Harry Stave was a typical criminal, then Oliver couldn’t understand how the constabulary had not captured him years ago. Since fleeing from the police station at Hundred Locks, all they had done was enter the woods to the south of the town, go into the middle of a clearing, and peg out a strange yellow flag with a black circle in the centre.
‘Now what?’ Oliver asked, watching the drizzle falling from the sky soak the odd-looking flag.
‘We wait,’ said Harry Stave.
‘For what?’
‘For three hours, old stick.’ said Harry.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I know.’
Oliver couldn’t goad any more out of him. So he shut up and waited. Someone must have discovered the bodies in the police station by now. The corpses at Seventy Star Hall on the other hand could take weeks to be found. Damson Griggs brought everything to the house; she would be noticed missing first by one of the nosy neighbours she was always complaining about. Or perhaps one of Uncle Titus’s businesses would send a runner to see what had happened to their reclusive owner.
Shortly after three hours had passed, a figure appeared on the other side of the clearing, shrouded by the curtain of rain – heavier now.
‘Who’s that?’ Oliver whispered.
‘If we’re lucky, our ticket out of here,’ said Harry.
‘Harry!’ the figure called.
Harry Stave stayed where he was, sheltered by the tree from the rain. ‘Monks! You’re not meant to be here. Where’s Landless?’
‘Reassigned,’ said Monks. ‘Who’s the boy?’
‘The whistler’s nephew. We need to extract, Monks. We’ve been rolled up here.’
Oliver was about to ask why his uncle was called the whistler, but Harry signalled him back.
‘Did you get to meet the walk-in, Harry?’
‘The walk-in didn’t show. That’s why I put up a signal. A rival crew arrived and nearly did for us. We’ve been bleeding rolled up, we need to get out now.’
‘That’s why I’m here, Harry. Come on.’
Stave shut his eyes, not moving. A shadow seemed to separate itself from the criminal, a spectral outline moving forward into the rain and across the clearing. To Oliver’s astonishment a similar figure misted out of his own skin, drifting after the Harry-ghost.
<Quiet.> Harry cautioned the boy. <We’re masked now under the tree. He can’t see us here.>
In the centre of the clearing two thunder cracks exploded, a lick of flame splashing through the apparitions and off into the trees on the left.
‘Damn,’ said Harry. ‘A marksman. I do hate to be proved right.’
They were running back into the forest, the man Monks shouting something after them.
‘That was your friend?’ Oliver wheezed as they darted through the trees.
‘An associate,’ said Harry. ‘It was a bleeding set-up. My own people.’
Another crack sounded beside them. Whoever it was, they were shooting into the trees blind.
Oliver ducked under a fallen oak. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’
‘Let’s just say I had my suspicions.’
Oliver pointed to the north. ‘The town’s that way I think.’
‘Too well covered by now,’ said Harry, pushing Oliver on. ‘And besides, I never like to go into a place without knowing where the back door is.’
They followed the sodden forest trail to the west, doubling back and switching trails to throw off any pursuit. The breeze lent a cold edge to the run. Since he had found Damson Griggs on the floor of their kitchen, sprinting about Hundred Locks was all Oliver seemed to have done. The shots into the trees had stopped.
‘Not coming after us,’ panted Oliver.
‘Not their style, Oliver,’ Harry replied. ‘My associates like to keep to the shadows. The minimum of fuss. They were going after an easy kill, not a forced march through half the county’s forests.’
They slowed their dash as they began to come across tracks, leaves and twigs scattered across the ground. A horse trail. Oliver tried to locate the sun beyond the trees’ canopy. By its position they were into the late afternoon now. Then, against the fast-moving white clouds, he saw it. A black globe rising into the sky.
‘Look, Harry. I’ve never seen an airship like that.’
Harry stared upwards. ‘Bloody Monks. That was our ride out of here.’
‘But there’s no expansion engines on it.’
‘Don’t need them to go up and down, Oliver. Which is pretty much all it does.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’ll explain later. For now, let’s concentrate on our journey out of here.’
Harry’s route led them to what Oliver at first took for a river; then he saw the towpath and realized it was the tail end of the Hundred Locks navigation. If they followed the canal path north they would eventually reach the hundred locks carved into the dike wall of the Toby Fall Rise.
‘Keep back under the trees for the moment,’ cautioned Harry. ‘We need to stay in the black. See the tunnel in the hill? We’ll head for there, keeping under the tree line at all times. The towpath goes into the tunnel. We’ll get into the channel behind that bush growing down there on the left.’
Harry’s precise instructions left Oliver puzzled. ‘You think someone might be watching for us?’
‘Trust me,’ said Harry. ‘Someone’s always watching. Come on.’
They hugged the forest until the mouth of the canal tunnel was upon them. The bush extended all the way up the hill and pushing past it, Oliver scraped his neck against the sharp twigs that grew between its small orange flowers. It was cool inside the tunnel. Damp too. Harry sat down in front of a navvy’s alcove and dangled his feet over the edge of the waterway.
Oliver joined him. ‘Now we wait?’
‘Clever lad. You’ll go far.’
After half an hour the tunnel mouth darkened as the first of three nearly identical narrowboats entered, a single paddle at the rear of each boat tossing water across the towpath.
‘When the middle boat passes,’ instructed Harry, ‘jump for the cabin.’
Oliver did as he was bid – the narrowness of the tunnel and the slowness of the canal craft making it easy to step through the cloud of smoke and onto the deck. There was a steam-wreathed figure
