Tollins 2: Dynamite Tales Page 4

  He held the crossbow as if, well, as if it was as dangerous as it undoubtedly was. Ever since Dawlish had arrived, Sparkler had been even busier than usual. Grunion hadn’t seen him eat or sleep for days. Sparkler was using the human library like a second home, looking for anything on warfare. He’d found The Ladybird Book of Battles, but it was for children and Sparkler had gone on to serious books of tactics, sieges and all the tricks and history of field warfare. Almost in a spare moment, he’d knocked together the crossbow Grunion now held.

  “I could kill someone, though,” Grunion said desperately. Sparkler was already lost in a tangle of wires and battery parts. He had six transmitters working. It wasn’t as many as he wanted, but Dawlish had no idea when the Dorset horde had set out behind him. They could be in Chorleywood at any moment and he still wasn’t ready! He became aware that Grunion was still voicing his concerns.

  “…and the end looks really sharp and Wing said it has a hair trigger, which I can’t even find, and…”

  “Look, Grunion. You won’t have to shoot it, all right? If everything else works, they’ll be so confused and frightened that they’ll surrender. No one has to be hurt.”

  “So the crossbow is for…?”

  “No plan of battle survives contact with the enemy, Grunion. Understand? You have to have backup plans.”

  “So this…?”

  “Yes, Grunion. What you are holding is a backup plan.”

  Grunion looked at the object in his arms. It was made of iron and wood and it had a sort of vicious feel to it. He slotted an iron bolt into the groove and heaved, clicking the arms into place.

  Sparkler froze with an armful of metal clips.

  “Don’t point that in here, Grunion,” he said carefully. “If you want to practice, go outside.”

  Running footsteps made them both turn, though Sparkler did so while also taking two careful steps away from the crossbow.

  “Message from the High Tollin, Colonel Sparkler,” said the thin guard.

  “Colonel Sparkler?” Grunion interrupted. “Promoted again?” It had been Sparkler who’d discovered ranks, in fact. The High Tollin seemed to think that swift and regular promotion was the way to keep everyone working hard. If it went on, by the following morning they’d have an army of generals and no one to order about.

  “As you were, Corporal Grunion,” Sparkler replied, still keeping a wary eye on the crossbow. He turned to the guard, who had also begun watching it as Grunion waved it about.

  “The message?” Sparkler prompted.

  “Yes, sir. The scouts have spotted them, sir. The invaders, sir. They’re coming.”

  There was a moment of breathless silence and then a sort of boing sound followed by quite a few other sounds, some of which involved breaking glass.

  Sparkler heaved himself back to his feet, brushing dust off his trousers.

  “I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson, don’t you, Grunion? Now take it outside and practice, please. How far away are the Dark Tollins…um…thin guard?”

  “Thin guard, sir?” said the thin guard.

  “I can’t always remember your name; I’m sorry. Is this really the time to discuss it? No. How far away are they?”

  “Less than a mile, sir. On the outskirts of Chorleywood. They’ll be on the common by sunset.” He paused. “It’s Herbert, sir.”

  Sparkler looked around at the tangle of wires. He could finish one more transmitter, he thought. No, he was out of time and six would have to do. Everything else was in place, as ready as it could possibly be in such a short time.

  “Get everyone into the Great Hall, ready for my orders. Right now. No time to waste…um…”

  “Herbert, sir.”

  “Right, no time to waste, Herbert.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHY HANNIBAL CHOSE ELEPHANTS

  N STRIPES, WANGLE PADDED FORWARD as silently as he could. The rest of the Dark Tollins were flying just above the ground, keeping pace with him. The cat was at the point of a Tollin wedge formation that drifted slightly in the wind as it hummed towards the dim expanse of the common. The sun was setting and the rain clouds were still thick and black. Darkness was just moments away. On his right and left, two more wedges kept pace. He’d seen pictures of battles in the book and the armies always came in pointy wedges to the battlefield, like arrows.

