The Golden Acorn Chapter 7

Chapter Seven.

 

A Beating Heart.

 

The doctor examined Babbin and shook his head. “The heartbeat is very faint. I can give you some medicine that might help, but it won’t last long.”

He handed Babbin a tablet. Babbin swallowed it obediently. For a little while he looked brighter, but the improvement soon faded.

“I dare not give him another,” said the doctor. “They are very strong, and too many can kill.”

Inga could not sleep. She spent most of the night sitting beside her husband, holding his cold hand, or staring out of the window. The town square stayed brightly lit by flickering torches until dawn, when a man came round to put them out.

When the doctor’s wife knocked on the bedroom door, Inga was already up and ready to leave. She ate her breakfast quickly. Babbin was now so weak that two soldiers had to carry him and lay him gently in the back of the cart.

“It is five days from here to the clockmaker’s home,” Prince Rogan told her. “I once did it in three. Let’s see if we can do it again.”

He glanced at the sky. “We’ve been lucky with the weather, but the autumn rains will start soon. If they do, the roads will be much harder.”

They set off, driving as fast as Inga dared. That night they stopped at an inn. Babbin was carried inside and tucked into bed. Inga listened to his chest. She could still hear his heartbeat, but it was fainter than ever. She lay down beside him and fell into an exhausted sleep.

They set off again early the next morning. They had not gone more than a few miles when Babbin suddenly sat up. He clutched his chest, and a slow smile spread across his face.

Inga reined in the horse. Prince Rogan and the soldiers gathered around the cart.

“What is it?” asked Rogan, alarmed.

“My heart,” exclaimed Babbin. “My heart! It is beating again!”

Inga gave a cry of joy.

“I can feel it,” Babbin said. “Tick, tock, tick, tock.”

Inga bent down and listened. His heart was pounding strongly, all faintness gone.

“Listen,” she said to the Prince. “It’s as strong as ever.”

Two days out of Ingford, the travellers reached a village called Siddley.

“The inn here is very good,” said Prince Rogan. “We often stop here. And if Babbin’s heart is beating as well as it sounds, we may as well spend the night.”

Inga hesitated.

“The sooner we reach your clockmaker, the better.”

Rogan shook his head.

“We’re close to the mountains. It’s safer to be indoors after dark.”

“I’m hungry,” said Babbin.

Inga laughed.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that in weeks. I used to get annoyed with you for saying ‘I’m hungry’ every time you walked into the cottage.”

Babbin grinned.

“That settles it. We stop at the inn.”

As they approached the village, one of the foresters riding ahead pulled up sharply. He turned and rode back to Rogan.

“There’s something wrong,” he said, frowning.

“What is it?” asked Rogan.

“I’m not sure. But whenever we come to a village, the dogs always bark. This place is silent. I don’t like it.”

Rogan nodded slowly.

“That is odd.”

A second forester rode up.

“There’s something else. Look at the inn, no smoke from the chimney. When have you ever seen this place without smoke? It’s famous for its hot baths.”

Rogan thought for a moment, then made a decision.

“Take half the men and scout ahead. We’ll wait here.”

Half the troop dismounted and walked cautiously toward the village.

Inga and Babbin stayed in their trap.

Rogan came over.

“Better safe than sorry. If nothing is wrong, we’ll go in when my men return.”

Half an hour later, the foresters came back.

“There is something very wrong,” said one. “The village is deserted. No people, no dogs, no cats, not even birds. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“We stood in the square,” said another, “and there wasn’t a sound.”

“No sign of villagers or attackers,” added a third. “But we didn’t have time to search every house.”

“Well,” said Rogan, “the road goes through the village, so we have little choice. We go on, carefully.”

The foresters drew their swords and surrounded the trap. Slowly, they approached the silent village. The inn was the first building they reached. Its doors stood wide open.

Two foresters went inside. After a few minutes they returned.

“Totally empty.”

“We’ll stop here,” decided Rogan. “It’s getting dark, but at least we can defend ourselves indoors.” He grinned. “And you never know, we may even find some food.”

They entered the inn. The horses were put in the stables, where there was plenty of feed.

Inga and two foresters went into the kitchen. There was plenty of food, though the ovens were cold.

“Bread and cold meat it is,” said Inga.

“At least there’s beer,” grinned one of the foresters.

Prince Rogan stood in the doorway of the inn, looking out over the silent village.

“If outlaws had attacked,” he said, “there would be bodies, damage… and they usually set fire to the place when they leave.”

