Thistle Witch, page 14
part #1 of Anaïs Blue Series
She resigned herself to their predicament. Getting to their destination by sea was impossible. Even if they could find a port and put into it, they would have to refuel. This would mean bringing unwanted attention to themselves. Things were complicated enough as they were. It was far easier if they remained incognito. They would just have to beach the boat somewhere and search for another means of transport. Perhaps they could hitch a ride with someone else.
Anaïs jumped down from the seat and went to the side of the boat. She peered over the edge. The water was dark. It looked cold and uninviting, even if swimming had been a viable course of action.
Prince was looking at her. He had also seen the fuel gauge. ‘We can’t stay out here very much longer.’
She acknowledged him with a nod. ‘Yes I know. I was just considering our options.’
‘I know.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh? Can you read my mind now?’
He smirked. ‘No, it’s obvious. We have to get to shore.’
The situation soon resolved itself. Anaïs had forgotten to feed the boatman. He had stood at the helm for hours, engrossed in piloting the vessel. She had been concentrating on the coastline and her promptuary. She had neglected to keep an eye on him and, more importantly, his medication. When it happened, both Anaïs and Prince were unaware of him snapping out of his trance. It took them by complete surprise until he cried out in alarm.
‘Hey! What’s going on? Where are we?’
The boatman looked around frantically. Prince was standing next to him. The boatman swung around and went to shake the shade. ‘Hey! Grandpa!’
The boatman, aiming for Prince’s shoulders, went to grab what he thought was a senile old man staring listlessly into space. The illusion was so complete, and he lunged with such force, that he only succeeded in hugging himself and falling headlong through the shade. He knocked his head on the sharp, leading edge of the seat. His shoulder connected with it as well and he bounced off, flipped over and ended up flat on his back on the deck. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. Sheer panic set in.
‘What ...’ His lips quivered. ‘Who are you? Where am I?’
He scrabbled frantically for purchase. Still on his back, he kicked his legs and shimmied around on the deck like a crab, attempting to put some distance between himself and the shade. He only succeeded in jarring his head once more against the bulkhead, this time at the little witch’s feet.
‘Help!’ he cried.
Anaïs stood over him and tried to calm him. She put her finger to her lips.
‘Shh, it’s ok,’ she said.
She used the most soothing voice she possessed but it came out all wrong. It only confused him even more. Five-year-olds don’t talk like husky harlots.
He threw her a bewildered look and shrank away from her. He scrambled into a corner and as far away from them as physically possible. In the cramped confines of the boat there was no real escape. He pulled himself up and peered over the side towards the coast. They were passing the mouth of a wide bay flanked by low headlands on either side.
‘This isn’t the Netherlands! Where the hell are we?’ cried the boatman.
Anaïs had to act fast. The boatman certainly wasn’t going to accept a piece of confectionery from her this time. Now they were on their own. She did the only thing she could do. She sprang up on the seat and grabbed the wheel. She spun it hard toward land. It threw Prince off balance and sent him careening across the boat towards the boatman. The sailor threw up his hands to protect himself and Prince fell through them and into his body. Anaïs saw his frame stiffen with the sudden cold spike which rushed through him as the shade made contact. It was too much for the boatman. He passed out.
Anaïs hung vainly onto the wheel, trying to steady the boat. Fortunately, she guided it between the headlands and into the bay. She peered between the spokes of the steering wheel and waited for her pounding heart to settle. Prince picked himself up and slid across the seat next to her.
He nudged her. ‘That was entertaining.’
She scowled at him.
‘Not funny,’ she said.
The bay was practically empty. There was a wide crescent beach with a small village nestled at the far end of it. Its lights winked at her. There was no harbour, just sand and pebbles. The engine cut out when they were a few metres from the shore and they had to wait until the tide carried them up onto the beach. An especially large swell lifted them up and unceremoniously dumped them high above the waterline. Thankfully, Anaïs was prepared for the impact and had wrapped her entire body around the wheel. She heard the crunch of the sand and stones as the bottom of the boat crashed down on the beach. The sea receded and left them high and dry.
