Read Online Day of Deliverance by Johnny O'Brien - Free Book Online
Authors: Johnny O'Brien
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Armada – you know, to try and get rid of Elizabeth and Protestant England for good.”
“Got to tell you – I’m not really bothered about all that. I want to get warm, get some food and wait for a time signal so we can make contact with VIGIL.” Angus dismounted and patted the horse’s grey flank. “Good boy.”
“You can get off now, Jack. I think this lad’s gone as far as he can.” Angus patted the horse again. “What shall we do with him?”
“Let him go – he’ll probably find his way back. Or someone will pick him up… he’s valuable.”
Angus slapped the rear of the horse and it trotted off back down the track. Jack looked around. The woodland was particularly thick here. There were a number of old oaks with impressively broad trunks. Even though it was winter and there was little foliage, they could not see through the woods more than about fifty metres in any one direction. It was eerily quiet.
“Hey, do your ears feel funny, Jack?”
“Sort of – but I think I know what it is.”
Angus put a finger in one ear and rubbed vigorously.
“That won’t help. It’s nothing. I mean literally nothing. There’s no noise. No ambient noise. Usually in towns and cities and even in the countryside where we live back home there is some sound or other – like from cars, planes, machinery and stuff. Usually you just don’t notice it, but it’s always there, in the background. Here, I guess there’s none of that. It’s perfectly silent. So it seems weird to us – almost sounds like there is noise.”
“Well ambient whatsit or not, we need to push on for a couple of miles and then maybe turn off the road and go deeper into these woods. Find a spot to hide and wait – maybe try and get a fire going as we wait for a signal, or until the emergency rations run dry. I’m hungry, but we’ll need to eke them out.”
They continued up the track, trying to avoid the worst ofthe puddles and the mud, but progress was slow and soon their boots squelched with muddy water. After an hour, Jack was ready to give up when they rounded a bend which curved down to a small clearing in the woods. There was a muddy crossroads and to one side there stood a wooden cart, a bit like a gypsy caravan. It was the first sign of life they had seen since Fotheringhay. They approached cautiously. As they drew near to the back of the cart they could hear a sound. Snoring.
Suddenly, a man’s face appeared from behind the canvas cover at the rear of the cart. It was a round face with red cheeks and it was cocked to one side. Rather oddly, the man was wearing a large, floppy jester’s hat decorated with bright red and yellow stripes. It even had bells on it.
“Fanshawe! Monk! Get up!” he shouted in a squeaky voice. “We have visitors.”
There was a commotion inside the cart and it creaked on its wheels. The donkey at the front chomped disinterestedly on the remains of the thin grass at its feet. Then, the faces of two other men popped out from behind the canvas cover. One was bald on top, with a fringe of straight black hair all the way round his head. The other was more distinguished-looking, and had a finely trimmed moustache and a pointed beard. He spoke in a rich voice and carefully enunciated each syllable.
“What have we here?”
Soon the strange trio of gentlemen were outside the cart and inspecting Jack and Angus with interest. The one with the jester’s hat was actually wearing a full jester’s outfit complete with diamond-patterned overcoat and pixie boots with bells on the toes. The bald one wore a simple brown cassock tied with a rope round his waist. The one with the beard – who seemed to be in charge – was dressed like a country gentleman with a doublet and hose, but he did sport a rather dashing green cloak.
“An audience perchance?” he queried.
Jack replied nervously, “Er, sorry, sir, we don’t have any money…”
“We’re on our way to…” But Angus didn’t know where they could
“Got to tell you – I’m not really bothered about all that. I want to get warm, get some food and wait for a time signal so we can make contact with VIGIL.” Angus dismounted and patted the horse’s grey flank. “Good boy.”
“You can get off now, Jack. I think this lad’s gone as far as he can.” Angus patted the horse again. “What shall we do with him?”
“Let him go – he’ll probably find his way back. Or someone will pick him up… he’s valuable.”
Angus slapped the rear of the horse and it trotted off back down the track. Jack looked around. The woodland was particularly thick here. There were a number of old oaks with impressively broad trunks. Even though it was winter and there was little foliage, they could not see through the woods more than about fifty metres in any one direction. It was eerily quiet.
“Hey, do your ears feel funny, Jack?”
“Sort of – but I think I know what it is.”
Angus put a finger in one ear and rubbed vigorously.
“That won’t help. It’s nothing. I mean literally nothing. There’s no noise. No ambient noise. Usually in towns and cities and even in the countryside where we live back home there is some sound or other – like from cars, planes, machinery and stuff. Usually you just don’t notice it, but it’s always there, in the background. Here, I guess there’s none of that. It’s perfectly silent. So it seems weird to us – almost sounds like there is noise.”
“Well ambient whatsit or not, we need to push on for a couple of miles and then maybe turn off the road and go deeper into these woods. Find a spot to hide and wait – maybe try and get a fire going as we wait for a signal, or until the emergency rations run dry. I’m hungry, but we’ll need to eke them out.”
They continued up the track, trying to avoid the worst ofthe puddles and the mud, but progress was slow and soon their boots squelched with muddy water. After an hour, Jack was ready to give up when they rounded a bend which curved down to a small clearing in the woods. There was a muddy crossroads and to one side there stood a wooden cart, a bit like a gypsy caravan. It was the first sign of life they had seen since Fotheringhay. They approached cautiously. As they drew near to the back of the cart they could hear a sound. Snoring.
Suddenly, a man’s face appeared from behind the canvas cover at the rear of the cart. It was a round face with red cheeks and it was cocked to one side. Rather oddly, the man was wearing a large, floppy jester’s hat decorated with bright red and yellow stripes. It even had bells on it.
“Fanshawe! Monk! Get up!” he shouted in a squeaky voice. “We have visitors.”
There was a commotion inside the cart and it creaked on its wheels. The donkey at the front chomped disinterestedly on the remains of the thin grass at its feet. Then, the faces of two other men popped out from behind the canvas cover. One was bald on top, with a fringe of straight black hair all the way round his head. The other was more distinguished-looking, and had a finely trimmed moustache and a pointed beard. He spoke in a rich voice and carefully enunciated each syllable.
“What have we here?”
Soon the strange trio of gentlemen were outside the cart and inspecting Jack and Angus with interest. The one with the jester’s hat was actually wearing a full jester’s outfit complete with diamond-patterned overcoat and pixie boots with bells on the toes. The bald one wore a simple brown cassock tied with a rope round his waist. The one with the beard – who seemed to be in charge – was dressed like a country gentleman with a doublet and hose, but he did sport a rather dashing green cloak.
“An audience perchance?” he queried.
Jack replied nervously, “Er, sorry, sir, we don’t have any money…”
“We’re on our way to…” But Angus didn’t know where they could
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