Oisín McGann - Ancient Appetites

Francie knew the path well, having walked down here many times. It was twisting and narrow but was relatively clear of low-hanging branches, and Flash gradually picked up speed, obviously having no problem seeing its way in the dark. Francie leaned forward between the engimal's horns, feeling the wind on his face. The dripping trees blurred past him on either side, the ends of branches snagging his jacket and trousers, threatening to whip off his cap.

He had left the stable with only what he had on him but it was all he would need. There would be no more mucking out the stalls, no more polishing tack or taking lip from the grooms. No more knuckling his forehead to every swell who said a word to him. He was free! The exultation rushed through him – he wanted to scream with joy, to let it out into the forest around him.

It was just at that moment that they swerved round a high bank of thick foliage and Francie's breath caught in his throat. Standing right in their path was a man, his head hung low, lost in thought. They were going too fast to stop on the wet path. Flash reared and let out a bark of surprise as they slammed into the man, throwing him off his feet. He had time to scream before his body fell under the wheels of the velocycle. The jolt bounced Francie out of the stirrups just as Flash came down hard on its front wheel, its back wheel striking the man's torso and bucking the boy forward over the handlebars. Francie crashed into a bank of ferns and soft earth, the impact knocking the wind out of him and leaving him stunned.

Getting up onto his knees, he bent forward, trying to get his breath back. There came the sound of shouting in the distance, off to one side. The guards had heard the noise. They were coming. Francie looked around for the velocycle. Flash was standing on the path, looking from Francie to the fallen man and back again. Francie waved to it, his chest still too constricted to call the engimal, but it backed away warily, turned and scuttled off back towards the house.

'No!' Francie wheezed. 'Come back, yeh blackguard!'

But it was no use, the velocycle was gone. The man lying on the path moaned in pain, barely conscious. Francie wondered if he should try and help him, but what could he do? The voices were getting closer; he couldn't tell where they were coming from. There was nothing to be heard from the direction of the house – it seemed like the only way left to him. Francie stood up shakily and started running, weakly at first but then faster and faster until it seemed as if his feet were hardly touching the ground. Terror gave him wings and he raced back to the edge of the woods and up the lawn along the shadow of the hedge. The alarm had not yet been raised in the house; there were still few lights to be seen in the huge edifice. He had time to make it back before all hell broke loose.

He staggered to a halt in amazement. Flash was standing nervously by the side door, as if waiting to be let in. Francie shook his head and walked the last few yards, his legs suddenly feeling stiff and heavy. Opening the door, he ushered the velocycle in, stopping only to give it a sound kick up its arse as it slipped past him.

'I never figured yeh for a coward!' he hissed softly. 'Look at yeh! The size o' yeh and yeh run like a mouse when yer startled!'

Flash looked suitably cowed, hovering by the door of its stall. It made an apologetic grunt but Francie opened the door and shoved it inside, muttering curses under his breath. Once the velocycle was put away, he sneaked back out to the rear of the stables and climbed the stairs to the loft. Wincing at the creaking floorboards, he found his way through to his bed in the darkness. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he sat there feeling utterly drained. He was wearily pulling off his clothes when Patrick rolled over and squinted up at him.

'What are yeh gettin' up for, Francie? It's a bit early yet, isn't it?'

Francie hesitated in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt. He carefully started buttoning it back up again, and pulled his braces onto his shoulders before answering.

'Somethin's goin' on outside,' he said to his friend. 'It woke me up. Thought I'd go and see what the story is.'

'Jaysus, I'll go with yeh,' Patrick declared. ''S bin a while since we had a bit o' drama.'

Francie nodded and tried to look enthusiastic. He'd had his fill of drama for one night. Standing up, he grabbed his cap and jacket and waited for Patrick to get dressed. He was standing with his hands in his pockets when he realized he should have been able to feel the letter his father had given him. He checked the pockets of his jacket but he already knew he wouldn't find it. He had dropped it somewhere out in the woods. Sitting down on the edge of the bed with his back to Patrick, he tried not to cry.

I t was after three in the morning when Clancy woke Nate to tell him he had been summoned to the main drawing room. Roberto had been attacked. Stopping only to pull on a pair of slacks, shoes and his dressing gown, Nate rushed down to see his brother.

He arrived, out of breath, to find Roberto stretched out on a divan, looking pale and uncharacteristically dishevelled and muddy, his waistcoat open and his shirt torn. He was holding a damp folded cloth to the side of his face. Sitting in armchairs on either side of him were the Duke and Gideon, and Nate was surprised to see Hugo there as well. Standing by the Duke's chair was Slattery, a strange smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

'What happened?' Nate demanded.

'Your brother was attacked in the woods,' Edgar growled.

'By whom?' Nate asked, then he frowned and added to his brother, 'And what were you doing in the woods at this time of night?'

'I was taking a walk,' Berto replied defensively. 'I can still take a walk when I like, can't I? I couldn't sleep.'

'Are you hurt?'

'The good doctor says I've cracked some ribs, but apart from that and some bruises and a rotter of a headache, I'm fine… apparently' Berto said in a sceptical tone. 'I don't feel fine. I feel bloody awful.'

'Someone riding an engimal, most probably a velocycle, ambushed him and almost killed him,' Edgar said. 'This, in an area surrounded by armed guards. We do not know if it was an opportunistic attack, or whether somebody was deliberately targeting the Wildenstern Heir. If so, it was a bold and extraordinary act of aggression.'

'Well, that's not likely, is it?' Nate stuck his hands in the pockets of his robe. 'Who could have known Berto was going to take it into his head to go for a walk in the middle of the night? Or where he'd walk? It must have been an accident. And you said they used an engimal? That doesn't sound like rebels or poachers – more like someone from the family'

Both Hugo and Gideon were following what was being said very closely, but said nothing.

'Sit down, Nathaniel,' Edgar said quietly.

Nate felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He was missing something here. Something was badly wrong. He reached for an armchair and pulled it closer, sitting down clumsily. Slattery stepped out into the middle of the floor and gave him a little bow.

'Good morning, sir,' he began, his cold eyes locking onto Nate's. 'I'm pleased to say that my men and I have already investigated the scene of the attack and have reached some early conclusions based on the evidence collected thus far.'

The bailiff started to pace back and forth across the floor, delivering his speech with a dramatic air.

'You are right in supposing that it would take a great act of foresight to anticipate Master Roberto's spontaneous and ill-fated walk in the woods. So I would speculate that either our villain had the remarkable luck to find the Heir alone in the forest entirely by chance… or he followed him there with a view to instigating his attack.'