They had no choice but to leave the boatman lying in his vessel. He was too heavy for her to move. Anaïs felt a bit awkward leaving him there. The best she could do was give him an idea where he was. She rummaged in her beret, found a pen and piece of paper, and scrawled a word on it: England. She stuffed it in the half-clasped palm of his hand.
Anaïs dropped down from the boat. Her shoes buried themselves in soft sand. She shook her legs one at a time to extract them. Prince landed silently beside her and gave her a start. They both trudged around the stern of the boat and looked down the beach. The welcoming lights from the village beckoned from the other end of the bay. The full moon shook itself free of clouds and bathed the beach in monochrome light. She narrowed her eyes.
Halfway between them and the village were two figures on the hard sand close to the waterline. Waves crashed on the beach around them, creating a fine mist. She watched them materialise slowly out of the spray. It was a man and a dog.
The dog was enormous, almost half the height of the man. Even though it wasn’t particularly cold, and in spite of the mist, heat haze rose from it. The beast growled, the sound echoing around the bay. Anaïs froze to the spot in horror. Then the animal began running towards them.
This time the Inquisitor didn’t hold it back. The chain hung slack in his hand. A joyless grin split his face.
A SAVIOUR IN STILETTOS
Prince and Anaïs thrashed their way up through the brush bordering the beach. It wasn’t particularly high or thick but it inhibited her movement. She didn’t have the size or strength to get through it effectively. She fought on, though. She had to.
All the while she thought about the figures on the beach. How had they found her? How had they got to England before her? And, most of all, who were they? She still had no answers.
One foot sank through spongy grass and into water. It was bitterly cold and seeped through her shoe. She let out a cry of surprise and then muffled it with her hand. They mustn’t hear her. She stopped and listened. The brush around them was silent. This was good. It meant they weren’t close.
She was convinced the dog would make a lot of noise. It was at least as tall as her and much heavier. She would certainly hear it as it forced its way through the thick undergrowth. Out in the open they would have been caught immediately. In the dense shrubbery they were on an even footing. It was the only way off the beach, and if they were somewhere in there with her and Prince, then their progress would also be inhibited.
Anaïs tried to ignore her wet foot and struggled onwards. Within minutes they burst through an especially thick section of brush and out into the open. She and Prince had stumbled onto a narrow country laneway. It was like being released from a prison and the stiffness in her shoulders relaxed. The stress ebbed. She caught her breath and looked up and down the lane. She was reasonably sure of her bearings from the flash of the lighthouse in the night sky and elected to turn left. It would take her away from the village and their pursuers. Now they were in the open they could move faster, but their advantage wouldn’t last long. They had to keep moving. Once the Inquisitor and his dog found their way out of the brush, they would be upon them in no time.
The blaring honk of a car horn made her jump. A black Morris Minor skidded to halt on the damp road, gliding sideways in the mud which coated it. It only just stopped short of hitting them. Its engine coughed and died. The vehicle’s windows were fogged with condensation and Anaïs couldn’t make out its occupants. The driver cranked down the window, the winder squeaking loudly. A woman stuck her head out. It was the librarian.
Anaïs and Prince looked at one another. He raised an eyebrow.
The librarian scowled at Prince. ‘Is he still hanging around with you?’
Anaïs shrugged and pulled a face at the woman in the car.
The librarian pursed her lips and knotted her eyebrows. She sighed. ‘I expect you need some assistance?’
Anaïs and Prince held their ground. Both were surprised to see the woman and unsure if her question was meant as an invitation. Was she offering to help? Her coarse disposition sent conflicting signals.
Exasperated by the lack of movement, the librarian yelled with irritation, ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Get in!’
Anaïs grabbed Prince and they rushed around to the far side of the vehicle. She struggled with the door lever. It was rusted and wouldn’t budge. Prince, unable to offer any physical help, shuffled helplessly on the spot next to her, dancing from one foot to the other.