  The Chorleywood Tollins were not going to know what hit them. Wangle would then take great pleasure in explaining what had hit them and probably hit them again with the same thing.

  His plan was simple enough. His three wings of eleven hardened commando Tollins would come in low and fast, heading for the three main entrances to the station tunnels. Before the High Tollin even knew what was going on, they’d have overwhelmed his guards and established Dark Military Law on Chorleywood. Or Military Dark Law, if you like. Either way, he had almost taken over before with just a few of his Dark colleagues. The sudden arrival of a proper horde would guarantee victory.

  The first Wangle knew of the plan going horribly wrong was when the sky lit up. A firework flare soared into the sky and hung there, casting a red light over the common. Stripes made a yowling sound that chilled the blood. One of the horde said “Ooh,” but Wangle silenced him with a glare and cuffed Stripes on the back of the head. Another firework flare followed and then a third. He and his horde were exposed.

  “Split up!” Wangle snapped. With a whir of wings, his commando Tollins shot off in three different directions. Wangle smiled. Even if the enemy knew he was coming, they couldn’t catch them all in the open and he still had his secret weapon, claws and teeth and all. They’d shake off the Chorleywood lot with quick flying and then join up again at the station tunnels.

  The last flare burned out and darkness came again, much darker and more frightening than before. Wangle was hard-pressed to hold Stripes back as they raced across the common. He heard the sound of marching feet in front of him and pulled on the reins to swerve away, taking his wedge in a different direction.

  Voices! He heard voices over there as well and more marching feet! He began to panic as his wedge pulled a tight turn and set off once more. It was hard to know which way they were going in the darkness, but at least they were escaping the defenders waiting for him.

  For the third time, Wangle heard the stamp of marching Tollins. Somehow, Chorleywood had found itself an army. He pulled up in the air and the noise grew louder and louder until it seemed to come from all directions. Wangle slumped in despair. How had they done it?

  “Put your weapons down and you will live!” came a voice. Wangle snarled and looked around. Sparkler. He knew that voice and he hated it more than any other voice in the world, even that of the folksinger who lived near him and couldn’t hit A-sharp to save his life.

  “There is still hope, lads,” Wangle said. “One of the other groups will have got through, depend on it.”

  Out of the darkness, the voice came again.

  “Do you mean those other two groups of eleven Tollins, dressed in black?”

  Wangle blinked slowly. He hadn’t intended to be part of a conversation.

  “Yes, I do mean them,” he said at last, his voice a low growl.

  “I thought so. They’ve surrendered. Sorry about that. Now please lay down your weapons and nobody needs to get hurt.”

  Wangle saw his horde sheepishly dropping their flint knives and cudgels to the ground before raising their hands in the air. It had happened so fast that he could hardly believe it. He watched in fury as Chorleywood Tollins ran in to collect the weapons, bearing them off in great piles.

  Wangle kept his sword. He’d made it from one half of a pair of human nail-scissors and it was a fearsome weapon. He could still hear marching feet and he almost howled in frustration. There must have been Tollins all over the common, Tollins by the hundred, by the thousands even.

  Slowly, he dismounted, walking forward with the cat’s reins in one hand and the sword in the other.

  “How did you do
it, Sparkler?” he demanded. “There aren’t so many Tollins in the whole of the South of England. Did you hire foreign ones? Tell me that much. I have to know.”

  “You won’t like it,” said Sparkler’s voice from the gloom. The sound of marching feet ceased with a click and Wangle had an image of a vast army stretching away in all directions. He saw his men being secured with chains and the flame in his heart blew white-hot.

  Later, Sparkler was to regret what he did next. He knew he should have had Wangle quietly taken into custody. It would have been the end, right there. The High Tollin would have staged a lovely execution for him, with sandwiches laid out and everything. It would have been a family day out.

  Yet Sparkler had worked hard on those transmitters and he was proud of them. In the tunnels under the station, the entire class of Tillets were still marching back and forth, back and forth in big, heavy boots. The radio transmitter they had with them had sent the sound to each of his radios in the field. He’d created the sound of an army wherever the Dark Tollins flew until they were so confused and frightened they practically fell to their knees and begged to be allowed to surrender. Sparkler should not have told Wangle any of that. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he did.

