Forgotness: Book 1: 200m

We slept in, kept calm by the normal noises around us: the dawn chorus of birds and babies, then breakfast and the children going off to get a bit of education while their parents settled in to another day of surviving.

Then, towards lunchtime, when our stomachs really couldn’t face any more emptiness, we got up. Leicester’s wound was checked and we were given cups of hot water and fed fried potatoes, turnips and swede.

After that we decided the best thing to do would be to walk round from Blowingstone, where we had come ashore, to Wayland’s Smithy and sell Bill and Ben the parawing for as much as we could. We reckoned on staying the night there and then head back to Treetops the next day.

So, although our families and friends might have been worrying about us, if they hadn’t already heard of our clash with Trumps and the Mugs, a trip to the Smithy would come first.

Anyway, we folded up the parawing and set off, walking along the Ridgeway.

When we were out of earshot we talked about the parawing. It was on our minds constantly: flying under water. We weren’t really talking about the amazing science of the thing but the sensation, the outright fun of flying.

After about an hour of walking we sat down and talked about what we could do.

“The thing is,” we said, eventually, “is that we don’t really want to take it back to Bill and Ben.”

“Not yet anyway,” agreed Leicester, “we’ve not even had a proper go with it yet.”

“We think we can get it to go faster, you know, instead of just dangling like that, getting in the way, what if we were sitting back, sort of feet first?” we suggested.

“Or lying on your front on a...” Leicester paused to think, “plank of some sort with two cross bars for each of the control ropes so you could tip them forwards or pull them back.”

“OK, yes,“ we said only half listening as we considered our own theories, “as we come up, the wings will collapse when we reach the surface, but if we were going fast enough would there be enough forward momentum to get our head out of the water for a breath and then dive and keep going?”

“Or, there’s talk of the underwater cities, we could make a submarine and cover it with this and just travel forever, go looking for them.”

“We’d need a lot more of this stuff to cover a whole submarine.” We pointed out.

“Yes but, maybe we could work out what it was and make more of it.”

“What? With our awesome nano skills?”

Leicester punched us. We tapped Leicester’s bandaged arm and smiled at the yelp of pain.

“Or,” we wondered, “or we are looking at this all wrong.”

“How?”

“Well, we’re forgetting something quite important aren’t we?”

“Are we?”

“Yeah, this stuff isn’t meant for underwater, it’s for the air. It’s for flying. Forget submarines. We could fly anywhere. Fly to Topland.”

“Holy crap!” exclaimed Leicester, “we completely forgot. Oh!”

“What?”

“Well, we can’t swim because of our cut and all, but we could fly.”

“Your arm’s shagged,” we pointed out, “but ours aren’t. We could give it a go.”

“Freak you!” said Leicester, “it was our idea.”

We looked around. It was too open, too many folk would see and word would get out and then, well, we weren’t sure what mwould happen then, but when we found stuff underwater it was normal to keep quiet about the whereabouts for a bit and this was sort of the same: a secret we wanted to keep to ourselves.

The question now was where to go. We wanted to avoid Bill and Ben for a bit anyway now. Really, we needed to get back to Treetops to explain the loss of the boat, get a change of clothes and then tomorrow maybe, sneak off to one of the tiny islands and see if we really could fly.

The problem then was we needed a lift back to Treetops and the most obvious place to get one was from The Smithy. There were always folk coming and going between Treetops and Bill and Ben’s. It felt bad, cheating them somehow, but we just did not want to hand the wing over to Bill and Ben quite yet.

“We can’t think of anyone who would come over this way.” We weren’t even at Uffington yet.

“We know,“ agreed Leicester, “we should hide out here for a bit, out of sight and wait until it gets dark, then sneak along to the mooring below The Smithy. There’s bound to be someone heading back after the pub. We could catch a lift and Bill and Ben won’t get to hear about it.”

So, guilitly, we agreed to stay low, among the reedy damp grass of the water’s edge and wait.

