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fredbassettTitle : The Green Knight, Part 2 of 2
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Claudia/Ryan, Nicky Brown, Lester/OC, OCs
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs) , no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 14,500 in two parts.
Summary : When Lester is invited to spent Christmas at Inglestone Hall with the Browns and Ryan, he’s hoping for a peaceful time, but life can’t always be relied on to cooperate.
A/N : 1) Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
louise_dennis for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primeval_denial Secret Santa for the prompts: Patterns in the Ice, The Giant under the Snow, It was at Christmas that the Green Knight came to King Arthur's Hall, Snow Queen 2) This takes place in the same series as The Devil’s Knell and Twelfth Night.
The day after Christmas dawned crisp and clear, but although the snow was deep, it was anything but even, instead lying in lumpy white drifts encrusted with crystals, looking like someone had thrown the crushed contents of a diamond mine over the courtyard.
Lester drank his morning coffee on the window seat again, reading and re-reading the story of Montgomery and Montmorency’s quest to uncover the truth about the Snow Queen, an aristocratic Arctic hare with an impressive line in sarcasm and an ability to knock an opponent flat with one powerful kick from her hind legs.
An early lunch of leftover turkey accompanied by bubble and squeak and assorted leftovers, pickles and chutneys was followed by a walk over the fields to the church for the performance of The Green Knight, followed by a buffet and drinks in the church hall.
A crowd had already gathered in the churchyard and mugs of mulled wine were being handed out. A gaggle of young children clustered around a brazier waiting impatiently for roast chestnuts to be tipped out of an iron pan into the snow to cool.
Introductions passed in a blur and even with Lester’s long-standing knack for remembering names, he knew he would struggle to correctly match them to faces, not helped when their owners were swathed in thick scarves and had hats pulled down warmly over reddened ears.
A small group stood apart from the villages, a handful of children at their side.
“That’s the lot from Dearham,” Neil Brown murmured.
The tallest of the children, a girl with glossy chestnut hair held back in a loose ponytail turned as they approached, her mouth falling open in a way that in any other circumstance would have been comical. Here, now, Lester didn’t know what to think.
“Dad?”
“Jo?”
The sudden stillness was abruptly broken as his daughter dashed across the churchyard and flung her arms around him. A moment later, she was joined by her brother. Lester hugged his children hard, kissing their upturned faces.
Over their heads, he caught sight of his soon-to-be-ex-wife looking every bit as startled as he felt.
“James?”
“Ophelia. This is an unexpected pleasure.” He smiled to take any sting out of his words. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, James.”
An awkward silence stretched between them, as taut as an over-wound guitar string, ready to snap if plucked too hard.
“Did you come here to see us, Dad?” Eddie demanded, bouncing up and down in the snow.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Lester admitted. “I’m staying at Inglestone Hall with friends.”
“We’re at Dearham Hall,” his wife – hard not to still think of her that way – said. “Graeme’s brother Giles bought the hall last year.”
Graeme Marchant, an investment banker who specialised in the futures market. His brother Giles had made millions as a stock market trader before retiring amid rumours of insider dealing. Lester had never liked either of them. Neil Brown’s description of them as the Hoorays at the Hall was certainly accurate.
Lester dredged up a smile. “Are they here?”
“They’re going out on their snowmobiles with a friend.”
“They were going to be running a drag hunt.” Jo’s voice positively oozed disapproval.
“The van bringing the hounds developed an engine problem,” a fresh voice said. “You must be the ex-husband…” A woman in her early 40s wearing a large fake fur coat – at least Lester hoped it was fake - stared at him with little liking.
“James, this is Lynette Marchant, Graeme’s sister-in-law.”
Lester smiled with absolutely no sincerity whatsoever and kept his arms around his children so he didn’t have to shake hands.
Before they had time to exchange any (un)pleasantries, the dark-haired man in his mid-30s who had officiated at the Christmas Eve carol service appeared carrying a tray of mulled wine. “Everyone grab one before the play starts!”
The sudden bustle of more helpers with laden trays broke up the awkwardness and left Lester to exchange a few more words with his wife and children before being whisked away by Claudia into the church hall to prepare for the play. The place was decked out with wreaths of red-berried holly, ivy and bay, springs of mistletoe and red ribbons adoring each one. Long tables down each side of the hall held a tempting array of food and drink.
At the far end of the room, two ornate thrones had been set up under a golden canopy.
“Do I really have to go through with this?” he asked, pleadingly.
“You certainly do, sire.” Ryan grinned and a moment later, instead of jeans and his Christmas sweater, the soldier was now wearing a blue velvet tunic over loose black woollen trousers tucked into knee-high leather boots, a thick midnight blue cloak thrown around his shoulders. A sword hung at his left hip and a dagger at his right.
Lester now wore a rich purple tunic over dark trousers, topped by a silver-grey cloak heavily embroidered in gold thread. He also carried a sword and what felt like a circlet sat snugly around his head.
“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” he said heavily.
Claudia, wearing a long, russet coloured dress beautifully embroidered in even more gold thread than Lester’s tunic, shook her head. “No. You look splendid.” Claudia waved her hand towards the thrones. “After you, my lord.”
Drawing in a deep, calming breath, Lester made his way to the largest of the thrones as the villagers and the guests started to file into the hall. The people Lester recognised as Inglestone villagers were now all dressed up like extras from the cast of Merlin, whereas the visitors all wore ordinary clothing. Nicky’s doing, he presumed.
“Won’t the others notice?”
Claudia shook her head. “It’s an illusion. To the outsiders, everyone looks as they did before, but for the villagers it’s all part of the fun.”
As the hall filled up, Lester stood up and from somewhere, a sudden fanfare of trumpets silenced the chatter. When they fell silent, Lester called out: “Welcome, my good people! Let all who come to my hall this night feast and be merry at your king’s command!”
He could see his kids grinning from ear to ear, and there was even a smile on his wife’s face.
With no clear idea of what would happen next, Lester accepted a goblet of wine from one of the village children dressed up like a page and fell to the serious business of people-watching.
The Dearham Hall crowd as he now thought of them consisted of one man, three women and four children, including his own family. Ophelia quickly fell into conversation with Andrew Burgess, the vicar, but the others kept to their own company. Even half the hall away, Lester could see why they hadn’t found much favour with Neil and Ness. Their faces made it plain they weren’t going to be impressed by any village play-acting and Lester wondered why they’d even bothered to come. His own children, on the other hand, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, and Lester wondered if they were able to see more than the others.
Without warning, the double doors into the hall were thrown open and a horse pranced in amidst shrieks of mock terror. The animal was huge, with a strange green cast to its glossy dark coat. The rider on its back wore a silk shirt and a leather jerkin under a rich cloak rimmed with white fur (“Definitely fake,” Claudia muttered). The rider’s skin glowed with green fire and sparks flashed from the wavy dark hair that framed a handsome – and very familiar – face. The horse’s accoutrements were equally fine, decked out with bright green gemstones and hung with flowing ribbons.
“Wish me luck,” Lester murmured, before standing and calling out, “Lord, to this lodging thou’rt welcome! Come you in peace?”
The Green Knight reined in the snorting horse and called out in an equally loud voice, “I bring a challenge, sire, to any that dare stand against me! I call on any of your fine knights to strike one blow against me and, if I should survive it, he who striketh me must swear to bear a blow from mine own axe one year and a day hence.”
In the silence that followed, Ryan – lounging casually against the wall – stepped forward and looked the Green Knight up and down. “The sign on the door says no horses. That’s what the big round thing with the red line through the horse means.”
Laughter ran around the hall, and several people clapped.
The Green Knight laughed with them. “Brave words, good knight, but there is no sign on yonder door.”
“Oh yes there is!” the villagers chorused loudly.
“Oh no there is not!” the Green Knight retorted.
Ryan straightened up and strolled out into the middle of the hall, with all the dangerous grace of a trained fighter. “There’s an £80 fine for exceeding the 20 mile an hour speed limit on Church Road and you’re in breach of the byelaw against horse-riding in the churchyard. That’ll be another 60 quid you owe. And if that animal makes a mess on the floor, you’re clearing it up.”
A burst of laughter and more clapping filled the hall.
Doing his best to keep a straight face, Lester stepped forward and declaimed loudly, “Good man, ‘tis madness thou askest, and since folly thou hast sought, thou deserveth to find it, I know no lord that is alarmed by thy loud words here.” And that just about exhausted everything he remembered from his English Literature A Level.
The Green Knight stared haughtily down at him. “Folly, thou sayest, folly?”
Ryan stepped between them. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He swept his sword from its scabbard. “Now about this challenge…”
Before Nicky – or rather the Green Knight – could respond, Lester heard the sound of running feet crunching on the snow-covered gravel outside the church hall and a breathless voice yelled, “Them bastards at Dearham are hunting the white stag!”
Heads turned to the newcomer, an elderly man with a shock of white hair standing out around a woollen hat pulled down around his ears.
Nicky wheeled the horse around. “The white stag?”
“Aye, they’re after ‘im on snowmobiles with rifles. And there’s summat else…”
Lester’s phone chose that moment to ring, even though he was certain he’d switched it off. The sharp, staccato sound signalled a call from the ARC. At the same moment, Claudia and Ryan reached for their own phones.
“Multiple anomalies close to your location,” Connor told him. “Three have opened and closed. One is still open. There’s a large pile up on the M11 and with the snow it’ll be at least three hours before we can get a team to you. Sending what location details we have to your phones now. Best of luck and keep us posted.”
From the looks on their faces, Ryan and Claudia had just received the same message.
“We’re about to experience severe weather conditions!” Lester called. “Would everyone please remain in the hall. There is a high risk of ball lightening!”
In the sudden silence that followed his announcement, someone said, “Nice try, but if they’re after the white stag, the bastards need to be stopped.”
“I entirely agree.” Nicky held his hand down to Ryan. “Need a lift, captain?”
Ryan grabbed the proffered hand and swung up onto the horse’s back.
Claudia, now wearing a ski-suit in place of her flowing dress called out, “Nicky, transport that doesn’t have four hooves, please!”