  With a wild howl, Wangle dropped the reins, raised his fearsome sword and ran at the voice, his eyes terrible. There were only a few Tollins standing with the radio that spoke with Sparkler’s voice. Sparkler was actually on the other side of the common, having captured a different group.

  However, Grunion was there and he panicked. The strange boing sound was heard again and Wangle paused in his mad rush. He touched a hand to his arm and it came away with blood on it.

  “Are you all right?” Grunion called in the silence that followed. “That’s the second time that’s happened. Honestly, I think someone could be hurt…” His voice trailed away as he realized someone had been.

  Wangle advanced slowly, the crossbow bolt sticking out of his arm. All he could see was the Tollin in front of him. Somehow they’d beaten him again and someone was going to pay. He raised the sword above his head.

  “You think you’ve won?” Wangle roared. “You haven’t won. You’ve just declared war.”

  Grunion stared at him in slack-jawed amazement. No, not at him, past him.

  Wangle froze, his eyes widening as he heard the pad of paws rushing towards him. There are few more frightening sounds in the world.

  Stripes had noticed the reins being dropped. He’d also noticed the way Wangle had turned his back on him at last. He’d waited a long time for just such a moment. With a triumphant yowl, Stripes leaped and snapped Wangle up.

  In panic, Grunion tried to throw the crossbow at the cat, but Stripes was too fast. The cat spun in place and vanished into the darkness, carrying his yelling trophy.

  Sparkler listened, stunned, as Grunion told him what had happened. Across the common, he sat back from his radio. Wangle had been their enemy, but no one would have wished for an end like that, even for an enemy.

  The clicking of the handset brought him out of his trance.

  “Yes? What is it?” he said.

  “There’s a Dark Tollin here called Kerton, sir. Wangle’s second-in-command,” came a voice.

  “Is that you, Herbert?”

  “It is, sir, yes. Well done.”

  “What does this Kerton want?” Sparkler said wearily.

  “He says he wants to make it perfectly clear that you have definitely not declared war, sir. In case you were wondering, sir. He says that this is a moment for our two Tollin nations to come together in a spirit of mutual friendship, sir. ’e’s had a good look at the crossbow and the radios and he’s very sure about it, sir.”

  Sparkler rose to his feet, his heart pounding with sudden excitement. With Wangle gone, perhaps they didn’t have to repeat the mistakes of the past. Perhaps there was a future, after all. He laughed in relief as he reached for the transmit button.

  “Tell him we accept his offer of peace, Herbert. Tell him there will be no punishments for his men. We’ll throw a feast tonight and they’re all invited.”

  He could hear Herbert grinning as he replied.

  “Right you are, sir. He’s also very keen to take one of these amazing radios back to Dorset with him, so our leaders can talk to each other.”

  Sparkler hesitated.

  “I’d agree with pleasure, but the radios only work over a short distance. To reach Dorset, we’d have to get an antenna hundreds of feet up into the air.” An idea struck him like a thunderbolt. “Hang on,” he said, thinking. If he did it, he’d be joining one part of the world to another. They’d never be alone again. The sheer size of the idea swamped him for a moment.

  “Herbert, we’re going to need to get the wind-bag out of storage,” he said. “Tell him we can do it.”

  Winter had come by the time the great experiment was arranged. Kerton and his commandos had returned to Dorset long before, taking with them a working radio and an enormous spool of wire as well as notes on making their own wind-bag. They hadn’t found Wangle, unfortunately, though they did find a rather chewed saddle caught in a bush nearby.

  On a misty dawn, with the sky a rare and perfect winter blue, the wind-bag rose above the common, carrying a thin wire with it until it was just a speck above their heads.

  Sparkler tuned the radio, listening to voice after voice. The High Tollin was there for the momentous occasion. Wing had written a speech for him and it had a lot of flowery bits for the first contact between leaders. She waited with her father as well, watching Sparkler with a slight smile on her face.

