The Royal Ranger

Thirty-three

They spent a further two days in Danvers Crossing, but learned little more about the fate of Carrie Clover.

While Will applied himself to the repairs and painting at the tavern, Maddie wandered through the village and attempted to make friends with the local youngsters. They proved to be neither friendly nor unfriendly. But they showed a certain interest in her as an outsider.

It was easier for Maddie to raise the subject of the missing girl. Will, having discussed it already with Danvers, could hardly continue to show interest in her. To do so might have invited unwelcome attention and questions as to why he was so concerned. He could only spend his evenings in the tavern and listen to the conversations around him, hoping that someone else might bring up the topic. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen.

Children, however, tend to be more forthright than adults, and Maddie could simply ask them about Carrie’s disappearance, under the pretext of having heard her father discussing it with the innkeeper. She waited until she had mixed with the village children on two separate occasions, then bluntly raised the matter.

“My da told me some girl disappeared from around here,” she said. “Told me to go careful around the village, lest the same might happen to me.”

She was sitting by the river late in the afternoon with half a dozen of the locals, ranging in age from eight to fifteen. The children exchanged uncomfortable glances and for a moment nobody replied. Pretending not to notice their reluctance, she ploughed on.

“So what happened to her? Where’d she go?”

The children exchanged glances again. Then one of the older boys spoke.

“That’d be Carrie Clover,” he said.

Maddie shrugged. “Didn’t say her name to me. So she ran off, did she?”

There was a general shaking of heads among the group. Then a younger boy, about ten and with blond, unruly hair, answered her.

“Didn’t run off. Was taken, more like.”

Maddie leaned forward, feigning surprise. “Taken? Taken by who?”

“You shut your mouth, Clem,” the older boy said quickly. He looked at Maddie. “We don’t talk about it.”

“Why not? What took her?” she asked. It seemed logical to press the question.

The boy glanced around the rest of the group. They all wore wary expressions, except for the young boy, Clem, who was smarting at being reprimanded in front of the stranger.

Finally, the older boy replied. “She was taken by a river wight.”

Maddie was watching the rest of the children and she saw a few surprised expressions, hastily covered up.

“Aye, Simon’s right. It was a river wight took her.” One of the girls, who was a few years younger than Maddie, agreed, nodding her head emphatically.

“And what’s a river wight?” Maddie asked. She’d never heard the term before and she was genuinely puzzled.

The older boy, Simon, hesitated a few seconds, and she had the distinct impression he was formulating an answer to her question on the spot.

“It’s a river spirit,” he said. “An evil river spirit. They lurk in the deep water, then suddenly dash out and seize anyone who gets too close to the bank.”

“We’re close to the bank now,” Maddie pointed out.

Simon glanced at the river and realised she was right.

“Aye, we are. We should move afore one of us is taken.” He started to rise, gesturing for the others to do the same. Belatedly, they all came to their feet.

He’s lying, Maddie thought. He’s making this up as he goes along. But why?

Clem, the young boy who had spoken first, shook his head dismissively.

“River wights! Ain’t no such th—” he began muttering. But the girl who had agreed with Simon grabbed his arm and dragged him aside. She spoke to him in a fierce whisper.

“You shut your yap, Clem! Remember what the Storyman said…”

She spoke a little louder than she intended, and Maddie overheard the words. Her mind was racing. The story man? Who or what was the story man? Having heard the word only once, she didn’t realise it was a name, rather than a description. But she pretended she hadn’t heard the girl’s words.

Simon rounded on the girl. “Shut up! Both of you shut up!” He realised Maddie was watching him and continued. “Now, best we all get on home. It’s bad luck to talk about river wights.”

The others all mumbled agreement and the group broke up, heading for their homes. One or two of them glanced back at Maddie as she remained by the river. She stepped closer to the bank and peered into the smooth, fast-running water, trying to see if there was, in fact, a river wight visible. Then she realised that she had no idea what such a creature might look like. A cloud passed across the sun and the river, so cheerful and sparkling, was suddenly transformed into a dull, leaden grey. A frisson of fear assailed her and she turned away from the river, hurrying back down the village main street to the stable where she and Will were staying.

“What’s a river wight?” The question burst from her lips the moment Will entered the stable an hour later. He’d finished work for the day. In fact, he’d finished all of the tasks that Rob Danvers has set for him and no other work had eventuated.

He looked curiously at her. She was sitting with her back against one of the handcart’s wheels. Her face was pale and she looked bothered.

“A river what?” he asked and she shook her head impatiently.

“Not what. Wight. A river wight. It’s some kind of creature.”

He shook his head, pursing his lips. “Not that I’ve ever heard. There are barrow wights. Or some people say there are. They’re supposed to be spirits that hang around ancient graves. Although I can’t say I’ve ever encountered one.”