“Your wish is my command!” Nicky said airily and snapped his fingers.
Lester followed Claudia out of the hall at a run. Outside, four green snowmobiles gleamed in the moonlight. All very well, but he’d never ridden one in his life.
“Less time in the office and more time on the slopes, James,” his not-quite-yet-ex-wife said, swinging one leg smoothly over the closest machine to the door. “I really, really dislike bloodsports. Graeme said they were just going out for a spin on Giles’ latest toys, the lying sod.”
“He’s a total git, mum,” Jo said, jumping onto another snowmobile. Eddie climbed up behind him and wrapped his arms around his sister’s waist.
“What part of stay in the hall is no one taking any notice of?” Lester demanded.
“The stay in the hall part, dad,” Jo told him. “Why should you get all the fun?” She revved the engine and took off after the Green Knight and his equally green horse.
Lester closed his eyes and wished very, very hard for some reliable communications, then he jumped onto the snowmobile behind Ophelia and said, “Follow that horse!
The crash helmet with built in radio proved that occasionally wishes were indeed horses and that, for once, beggars could ride.
Ophelia and Jo handled the snowmobiles confidently as the machines shot through an open field gate in the wake of the snow thrown up by the green horses’ hooves. Claudia was approximately 50 metres ahead, her father keeping pace with her on another of the sleek machines.
Ness Brown’s voice sounded clearly in his ear. “I’m on top of the church tower. I can see lights at the far side of Forty Acre Field. Three snowmobiles and something else – something larger. Like an enormous sparkler …”
“If only they were that harmless,” Lester murmured.
His wife promptly switched off her throat mic. “James, this would be a good time to tell me what this is all about.”
Her words were partially whipped away by the wind, but he got the general drift. “Things might be about to get a bit weird,” he admitted.
“About to get weird?” Ophelia’s voice had gone up at least a octave. “Things got weird the moment we set foot in this village! How weird is weird?”
Ryan’s voice broke in before Lester had chance to reply. “Nothing yet, but we’ve seen lights flickering on an off.”
“Something small and harmless would be nice,” Lester muttered.
“Be a nice change,” Ryan said. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up, boss.”
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, mister,” Ophelia snapped to Lester, as she swerved effortlessly to avoid what looked like a pile of snow-covered rocks.
The sound of a gunshot cut through even the noise from the snowmobiles.
“Rifle!” Ryan’s voice was clear over the headset comms. “Stay back!”
The snowmobile’s headlights were bright in the fading light but obscured by the powdery drift thrown up by two skies at the front of the vehicles and their tracked rear drives. They weren’t far from the edge of the wood now and Lester could see the lights from three other snowmobiles, all riding in a wide but decreasing circle.
Their headlights illuminated a huge white stag brought to bay by its pursuers. A line of bright red blood on its shoulder was testament to the fact that whoever had fired the shot was not as effective with a rifle as the hunters might have hoped.
“Phil, get to the kids!” Lester said urgently, falling back on their old familiarity.
She cut left, putting their vehicle between the children and the hunters in a neat manoeuvre perfected in the French Alps. “Jo, take Eddie and go back to the church!”
Her daughter shook her head. “Sorry, mum. They’re not getting away with this!” With an apologetic look at them both, she scrambled off her snowmobile and dashed into the ring of lights.
The massive white stag – in reality, another megaloceros – stood as still as a statue, but Lester could see its nostrils were flared and it was breathing heavily.
“What part of stay back didn’t I say loud enough?” Ryan demanded, a note of weary resignation in his voice as Eddie dashed to his sister’s side, quickly followed by Claudia, Ophelia and Lester himself. “Remind me not to work with bloody civilians.”
Ryan slid off the horse’s back and stalked into the middle of the encircling hunters. Lester noticed he was now wearing his black combat uniform, an M4 carbine slung across his chest. He radiated an air of menace that made Lester glad they were on the same side.
“All right, you’ve had your fun, now fuck off.” The words were spoken quietly but with authority.
At Lester’s side, Jo snorted a laugh. “I like him, dad.”
“You’re on Dearham land,” one of the men called, in a voice that dripped with aristocratic disdain and an unhealthy disregard for personal safety. “I’d take your own advice, if I were you.”
“Giles Marchant,” Ophelia muttered. “He’s an arrogant, over-bred prick.”
Lester’s earpiece bleeped to signal a new communication. “We’ve got a problem,” Neil Brown said.
“Report,” Ryan snapped.
“A large, hairy problem that looks suspiciously like a herd of woolly rhinos and they’re heading your way at a fast trot.”
“Is there a big shiny thing anywhere nearby?” Lester asked.
“I presume you’re not referring to the moon?” Neil said dryly.
“There’s one by the edge of Styles Copse,” Ness broke in, presumably still on top of the church tower. “It’s flickering on and off like a faulty light. I think the rhinos are coming from that direction.”
“Then we need to get them back that way, and quickly,” Lester said, pointedly ignoring the looks his wife and children were giving him.
One of the hunters let out a loud whoop. “Giles, look what’s coming our way! What petting zoo let those beauties out to play?”
Ophelia stepped forward. “Graeme, for fuck’s sake, stop being such an arsehole! I told you I won’t have anything to do with blood sports. You’ve nearly killed one animal, isn’t that enough?”
“Go, mum!” Eddie yelled.
“Better quarry on its way,” Graeme Marchant replied dismissively. “We’ll talk about this later, Phillie.”
“It’s Ophelia to you,” she said, her voice as cold as ice.
Lester glanced behind them in the direction the hunters were staring. Neil Brown’s identification had been depressingly accurate. A herd of what looked like six or seven woolly rhinos were very definitely coming their way. “Ryan, take Nicky, Claudia and Neil, get that lot back to the anomaly. Leave these hooray henrys to me.”
“To us,” Ophelia corrected.
“Take the children and get back to the church, please, Phil,” he said, urgently. “I’ll make sure the stag is all right. It’s really not safe out here and things will probably get worse.”
“Dad, why aren’t you surprised by any of this?” Eddie asked, his eyes wide with exhilaration.
Lester sighed. “I’ll explain later.”
“You certainly will,” his wife said, with entirely too much satisfaction for Lester’s liking.
But before that, he had to deal with his not-quite-ex-wife’s hopefully soon-to-be-very-ex-boyfriend and his equally obnoxious companions…
****
Claudia wheeled her snowmobile in a tight turn to face the oncoming rhino herd. “Do we have a plan?”
“I lead them back to the anomaly and the rest of you play sheepdog.”
“I meant, do we have a sensible plan, Nicky! You playing bait is not sensible.”
“To be fair, I’ve heard worse plans,” Ryan said, throwing his leg over a sleek black snowmobile that had just appeared next to him. “Thanks, Nicky. Nice ride.”
“Well, I am in the transport business. Speaking of which…” Nicky waved a hand in the direction of the standoff around the white stag and the engines of the three hunters’ snowmobiles stuttered and died, bringing them all to an abrupt halt.
“Magical sugar in the petrol tank?”
“Something like that. So, how fast can those hairy things run?”
“Faster than I’m comfortable with,” Claudia admitted, desperately searching her memory for any information she might have picked up from Connor. “Be careful, Nicky.”
“Careful’s my middle name.” Nicky lightly touched the black horse’s neck, and the animal broke into a run, crossing the snowy field towards the herd.
Claudia gave into the urge to sigh loudly. “You haven’t got a middle name.”
The lead rhino threw its head back, ivory horns glinting in the moonlight. Their shaggy, snow-covered russet pelts blended in with their surroundings as the herd slowed to a walk, snuffling the air, assessing the threat posed by unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells.
“Nicky, don’t get too close,” Ryan warned. “They’re faster than they look.”
Nicky checked the horse with a light tough on the reins and veered to one side, clearly hoping to lead the herd into following him. He met with a resounding lack of success. The lead rhino let out a low snort and broke into a lumbering trot, continuing in the same direction. When his ploy failed, horse and rider made a closer pass. The rhino threw back its head and bellowed.
Claudia drew in a sharp breath. “Nicky, it’s getting annoyed.”
“Either that or it fancies Blackie…”
“Gay prehistoric rhinos?”
“Seen stranger things than that in this job,” Ryan commented. “I spent a night stuck in the Cretaceous with Connor last year with a pair of gay T. rexes between us and the anomaly site.”
“Living the high life,” Claudia said. “I was the one who had to break it to him that Lester wouldn’t sign off a paper on it to the Journal of Vertebrate Palaeontology.”
Her next sharp breath morphed into a full-blown gasp as Nicky got within two metres of the bull rhino and finally provoked it into an irritated swerve. The horn flashed in the moonlight, a huge ivory scimitar with a sharp, curved point, sweeping all too close to Nicky’s leg as he turned the horse at a touch, avoiding a slashing blow by no more than ten centimetres.
The rhino turned, powerful shoulders driving its short, thick legs in a tight turning circle. The herd followed, jostling each other for position like a bunch of rowdy rugby fans trying to be first through the turnstiles.
“Keep the stragglers from breaking ranks!” Ryan ordered. “They’re wary of the snowmobiles. Let’s keep it that way and play sheepdog. But try not to get them angry.”
Easier said than done, Claudia thought, as she turned the handlebars, bringing the twin skis at the front around and steering a course across the field in the hope of discouraging any of the creatures from breaking ranks. Ryan accelerated to come up on the other side of the herd while her father took up position at the rear to mop up any beasts inclined to linger.
The bull rhino now appeared to be taking the presence of the Green Knight and his equally green horse as a personal insult. Nicky had that effect on people when he set his mind to it, and prehistoric rhinos were clearly no exception to that rule.
“Good going, Nicky,” Ryan complimented. “Keep them in a straight line but for fuck’s sake make sure you don’t go through. The anomaly looks unstable. It could close at any minute.”
“One of the smaller ones is falling behind!” Neil Brown cut in urgently.
“Keep it moving!”
“Doing my best…”
Claudia drew in a sharp breath, squeezed the brake handle and let her machine slow down so she could help her father with the errant calf.
Ahead, the anomaly flickered, but paler now, more translucent.