‘Oh, come on!’ the librarian cried in earnest. ‘Put your back into it.’
Anaïs put one foot on the chassis for leverage. She tugged with all her might. Mercifully, the handle yielded and the door flew open. Anaïs stumbled backwards and was caught by a hedge on the side of the road. She extracted herself and went to shove Prince into the front seat.
The librarian stopped them by raising the palm of her hand. Fluorescent nail polish on the tips of her fingers glinted in the dashboard light. ‘No, he goes in the back,’ she said forcefully and flipped her thumb towards the rear of the car. ‘I’m not having him sit next to me.’
Anaïs gave her a disdainful look but did as requested. She opened the well-greased back door for Prince, closed it behind him and jumped in the front seat. As she slammed her door shut a movement through her window caught her attention. It was the Inquisitor and his dog.
They crashed through the brush a few metres down the road. The Morris Minor’s headlights caught them like rabbits in a spotlight. The dog dug in its claws and froze. The Inquisitor, who was unable to stop as quickly as the animal, tripped over it and ended up spread-eagled on the road. He scrabbled quickly to his feet.
Anaïs screamed at the librarian, ‘Drive! Now!’
The librarian twisted the key in the ignition. Mercifully the motor roared to life. She gunned the engine, grated the gears and planted a stiletto on the accelerator. The car careened in reverse and into the hedgerow lining the side of the lane. The rear of the vehicle crunched in the bushes. The librarian grabbed the gear lever with both hands, wrenched it out of reverse and jammed it forcefully into first gear, puffing out her cheeks with the exertion. She drove her foot down hard on the accelerator, almost standing in her seat whilst doing so. The car’s wheels spun before finding purchase. It extracted itself from the undergrowth, the branches scraping the bodywork like fingernails on a blackboard. The occupants of the Morris Minor all cringed in unison. The vehicle launched itself back onto the road proper, fishtailed on the slippery surface and belted off down the laneway, leaving the Inquisitor and his dog standing flatfooted in the middle of the road.
Anaïs didn’t look back, focussing instead on the narrow road ahead, her heart pounding.
NOT ALONE
The librarian was a surprisingly competent driver. She guided the vehicle fearlessly through the narrow country lanes at breakneck speed. A rally driver in stilettos and a miniskirt, she even wore fingerless, black leather driving gloves. Anaïs guessed she never went anywhere without first checking her appearance.
Her attire didn’t quite fit the car she was driving. A Ferrari would have suited her more than a Morris Minor. This did not prevent her from driving the little car in the manner of its more expensive Italian cousin. She shifted rapidly up and down through the gears and barely braked. She leant her body as they swung around corners, and transferred her weight with the movement of the car. On particularly wide curves she let the back end of the car drift and then pulled it back at the last minute.
Anaïs could hear Prince being tossed around in the back seat and had serious problems trying to remain in her own. She gripped the edge of her seat with one hand and the door handle with the other. It required all her five-year-old strength to prevent her from being thrown around the vehicle like a rag doll.
The librarian was unperturbed. Her dress sense did little to disguise her cold nature. She ignored her passengers and focussed on the road ahead. The little car hit a hump in the road and became airborne for a moment. It crashed back down on the asphalt, jarring its passengers as the vehicle bottomed out. Its old springs laboured under the strain. The impact took the wind out of Anaïs.
The librarian cleared her throat but didn’t offer an apology. She did, however, reduce her speed.
Anaïs caught her breath and spoke first. ‘What are you doing here?’
The librarian screwed up her face and spat at her, ‘I wish I knew.’
She flashed her eyes at Anaïs before turning back to concentrate on the road ahead. They approached an enormous oak tree. Its bulbous trunk jutted out into the lane. The librarian wrenched on the steering wheel and guided them around it with millimetres to spare. Anaïs bit her lip as it flashed past her window.
The librarian grimaced and then the look on her face softened slightly.
‘Well I do actually.’ She measured her words. ‘Know, that is.’