  More than once, Sparkler stopped in amazement as music came out, but he wasn’t looking for music. It took time to find the thin and crackly Tollin voice. To human ears, it would have been the whine of a fly, or bad morse code, but Sparkler heard it in the midst of all the human rumblings, sweet and clear.

  “If you can hear this, please respond,” said the voice. “Chorleywood Tollins, this is an emergency. We need help and we need help urgently. If you can hear this please respond…”

  THE END OF BOOK TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE WINTER OF 1924

  HE HIGH TOLLIN WASN’T A FAST FLYER. In fact, no one could remember him ever leaving the ground. He certainly couldn’t keep up with younger Tollins over any kind of distance.

  When he’d insisted on going with them to Dorset, it was Grunion who suggested harnessing the dragonflies. He’d fussed and polished Blue Thunder until the insect was quivering. The High Tollin’s own Yellow Peril completed the pair that would carry him over eighty miles. It had been simple enough to string a net between them, like a hammock, or a swing. A hammock is just a depressed swing, after all. Or if you prefer, a swing is just an excitable hammock.

  It was a pale winter morning in Chorleywood when the team assembled by Darvell’s Pond. It was that special hour when the grass is still covered with frost and there is silence everywhere. When the humans wake up, of course, it’s noisy again as they clump about, but if the time before that had a name, perhaps it would be “Tollin time.” Or dawn. If it had a name, that would also be a good one.

  Sparkler and Wing were quiet, thinking about the journey and the dangers ahead of them. They didn’t know what sort of emergency to expect, so they packed everything they could possibly need. The emergency kit formed a huge bundle that dangled below the High Tollin’s hammock.

  Grunion was toweling Blue Thunder like he was polishing a pair of shoes. Wolfenstein was watching the process with some interest and then turning his beady eyes on Sparkler as if thinking. Dragonflies have big eyes. When they slowly turn them towards you to make a point, you really know about it.

  Sparkler took a duster from his back pocket and rubbed down the insect, who made a sort of umph sound. It has long been debated among humans as to whether dragonflies make any kind of sound. They do. It’s umph, an expression of contentment.

  “I still don’t see why you need to bring Wolfenstein,
” said Grunion. Sparkler ignored him and it was Wing who replied.

  “We do need a backup flyer, Grunion. Just in case Blue Thunder or Yellow Peril run out of puff.” Sparkler smiled at her, thankful for the support.

  “Run out of puff?” Grunion said in amazement. “Run out of puff? Not my lad, I’ll tell you that. I can’t speak for the Yellow Pest over there, but ol’ Blue won’t let anyone down.”

  Wing found Grunion’s confidence strangely irritating. Perhaps it was because she’d left her own dragonfly at home and she was missing him, or her, it was very hard to tell. Perhaps it was because Grunion wore his training jacket. It had badges on it, with slogans like, “In it to win it!” and “Don’t Fly By, Dragonfly!” Or perhaps it was a vague sense that the owners’ club really should have let damselflies in as well. They were just like dragonflies, as far as she could tell. The one difference was that they could fold their wings. As a female Tollin, or a damsel, something irritated her about all the male Tollins refusing to let damselflies take part in the races.

  With the High Tollin’s two guards, Herbert and Daryl, the party was already up to six. Sparkler had the feeling that if they delayed any more, half the Chorleywood Tollins would be joining what was meant to be a fast rescue mission.

  The cry for help from Dorset had come two days before, the very first message ever sent between colonies by radio. The problem was that it had stopped almost as soon as they heard it. They didn’t know what the emergency was, or why the Dark Tollins of Dorset were in trouble. All they knew was that they had to get there fast. There had been no mistaking the fear and tension in that crackling voice on the airwaves.

  Wing strapped her father into his hammock, tying him securely so he couldn’t doze off and fall out. She nodded to the two dragonflies and they took off, hovering above the ground with her father swinging gently between them.