They really, really needed to avoid Inglestone gaining a very hairy petting zoo.
She had a nasty feeling that the villagers wouldn’t mind in the slightest, but Lester would throw a fit.
****
“Put the guns down,” Lester said, keeping his voice low and even.
One of the men laughed, a high-pitched sound unsettlingly close to a giggle. “Or what?”
Wonderful. The arrogant tosser was drunk as well as high on adrenaline.
“Or I’ll kick your balls so hard they’ll be playing nine pins with your tonsils.” The threat was at odds with his wife’s well-bred tone, but Lester was in no doubt about her sincerity.
His son sniggered as only ten-year-old boys can, and his daughter barely stifled a laugh.
A disdainful sniff from knee level made Lester look down. An Arctic fox was staring down its sharp muzzle at the man Ophelia had threatened, despite being a good deal shorter than the object of its intense disapproval. Lester’s eyes widened. He was well acquainted with that fox and knew, without needing to look, that the sweater under the snowsuit Nicky had obligingly outfitted him with was now plain green. The fox glanced up and winked. The animal was very fond of that gesture.
“Put the fucking gun down, Charles, and stop behaving like a total tosser.”
If anything, the fox’s grin only widened.
“I told you, go back to Dearham, Phillie,” Graeme Marchant cut in, with only a light slur in his voice. He was high on booze or drugs or both.
“And I told you not to call me Phillie. You lost that privilege when you liked to me about having given up blood sports.”
“And I have, but this one’s special…”
“Yes, he is.” Lester stepped forward, the fox at his side. “And his head looks a hell of a lot better on his shoulders than it would on your wall, so do the decent thing and put the guns away and go home.”
“And who the fuck are you?”
“James Lester.”
“The ex-husband?
“The very same.”
“And he’s brought his pet vermin with him…” The man called Charles shifted his stance, the hunting rifle now pointing at the fox. “I hate fucking foxes.”
“Bestiality is illegal,” Jo commented. “I bet the foxes aren’t too keen on you, either. Have you tried Tinder? Or Grindr?”
Lester put himself firmly in between the man with the gun and his family. He knew exactly how annoying his kids could be if they put their mind to it.
With the snowmobiles stubbornly refusing to restart, the men dismounted and started to close in. Only one of them – Charles – had a rifle, but even one rifle was too much when Lester’s children were determined to stay in the line of fire.
The rifle was bolt action and had already been fired once. Lester knew more about military hardware than he did about sporting guns. There seemed to be a short magazine under the barrel that could probably hold around five rounds. Anyone with a gun was dangerous, doubly so if the person concerned was high as a kite. He remembered Ryan commenting once that few things scared him more than a gun in the hands of an amateur. A professional’s reactions were generally predictable. An amateur’s reactions were quite the opposite.
“Jo, take Eddie and walk away, please…”
“Sorry, dad.” To her credit, Jo even managed to sound apologetic. “I keep telling you, not going to happen. He might be pissed as a rat, but I don’t think he’s going to shoot a couple of kids.”
“I’m not prepared to bet your life, or Eddie’s on that. Leave them to me, please.”
“Us,” Ophelia said, equally firmly.
At his side, the fox added quietly, “Trust the captain.”
And Lester knew his companion didn’t mean Ryan.
“Since when did you acquire a talking fox?” Ophelia sounded amused
“I think you’ll find I acquired him,” the fox said archly. “On my count… three… two…
Before the fox got to one, a black and white shape barrelled through the snow at knee height, knocking Charles flat on his back and running up his body so the rifle barrel was pointing at the sky. The man jerked his finger on the trigger but nothing happened. The badger’s powerful jaws closed on the man’s wrist and bit down hard. Charles cried out in pain and dropped the rifle.
Eddie, in startled delight, yelled, “Montgomery!”
A smaller, more sinuous creature hopped across the snow, ran up Giles Marchant’s leg, scampered up his jacket and promptly bit the man on the nose.
“Montmorency!” Jo squealed.
“Can’t you two count?” the fox demanded, as he launched himself at Giles Marchant, sinking his teeth into the man’s thigh.
In the middle of the animal related chaos, Lester grabbed the rifle and delivered a hard kick to Charles’ balls, for good measure.
Ophelia equally promptly meted out the same treatment to her now very definitely former boyfriend.
Giles Marchant grabbed the wriggling stoat and flung the small beast aside, yelling obscenities as blood ran freely from his nose.
“Don’t you dare hurt Montmorency!” Jo yelled.
To Lester’s horror, the man pulled out a wicked looking hunting knife and casually lashed out at his daughter with his other hand.
Jo ducked, grabbed his wrist with both hands and dragged the man off balance.
The white stag bellowed in rage and swept the knife from the man’s hand with its wide-spread antlers.
Lester dived for the knife, snatching it up from the snow. He’d been around Ryan and his men long enough to know that you never let a weapon go to waste, and with possible multiple anomalies, he had no idea what they would face next.
Giles Marchant hung back, an uncertain look on his face now things weren’t going their way.
“I’d bugger off, if I were you, mate,” the badger told him in a gruff, deceptively amiable voice.
“Wot he said, innit!” the stoat added, running nimbly up Jo’s body to perch on her shoulder.
“I hate to break up the party,” the fox commented, “but we have incoming.”
The man called Charles screamed and, a heartbeat later, the word descended into a white-glazed, red-tinted hell.
****
Claudia turned the snowmobile in a wide arc. She’d only ridden one a few times at Courchevel and knew how easy it was to flip them on their sides if you weren’t careful.
The woolly rhino calf bleated loudly, falling back from the herd, clearly not liking the strange machines buzzing around.
Claudia had a nasty feeling she was about to find out just how maternal mother rhinos were …
“Fuck!” Ryan’s voice sounded in her ear, low and irritated. “Nicky, be careful!”
“He lied about it being his middle name,” her father said, dry as desert sand.
“Cut it any finer and you’ll get the horse disembowelled.”
“We’ve been together a long time; this isn’t his first fight and it won’t be his last.”
The green horse swerved in front of the bull rhino at the head of the heard, keeping it focussed on the chase, leading it closer to the fading anomaly.
Claudia wrenched her attention away, trusting her adopted brother to know what he was doing, despite Ryan’s obvious – and entirely reasonable – concerns. The baby rhino was casting wary glances at her and she was doing her best to skirt the fine line between keeping it moving in the right direction and spooking it into a mad dash the wrong way.
A larger, equally shaggy beast broke away from the running herd and turned back.
Maternal enough to care.
Claudia veered away.
Mother bellowed almost as loudly as the leader of the herd had done and the tired calf quickened its steps, shaggy legs stomping through the powdery snow, breath coming in white, gusting pants.
“Come on, little one,” Claudia murmured. “Run to mummy…”
“Shit! Nicky, you fucking idiot!” Claudia had heard Ryan use that tone before, usually just after Lyle had pulled one of his madder stunts, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the mother and baby as she accelerated as smoothly as she could towards the pair, just enough – she hoped – to urge them on, not enough to scare them.
The sound of a rifle shot was sudden and shocking over the sound of pounding hooves on the thick snow.
The herd didn’t check their headlong rush.
“I’ve got this one.” Lester’s voice over their comms earpieces held the icy calm she’d come to know and respect over her time working with him.
She just hoped he was right. The rest of them were fully occupied with the rhinos.
The baby reached its mother’s side. The huge female rhino lowered her head and for a moment, Claudia thought the female was about to charge. She sucked in a slow breath and tried to ride the surge of adrenaline as her fight or flight reflex went into overdrive. Fighting wasn’t an option and flight would only draw the female away from the herd, so she held her ground, willing the shaggy beast just to go home!
The standoff drew out for another heartbeat as Claudia did her best to tune out the voices coming over her comms unit. How the hell the soldiers concentrated like this was beyond her, but for now, focusing was the only option left open to her.
The deadlock was broken by a bellow from the herd leader and suddenly the female shook her head, sending snow flying everywhere. She turned and broke into a run, the baby at her side.
Claudia followed, weaving from side to side in wide sweeps, as one by one, the woolly rhinos charged straight through the rapidly fading anomaly. It expanded, swallowing first one, then the next until only the mother and baby were left, running as hard as they could over the churned-up snow, in tracks so deep that the underlying muddy ground of the field lay exposed and trampled.
The anomaly flickered and would be gone in a heartbeat.
The mother rhino powered on, confident that her baby was now by her side.
The two passed through the fading rip in time and a moment later, it was gone, leaving nothing behind by empty air.
Claudia brought her snowmobile to a halt between her father and Ryan and let out a long, shaky breath. She glanced at her father and her smile died on her lips.
“Nicky?” She stared around, adrenaline spiking again, bringing with it a sick, hollow certainty.
The Green Knight and his green horse were nowhere to be seen.
****
The rifle bullet hit the deinonychus centre mass as it leaped at Giles Marchant, standing rooted to the ground in shock.
Thrown backwards, the raptor tumbled over in the snow, spraying blood.
Lester had read the reports. Even Abby was in favour of playing for keeps where these not-so-little fuckers were concerned. One of them had already raked a long slash down Graeme Marchant’s leg, leaving the man rolling in the snow, clutching his leg and crying out in pain. Lester couldn’t say he liked him, but he wouldn’t wish a slash from one of those wicked claws on even his worst enemy.
The white stag lowered its head and sprang forward, catching one of the raptors on its horns and tossing it aside, moments before it reached Jo and Eddie.
The badger dashed forward, ducking under a scything claw and knocked into the raptor’s other leg, sending it crashing to the ground, where one bite from the white fox’s jaws snapped its neck.
Lester worked the bolt on the rifle and sent another round into the chamber while Ophelia pulled her scarf off and dropped to her knees next to Graeme, batting his hands away and winding the material tightly around his thigh.
“Stop yelling!” she told him. “It’s no fun when you’re the one on the receiving end of the blood sports, is it?”
“You tell ‘im!” the stoat piped up, from his place on her daughter’s shoulder. “If you tighten that up enough, will ‘is leg fall off?”
“I don’t know, shall we try?”
