Overtime. Part 10

'After what?'

'The stag, silly. Quick, you get on the horse.'

Guy wanted to explain that he wasn't desperately efficient with horses, but by this stage Blondel was nowhere to be seen. With a despairing spurt of courage, Guy grabbed at one of the stirrups, put his foot in it and hauled himself up on to the horse. Thankfully, the horse took it quite well. He sorted out the reins, gave the horse a token kick, and was delighted to find that it seemed perfectly willing to accept that as a valid command to move. As he sped through the darkness, he tried to remember what his uncle in Norfolk had tried to teach him when he was ten about rising to the trot.

'Blondel,' he shouted, 'where are you?'

'Over here,' came a voice, a long way off. Blondel, it seemed, could run fast. Just as Guy had dragged out of his memory the recognised way of making a horse turn left, the horse p.r.i.c.ked up its ears and set off towards the direction of its master's voice.

'He's in there,' Blondel hissed. Moonlight flashed on the blade of his sword, pointing (as far as Guy was concerned) in no particular direction at all.

'How do you stop this thing?' Guy asked.

'Pull on the reins,' Blondel replied. 'Get down and come and help.'

In the event, Guy found getting off the horse was quite simple, if not particularly dignified. He tied the reins to a handy bush and followed the sound of Blondel's voice. He longed for a torch.

'In the cave,' Blondel said.

'Which cave?'

'There is a cave,' Blondel explained, 'just over there. The white stag just went into it. You don't seem at home in the dark.'

'I'm not.'

'You should eat more carrots,' Blondel said absently. 'I think we should go in after it.'

Guy blinked. 'Do you?' he said.

'Absolutely,' Blondel replied. 'It had a gold collar round its neck, and the points of its antlers were gilded.'

'Escaped from a circus or something?' Guy hazarded.

'Something like that. Look, get the rope, we can use that as a halter. Then follow me.'

'Blondel ...'

But Blondel had gone into the cave. As instructed, Guy fetched the rope. He took his time. No point in rus.h.i.+ng these things.

'Hurry up with the d.a.m.n rope,' came a voice from inside the cave. Against his better judgement, Guy followed. There was a silvery light coming from inside the cave. Perhaps someone in there had a torch.

As he entered, Guy saw that the light was coming from the antlers of the white stag; they were glowing, as if they were made of gla.s.s and had electric filaments inside them. The stag itself was milk-white, and it did indeed have a golden halter and some sort of gold leaf on the sharp bits of its antlers. It was eating sugar lumps from the palm of Blondel's hand.

'Tie the rope to its antlers,' Blondel whispered. 'Hurry up, man, we haven't got all night.'

Guy shrugged and edged forward, filled with the reckless courage of an elderly householder looking for burglars armed with his wife's umbrella. To his surprise and relief, the antlers were cold to the touch and the stag didn't try and stick them into him. He tied all the knots he could remember from his boy scout days and handed the other end of the rope to Blondel.

'Well,' Blondel said, 'this is a bit of luck, don't you think?'

Guy's eyebrows rose. 'Luck?' he said.

'Absolutely,' Blondel replied, patting the stag's muzzle. 'Not every day you run across an enchanted stag on Wandsworth Common, now is it?'

'Is that where we are?' Guy asked, stunned, 'Wandsworth Common?'

'We are indeed.'

'I've got an aunt who lives -'

'Will live,' Blondel interrupted. 'I make it the late fourteenth century, unless my calendar's stopped again.'

'Oh.' Guy felt suddenly wretched. 'I see.'

'Out there,' Blondel went on, 'they're having the Black Death and the Peasant's Revolt. Which makes having an enchanted stag a distinct advantage, don't you think?'

'Well yes,' Guy agreed. What he'd really like, he said to himself, in the circ.u.mstances stated, was a machine-gun and a gallon jar of penicillin, but he was prepared to accept any sort of edge he could get. 'Er, what do we do now?'

'Watch,' Blondel replied. 'Gee up there, boy,' he said to the stag. The stag turned its head and looked at him.

'My name,' said the stag, 'is Cerf le Blanc.' It said it coldly and without moving any part of its mouth. That, as far as Guy was concerned, put the tin lid on it.

'Where are you off to in such a hurry?' Blondel asked.

'Goodbye,' Guy explained. 'Thanks for everything.'

'Oh well,' Blondel called after him. 'Go carefully. Mind the wolves.'

Guy's head reappeared at the door of the cave. 'Wolves?' he enquired.

'Wolves,' Blondel replied, 'were still common in England in the fourteenth century, I think. I'm not sure, actually.'

'I think I'll come with you,' Guy said; then he whispered, 'Look, is that thing going to make a habit of talking?'

'I wouldn't worry about it,' Blondel said. 'I don't think it means to hurt us. Do you?'

'No.'

'There,' Blondel said, 'you see? Had it from its own lips.'

'I never mean to hurt anyone,' said Cerf le Blanc. 'Sometimes, though ... But it's always an accident. At least as far as I'm concerned, that is.'

Blondel gave the stag a rea.s.suring pat. 'That's all right,' he said. 'Have some Turkish Delight and then let's be getting on.' He produced a pink cube from the purse at his belt. There were bits of fluff sticking to it, but the stag didn't seem to mind. When it had finished chewing, it lifted its head, and the light of its antlers dimmed to a discreet glow. It led the way.

Pursuivant rubbed his eyes and yawned.

At about this time, back at the Chastel des Larmes Chaudes, the lads would be opening a few cans, pa.s.sing round the dry-roasted peanuts, getting on with the night s.h.i.+ft. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays they had a poker school. If the alarm rang, of course, they'd have to go and answer it, but somehow the alarm never seemed to ring any more. Not since Clarenceaux wedged a beer-mat between the bell and the clapper.