He turned back inside. “Once we’ve eaten, we’ll search every house. There has to be a reason for all this.”

Inga remembered the families they had met on the forest road.

“Perhaps the people simply moved away. That would explain the lack of animals. They wouldn’t leave their pets behind.”

“That is possible,” agreed Rogan. “But why move? This is a good place, clean water, plenty of firewood, and the main road brings travellers and trade.”

“They would move if they were frightened enough,” said Inga. “Perhaps Magalan had something to do with it.”

Rogan nodded slowly.

“Maybe. But whatever happened, I’m not searching in the dark. We’ll sleep here and look in the morning, if Babbin’s heart is still beating strongly.”

Inga smiled.

“Judging by the amount of food he’s just eaten, he’s fitter than I’ve seen him in weeks.”

Early the next morning, Rogan sent his men out in pairs to look for any sign of where the villagers had gone.

One by one, the pairs returned, each reporting the same thing: no tracks, no clues.

“If they stayed on the road, there would be no tracks,” one forester pointed out.

The final pair returned bringing a ragged, trembling man with them.

“We found him cowering in the forest,” said the forester.

The moment they let him go, the man dropped to the floor and covered his head with his hands.

“Please, yer honour, I ain’t done nuffink,” he whimpered.

Inga knelt beside him.

“He’s terrified. Here, have something to eat.”

She gave him bread and a cup of water. He gobbled the bread and slurped the water down.

“Now,” Inga said gently, “no one here will harm you. Do you know where everyone has gone?”

“No, my lady. Thankee, my lady. They just went off down the road and left me.”

“When?” asked Prince Rogan sharply.

The man whimpered again.

“I ain’t done nuffink. It weren’t me.”

“Gently,” Inga warned. “Do you know why they left?”

The man crawled closer to Inga, away from Rogan and the forester.

“Yes, my lady. Please don’t let ’em hurt me. I ain’t done nuffink.”

The forester snorted.

“He’s a half‑wit. He knows nothing.”

“I does!” cried the man. “I heard ’em talking. They think I’m daft and throw things at me, but I hears what I hears.”

“Then tell us,” said Inga. “What is your name?”

“Gilbert, my lady.” He sniffed. “Yesterday, the Witchy woman came into the village at first light. She stood in the square and waved her arms. Then soldiers in armour came from all around.”

“Soldiers?” Rogan repeated.

Gilbert nodded rapidly.

“They chased everyone out o’ their houses. I had to go too. Didn’t want to, but I had to. When everyone was there, she told ’em to pack up and get out. When the blacksmith argued, she waved her hands and one o’ the soldiers hit him with a sword. He fell down.”

Gilbert looked into his empty cup.

“Give him more water,” ordered Rogan.

Gilbert sniffed.

“Give him beer,” said Babbin, who had joined them.

Gilbert drank gratefully.

“Thankee, my lord. The soldiers were strange. They didn’t speak. Kept their helmets on. Their swords were black, not shiny like yours. The people had no choice. They packed up and went down the road. When I tried to go with ’em, the soldiers chased me into the woods.”

“Odd,” said Rogan. He paced the room. “I think I know what those soldiers were. Remember, the people of Ingford were forced by Magalan to make armour for the Wraiths. Armour that let them stand the light.”

Gilbert dropped his cup.

“Wraiths,” he whispered. “They come in the night and kill folk.”

He looked around wildly. “I got to hide. Please, let me go.”

“Which path did the villagers take?” Rogan asked.

Gilbert pointed shakily toward the road out of the village.

“Please… can I hide now?”

“Let him go,” said Rogan.

Gilbert fled at once.

 

“Where do you think the villagers have gone?” asked Inga.

“They were heading toward my father’s castle,” said Rogan. “Though I don’t know why Magalan would want that.”

Just then, a forester came running up.

“I was checking for other survivors and found this nailed to the village stocks.”

He handed Rogan a piece of paper.

Rogan read aloud:

‘You may have beaten my clockwork man and released your brother, but see how long your kingdom lasts when thousands of people without food and shelter arrive at your gates.’

— Magalan

“Now I see,” said Rogan grimly. “She means to drive as many people as she can toward the castle. There won’t be enough food or water. People will die.”

“And they will blame King Rolan,” said Inga.

Rogan nodded.

“He must be warned.”

He turned to Inga. “But we also need to get your husband to my clockmaker.”

He looked around.

“Where is Babbin?”