Lester had no idea how many rounds he had left to work with, he just knew he had to make them all count. The problem with raptors, apart from the sharp teeth and scimitar sharp claws, was their sheer bloody unpredictability and their ability to change direction in the blink of an eye.
“Verify your target,” a cool voice by his side instructed.
The fox sounded uncannily like Ryan in that moment.
Lester spared the creature a glance. “Where did you learn military strategy?”
“Acting as the captain’s spotter at Munster Green.”
“December 1642? Weren’t you a bit noticeable?”
“Cold winter,” the fox said. “Incoming, your left.”
Lester swung and fired in one smooth movement. He wasn’t up to the standards of Ryan’s lads, but he hadn’t wasted his time on the range. Ryan was a firm believer in running up an eye-watering ammunition bill in the name of training. He was an equally firm believer in training anyone who might ever set foot out of the office. Or not, as the case may be, It was rumoured that even Dot the cleaner could now strip down and clean a Glock 17 in less time than it took her to make a cup of tea.
Three deinonychus were down now and three more were circling them. They were intelligent little buggers. It was just a shame they were vicious pack hunters that didn’t know when to just give up and fuck off.
Graeme Marchant was still on the ground with Ophelia at his side dispensing her own brand of Gestalt therapy. Much to Jo and Eddie’s amusement, she’d just told him to shut the fuck up or she’d gag him with his own gloves. It was probably fortunate she’d decided against medicine and gone into publishing instead.
Despite the bright red, bloody furrow on its shoulder, the white stag had determinedly put itself between the raptors and Ophelia and the children, leaving Lester free to pick off any of the sickle-clawed horrors that would stay still long enough.
The anomaly was on the edge of the tree line about 500 metres away, shining as brightly as a fallen star and equally deadly. If it disgorged any more of the sods, they’d be in trouble as he had no more than two shots left and would need to make them count. Nicky and the others were still playing sheepdog to the rhino herd and were unlikely to be able to spare the time to help him out.
Lester spared a glance for Giles Marchant and the man called Charles. Neither had taken well to the role reversal of the hunter becoming the prey and were cowering down by the snowmobiles, making no attempt to help Ophelia deal with the man on the ground. The blood staining the snow looked dramatic, but there wasn’t enough for a severed artery, and Lester wondered at what point in his life as a government hatchet man that sort of knowledge had come so easily to him.
“They’re going to make a run for it,” the fox said at exactly the moment Giles Marchant dashed for the snowmobile the children had used.
It started at the first push of the button.
“They’ll chase you!” Lester yelled.
The warning went unheeded.
Marchant didn’t even wait for his friend. He gunned the engine and took off as fast as he could in a spray of snow. With a moving target in their sight, the three raptors broke into a run, covering the ground with frightening speed.
At the same moment, the badger jumped into their path, risking the deadly claws to knock one from its feet, powerful jaws clamped around one leg, letting the fox bring his teeth into the fight again.
No more than 30 metres away, the speeding snowmobile abruptly came to a stop, hitting something on the snow-covered ground, catapulting its rider into the air. Marchant hit the ground and rolled over like a over-large ragdoll. The lead raptor leaped into the air, claws flashing in a deadly arc… and found itself tossed into the air by the white stag. The creature had covered the ground with unearthly speed and used its wide-spread antlers to good effect. Powerful hooves flashed in the moonlight and the raptor lay unmoving in the snow.
The third, seeing the danger for what it was, hesitated.
“Take the shot, mate!” the stoat – Montmorency – instructed.
Lester dropped to one knee, steadied the rifle and fired. The raptor dropped like a stone.
“Nice one!” Montmorency danced happily on Jo’s shoulder.
“Mum’s right, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, dad,” his daughter said, sounding as impressed as her furry friend.
“He’ll look forward to that,” the fox remarked, with what Lester took for a wry grin.
****
Claudia jumped off the snowmobile and ran over to the prone body of the man she recognised as Giles Marchant, owner of Dearham Hall.
His eyes were open and for a moment, she thought he was dead, then he groaned and tried to roll over, arms flailing weakly in the snow.
“Stay still!” she ordered. “You might have broken something.”
“I… I… can’t feel my legs…” He looked up at her, his face contorted with pain and fear.
Claudia heard the steady tread of the giant white deer as it approached the prone body of the man who only a short while ago had been intent on killing it for no other reason than to take its head and mount it on a wooden plaque on the wall.
She shuddered.
The white stag bent its head to the man and brushed his forehead with its velvety muzzle, then drew back and sneezed heavily, showering the man with snot.
Marchant grimaced, then the pain faded from his face, and he stared up at the creature, eyes wide.
The bloody furrow on the stag’s shoulder had gone, leaving the creature’s hide as whole and white as the untrampled snow only a short distance away from the battleground that surrounded them, beyond the dead raptors strewn in the ungainly sprawl of death.
“I presume you can feel your legs now?” Claudia said.
Marchant rolled over onto his knees.
“I’ll take that as a yes. It’s more than you deserve.” She turned away, leaving him on the ground.
Lester’s son and daughter were in a huddle together in the snow, a black and white shape sprawled across their laps.
Claudia put her hand on the stag’s shoulder. “I hope you didn’t waste all your energy on that undeserving bastard?”
The stag snuffled softly.
Eddie looked up at them, tears shining in his eyes. “Montgomery’s hurt.”
The brown and white stoat sitting on Jo’s shoulder piped up, addressing the white stag, “Do us a favour, chum. I’ve ‘ad ‘im a long time. Don’t want to ‘ave to break in another partner.”
The stag bent his head again and blew softly into the badger’s nostrils. The long whiskers twitched, and Montgomery drew in a shaky breath then coughed. “Them things were nasty,” the badger croaked.
“And you’re a brave idiot,” Montmorency said, jumping off Jo’s shoulder to nestle against the badger’s cheek.
“Takes one to know one,” the fox commented.
Lester went to one knee on the trampled ground, running a hand over the fox’s bloody fur. “You’re hurt.”
The animal gave him a disdainful look. “Not my blood.” The creature cast an appraising glance around the group. “Where’s the captain?”
Claudia drew in a shaky breath. “He led the rhinos through the anomaly. It closed before he could ride back.”
“Talking of brave idiots…” the fox muttered. “He’s not meant to pull stunts like that when I’m not around to help.”
As they were talking, the anomaly on the edge of the wood winked twice then disappeared, leaving them with the bodies of six dead deinonychus, and the next special forces barbeque wasn’t due for a few months.
Beside them, the ring tone of a mobile phone broke the silence. Claudia pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Connor?”
“All anomalies have closed. Status at your end?”
“Six dead raptors, one casualty and Nicky and his horse are missing. He went though an anomaly with the rhinos and it closed.”
While she was talking, the white snag had worked its magic on Graeme Marchant by blowing another large dose of snot in the man’s face.
Lester’s wife stood up, staring down at the man on the ground without any vestige of liking. “I’d have left you to take your chances in A&E on Boxing Day evening.” She reached out a tentative hand and stroked the stag’s velvety nose. “Thank you…” She hesitated then added, “I really would have gagged him with one of his own socks if he hadn’t shut up.” Then she turned to Lester and said in a quiet voice, “I think I’m going to cry, James.”
Lester wrapped his arms around his wife and held her close.
Claudia felt an arm around her own shoulders and turned to Ryan. “What the hell are we going to do, Tom?”
“Wait and hope,” Ryan said quietly.
The fox sniffed. “He always did have a flair for the dramatic. He’ll be back.”
The white stag threw its head back and let out a deep throated bellow.
From the edge of the wood came an answering cry.
Claudia looked up to see Cian stepping away from the trees, antlered head held high.
By his side rode Nicky on the black stallion, green shimmer gone from both man and horse.
Behind them, six enormous grey wolves stalked out of the wood.
Claudia’s eyes widened. The fox was right, but this was talking a flair for the dramatic to extremes.
“Clean up crew,” the fox commented. “Looks like Cian finished his late deliveries in time to get this idiot home.”
“Sorry for giving everyone a fright,” Nicky commented. “I wasn’t expecting it to close quite that quickly.”
Claudia wrapped her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. “Do that again and I’ll stuff a Christmas tree where the sun doesn’t shine.”
He kissed her hair. “Sorry, sis.”
While they hugged, the wolves grabbed a dead raptor each and hauled the bodies off into the forest.
Cian and the white stag greeted each other with a low rumble, coming from deep in their chests. The white stag nuzzled at a patch of blood on Cian’s nose and licked it clean with his tongue.
“It wouldn’t be wise to mention red noses,” the fox cautioned. “Not if you want any presents delivering next year.
****
The smell of damp fur mingled with the aroma of mulled wine in the library of Inglestone Hall.
Jo and Eddie were curled up on the rug with Montgomery, Montmorency and the fox. The children were guzzling mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and eyeing up the plate of mince pies with the speculative look of youngsters wondering if they could find a small corner somewhere for just one more in their over-stuffed stomachs.
Lester cradled a large glass of brandy in his hands and gave his not-quite-ex-wife an apologetic look. “Sorry, Phillie.”
“So you deal with dinosaurs and rips in time,” she said with a sigh. “Well, I can understand why you couldn't tell us.”
“Not cool, dad, you know I like dinosaurs,” Eddie said, failing to hide a grin.
“And the rest of the weird stuff?” Phillie asked.
Lester shrugged. “Strictly seasonal, I think.”
“Mostly,” Nicky muttered.
“Aren’t you worried about what Graeme Dickhead Marchant and his equally dire brother and bloodthirsty friend might say?” Phillie asked, with the calm acceptance of a woman who’d gone beyond the point of surprise some while ago.
“Would you take any notice of three coke-heads blathering about talking animals, assorted prehistoric critters, and the healing properties of stag snot?”
“Probably not,” she acknowledged, and Lester felt the familiar weight of his wife's head settle on his shoulder. "There's a lot I wouldn't have believed before coming to Inglestone."
He slipped an arm around her waist, felt her relax against him the way she used to do and allowed himself a moment to hope that maybe, just maybe, they might have received the gift of a second chance for Christmas.
