Vivien and Merlin were out in a few seconds, kicking the pinched doors open, but Susan took longer to struggle free. She retrieved the sword and stood up in time to see the police Granada slide to a halt across the road. The doors opened but before the officers could do more than get out, Vivien was in front of the car, raising her arms and inhaling deeply. When she exhaled and lowered her hands, the two police officers fell, sprawled on the road.
From a distance, it looked like they’d been shot with a silenced weapon.
Merlin leaned into the car and grabbed Vivien’s British Caledonian bag and his own yak-hair bag. “Come on! We have to move.”
“Where?” asked Susan. The tractor and the cars behind it had stopped, and people were getting out to gawp—or possibly attempt to intervene; the farmer from the tractor was pulling out a metal star picket from the trailer, obviously intending to use it as a club.
“To that copse over there to start with,” said Merlin, pointing to a cluster of birch trees on the other side of the field. But there were only perhaps a dozen trees, with fields all around; it didn’t offer any serious cover. “Viv, can you cloud anyone observing so we can cut away back to the village after we leave the copse?”
“I can try,” said Viv, but she didn’t sound confident. The farmer was now advancing down the road, and there were a couple of other people following. One had a tire iron.
Merlin took the Smython out of his bag. Susan caught her breath, and almost cried out not to shoot anyone, but he pointed the revolver well off to one side and fired two rounds into the verge in front of the approaching good citizens. But the double boom, the flying earth where the bullets impacted, and the sight of the weapon had the desired effect. The farmer and his followers sprinted back to take cover behind the tractor.
“Run,” said Merlin.
They ran for the copse, skirting a patch of deep mud in the middle of the field. Merlin led them behind the trees, where they were out of sight from the road, but there was nowhere to go beyond which they wouldn’t be brought into view, only more open fields.
“You ready to hide us?” he said to Vivien.
“I can do two minutes max,” warned Vivien. “What good will that do?”
“Enough,” said Merlin. He pointed over towards the village, about fifty yards along a side lane from where the main road narrowed between the houses. There was a fairly unattractive pub, a 1960s brick building with a large black-and-white sign that said “Food” over the inn sign, which was too far away for Susan to make out the name. “You see the pub? We run for that. They’ll have a phone, we’ll call in, get the info on Susan’s dad.”
“But . . . but there’ll be police swarming here soon,” Vivien started to say. “Maybe we should surrender—”
“We’ll have at least ten minutes,” said Merlin.
“And we’ll be stuck in the pub! What are you planning, a siege? We can’t—”
“No,” said Merlin. “There’s a pond in the village green. See, look through the gap between the pub and the house next to it.”
Vivien stared at him.
“How does that help?” asked Susan.
“One of the left-handed to open the way; one of the right-handed to follow the ley,” said Merlin, looking straight at Vivien. “I know traditionally it’s done by Thurston and Merrihew, but it doesn’t have to be them, does it? We can do it.”
“And take Susan?”
“Where?” asked Susan.
“Can you think of anything else?” asked Merlin, ignoring Susan’s question.
“Like I said, we could surrender to the police.”
“The murmuration is moving, there are Watchers in the fields, whoever is after Susan wouldn’t hesitate to take her from a police station. And kill us if we got in the way.”
“But she’s the child of an Old One! What if we’re wrong about her?”
“I’m right here!” protested Susan.
“We’ll explain later,” snapped Vivien.
“It’s a last resort, okay?” said Merlin. “Come on, we can’t waste time.”
“Uh . . .” Vivien vacillated, then suddenly nodded firmly and took an extra-deep breath. Holding it, she raised her arms, turning her palms outwards. She brought them down slowly and put them together, silver light shining from the edge of her glove. She lifted her right hand and placed it on top of Merlin’s head. Susan gasped as he shimmered and became transparent. Not completely invisible—she could still see a vague outline if she stared right at him—but close enough. Vivien touched Susan’s head next, with the same result, and then patted herself on the head, and, without waiting, ran towards the pub, still holding her breath.
Susan followed, almost bumping into Merlin, who could obviously see her better since he swerved aside. Susan looked down at herself as she ran and almost fell over, it was so disorienting not to see anything.
They made it to the road in front of the pub—which Susan now could see was called the Ambrose Arms—when Vivien suddenly reappeared in front of Susan, stopped, and doubled over to vomit. That done, she drew in a series of racking breaths. Susan saw Merlin reappear and looked down, to see her own feet and legs coalescing into visibility again.
“Sorry,” gasped Vivien. “Couldn’t . . . uh . . . keep it up!”
“Well tried,” said Merlin. “Guess we’ll have to hurry a bit more.”
He reached into his bag, took out the Smython, and rushed to the door of the pub. Susan followed, with Vivien more slowly bringing up the rear.
There was only one customer in the pub, a surprised-looking sixtyish man in crumpled work clothes and a flat cap who had picked up a cheese and Branston pickle sandwich and was about to take a bite of it when Merlin burst in.
“Out!” ordered Merlin, gesturing with the revolver. “Leave the sandwich.”
The man put the sandwich down and hurried out.
“Here! What’s all this?” cried the large, no-nonsense publican, coming out from behind the bar, flapping her apron as if Merlin were an errant rooster who’d somehow gotten inside. “You put that away and don’t be stupid.”
“I’m very sorry,” said Merlin. He swapped the revolver to his right hand, stepped forward, and gripped the woman on the shoulder with his gloved left hand, his fingers finding and pressing key nerves. She shrieked and slumped down, knees suddenly weak. Merlin propelled her forward and pushed her out the door, as gently as he could.
“Lock it,” he snapped to Susan. “Viv, find the phone. I’ll make sure no one else is here.”
He moved to the door behind the bar, listened there for a moment, then went in. Vivien scanned the room, didn’t see a telephone, and went through the swinging door into the smaller parlor. Susan clicked the deadlock on the front door and pushed home the top and bottom bolts.
“Susan!” Merlin called out from somewhere within. “Look at your watch, tell me when five minutes is up. That’s all we’ve got.”
Susan looked. Her Swatch had stopped again. There were beads of moisture under the face, from Morcenna’s well.
“It’s stopped!” she called out.
Merlin didn’t answer.