Fighting to quench panic, Alice wondered why she did not turn around to face this threat. She had not moved her feet, and neither had Edward. They were both standing in an awkward, twisted position, holding their bikes; they had not moved their feet.
"You needn't worry about the prophecy,” Edward said calmly. “I will never go back. I will never become the Liberator. You have my word on it."
"Ah! The word of an English gentleman!” The bounder sighed dramatically. He ought to be an artesian well of perspiration in those tweeds on a day like this, but his face was pale and dry. “So you say now. Forgive my doubts. I had rather make sure.” She could not place his accent.
"Then let Miss Prescott leave. She is not involved in this."
"I think it will be neater to include both of you. Turn your bicycles around, please, and prepare to mount."
Alice did as she was bid, and so did Edward. Why had she not refused? Why did she not simply climb on the saddle and pedal away? Why didn't Edward? Of course the nasty red roadster was parked just over there, so the bounder could run them down, but why should they not at least try to make a break for it?
Rabbits hypnotized by snakes?
Oh, that was absurd!
Then why not just go? Why not just scarper?
"What are you going to do?” she demanded, and was disgusted by the shrillness in her voice.
"Very little.” The bounder shrugged his broad shoulders. “I've already done it, actually. I just have to say the word. An Army lorry is starting up the hill. You and Mr. Exeter are going to pedal down. You will pedal as hard as you can, both of you. When you reach that bend down there, you will cut the corner, over to the wrong side of the road."
"Humor him, darling,” Edward said. “He's funnier as Lady Hamilton, but that's on Tuesdays. His keeper gets Fridays off."
"Ah, the impeccably stiff upper lip!” the man agreed in the same dry tone. “Toujours le sang-froid! I estimate you will be doing between forty-four and forty-seven miles an hour when you stop. That is quite adequate to remove most of the rigidity from your ossiferous framework, if you will pardon the euphemism."
"Never,” Edward said. “I had better warn you, I suppose. You have overlooked something. The Testament is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Every time someone tries to break the chain, he just strengthens it!"
"A few more minutes,” the bounder said casually.
"You don't believe me? Then consider: If Zath had simply ignored the whole damned rigmarole, then nothing would have happened. But he tried to kill my father to prevent my being born. The attempt failed, and it alerted the guv'nor to the prophecy. The guv'nor left Nextdoor in case Zath tried again, but that meant he met the mater in New Zealand and got married and I transpired. If he'd stayed on Nextdoor, then any son he might have had would be a native, and harmless. Don't you see?"
"Ingenious. But not convincing."
Leave! Alice thought. Just perch on the saddle and pedal away. Freewheel sedately down the hill, staying safely on the left side of the road, and this whole insane conversation will fade away like moonbeams. Why did she not do that?
"It goes on and on.” Edward was still speaking quietly, but faster. “The massacre at Nyagatha was supposed to kill me, but it killed my parents instead. If my father had lived he would have told me the whole story and I would never have crossed over! I would have taken his advice. I worshipped him and would never have gone against his wishes. So you out-smarted yourselves again. Then you tried to kill me in Greyfriars, and the result of that was that I did cross over and the prophecy was fulfilled. If you'd left me alone, I'd have enlisted and probably died last year on the Somme!"
The bounder had barely moved since Alice first set eyes on him, but now he raised a hand to smother a yawn. “Sorry to drag it out like this. Another minute or so and you can be on your way."
"I'm warning you!” Edward said, louder. “The same thing happened in Thargvale. Zath tried so hard to snare me that he let the whole army escape, and me too. By trying to break the chain, you will only strengthen it. Don't, please! I'm on your side! I want out. I want my own life. I don't want this damned prophecy coiling around me like a serpent all the time. Just ignore it and it will go away. It will wither. I want to stay here on Earth and serve my King. I do not want to be the Liberator!"
"You won't. We are about to make quite sure of that."
"Then leave Miss Prescott out of it!"
The bounder chuckled, but his ugly purple eyes did not smile. “If you believed your theories, you would not ask that."
"Bystanders get hurt! That's why you should listen to me. You may get caught in the backlash yourself. Dozens died at Nyagatha, thousands at Lemod. I sail through unscathed, and the innocents get mowed down!"
"You won't sail through this time,” said the bounder. “Pedal as hard as you can and cut the corner at the bottom. No braking! It won't hurt."
"Let Alice go!” Edward shouted.
"You both go. Ready? Now!"
Alice swung up on the saddle and began to pedal as if her life depended on it. She was just trying to deceive the man. She would stop pedaling in a couple of minutes, as soon as she was safely away. They could freewheel almost all the way to Vicarsdown from here, and perhaps even have another cup of tea in the Tea Shoppe.
Edward went by her, head down, legs going like aeroplane propeller blades.
How dare he! Show-off brat! She forced her legs to move even faster. The wind was whistling by her. Never had she known such a sensation of speed. The hill unrolled below her like a death warrant. The hedges on either hand streaked past in green blurs. Wind caught her hat and snatched it away. Faster, faster! Harder, harder! Steeper, steeper! Edward was still gaining, his long legs giving him an unfair advantage, his jacket flailing behind him like Dracula's cloak.
She could no longer move her feet fast enough to do any good. Her hair was unravelling. Her eyes were full of icy tears, and she could hardly see. The bike hammered so hard she could barely hang on to the handlebars. The corner was rushing up at her.
Edward was there already. He leaned into the curve, cutting across to the inside—and vanished behind the hedge. She struggled to stay on her own side of the road, but at that speed she dare not. Despite all her efforts, she was turning to follow exactly where he had gone. The lorry leaped into view, growling up the hill, dead in her path, filling the road. Alongside it, cutting out to overtake it blind, came a huge silver-gray Rolls-Royce. There was no sign of Edward at all and she closed her eyes.
50
IN ONE CORNER OF THE BACK SEAT, MISS PIMM SNAPPED COMMANDS: “Faster! Cut this corner! Go faster!” Her voice was soft and yet it carried the authority of a sergeant major's. In the driver's seat, Stringer was howling in terror, but apparently doing exactly what she wanted, like a puppet on strings. The big car swung around the bends, trees and hedgerows streaming past in an impossible blur. Thank the gods there was no other traffic ... so far.
In the other corner of the back seat, Smedley had clenched his real fist until the nails dug into his palm, and he could not feel his imaginary one at all, just when he needed it. This was downright maniacal! A country lane like this was only safe at about twenty miles an hour, and they must be doing seventy at least. And uphill at that! The engine would boil. Even a Rolls made a din at this speed.
"Prepare to overtake!” Miss Pimm said. She seemed quite relaxed, holding her oversized handbag on her lap. “There is a lorry ahead."
God in heaven! What had got into the crazy old bat? She had been perfectly sane until about fifteen minutes ago. And then ... well, they had gone through Vicarsdown like a Sopwith Camel. A miracle they hadn't killed someone. When he had expostulated, she had told him to stuff a sock in it.