From its place on the hearthrug, the white fox winked at him and nodded.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Claudia/Ryan, Nicky Brown, Lester/OC, OCs
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs) , no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 14,500 in two parts.
Summary : When Lester is invited to spent Christmas at Inglestone Hall with the Browns and Ryan, he’s hoping for a peaceful time, but life can’t always be relied on to cooperate.
A/N : 1) Written for
louise_dennis for the primeval_denial Secret Santa for the prompts: Patterns in the Ice, The Giant under the Snow, It was at Christmas that the Green Knight came to King Arthur's Hall, Snow Queen 2) This takes place in the same series as The Devil’s Knell and Twelfth Night.The day after Christmas dawned crisp and clear, but although the snow was deep, it was anything but even, instead lying in lumpy white drifts encrusted with crystals, looking like someone had thrown the crushed contents of a diamond mine over the courtyard.
Lester drank his morning coffee on the window seat again, reading and re-reading the story of Montgomery and Montmorency’s quest to uncover the truth about the Snow Queen, an aristocratic Arctic hare with an impressive line in sarcasm and an ability to knock an opponent flat with one powerful kick from her hind legs.
An early lunch of leftover turkey accompanied by bubble and squeak and assorted leftovers, pickles and chutneys was followed by a walk over the fields to the church for the performance of The Green Knight, followed by a buffet and drinks in the church hall.
A crowd had already gathered in the churchyard and mugs of mulled wine were being handed out. A gaggle of young children clustered around a brazier waiting impatiently for roast chestnuts to be tipped out of an iron pan into the snow to cool.
Introductions passed in a blur and even with Lester’s long-standing knack for remembering names, he knew he would struggle to correctly match them to faces, not helped when their owners were swathed in thick scarves and had hats pulled down warmly over reddened ears.
A small group stood apart from the villages, a handful of children at their side.
“That’s the lot from Dearham,” Neil Brown murmured.
The tallest of the children, a girl with glossy chestnut hair held back in a loose ponytail turned as they approached, her mouth falling open in a way that in any other circumstance would have been comical. Here, now, Lester didn’t know what to think.
“Dad?”
“Jo?”
The sudden stillness was abruptly broken as his daughter dashed across the churchyard and flung her arms around him. A moment later, she was joined by her brother. Lester hugged his children hard, kissing their upturned faces.
Over their heads, he caught sight of his soon-to-be-ex-wife looking every bit as startled as he felt.
“James?”
“Ophelia. This is an unexpected pleasure.” He smiled to take any sting out of his words. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, James.”
An awkward silence stretched between them, as taut as an over-wound guitar string, ready to snap if plucked too hard.
“Did you come here to see us, Dad?” Eddie demanded, bouncing up and down in the snow.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Lester admitted. “I’m staying at Inglestone Hall with friends.”
“We’re at Dearham Hall,” his wife – hard not to still think of her that way – said. “Graeme’s brother Giles bought the hall last year.”
Graeme Marchant, an investment banker who specialised in the futures market. His brother Giles had made millions as a stock market trader before retiring amid rumours of insider dealing. Lester had never liked either of them. Neil Brown’s description of them as the Hoorays at the Hall was certainly accurate.
Lester dredged up a smile. “Are they here?”
“They’re going out on their snowmobiles with a friend.”
“They were going to be running a drag hunt.” Jo’s voice positively oozed disapproval.
“The van bringing the hounds developed an engine problem,” a fresh voice said. “You must be the ex-husband…” A woman in her early 40s wearing a large fake fur coat – at least Lester hoped it was fake - stared at him with little liking.
“James, this is Lynette Marchant, Graeme’s sister-in-law.”
Lester smiled with absolutely no sincerity whatsoever and kept his arms around his children so he didn’t have to shake hands.
Before they had time to exchange any (un)pleasantries, the dark-haired man in his mid-30s who had officiated at the Christmas Eve carol service appeared carrying a tray of mulled wine. “Everyone grab one before the play starts!”
The sudden bustle of more helpers with laden trays broke up the awkwardness and left Lester to exchange a few more words with his wife and children before being whisked away by Claudia into the church hall to prepare for the play. The place was decked out with wreaths of red-berried holly, ivy and bay, springs of mistletoe and red ribbons adoring each one. Long tables down each side of the hall held a tempting array of food and drink.
At the far end of the room, two ornate thrones had been set up under a golden canopy.
“Do I really have to go through with this?” he asked, pleadingly.
“You certainly do, sire.” Ryan grinned and a moment later, instead of jeans and his Christmas sweater, the soldier was now wearing a blue velvet tunic over loose black woollen trousers tucked into knee-high leather boots, a thick midnight blue cloak thrown around his shoulders. A sword hung at his left hip and a dagger at his right.
Lester now wore a rich purple tunic over dark trousers, topped by a silver-grey cloak heavily embroidered in gold thread. He also carried a sword and what felt like a circlet sat snugly around his head.
“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” he said heavily.
Claudia, wearing a long, russet coloured dress beautifully embroidered in even more gold thread than Lester’s tunic, shook her head. “No. You look splendid.” Claudia waved her hand towards the thrones. “After you, my lord.”
Drawing in a deep, calming breath, Lester made his way to the largest of the thrones as the villagers and the guests started to file into the hall. The people Lester recognised as Inglestone villagers were now all dressed up like extras from the cast of Merlin, whereas the visitors all wore ordinary clothing. Nicky’s doing, he presumed.
“Won’t the others notice?”
Claudia shook her head. “It’s an illusion. To the outsiders, everyone looks as they did before, but for the villagers it’s all part of the fun.”
As the hall filled up, Lester stood up and from somewhere, a sudden fanfare of trumpets silenced the chatter. When they fell silent, Lester called out: “Welcome, my good people! Let all who come to my hall this night feast and be merry at your king’s command!”
He could see his kids grinning from ear to ear, and there was even a smile on his wife’s face.
With no clear idea of what would happen next, Lester accepted a goblet of wine from one of the village children dressed up like a page and fell to the serious business of people-watching.
The Dearham Hall crowd as he now thought of them consisted of one man, three women and four children, including his own family. Ophelia quickly fell into conversation with Andrew Burgess, the vicar, but the others kept to their own company. Even half the hall away, Lester could see why they hadn’t found much favour with Neil and Ness. Their faces made it plain they weren’t going to be impressed by any village play-acting and Lester wondered why they’d even bothered to come. His own children, on the other hand, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, and Lester wondered if they were able to see more than the others.
Without warning, the double doors into the hall were thrown open and a horse pranced in amidst shrieks of mock terror. The animal was huge, with a strange green cast to its glossy dark coat. The rider on its back wore a silk shirt and a leather jerkin under a rich cloak rimmed with white fur (“Definitely fake,” Claudia muttered). The rider’s skin glowed with green fire and sparks flashed from the wavy dark hair that framed a handsome – and very familiar – face. The horse’s accoutrements were equally fine, decked out with bright green gemstones and hung with flowing ribbons.
“Wish me luck,” Lester murmured, before standing and calling out, “Lord, to this lodging thou’rt welcome! Come you in peace?”
The Green Knight reined in the snorting horse and called out in an equally loud voice, “I bring a challenge, sire, to any that dare stand against me! I call on any of your fine knights to strike one blow against me and, if I should survive it, he who striketh me must swear to bear a blow from mine own axe one year and a day hence.”
In the silence that followed, Ryan – lounging casually against the wall – stepped forward and looked the Green Knight up and down. “The sign on the door says no horses. That’s what the big round thing with the red line through the horse means.”
Laughter ran around the hall, and several people clapped.
The Green Knight laughed with them. “Brave words, good knight, but there is no sign on yonder door.”
“Oh yes there is!” the villagers chorused loudly.
“Oh no there is not!” the Green Knight retorted.
Ryan straightened up and strolled out into the middle of the hall, with all the dangerous grace of a trained fighter. “There’s an £80 fine for exceeding the 20 mile an hour speed limit on Church Road and you’re in breach of the byelaw against horse-riding in the churchyard. That’ll be another 60 quid you owe. And if that animal makes a mess on the floor, you’re clearing it up.”
A burst of laughter and more clapping filled the hall.
Doing his best to keep a straight face, Lester stepped forward and declaimed loudly, “Good man, ‘tis madness thou askest, and since folly thou hast sought, thou deserveth to find it, I know no lord that is alarmed by thy loud words here.” And that just about exhausted everything he remembered from his English Literature A Level.
The Green Knight stared haughtily down at him. “Folly, thou sayest, folly?”
Ryan stepped between them. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He swept his sword from its scabbard. “Now about this challenge…”
Before Nicky – or rather the Green Knight – could respond, Lester heard the sound of running feet crunching on the snow-covered gravel outside the church hall and a breathless voice yelled, “Them bastards at Dearham are hunting the white stag!”
Heads turned to the newcomer, an elderly man with a shock of white hair standing out around a woollen hat pulled down around his ears.
Nicky wheeled the horse around. “The white stag?”
“Aye, they’re after ‘im on snowmobiles with rifles. And there’s summat else…”
Lester’s phone chose that moment to ring, even though he was certain he’d switched it off. The sharp, staccato sound signalled a call from the ARC. At the same moment, Claudia and Ryan reached for their own phones.
“Multiple anomalies close to your location,” Connor told him. “Three have opened and closed. One is still open. There’s a large pile up on the M11 and with the snow it’ll be at least three hours before we can get a team to you. Sending what location details we have to your phones now. Best of luck and keep us posted.”
From the looks on their faces, Ryan and Claudia had just received the same message.
“We’re about to experience severe weather conditions!” Lester called. “Would everyone please remain in the hall. There is a high risk of ball lightening!”
In the sudden silence that followed his announcement, someone said, “Nice try, but if they’re after the white stag, the bastards need to be stopped.”
“I entirely agree.” Nicky held his hand down to Ryan. “Need a lift, captain?”
Ryan grabbed the proffered hand and swung up onto the horse’s back.
Claudia, now wearing a ski-suit in place of her flowing dress called out, “Nicky, transport that doesn’t have four hooves, please!”
“Your wish is my command!” Nicky said airily and snapped his fingers.
