The Holly King by Mark Stay

Author:Mark Stay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2023-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

The powdery snow billowed down every chimney, crept under every door. It woke every villager from their slumber. Despite the chill and the late hour, they were all compelled to dress in their finest. For each and every one of them had received an invitation in their dreams. The Feast of Fools was about to begin.

THE FEAST OF FOOLS

Go floppy. It was a piece of advice given to Bertie by a slightly sozzled Hurricane pilot in the pub a few months ago, and for some reason it had struck him then as something to file away for future use.

‘If you’re ever in a situation where you think you’re going to crash, Bertie, fight every instinct you have to tense your muscles and brace for impact. You’re more likely to break bones and tear ligaments if you’re stiff as a board. What you need to do, Bertie old son, is go floppy.’

‘Floppy?’

‘As a rag doll. You’ll be tossed about and get a few cuts and bruises, but you’ll walk away in one piece.’

Bertie recalled the pilot’s slurred voice as he’d doled out this wisdom, but he couldn’t remember his name. He had to wonder if he’d taken his own advice, though, as the pilot had bailed out over the Channel in September and broken both his legs.

Nevertheless, going floppy was very much on Bertie’s mind as he barrelled down the Wode Road in his gibbet. I wonder if this is what a bingo ball feels like? he pondered as he whizzed past the pub, picking up speed as the storm gathered around him. The accelerating whirl of road-shops-sky-snow shifted suddenly as the cruciform silhouette of the Great War memorial emerged from the murk.

Bertie closed his eyes and made a conscious effort to go as floppy as possible, accepting that whatever happened, he had at least kissed Faye within the last twenty-four hours, and any day when that happened couldn’t be all bad.

The gibbet came to an abrupt stop. There was no crash or clang of iron on stone, though Bertie’s world flashed white as his forehead connected in a short, sharp fashion with one of the gibbet’s bars. Typical. One of the few bits of Bertie he couldn’t relax was his skull, and it hummed with the impact. He was able to wriggle a hand up within the rusty iron confines to touch his head to check it was still in one piece. There was a tender patch where Sid had sliced off a chunk of his hair, but it seemed to be otherwise intact.

Bertie opened his eyes, struggling to focus. For a moment he thought everything had gone dark, then he realised that he was in fact looking straight at the sole of a mighty boot. And not just anyone’s boot.

The Holly King peered down at him. ‘God Jól, Bertie.’

‘Hello again.’ Bertie creaked a fearful smile into place, then frowned. ‘What happened to your antlers?’

A flicker of irritation crossed the Holly King’s face, and he ignored Bertie’s question. ‘I’m so glad you could join us.

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