He paused, as an unpleasant memory stirred in his mind. There was an occasion many years before, when he was riding to fetch Malcolm to heal the mortally wounded Halt. He’d sensed something then as he rode past some barrows, as the ancient grave mounds were called. It seemed to be some malign presence. But he’d passed it off as imagination, triggered by nerves and weariness.

“This was a river wight,” Maddie insisted. The idea of it seemed to be troubling her.

“Where did you hear about it?”

“The local children. They said Carrie Clover was taken by a river wight.”

That got his attention.

“They said it dragged her into the river,” Maddie continued.

“They saw it?” Will asked quickly. There could have been some creature in the river, he thought—a large fish of some kind. Or a bear. Some bears could swim, he knew. He’d never seen one do so, but he’d heard people say they could.

“No. They didn’t see it. In fact, I think they were lying about it.”

“What makes you think so?” Will asked.

Maddie paused, unable to explain it fully. “Just a sense I got. One of the younger boys didn’t believe it. He was pooh-poohing the idea and an older girl made him stop. Simon, the oldest boy, told me the story about the river wight. But I just felt he was making it up.”

“And the young boy didn’t believe it?” Will asked and she nodded. “That’s odd. Normally, you’d think the younger ones would be more likely to believe tales about monsters in the river.”

“Doris, the girl who told him to shut up, said something about a story man.”

“A story man,” Will said slowly. “Maybe he’s the local raconteur or spinner,” he suggested.

“They didn’t say. She said, ‘Remember what the story man said.’ Then Simon yelled at her and told her to shut up.”

Will sat down, thinking about what she had told him. He glanced up and saw Maddie’s anxious face.

“But there’s no such thing as a river wight, is there? Not really?” she said.

“No. I’ve never heard of one and I’ve been around a lot of rivers in my time. It’s just a story,” he said reassuringly. As he said the word “story’, he wondered about this story man character. He decided he’d ask in the tavern later, and see if there was a local storyteller—or spinner, short for yarn spinner, as such men were often known. Villages like this often had such people. They helped keep the oral history of the village and its people alive.

“It’s your turn to check on the horses,” he said. They had taken it in turns to slip out of the village after dark and make sure the horses were all right. Maddie looked out of the unglazed stable window. The sun was setting and the shadows were lengthening across the village. To reach the clearing where Tug and Bumper were hidden, she’d have to walk part of the way beside the river.

She twisted her hands together nervously at the thought of it—and the thought of dark creatures that might be lurking beneath the surface. Simon had been lying. She was sure of that. But even so, there could be such a thing as a river wight, even if it hadn’t been one that took Carrie Clover. After all, Will had simply said he’d never heard of such a creature. He hadn’t said definitively that they didn’t exist.

“Will you come with me?” she asked in a small voice.

Will turned to her in surprise. He was used to Maddie being confident and self-assured. Obviously, this talk of evil river creatures had got to her. He was about to laugh at her fears, then realised that she was young, and it was getting dark and imagination could be a terrible thing, no matter what logic might tell you. He sighed. He’d had a hard day and he’d been looking forward to a quick nap in the straw before heading into the tavern for supper.

Wearily, he rose to his feet, brushing loose strands of straw off his clothes.

“Of course I will,” he said.

The horses, as ever, were delighted to see them. They were even more delighted to find the apples that their owners had secreted in their pockets.

There was plenty of grass for them to graze on, but Will had brought a small sack of oats as well. He assumed that grass on its own would be a boring diet. He’d certainly find it so, he thought. The horses seemed to agree as they munched happily on the oats. He patted Tug’s muscular neck as the little horse put his head down to the oats.

“We’ll be heading off tomorrow, so eat up,” he said. Maddie overheard him.

“We’re leaving?” she said. She had been smoothing Bumper’s coat with a stiff brush. She knew her horse enjoyed the attention.

“There’s no more work, so there’s no reason to stay. I’ll see what I can find out about this story man tonight. But unless there’s something important comes up, we’ll move on to the next village.”

Maddie nodded. She cocked her head. In the near distance, she could hear the rush and gurgle of the river. When they had first arrived, it had seemed so cheerful and friendly, she thought. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“I won’t be sorry to go,” she said.

Later that night, nursing a tankard of small ale, on the pretext of having a nightcap before going to sleep, Will broached the subject with Danvers.

“Do you have a spinner living in the village?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Danvers shook his head. “Village isn’t big enough to support one,” he said. “From time to time we get itinerants passing through. As a—” He was about to add something but, at that moment, a rowdy group of ploughmen called loudly for more ale. He shrugged apologetically and moved away. He was caught up serving for some time and Will finally finished his drink. He had no further reason to stay in the bar, so he quietly left, heading for bed.

He wondered briefly what the innkeeper had been about to say, but decided it was probably unimportant. The important question had been answered. There was no local storyteller.