Lester followed Claudia out of the hall at a run. Outside, four green snowmobiles gleamed in the moonlight. All very well, but he’d never ridden one in his life.
“Less time in the office and more time on the slopes, James,” his not-quite-yet-ex-wife said, swinging one leg smoothly over the closest machine to the door. “I really, really dislike bloodsports. Graeme said they were just going out for a spin on Giles’ latest toys, the lying sod.”
“He’s a total git, mum,” Jo said, jumping onto another snowmobile. Eddie climbed up behind him and wrapped his arms around his sister’s waist.
“What part of stay in the hall is no one taking any notice of?” Lester demanded.
“The stay in the hall part, dad,” Jo told him. “Why should you get all the fun?” She revved the engine and took off after the Green Knight and his equally green horse.
Lester closed his eyes and wished very, very hard for some reliable communications, then he jumped onto the snowmobile behind Ophelia and said, “Follow that horse!
The crash helmet with built in radio proved that occasionally wishes were indeed horses and that, for once, beggars could ride.
Ophelia and Jo handled the snowmobiles confidently as the machines shot through an open field gate in the wake of the snow thrown up by the green horses’ hooves. Claudia was approximately 50 metres ahead, her father keeping pace with her on another of the sleek machines.
Ness Brown’s voice sounded clearly in his ear. “I’m on top of the church tower. I can see lights at the far side of Forty Acre Field. Three snowmobiles and something else – something larger. Like an enormous sparkler …”
“If only they were that harmless,” Lester murmured.
His wife promptly switched off her throat mic. “James, this would be a good time to tell me what this is all about.”
Her words were partially whipped away by the wind, but he got the general drift. “Things might be about to get a bit weird,” he admitted.
“About to get weird?” Ophelia’s voice had gone up at least a octave. “Things got weird the moment we set foot in this village! How weird is weird?”
Ryan’s voice broke in before Lester had chance to reply. “Nothing yet, but we’ve seen lights flickering on an off.”
“Something small and harmless would be nice,” Lester muttered.
“Be a nice change,” Ryan said. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up, boss.”
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, mister,” Ophelia snapped to Lester, as she swerved effortlessly to avoid what looked like a pile of snow-covered rocks.
The sound of a gunshot cut through even the noise from the snowmobiles.
“Rifle!” Ryan’s voice was clear over the headset comms. “Stay back!”
The snowmobile’s headlights were bright in the fading light but obscured by the powdery drift thrown up by two skies at the front of the vehicles and their tracked rear drives. They weren’t far from the edge of the wood now and Lester could see the lights from three other snowmobiles, all riding in a wide but decreasing circle.
Their headlights illuminated a huge white stag brought to bay by its pursuers. A line of bright red blood on its shoulder was testament to the fact that whoever had fired the shot was not as effective with a rifle as the hunters might have hoped.
“Phil, get to the kids!” Lester said urgently, falling back on their old familiarity.
She cut left, putting their vehicle between the children and the hunters in a neat manoeuvre perfected in the French Alps. “Jo, take Eddie and go back to the church!”
Her daughter shook her head. “Sorry, mum. They’re not getting away with this!” With an apologetic look at them both, she scrambled off her snowmobile and dashed into the ring of lights.
The massive white stag – in reality, another megaloceros – stood as still as a statue, but Lester could see its nostrils were flared and it was breathing heavily.
“What part of stay back didn’t I say loud enough?” Ryan demanded, a note of weary resignation in his voice as Eddie dashed to his sister’s side, quickly followed by Claudia, Ophelia and Lester himself. “Remind me not to work with bloody civilians.”
Ryan slid off the horse’s back and stalked into the middle of the encircling hunters. Lester noticed he was now wearing his black combat uniform, an M4 carbine slung across his chest. He radiated an air of menace that made Lester glad they were on the same side.
“All right, you’ve had your fun, now fuck off.” The words were spoken quietly but with authority.
At Lester’s side, Jo snorted a laugh. “I like him, dad.”
“You’re on Dearham land,” one of the men called, in a voice that dripped with aristocratic disdain and an unhealthy disregard for personal safety. “I’d take your own advice, if I were you.”
“Giles Marchant,” Ophelia muttered. “He’s an arrogant, over-bred prick.”
Lester’s earpiece bleeped to signal a new communication. “We’ve got a problem,” Neil Brown said.
“Report,” Ryan snapped.
“A large, hairy problem that looks suspiciously like a herd of woolly rhinos and they’re heading your way at a fast trot.”
“Is there a big shiny thing anywhere nearby?” Lester asked.
“I presume you’re not referring to the moon?” Neil said dryly.
“There’s one by the edge of Styles Copse,” Ness broke in, presumably still on top of the church tower. “It’s flickering on and off like a faulty light. I think the rhinos are coming from that direction.”
“Then we need to get them back that way, and quickly,” Lester said, pointedly ignoring the looks his wife and children were giving him.
One of the hunters let out a loud whoop. “Giles, look what’s coming our way! What petting zoo let those beauties out to play?”
Ophelia stepped forward. “Graeme, for fuck’s sake, stop being such an arsehole! I told you I won’t have anything to do with blood sports. You’ve nearly killed one animal, isn’t that enough?”
“Go, mum!” Eddie yelled.
“Better quarry on its way,” Graeme Marchant replied dismissively. “We’ll talk about this later, Phillie.”
“It’s Ophelia to you,” she said, her voice as cold as ice.
Lester glanced behind them in the direction the hunters were staring. Neil Brown’s identification had been depressingly accurate. A herd of what looked like six or seven woolly rhinos were very definitely coming their way. “Ryan, take Nicky, Claudia and Neil, get that lot back to the anomaly. Leave these hooray henrys to me.”
“To us,” Ophelia corrected.
“Take the children and get back to the church, please, Phil,” he said, urgently. “I’ll make sure the stag is all right. It’s really not safe out here and things will probably get worse.”
“Dad, why aren’t you surprised by any of this?” Eddie asked, his eyes wide with exhilaration.
Lester sighed. “I’ll explain later.”
“You certainly will,” his wife said, with entirely too much satisfaction for Lester’s liking.
But before that, he had to deal with his not-quite-ex-wife’s hopefully soon-to-be-very-ex-boyfriend and his equally obnoxious companions…
****
Claudia wheeled her snowmobile in a tight turn to face the oncoming rhino herd. “Do we have a plan?”
“I lead them back to the anomaly and the rest of you play sheepdog.”
“I meant, do we have a sensible plan, Nicky! You playing bait is not sensible.”
“To be fair, I’ve heard worse plans,” Ryan said, throwing his leg over a sleek black snowmobile that had just appeared next to him. “Thanks, Nicky. Nice ride.”
“Well, I am in the transport business. Speaking of which…” Nicky waved a hand in the direction of the standoff around the white stag and the engines of the three hunters’ snowmobiles stuttered and died, bringing them all to an abrupt halt.
“Magical sugar in the petrol tank?”
“Something like that. So, how fast can those hairy things run?”
“Faster than I’m comfortable with,” Claudia admitted, desperately searching her memory for any information she might have picked up from Connor. “Be careful, Nicky.”
“Careful’s my middle name.” Nicky lightly touched the black horse’s neck, and the animal broke into a run, crossing the snowy field towards the herd.
Claudia gave into the urge to sigh loudly. “You haven’t got a middle name.”
The lead rhino threw its head back, ivory horns glinting in the moonlight. Their shaggy, snow-covered russet pelts blended in with their surroundings as the herd slowed to a walk, snuffling the air, assessing the threat posed by unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells.
“Nicky, don’t get too close,” Ryan warned. “They’re faster than they look.”
Nicky checked the horse with a light tough on the reins and veered to one side, clearly hoping to lead the herd into following him. He met with a resounding lack of success. The lead rhino let out a low snort and broke into a lumbering trot, continuing in the same direction. When his ploy failed, horse and rider made a closer pass. The rhino threw back its head and bellowed.
Claudia drew in a sharp breath. “Nicky, it’s getting annoyed.”
“Either that or it fancies Blackie…”
“Gay prehistoric rhinos?”
“Seen stranger things than that in this job,” Ryan commented. “I spent a night stuck in the Cretaceous with Connor last year with a pair of gay T. rexes between us and the anomaly site.”
“Living the high life,” Claudia said. “I was the one who had to break it to him that Lester wouldn’t sign off a paper on it to the Journal of Vertebrate Palaeontology.”
Her next sharp breath morphed into a full-blown gasp as Nicky got within two metres of the bull rhino and finally provoked it into an irritated swerve. The horn flashed in the moonlight, a huge ivory scimitar with a sharp, curved point, sweeping all too close to Nicky’s leg as he turned the horse at a touch, avoiding a slashing blow by no more than ten centimetres.
The rhino turned, powerful shoulders driving its short, thick legs in a tight turning circle. The herd followed, jostling each other for position like a bunch of rowdy rugby fans trying to be first through the turnstiles.
“Keep the stragglers from breaking ranks!” Ryan ordered. “They’re wary of the snowmobiles. Let’s keep it that way and play sheepdog. But try not to get them angry.”
Easier said than done, Claudia thought, as she turned the handlebars, bringing the twin skis at the front around and steering a course across the field in the hope of discouraging any of the creatures from breaking ranks. Ryan accelerated to come up on the other side of the herd while her father took up position at the rear to mop up any beasts inclined to linger.
The bull rhino now appeared to be taking the presence of the Green Knight and his equally green horse as a personal insult. Nicky had that effect on people when he set his mind to it, and prehistoric rhinos were clearly no exception to that rule.
“Good going, Nicky,” Ryan complimented. “Keep them in a straight line but for fuck’s sake make sure you don’t go through. The anomaly looks unstable. It could close at any minute.”
“One of the smaller ones is falling behind!” Neil Brown cut in urgently.
“Keep it moving!”
“Doing my best…”
Claudia drew in a sharp breath, squeezed the brake handle and let her machine slow down so she could help her father with the errant calf.
Ahead, the anomaly flickered, but paler now, more translucent.
They really, really needed to avoid Inglestone gaining a very hairy petting zoo.
