“Nope,” said Vivien. She looked in the glovebox, hoping for chocolate or a packet of crisps, but it only contained a half-empty packet of John Player Specials, a matchbox, and a torch with a flat battery.
“We should get another car after we find Susan,” said Merlin.
“As far as I can tell, the sword is . . . they’re . . . in the middle of the wood,” said Vivien. “We’ll have to walk in anyway.”
“Luckily, I have suitable outdoor garments in my case,” said Merlin. “For you, too, if you like. A charming tartan skirt and matching hat.”
Vivien made a face.
“Or you can choose something else,” said Merlin. “We need to change up how we look. Do you want the D’Oyly Carte moustache? I brought it. And a wig.”
“No thank you,” said Vivien. “But a hat’s a good idea. You do realize we’ll have to dump the suitcase sooner or later?”
“Sadly, yes,” said Merlin. “I daresay it will give the police rather a surprise when they find it.”
“The contents?”
“Perhaps. But the case itself is very special. It belonged to Noël Coward.”
“Sure,” said Vivien, with unrestrained skepticism.
“His initials are under the handle, and his personal label inside,” insisted Merlin. “I paid twenty quid for it at the Portobello Market.”
“Twenty quid? You should have got Paddington to do the bargaining,” said Vivien. “Not that he’d have been taken in to start with. I’m kind of sad a fictional bear is smarter than my brother.”
Merlin did not reply to this sally. After a minute or two, Vivien made a peace offering.
“You’ll probably get the suitcase back eventually. Afterwards.”
“Hmm,” replied Merlin. “Your optimism is welcome. Do we keep going? There’s a lane to the northwest coming up.”
The road was heading into the outskirts of some nondescript Midlands town, all red brick and 1960s concrete, takeaways and small shops sprinkled among the houses on either side of the road.
“Keep straight on for now,” said Vivien. “We don’t go into the town, we’ll be through this bit in a few minutes, there’s a couple of roundabouts. Then we take a lane on the left, called Old Forest Way.”
They drove on, accompanied by “Moonlight Shadow” and then “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” by Eurythmics, turning into the narrow, somewhat sunken lane as the DJ told them what they’d been listening to and announced the next song was going to be “A Winter’s Tale” by David Essex, at which point both Vivien and Merlin reached to turn the radio off, his left hand momentarily clashing with her right.
Chapter Seventeen
A tree is strong
But the wind is stronger
A stone is strong
But the sea is stronger
The sun is strong
But sorrow is stronger
SUSAN WALKED FOR WHAT SHE ESTIMATED TO BE AT LEAST TWO hours, though she couldn’t tell for sure since her Swatch had stopped at 2:16, roughly the time the goblins had grabbed her. She knew she had already walked much, much farther out of the wood than the Fenris had gone coming in, but she was also sure she hadn’t gotten turned around. It was such a dense forest it was hard to get a good look at the sun, but every now and then there was a gap in the canopy enough to see it and get a reasonable idea which way was east.
She also hadn’t remembered the uphill slope being so long. It wasn’t very steep, but combined with having to make her way between great oak trunks and under spreading, scraping birch branches and bypassing thickets of hawthorn and holly, it was all quite exhausting and the wood appeared to go on forever.
There was no sign of the bridle path, either, but Susan remembered that it had turned up the ridge, at the point where the wolf had descended into this densely wooded, secret valley. So if she kept going uphill she would eventually come to it, and from there make it to the road, and eventually a phone to call for help.
Who exactly to call was a little puzzling. She supposed dialing 999 would be easiest, and the police would inform the booksellers. But she had a slight nagging doubt caused by Merlin’s suspicions that one of the booksellers might actively be involved in whoever or whatever was trying to kidnap her. So it might be better to try to lie low.
Susan thought about this, and stopped to catch her breath and check her pockets. Her father’s cigarette case was in the top left breast pocket, suitably buttoned down. She had about fifteen pounds and a handkerchief in her left lower pocket and . . . she felt something in the long ruler pocket, and drew out the butter knife. Checking the right lower pocket, she found a bunch of soggy, bloated, but not split packets of salt.
As she touched steel and salt, she felt a strange jolt inside her body. A sudden feeling of excitement and tension fizzed through her from toes to head, as the dormant power inside her quickened. Instinctively and very swiftly, Susan put the knife and the salt back in her pockets and lifted her hands, as if the farther away she held them the more she could avoid whatever was happening.
The sense of waking and anticipation ebbed away, but it didn’t entirely disappear. A shivering, coiled-up feeling that something truly momentous was going to happen remained inside her.
“No,” whispered Susan to herself. “I don’t want it. Keep your powers.”
The sensation ebbed further, like a baby settling almost off to sleep, being also ready to come awake and bawl at the slightest provocation. Which Susan was determined not to provide.
She pushed herself off the oak she was leaning against, and started walking again, setting her mind very firmly on her immediate predicament and not on whatever was happening within her. With only £15, hiding out didn’t seem very possible. Susan tried to think how she might contact Merlin or Vivien without letting any other booksellers know. She could call the Old