At sunset we got given food from a family in an old double-decker bus and then walked along the shore heading west to the Smithy. It was a pleasant evening, not too damp, just about as nice as it could get on the Ridgeway. We stopped at a few shacks along the path where people were gathering for the evening’s chat and a sharing of whatever homemade entertainments there were. Cider was the most likely. So after a couple of hours slow strolling we were quietly tipsy, feeling very pleasant and relaxed.

A lot of the talk was of the gossip of the day. We, it turned out, were quite high up that list.

“Where have you come from?” We were asked.

“Oh, just down from Warren way,” we replied which was roughly accurate.

“Do you know about the Mugs attacking a couple of kids?” Someone would ask.

“No,” got in Leicester quickly, “what happened?”

And we would hear our story again. How we had been diving and come up to find our boat captured by Mugs, by Trumps himself. How we had fought them off. Kicked Trumps in the nuts a lot, then swum for miles, fought off a giant eel. The story got wilder as the night got darker.

Sometimes someone would point at us and go:

“Hang on, wasn’t it you?”

“Nah,” we would say, “there’s a few of us at Treetops. We’ve been away for a bit. Might have been a sibling, the ugly one.”

They would laugh and we would wander on.

Eventually, close to midnight or maybe later, we made it to the strand most used by Treetops. We recognised a couple of boats there.

We talked about taking one and heading back but it would have been a bit unkind to whoever had come over in it.

So we camped down in the stern of one boat and waited for whoever was using it to turn up.

We had almost fallen asleep when we heard the rising noise of fighting. This time it was coming from straight up the hill. It sounded like the Smithy was under attack. Ridgeway folk were coming out of their homes, deciding what to do and then getting armed and heading off.

There was a burst of flame in the distance.

“That’ll be one of Bill’s bombs,” said Leicester. Another went off, lighting up the trees around Wayland Smithy. “It must be a pretty big attack to use them.”

“We should go and help.” We said reluctantly. “Stay here, look after the parawing. You can’t do much with your arm.”

“Freak that!” said Leicester, “we’re coming too.”

So, with the wing wrapped around us in a hammock fashion, we jogged up the hill. The noise of fighting grew louder. This had to be a really determined attempt by the Mugs.

When we got up to the Smithy we could see that the Mugs were being held back on the far side of the Wayland Trees. A determined line of Ridgeway folk were holding the line against a mass of Mugs. Arrows, spears, the odd heavy object littered the ground. Occasionally there would be a single gunshot and every one would duck and freeze a bit.

We had just reached the doorway of the pub when it burst open and Brentford came out hauling Cam who looked semi-unconcious.

“Freak’s sake Leicester, Felix,” Brentford said, “give us a hand with Cam, got clubbed by a Mug. We barely dragged Cam away in time before they pushed forward.”

“How many are there?” shouted Leicester above the noise, “why are they attacking? What are they after?”

“You! You freak’n numb nut. They’re after you two.” Shouted Brentford. We took Cam’s other arm and headed back down to the boats. With Cam and Leicester wounded it seemed best just to get away.

“Because we kicked Trumps in the balls?” Asked Leicester.

“Aye, you know what Trumps is like. Gone freak’n bananas about it.” Said Brentford, “and Trumps’ after something.”

We stopped dead.

“What do you mean Trumps is after something?” We asked. “Like Leicester’s head on a plate sort of thing?”

“No.” Brentford replied, giving us a funny look. We were down by the boats now and loading Cam in. We helped Leicester get aboard and then Brentford pushed the boat out and jumped in. We began rowing.

“Trumps reckons you’ve got something,” continued Brentford.

“The Mugs got all our stuff.” Said Leicester indignantly. “We got all these sheets up into our boat, then the Mugs arrived and took them all. We had to swim for miles.”

“And the eel,” whispered Cam, “you fought off an eel.”

