Raven's Gate

At once Matt sprang off the bed. The torch was lying on the floor and he snatched it up, then hurried out of the room, along the corridor and downstairs. The sight that greeted him at the bottom was not a pretty one. He had hoped the farmhand would knock himself out when he hit the ground. But somehow Noah had fallen on the sickle. It had gone through his stomach and out the other side. His face was distorted in an expression of pain and surprise. He was quite dead.
    Matt ran out into the darkness. It was raining and he felt needles of water slicing into his face. The road seemed to have been churned up into puddles and mud that threatened to drag him down. Twice he stumbled and fell, setting the bruise on his shoulder on fire. But he didn’t even hesitate. He ran headlong into the night, unaware of anything but the sound of his feet hitting the road, the drumming of his blood in his ears and the gasping of his breath as it emerged in fierce white clouds from his mouth.
    He ran until every step made him wince and his legs shouted at him to let him rest. His mind was numb. He was no more than a machine. Rainwater streaked across his face and trickled down the back of his neck. At last he came to the end of his strength. He had to stop. He saw a bank of grass and collapsed on to it. He had no idea how far he had come. A mile? It could have been ten.
    The headlights of a car appeared in the distance. Matt lifted his head and, moving like an old man, began to get to his feet. He knew it was dangerous but he had no choice. He had to stop the car and ask for a lift. Perhaps the driver would hand him to the police. But it didn’t matter. It was Roodmas. Tomorrow he would be safe.
    Staggering forward, he raised his arms. The car slowed down and stopped. Its headlamps lit up the rain, making it look like spilled ink. It was a sports car. A black Jaguar.
    The door opened and the driver got out. Matt tried to move towards him, lost his balance and tumbled into a pair of outstretched arms.
    “Good heavens!” Sir Michael Marsh said.
    It was the government scientist he had visited with Richard. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come.
    “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” Sir Michael demanded. Then: “No. Don’t try to speak now. Let me get you into the car, out of this rain.”
    Matt allowed himself to be carried to the car and slumped gratefully into the front seat. Sir Michael shook off the rain and got in next to him. The engine of the car was still running, the windscreen wipers turning. But the car didn’t move. Sir Michael looked completely perplexed.
    “It’s Matthew Freeman, isn’t it?” he said. “What on earth are you doing in this dreadful state? Have you had an accident?”
    “No… I…”
    “You look as if you’ve just escaped from a pack of bears.”
    “I’m very cold.”
    “Then we must try to get you into the warm at once. Don’t you worry. It’s very lucky I ran into you. Everything’s going to be all right now.”
    He put the car into gear and they moved off. Sir Michael turned on the heater and Matt felt a cushion of hot air surround his legs. He was safe! Sir Michael Marsh would listen to his story. He had the power to see to it that Mrs Deverill and the other villagers were defeated. He would make sure that no more harm would come to him. The car sped on through the night. Matt relaxed in the soft leather seat. All he wanted to do was sleep. He had never been so tired.
    But he couldn’t. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. What was it? He played back the words Sir Michael had spoken just a few minutes ago.
    “
It’s Matthew Freeman, isn’t it?
”
    He knew his surname.
    When Richard had taken him to Sir Michael’s house in York he had introduced him simply as Matt. Only Mrs Deverill knew his second name. Sir Michael couldn’t have known it.
    Unless…
    Matt scrambled for the door handle and tried to open it, but it was locked. He turned to Sir Michael just as a fist with a gold signet ring on one finger crashed into the side of his head, throwing him against the window and stunning him. The old man was unbelievably strong. Now Matt remembered seeing the car before – at Hive Hall.
    “Please don’t try to move,” Sir Michael said. “The doors are locked and there’s nowhere you can go. I don’t enjoy hitting children and I don’t want to do it again, but I will if you try anything.”
    There was nothing Matt could try. Every