imitating a
trapeze artist as he walked along it.
'Get down off there!' Frannie shouted at him, and saying goodbye to Will over her shoulder, hurried back to the
bridge to enforce her edict.
Relieved to have the girl gone, Will again considered the routes before him. If he went back to the house now
he could slake his thirst and fill the growing hole in his belly. But he'd also have to endure the atmosphere of ill-
humour that hung about the place. Better to go walking, he thought; find out what was around the bend and
beyond the hedgerows.
He glanced back at the bridge to see that Frannie had coaxed Sherwood down off the wall and that he was now
sitting on the ground again, hugging his knees, while his sister stood gazing in Will's direction. He gave her a
half-hearted wave, and then struck out along the unexplored road, thinking as he went that perhaps the route
would be so tantalizing that he'd make good on his boast to the girl, and keep walking till Burnt Yarley was just
a memory.
CHAPTER IV
The Courthouse was further than he'd thought. He walked and walked, and every turn in the road showed him
another turn and every hedgerow he peered over another hedgerow, until it dawned on him that he'd completely
miscalculated the size of the building. It was not near and small, it was far and enormous. By the time he came
abreast of it, and surveyed the hedge looking for a way into the field in which it stood, fully half an hour had
passed. The day had grown more uncomfortable than ever, and there were heavy clouds looming over the fells
to the northeast. Adele Bottrall's cleansing storm, at last, its billowing thunderheads casting shadows on the
heights. Perhaps it would be better to leave this adventuring for another day, he thought. The sting on his neck
had begun to pain him afresh, and had passed its throb to the bones of his head. It was time to go home,
whatever he'd boasted.
But to have come so far and not have anything to tell was surely a waste. Five more minutes he'd be through the
hedge and across the field, into the mystery building. Another five and he'd have seen its dank interior, and he
could be away, taking a short cut across the fields, content that his trudge had not been in vain.
So thinking he scouted for a gap in the woven hawthorn and, finding a place where the branches looked less
tightly meshed, pushed through. He didn't emerge entirely unscathed, but the spectacle on the other side was
worth the scratches. The grass in the meadow surrounding the Courthouse was almost up to his chest, and there
was life in it everywhere. Peewits erupted from underfoot, hares he could hear but not see raced away at his
approach. He instantly forgot his aching head, and strode through the hay and cow parsley like a man lost on
safari, his stomach suddenly churning with excitement. Perhaps, after all, this wouldn't be such a bad place to
live: away from the dirty streets and the taxis, in a place where he could be somebody else; somebody new.
He was just a few yards from the Courthouse now, and any doubts he'd entertained about the wisdom of
venturing inside had fled. He climbed the overgrown steps, passed between the pillars (which had the girth of
Donald Bottrall) and pushing open the half-rotted door, stepped inside.
It was colder than he had expected it to be, and darker. Though there had been so little rain that the river had
been reduced to a trickle, there was nevertheless a dankness everywhere, as though somehow the building was
drawing moisture up from the earth below, and with it came the smell of rot and worms.
The room he'd entered was most peculiar: a kind of semi-circular vestibule, with a number of alcoves carved
into it that looked as though they might have been intended for statues. On the floor was an elaborate mosaic,
depicting a curious collection of objects, some of which Will recognized, others which he did not. There were
grapes and lemons, flowers and
trapeze artist as he walked along it.
'Get down off there!' Frannie shouted at him, and saying goodbye to Will over her shoulder, hurried back to the
bridge to enforce her edict.
Relieved to have the girl gone, Will again considered the routes before him. If he went back to the house now
he could slake his thirst and fill the growing hole in his belly. But he'd also have to endure the atmosphere of ill-
humour that hung about the place. Better to go walking, he thought; find out what was around the bend and
beyond the hedgerows.
He glanced back at the bridge to see that Frannie had coaxed Sherwood down off the wall and that he was now
sitting on the ground again, hugging his knees, while his sister stood gazing in Will's direction. He gave her a
half-hearted wave, and then struck out along the unexplored road, thinking as he went that perhaps the route
would be so tantalizing that he'd make good on his boast to the girl, and keep walking till Burnt Yarley was just
a memory.
CHAPTER IV
The Courthouse was further than he'd thought. He walked and walked, and every turn in the road showed him
another turn and every hedgerow he peered over another hedgerow, until it dawned on him that he'd completely
miscalculated the size of the building. It was not near and small, it was far and enormous. By the time he came
abreast of it, and surveyed the hedge looking for a way into the field in which it stood, fully half an hour had
passed. The day had grown more uncomfortable than ever, and there were heavy clouds looming over the fells
to the northeast. Adele Bottrall's cleansing storm, at last, its billowing thunderheads casting shadows on the
heights. Perhaps it would be better to leave this adventuring for another day, he thought. The sting on his neck
had begun to pain him afresh, and had passed its throb to the bones of his head. It was time to go home,
whatever he'd boasted.
But to have come so far and not have anything to tell was surely a waste. Five more minutes he'd be through the
hedge and across the field, into the mystery building. Another five and he'd have seen its dank interior, and he
could be away, taking a short cut across the fields, content that his trudge had not been in vain.
So thinking he scouted for a gap in the woven hawthorn and, finding a place where the branches looked less
tightly meshed, pushed through. He didn't emerge entirely unscathed, but the spectacle on the other side was
worth the scratches. The grass in the meadow surrounding the Courthouse was almost up to his chest, and there
was life in it everywhere. Peewits erupted from underfoot, hares he could hear but not see raced away at his
approach. He instantly forgot his aching head, and strode through the hay and cow parsley like a man lost on
safari, his stomach suddenly churning with excitement. Perhaps, after all, this wouldn't be such a bad place to
live: away from the dirty streets and the taxis, in a place where he could be somebody else; somebody new.
He was just a few yards from the Courthouse now, and any doubts he'd entertained about the wisdom of
venturing inside had fled. He climbed the overgrown steps, passed between the pillars (which had the girth of
Donald Bottrall) and pushing open the half-rotted door, stepped inside.
It was colder than he had expected it to be, and darker. Though there had been so little rain that the river had
been reduced to a trickle, there was nevertheless a dankness everywhere, as though somehow the building was
drawing moisture up from the earth below, and with it came the smell of rot and worms.
The room he'd entered was most peculiar: a kind of semi-circular vestibule, with a number of alcoves carved
into it that looked as though they might have been intended for statues. On the floor was an elaborate mosaic,
depicting a curious collection of objects, some of which Will recognized, others which he did not. There were
grapes and lemons, flowers and
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