Sacrament

CHAPTER III

The streets of Burnt Yarley were virtually deserted, the shops all closed. Even the little sweet-shop, where Will had hoped he might soothe his frustration and his dry throat with an ice-cream, was locked up. He peered in through the window, cupping his hands around his face. The interior was as small as the facade suggested, but packed to the rafters with goods, some clearly targeted at the ramblers and hikers who passed through the town: postcards, maps, even knapsacks. Curiosity satisfied, Will wandered on to the bridge. It wasn't large -a span of maybe twelve feet - and built of the same grey stone as the tiny cottages in its immediate vicinity. He sat on the low wall and peered down into the river. The summer had been dry, and there was presently little more than a stream creeping between the rocks below, but the banks were fringed with marsh marigolds and clumps of balsam. There were bees around the balsam in their dozens. Will watched them warily, ready to retreat if one winged its way towards him.

'It's all stupid,' he muttered. 'What is?' said somebody at his back.

He turned round, and found not one but two pairs of eyes upon him. The speaker, a fair-haired, fair-ski

'What's stupid?' the girl said again. 'This place.'

"Tisn't,' said the boy. 'You're stupid.' 'Hush, Sherwood,' the girl said.

'Sherwood?' said Will.

'Yeah, Sherwood,' came the boy's defiant reply. He scrambled to his feet as if ready for a fight, his legs scabby with old scrapes. His belligerence lasted ten seconds. Then he said: 'I want to go and play somewhere else.' His interest in the stranger had plainly already waned. 'Come on, Fra

'That's not my real name,' the girl put in, before Will could remark upon it. 'It's Frances.'

'Sherwood's a daft name,' Will said.

'Oh yeah?' said Sherwood.

'Yeah.'

'So who are you?' Fra

'He's the Rabjohns kid,' scabby-kneed Sherwood said.

'How'd you know that?' Will demanded.

Sherwood shrugged. 'I heard,' he said with a mischievous little smile, "cause I listen.'

Fra

Sherwood giggled, pleased to be appreciated. 'The things I hear,' he said, his voice sing-song, as he repeated the phrase. 'The things I hear, the things I hear.'

'Knowing somebody's name isn't so clever,' Will replied.

'I know more than that.'

'Like?'

'Like you came from Manchester, and you had a brother only he's dead.' He spoke the d-word with relish. 'And your dad's a teacher.' He glanced at his sister. 'Fra

'Well he's not a teacher,' Will shot back.

'What is he then?' Fra

'He's ... he's a Doctor of Philosophy.'

It sounded like a fine boast, and for a moment it silenced his audience. Then Fra

She had unerringly gone to the part of his father's nomenclature Will had never really understood. He put a brave face on his incomprehension. 'Sort of,' he said. 'He makes people better by .. . by writing books.'

'That's stupid,' Sherwood said, crowing the word that had begun their whole exchange. He started to laugh at how ridiculous this was.

'I don't care what you think,' Will said, putting on his best sneer. 'Anybody who lives in this dump has got to be the biggest stupid person I ever saw. That's what you are-'

Sherwood had turned his back on Will and was spitting over the bridge. Will gave up on him and marched off back towards the house.

'Wait-' he heard Fra

'Fra

But Fra

'Somebody's going to bash him one of these days. Bash him hard. And it might be me.'

'He gets bashed all the time,' Fra

'Fraaaa

'You'd better go back to him, in case he falls off the bridge.'

Fra

'I don't care,' Will replied. 'I'm going to be ru

'Are you?'

'I just said, didn't I?'

'Where to?'

'I haven't made up my mind.'

The conversation faltered here, and Will hoped Fra

'Yeah. He was knocked down by a taxi.'

'That must be horrible for you,' Fra

'I didn't like him very much.'

'Still ... if something like that ever happened to Sherwood ...They had come to a divide in the road. To the left lay the route back to the house; to the right, a less well-made track that rapidly wound out of sight behind the hedgerows. Will hesitated a moment, weighing up the options.

'I should go back,' Fra

'I'm not stopping you,' Will replied.

Fra

'Everybody calls it the Courthouse,' she said. 'But it isn't really. It was built by this man who wanted to protect horses or something. I don't know the proper story.'

'Who lives there?' Will said. As far as he could tell at this distance, it was an impressive-looking structure; it almost looked like a temple in one of his history books, except that it was built of dark stone.

'Nobody lives there,' Fra

'You went in?'

'Sherwood hid there once. He knows more about it than I do. You should ask him.'

Will wrinkled up his nose. 'Nah,' he said, feeling as though he'd made his attempt at conciliation and he could now depart without guilt.

'Fraaa

'Get down off there!' Fra

Relieved to have the girl gone, Will again considered the routes before him. If he went back to the house now he could slake his thirst and fill the growing hole in his belly. But he'd also have to endure the atmosphere of ill- humour that hung about the place. Better to go walking, he thought; find out what was around the bend and beyond the hedgerows.

He glanced back at the bridge to see that Fra