“Yes! We freak’n did too.” Said Leicester pulling down the bandages. “Look at these bastard freak’n teeth marks!”

Cam groaned.

“Well, we bet it feels better than our head.”

We rowed on.

“What make you think think Trumps wanted something?” We asked after bit.

“It was well weird actually. We were in the bar and these two small Mugs came in. Seems they had rowed ashore alone and asked to be taken to see Bill and Ben. They bought a box of apples as a kind of gift to get them through safely.”

“Apples?” asked Leicester.

“Yeah. As a kind of peace offering. Anyway,” went on Brentford as Cam let out another groan. “They came in and talked with Bill and Ben who they kept saying no, and after a bit the Mugs left and Bill and Ben came over to us and asked where you two were. Well, we didn’t know but everyone had been telling this story about two Wetter kids kicking Trumps in the nuts and then swimming for miles and it sounded just like the sort of thing you two nimrods would do.”

“Did Bill and Ben say why the Mugs were asking for us?” We asked.

“No, Bill just sounded really worried. Anyway the next thing we know it’s another Mug attack but this time there were hundreds of ’em.”

“It was a shit scary sight seeing that lot come up the hill. We were outside having a wee toke. Almost shat ourselves. Ugly freaks that lot.” Said Cam, trying to sit up. We bent down and pulled Cam’s shoulders up against our legs.

“Freak,” said Leicester quietly. “Folk are dying because of us.”

“Bollocks,” we said, “those Mugs were going to kill us. We escaped. It’s not our fault that Trumps is one enormous shit-brained rat turd. In a wig.”

“It is a wig isn’t it?” Leicester smiled.

“Yes!” we said, “and you almost knocked it right off. Must be glued on tight.”

“Nailed on more like.”

We could see the lights of Treetops in the distance and headed towards them. A few minutes later we splashed ashore carrying Cam who was still a bit woozy.

“Got a message from Ben, come round later.” Cam whispered, grabbing our arm.

“OK.” We said though not at all wanting to hear the message. In fact, having been considered heroes last night we were beginning to feel that we had brought about a lot of hurt and maybe even death because of... of what exactly we weren’t sure. Trumps jumped us, we escaped. That surely was not our fault? But it felt like it was. And now we were avoiding Bill and Ben when they had always been good to us.

The Treetops folk crowded round and helped Cam to the doctor’s hut (yes, not exactly a doctor but that was the word we used).

“Alne wants to see you.” Someone tapped our shoulder. We went over to Leicester who was retelling our story and adding the new bit about the battle at Wayland Smithy, though we noticed that Leicester was missing out the part about the Mugs asking for us first.

“Leicester, Alne wants us.” We still had to wait a few minutes for Leicester to finish. It was news that had to be told.

We climbed up the rope ladder to the big treehouse and found Alne making tea.

“So, you two have finally made it back have you? And lost a boat by the sounds of it? How are you Leicester? How are the bites?”

Leicester pulled up a sleeve up and showed Alne the wounds.

“Well, you were lucky weren’t you?” Alne turned to us. “And why were you diving so late?”

“Yes, we know, sorry, it was just one last dive.” It was always difficult talking to Alne. Alne knew everything and had known us since we were born pretty well. Kindness and cleverness were great but we could never talk with Alne like a normal person.

“You should know better,” said Alne, “you’re supposed to be the clever one, not like this chump.”

Alne waved at Leicester.

“What have we done?” Asked Leicester, feigning offence. “OK, sorry about the boat, but it was going to sink any second. And we found some great stuff.”

“That Trumps got?” Alne pointed out.

“Yes,” we interrupted before Leicester could say any more, “Trumps took it all. Good stuff too. A lot of sheeting and ropes.”

“Nothing else?” Asked Alne. “No great find?”

Suddenly we felt very aware that we had the nano filament parawing wrapped around our shoulders just as we would have normally carried our hammock.

