Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [7]
„I don‟t believe in all that. And neither should you, Professor.‟ She paused, and looked around the lush green vista. In the distance, on the faraway rolling downlands, she could just make out a chalk horse carved into the hillside.
„The West Country, right?‟ she asked.
The man nodded. „Wessex,‟ he announced grandly. „Over there is Thomas Hardy country,‟ he said, pointing with a ruler-straight arm. He turned. „The Isle of Avalon is somewhere over there.‟ He gestured again. „And that is the way to Camelot.‟
The girl smiled as if at a recent memory. „Great. And I‟ll bet it‟s three miles from the nearest pub, but when we get there they‟ll all be out playing cricket, or something.‟
„More like two hundred yards,‟ said the man. „But we‟re not going there yet.‟ He paused, gnomically. „A military campaign is only as good as the intelligence reports it is based upon.‟
For the first time, the girl looked worried.
Russ Sloper placed the last milk bottle on the doorstep and shivered despite the rising sun. This was normally Daniel Cottle‟s round and, frankly, he was welcome to it. Sloper wasn‟t one to trust innuendo and rumour over logic - for that reason alone he preferred broadsheet newspapers to the tacky tabloids of his colleagues - but the village of Hexen Bridge was different. No small area could produce so many stories and legends if there wasn‟t at least a grain of truth in them.
Sloper walked back towards the float, the empty milk bottles chinking against the plastic carrier. Behind the cottages and terraces of orange-yellow stone the faintest sounds of early-morning movement could be heard: water running in bathrooms, radios being switched on in kitchens.
Somewhere a car engine was being coaxed into life.
Best get out before he actually saw any of them.
The village was a maze of tiny lanes, surrounding an ancient green and a duck pond. To the north and east rose great chalk hills variously patrolled by sheep and cows; to the south, trailing gently out of sight, was a ring of woods and a crazy paving of small fields. The main road out of Hexen ran to the west, just wide enough to accommodate two lanes of traffic. Not that the roads bristled with many cars, even during the holiday season. Somehow, people knew.
Everyone knew about Hexen Bridge.
Sloper manoeuvred the float towards the west road, feeling the tension fall from his shoulders as each second took him further from the damned village. He began to hum under his breath, a tuneless conglomeration of sound to help block out the whine of the milk float‟s electric engine. Even after all these years, he‟d never entirely got used to the noise. Still less the gentle ribbing he received when he arrived anywhere in his car. „Left your float behind, have you, Russ?‟ went the cry. It hadn‟t been funny the first time. It was almost enough to -
He slammed on the brakes as a couple appeared around a bend in the thickly hedged lane. „Watch out!‟ he shouted, just missing them.
The float came to a halt, and Sloper jumped down. „You OK?‟ he asked the short man.
„I am, thank you,‟ said the man with just a little dignity.
„Never walk with your back to the traffic,‟ Sloper scolded, though realising that at this time in the morning his float had probably been the first vehicle they would have encountered.
„Ah,‟ said the man solemnly. „I take your point.‟
„Fancy a lift?‟ Sloper asked, in a calmer voice.
„That‟s very kind of you,‟ said the man, jumping into the front of the float next to Sloper. „I‟ve only been on one of these once before, and that was many years ago.‟ The girl positioned herself on the edge of the seat more gingerly.
Sloper regarded the couple for a moment. The man didn‟t look attractive or daring enough to be eloping with this young thing, but she seemed to be close to school age. Still, there was only a week or so of term to go, and