She had a nasty feeling that the villagers wouldn’t mind in the slightest, but Lester would throw a fit.
****
“Put the guns down,” Lester said, keeping his voice low and even.
One of the men laughed, a high-pitched sound unsettlingly close to a giggle. “Or what?”
Wonderful. The arrogant tosser was drunk as well as high on adrenaline.
“Or I’ll kick your balls so hard they’ll be playing nine pins with your tonsils.” The threat was at odds with his wife’s well-bred tone, but Lester was in no doubt about her sincerity.
His son sniggered as only ten-year-old boys can, and his daughter barely stifled a laugh.
A disdainful sniff from knee level made Lester look down. An Arctic fox was staring down its sharp muzzle at the man Ophelia had threatened, despite being a good deal shorter than the object of its intense disapproval. Lester’s eyes widened. He was well acquainted with that fox and knew, without needing to look, that the sweater under the snowsuit Nicky had obligingly outfitted him with was now plain green. The fox glanced up and winked. The animal was very fond of that gesture.
“Put the fucking gun down, Charles, and stop behaving like a total tosser.”
If anything, the fox’s grin only widened.
“I told you, go back to Dearham, Phillie,” Graeme Marchant cut in, with only a light slur in his voice. He was high on booze or drugs or both.
“And I told you not to call me Phillie. You lost that privilege when you liked to me about having given up blood sports.”
“And I have, but this one’s special…”
“Yes, he is.” Lester stepped forward, the fox at his side. “And his head looks a hell of a lot better on his shoulders than it would on your wall, so do the decent thing and put the guns away and go home.”
“And who the fuck are you?”
“James Lester.”
“The ex-husband?
“The very same.”
“And he’s brought his pet vermin with him…” The man called Charles shifted his stance, the hunting rifle now pointing at the fox. “I hate fucking foxes.”
“Bestiality is illegal,” Jo commented. “I bet the foxes aren’t too keen on you, either. Have you tried Tinder? Or Grindr?”
Lester put himself firmly in between the man with the gun and his family. He knew exactly how annoying his kids could be if they put their mind to it.
With the snowmobiles stubbornly refusing to restart, the men dismounted and started to close in. Only one of them – Charles – had a rifle, but even one rifle was too much when Lester’s children were determined to stay in the line of fire.
The rifle was bolt action and had already been fired once. Lester knew more about military hardware than he did about sporting guns. There seemed to be a short magazine under the barrel that could probably hold around five rounds. Anyone with a gun was dangerous, doubly so if the person concerned was high as a kite. He remembered Ryan commenting once that few things scared him more than a gun in the hands of an amateur. A professional’s reactions were generally predictable. An amateur’s reactions were quite the opposite.
“Jo, take Eddie and walk away, please…”
“Sorry, dad.” To her credit, Jo even managed to sound apologetic. “I keep telling you, not going to happen. He might be pissed as a rat, but I don’t think he’s going to shoot a couple of kids.”
“I’m not prepared to bet your life, or Eddie’s on that. Leave them to me, please.”
“Us,” Ophelia said, equally firmly.
At his side, the fox added quietly, “Trust the captain.”
And Lester knew his companion didn’t mean Ryan.
“Since when did you acquire a talking fox?” Ophelia sounded amused
“I think you’ll find I acquired him,” the fox said archly. “On my count… three… two…
Before the fox got to one, a black and white shape barrelled through the snow at knee height, knocking Charles flat on his back and running up his body so the rifle barrel was pointing at the sky. The man jerked his finger on the trigger but nothing happened. The badger’s powerful jaws closed on the man’s wrist and bit down hard. Charles cried out in pain and dropped the rifle.
Eddie, in startled delight, yelled, “Montgomery!”
A smaller, more sinuous creature hopped across the snow, ran up Giles Marchant’s leg, scampered up his jacket and promptly bit the man on the nose.
“Montmorency!” Jo squealed.
“Can’t you two count?” the fox demanded, as he launched himself at Giles Marchant, sinking his teeth into the man’s thigh.
In the middle of the animal related chaos, Lester grabbed the rifle and delivered a hard kick to Charles’ balls, for good measure.
Ophelia equally promptly meted out the same treatment to her now very definitely former boyfriend.
Giles Marchant grabbed the wriggling stoat and flung the small beast aside, yelling obscenities as blood ran freely from his nose.
“Don’t you dare hurt Montmorency!” Jo yelled.
To Lester’s horror, the man pulled out a wicked looking hunting knife and casually lashed out at his daughter with his other hand.
Jo ducked, grabbed his wrist with both hands and dragged the man off balance.
The white stag bellowed in rage and swept the knife from the man’s hand with its wide-spread antlers.
Lester dived for the knife, snatching it up from the snow. He’d been around Ryan and his men long enough to know that you never let a weapon go to waste, and with possible multiple anomalies, he had no idea what they would face next.
Giles Marchant hung back, an uncertain look on his face now things weren’t going their way.
“I’d bugger off, if I were you, mate,” the badger told him in a gruff, deceptively amiable voice.
“Wot he said, innit!” the stoat added, running nimbly up Jo’s body to perch on her shoulder.
“I hate to break up the party,” the fox commented, “but we have incoming.”
The man called Charles screamed and, a heartbeat later, the word descended into a white-glazed, red-tinted hell.
****
Claudia turned the snowmobile in a wide arc. She’d only ridden one a few times at Courchevel and knew how easy it was to flip them on their sides if you weren’t careful.
The woolly rhino calf bleated loudly, falling back from the herd, clearly not liking the strange machines buzzing around.
Claudia had a nasty feeling she was about to find out just how maternal mother rhinos were …
“Fuck!” Ryan’s voice sounded in her ear, low and irritated. “Nicky, be careful!”
“He lied about it being his middle name,” her father said, dry as desert sand.
“Cut it any finer and you’ll get the horse disembowelled.”
“We’ve been together a long time; this isn’t his first fight and it won’t be his last.”
The green horse swerved in front of the bull rhino at the head of the heard, keeping it focussed on the chase, leading it closer to the fading anomaly.
Claudia wrenched her attention away, trusting her adopted brother to know what he was doing, despite Ryan’s obvious – and entirely reasonable – concerns. The baby rhino was casting wary glances at her and she was doing her best to skirt the fine line between keeping it moving in the right direction and spooking it into a mad dash the wrong way.
A larger, equally shaggy beast broke away from the running herd and turned back.
Maternal enough to care.
Claudia veered away.
Mother bellowed almost as loudly as the leader of the herd had done and the tired calf quickened its steps, shaggy legs stomping through the powdery snow, breath coming in white, gusting pants.
“Come on, little one,” Claudia murmured. “Run to mummy…”
“Shit! Nicky, you fucking idiot!” Claudia had heard Ryan use that tone before, usually just after Lyle had pulled one of his madder stunts, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the mother and baby as she accelerated as smoothly as she could towards the pair, just enough – she hoped – to urge them on, not enough to scare them.
The sound of a rifle shot was sudden and shocking over the sound of pounding hooves on the thick snow.
The herd didn’t check their headlong rush.
“I’ve got this one.” Lester’s voice over their comms earpieces held the icy calm she’d come to know and respect over her time working with him.
She just hoped he was right. The rest of them were fully occupied with the rhinos.
The baby reached its mother’s side. The huge female rhino lowered her head and for a moment, Claudia thought the female was about to charge. She sucked in a slow breath and tried to ride the surge of adrenaline as her fight or flight reflex went into overdrive. Fighting wasn’t an option and flight would only draw the female away from the herd, so she held her ground, willing the shaggy beast just to go home!
The standoff drew out for another heartbeat as Claudia did her best to tune out the voices coming over her comms unit. How the hell the soldiers concentrated like this was beyond her, but for now, focusing was the only option left open to her.
The deadlock was broken by a bellow from the herd leader and suddenly the female shook her head, sending snow flying everywhere. She turned and broke into a run, the baby at her side.
Claudia followed, weaving from side to side in wide sweeps, as one by one, the woolly rhinos charged straight through the rapidly fading anomaly. It expanded, swallowing first one, then the next until only the mother and baby were left, running as hard as they could over the churned-up snow, in tracks so deep that the underlying muddy ground of the field lay exposed and trampled.
The anomaly flickered and would be gone in a heartbeat.
The mother rhino powered on, confident that her baby was now by her side.
The two passed through the fading rip in time and a moment later, it was gone, leaving nothing behind by empty air.
Claudia brought her snowmobile to a halt between her father and Ryan and let out a long, shaky breath. She glanced at her father and her smile died on her lips.
“Nicky?” She stared around, adrenaline spiking again, bringing with it a sick, hollow certainty.
The Green Knight and his green horse were nowhere to be seen.
****
The rifle bullet hit the deinonychus centre mass as it leaped at Giles Marchant, standing rooted to the ground in shock.
Thrown backwards, the raptor tumbled over in the snow, spraying blood.
Lester had read the reports. Even Abby was in favour of playing for keeps where these not-so-little fuckers were concerned. One of them had already raked a long slash down Graeme Marchant’s leg, leaving the man rolling in the snow, clutching his leg and crying out in pain. Lester couldn’t say he liked him, but he wouldn’t wish a slash from one of those wicked claws on even his worst enemy.
The white stag lowered its head and sprang forward, catching one of the raptors on its horns and tossing it aside, moments before it reached Jo and Eddie.
The badger dashed forward, ducking under a scything claw and knocked into the raptor’s other leg, sending it crashing to the ground, where one bite from the white fox’s jaws snapped its neck.
Lester worked the bolt on the rifle and sent another round into the chamber while Ophelia pulled her scarf off and dropped to her knees next to Graeme, batting his hands away and winding the material tightly around his thigh.
“Stop yelling!” she told him. “It’s no fun when you’re the one on the receiving end of the blood sports, is it?”
“You tell ‘im!” the stoat piped up, from his place on her daughter’s shoulder. “If you tighten that up enough, will ‘is leg fall off?”
“I don’t know, shall we try?”
Lester had no idea how many rounds he had left to work with, he just knew he had to make them all count. The problem with raptors, apart from the sharp teeth and scimitar sharp claws, was their sheer bloody unpredictability and their ability to change direction in the blink of an eye.