“Oh, well, on our last dive we brought up a sheet, this one.” I patted the parawing. “Trumps’ got our hammock in the boat so we were thinking of making this into a new one.”

“Fine, whatever,” said Alne, “go and get some sleep. Tomorrow we’re going to prepare you for your trip north.”

“Right, OK, thanks Alne. Sorry about the boat.” Alne waved us away.

“It’s the least of our worries at the moment.”

“Sorry! We almost gave it away.” Whispered Leicester as we climbed down from the treehouse.

“We did notice, for freak’s sake. Anyway, we’re going to keep this disguised as a hammock for the time being.” We saw Leicester’s look. “We won’t lose it. At least we’ll know where it is.”

“Look, we don’t care too much as long as we get a go at flying.”

“We know, us too. We just think we should keep quiet about it for a bit longer. Let everyone forget about it.”

“We just want a go.” Repeated Leicester.

“Yes,” we replied, “yes, but Bill and Ben want it, Trumps seems to have got wind of it (Leicester snorted at that) and Alne’s asking questions. Let’s just see what it does and then we’ll take it to the Pot Men.”

We walked on in the dark.

“We’re whacked,” yawned Leicester.

“Us too,” it must have been two or so in the morning, “said we would have a word with Cam first though.”

Leicester went off to bed and we went to the doctor’s hut.

There was a lamp on low that smelled of bark oil. Cam lay on a camp bed, head bandaged but clean looking. The doctor was already asleep in the room at the back.

“How’s things Cam?” We asked quietly. Cam looked round and smiled.

“Hey Felix. Worked it out yet?”

“Worked what out?” We asked. It was a strange greeting.

“Yeah, you know, your problem.”

“Problem? What’s our problem?”

“Oh, you know, Ben wants you and Trumps wants you and Alne wants you. Who doesn’t want you?”

“You?” We asked.

“Oh no, we wanted you. Remember?” We nodded. Another embarrassing moment in recent history. It wasn’t that we didn’t like Cam, we really liked Cam but we had panicked when Cam had leant in for a kiss. We still hadn’t spoken about it. And it had been weeks ago.

We weren’t sure what to say.

“OK, so what’s the message from Ben then?”

“Yes, the message. The message is.” Cam paused for quite a long time. “The message is: KEEP IT SAFE. RAID KNOWS WHAT’S BEST.”

Cam stopped talking, eyes closed.

“That had better not be all the message. Cam... Cam is there more?”

Cam woke up a bit.

“What? No sorry that’s it, that’s all the message.”

“It’s a shit message.”

“We did say that actually. We said: ‘That’s a shit message’. And Bill said: ‘No, it’s a cryptic message’ and Ben said ‘they’re the best’ and we said ‘We don’t think Felixstowe is going to understand it’, then they said ‘fuck me it’s the Mugs attacking again’ and ran off.”

“Keep it safe. Raid knows what’s best?”

“That’s the one,” said Cam, “what have you got to keep safe?”

“Um, er, me?” we replied, “we’re going on this raid north?”

“You think that’s what they meant?” Asked Cam.

“Don’t you?” we asked back.

“No, not really. We think you and Leicester found something on that dive. And Trumps saw it but then you swam off with it. How can you swim with it, it must be tiny, like a big tiny gun? You found a gun?”

“No, we didn’t find a gun, we didn’t find anything. No, we found lots of sheets.” We almost said: like this one, but managed not to. “And Trumps took them all and the boat. Leicester did kick Trumps in the nuts though.”

Cam laughed gently.

“Maybe it’s Leicester you’re supposed to keep safe.”

“That must be it. We’ve got to go and get some sleep.”

“Sure,” said Cam, “come and see me tomorrow.”

“Sure, night Cam.”

We left the doctor’s hut and went over to our favourite tree and then remembered that we didn’t have our old hammock. We would have to turn the parawing into one in the morning, disguise it more.

We rolled ourself up in it and lay down at the foot of the tree and were soon fast asleep.