglasses, their eyes stared out at him from white patches of skin. The rest of their faces were covered in some kind of black paint that had streaked with their sweat.
‘Does the paint come off?’ said Cooper, knowing he sounded stupid.
‘It’s a water-based theatrical make-up,’ said Scott Oxley. It washes off easy.’
‘It doesn’t half give you blackheads, though,’ said Ryan.
Ryan Oxley was the only one that Cooper recognized. He was one of the teenagers he had seen on the road near the bus shelter, but it was only his hair really that made him recognizable. His older brother, Scott, was a tall young man in his twenties with broad shoulders and fair hair cut very short. Nobody introduced the other two, but Cooper heard one of them addressed as Glen.
Somehow, all the young men looked bigger and bulkier in their strange outfits than they would have been if he had found them dressed in Tshirts and jeans.
‘They used burnt cork, traditionally/ said Fran. ‘But apparently it causes cancer. This stuff you just put on with a brush or a sponge. It’s a bit like wearing a face mask. It feels sort of dry and powdery, not greasy at all, like you might imagine.’
‘You do this, too?’ said Cooper.
‘I play the concertina.’
‘Right. And this is the Border Rats?’
These are the Border Rats. It’s a group, not a thing.’
‘We’re only some of them,’ said Scott. ‘Everybody’s in the side. There are a few blokes come over from Hey Bridge, too.’
Cooper noticed that their sweat had brought out their individual smells - leather and rags, feathers and flowers, beer and cigarettes.
‘Can I have a look at the sticks?’ he said.
‘These are blackthorn,’ said Ryan. ‘That or hazel is best, because it doesn’t split as much, you know.’
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‘I think I saw your little brother Jake with some sticks earlier on.’ ‘He’s the Stick Rat. It’s his job.’
‘What does your father do?’
‘Dad is the Squire - that’s the leader. But he’s the Beast as well. Granddad used to be the Beast, until he got too old. You have to be a bit nimble on your feet.’
‘Beast?’
‘Some sides have a hobbyhorse, or something like that. We have a rat. Obvious, really.’
‘What we’re doing is re-enacting the killing of the rats that lived in the tunnels when they were being built. It’s symbolic.’
‘But if you want to know any more, maybe you’d better talk to the vicar,’ said Scott.
‘Mr Alton? What has he got to do with it?’
‘He’s the bloke who knows about the history - the symbolism and stuff.’
‘He knows about the history of the dance? Does he approve of it?’
‘Approve? You’re kidding. He’s been dying to join the Border Rats ever since he came to Withens. He used to be one of those hanky waving types - Cotswold morris dancers. This is the proper thing.’
‘More real?’ said Cooper, thinking of the Renshaws.
‘Well, yeah.’
Cooper knew the four young men couldn’t wait to get out of his presence, but they looked a bit abashed - not by him, but by the tongue-lashing Lucas had given them. For a few minutes, at least, they were trying to make polite conversation, as if that might make up for trying to scare him to death in their yard. And almost succeeding.
‘Wasn’t Neil Granger in the group, too?’ he said.
