The Ivory Dragon 9/14

As soon as the boy on his bike had given him the message, Brian opened a suitcase under his desk, changed into his gardening clothes and rushed out of the office. As before, he drove quickly to the supermarket car park and hurried up the hill as fast as he could.

Once he was on the flat he ran the rest of the way and crawled into his hiding place. Then he stood up carefully and tried to get his breath back before any passer by could hear him. The problem with following someone who’d taken a bus meant that you never knew for certain how long he would take to arrive.

He’d only just managed to control his breathing before he heard footsteps coming along the path towards him. Peering out through the spaces between the branches, he recognised the man he was following as he walked past. He waited until the sound faded away then crawled back out onto the pathway himself. He was just in time to see his quarry stoop slightly, before carefully easing himself through a rough sort of doorway made from branches, then setting off along the path once more without any further hesitation.

Brian followed rather more slowly until he reached the strange looking doorway. Impossible though it was, the branches were glowing slightly in the sunshine, he took the same careful precautions and eased himself gently through, then walked off slowly, keeping to the side of the hedge to reduce the chances of being spotted. He’d gone round a bend in the pathway and was congratulating himself on keeping the man in sight, when it suddenly struck him that he should have been well into the circle of the pitstead by now, yet there was no sign of it anywhere.

He stopped for a moment to think. There were no side paths between his hiding place and the blind end of the charcoal burners camp, yet somehow he’d walked roughly twice as far as he should have done to reach the campsite, but the path was still stretching away in front of him. He walked on again rather more quickly now; he was going to have to catch up with the man in front of him if he was to find out how he’d managed to get past the cul de sac.

The path led him on round several long sweeping bends, until it was suddenly crossed by a much wider trackway. He was beginning to get a bit worried by now. Something strange had happened to the countryside and unless he could catch the man he was following, he was lost.

Then a movement to his right caught his eye. About three hundred yards away a cart had just picked up a passenger who he recognised, but just as he decided to run after it, the horse trotted off and the whole vehicle disappeared from sight round the next bend. The only thing for it was to follow the cart and hope it wasn’t too far to its destination.

He trudged on for a long time, the countryside slowly changing as he made his way along. The ground was slowly getting wetter and wetter and he was glad he was wearing his gardening boots. A bit of water didn’t really matter to them, but by now his town shoes would have been ruined. Then to his horror he rounded yet another bend to find a small river running across in the path in front of him. The cart tracks ran down into the water and twenty five yards away he could see them emerging again on the far bank.

Then they disappeared round yet another of the horrible twists and turns that the track was taking. He managed to find a long piece of wood and carefully tried the depth of water in front of him. He even risked wading out a short way testing the depth as he went and soon realised that there was no way he could cross without getting wet all over. He was very tired by now and his feet were wet and getting cold, so he sat down on the driest bit of ground he could find and taking off his boots and socks, attempted to dry his feet on a handkerchief. He decided to stay for a while to have a rest, reasoning that since the track appeared well used, another cart may well pass by before too long.

His hopes rose after half an hour when he heard a horse trotting along the track behind him. He hurriedly put on his shoes and socks again, in spite of their dampness and was surprised to see that it wasn’t another cart, but just a horse and rider.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m trying to catch up with a man travelling on a cart that has just gone through the ford. I wonder if you’d mind giving me a lift?”

The rider stopped and Brian noticed that although he was well dressed and his horse was beautifully groomed, there was something rather strange about his appearance. The man could almost have come from a Christmas card picture of the jolly country squire bringing seasonal gifts to his farming tenants. Then the man spoke and shook Brian to the very roots of all his beliefs.

“You’ll be a stranger round here I reckon, judging by you’re accent I’d say you’re from the alternate world where Jennifer Jane lives. The cart you’re following will be long through Lurbridge by now, so you’d better come up behind me and I’ll try and help you when I reach home.”

He reached down and offered his hand, pulling a rather bewildered Brian up to ride pillion.