“Verify your target,” a cool voice by his side instructed.
The fox sounded uncannily like Ryan in that moment.
Lester spared the creature a glance. “Where did you learn military strategy?”
“Acting as the captain’s spotter at Munster Green.”
“December 1642? Weren’t you a bit noticeable?”
“Cold winter,” the fox said. “Incoming, your left.”
Lester swung and fired in one smooth movement. He wasn’t up to the standards of Ryan’s lads, but he hadn’t wasted his time on the range. Ryan was a firm believer in running up an eye-watering ammunition bill in the name of training. He was an equally firm believer in training anyone who might ever set foot out of the office. Or not, as the case may be, It was rumoured that even Dot the cleaner could now strip down and clean a Glock 17 in less time than it took her to make a cup of tea.
Three deinonychus were down now and three more were circling them. They were intelligent little buggers. It was just a shame they were vicious pack hunters that didn’t know when to just give up and fuck off.
Graeme Marchant was still on the ground with Ophelia at his side dispensing her own brand of Gestalt therapy. Much to Jo and Eddie’s amusement, she’d just told him to shut the fuck up or she’d gag him with his own gloves. It was probably fortunate she’d decided against medicine and gone into publishing instead.
Despite the bright red, bloody furrow on its shoulder, the white stag had determinedly put itself between the raptors and Ophelia and the children, leaving Lester free to pick off any of the sickle-clawed horrors that would stay still long enough.
The anomaly was on the edge of the tree line about 500 metres away, shining as brightly as a fallen star and equally deadly. If it disgorged any more of the sods, they’d be in trouble as he had no more than two shots left and would need to make them count. Nicky and the others were still playing sheepdog to the rhino herd and were unlikely to be able to spare the time to help him out.
Lester spared a glance for Giles Marchant and the man called Charles. Neither had taken well to the role reversal of the hunter becoming the prey and were cowering down by the snowmobiles, making no attempt to help Ophelia deal with the man on the ground. The blood staining the snow looked dramatic, but there wasn’t enough for a severed artery, and Lester wondered at what point in his life as a government hatchet man that sort of knowledge had come so easily to him.
“They’re going to make a run for it,” the fox said at exactly the moment Giles Marchant dashed for the snowmobile the children had used.
It started at the first push of the button.
“They’ll chase you!” Lester yelled.
The warning went unheeded.
Marchant didn’t even wait for his friend. He gunned the engine and took off as fast as he could in a spray of snow. With a moving target in their sight, the three raptors broke into a run, covering the ground with frightening speed.
At the same moment, the badger jumped into their path, risking the deadly claws to knock one from its feet, powerful jaws clamped around one leg, letting the fox bring his teeth into the fight again.
No more than 30 metres away, the speeding snowmobile abruptly came to a stop, hitting something on the snow-covered ground, catapulting its rider into the air. Marchant hit the ground and rolled over like a over-large ragdoll. The lead raptor leaped into the air, claws flashing in a deadly arc… and found itself tossed into the air by the white stag. The creature had covered the ground with unearthly speed and used its wide-spread antlers to good effect. Powerful hooves flashed in the moonlight and the raptor lay unmoving in the snow.
The third, seeing the danger for what it was, hesitated.
“Take the shot, mate!” the stoat – Montmorency – instructed.
Lester dropped to one knee, steadied the rifle and fired. The raptor dropped like a stone.
“Nice one!” Montmorency danced happily on Jo’s shoulder.
“Mum’s right, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, dad,” his daughter said, sounding as impressed as her furry friend.
“He’ll look forward to that,” the fox remarked, with what Lester took for a wry grin.
****
Claudia jumped off the snowmobile and ran over to the prone body of the man she recognised as Giles Marchant, owner of Dearham Hall.
His eyes were open and for a moment, she thought he was dead, then he groaned and tried to roll over, arms flailing weakly in the snow.
“Stay still!” she ordered. “You might have broken something.”
“I… I… can’t feel my legs…” He looked up at her, his face contorted with pain and fear.
Claudia heard the steady tread of the giant white deer as it approached the prone body of the man who only a short while ago had been intent on killing it for no other reason than to take its head and mount it on a wooden plaque on the wall.
She shuddered.
The white stag bent its head to the man and brushed his forehead with its velvety muzzle, then drew back and sneezed heavily, showering the man with snot.
Marchant grimaced, then the pain faded from his face, and he stared up at the creature, eyes wide.
The bloody furrow on the stag’s shoulder had gone, leaving the creature’s hide as whole and white as the untrampled snow only a short distance away from the battleground that surrounded them, beyond the dead raptors strewn in the ungainly sprawl of death.
“I presume you can feel your legs now?” Claudia said.
Marchant rolled over onto his knees.
“I’ll take that as a yes. It’s more than you deserve.” She turned away, leaving him on the ground.
Lester’s son and daughter were in a huddle together in the snow, a black and white shape sprawled across their laps.
Claudia put her hand on the stag’s shoulder. “I hope you didn’t waste all your energy on that undeserving bastard?”
The stag snuffled softly.
Eddie looked up at them, tears shining in his eyes. “Montgomery’s hurt.”
The brown and white stoat sitting on Jo’s shoulder piped up, addressing the white stag, “Do us a favour, chum. I’ve ‘ad ‘im a long time. Don’t want to ‘ave to break in another partner.”
The stag bent his head again and blew softly into the badger’s nostrils. The long whiskers twitched, and Montgomery drew in a shaky breath then coughed. “Them things were nasty,” the badger croaked.
“And you’re a brave idiot,” Montmorency said, jumping off Jo’s shoulder to nestle against the badger’s cheek.
“Takes one to know one,” the fox commented.
Lester went to one knee on the trampled ground, running a hand over the fox’s bloody fur. “You’re hurt.”
The animal gave him a disdainful look. “Not my blood.” The creature cast an appraising glance around the group. “Where’s the captain?”
Claudia drew in a shaky breath. “He led the rhinos through the anomaly. It closed before he could ride back.”
“Talking of brave idiots…” the fox muttered. “He’s not meant to pull stunts like that when I’m not around to help.”
As they were talking, the anomaly on the edge of the wood winked twice then disappeared, leaving them with the bodies of six dead deinonychus, and the next special forces barbeque wasn’t due for a few months.
Beside them, the ring tone of a mobile phone broke the silence. Claudia pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Connor?”
“All anomalies have closed. Status at your end?”
“Six dead raptors, one casualty and Nicky and his horse are missing. He went though an anomaly with the rhinos and it closed.”
While she was talking, the white snag had worked its magic on Graeme Marchant by blowing another large dose of snot in the man’s face.
Lester’s wife stood up, staring down at the man on the ground without any vestige of liking. “I’d have left you to take your chances in A&E on Boxing Day evening.” She reached out a tentative hand and stroked the stag’s velvety nose. “Thank you…” She hesitated then added, “I really would have gagged him with one of his own socks if he hadn’t shut up.” Then she turned to Lester and said in a quiet voice, “I think I’m going to cry, James.”
Lester wrapped his arms around his wife and held her close.
Claudia felt an arm around her own shoulders and turned to Ryan. “What the hell are we going to do, Tom?”
“Wait and hope,” Ryan said quietly.
The fox sniffed. “He always did have a flair for the dramatic. He’ll be back.”
The white stag threw its head back and let out a deep throated bellow.
From the edge of the wood came an answering cry.
Claudia looked up to see Cian stepping away from the trees, antlered head held high.
By his side rode Nicky on the black stallion, green shimmer gone from both man and horse.
Behind them, six enormous grey wolves stalked out of the wood.
Claudia’s eyes widened. The fox was right, but this was talking a flair for the dramatic to extremes.
“Clean up crew,” the fox commented. “Looks like Cian finished his late deliveries in time to get this idiot home.”
“Sorry for giving everyone a fright,” Nicky commented. “I wasn’t expecting it to close quite that quickly.”
Claudia wrapped her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. “Do that again and I’ll stuff a Christmas tree where the sun doesn’t shine.”
He kissed her hair. “Sorry, sis.”
While they hugged, the wolves grabbed a dead raptor each and hauled the bodies off into the forest.
Cian and the white stag greeted each other with a low rumble, coming from deep in their chests. The white stag nuzzled at a patch of blood on Cian’s nose and licked it clean with his tongue.
“It wouldn’t be wise to mention red noses,” the fox cautioned. “Not if you want any presents delivering next year.
****
The smell of damp fur mingled with the aroma of mulled wine in the library of Inglestone Hall.
Jo and Eddie were curled up on the rug with Montgomery, Montmorency and the fox. The children were guzzling mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and eyeing up the plate of mince pies with the speculative look of youngsters wondering if they could find a small corner somewhere for just one more in their over-stuffed stomachs.
Lester cradled a large glass of brandy in his hands and gave his not-quite-ex-wife an apologetic look. “Sorry, Phillie.”
“So you deal with dinosaurs and rips in time,” she said with a sigh. “Well, I can understand why you couldn't tell us.”
“Not cool, dad, you know I like dinosaurs,” Eddie said, failing to hide a grin.
“And the rest of the weird stuff?” Phillie asked.
Lester shrugged. “Strictly seasonal, I think.”
“Mostly,” Nicky muttered.
“Aren’t you worried about what Graeme Dickhead Marchant and his equally dire brother and bloodthirsty friend might say?” Phillie asked, with the calm acceptance of a woman who’d gone beyond the point of surprise some while ago.
“Would you take any notice of three coke-heads blathering about talking animals, assorted prehistoric critters, and the healing properties of stag snot?”
“Probably not,” she acknowledged, and Lester felt the familiar weight of his wife's head settle on his shoulder. "There's a lot I wouldn't have believed before coming to Inglestone."
He slipped an arm around her waist, felt her relax against him the way she used to do and allowed himself a moment to hope that maybe, just maybe, they might have received the gift of a second chance for Christmas.
From its place on the hearthrug, the white fox winked at him and nodded.
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Date: 2021-12-30 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-31 08:04 am (UTC)