She looked across at Anaïs again. ‘They sent me. The Organisation. They didn’t want you left alone.’ She sighed. ‘It wasn’t my choice. I was very happy where I was. But, as they say, it’s all for the cause.’
‘I suppose I should thank you?’ said Anaïs.
The librarian huffed. ‘I wouldn’t go supposing anything if I were you.’
Anaïs went to shoot back an equally snide remark but thought better of it. The less she said to the woman, the better.
She turned to watch the road. The hedgerows flashed by. They were incredibly close. The narrow country lane was pitch black, the moon having concealed itself behind the clouds, and the Morris Minor’s feeble headlights only just cut through the darkness. What little there was of the road tapered. It left only enough room for something slightly bigger than a Morris Minor to pass through. With the overhanging trees providing a canopy, Anaïs had the impression they were in a runaway train barrelling down a tunnel.
Anaïs released her grip on the seat and door handle and searched for some way to anchor herself to the car. She fumbled for her seatbelt and clicked it in place, testing the connection to make sure it was secure. Only then did she settle back into her seat. She closed her eyes and regulated her breathing until her heart’s rapid palpitations subsided. She looked up at the librarian who wore a wry smile and seemed to be relishing the moment. She clearly wanted to make Anaïs suffer for her own inconvenience.
Anaïs put on a brave face and straighten in her seat. ‘Where are we going?’
The librarian sniffed the air. ‘I thought you had a plan?’
Anaïs frowned. ‘Um, no, not really.’
‘Well you better think of something. I’m just trying to put some distance between us and your friend with the dog.’
Anaïs screwed up her nose. ‘He’s not my friend.’
The librarian smiled. ‘I didn’t think so.’
‘Are you a witch?’
The librarian feigned embarrassment. ‘That’s a bit forward of you.’ She warmed slightly. ‘No, not a real one. We wouldn’t be sitting here together if I was. Too much power all in one place and that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking.’
The librarian took her foot off the accelerator for a moment and dropped her eyes from the road. She looked squarely at Anaïs. ‘I’m just part of the family, kind of in the same way your caretaker was.’
A wave of sadness swept over Anaïs. She didn’t want to be reminded about Nan. She expected the librarian to go further and give a jibe about her role in Nan’s death. Anaïs was relieved when nothing came. She sensed the librarian’s mood was mellowing. She watched the woman ensconce herself deeper in her seat and become less aggressive, completely absorbed with her driving. Perhaps she was also considering the possible deadly ramifications of assisting a witch.
Her calm demure was only temporary. Anaïs watched the librarian become tense again, grit her teeth and slam the car through the next corner. Anaïs sucked air through her teeth and choked on her heart. The librarian’s erratic behaviour wasn’t instilling Anaïs with much faith.
‘Please, take it easy,’ she pleaded.
‘Ok, I’m sorry.’ The librarian slowed the vehicle and let it roll to a stop. She slung one arm over the steering wheel and turned to Anaïs. ‘If we’re going to spend time together then perhaps you ought to know my name.’
Anaïs could see she was making an attempt to curb her usual sharp nature. ‘Yes, that would help. What is it?’
It came as no surprise that her name was as brazen as the rest of her. She puffed herself up. ‘Immaculate Phlox,’ said the librarian.
Anaïs had to stifle a smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Immaculate.’
The librarian stiffened at the sound of her name. ‘Please, don’t call me that. You sound like my mother. Call me Immi. I’d prefer that. It’s a lot less formal.’
She slotted the car into first gear and planted her foot on the accelerator. They roared off into the night with Prince and Anaïs pinned once more to the backs of their seats.
A PLACE FOR THE NIGHT
The bed and breakfast was in an old farmhouse. The entire building creaked and squeaked, not only the floorboards. The house had a life of its own. It wasn’t just the walls that chattered; everything had something to say. Anaïs had only caught glimpses of bits of the house as they were escorted to their rooms. The expansive dining room, its walls lined with crockery; the long corridor lined with a threadbare runner; the wonky yet solid staircase that wound its way up through the guts of the building.
