Johnny O'Brien - Day of Deliverance

He quickly looked through the boys’ backpacks, that had been left on the floor, and found the two pistols belonging to Whitsun and Gift.

“I think you’re still a bit young to be carrying firearms.”

Pendelshape picked up the letter from Marlowe that lay, opened, on the table. He read it quickly and nodded. “As we thought — it confirms what we already know.” He put the letter back on the table and started looking about for the keys.

“Let’s try these.” He held up a metal ring with a number of large keys hanging from it and soon Jack and Angus were free.

“I have a carriage waiting outside that can take us to safety.” He paused and looked over at Fanshawe. “But there is one final piece of business I must attend to first.”

Pendelshape opened his doublet. Beneath it was a tight-fitting vest, similar to those the boys wore. It had a number of pockets and recesses and Jack noticed that one recess was shaped like a holster. It was from this that Pendelshape pulled out a pistol. He strode matter-of-factly over to where Fanshawe still lay and pointed the gun at his head. The action closely mimicked that of Whitsun and Gift outside Cambridge only a few days before.

“No!” Jack screamed.

Pendelshape swivelled round, a bemused expression on his face.

“No?”

“You can’t just kill him!”

“He’s seen too much… he knows too much about the plot. He may upset our plan.”

Jack was outraged that Pendelshape, just like his thuggish friends Whitsun and Gift, could contemplate such a barbaric act.

“But, but… he knows nothing. The poor guy has simply been a messenger. He does not know who you are — or who we are for that matter. He is utterly harmless.”

Fanshawe, who was still attached to the rack, was slowly regaining his senses.

“I do not know anything of this… please …” he begged.

Pendelshape thought for a moment and shrugged. “So be it. I will release you — you have young Jack here to thank — but you must leave this house at once. If you return or speak of any of these events you risk your life. Do you understand?” The decision not to murder Fanshawe was taken as easily as the decision seconds before to kill him. Jack was staggered by Pendelshape’s casual disregard for human life. Fanshawe looked at Pendelshape and then back at Jack. Jack nodded. Fanshawe sobbed with relief. Jack had saved his life twice in one day.

They emerged from the cellar into a large kitchen at the back of the house. It was night-time now and they could see only by the light from Pendelshape’s torch and a few candles that had been left to burn down. Pendelshape led them to the front door of the house and out into a clear, cold night. It felt good to be out of the dank cellar, breathing the fresh, crisp air. A small carriage waited with its driver a little further down the road.

Pendelshape pointed out Fanshawe’s route. “That way — it will take you to the Ludgate Hill eventually. And remember what I told you,” he added menacingly.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Fanshawe answered.

Pendelshape turned to the carriage driver and whispered some instructions.

“Right — you two in there. No funny business. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Jack and Angus had little choice. Fanshawe shook Angus’s hand and then glanced towards Pendelshape and the carriage, before putting both his hands over Jack’s and looking him in the eye. “Thank you, Jack, for all you have done for me.” Then he whispered, “I will repay you.”

Pendelshape was getting impatient. “Go!” he boomed out, as Fanshawe scurried off into the night.

Jack, Angus and Pendelshape climbed into the carriage and it rumbled off. Drained by a traumatic day, Jack, and then Angus, fell asleep.

The carriage picked its way up the bumpy road and away from the riverside mansions. An hour after it had melted into the night, two furtive figures appeared at the door of the house that they had just left. After an initial check around the outside, the two men proceeded to break into the house and search it. They found it empty but for the sinister torture equipment secreted in its cellar. If Jack and Angus had left the house only an hour later, they would have met the men and recognised them immediately as Tony and Gordon, their comrades from VIGIL.

"Where are we?” Jack asked. He peered through a small window onto a muddy farmyard. The fields beyond had been dusted white from a light flurry of snow.

“Wembley Stadium,” Pendelshape said matter-of-factly as he busied himself at a small wood stove. He was cooking eggs and bacon, and had already managed to produce a pot of very acceptable coffee. He seemed to be completely at home. “Not literally of course. It’s where the new Wembley Stadium will be in the future. You’re probably sitting exactly where the England team would get changed.” He craned his head to view the frozen farmland that stretched into the distance. “As you can see, it’s a pretty far cry from the view out there today.” He served the eggs and bacon onto three dishes and placed them on the table. Jack was ravenous and the food smelled incredibly good.

Pendelshape had based himself in a farmer’s cottage. He had negotiated a generous rent in return for complete privacy for the duration of his stay. The cottage was on two floors — a higgledy-piggledy oak-framed construction. It was quite well appointed. The beds had been dry, and when the fire got going, the house warmed up quickly. In any case, when they had arrived the night before in the carriage, Jack had been so exhausted that he had fallen asleep as soon he had got into bed.

Pendelshape ate slowly, eyeing Jack and Angus thoughtfully from time to time. He had not really changed. Maybe he had shed some weight from his portly frame, but the crow’s feet around his deep-set eyes and the cropped grey hair were still the same. The last time Jack had seen Pendelshape was in a First World War trench six months earlier. That was when he showed Jack and Angus the true horrors of war in a final attempt to get them to desert VIGIL and join him and Jack’s father. Jack and Angus saw the horrors of war all right — Pendelshape’s badly conceived escapade nearly got them killed in the process. It was the final straw for Jack — the moment that finally convinced him that meddling in history was too dangerous, however well planned and well meaning. It was also the moment when he had realised that Pendelshape had a screw loose. Jack had seen him turn from being his affable but eccentric History teacher into a fanatic who would stop at nothing to get his own way.

“So, gentlemen, it would appear that we have some decisions to make.” Pendelshape spoke calmly, but Jack could feel the menace in his voice. “Or to be more precise, you have some decisions to make. But first of all, I should perhaps explain what you are embroiled in. I have to say that you have been extremely lucky to escape with your lives.”

“I think we know that,” Angus said, through a mouthful of bacon.

Pendelshape ignored him. “First things first. I am sure you will be pleased to hear that my colleagues, Mr Whitsun and Mr Gift, have recovered. I understand from them that you two had nothing to do with their injuries… which I am glad to hear. They have learned a valuable lesson.”

“Where are they?” Jack asked.

“They managed to make it to our rendezvous… somewhat worse for wear, and they have now been deployed elsewhere, ready for the next stage of our plan. We will meet them later.”

“What were they doing in Cambridge — and how did they know we were there?”

“The people who kidnapped you were Spanish spies. Marlowe works for them. But what they don’t know is that he also works for Walsingham — Queen Elizabeth’s spymaster. Marlowe is a double agent. The letter contains details of a plot against the English state.”