Merry ran as fast as she could into the centre of town. Her trainers were soaked – the whole of her was soaked – but the physical exertion took the edge off her anger and hurt and cooled them to a dull pain that settled like lumps of rock in the pit of her stomach. The rain eased to a drizzle. With no real aim, she wandered up the hill to the castle. The building was a jumble of different architectural styles in cream-coloured stone and red brick: an ivy-clad medieval tower; a Tudor bit with tall, arched windows, built when Elizabeth I came to visit; various Victorian renovations. But even the oldest sections, seven hundred years old, were young compared to the story Gran had told them earlier.
Nearly fifteen hundred years had passed since Merry’s ancestor had – allegedly – uttered the oath that landed Merry in this mess. She couldn’t take it in. When Gran had been talking, the people – Jack, Edith, Anwen – had all seemed so alive, so real. Merry felt she knew them, cared about them; it had been more like watching a film than just listening to a story. But apart from Jack – how had she known his name, in that nightmare? – they had all been dead for centuries.
Merry couldn’t get inside the castle. It had a notice outside: temporary closure. Quite a few of the shops and restaurants along the high street were closed too; she’d noticed it last night. In the ten days since the attacks began, the situation in town had deteriorated; there had been minor protests outside the police station – people demanding more police presence, or maybe even the army – and the night before last a fight had broken out in one of the pubs. The tree-cloaked slopes of the North Downs frowned above the town, their tops disappearing into the fog that had become an almost permanent feature in the last few weeks. Merry shivered. The whole atmosphere of Tillingham was different. Now she understood: the protection the town had been under, that had kept it safe and unchanged all these years, was being overwhelmed, just as the swollen river was overwhelming the sandbags piled along its banks. And everybody seemed to feel it. A few people were around, heading out for the evening or finishing their shopping. But they walked hurriedly, heads down against the dank evening air, avoiding eye contact, clinging to the safety of the street lamps that were just flickering into life.
Merry wandered down to the station, ignoring the curious gaze of the police officers standing by the exit. From here, she could get a train to London, and from London she could get to Manchester, Edinburgh – even further if she went back and got her passport –
How far would she have to run, to escape this madness? How long would she have to keep running?
Merry looked at the bank of ticket machines, hesitated, and turned instead into the small waiting room. She needed to think, to work out what she should do.
The waiting room was warm, at least. She sat for a while, watching the trains come and go through the misted windows. The room was full of people sheltering from the rain. A babble of conversations swirled around her: who had been attacked – why – when would the attacker strike next?
Maybe you should run, said one part of her brain. Sure, some people might die. But you probably won’t be able to stop that anyway, and at least you won’t be one of them. You’re not trained for any of this. You most definitely did not sign up for it.
‘But what happened to him? Where is he?’ A shrill-voiced woman nearby cut across her thoughts. Merry frowned in annoyance, and sank further down in her seat.
No, said the other part of her brain, you didn’t sign up for it. But how many lives is your life worth? What if fifty people die, or a hundred? What if he cuts the heart out of one of your friends? Look around you. What if Gwydion manages to create the army he wants? What if he destroys your home and everyone you love, and everything you’ve ever known?
The thought of so much loss, on such a scale – Merry almost gasped with the pain of it.
But if I stay, I’m definitely going to die. The first voice was pleading now. I may as well just jump in front of the next train and cut out the middleman. There’s no way I’m going to be able to stop a wizard. Even if I knew what I was doing, I haven’t successfully cast a spell for months. All I’ve done is break stuff and nearly kill Leo: I’m useless and dangerous all at the same time –
‘But you promised!’ A small child sitting on the next bench was pulling on her mother’s sleeve; as Merry watched, the child began to cry. ‘You said you would. You said …’
Merry got up and moved over to the window. The heat and noise in the room were starting to make her head ache. She put a hand out to steady herself on the windowsill. The voices got louder, making it impossible to think.
‘—it’s all my fault. I should have stopped him—’
‘—don’t blame yourself, you have lost so much—’
‘—and my sisters, gone—’
‘—for it to be truly over—’
And there she was, on the other side of the glass: the girl Merry had seen in the mirror at school, wearing the same clothes, her face only centimetres from Merry’s. Merry gazed at her, barely breathing –
A non-stop express to London tore through the station, horn blaring, setting the glass in the window shuddering. Merry blinked – there was no one on the other side of the window now. She pushed her way out of the waiting room and scanned the platform as far as she was able to from behind the ticket gates, but the girl had vanished.
Maybe she got on a train.
Who am I kidding? There is no girl. She’s a ghost. Or I’m going mad, and this whole thing is actually in my head –
Oh, God. What am I going to do?
She shivered, wound her scarf tighter around her neck and walked unsteadily back out of the station. The policemen stared at her again. No wonder – with the rain and the crying her face was probably streaked with mascara. Maybe she had a tissue in her bag –
‘Merry?’
She jumped.
‘Leo! What are you doing here?’
‘Sorry. I’ve been looking for you.’ He tilted his head. ‘You OK?’
‘Not really. I can’t – I don’t know how to deal with all this.’
‘I know. And I went and made it worse. I’m really sorry, about earlier. I know you would never hurt me.’
‘But I did, didn’t I?’
‘Not on purpose. Anyway – I’m sorry.’ He took her elbow and steered her to a bench. ‘Friends?’
Merry nodded, blinking away the tears that were threatening to spill on to her cheeks.
‘I think I might be going mad, Leo. Either that, or I’ve acquired my own personal ghost.’ She told him about the two visions she’d had of the dark-haired girl. ‘Do you reckon it might be Meredith?’
Leo grimaced. ‘Lord, I hope not. That’s all we need: another insane female relative trying to push us around. As if Mum and Gran weren’t enough.’
‘She probably wants to stop me doing a runner.’
‘Maybe. But I wouldn’t blame you, if you did.’ He pulled his phone out and started tapping on the screen. ‘Were you?’ he added eventually. ‘About to run away, I mean?’
‘I was thinking about it.’ Merry looked at the lights of the town, climbing up the hill. ‘But I don’t want to leave.